#but i never know how or if im doing that right

[dykeadvocate]

pu$$ycam

pairing: streamer!ellie x reader

summary: ellie gets fucked with your cock on stream whilst being teased and degraded by you + twitch chat.

content: edging, strapon (e receiving), degradation, fucked on camera, voyeurism, usage of mutt, squirting, overstimulation, aftercare, crying, drooling, slapping.

a/n: a world where twitch TOS does not exist...

“Please, baby.” Ellie’s desperate pleas are barely audible, and her voice quivers with frustration.

You hum, looking over at your monitor, catching a glance of yourself and Ellie before questioning your chat. “What do you guys think? Should she cum or should I edge her some more?”

Ellie is slumped against you in your lap. Her head rests against your shoulder, her eyes hazy and barely open. Your right hand pinches and pulls at her nipples whilst your left rests on her spread thighs. A large pink dildo is stuffed into her pussy, her juices are dripping down the shaft and onto your leather seat. Gross. You’ll force her to clean that with her tongue later.

Your Twitch chat blows up with messages, each as disgustingly perverted as the last. 

minecraftblock123: plzzz edge her more i wanna watch her sob her stupid eyes out

fridgepet8: let the bitch cum already. im tryna cum with her n i’m sick of edging myself

lezbo892: can we get a closeup of her pussy i can barely see anything from here

You reach over and grab the camera, moving it to a better spot for a pussycam, making Ellie moan at the sudden movement. The poor girl is basically shaking against you at this point. You nearly feel bad for her, until another $20 donation rolls in.

You tilt her chin, and her eyes immediately flutter open to look at yours. She’s a well-trained mutt.

“You see how much everyone loves this pussy? Say thank you to the donator.” 

She whines, struggling to find her words, making the chat blow up in laughter and degrading words. “F-fuck.” she hisses when you slap her thigh, “Thank you.” 

You reward her compliance with a hard thrust, and she moans loudly. The sound of squelching and Ellie’s cries fills the room, and she grips onto your forearm to stabilise herself. Your eyes are fixated on the camera, watching how the dildo stretches her out, dissappearing into her pussy and then reappears covered in her creamy slick. 

bobthebuilder90: fuckkk man look at how her tiny tits bounce with each thrust

mangoeater2929: her clit is so swollen its adorable

bartship853: can we get some free cum samples one day. she looks like she’d taste heavenly. 

You roll your eyes. ‘Free cum samples’. You would be charging at least $50 for that. Not a bad idea, though. 

Ellie’s fingernails dig into your forearm. She’s drooling now, and her eyes are clenched shut in concentration. She’s on the verge of her orgasm, but she would never cum without your permission, at least, not on stream. 

“If we get $100 worth of donations, she can cum.” 

It takes two and a half minutes to reach $100. You force Ellie’s face to the camera, knowing that your viewers love watching her face scrunch up as she cums. You can’t blame them, it’s a pretty sight to see. You wish you could make her cum a thousand times but unfortunately, she has a limit.

You don’t stop when she comes down from her high; you relentlessly continue pumping into her and wrap your arms around her waist as she tries to crawl away. Her leg kicks out, barely missing the camera, and you scowl. You press down on her clit and pain jolts throughout her body. She cries, begging to stop and apologising until her voice goes hoarse.

A stream of liquid splurts out of her, drenching her thighs and everything beneath her. She twitches, tears running down her face, and her breathing comes out in gasps. You turn the stream off, but not before reminding everyone of the Stardew Valley stream on Tuesday.

You slowly pull out of Ellie, and she cries in protest. You hush her, “I know, baby, but I gotta clean you up. You did so well.”

You carry Ellie to the bathroom, holding her tightly to your chest as you run a warm bath. She cries softly. You slip into the tub, pulling her against you. You kiss her neck, whispering sweet praises into her ear whilst cleaning her body. She’s exhausted. 

“Was that too much?” you softly ask, caressing her cheek but receive no reply. 

She’s passed out and once again drooling. You chuckle. She’s your dumb drooling mutt whilst she’s awake and whilst she’s asleep. Pathetic.

[stargatesg-1obsessed]

Makes my entire day when I see something in my inbox. Even if it's a reply from a comment I left on someone else's fic, I still appreciate the reply.

AO3 is a community, and when someone reaches out, it's amazing!

Even if their shy or don't feel comfortable commenting so they just leave a kudos, or they do leave a comment, and it's just a heart, it's still highly appreciated, and letting me know that you enjoyed it!

The Hits to Kudos ratio can be scary because, say, I got 200 hits and 5 kudos. Only 5 out of those 200 people who read it liked it. But you know what, that's fine. If it's not your cup of tea, then it's not your cup of tea. I'll admit I don't tag my fics very well as I never have any idea how to, so it's my fault really, and only down to the summary and the ship tag.

Either way, they've pressed on it and decided, "Actually, no, this isn't my kind of thing," and that's fine because they still tried it! And I'm still grateful for that!

It's like with youtube. I could get 1k views on an edit, but no comments. I'd be happy, of course i would, but I didn't get any comments like I usually do... what's going on? And it can seriously affect your motivation for making the next edit.

It's the same with AO3. It gives such motivation when someone comments and says that they enjoyed the fic. When they point out parts that they specifically liked, compliment you on things that you didn't even realise were good.

For example, I got a comment from @agent-troi on a fic before telling me, (and im quoting a part from the actual comment here) "This had just the right mix of worldbuilding, team banter, and S/J angst."

I'm crap at all of those things normally. But having that said made my entire day.

I'm not the best at writing, I know that, I've been writing for like a year, a bit less actually. So I'm bound to not be the best. But if it wasn't for the comments, I wouldn't have as much motivation to continue posting them.

Sorry for my massive rant that wasn't necessary... but hopefully you see my point.

Reblog if you’re grateful for your commenters <3

[oureddie]

is anyone else's brain just one big

what do we need him for? what's your problem man. what are we measuring here buck. you can have my back any day. i love kids. i love this one. they weren't my type. i thought you just dressed alike. buck gave me a heads up. does this boy crush on eddie mean you're finally ready to move on from abby. uh, you should meet his kid, though. i can see the pollen. i can hear it. ooooOOOOooo you made him cry. you dont find it son, you make it. you two have an adorable son. why are you in hospital jail. i got you. dear buck you are an awesome firefighter love christopher. GET UP your life isn't over just bc you arent a firefighter anymore. says the firefighter. there's nobody in this world that i trust with my son more than you. BECAUSE YOU'RE EXHAUSTING. did you ever stop and think for a minute what that could do to US. a total impulse buy, not like you at all. c'mon eddie if you're not gonna be honest with frank at least be honest with me. i could still take you. you think so? i know. wanna go for the title? uhhhh this is eddie's house im not really a guest. just wait until he gets to the 'i dont have to do what you tell me' phase. aren't you still in that phase. you hungry? wanna grab a bite after we drop him? weeeee have visitors cap. eddie!!!!!no!!!!!nonononnonoedddie!!!! CLAWS AT THE GROUND. you wanna do a rope rescue??? of course you do. i mean that wont happen to US. to abby. his fiance is ABBY. welp. at least it's not a tsunami. hey man you might want to talk to your kid about playing fair. buck can we go to your house and play video games. uhhhh sorry kid i think we might be kicking it old school for a while. he's on the phone with dr. copeland, emergency therapy session. what do you have to apologize for? did you say anything that wasn't true? yeah she's worried about me *drop kicks a punching bag* yeah can't imagine why. i had to do it. i know you did. trauma bag? yup. sorry whhaaaatttt was that? check. do you ever replay a conversation in your head and worry you sound like an idiot? have you met me. it's like the universe is scREAMING at you and you refuse to listen. the universe does not scream. am i interrupting book club. you're late. there was construction on sunset. had to take a detour. buck. buck you have to help chris is- right here. you sure that's a smile? that's the same face buck makes when he's gassy. but just be sure that you're following YOUR heart. *gets sniped* eddie- eddie i need you to hang on. are you hurt? where's buck? he's got a harder job tonight. the team feels off without eddie. he doing okay? better than me. i kind of lost it when i told him you got shot. hey since we've got a minute... uh is everything alright. it got me thinking. what would happen if i hadnt. so i went to my attorney and changed my will. so someday, if i uh, didn't make it, christopher would be taken care of. by you. don't you need my consent. my attorney said you could refuse. but you know i wouldn't. but you knew i wouldn't. because evAN. you act like you're expendable. but you're wrong. good idea. eddie really shouldn't be exerting himself right now. this isn't me an eddie bagging a turkey in south pasadena. he takes christopher there all the time, got the place memorized. my kid loves her. is that enough. ice goes on the eye bud. *gets kidnapped and held hostage together* my abuela would eat this up. she loves a good telenovela. oh cuz uhhh you don't? i know you watch them with christopher. that's how we practice our spanish. look man you don't need to pretend with me. buck you need to move on, i have. eddie get away from the door im coming in. what are you afraid of. that im never gonna feel normal again. buck already took him to school, figured you could use the sleep. chris drew this? uh, that one's mine i misunderstood the assignment. cuz he got the help he needed, and that started with you. i just wish i could- fix it? yeah. what are you offering? right now? bobby's famous lasagna. buck, you dont even have a couch. bUUUUCK where the hell are you going. you can live without a

spleen- right? she's gonna be ok. how did the age of absolutely turn into alfalfa smoothies? give me one second let me grab eddie. YO. i dont know. feels weird to congratulate him. alright cowbody go get em. BUCK!!!!! do more! i just feel like she sees me. sorry about this. yeah it's gonna suck. uh hey do you have any plans for the weekend? i was thinking about go-karting, place in the desert, supposed to be a blast. welcome back to the world of the living buck. you were missed. actually i was kind of hoping you would. i just dont want him to uh- end up like me? you didn't end up like you. hey cap, need a lift? you took the chevelle? how'd you talk him into this he always says no to me. like sea monkeys! in fact, i havent been able to uhhhh yeah since i found out. yeah. well i uhhh wish i could help with that! this doesn't change a thing between us. i thought you couldn't bring a date to a bachelor party. UBBBEEERRR!!!! we don't need a key we're firefighters. he's crockett he's tubbs. actually im crockett and HE'S tubbs. eddie who's kim. does that poor woman know she's a dead ringer for your ex wife. oh eddie. what you always do. talk to him. i dont wanna break down the door buck i want him to open it. well uh, he probably won't. ok well why does it have to be me? you're the fastest runner. we beat the bees! im guessing it's probably an allergic reaction of some kind. to what bad juju? you owe me five bucks eddie. i never watched glee. give it back im serious. we know you're serious that's what scares us. whatareyoulookinateddiehehehe. he knows how to stay, unlike some people. yup, i am freddie fakeman, you would do that for me? you and for christopher. mmmmm like it's nothing. it's not nothing. look i know this whole thing between us has been messy and hard. you do matter to me. i know. eddie would never do anything illegal eddie has a silver star!! you're his dad. he doesn't have a mom. if you don't damage him who will? dad up!! sorry i had to go to the airport to pick up this one. said i was gonna get groceries. it's fine. doesn't seem fine. the trials and tribulations of evan buckley. a tragedy in 97 acts. you've been spiraling since the funeral and nobody knows how to talk to you about it. i don't know buck i wasn't there. eddie- jerk. airport and texas are not the same. they don't even have the same amount of letters. heard some dick was being mean to you, thought you could use a little cheering up

or is that just me rn

[wonist]

red is his favorite — sim jaeyun

synopsis : jake eats u out while ur on ur period bc im going crazy looking at these pictures

cw : dubcon maybe? blood, period blood, oral sex (while reader is on their period), afab reader, fingering, freak jake, use of terms of endearment, just nsfw stuff so minors do not interact

smut under cut lol

jake loves you like this. exhausted and too weak to fight back. he loves when you give up— when you let him make you come so much, you start going dumb for him.

gasps catch in your throat as you try to push him away, whining something about your period. your cramps have ruined your day, your mood— and the last thing you want right now is sex. but jake doesn’t care. he doesn’t stop, instead, he spreads your legs wider, not even trying to be gentle. he’s messy, impatient. he wants to taste you, and a little blood isn’t going to stop him. he was going to make you understand that.

