#hisses like the fizziness

[gemkun]

@kafkaisms said : what’s his preferred variety of coke

      ⸻       ❝   i   do   not   partake   in   carbonated   nor   effervescent   beverages   ,   especially   when   they   are   overloaded   with   additives   and   substitutes   that   in   essence   ,   produce   the   same   insalubrious   effect.   ❞

[anantaru]

HSR + HOT THINGS HE DOES WHILE DOING IT

— ꒰ including ꒱ — aventurine, dr ratio, sunday, boothill x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, dom hsr characters, oral (fem! receiving) & fingering, established relationship, hitting it raw, dirty talk, tit play + biting & marking, prone bone ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ

— ꒰ AVENTURINE ꒱ + shamelessly moans into your ears

his moans have that kind of power that attack you with the lightest bit of touch but rumble inside your nerves with an utmost generosity that continued to burn an everlasting need into the rigid twist of your belly. he flips you over to your stomach and kneads the handful of flesh on your ass, greedily as his hands retreat— now, he uses his hand to keep your hips sealed against his aching half, while the other was positioned next to your head to refrain his weight from leaning and crushing against you.

aventurine's mouth was hot against your ear, too hot, in fact, that your body manifests swells of electric jumps on your limbs and muscles, your blood thrumming as you're audibly hissing out petulant sobs through your slacked jaw.

"tell me how it feels, yeah?" he sighs between gritted teeth, savoring the anticipation as his eyes squeeze shut, hips aligned and drawing his oozy tip against your entrance before pressing into your hole.

"ugh, fuck—" he grunts, "you'll mess me up today, hm?" as he moans deeply into your ear, so grateful to you as you shakily exhale through your mouth, your hole melting around his thick shaft before he inches further through your plushy walls.

aventurine was unashamed of gasping out those lecherous noises for you, brazen to the point where he's telling you how you feel as you squeeze him and cloud his mind with your milking compression indulging in him, "aah— you feel so nice, so soft, i'm losing my mind," he cheekily laughs between his whines, feeling elevated.

he kisses your neck as you sob, your walls feeling all of him inside as you exhale between a shaken embrace— but it's telling how much it turned you on when your boyfriend was this vocal with the pleasure you caused on him, his tongue darting across your neck before he loudly groans into the skin, your hole tensing and letting go, tensing and letting go, adding pressure again.

your eyes roll back as he grinds himself in you, always holding against your ass to fondle with the skin as he repeatedly pressures and pulls his cock through your creamy hole, entering all his inches inside an eager cuddle.

the sensation of having him claim your body in such way made your stomach do flips and tumbles, and the hums into your ear only multiplied the ways you responded to him with fizzy tears pulling at your lashes. right there, aventurine spills his brazen moans right against your ear, shamelessly between affectionate words of love, sending your inmost nerves into hard overdrive.

— ꒰ DR RATIO ꒱ + pulls your face to him before you climax

before he advances forward to his original plan, veritas will make you feel like you're mounting off pleasure and ah, your silhouette was charming to look at, no? you're so sweet when you hide your face from him. yet he doesn't understand why you're so embarrassed to show your flustered state? regardless, he loves when you do that, hiding the real taste, doesn't matter if he's suckling on your clit or watching how you suck him off, you're always warding off his enticing gaze.

the tantalizing signs of your embarrassment were enough for dr ratio to focus on all the different regions of your body— not only that, but he inspects your breathing and how it shudders through you, not to mention how it hitches when he grinds into your cunt.

with that, he can determine that you prefer it faster, although mixed in with a couple slow grinds once he's sheathed himself fully inside. a combination of both can do a lot more, and channeling it into one was his speciality. you're making it just that easy for him.

you wonder why? well, it's because you make everything look so sexy that it's so easy to figure you out.

after finding the perfect tempo for the both of you, your warmth clamps around him before losing yourself in each precise, calculated push of his hips overloading from the feeling of being close to you, or ah, being one with you, correct? it's how you're throbbing and creaming his entire base full that he realizes you're right there, feeling an upcoming wave of pleasure making itself visible.

"i'm cumming, i'm, aah, fuck," you moan beneath his hypnotizing pair of eyes as his hips rush through you, spreading your poor, little cunt apart as your hole flexes around his shaft. veritas knew he had to be quick with it, so after hearing you sob and wince, he draws himself off your neck and cups your face roughly, casting his eyes on you.

the man was gorgeous and he knew it, much to your dismay— he could also be a total idiot about how annoyingly handsome he was and that he always knew how to use it to his benefit— although in this moment, his face was soused in his sweat, messed up around his forehead and covered with fizzling lust for you.

a strangled cry rips from your throat and vibrates through his eardrums as your body vividly shakes under him. you're whimpering at the embarrassment of having him look at you while he's forcing the eye contact with his hand bending around the softness of your cheek.

you had no idea how much of a difference it made to look at him and become so, vulnerable.

you squirm under his searing silhouette, crying out the most beautiful sounds as your sore hole twitching around the base, utterly spent as veritas only admires the glow in your eyes, nothing more and nothing else.

the two of you exhale shakily in your afterglow, wet skin clinging to the sheet and relishing in its dirtiness.

— ꒰ SUNDAY ꒱ + kisses your clit before going down on you

he holds himself back, he needs to, because fighting the urge to bury his face where you needed him the most was always worth it— before he latches on your clit, he uses his rough thumbs to push the plushy skin protecting your clit aside to plant his plump lips over it, ghosting his mouth on top as he's almost successful enough to distract you from two digits bumping against your weeping hole.

sunday adjusts his face on your pussy before planting a wet kiss on your clit, his lusting eyes turning dark in the dark light as he roams two fingers inside your cloying hole, "give it to me, i know you can do it," he takes each necessary step to make you arch your back and gush all over him— your bothered silhouette making his cock ache and balls throb in his boxers.

his digits ascend over the slopes of your velvet walls as he presses delirious sensations on your cunt before spitting on your pussy repeatedly, messily grinning against your folds when you wince to every single droplet of his saliva hitting your cunt.

what doesn't come as a surprise is that sunday likes being messy with it— he needs to feel the wetness, the sheer contact of a hot tongue on your throbbing skin that he asks himself, can you feel it too? oh silly, of course you can, there was no room for debate by how you're reacting to it.

he swallows your arousal pooling on his tongue as he laps at your clit while his fingers graze along the sponginess of your walls, your pussy holding and clenching around the two digits. your eyes were half lidded, almost closed, your body so responsive that your cunt pulses at nothing but the tip of his tongue nudging into your clit.

"so obedient you are, my dear," he rasps before your fingers slope around the loose strands of his hair to press him into your heat, your back arching and your cunt spasming as you ride his face.

sunday hums happily, satiated, "what a good girl you are," he praises you enlaced in a wanton voice, thrusting his fingers roughly as you cum inside a silent cry.