“cmon baby,” he murmurs, licking his lips, eyes locked on the slick mess between your thighs. the mix of wetness and blooding dripping from your cunt only makes his cock harder, leaving his pants feeling tight.

then his mouth is on you. he pushes his tongue inside with a groan, like he’s the one being devoured. you squirm, whining something, still trying to shove him off even though it already feels so good. 

“fuck, you taste so good,” he mutters into you. he doesn’t care what you say, he never does. he’s filthy with it— tongue dragging slow and obscene from your entrance to your clit, making sounds that shouldn’t turn you on. “so sweet,” he hums, “tastes so fucking sweet, baby.” 

you moan without meaning to, legs shaking as he sucks on your clit. he groans against you again, the vibrations sending sparks against your spine. ypu roll your hips against him without thinking, needy and desperate, begging him for more.

and he flicks his tongue against your hole, two fingers circling your clit, teasing you. he doesn’t give you more until you’re crying for it, your legs shaking.

and when you look down, his expression is cruel, because he knows. he knows how disgusting you feel but how much you love it anyway, and he loves that.

he slides two fingers in. they’re long, curling hard inside you, hitting places you could never reach on your own. and he thanks god he’s the only one who can make you feel like this, who can touch you like this.

he doesn’t stop, not when you come once, not when you come again.

when he finally pulls his fingers out, your whimpers make his eyes flutter shut. he lifts his head, his mouth, chin, jaw smeared with blood. you turn your face away, cheeks burning, shy just seeing him like this. but he just licks his fingers clean and grabs your chin, forcing ypur gaze back on him. 

“i knew you’d like it, baby,” he breathes against your lips. a lazy smirk on his face— smug, mean and so pretty it hurts you. you hate him, and you hate how you want more. he leans in and kisses you slow, messy, sliding his tongue in your mouth and you already know he isn’t done with you, not even close.

[probablynotcaptainbritain]

So, I think this is an interesting take, but one that misses a fundamental problem with AI. OP mentions this idea of desiring an artistic output without a particular amount of toil, and thats fair. Many people want to have written a novel or painted a painting without putting time or pain in.

But here's the thing. If you have an AI generate an output of work, you don't have an output of work! *The AI does.* This is, in my opinion less like using a new art software to help smooth out the edges, and more like paying an artist for a commission. It can on some level convey your ideas (more on that in a second), but ultimately it is doing this creation. Using AI for background assistance or the like *is* using an artistic tool! And these features have existed for years! But having an AI generate something whole-cloth is not making art. In fact, I'd argue that claiming you made it is tantamount to plagiarism!(Note: Before I get yelled at, this is not a condemnation of commissioned art! I love commissions a great deal! But Im also not under the illusion that I made them!)

In a similar vein to the commission idea, using AI to express your ideas is inherently going to put a filter over your ideas! You may be attempting to create something that conveys the most powerful ideas, but ultimately your interpretation is not what's being conveyed. Art is personal. Its not just about the ideas in it, but the interpretation coming through. Two people are unlikely to express an idea the same way.

But with an AI you dont know whose perspective its drawing from, or even what imagery its using! A piece intended for queer liberation may feature homophobic imagery you never intended, because you didnt make it!

Even slop made by a person has traces of the creator in it! Maybe its just a paycheck, and you can see it in ragged lines that aren't on the works that excite them. Maybe to them art is just disposable entertainment, who knows? Its still slop, but by the gods its slop that is theirs. AI Slop cannot be said to be made by anyone, as its just regurgitated ideas that dont even have cynicism or weariness.

I also think there are ideas about differences between Commercial and Private art swirling around this conversation that I dont have the energy or knowledge base to unpack, but still wanted to acknowledge are present.

To Circle Back To the idea of an Artistic Output Without Toil And People Not Deserving to Make Art: I think its absolutely possible to make meaningful art without significant amount of toil. I think a small doodle that took someone 3 minutes, or a poem on the back of a napkin can be beautiful, soulful art.

One of my favorite pieces of art is a silly Wonder Woman sketch my partner drew me. It didn't take the same level of toil that say The Wave of Kanegawa, or New Mutants 18 or Look Back took. But it was theirs, and they made it with the things that make them theirself. Im sorry to say this, but an AI couldn't do that! Couldn't make me grin like an idiot seeing it, or tear up right now thinking about it. Art is very personal whether you realize it or not! A big part of the beauty of art is the pieces of the people who make it embedded in the work.

I also think AI feeds into people's expectation that art has to look certain ways! The problem is rarely the artist, and more often the preconceived notions weighing them down. When you dont feel like you're capable of making the art you want, you're more likely to make someone or something else do it for you.

But once you push past expectations, there's a world of art you *can* make! If its a matter of technical ability, and you not being able to make exactly what you envision: Try other tools, or even another medium! If you don't know how to draw it, try making it as a collage! Making art is fun when you free yourself from the expectation of how it should look! You may even surprise yourself with how it turns out!

I believe that every single person on earth is capable of great art if they only give themselves the chance to make it. I just want to see you all flourish. :)

(Sorry if this is rambly, but the above post gave me a lot of thoughts and feelings!)

atp i hope it's clear that my stance is not that everyone needs to like and be okay with generative ai art, my stance is that i am not going to take your reasons for disliking generative ai art seriously if they are rooted in the idea that it's bad because it can't produce art with a soul. or that the very act of desiring an artistic output without putting in Enough Work To Deserve It is threatening the fabric of society.

It's an obscenely conservative way to think about art and i'm not going to give it any legitimacy at all. i don't believe in a human soul and i don't believe the value of art comes from the amount of toil it required. i think that, right now and for the rest of human existence there will be creatives who continue to use the tools at their disposal to express meaningful ideas into the world. i don't think the idea that one of those tools could theoretically be an AI image generator is that unreasonable.

most ai generated content is slop but plenty of stuff crafted by human hands is slop too. the way to separate good art from bad art is not by drawing hard lines about what is 'allowed' to count as art, or saying there is an irreplaceable quality to a work that it gets imbued with when created by an Ensouled Being. the way to separate good art from bad art is to earnestly engage with the things you see in the world around you to develop and refine your own tastes about what sort of things you find meaningful and valuable.

it's like such a bizarre simultaneous devaluing and sanctifying of art at the same time to me. like art is so important and special and species-defining and the people who make it possess some sort of unique spiritual quality that can not be artificially replicated. but also Art is somehow a fragile and narrow enough thing that it's at risk of being irreparably bastardized or eradicated because of a machine. i don't get it. i don't get it!

[juanarc-thethird]

Identity theft #1

Cinder: Okay, here's the plan: Neo will impersonate Pyrrha and enter her room to sabotage her weapons, so no one will know.

Emerald: Ok, but what would happen if her teammates show up?

Cinder: I wouldn’t worry about that. Nora and Ren are spending all day searching for the golden pancake, thanks to my amazing ingenuity.

Neo: "And what about the idiot?🤨?

Emerald: Yeah, what about Jaune? Is he busy too?

Cinder: Do you think that Dunce would question Pyrrha? Knowing him, he'd leave her alone while she "works on her weapons."

Neo: "But what if it does?🤔"

Cinder: So you deal with it, but under no circumstances should you throw away your cover, understood?!

Neo: "Yeah sure🙄"

Cinder: Good, now get to work.

Later that day.

"Pyrrha" enters Team JNPR's room, and begins searching through the closets for the real Pyrrha's weapons.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Which one is her closet?😒 I've only found bottles of maple syrup, tea herbs, and comic books. Don't tell me she doesn't have her…👀 Jackpot😎)

In the last closet, she finds Pyrrha's weapons, right at the bottom. She bends down to grab them but is surprised by a somewhat unusual touch.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Is someone touching my ass?!😡)

Jaune: Hello my love, did you hear that Nora and Ren won't be here all day?💕

Pyrrha(Neo): (Wait? They're a couple?! Wow... but I need to leave now. I'll just step aside and leave before anything else happe-AaaH~💕)

Neo feels Jaune's fingers slide inside her. His movements are slow and very stimulating.

Pyrrha(Neo): (God~, this is it, I need to get out of here before…😳!!!)

Suddenly she feels something hot and big between her ass cheeks. She looks back and sees a tremendous, well-endowed piece of meat looking at her directly.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Holy shit! Is fucking huge!😨)

Jaune: Sorry, I know you prefer it in bed, but you've made me so mad for you that I can't control myself. Is it okay if I put it inside you?

Neo can't stop looking at his member after he asked her that, and a silly idea popped into his head.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Well, Cinder did said to do whatever it takes to not blow our cover😏)

She looks at him and gives him a nod.

Meanwhile...

Cinder: Why is Neo taking so long?

Emerald: Maybe she stumbled upon something that can't get out yet?

Cinder: Maybe. Whatever it is, I hope it's a matter of life or death. Because if it isn't, she's going to get it.

Back to Neo...

Still wearing the "Pyrrha" disguise, Jaune has her on all fours, hitting her from behind with his tremendous meat stick, and choking her by the neck gently but firmly.

PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!

Pyrrha(Neo): "💕😮‍💨💕🤤💕‼️"

Jaune: Oh god💕! You're tighter than usual! I think I'm gonna cum!

Pyrrha(Neo): (YEs!💕 Cum inside me!💕 I want to feel your delicious warm milk inside me!💕)

Jaune: Oh Fuck💕! Im close!

Pyrrha(Neo): (Do it! Make me yours!💕💕)

Jaune: Oh Pyrrha!!💕

At that moment she can't feel her insides filling with cum, so much that some of it comes out.

Pyrrha(Neo): ( FUuUCk YEeeEes!💕💕)

They both take a breath. Then Jaune pulls his cock out of her, and it all spurts out like a champagne bottle. Staining the floor with his creamy milk.

Jaune: Oh god, I didn't think I'd cum that much. Well, how about a shower and then we go work out a bit?

Pyrrha(Neo): *Nods back*

Jaune: Excellent, I'll wait for you inside.

He says and gets up to go straight to the bathroom. Neo looks at Pyrrha's weapons and thinks for a moment.

Pyrrha(Neo): (I guess this is my only chance to finish the job🫤)

She then hears the sound of the shower running.

Jaune: Pyrrha, come on. I need you to clean me very thoroughly~💕

Pyrrha(Neo): (Well, I can't say I didn't try☺️)

She gets up and heads towards the shower.

But in the midst of all this, she never realized that a person was watching them from the shadows, one very happy to see such an event.

??????: *Giggles* Interesting

To be continued…

[itertarot]

Tarot | Love

Pick an image:

1. 2. 3.

⋆˚࿔ₒₙₑ ☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊

4. 5.

⋆˚࿔ ₜwₒ ☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊

I'm losing hope, honestly. I’m just losing hope in us. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, being patient, holding onto something fragile and uncertain, and putting in all of my effort for what feels like nothing in return. It seems like I’ve been waiting for years, standing still, hoping for something to change. I’ve put myself in a place I never even wanted to be in from the beginning, just a friend... How many years have I been here? How long have I been quietly hoping you'd see me differently? Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should have been more upfront from the start. Maybe I should have shown you more clearly how much I care, shown you that I’m the right person for you. I actually tried, I really did, but you didn’t see me. You didn’t notice the way I looked at you, the way I showed up for you, the way I stayed. And now… I feel like I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep living like this, waiting endlessly for a moment that may never come. I can’t keep letting you hurt me, even if I know deep down that you’re not doing it on purpose. It’s not your fault. You never promised me anything. But I wanted something more. I always wanted you. I’ve been in love with you all along. I’ve been wishing every single day that you’d notice me, that you’d finally give me a chance, that you’d wake up and realize I was here, right in front of you, all along. But I’m tired. I’m worn out from hoping. If you don’t feel the same way… okay. It hurts more than I can say, but I understand. And if that’s the case, then I’ll walk away. For my own peace, I have to.

⋆˚࿔ ₜₕᵣₑₑ ☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊

There’s no secret, Im in love with you. I’ve made myself very clear. I love you. I’m in love with you. I adore you. You are the love of my life. I love you. Have I said I love you? I love you. My love for you is so much more than all the drinks I’ve had tonight, it’s bigger than anything, bigger than an ocean… (At this point, they would try to hug you, get very close to your face, and spend quite a while being clingy and repeating how much they adore you, emotional drunk vibes.). I’ve got our whole future planned out! I know exactly what we should do, listen to me, take me seriously, because this is a genius idea (Here, it becomes very personal. For some, it’s them trying to convince you to travel together, for others, it’s suggesting you try a new hobby or go to an event together, If you’re both in school, it could be them wanting to do a project together. For a small few, it could even be related to a work project idea. They’ll be extremely confident, believing they’ve come up with the greatest plan ever, so be ready to hear a full, step-by-step “brilliant” plan they’ve built in their head.). You know something? I don’t want to lose you. Yeah, I want you only for me. I’ll fight for you. Who do they think they are? Why do they think they can steal you from me? No, not that easily. I won’t let them. I want them away from you. I will fight for you, and I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m the only one who loves you this deeply. They’re no match. Yes, I’ve been insecure. Yes, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. I’m jeal… I want to keep you only for me. Only mine. Mine!

⋆˚࿔ Fₒᵤᵣ ☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊

Baby, I'm so heartbroken and tired of you being cold towards me. Just give me a little love and tell me you care about me. I'm over being tough and pretending I've got my life together and that I don't care. I do care. I've been patiently waiting for an opportunity to get closer to you, hoping that something would change and bring us closer. It's my fault. I haven't done anything to show you I care. I don't even believe you care. Can we just...? I don't know. Can we just get to know each other again? Can we just take it slow and maybe go for coffee? I'm not in a rush. I'm not young anymore. I want something stable. I'm not here to play, I don't even have the energy for that. But I want to take you out and maybe you'll get interested in me too. Will you accept?

⋆˚࿔ Fᵢᵥₑ ☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊

Maybe it’s the drink, maybe I’ve had too much, but I feel like I need to tell you this: I’m in love with you. I am. I’ve been afraid to confess my feelings, but right now I finally feel like I have the courage to say it: i love you. You have no idea how much you mean to me, how deeply I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, and how much I crave a relationship with you every night before I fall asleep. You live in my thoughts day and night. You're in the back of my mind with every decision I make, every move I take, because you’re the woman I want to cherish for the rest of my life. I want to take care of you, to love you every single day. I want to make you feel loved, safe, and warm. I’m serious about what I feel. I have patience if you’re not ready now, I really do. But you have to know one thing: you’re not just someone to me… you’re the one.

Since our breakup, I left, completely miserable, but I left, I did what I needed to do. You took everything from me, I lost, I really did. For me, none of it was fun, none of it was worth it. All our fights just hurt me, it wasn’t what I wanted. And honestly, I don’t even know now why we had to fight so much in the first place. But even though you made me go through the worst pain of my life, even though you took everything and left me with nothing, I still found the strength to heal. I’m not healed, but I’m healing… slowly.

I don’t want a relationship with you. There’s nothing left to save about us anymore. Even though it hurts deep in my soul, I will keep moving away from you, because I believe I deserve to be happy. I deserve someone who will love me just as much as I love them, someone who won’t hurt me like you did. I accept all the punishment I deserve. I take responsibility for my faults, and I’m sorry for everything I did wrong, truly. But I’m healing, and I think you should too. If you hear that I’m with someone else, it’s not true. I need time for myself. I need to be alone right now.

For some of you, this person could have cheated and now they’re paying for what they did.

For others, there may be rumors that this person cheated or is secretly with someone else, but that is not true.

And for a very few of you, this person will open up about all the pain they went through with someone else, how much it broke them, and how they are now healing, with no intention of going back to that situation again.

[tobesolnelyx]

fratboy!lottie with a VERY insightful + empathic girl fem!reader who literally sees right through Lottie. her inner pain, the reasons for her behavior, what she hides, everything. fem!reader doesn't know the exact answers, but she always guesses (and somehow always right), and she just really wants to help Lottie feel better, her main goal is to make Lottie feel accepted and loved, but Lottie herself has a hard time with someone digging around in her head. She is simply very scared that someone sees her so deeply, but at the same time, it seems, continues to love her. NSFW or SFW it doesn't matter!!

I really hope that this request will be heard because I have never seen anything like this. thank you for everything you do!

— every breath you take || fratboy!lottie matthews x fem!reader 🪐

a/n: yes, im very aware about what this song is. STILL, it reminded me about this cute little tik tok trend. it's not as cute lol, wrote this while listening all too well 10 minutes version

summary: your girlfriend has problems, but you can't really help when someone is scared of that, can you? hurt/comfrot.

warnings: toxic parents, family issues.

word count: around 1.6k

“Are you alright?” you asked, even though it was more than certain Lottie wouldn’t answer. At least not directly, not with any honesty. That wasn’t what frustrated you most—it wasn’t that she was unreadable. In truth, she wasn’t that hard to decipher. Not because she was transparent, but because when she shut herself off from everyone and pretended she didn’t need anyone, you could still see right through her.

She wanted to be your support, but she didn’t necessarily want it to work the other way around.

You never quite understood why you got her so well. Honestly, Lottie found it more irritating than anything else. You always seemed to know what to do, what to say, how to act. And she had no idea what to do with any of that. She didn’t like how deep you could dig, didn’t like the part of her that knew she would eventually have to open up if this thing between you was going to work. After all, no one had ever taught her how to build something healthy… how to go through all this.

Even the way she held herself—tense, frozen, like an animal alert to danger—told you that things were far from okay. She was staring at some invisible point in the distance, sitting on the porch, lazily smoking a cigarette in her left hand. Her blouse was unbuttoned and wrinkled, the aftermath of whatever that family gathering had been.

Eventually, Lottie looked at you and sighed, then wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. She smelled like cigarette smoke and some absurdly expensive perfume. You didn’t even know the brand, but it stung your nose—it always did. She used too much of it.

“Sure” she murmured. Even though her voice sounded like she’d just spent an hour breaking rocks in a quarry, her tone was firm enough to shut down the topic. “Just tired.”

The problem was, you tended to push. Not because you wanted to burden her further or expose all her wounds at once and betray her entirely. It was more that you just wanted to help. You just didn’t know how—other than always being right.

The porch light flickered. Moths and mosquitoes had begun to gather around it. The Matthews’ backyard was wrapped in stillness, broken only by the rustling trees and the gentle trickle of water in the pond. Evening was cooling, and Lottie was lazily rubbing your arm, trying to warm you up. You’d have to go back inside soon anyway—someone would eventually notice and come looking. Lottie definitely didn’t want to be found. She preferred to return on her own, even if it meant facing more passive-aggressive comments, masked in charm and soaked in overpriced wine.

She never told you outright, but you saw it. It wasn’t hard to miss. From the first dinner with her parents, you noticed how stiff she became in their presence. At first, you didn’t understand. Lottie had everything she could ever want. She practically embodied the stereotype of a rich brat who thought the world owed her.

But by the next family gathering—the one you had the (dis)pleasure of attending—you saw what you’d missed the first time. When her dad cracked his jokes at dinner, and her mom offered you dessert with a too-sweet smile, you finally noticed the barbs. The offhand comments, prettily wrapped like gifts, pretending to be something they weren’t. It wasn’t just comparisons to other kids from that outrageously wealthy neighborhood. It was the nitpicking, the little jabs placed precisely where the seams were weakest, slipping through soft fabric to pierce the core.

You wondered if they said things about you, too, behind your back. Maybe Lottie never meant to tell you, but by the way people looked at you across the table—and the way Lottie’s hand grew clammy as she held yours beneath it—you were fairly certain you weren’t the dream candidate.

“Girls,” came the sugary voice of one of Lottie’s aunts, the kind that made her visibly shudder. “It’s getting cold. Come in.”