— ꒰ BOOTHILL ꒱ + teases you with his teeth

your saccharine alike face prompts a menacing grin from him as he settles you on his lap before tilting your head a little— his eyes drizzling into the space on your neck and how he could feel your heart beat from that precious spot. boothill tests the waters, his insatiable hunger for you being so painful as he sighs out excitedly. he grazes into your neck and drags the sharp edges through your sensitive skin— always holding you on his waist with one hand wrapped around while the other toyed with your soft tits.

boothill has everything under his control, okay? you needn't worry— in fact, he always tells you to not torment yourself when all you had to do was trust him with your pleasure.

a smile stretches across his face as he brazenly flattens his tongue against your neck, feeling your pulse thud on the wet muscle before squeezing your tits to mess up your focus. you cling to his strong shoulders as you arch your back when he rolls a nipple between his digits, "you like that, don't you?" he drawls, your moan bending when he pinches your tit again.

your eyes roll back, and ugh, it feels so good, his rough yet precise touches were capable to induce waves of sparks from your breasts to all the way down, hitting your aching pussy. you're humping against his thigh and drool, more so stain your panties with your slick. the swell of his bulge was heavily pressing against your clothed folds, and boothill knew it wouldn't take long until you'll beg him to fuck you.

alongside those mesmerizing touches that marked up your breasts, the man took his time and acted unhurriedly as he sucks on your neck, shielding his eyes as he dips his head right above your collarbones. your skin mists with drops of his saliva as you find his hair beneath your hands, tugging slightly at his strands.

boothill moans into your neck, the vibrations setting a fire on your wet core, "let me consume you..." you hear him murmur playfully, his sharp fangs tauntingly pressing into your neck as you arch your back, "pretty, mh, you're so good, so lovely, so pretty, and ugh," as he stammers, his tongue blazing wildly across the pulsing spot that he's bitten, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he calls your name.

© 2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[pucksandpower]

Champagne Kisses

Lando Norris x Piastri!Reader

Summary: the taste of champagne has never been sweeter than when it’s being poured down your skin in celebration of your boyfriend … too bad your brother didn’t get the memo that these particular festivities were supposed to be private

Warnings: 18+ content

Note: congratulations to my favorite McLaren fan @struggling-with-drivers and all of the other Lando fans who have plenty of reason to celebrate tonight 🫶

The champagne sprays over the sweaty crowd as Lando holds the trophy aloft, a wide grin plastered across his face. This is the moment he’s dreamed of since he was a kid racing karts — his first Formula 1 win.

As the celebrations continue on the podium, Lando’s eyes scan the crowd of papaya below, landing on you watching with a proud smile. He gives you a subtle wink, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. You feel your cheeks flush hot.

Later, once the chaos has died down, you slip away from the McLaren garage and head towards the drivers’ rooms. Glancing around to make sure the coast is clear, you duck inside Lando’s room and lock the door behind you.

“Where’s my winner?” You call out in a singsong voice.

Lando emerges from the bathroom, a white towel slung low around his hips as water droplets cling to his toned torso. “Well, well. If it isn’t my gorgeous supportive girlfriend.” He crosses the room in a few strides, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You melt against him, tangling your fingers in his dampened curls. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”

Lando grins, resting his forehead against yours. “This calls for a celebration.”

He grabs the bottle of champagne leftover from the podium ceremony and pops the cork with a hiss. Taking a swig, he offers it to you. “Your turn, love.”

You accept the bottle, the bubbles tickling your throat as you drink deeply. Lando watches you with hooded eyes, licking his lips unconsciously.

Setting the bottle down, you sink to your knees in front of him. “Let me properly congratulate the newest race winner.”

Lando’s breath hitches as you mouth along the tented towel. “Oh f-fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You smirk up at him. “Not a bad way to go out though, right?”

Pushing the towel aside, you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue along the silky shaft. Lando groans loudly, fisting a hand in your hair to guide your movements.

“Yes, just like that. God, you’re so good at this.”

You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction as you bob your head rapidly. His hips snap forwards, driving himself deeper into your willing mouth.

“I’m so close already,” he pants, thrusting erratically. “I want to … can I?”

You just hum in agreement around him, sending delicious vibrations along his length. With a guttural groan, Lando’s release spills down your throat as his thighs tremble.

Pulling back, you swipe your thumb across the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile. “Mmm, my favorite drink.”

Lando chuckles breathlessly, hauling you up into a filthy kiss, the tang of his arousal sharp on your lips. He grabs the bottle of champagne, tilting it against your lips.

“Open up, darling. Time for a little celebration of our own.”

Dutifully, you part your lips to accept the fizzy stream. It spills over your tongue and down your body, soaking through your clothes in cool rivulets. Lando’s eyes darken with lust as he drinks in the sight of you, sodden and panting.

“Look at you, all messy and debauched. Maybe I should get on the podium more often.”

With a wicked gleam, you shrug off your drenched dress, kicking away your shoes to stand in just your skimpy bra and underwear. “Keep winning and you can do whatever you want to me, champ.”

Lando growls, the bottle forgotten as he crashes his mouth against yours hungrily. You moan into the kiss, nails raking down the tanned planes of his back.

He walks you backwards until your thighs hit the couch, tumbling down with you cradled beneath him. The plush fabric squelches beneath your damp bodies as Lando grinds his rapidly re-hardening length against you shamelessly.

You whine at the delicious friction, arching up to meet his thrusts. “Don’t tease me, Lando.”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth along the sensitive column of your throat.

His rough palms cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds through the flimsy lace. You gasp at the sparks of pleasure, digging your nails into the flexing muscles of his biceps.

Impatiently, you hook a leg around his waist to urge him closer. The scrap of material covering your core does little to dull the scorching heat of him pressing insistently against your slick folds.

“Please, Lando,” you beg shamelessly. “I need you inside me.”

With a groan, he tugs your underwear aside and thrusts home in one slick motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of being joined so intimately once more.

Lando starts a punishing pace, hips snapping forwards as his cock drives into your fluttering depths over and over. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving crescent marks in the tender skin as euphoric cries spill from your lips.

“God, you feel so good wrapped around me,” Lando pants, dropping his forehead against yours. “My gorgeous, perfect girl. Always ready for me, yeah?”

“Always,” you gasp out between moans. “Only for you, Lando. My race winner.”

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation as his thrusts grow sloppy and erratic. With a final cry, you shatter around his thickness, clenching down hard enough to drag Lando over the edge too.

You clutch at each other through the haze, trembling and sated as your breathing slowly evens out. Lando peppers lazy kisses across your face, tangling his fingers in your sweat-damp hair.

“Love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin. “Can’t believe I get to have you.”

You smile dopily up at him. “Sap. I love you too, my future champion.”

A loud bang at the door startles you both, Lando instinctively rolling to shield you with his body. The handle jiggles fruitlessly before a familiar Australian accent calls out.

“Oi, Lando! You in there, mate? Let me in, I want to celebrate!”

Lando freezes above you, eyes going comically wide. “Oh shit ...” he whispers. “It’s Oscar!”

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice comes again, sharper this time. “Everything okay? Open up!”

You look at Lando in panic, clothes and coverings hopelessly askew. The doorknob rattles more insistently as Oscar tries to force his way in.

“Just one second!” Lando shouts back, grabbing the towel to wrap around his waist as he crosses to the door. He cracks it open a fraction. “Hey mate, what’s up?”

Oscar doesn’t wait for an invitation, shoving his way inside with a wide grin. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, you little shit! My teammate finally got a win, time to get messy!”

He stops short, brows shooting up as he takes in the state of disarray. Lando tugs the towel more securely around his hips as Oscar’s gaze lands on your disheveled, half-naked form sprawled on the couch.

You hold your breath, suddenly very aware of your compromising position and state of undress. Lando follows Oscar’s line of sight, wincing as he turns back slowly.

The two teammates stare at each other for a beat before Oscar breaks the silence.

“Is that my fucking sister?”

“Oscar, I can explain-” Lando starts, hands raised placatingly.

But Oscar is already stalking forward, fury etched across his face. “You sick bastard! My teammate and my twin sister?”

He grabs Lando by the shoulders, shoving him back against the wall hard. “I’m going to make sure you never have kids, you piece of shit!”

You scramble upright, clutching your bra to your chest. “Oscar, stop!” You plead, rushing over to insert yourself between the fuming teammates. “It’s not what you think.”

Oscar scoffs, not releasing his grip on Lando’s shoulders. “Not what I think? He had you half-naked and covered in … is that champagne?”

You wince at his disgusted tone. “We’re together, Oscar. We have been for months.”

“Months?” Oscar looks between you and Lando, comprehension and rage warring on his features. “You’ve been sneaking around with my teammate this whole time? Behind my back?”

Lando finally finds his voice. “Look, mate, I didn’t mean any disrespect. You know how much I care about your sister.”

“Care about her?” Oscar laughs bitterly. “Is that what you call bending her over after races? Treating her like some ...”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you snap, anger flaring. “I’m not some conquest, Oscar. I love him.”

Oscar’s eyes widen at your admission, looking almost wounded. Lando takes your hand, squeezing it tightly as he meets Oscar’s hard stare.

“It’s true,” Lando says quietly. “We’re crazy about each other. Have been for ages.”

“This is … messed up,” Oscar runs a hand through his hair, regarding you both warily. “As teammates, we can’t let this impact the team.”

“It won’t,” you insist. “We’ve kept it professional so far.”

Oscar grimaces as his eyes rake over your state of undress and the clear signs of your activities. “Evidently.”

An awkward silence stretches between you before Lando speaks up again.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to, but ...”

“But what?” Oscar demands. “You thought I’d be thrilled my baby sister was sneaking around shagging my teammate?”

You open your mouth to retort but Lando cuts you off, stepping closer to Oscar.

“I know how it looks, and the situation’s not ideal. But I swear on everything, I would never hurt her or disrespect your family like that.” His eyes are deadly serious as he holds Oscar’s stare. “You have to know how much she means to me.”

Oscar’s jaw tenses mulishly for a long moment before he exhales a harsh breath. “If you break her heart, I’ll make sure you can never drive a car again, let alone race one,” he growls.

A hesitant smile tugs at Lando’s lips as you feel relief wash over you. “Deal, mate.”

“Now get some bloody clothes on,” Oscar grimaces, waving a hand vaguely in your direction as he turns away. “Jesus, you two are rank.”

You huff out a laugh, pulling Lando in for a quick kiss before grabbing your discarded clothes.

As Oscar fiddles with the champagne bottle, refusing to tear his eyes away from the ceiling, you share a look with Lando, hearts swelling with love and hope for whatever the future may bring.

Lando Nowins is no more.

[writingwithfolklore]

Describing Foods - A Masterlist

                As a broke university student, I love reading about food. It’s almost like eating a real meal myself <3.

I get a little angry when characters are eating a meal and I barely get to experience it with them. In that, I mean I don’t just want to know what it is, but what it’s like to eat that food—how it tastes, smells, sounds, and feels. Is a perfect croissant still a perfect croissant without the crack of the exterior, the airiness of the pastry inside, the smell of yeast?

                Probably not. When writing about a dish, the smell, texture, technique, taste, and how it looks are all important to painting the experience, so here’s some words to use when describing a meal:

Taste:

Acidic: Sharp tasting. Often used to describe tart or sour foods as well.

Aftertaste: A different taste that remains in the mouth after eating something

Bitter: Tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour.

Bittersweet: Less harsh than bitterness. Tartness + sweetness.

Bland: Has no significant flavor or texture

Briny: Just means salty. Often describes pickled foods.

Citrusy: Bright flavour like… well citrus fruits—oranges, lemons, limes, etc.

Cooling: Mimics that cooling feel—like mint.

Earthy: Reminiscent of soil. Can be used to describe wines, root vegetables, and mushrooms.

Fiery: Another word for spicy.

Fresh: Light and crisp—describes produce or herbs.

Fruity: Sweet and reminiscent of fruit.

Full-bodied: Rich and ‘feels heavy’ in your mouth. Can describe wines or soups.

Herbal: Bright, fresh, sometimes earthy from the presence of herbs

Honeyed: Sweet or candied taste like honey.

Nutty: Taste similar to the flavors of nuts. Often used to describe certain cheeses.

Rich: Full, heavy flavour. Often dishes that contain cream taste rich.

Robust: Rich + Earthy. Used for lots of wines or aged liquor.

Savory: Describes meaty, earthy dishes and soups.

Sharp: Harsh, bitter, or tart taste. Used to describe acidic foods.

Smoky: Reminiscent of the smell of smoke.

Sour: Biting, tangy, tart flavor.

Spicy: Burning taste.

Sweet: Sugary.

Tangy: Tart, biting taste—feels tingly

Tart: Sharp, bitter, or sour flavour. Used to describe acidic foods.

Woody: Earthy, sometimes nutty taste. Describes some coffees or cheeses.

Yeasty: Earthy taste reminiscent of yeast. Describes beer and bread.

Zesty: Fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour.

Sound/Texture:

Sound has a lot to do with texture, so I've combined them for this section!

Airy: Light, pillowy texture (think inside of croissant)

Brittle: Hard but easy to break

Bubbly: Usually during heating, when bubbles rise to the surface—low sound.

Buttery: Smooth, creamy texture (think certain pasta sauces)

Chewy: Food that needs to be chewed thoroughly. Can be light and bouncy (chewy bread) or heavy (steak) and sticky (candy)

Creamy: A smooth and rich texture, comes from dairy.

Crispy: Light texture with slight crunch.

Crumbly: Food with loose structure that falls apart into crumbs.

Crunchy: Firm, crisp texture with a sharp, loud noise.

Crusty (behave): Food with a hard outer layer and soft interior (many loaves and breads)

Delicate: Light and fine, feels like it can come apart easily.

Doughy: Soft and heavy, usually pale colouring.

Fizzy: Usually liquids—a hissing sound, feels like ‘static’

Flaky: Light, characterized by layers that come apart during eating.

Fluffy: light and airy.

Frothy/Foamy: Airy bubbles, usually in a drink like a latte.

Gamey: Usually refers to meats when they’re very “meaty”

Gooey: Viscous, sometimes sticky texture from moisture in a dense/solid food.

Hearty: Firm, robust texture.

Juicy: Tender and succulent texture from liquid in a solid food (steak)

Molten: Hot, gooey

Oily: Slick, heavy, lingers on the tongue.

Silky: Fine, smooth texture that feels sleek.