It wasn’t a request. Not even a question. Just an order, as if the woman—dressed in hopelessly mismatched clothes—might perish from scandal if you didn’t obey. Sometimes you wondered if it had always been this way. If Lottie had always lived under this looming pressure, with family breathing down her neck, whispering that she had to be someone. That she had to do something worthwhile—anything that wouldn’t bring shame to them all.

Fights happened.

Maybe even more often than either of you wanted to admit. They weren’t an everyday occurrence, but they were a constant presence—repeating themselves in familiar rhythms. Something would stir inside Lottie, something she wasn’t willing to talk about, and all it took was a glance from you to know something was off. Most times, it had to do with her family, so guessing the source of the tension wasn’t exactly difficult.

“Lot,” you murmured, climbing into bed beside her as she sat, hollow-eyed, nursing yet another cigarette like it might ease the pressure bearing down on her chest—as if it might offer some kind of solace.

Lottie felt disappointed. Disappointed that her parents had never given her what she truly needed. And until she met you, she’d believed love simply wasn’t for her. The whole idea of it seemed distant, like something meant for other people, never for her.

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” she muttered, waving you off like a fly buzzing at her ear, trying to quiet the world.

It ended differently each time.

Sometimes in sex—when you slipped behind her and offered something to anchor her, if only for a moment. In those tangled limbs and synchronised breaths, she could almost believe she was someone worth holding on to. Someone you needed.

Sometimes she simply left—fleeing the conversation, disappearing for hours to wrestle whatever storm raged in her mind. You knew what haunted her. That knowledge alone unnerved her. She had been ignored for so long, bought off with money and silence. And then you came along and gave her too much attention. Too much care.

And sometimes—worst of all—you both ended up screaming.

You tried to understand her, always. But you were only human, with a storm of your own. The frustration would rise until it boiled over. Lottie never needed to explain herself—because you already knew. But that didn’t mean she wanted to talk about any of it. Partly because she feared you’d one day treat her like her parents did. And partly because saying it aloud—naming that fear of never being enough—might make it real. Like a curse fulfilled the moment it passed her lips.

“You don’t get it!” she’d explode when you pushed too hard. But she knew you did. Probably better than anyone ever had, and that scared the hell out of her.

“For God’s sake, just let it go! Can you even do that?”

“I’m asking for one conversation, Lottie!” Your arms fell to your sides, your eyes wide with disbelief. Like you hadn’t had this same, senseless argument a dozen times. But maybe that’s what it took. Maybe this was some part of the process. You clung to the hope that one day, Lottie would understand you the way you tried so hard to understand her.

“It’s not that much, is it? I see something’s wrong!”

“Because you’re a nosy bitch, that’s why!” She didn’t mean it. But she wasn’t thinking about what she said. “Just stop hovering, okay? Maybe we’re together, but I don’t need you playing my fucking mother all the time!” She gestured wildly. “I’m sick of your bullshit. You don’t know shit about how I feel!”

Lottie was terrified by how deeply you saw her. So she did what she knew: she pushed. Hard.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, drew in a long breath, and readied yourself to say something—maybe to soothe her, to try again, to start from the beginning like you always did.

But the door had already slammed behind her, Lottie gone in a fury.

Only to return hours later with flowers in hand, kissing your face like a woman drowning, apologising through half-sobs. Telling you she didn’t mean any of it. That she’d just been upset. That she loved you more than anything, and she couldn’t lose you—not over something so stupid.

You both knew it wasn’t just something stupid. But you let it slide. Even though you knew better.

You gave her space to be safe, even when she squirmed inside it, unable to sit still in her own skin. You forgave her—because no matter how often she pushed you away, she always pulled you back again. Like she didn’t know what to do with this strange new feeling—being seen, heard, held—for the first time in her life.

Later, Lottie would learn what a healthy family could look like.

She’d learn it when you brought her home for the holidays, to your parents’ house. She might’ve cried—just a little—when your mother baked her favourite cake just because she wanted. Curled beside you in bed late that night, she let the tears fall quietly, not saying a word. You might’ve planted that idea yourself. Just maybe.

[azonewithu]

Its ok i just haye everyone again. I hot lots of work in a shitty world ive ordered a kilo. Im going back to being Lethal we re likely enemies now. I hate you tv movie bitch assholes. Younreslky arent human once you tske on too nany roles. You no longgee can talk for fear of losing what you have. Or how people look at you. Looknwhet i havevto donEi gs covered in blood heart black. Im cheering for the red wings theyre not in it yhis year do forget hockey. I never really liked thosevtypenof people anyway. Everyone just tries to fit in. Cause sports ste too reptiyive and theyre kind of stupid boring. One a year i need to watch a game of snything. Whiever eins i care not where theyre from nothing. I hate everybidy everywhere so theres nowhere gor me to go. Ill just go home its better there. This place is idiotic snd cruel but you learned thetes bigger fish than humanity in the galaxy like me. And no you never ever had a doecislnllace above other beings in Gids eyes thats a koran fyckn lie fuvk thst rag yoo. Stuff it in ur own ur ass muzzie. We font cste nor do i ever wanna hesr passages for shit. Its s lunatics terririst guidebook to me. Rules too harsh whet muzzie oiece of shit wants to duel? See Emma or sucks to have to cone out and say the truth but i cant lie sboit God. God hates you all now. Thats thevtruth. No one here is kind no one herevis good. I told sn okd lsdy tiday a nice looking kne Gid dedpises this planet hes fone hes tired of propke and hes sent me to kill you all. I said thos to a lil old lady youbkniecehst dhe did sfyer i said utscehet you all deserve. She nodded and dmiled in a funny way. I said do you know already. Youre honna be sll right lady most people no. Yiu lived to understsnd but evrn if ur 22 ignorsnce is nobexcuse. She smiled and put her hand on mine. Good people Emma Watson truly actusl good people im sorry thats realky npt you or I it idbt nor you for sure. But for good people i feel bad for them. Good people suffer yhe most. Evil oeopke these days prosper. So how you doin orospering? Think about that you know nothing about sacrifice. What firvyour career thats not a resl sacrifice. Maybe i shpukd just sacrifice you instead. My troops tecommended thats the beet clurse of scrion to i kill you. I told them unless i say otherwise snyone touches her your ass is universsl grasssss. Youll duffer yhe worst tprture in all history. So theyre chill for now.

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005) + Joe Wright’s DVD Commentary

[elliespassagerprincess]

that professor ellie was perfect. please do a nsfw one LOL i feel like she’d be so sweet but also lowkey not BUT ONLY SOMETIMES bc she’s usually gentle but other times she’s like I HAVE TO HAVE YOU HEHEHE but never too crazy but also is she??? im spiralling

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie / first time / nsfw headcannons (currently reading) / more headcannons / grading

starting a life together / getting married / having a baby

warning: NSFW content! MDNI 18+

☆ By day, she’s the composed, sarcastic, brilliant literature professor — but behind closed doors, Ellie becomes the kind of woman who whispers filth in your ear while holding your face like you’re precious.

☆ Her desk is definitely not just for grading. She’s taken you over it more than once, locking the door and muttering, “Need to teach you a real lesson.”

☆ Ellie buys you expensive lingerie “for her eyes only” — and makes you wear it under your clothes to class just to tease her. She'll smirk knowingly while lecturing, completely composed while you're squirming.

☆ That calm, slow professor tone? It drops an octave when she’s turned on, and it drives you wild. Especially when she reads poetry to you while touching you.

☆ She worships your body. Whispers “my good girl” while brushing your hair out of your face. Calls you brilliant, beautiful, irresistible — even when you’re falling apart beneath her.

☆ Subtle in public — a hand on your lower back, a kiss to your temple — but in private? She's feral. Leaves marks like she’s afraid someone else might look at you wrong.

☆ Ellie makes everything sound intellectual… even sex. “Let me illustrate this theory,” or “Let’s conduct an experiment,” as she pins your wrists down.

☆ Some nights it’s slow, candlelit, and gentle. Other nights she’s gripping your hips, leaving you breathless and blissed out because she needed you that bad.

☆ When she keeps the glasses on during sex, you know she means business. She looks down at you like you’re a book she’s studied a thousand times but still finds something new every time.

☆ Yes, she will continue a sentence or a theory while slowly sliding her fingers into you — “Pay attention. This part’s on the test.”

☆ Weekend mornings always start with lazy kisses, sleepy fingers, and Ellie growling, “Don’t get up. Not until I’m done with you.”

☆ Ellie lives to see how far she can push you. Fingers, mouth, toys — she’ll draw it out until you’re crying her name like it’s scripture.

☆ Once in a while she gets so turned on she loses it — hair messy, biting your shoulder, saying “I need you. Right now. Don’t care where.”

☆ Immediately after, Ellie’s soft as ever — running you a bath, wrapping you in one of her flannels, feeding you strawberries like you’re royalty.

☆ That locked drawer in her office? Yeah, it’s not just for documents. It holds your favorite toy, a silk blindfold, and one of your panties she “borrowed.”

☆ Reading You Erotica: She’ll find the filthiest passage from some obscure book and read it to you while you sit in her lap, grinding slowly, whimpering.

☆ If someone else flirts with you, Ellie pulls you close, kisses you hard, and whispers, “Mine. Let me remind you.”

☆ She doesn’t always need to speak. Sometimes it’s a look — those sharp green eyes locking on you — and you know to drop to your knees.

☆ She tells you she dreams about you. That she can’t concentrate in meetings because she’s thinking about how you taste, how you sound.

☆ She calls you her “thesis.” The one thing she’ll never stop studying, never stop learning, never stop needing.

☆ Her hand wraps around your throat, but it’s never rough — it’s possessive. She leans in, kisses your lips softly, and says, “Breathe for me. That’s my girl.”

☆ One time, she made you sit through one of her lectures with a remote-controlled vibe inside you. Smiled at you from the front like nothing was happening — then turned it up when she caught you squirming.

☆ Ellie isn’t flashy with bondage. She prefers silk ties, slow binding, and long stares as she murmurs, “You look better like this. All mine.”

☆ Ellie needs to hear every sound you make. She’ll edge you for hours just to hear the pitch of your moans change, cataloguing them like they’re part of a study.

☆ She tugs your hair not just to dominate, but to angle your head up — to kiss you, to praise you, to look you in the eye and say, “So fucking pretty like this.”

☆ If you're a student, she makes you earn your orgasms during finals. “Get an A, and I’ll ruin you. Fail, and I’ll really ruin you. Either way, baby, you’re not walking right.”

☆ Ellie has a thing for your hands on her — gripping her shoulders, clutching her shirt, leaving nail marks down her back. She thanks you for them like you gave her a gift.

☆ She once let you ride her while still wearing her full robe, glasses slipping down her nose, hand on your waist as she said, “Professor’s privilege.”