Smooth: Texture free of grit, lumps, or edges.

Snap: A quick, sharp, crackling sound when broken.

Squelch: A soft sucking sound when pressure is applied. Somewhat gross.

Sticky: Gluiness in the mouth.

Succulent: Tender and juicy

Tender: Soft and easy to break down

Velvety: Smooth and rich

Smell:

Acrid: Strong, bitter, unpleasant

Comforting: pleasant, probably calls back to a nice memory

Damp: Wet smelling—probably a bit earthy

Delicate: subtle, faint, not overpowering

Earthy: reminiscent of soil

Fetid: Caused by decay—unpleasant

Fishy: reminiscent of fish

Floral/flowery: Reminiscent of flowers

Fragrant: Sweet or pleasing

Fresh: Cool, crisp, refreshing—produce, probably not cooked

Funky: Something’s gone off

Heady: Strong smell, pungent, rich

Musty: Not fresh

Perfumed: Pleasant, reminiscent of something (can be perfumed with citrus, say)

Piquant: stinging, pungent—tickles the nose

Powerful: strong

Rancid: Definitely gone off, decomposing

Ripe: Strong, usually unpleasant smell

Savory: spicy, salty, no elements of sweetness

Sour: has gone off

Spicy: Sharp, tingles the nose

Tangy: Strong and bitter but in a good way

Tart: Sharp

Woody: earthy smell, reminiscent of wood

Sight:

Usually texture gives us a really good picture of what a food looks like, so here’s some non-texture sight additions:

Blistered: Bumpy exterior.

Caramelized: Usually golden brown

Cloudy: Splotched. Almost see through if not for a slight white or grey mist.

Colourful: Bright and vibrant

Glassy: Resembling glass

Glossy: Smooth, shiny

Marbled: Two colours intertwined

Opaque: Not transparent. Can’t see through.

Ripe: Colourful (can be to a fault). Nearing the end of its edible state.

Scaly: Covered in scales, fish.

Shiny: Appears wet or glossy

Sparkling: Glimmers under the light

Stuffed: An ingredient placed inside a larger part with no additional space.

Translucent: Allows light through

Vibrant: Striking, bright

Food Prep:

How the food is prepared gives it these other attributes. If your character is familiar with cooking (or is the cook themselves!) they may describe food this way.

Baked: Cooked in an oven. Results in browned or crispy outer layer.

Blackened: When food is dipped in butter and coated with spices then cooked in a hot pan—spices darken, making it appear ‘blackened’

Blanched: Food scalded in boiling water and moved to cold water so it stops cooking. Texture comes out soft.

Braised: Food that is briefly fried in fat and then stewed in a pot. Results in seared, crispy exterior with a tender interior.

Breaded: Coated with breadcrumbs/batter then baked or fried so it turns crispy

Broiled: Food cooked with intense radiant heat in an oven or on the grill. Results in a darkened appearance and crispy texture.

Caramelized: Food slow-cooked until it’s browned, nutty, and has a bit of sweetness.

Charred: Grilled, roasted, or broiled and gains a blackened exterior and smoky flavor.

Fermented: Food that’s sat with bacteria, yeast, or another microorganism and has produced acids, alcohols, or gases. Results in a biting, pungent flavor. (Kimchi is fermented)

Fried: Food cooked by submerging in hot oil. Creates crispy, crunchy texture and golden colour.

Glazed: Food with a coating brushed onto its surface. Appears glossy with a thin, flavorful, and crisp outer layer.

Infused: Food steeped in liquid with another ingredient so it carries the essence of that ingredient. Used with herbs usually.

Marinated: Usually meat soaked in liquid containing flavourful herbs, spices, vinegar, or oil.

Poached: Food cooked in near boiling water. Results in tender, moist texture.

Roasted: Food cooked with dry heat in an oven or over the fire. Results in browned exterior and crisp coating.

Sautéed: Food cooked quickly in small amount of fat.

Seared: Food cooked in small amount of fat until caramelized. Finished by roasting or grilling. Results in crisp exterior and tender interior.

Smoked: Food exposed to smoke from smoldering wood for a long time. Results in that distinctive smoky flavor.

Whipped: Food beaten to incorporate air. Light and fluffy.

What did I miss?

[cod-dump]

My partner (full blood American) stole all the tea out of my (british mother) house the third and only gave it back today and if that isn't NikGravesPrice coded idk what is.

Price being pissed when he couldn't find any of his tea. All of it had just disappeared from his kitchen, he had to go grab a box from the store to make a cup. And, not even an hour later, they fucking disappear. Clearly, it had to be someone in his house. Nikolai enjoyed tea, it couldn't be him responsible. It had to be Graves, the traitor.

"Phillip, where the fuck is my tea?"

Graves didn't act like he knew anything, just blinked in confusion. He mostly drank water, occasional fizzy drink, a cup of tea if someone made it for him. Why wouldn't he be the one to steal the tea? He would be the least affected, the perfect criminal for the job.

"The kitchen?"

"Don't play dumb! Where is it?"

Graves stared, a little shocked over the hiss in Price's voice. He sat his phone down and got up from the couch. He calmly walked around the fuming Price and into the kitchen, going to the cabinet that was definitely not the fucking tea cabinet, and opened it. Revealing his tea, the newer box included. Price stared and Graves stared, unimpressed.

"Baby, it's just tea. Would you kill me if I actually did something with it?" Price didn't answer and Graves scoffs, "Addict."

"... you pulled a prank back on base."

"When I took the tea for Independence day?"

"When you dumped it in the toilets."

Graves acted like he didn't want to laugh though Price could see in his eyes that he did, "Grounds for a breakup if I did it again?"

"Phil, I would marry you just to divorce you and take all your money and assets."

Graves gasped right as Nikolai walked into the flat, freezing when Price whipped around and stared at him. He pointed at the cabinet behind Graves and Nik paled.

"Did you help him?"

Nik didn't answer, just turned and left the flat. Price lived with two traitors.

[mochinomnoms]

When you posted about twst not having the same foods it made my brain go... "what if their bf really tried to recreate the food based on description only"

Imagine Azul toiling away in the kitchen trying to re-create Bugals from scratch

Jade testing out different combinations of potions to recreate coca cola

Floyd trying to make the grandma candy that taste like strawberries

Jamil fighting with spices to make hot cheetos

Trey baking Twinkees and oatmeal cream pies

Lilia trying to make Macdonald fries but just creating poison

They all understand how food can help with homesickness and they want to do everything they can to help, even if it is trying to make something they have never had before

The ultimate love language is devoting time, money, and materials to recreated your lover's favorite foods. In our world, this could be going to your partner's parents or grandparents to learn their family recipe for a dish, cookie, drink, etc. Or it could be trying to look up a dish that they had growing up, but can't remember. Or maybe it's a cultural dish from their home country that they loved but haven't been able to have because the ingredients are available nearby. Painstakingly measuring, making, tasting, failing and failing over and over again to get it just right. Love is the ultimate love language.

So I think it's beautiful to imagine Azul trying to recreate your favorite dish based solely how you described how it looked, smelled, and tasted. Making the lounge's kitchen a mess until he can get it just right.