☆ If you ever admit to having a dream about her, Ellie insists you describe every detail — while she touches you exactly how you described it.

☆ In bed, she gets scary quiet. One word from her — strip, stay, come — and your body obeys before your brain catches up.

[reavesluv]

Cameras

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x influencer fem!reader.

Summary: You and Paige are big figures in the internet, Paige just came out to the world as a lesbian and you've always been open about your sexuality. So your managers got a plan.

Fake dating + she plays hard to get

Part 1.

Part 2. “Moving to Dallas.”

notes: Im sorry if this is so bad i honestly have writers block right now 😔

You never thought a fake relationship could change your life in so many ways as it did now that you’re with Paige.

Honestly, Paige wasn’t so bad at all. You two shared a lot of time together while pretending to be lovers, it was actually fun.

Going together to a mall, date nights, park walks with your little Pomeranian called “Cherry.” – Which Paige loves, by the way.

“Cherry! Come here!” You screamed, running behind your dog.

“Y/N, is a damn park. She’s not gonna leave!” Paige screamed watching you run around.

“I don’t care, what if someone steals her?” You screamed back.

“Oh gosh.” She thought. “What did i do to get involved with this girl?”

Paige started running your way to make you stop chasing Cherry.

She was faster than you, obviously. So it wasn’t long until you felt her arms wrapped around your waist making you stop.

You were a little sweaty, trying to calm your breath. But she hugged you anyway.

“I promise you, she’s not gonna leave.” Paige said, wiping away your sweat with her hand.

“Fine.” You pouted. “But if she leaves, i’ll leave you.”

She laughed, amused at what you said. “Oh, you wouldn’t.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, no. But anyway you’re gonna have to find her.”

She chuckled. “Okay, love.”

Oh, love.

Paige had no idea how much you actually cared about her, and she just loved to make all the “pretending” stuff so difficult for you.

“Come here and sit with me, we’ll take some pictures while Cherry plays around.” She adds.

“Okay, sure.” You answer, smiling at her like an idiot.

Being with Paige became more than just a “fake relationship.” But, you were not sure if it was only you, or if she felt the same way.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now you were packing your things, your life, inside three suitcases to move to Dallas, literally the other fucking side of the country.

Draft night was pretty fun, Paige being number one overall pick was amazing, you couldn’t deny that you were really proud of her.

“Congrats, Paige.” You say. Standing up from the table you both were to give her a hug.

“Thanks, pretty.” She answered.

“You’re just teasing me.” You chuckled.

She got closer to your ear so no cameras could record what she was saying.

“Maybe, but is not difficult to pretend i’m not, right?” She said. And after that, she left the table to grab her Wings jersey.

It killed you the fact that Paige loved to pretend. Because that was what she was doing, just pretending.

The after party was worse, everyone blackout drunk, messing around other people. And Paige was definitely one of them.

“Fuck Y/N, you look insanely gorgeous tonight.” She says, getting closer to you. She smelled so much like alcohol you could tell she was not in her five senses.

“Thank you Paige, but you’re too drunk to think.”

“Am i? Naaaahh.” She took another sip of her drink. “Bet you love pretending to be with me.”

“What?” You asked, curious.

“Yeah, don’t lie to me Y/N. I know you love to walk around while everyone thinks i fuck you.”

“Is not like that, Paige.”

“Isn’t it?” She said wrapping an arm around your waist. “Because we could stop pretending and you should let me fuck you.”

Your heart started beating so fast, you didn’t know what to say or do.

“Paige–” You took a deep breath. “I’m taking you home.”

She smirked. “Oh really, now?”

“Yeah, but is not like that. You’re too drunk, and you’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

Fuck, it was really so difficult for you.

“Whatever Paige, but not tonight.” You ended.

She pouted at you. “Can i at least get a kiss? So the cameras can have a little pic of us going around, y’know.”

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would explode. “Ye–ah.?” You tried to answer.

And that was it.

She kissed you. Like she loved you.

And you knew she didn’t.

Next morning, she didn’t remember. Neither of you saw pictures.

So she never knew she kissed you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Do i really have to?” You ask Lena.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But yes, if you wanna keep up with all of this, you need to move in with her.”

“I didn’t expect you would tell me to move in when she got drafted!”

“Well it was obvious, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

Paige was already in Dallas, waiting for you.

You had to text her to tell her the new plan your managers came up with, she didn’t seem bothered by it.

Paige, i have to move in with you, did you hear?

Yeah, Louis told me

You okay with that?

Yeah, i guess we can work it out

Okay, i’ll be on the first plane to dallas tomorrow morning

Alright, i’ll see you then

You weren’t ready, like, why would you be ready to move in with someone you’re not even dating, and worse, in the other side of the country?

The plane landed on dallas. You were not a texas type of girl, so everything was going to change.

Some of the stuff and furniture you had to bring with you from LA was in another plane, so you had to wait for it.

Paige, i’m in texas!

That’s good Y/N, i’m heading to the airport right now

Okay, thank you

see you there, love

Your eyes brightened when you saw her. In a slick back ponytail, nike dunks and baggy jeans.

“Heeey.” You said.

“Hey, welcome to our new city.” She answered.

You chuckled and hugged her softly. “Is it good in here?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Just a bit hot, though.” she laughed.

You both chuckled. Paige noticed you had a worried look on your face, so she held your hand softly.

“We’ll make this work Y/N. We complement each other.”

“Yeah, i know.” You sighed. “I just really miss California.”

She chuckled. “Hey, but at least you have me.”

You chuckled back. “You’re right. I’m here, but with you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

finally part 2, i’m so sorry, im a lazy writer 🤓

tags! @niya500

[emmiesoverthemoon]

talk that talk

pairing: ot8 x reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: my description of how each member from stray kids talks dirty off of vibes. (im correct)

tags: established relationships. smutty/suggestive content. enjoy

chan is the type to make you feel like you're in charge—until you're not. he talks in a soft, coaxing, teasing tone. he listens when you speak. he nods when you pose a question. and then, when your voice wavers and your body shudders, that softness turns to steel. his hands tighten, his voice lowers, his eyes darken. he wasn't put on this earth only to be the man you deserve—he was also put here to worship you until your legs shake and your mind empties.

when you talk dirty, chan lets you lead at first—his grin curls slow and mischievously while his voice drops, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand like you're the only person that matters. but if your voice becomes shy and your tone begins to drip with want? his fingers will dig into your waist, grounding you, and his voice will dive deep in command. “you know what you do to me, right?” he'd murmur as he pushed you back into the mattress. he knows to take over once he knows you want him to.

chan’s favourite things to say to you are breathless praises and possessive groans—spoken low against your skin, as if branding you with each syllable.

“you’re doing so well, baby. so, so good for me.” “you're mine. all of you. say it again.” “god, you feel unreal—tight, wet, perfect. let me stay like this.”

sweetheart, baby girl, love, good girl, and when it gets intense—mine becomes the most guttural thing you will hear from his lips. most of the time, hearing his own name slip breathily from your lips is what really gets his possessive gears grinding. but when he's feeling particularly freaked up—from jealousy, overprotectiveness, or what have you—sir or daddy is what you're to refer to him as.

minho is the type to edge you for hours just because he can. he knows exactly what you want—and he will withhold it until you earn it. his tone is clinical, calm, even polite… and somehow that makes it worse. he's surgical with his words; he uses praise like a blade, and mockery like a drug. and the cruellest part? it's never actually mean. it's controlled. measured. intentional. he is dominance veiled in calm—unmoving until he strikes. he makes you feel precious just to break you down gently, until you are pliant and pliable under his sharp tongue and silk-threaded hands.

when you talk dirty, minho tilts his head and gives you a condescending look. “is that so?” he says, already planning how he will undo you piece by piece. already planning step by step in his head exactly where he will place his hands in order to drag out the building effect he has on you. he isn't easily impressed—but the more you beg, the more he seems entertained.

minho's favourite things to say to you are cold, calculated, and ruinous. they're slow-burning threats and reverent declarations, all while he keeps his eyes locked on yours. he enjoys making you feel like the only person in the world—just before ruining you for anyone else.

“do you deserve to cum yet? i don't think so.” “messy already. you should see yourself. so good, but i think you can do better.” “that’s it. cry for it—makes me want to be generous.”

pet, brat, and kitten, are part his typical arsenal of names for you during sex. when he's feeling particularly dominant, or when you've been misbehaving, slut is what he'll likely revert to. when you fall apart for him, pretty thing is what he'll call you—he can be a cunt, but that's only when you like it. he doesn't wanna be mean when you're his fragile girl </3

changbin is the type to melt at praise. call him good, tell him he is yours, show how you love his muscles and he is gone; red in the face, hands gripping the sheets, mind hazy, like you just ruined him with words alone. he is obsessed with your pleasure, your voice, the exact shape of your thighs around his waist. he is built of loyalty and lust, the kind of man who would fight for your heart and then worship your body like it was holy ground.

when you talk dirty, changbin gets this ever so endearing shy, lopsided grin, trying to play it cool even as the tips of his ears go red. he then grits his teeth and groans like he is trying to stay sane. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and then flips you over without warning. his voice deepens, his grip tightens, and he starts muttering curses against your skin. the more you moan, the more desperate he becomes to hear you again, again, again. he loves being praised and even more—he loves making you fall apart while saying his name

changbin’s favourite things to say to you during sex start slow and hesitant, until his brain fogs from how tight, how good, how deep you take him. then, they're desperate gasps mid-thrust or whispered against your shoulder, eyes screwed shut and hands trembling.