Trey calling his parents to describe the sweet treats and cookies you described. They're digging through their recipes so that he can combine and take what he needs to recreate them.

Jade has full confidence in his potion making skills, yet is dumped when you can only describe your favorite soda as "sugary and fizzy." He racks his brain over and over, taste testing the concoctions himself until he's positive they won't poison you, then bringing you into his little sessions to remake your favorite soda together.

Jamil, familiar with some spices and chilies you describe, but the others sound so otherworldly, messing around with the ingredients he's familiar with to make your favorite foods and snacks. He knows they'll never be the same, but that he they are good enough for you to want to stay.

Floyd is nothing if not determined. If he can't make you that candy you love so much, he's going into the ends of the earth to find you his world' equivalent. Don't question how he managed to get over a hundred different candies, some incredibly rare, others expensive as hell. His father has connections and money, it's nothing to spend on you.

And Lilia…well. He means well. It might be better to let him watch you make some of your favorite dishes, as well as you can when you're missing ingredients. He can watch and slowly start to understand, as you burn and hiss from the splattering oil, why food is a love language for humans too.

Food is a timeless love language. If it doesn't mean time and effort, it means money and sharing an experience that makes you happy. It's shared by nearly every culture, in your world and theirs, for a reason. Love is giving food when you're poor, love is the cuts and burns on your hands and arms, love is in the taste on your tongue, love is the smell you wake up to. Love is the effort, the time, the care. Love is food. And they love you.

[weepingwillowwonder]

#1 Helluva Boss Thoughts/Imagines: NSFW [Minors DNI!! 🔞]

I'm pretty sure one person said no in the poll haha, ANYWAY!!! Here it is! These two are so cute, I can't help but want to be sandwiched in the middle~~~

<3 Fizzarolli x Shy!Reader x Asmodeus

CW: Daddy k!nk, dirty talk, fingering, a bit of embarrassment, voyeurism, size k!nk

---

“Fizz..!” You can't help but whine at the obscene noise of fluids and slapping of skin. Your body feels like it's on fire knowing Asmodeus is watching all of this unfold in front of you. You bury your face in the blanket, lifting your ass a little higher to meet the fingers buried inside of you. Fizzarolli curses behind you, rhythmically pressing his fingers deeper into you, “Babes...you gotta loosen up if you're ever gonna take Ozzie..,” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on your back. You can’t see the shit eating grin on his face as he watches Asmodeus from across the room, receiving a wicked smile in return. 

They’re both bent on convincing you to stay in the lust ring, perhaps with them, instead of accepting an offer with the up and coming Vees. Knowing the reputation Valentino specifically has, Fizzarolli tried his absolute hardest as a close friend to be supportive of you. However, when expressing his concerns to his partner, they both were in agreement to use “other tactics” to get you to come to your senses. It was only right for him as your friend to show you how much he cares about your well being right?

So after a few drinks, you found yourself in the bed of someone you’d grown to be good friends with over the years and his partner, who also happens to be the sin of lust. Fizzarolli’s fingers drag against your walls, adding another to make way for more room. He hisses at the muffled sounds you make and the way you’re dripping onto the sheets below you. “Fuuuuck princess, you’re drooling all over my fingers…So fuckin’ messy, Oz you gotta come see this!” 

You start to tremble as Asmodeus, gets up and makes his way over to you. Biting your lip in an attempt to quiet yourself, he gently slides his hand under your chin to make you look at him. He’s always so gentle with you, knowing how shy you seem to get around him. It’s a wonder you are so close and open with Fizzarolli because you couldn’t be more different when you’re around him. “You’re doing so good letting Fizzy stretch you open sweetheart,” he coos, pressing your cheeks together slightly. The tears building up in your eyes fall at his words, feeling overwhelmed by embarrassment and the sensation of Fizzaroli roughly finger fucking you. 

Asmodeus lets go of you and comes around behind Fizzaroli to observe what he’s seeing. “Shit, he wasn’t lying...” he breathes out, When he reaches down to explore your core, Fizzaroli pulls his fingers out, opting to stoke himself instead. You jerk when you feel the much larger fingers stroking your folds, making you rock yourself back into them. Asmodeus toys with you, quickly swiping his fingers against your clit before slipping one into your cunt. You curse loudly and gasp trying to catch your breath. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..!” 

You’re sobbing now, begging for more as Fizzaroli growls behind you, “tell big daddy how it feels..his fingers are so big…making you feel so good, huh?” You try to sputter out a response as your orgasm grows rapidly. You’re lewdly riding Asmodeus’ as you plead with him to help you finish, “so close,,wanna cum..need it so bad…feels good oh my gosh, so good..!” Both the fingering and Fizzaroli’s stoking increases as your whines press them forward. Asmodeus’ level voice pulls you out of the headspace you’re overwhelmingly slipping into, “Come on baby, be good for daddy, yeah? Make a mess on his fingers…” He uses a free hand to pull Fizzaroli close to him by the hip and takes over stroking him off as his finger continues to slip into you. 

Both you and Fizzaroli become whiny messes as you’re pushed over the edge at the same time, hips bucking in tandem with Asmodeus’ movements. His essence spills over your ass and your own leaks out of you as the fingers slowly move inside of you. Asmodeus kisses Fizzaroli’s temple and smooths a hand over your ass before asking suggestively, “Did so well for us…are you ready for the main course..?” 

[miss-multi45]

@fizzy-blood threatened me at reblog gunpoint so here u are.

cw: rough sex, praise, marking (bites, claw marks, you get the gist), squirting (reader has never squirted before and Jack keeps going), overstimulation, Jack makes demon noises, mentions of pregnancy and babies, tummy bulge, Jack calls reader 'bun' and 'bunny', reader has an IUD, reader's vulva gets called a 'bunnycunt'. have fun my horny hellbeasts.

Jack was in heat, and you were helping him.

Which meant you had to know how fucking feral the sex you two would be having was, and you also had to know you would scream until your throat was dry.

You knew all that already, but it had long since entered and left your mind as the both of you were deep into whatever the number of rounds you had gone past. It had to be over ten.

He was ruthless, growling and hissing in your ear as he delved deeper into your painfully sore cunt. The scratch marks on your thighs, back, and torso were an obvious show that you were his and his only, or in his words: "mine, all fucking mine. my whiney bunny."

The position he had you in was some sort of doggystyle, your arms were pinned to your chest by his stronger ones, and you had your face buried into his dark blue pillow so that any passing person wouldn't think there was a murder taking place due to how loud and obvious the screams escaping your mouth were.

Jack didn't care, his usually sensitive eardrums were deaf to your cries that were a sexy mixture of pain and pure, unbridled pleasure.

Your cum soaked the sheets, meanwhile Jack's was being thrusted inside of you and probably past your spongy cervix, but you weren't scared by his comments to pump you full of babies because of how many times he had promised it.

He had lost count of how many times he had put a hand down on you midsection to caress the bulge of him in your tummy that would soon be filled with his pretty cubs.

Jack was spilling so much praise, telling you that, "You're such a good fucking girl, pretty pussy's so sore but she's still letting me use her, how thoughtful of you." because he knew how overstimulated this was making you.