“you feel like heaven, i swear—don’t stop, please don’t stop.” “i love it when you ride me, look at you—so perfect like this.” “i’ll give you anything, just tell me.”

baby, angel, love, and when things get intense, they become something primal. he wants you to call him daddy when he is in a possessive mood, but deep down, he melts when you call him binnie through your moans like he is both your man and your soft place to land.

hyunjin is the type to make you feel like art—like something fragile and divine, meant to be admired and worshipped. but the way he touches you? there is nothing fragile about it. his hands roam with purpose, his kisses sink deep, his gaze strips you bare long before his fingers ever do. he is both your poet and your predator—romantic to the bone, obsessed with every gasp that escapes your lips. hyunjin takes his time. he builds you up like a masterpiece, slow strokes and delicate reverence, only to ruin you in the final act with soft-spoken filth and unrelenting hips.

when you talk dirty, hyunjin flushes with pink to his ears, but the reaction is instant—his pupils blow wide, his voice drops, his lips part like he’s imagining every word you say. he whispers your name like a warning, grips your chin like he needs you to say it again. and if you keep going? he’ll snap—pinning you down, his mouth dragging along your jaw as he breathes, “you’re playing a dangerous game, baby.” his rhythm will be languid at first, hypnotic—but when he hears you whimper, the leash breaks, and you will not leave that bed the same.

hyunjin’s favourite things to say to you are breathy declarations and praise-drenched possession—moaned against your neck, etched into your skin like a secret only he gets to know.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this. falling apart for me.” “i’ll never get enough of you. never.” “you belong to me. every inch. every sound. every time.”

baby, angel, muse, princess is what he calls you through heavy breaths, when he's being sweet. but when it turns, when he’s overwhelmed with need or jealousy or both, he wants to be called sir, and he wants it whispered like a confession. like it’s the only word your little brain knows how to pronounce. he will ruin you just to hear it crack in your voice.

han is the type to act cocky until you pull him closer and his breath catches. he flirts like he has the upper hand, but the moment your fingers curl around his jaw or you lean in too close, his knees metaphorically buckle. (maybe also literally, but shh, he's embarrassed). he craves your attention like oxygen—always a little touch-starved, always a little desperate for approval. he talks a big game, but you only need to press your lips to his neck or drag your nails lightly down his back to have him stuttering apologies for ever thinking he was in control.

when you talk dirty, han loses all sense of rhythm. he tries to keep up, biting his lip, letting out breathy laughs, his mind running on overdrive. “w–wait, say that again?” he pleads, eyes wide and glassy with need. the second you praise him—tell him how good he sounds, how pretty he looks falling apart for you—he melts completely. if you guide his hands, or tug his hair, or hold him down gently? he will thank you for ruining him. over and over again.

han’s favourite things to say to you are filthy, fast, and relentless—laced with laughter and moans, but delivered with sincerity that turns your stomach inside out.

“fuck, i love it when you sound like that. say it again.” “you’re so fucking tight, baby—just for me, yeah?” “you’re mine tonight. no one else gets this.”

baby, honey, sweetheart are his soft spots to call you. but when you call him pretty boy or my good boy in a low, sultry tone while tugging on his shirt's collar or grinding down into his lap, his brain just stops working. he wants to be yours more than anything—heart, body, and every last moan. underneath all the fun, he’s got a dark streak and a desperate need to be needed—especially when you cry his name like he’s the only thing holding you together.

felix is the type to ruin you with softness. he might blush when you kiss his neck or tease him with dirty words, but when it counts, he becomes someone else entirely—confident, controlled, and low-voiced, like your pleasure is a symphony he was born to conduct. his voice alone could get you off—deep, melodic, laced with honey and heat, and he knows it. and he uses it to his advantage. felix touches you like he’s memorising, like he wants to hold the shape of your pleasure in his palms forever. he makes you feel safe even while you unravel beneath him, telling you how good you are between every breathless thrust.

when you talk dirty, felix stutters for half a second—eyes wide, freckles glowing under a flush—but then he smirks, and something shifts. “is that so?” he murmurs, and suddenly your back is on the sheets and he is between your legs, voice like thunder beneath a velvet sky. he will tease you for making him flustered—“you’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart”—but every movement after is calculated, deliberate, grounding you with the full weight of his desire until you are the one too shy to speak.

felix’s favourite things to say to you are low, drawn-out praises soaked in sweetness and sin. he speaks like he means every syllable, because he does—he adores you, even when he is wrecking you.

“you sound so pretty, baby. just like that.” “that’s it—take it. you’re doing so well.” “you feel like heaven. fuck, i never want to stop.”

baby, sweet girl, sunshine, darling, and when it gets intense—good girl rolls off his tongue like a promise, like a reward. he loves hearing you say sir in that soft, breathless tone that makes him feel like he is your whole world—which he is.

seungmin is the type to challenge you with sharp eyes and even sharper wit, but the moment you press him down and look at him like he is yours, his defiance crumbles like sugar. he likes pretending he is unfazed—cool, snarky, amused—but you only need to kiss him slow and speak with intent, and suddenly his breath is catching in his throat. he wants to test your limits, push you with teasing sarcasm, only so you’ll eventually make him eat his words—gently, cruelly, lovingly. he is the type who wants to be undone so thoroughly that he forgets the punchlines on his tongue.

when you talk dirty, seungmin rolls his eyes at first—half embarrassed, half intrigued. but the second your voice turns low and your hands become firm, he flushes down to his chest. “you think that’ll work on me?” he says, but he is already shifting in place. and if you get soft with it—praise him through your teeth, tell him how good he is, how beautiful he looks like this—his head tilts back, and he lets you take everything. he will give in slowly, painfully, sweetly. but once you have him, he does not hold back. he clings, he gasps, he whimpers into your mouth.

seungmin’s favourite things to say to you are spoken half under his breath, like he is embarrassed to want you this much but unable to help it. he starts off snide—“is that all you’ve got?”—but when you touch him just right, that bravado melts. his voice gets quieter, more reverent. there is a tension in the way he speaks to you, like he is trying to hold back, like you make him lose all control. and when you take care of him? when you praise him or ride him slow? he forgets how to be sarcastic. all that comes out are soft little confessions, barely holding together.

“go harder—if you’re gonna use me, then at least do it right.” “you’re unreal… i don’t know how to breathe when you touch me like that.” “please… just—don’t stop. you feel too good. i need more.”

he calls you smartass if it fits—just to be cheeky, just to see the way you react. otherwise, he sticks to baby, princess, or when he is really gone—angel. but what slips most often is your name, whispered into your skin like a prayer, like he needs to anchor himself to something while you ruin him piece by piece. he acts like he hates being called good boy—but his body never lies. he secretly loves when you murmur it against his neck while grinding down on him.

jeongin is the type to pretend he does not want to be told what to do—until your hand’s in his hair and you’re murmuring in his ear. he plays aloof, calm, cocky even. but the moment your dominance turns gentle and assured, his bravado cracks. he lives for the challenge of resisting you, just to see how long he can hold out before giving in completely. you tell him to be still and his breath hitches. you ask if he wants more and he nods like it is a confession. he aches to obey you, even when he tries not to show it.

when you talk dirty, jeongin becomes soft and wide-eyed, biting back whines. he wants to be brave—wants to tease back—but if your tone drops low, or if you’re especially affectionate while commanding him, he becomes shy and pliant. “do you really want me like that?” he will ask, voice small and sweet. the second you confirm it, his eyes flutter shut and his hands reach for anything to cling to. you could make him unravel with praise alone.

jeongin’s favourite things to hear from you are laced with approval and subtle control—things that make him feel treasured and wrecked in equal measure. he thrives on anticipation, thrives on being called out when he is needy and squirming, even if he denies it at first.

“i know you can take it, baby. just like that. good.” “you love when i take control, don’t you? tell me.” “don’t hide from me—let me see that pretty face.”

he loves when you call him baby or sweet thing, or when your voice takes on a mock-gentle tone and calls him my shy boy—he turns to putty every time. but if you call him good boy with an affectionate command, especially during eye contact, he gets so flustered he forgets how to breathe.

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[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓒hampagne 𝓒oast , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza do you miss me too?

─── 𝓨ou think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you. but you don’t. not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to. and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.

❝𝓪ll my last strength against you,

𝓫aby tell me what you need.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. predebut!sophia laforteza x female reader ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff if u squint, undefined relationship, was it ever casual? no. angst (i tried) like a ton of it but i wasn't trying to drown u, hurt no comfort, wc. 3299 a/n. my exams js finished nd i thought id give yall sumn as compensation for the lack of mamma mia updates LMAO i was trying sumn new w this oneshot—writing style wise—nd im ngl it didn't quite go how i wanted to nd i ended up writing less bc of this experimental oneshot 😭😭😭 anyw, this is a long overdue angst from me i tried my best💔💔💔 i saw smn on tiktok say sophia is the type of person ud have a crush on high school nd that mainly inspired this so thanks random tiktok editor. this is mostly how i imagined champagne coast

❝𝔂oung as i want to know,

𝓲'll never let you go.❞

YOU REMEMBER HER BEST IN SHADES OF GOLD. not the kind that glitters, but the kind that glows. sun-warm. skin-close. the kind of gold that poured through her bedroom blinds every time you snuck in past midnight and stayed for as long as you could before school dawned, heart thudding, breath caught between wanting and wondering.

sophia.

sophia with the smile that felt like a secret sunrise. with soft pink polish barely clinging to her nails and the habit of humming songs she hadn’t written yet. her voice always held a lilt of laughter, like a secret being shared. 

she had a laugh that caught sunlight in its rhythm, and a way of remembering everyone's name like it was the most important one she'd ever heard. she moved through the halls like spring after a long winter—bright, warm, impossible not to notice. her presence made lockers bloom and linoleum shimmer. 

she’d offer a compliment with such genuine ease that it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. she held eye contact like she was seeing you for the first and last time all at once. sophia, who always smelled like vanilla chapstick and the faintest trace of gardenias after rain. you said her name like a prayer you didn’t believe in but kept whispering anyway. just in case it could save you.

she’s everywhere now. bigger than memory, louder than youth. katseye headlines every festival lineup, and her voice spills from every speaker like honey and summer. but back then, she was just a girl with stardust in her laugh and music in her fingertips. her family’s name opened doors and booked venues, but sophia walked through them like they didn’t matter. she made time slow down. she made you feel like you were being seen through a softer lens.

sophia’s world had always been lyrical. she moved through life like she was humming a song only she could hear. each step light, each smile like a melody lingering in the air long after she’d walked away. 

everything about her felt improvised yet effortlessly right, like the first draft of a poem that didn’t need editing. she spoke in rhythm, thought in metaphor, lived in verses. there was music in her hands, in her laughter, in the way she leaned her head back when she was thinking—as if catching something only the sky could offer.

your world, on the other hand, was cinematic. made of still frames and silences. you didn’t move through life—you watched it. framed things, paused them, looked for symmetry in the ordinary. 

you didn’t always speak, but you noticed everything: the flutter of her lashes when she was about to say something vulnerable, the exact tilt of her smile when she was hiding a bruise of sadness. where sophia saw a lyric, you saw a shot list. where she saw wonder, you saw composition. where she breathed melody, you caught meaning in the silences between.

she narrated the world in chorus; you captured it in light. you were opposites in the way a poem and a film are different ways of saying the same thing. 

and somehow, in those precious months where your lives tangled and bloomed, you translated each other.

you met her in late march. spring still a whisper, flowers barely blooming, the sky bruised with indecision. your film teacher read names off a list, pairing students for the semester film project. you weren’t paying attention until you heard it: "y/n and sophia."

she turned to you with a smile that looked like it belonged to someone in a film already. sharp and soft at the same time. her voice was breezy, casual. "guess we’re partners."

you nodded, blinking, caught in her gravity already.

when you sat together to brainstorm, her notebook was full of lyrics—descriptions of faces in profile, sunflowers, waves crashing over shoulders. 

she wanted to create something that felt like breathing. you wanted to shoot something that felt like dreaming.

so you made a film about nature and people. about how vines wrap around fingers like lovers. how wind braids hair. how skin glows in golden hour like the earth is passing its light into it. sophia became the muse. barefoot in tall grass. spinning in white linen. half-submerged in a creek, laughing. you directed and held the lens like it was a heartbeat.

"you make the world look softer," she said once in awe, watching a playback.

"it only looks like that because you’re in it," you replied. your voice almost cracked from saying it.

she didn’t say anything then. just smiled at the screen, her reflection flickering over her shoulder.

that project was the beginning. the spark. long editing nights that bled into morning. coffee shared from the same chipped mug. the camera always between you—until it wasn’t. until it was just her, and you, and the quiet understanding that bloomed beneath everything left unsaid.

it started, maybe, on the hill.

that nowhere hill behind her high-rise, just past the stillness of manicured parks and closed cafés, where city light softened into starlight. you called it your chapel. the place where time slowed down and everything else disappeared.

every summer night, you’d sneak into her room at twelve-oh-something. her window creaked like it missed you. sophia would be waiting in a hoodie three sizes too big, her braid unraveling like ribbon. sometimes she brought snacks. sometimes she brought a poem. sometimes she brought nothing but herself.

and that was enough.

you’d walk, fingers brushing, shoulders bumping. and when the world was quiet enough, she’d start to sing. something half-formed. breathy. beautiful. you never interrupted. just listened. memorized the shape of her in the dark.

you brought your guitar once. not to impress, not to perform—just to fill the quiet with something that wouldn’t spill over into words. sophia lit up when she saw it, eyes shining like she’d been waiting for this without knowing it.

"you play?" she asked, voice full of something like awe.

"just a little," you said, shy.

she grinned and sat cross-legged in the grass, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. "can i sing?"

and so you played. soft, simple chords beneath your fingers like the beat of a heart learning a new rhythm. and sophia—god, sophia—she sang like her voice belonged to the sky. high, clear, breathy in the way that made your lungs forget how to work. you caught her gaze mid-song, and she smiled at you—not the kind she gave to the world, but the one that felt like it was stitched from your name.

you harmonised by instinct, your voice falling in beside hers like it had always belonged there. no one told you how music could feel like holding hands in the dark. no one told you it could be the first time you really felt someone without the need for physical touch.

when the last note faded, you didn’t speak. just sat there, letting the silence gather around you like a blanket, the ghost of melody still hovering between your mouths.

she leaned her head against your shoulder.

"you think stars remember us?" she asked.

"i think we remember them enough to make it count," you replied.

she looked up at you, pupils wide, eyes full of summer and something softer.

"i don’t want to be forgotten," she whispered.

"you won’t," you promised.

because that was the night something began. not loudly, not clearly, but with a strum and a hum and a shared breath beneath stars.

you'd never play that song for anyone else again. not because it was sacred. but because it already belonged to her.

the first time you kissed, you could feel the earth shift beneath you.

her lips were soft, trembling against yours like they were learning how to be still. the air between you was thick, humming with the kind of tension that seemed too big for both of you, yet you moved closer, closer still, until it was only her and the night and the stillness of a world that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

her hands were on your face, fingers delicate as they traced your jaw, as if committing every contour to memory. and then her mouth was on yours again, and this time, the kiss was deep and slow, a kind of sweetness that burned hotter than you ever imagined. you ran your hands up her sides, fingers exploring the soft curve of her waist, mapping it to memory like it was the only thing you’d ever truly need to know.

you could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her hoodie, the heat from her body seeping into yours. it spread like wildfire, quick and alive, until every nerve inside you was set alight. you held her so close—so impossibly close—that her breath mingled with yours, her heartbeat a steady thrum in the rhythm of your own.

god, you thought, as you kissed her deeper like she was air and you were addicted, letting yourself succumb and drown in her warmth. i have never felt so close to heaven as i have now with my lips on hers, and holding her so close to me that her warmth spills and spreads over me in waves, lighting every nerve lining of mine on fire.

“i think..." you whispered, your voice shaky with something raw, something tender. "i think i like you."

she smiled at you, the softest, saddest smile you'd ever seen, as if she already knew that what was happening between you was fleeting even before the hushed confession, a fleeting thing that would burn bright and quick before it was gone.

but for now, it didn’t matter.

for now, it was just you and her and the kind of kiss that felt like everything.

and for just a moment, you let yourself believe that everything was enough.

senior year rolled in with deadlines and early applications and the kind of weight that makes your bones feel older than they are. you and sophia partnered up for another media project. a short film. something dreamy, something about the in-between. something that felt like both of you.

one afternoon, everyone else had gone home, and it was just you and her in the empty classroom. she was sitting on the windowsill, the wind playing with the ends of her hair, painting her in soft light. you lifted the camcorder, pressed record. through the viewfinder, she looked unreal. backlit, untouchable. like something borrowed from a dream.

and it struck you again—how sophia's world was lyrical, and yours was cinematic. where she sat in that golden light, she looked like a line of poetry you’d never forget. but through your lens, she was also something else—framed, finite, fading even as you filmed. it hit you with a sharp kind of knowing: this would only ever be a memory. the footage would last, but the moment would not.

"what?" she asked, turning to you.

"nothing," you said, even though everything was happening all at once. because in that moment, with her framed by the sky and the silence, you knew. this wouldn’t last.

some people are moments. not destinations.

and sophia? she was a meteor. blazing. brief.

that footage still lives somewhere on your hard drive. you haven't played it in years. you’re not sure you could survive the sound of her voice saying your name in that soft, sun-drenched tone again.

some days, she was distant—her mind lost in melodies you hadn’t yet heard, her gaze turned inward, like she was looking at something beyond you. other days, she clung to you like gravity, as if the weight of her presence alone could pull you back from drifting too far into your own thoughts. 

you started to learn the language of her moods: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was uncertain, how she bit her lip when she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words, as if speaking them would unravel something fragile that was better left unsaid.

one night, there was nothing but the quiet between you. the hum of distant cars, the weight of the stars above. you could feel her next to you, close but just out of reach in a way that made everything feel too heavy, too raw.

"i wish i could keep this forever," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. the words fell from your lips before you could stop them, the kind of wish you didn’t know you had until it was already there, full and aching.

“this?” she asked, her voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“you. us. this...whatever this is,” you murmured, unable to name it, afraid of the weight of what it could mean if you did.

she didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you, the kind of look that made you feel like she could see into the places you didn’t let anyone touch. her smile came slowly, tinged with something tender and sad, as if she already knew what was coming, what was always coming, but wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

"you know some things aren’t meant to go on forever, even if they feel like they could."

you wanted to argue, to tell her that this—whatever this was—felt too big to be just a passing season. but the truth was, you didn’t know what it was. nothing about it was defined, and maybe that made it even more real.

"maybe," you whispered, the ache tightening in your chest. "but even a song gets stuck in your head for years."

and in that moment, with nothing else left to say, you both let the silence stretch between you.

when katseye began to bloom into the world’s consciousness, you watched her from the quiet. from the sidelines. where you had always been. tv interviews filtered through your screen late at night, their light flickering across your bedroom walls like ghosts you couldn’t name. 

there she was—sophia—draped in gowns that shimmered like the sea on moonlit nights, lips painted the soft red of a closing day, laughter threaded with rehearsed charm. people loved her. how could they not?

but you listened closely—not to her words, but to her voice beneath the voice. and god, it still sounded like her. like the girl who once sang barefoot beneath the stars, who curled into your side with wind-tangled hair and asked if heaven could be a person. that voice hadn’t changed. it still held the ache of midnights, the tremble of wishes no one ever said out loud.

but her eyes—her eyes had learned something you hadn’t. they were no longer the windows that once opened only for you, soft and unguarded and impossibly full of wonder. 

now they shimmered with something distant. practiced. eyes that had seen too much, learned how to hold just enough back to be adored but never known. she had become someone the world could look at, but never touch. someone who had learned how to let go.

you didn’t go to the farewell party that night of graduation.

you told people you were busy. that you forgot. but the truth was quieter than that, more fragile. you couldn’t stand the idea of watching her say goodbye to a place she always belonged to, to a chapter she had always meant to leave behind. you couldn’t watch her smile at the crowd and thank them for memories that brushed her skin.

so instead, you went to the hill. the hill that started it all. 

alone.

the one you both used to sneak off to when the world felt too sharp. the one where you’d bring your guitar, and she’d bring her voice, and between the two of you, you created something unnamable. you didn’t bring the guitar this time. there was no need. even the silence was loud with her absence.

you lay on the grass and stared at the sky until the stars blurred, your throat aching with a name you refused to say out loud. but it was there. it always was. in the hush between crickets. in the wind brushing against your cheek like a goodbye you never received. her name lived in the quiet. in the stillness. in the ache.

and maybe that was love.

not the kind that stays, but the kind that marks you anyway.

and sometimes, on the loneliest nights—when the world feels too quiet, and the sky hangs heavy with all the things you never said—you still look up at the stars and wonder if they remember.

two girls. a camera. a song.

you wonder if the stars recall the softness of her voice beside you, how it curled into the night like incense smoke, how your name sounded different when she said it—more alive, more whole. you wonder if they remember how her hand brushed yours in the dark like it meant something, like everything unspoken between you was understood anyway.

one of you rose—like the crescendo of a chorus, like light breaking over a stage. the other stayed—quiet, still, holding onto the echoes.

you don’t talk anymore—an outcome that didn’t come as a surprise—not really. just likes on old photos buried beneath filters and captions that meant more at the time. sometimes a tagged memory surfaces from the past—a birthday, a laugh, a behind-the-scenes shot—and her username feels like a paper cut across your chest. she never shared it, and neither did you. a reminder. a timeline. a pause you never quite recovered from.

every once in a while, champagne coast plays—that damned song you’d both fought over whether to use for the short film or not, that cost hours of editing over something so petty you’d won anyway—. maybe in a café, maybe in the shuffle of a playlist you forgot you made. 

the first few notes are enough. your breath stutters. and suddenly you're seventeen again, filming her by the window of an empty classroom, wind tugging gently at her hair, sunlight turning her into something god might’ve carved by hand.

you still remember the last day of filming. how she laughed at something you said. how you almost kissed her again, but didn’t.

how the golden hour touched her skin like it was saying goodbye too.

that day replays sometimes, in slow motion, like the final scene of a movie that never made it to theaters. you never really wrote an ending. just...stopped filming.

and maybe that’s the cruelest part. that there was no goodbye, no final bow. just the quiet unraveling of something too beautiful to hold.

you think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you.

but you don’t.

not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to.

and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.

and that’s what you carry. not the goodbye. not the could-have-beens. just the memory. just the thought.

the way she looked at you once, when the camera was rolling and she didn’t know it—blissfully unaware she’d changed your life for the better or worse or in between, if that even made sense. the way your name lingered in her voice when no one else was listening.

the stars. the song. the stillness.

her.

and you. forever changed.

not by what lasted—but by what burned bright enough to leave a mark.

even now, you still look up. you find the time to. and sometimes, she’s still there. in the sky. in the silence. in the memory. like light you never forgot how to follow.