A demonic noise cut through the scrambled mess of your thoughts, and it came from Jack's throat. You couldn't decipher what exactly it was, but it sounded like a cross between a growl, a moan, and a rough trill. While the only sounds you were making were fucked-out squeals, squeaks, and whimpers.

He mimicked you, he mimicked all the sounds flooding from your mouth with a smug tone and a deep bite on whatever skin he could clamp his razor-like teeth on.

Eventually, you felt something. Something entirely new and unfamiliar to your body, it felt like you needed to pee really badly and it was getting worse and worse the more Jack thrusted into you.

"W-wait no-!" You squealed, but Jack's pace didn't falter for even a second.

"I-fuck! I have to nghh-!" You were cut off by your own noises of pleasure, but Jack finished off your sentence for you.

"You have to pee?" He retorted, squishing his face in your neck and purring.

You nodded frantically, squirming your legs as a way to beg him for a break, but that didn't work at all.

"No you don't, bun. It's something else." It sounded like a warning, but it was too late.

Your pussy sprayed, and that only spurred him on even more, he sped up his pace and chuckled darkly in your ear.

"Awe, did I make my precious bunny squirt?" He cooed mockingly, tears of bliss streaming down your flushed face as your worn-out bunnycunt dripped with fluids.

Jack would only stop when his breeding urges wore off or his stamina ran out. And you both knew that Jack had the stamina of a demon.

[blue-sadie]

Misleading

Sorry this was a request but Tumblr being Tumblr I lost the post and had to rewrite it, I don't do part 3s but I made it very similar to it

Sully Family x Sibling Reader

Summary: the sullys always protect one another especially the baby (you)

Warning: platonic

Yn/3rd person pov

The adrenaline was wearing off, my panting breath was the only thing I could hear through my ringing ears, i looked through my blurry eyes up to the top of the hill which I fall down.

I was a long ways down I groaned as I slowly rose to rest on my elbows so I could see my surroundings I don't know where I am nothing looks familiar, I raised one of my hands to my forehead letting out a shakey breathe as I felt the hot crimson liquid.

"F-fuck" I cursed bringing the hand infront of my eyes, the blood dripped down my fingers I watched a drop slide down the palm of my hand.

"I'm never gonna be let out again" I muttered breathlessly and brought my hand to the communication device attached to my neck "d-dad" i sighed in pain and closed my eyes tightly.

"What's wrong yn are you hurt" his voice sounded fizzy through the radio but I could still hear the concern in his voice "I was out l-looking for stuff for mom and I I fell" I murmured and groaned as i sat up straight.

"Are you hurt my yn" mon spoke "just a little but I'll live" I said and slowly tried to stand up but lost my balance each time "where are you so we can come get you" this time it was neteyam speaking his voice somewhat panicked.

"I don't really know the last thing I know was just passed the abandoned shack where we get the nice fruit I like from" u sighed I heard faded voices through the radio probably lo'ak and kiri "ok we're on our way hold on tight".

Neteyam and jake both rushed to their ikrans and lo'ak came closely behind trying to reason with their father "dad I know where she is" he tried going to his ikran but jake stopped him "enough, go home and stay put do you understand me".

Lo'ak sighed and nodded defeatedly watching them mount their ikrans and dive into the afternoon sky, his eyes twitched debating his next move "fuck it" he muttered running to his ikran and flying out, lo'ak made sure to avoid his father and older brother in the sky using all the short cuts he knew.

Lo'ak was the first to get to me "yn" he yelled jumping off his ikran and running to my side "l-lo'ak where's dad" I felt dizzy from the loss of blood, my body trembled as he held me "close i-i think" he stammered looking towards the sky I looked up at him he differently gonna be in trouble.

He grabbed some cloth from his satchel and wrapping them around my wounds somewhat slowly the blood flow "thanks-" I was interrupted by the sound of dad's ikran "lo'ak" dad called making lo'ak cringe.

Dad and neteyam hoped off their ikrans and came towards us dad's eyes fill with anger intill he saw my wrapped wounds "good job but next time listen to me" he hissed and lo'ak nodded "let's get you home baby girl" dad turned to me, neteyam and lo'ak grabbing my sides helping me to my feet.

They brought me over to neteyams ikran and helped me on "don't fall... again" lo'ak tried to joke making me love sarcastically "funny" I muttered and groaned as neteyam settled behind me.

"Are you ok" he murmured as he wrapped his arms around me preparing to fly "just dizz-" my vision slowly turned black and my body limp "yn" his voice faded into nothing.

-Time skip-

My eyes slowly fluttered open and a pained groan left my lips as I felt a dam cloth being layed on my forehead "w-who" I whispered trying to left my hand but he clasped my hand gently keeping it down.

"You need to rest sister" his voice was low and caring as I heard water being rung out and another cloth pressed over my shoulder "neteyam" I hissed the medicine stinging my wound making him chuckle lightly "next time maybe watch where your going".

I huffed rolling my eyes "next time I'll just make you get the stuff for me you skxawng" he chuckled again shaking his head as his arm moved under my body helping me to sit up.

"Maybe next time tell me where your going so I can go hunting while you collect things ewya knows moms never letting you leave alone again"

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Personally I like to believe that while Wrecker CAN absolutely devour anything you put in front of him, he's such a picky ass eater. He'll turn his nose to fancy food but eat dirt. It's insane. He'll do it for the bragging rights.

Crosshair WILL vomit if you don't cook things to his precise liking. He simply cannot control it. If his stomach doesn't like it, it's coming straight back out. Very delicate stomach. He will so test his limits if only to make his brothers feel bad/give him the nice desserts.

Hunter could eat steel. Dude, i don't know what his stomach is made of but they need it for GAR armour. He'll chew on plastic if you let him. On that note, if his drink is fizzy he'll spew. He can't handle anything other than flat, pristine water. Loser.

Tech is also very picky with both food and drink. His body won't REJECT the food, but don't expect him to enjoy it. He often packs his own snacks/drink and just doesn't bother with any strange stuff. He doesn't trust anything he doesn't handle himself- even his brothers can't feed him sometimes.

Echo simply doesn't care. If it's in front of him, he's eating it. He cried when he had Senate food for the first time. He savours every bite he can get. Will actually hiss and bite if you ask him to share. That's his food. Back away.

[reigns-devotee]

Paring: Jimmy Uso, Fem!Reader

Warnings: Oral, body fluids, PinV, Minors DNI, 18+, Smutty

Word count: 2,755

Summary: What happens when you get a writers block? Do you do the unthinkable to overcome it?

You’ve known Jonathan—Jimmy Uso, as the world knows him—since you were twelve years old. Now, at twenty-three, you’ve carved out a life for yourself in your own cozy home, the result of a successful writing career that you’ve poured your heart and soul into. Yet, despite the achievements that surround you, you find yourself at an impasse with your current project, My Detox. The pages are filled with your thoughts and ideas, but every time you reach the chapter dedicated to sex, the words seem to not slip through your fingers like sand.

Frustrated, you push your glasses up onto your forehead and toss them aside, the metal frame clattering lightly against the desk. Rubbing your temples, you sigh heavily. It’s maddening how your lack of experience in the realm of romance and sex has you second-guessing every word. Watching porn to get a better sense of things? Fuck no—there’s no interest in that, and the very thought makes you cringe.