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[itzsyiannie]

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓎 ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘

ft. Bakugo Katsuki x (fem!) Reader

summary: the sarcastic, stone faced katsuki hates sweets. how would he feel after you give him the sweetest treat he's tasted.

warnings: smut! fem!receiving oral, porn with minimal plot, reader described as 'kind, gentle ect.', overstimulatation, finger sucking

authors note: first fanfic on my newest account !!, all my longer, full length fic will be posted on my A03, this is purely for imagines and smua content!! fanfic requests are in my bio! love you all <33

Katsuki Bakugo~ who promises that he despises sweets, rather opting for spicier, bitter flavours. saying how a sweeter pallet is for the more immature people of society.

however, he cant help but imagine how sweet you taste, the kind and caring newest student to 1A, so warm to everyone, including him. you must taste as good as you act, right?

he imagined your angelic voice yelling out moans of pure bliss, as he sucked and licked your pussy, indulging in your scent and taste. he was desperate. he's never been desperate before.

Katsuki Bakugo~ who invited you round to his dorm for a 'movie night', walking into his room to find him sprawled out on him bed, staring up at you.

he looked in pain. if his flushed face, damp forehead which his hair stuck too, didnt give it away. the fierce, animalistic look on his face did.

the more he smelt your sugary perfume, the more feral he got. his face blushed deeper and the tent in his trousers worsened.

"you okay kats?", you walked towards him, standing over his panting body. oh your voice, your pretty voice. if only you knew what it done to him... what if he showed you what it does to him.

"come here....please, i need to taste you sweet cunt" he grabbed you by the waist, his hungry eyes stared into yours. how pathetic. begging to eat you out.

Katsuki Bakugo~ who claimed to hate sweet things, had you pinned down underneath him, begging to rip your clothes off and eat your pudding.

"Ngnn~ katsuki, ugh please-!", he ripped your top in half, throwing the fabric across his room.

he peppered his hungry kisses all over your chest, the bite marks flooded your skin "damn. y/n... you dont know what the fuck you do to me"

slowly, oh so slowly, he removes your underwear. staring up at you as he moves closer to your tight cunt, he can smell your aroma, he can smell the need throbbing off of you.

a gentle lick after lick, starting out teasingly slow. you're wet. so so so fucking wet.

'ngnn~ please kats.. fuck me'

that's all he needed.

he felt like a man in heat, slurping and sucking on your pussy like a rabid beast. his calloused hands rubbing your clit, desperate to push you over the edge.

his fingers replaced his hands as they pumped in and out of you, at life-threatening speed.

'open.' he pulled his fingers, which were now damp with your juices, out of you. moving them towards your mouth.

'clean them for me.'

as you sucked on his fingers, he moved back down to your abused pussy, a few more minutes and you should crack, spilling out that perfect finish he was desperate for.

'NGH~ KATS'

''that's is my pretty baby, cum for me'

one more lick and you came undone on his tongue, the taste of you was addictive.

'you're sweeter than any candy I've tasted my love. why are you moving, im not finished with you yet.'

[angel4astraea]

꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ft. athletic trainer!hajime iwaizumi ꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ content warnings: sfw/nsfw work, petnames used (angel, sweetheart, pretty, baby), praise, car sex teehee, female pronouns used. ꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ a/n: RAAAGHHH, i swear im not ovulating!! inspired by this: nsfw link

Firm believer that Hajime Iwaizumi is a perfect man. Let me explain:

Hajime would do whatever you’d ask him to in a heartbeat, just use manners and your big eyes to rope him in. If you need him to carry bags or boxes? He’s in, let him use his muscles to do the heavy work, angel. What about picking up groceries you forgot? Send him the list and he’s got it, right down to the right brand so that his girl’s cravings are satiated. Oh, the time you rolled your ankle while trying to keep up with him on the morning run? He carried you on his back the rest of the way without a single complaint. 

That’s how whipped he would be.

Hell, he even wears his own promise ring around his left ring finger to shoo off women trying to flirt with him. Hajime is dedicated to the pretty lady who waits for him to return from his work. Though, he hopes to have a wedding ring of his own after he finds the right ring to propose to you. God, he’d love to have a small gemstone in his thick ring that reminds him of your eyes.

Hajime would find other ways to satiate you. 

If you needed him biblically after seeing him try on suits for a friend’s wedding, he’d oblige. The look in your eyes would be telling him to hurry up, pick the one you like and let’s get out of here. And he doesn’t need more than five minutes.

“Haj,” You plead, “Hurry..” 

God, he was going to lose his mind before he even kissed you. 

Hajime had parked behind some stores, somewhere secluded. He made sure the emergency break was on before reaching over and pushing your seat back. Without much thought of how elegant it was going to be, he climbed over the centre console and into the space before your seat. A little cramped, but better than driving another twenty minutes and barely making it into the front door. 

He took another quick glance around outside before leaning down for a hungry kiss. His teeth nipped your bottom lip, dragging the glossy skin out while you whined in protest. The ache between your legs almost hurt, hips bucking to meet his clumsily. That’s when he pulled away to strip the skirt you were wearing, alongside those turquoise panties, tossing them both onto the driver’s seat. 

Hajime groaned when he felt how warm and slick you were already, all from eye fucking him in the tailor and a little kissing. “Perfect, so perfect sweetheart.” He said softly before working you open on his fingers: one, then two fingers, three after a few minutes. Curling them with some light force was enough to make your toes curl and thighs clamp around his hips. 

Removing his fingers from your warmth, it felt like grief. Though, through kisses he promised to make the ache go away. He always does, especially when it brings tears to your eyes. Hajime undid his belt and buttons, sliding his cock past his boxers and taps the tip against your clit. Once, twice, then thrice. Your hips twitch, sensitive nerves haywiring your brain. So close to getting what you want, no, need.

Pushing in, Hajime drops his forehead to your shoulder. His right hand keeps him from crushing you, gripping the middle compartment. He starts off slow, testing the waters while observing your face. 

“How you feelin’, hm?” He starts, tone low but knowing. “Feel good, angel?” 

Oh god, he might kill you too. You nod and let your limbs relax, already feeling like jell-o. When he saw your little nod, he smirked softly and began to move his hips a little faster. The sound of skin hitting skin was loud in the cramped space, fog creeping up the windows. Small praises hit your ears, but did it sink in much? No, not when he was making you cream on him.

“Doin’ so well..” 

“C’mon pretty, take what you need..”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m all yours.”

Gentle words and never mean, that’s how Hajime was. It always hit the spot, well, other than his tip inside you. It wasn’t much longer with his tip hitting the little spot inside of you until you twitched, squeaked and wriggled around in the seat. White cream formed around the base of his cock, a medal of the sort from his meticulous work. 

With a rather deep thrust, it sent you over the edge. Your hands gripped his biceps tightly, nails paid by him digging into his skin. His lips found yours as he slowed down, your walls milking him for his worth. 

“Fuck, baby.” He laid his head on your shoulder before pulling out, reaching to open the middle console. Baby wipes saved a lot of time with clean up, calloused hands cleaning you gently, words cooed at you for being so good, so patient. 

Yeah, he’s a fucking dream.

[silkandsoul]

Made of you and me

-just a small lil writing about smoke and his pregnant wife, it’s all fluff because i feel that after watching sinners, its what’s needed. it had me sobbing. 🥲

“i wish i could be there with you, honey. mornin’ sickness kicking my tail these days, i think our little one tryin’ to kill her momma.” you said, to a already occupied smoke—hands on the swell of your belly, eyes glazed over in awe at the innocence you both created. it messed with his mind sometimes, how he could be apart of something so beautiful—something so divine and precious all at once.

his mind could not comprehend nor decipher, how he out of all, would be the one to witness such a scene—a pure product of love come from the woman who held his heart right in the palm of her hands. the woman who put him at ease so effortlessly, the woman who gave him the love that most begged for. and in that love, she healed what would take years, in seconds.

“mhm, she just loves you as much as i do. that’s all.” he sighed, all that once leeched on him removing itself with you in the bounds of his arms. he held you and your daughter like fragile glassware—mindful but he would be lying if there was no urgency underneath. he wanted to hold you, roll around in your essence til sun up and when tomorrow comes he would do it again. and after that? again. even in the silence, he could suffice knowing that his heart and his soul were right there with him. the only place to be. the only place that mattered.

“this ain’t no way to treat the one you love smoke, she’s ready to get up out of here.” you laughed and he could not help but to laugh too—the sound bouncing off the walls and right into his heart. “we still got some mo’ months, she gotta wait til her dad get back. we gotta deal.” he joked, but his eyes let you know that just maybe, they did have a deal. it wouldn’t surprise you at all, she was a daddy’s girl even in the womb. you could picture it now, him and the little version of him causing you more trouble but even more joy.

“a deal without my knowledge?” you sassed, a smile on your face even though you feigned offended. and you swore you could feel your precious respond to his sentiment, moving so seamlessly that if you blinked you would’ve missed it. as if to say, “yes momma, without your knowledge.” smoke chuckled heartily, his heart swelling with happiness and pride. that’s my girl. was all he could think, his bundle of light had his back and that was all that mattered. you didn’t even have to face him to see the smirk on his face or hear the thought in his head, rolling your eyes before he could even get a word.

“double teamin’ already, my baby knows the drill i see.” he gloated and you scoffed, met with a kiss on your cheeks and then your hand. you melted in his affection, more than you would’ve liked to admit—he was your weakness. but the bitter betty in you still prevailed. “nu-uh, that ain’t fair. im your mama and you ain’t even got my back? this smoke and the smokette? he don’t get up at night to feed you, i do.” you said, disbelief in your voice at this grand union. how could she betray you like that? give her father the upper hand to peacock on her mother that he’s the favorite? you could only shake your head at them both.

he smiled and kissed your cheek again, “and who brings the food for them nasty cravings of yours?” he said, making your eyes go wide. oh how dare he? it was the truth—very much so, she had you eating things that you knew were certainly atrocious, if not worth being jailed over. but still, it was his child that had you mixing the worst of the worst together for your consumption. he didn’t mind though; despite the questions in his mind he never gave you hell about it. he would be lying if he said that he didn’t even find it cute.

“tuh, that’s yo daughter that got me eating all crazy. don’t make me put you on the couch elijah.”