Just as you’re about to retreat into another round of self-doubt, a sharp knock interrupts your thoughts. You pull yourself away from the desk and navigate the soft carpet steps down to the front door. When you swing it open, it’s as if the universe decided to send you an angel: Jonathan stands there, a broad smile lighting up his face, his presence instantly lifting the weight from your shoulders.

“Hey, how you been doin’, Y/N?” he asks, slipping off his shoes and placing them neatly by the door as he steps inside.

You walk toward the kitchen, your heart warming at the sight of him. “To be honest, awful,” you admit, reaching for a can of cola from the fridge, its chilled surface a small comfort against your palm.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow, concern flickering in his dark eyes. “Aye, I don’t think it’s smart to drink a Coke this late. What’s got you feeling so down?”

You pop the can open, the fizzy hiss punctuating the air as you turn to face him. “That’s exactly why I need it,” you say, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t even write a damn sex scene. It’s so fucking irritating.” 

His laughter fills the room, warm and inviting, easing some of the tension in your chest. You lean against the counter, grateful for his presence, knowing that he’ll listen without judgment. 

Jonathan strides across the room, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he reaches for the can of cola. With a swift motion, he pulls it from your lips, the cool metal clinking softly as he holds it out of reach. “We can sit and talk about the book if it’ll make you feel better,” he offers, his voice steady and reassuring.

You nod slowly, the corners of your mouth lifting just a bit. “Alright, sounds calm, I guess.” The idea of discussing your writing with him, sharing your struggles, feels comforting. However, before you can dwell on it too long, he surprises you by tossing the can into the trash can with a decisive flick of his wrist.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing toward the stairs with a theatrical flourish, as if you’re about to embark on a grand adventure rather than simply moving to another room. His enthusiasm lightens your mood, and you can’t help but chuckle at his antics.

You take your time walking up the stairs, savoring the familiarity of each step, the plush carpet underfoot cushioning your ascent. It feels like a small journey, one that transports you away from the nagging frustrations of the day. Jonathan’s presence beside you makes the climb feel less daunting, and you appreciate the way he falls into step beside you, his casual demeanor bringing a sense of ease to the air.

Once you reach your room, you don’t head for your desk as you usually would. Instead, you find yourself gravitating toward the bed, a haven of comfort and soft blankets. You sit down, sinking into the plush mattress, and Jonathan follows suit, settling next to you. The bed creaks slightly under his weight, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him as he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

For a while, there’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that speaks volumes without the need for words. You glance at him, noticing the way his dark hair falls into his eyes and how he leans back slightly, resting on his hands. It’s a casual posture, yet it exudes confidence and openness.

“So, tell me about this book,” he finally prompts, his gaze steady and encouraging. “What’s got you all tangled up?”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his attention as you prepare to share your frustrations and ideas, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he can help you untangle the mess swirling in your mind.

You launch into a rant, pacing back and forth across the room as the words tumble out in a frustrated stream. “I just… I don’t know how to even *get* them to that point, you know?” You gesture vaguely, feeling flustered. “Like, how do I make it realistic? They’re just… standing around. Maybe I should have deepened the tension, built it up more. It’s just so clear to me that there’s not enough of it.”

Jonathan watches you patiently, his gaze warm and attentive. “Where did you stop writing?” he asks, his tone gentle, coaxing more out of you.

You look at him, feeling a bit sheepish. “They were, well… basically just sitting in bed after talking about all the weird stuff that’s been happening over the last few months,” you explain, shrugging. You know it sounds flat, lacking that spark that you’re so desperate to capture.

He shifts a little closer on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he leans in. “You mean… like this? Or should they be further apart?” he asks, his voice lowering ever so slightly, sending a ripple of awareness through you.

Your breath catches in your throat, pulse racing as you realize how close he’s gotten, his eyes locked on yours with a sudden intensity. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost breathless. “That… that might be it.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction closer, his eyes glinting with mischief, “you’ve just gotta build the tension… like this.”

Without warning, his hand finds your thigh, warm and steady, his fingers pressing gently into your skin. His touch is slow, deliberate, easing higher until his fingertips brush the hem of your sleep shorts, sending a shiver up your spine. The closeness, the heat radiating from him, everything suddenly feels heightened, more intense.

“I–Jon, what are you—” You start to ask, your voice catching as your cheeks flush. But before you can finish, he cuts you off with a quiet, soothing murmur.

“Shh, ma… just helping you with this scene,” he says, his tone gentle yet commanding, igniting a spark low in your belly that you hadn’t felt in ages.

The warmth between your legs builds, a magnetic pull drawing you toward him, your heartbeat quickening. Unable to resist, you rise to your feet in a haze, and he follows, his hands tracing down your sides as he slides his fingers under the fabric of your shorts. The sensation is electric, his touch firm yet achingly gentle.

Before you can process what’s happening, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back onto the bed, the world spinning as you sink into the softness of the mattress. His hands find your hips, grounding you as he settles between your legs, his gaze intense and unwavering, locking onto yours with a raw vulnerability that sends a thrill through your core.

For a moment, you’re caught in a whirlwind of emotions, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts—questions, hesitations, desires—but you don’t pull away. Instead, you look up at him, feeling the tension between you build to an almost unbearable peak, his lips so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. 

Jonathan’s grin is teasing, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “Maybe… they should kiss,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a thrill racing through you. The suggestion lingers in the air, electric, and without a second thought, you close the distance between you, crashing your lips against his with a hunger that surprises even you.

His hands immediately find your waist, sliding down until they cup the curve of your backside, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. Your tongues meet, a playful clash that quickly becomes more heated, a tug of war that neither of you seems willing to lose. The sensation is overwhelming, your breaths mingling, growing heavier with each passing second. Desperation builds within you, and without thinking, you press your hips against him, grinding yourself shamelessly in search of relief.

Jonathan lets out a soft, breathy groan, the sound full of pent-up desire, before he firmly turns you over, guiding you down onto the bed beneath him. His weight settles over you, warm and solid, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, lingering there as he nips and sucks, each touch drawing quiet gasps and soft whimpers from your lips.

He doesn’t stop there. His kisses continue, trailing lower, his mouth exploring the sensitive skin at the base of your throat before making its way down to your chest. With practiced ease, he slips a hand behind your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. He pulls it away, and in the next moment, his mouth finds your breast, his lips capturing one of your hardened peaks as his tongue teases and flicks, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

A moan escapes you, his name slipping past your lips as your hands clutch the sheets, your body arching beneath him. He pauses for a brief second, looking up with a smug grin, clearly reveling in your reaction. Then he continues his path downward, his lips leaving a trail of heat as he kisses down your stomach, his hands following the curve of your waist, his touch both possessive and tender.

When he finally reaches the place where your need is most intense, he looks up, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your pulse race. You feel utterly exposed, completely at his mercy, yet you’re exactly where you want to be.

Jonathan’s eyes never leave yours as he leans down, his gaze smoldering with intent. He tilts his head, capturing the delicate hem of your thong between his teeth, the metal of his grillz glinting against the fabric. His touch is teasing, deliberate, his movements slow enough to make your anticipation mount. With a knowing smirk, he sits up, using one smooth motion to slide the material down your legs and cast it aside before settling back between your thighs.

He trails his hands up your legs, leaving a path of warmth in his wake as he draws closer, his breath hot against your skin. Placing a series of feather-light kisses on the sensitive flesh between your legs, he lets his lips linger, each kiss sending sparks of pleasure through you. Slowly, he shifts to gentle licks, teasing your core with just enough pressure to make you shiver, your body arching instinctively in response to his touch.

When he finally wraps his lips around your swollen clit, a sharp gasp escapes you, and you find yourself moaning his name, “J-Jon!” Your voice trembles with the raw intensity of the moment, and your back arches as the pleasure coils within you, hot and insistent. Instinctively, your legs start to close around him, but he’s quick to press them apart, his strong hands gripping your thighs to keep you open and vulnerable beneath him.

With a quiet groan, he begins to work you over with a fervent intensity, his mouth moving in a rhythm that leaves you breathless, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot, every inch of you. His hands hold you firmly, grounding you, as he devours you, each flick and swirl pushing you closer to the edge, until every thought, every worry fades away, leaving only the pulsing heat of the moment between you.

You look down at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as beads of sweat trickle down your cheeks. With trembling hands, you reach out, cupping his face and tilting it up to meet your gaze. Your voice is soft, filled with raw need as you plead, “I need you now… please, Jon.”

His expression darkens with desire, and he rises up, positioning himself between your legs. You watch as he shoves his pants down, his movements controlled yet urgent. He looks back at you, his voice a low growl, thick with intensity. “Say it again.”

Your body shivers at the command, his deepened tone sending a thrill down your spine. “I need you… so bad right now,” you repeat, voice barely a whisper as you feel the ache within you grow unbearable.

He lines himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you can already sense just how much he’s going to fill you, even without looking. His gaze locks onto yours, filled with a challenge, his voice dripping with hunger. “One more time…” he demands, his tone laced with control.

“I… really… need you—” Before you can finish, he pushes forward, slowly easing himself into you, inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, every word stolen from you as he fills you completely, stretching you in a way that makes you gasp. He lets out a low, satisfied moan, his breath hot against your ear. “Ma… you’re so tight,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe and desire.

He begins to move, his strokes slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, making you feel every inch of him. The pressure is overwhelming, and you can’t hold back the sounds escaping you. “So big… so fucking big,” you whimper, your voice trembling with pleasure.

A growl rumbles in his chest as he quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming more insistent. “Keep talkin’ like that,” he warns, his voice rough, “and I’m gonna fuck you crazy.”

Your body arches beneath him, your own voice betraying the intense sensations flooding through you. “You’re… stretching me so well,” you murmur, your words barely coherent.

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, his hands firm as he lifts your hips and positions you to his liking, your back arching under his guidance. He plunges back into you, his rhythm wild and unrestrained, each thrust driving deeper, pulling raw cries from you with every movement. His head falls back, a series of deep, breathless moans escaping him. “Fuck, Y/N… tight as fuck,” he groans, his voice filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

His hand reaches up, gripping your hair and pulling you up slightly, your back arching even more as he moves inside you with a relentless intensity. Every sensation blends together, the world blurring until all you can feel is him, overwhelming you in every possible way.

“Jon… oh god… Jon…” you cry out, the sound echoing around you as he pushes you further, taking you over the edge.

The sudden sound of the door swinging open snaps you back to reality, the sharp creak echoing through the quiet room. Everything stops, and you jolt, realizing with a rush of embarrassment that you’re still at your desk, glasses tossed haphazardly to the side. The vivid daydream dissolves, leaving you breathless—and there he is. Jonathan. The very man who had just occupied every inch of your mind.

He steps into the doorway, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “I’ve been knocking on your door for a long ass time,” he says, his voice laced with impatience. “What’s going on—” His words trail off as his eyes drift downward, catching sight of the evidence of your desire: the way your hardened nipples press against the thin fabric of your top, your cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable shade of red.

A knowing grin spreads across his face, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. He closes the door behind him, the soft click sealing the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, “On the bed… now.” His words hit you like a Drako in your chest.

His words hang in the air, thick with intent, leaving you stunned yet undeniably drawn to obey.

[hannie-dul-set]

could you do flirty!wonbin with an even flirtier reader for the ship dynamics pleek

[louder]. wonbin’s attraction is quiet. he doesn’t sing you praises about how your beauty shines brighter than the moon. he doesn’t whisper sweet nothings or drop pick up lines on you. “that’s boring,” he says. “there’s no fun in that,” he quarrels. but that doesn’t mean he’s unmoving when he likes someone— no. wonbin’s attraction is quiet, not nonexistent. it’s solemn, not dead. it permeates through the silence of eye contact across the room, lingering touches on your waist, nape, the top of your head, and sometimes—

“move over.”

there are two empty seats in the living room of sungchan’s condo, but wonbin decides to squeeze between you and the arm rest, knees bumping shoulders pressed against yours, and he simply graces you with a half-smile before feigning an air of unaffectedness as he scrolls through his phone, shotaro talking about something the background.

he’s scrolling through his phone but he’s not paying attention to the screen. he’s scrolling but his peripheral overtakes his vision— the way your fingers jitter when he adjusts his seating position, pressing closer. the way your throat bobs when he lets his head fall to your shoulder, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling.

“there’s an empty seat next to sohee,” you inform. 

“oh, is that so?” he replies yet refuses to move. wonbin’s attraction is quiet but he doesn’t hide it. he doesn’t tell you you’re pretty but he sure as hell gives you looks that elicit the same effect, if not more. 

the problem is— against his quiet attraction— yours is really fucking loud.

“if you keep using me as your pillow, i might end up getting the idea that you want to sleep with me, wonbin.”

the phone slips down from his hand and he nearly chokes on his own spit.

“watch your mouth,” he clicks his tongue, picking up the phone from his lap. “how inappropriate.”

you look like you’re about to laugh. wonbin forgets that loud sirens always eat up the murmurs of silence. that the fizzy bubbling of your laughter can decimate the quiet insinuations of his gazes and touches.

in other words, wonbin loses.

“ah, so you can eye-fuck me whenever you want and press against me however you like but i can’t tell you what’s on my mind? that doesn’t seem fair—” 

“stop,” he hisses, cutting you off. your voice is low but jesus christ, if one of the others overhears, you two are never hearing the end of this. “shut up. stop talking.” his ears are flushed, and you look like you’re enjoying it.

wonbin’s attraction is quiet and yours is loud. when pitted against each other, there’s a clear picture of who wins and who loses.

[miasmaghoul]

Happy Mountain March, have some Murder Ghoul Mountain!

Contains: manipulation, murder (obvs) but nothing graphic, improper use of earth magick and mildly implied cannibalism <3

-*-*-*-*-*-

Every year, at the beginning of spring, Mountain receives a list of siblings from Sister Imperator. Brothers and Sisters who have broken the tenets of the church, been disobedient, or otherwise lost their right to serve and reside at the abbey. Never more than five a year, but it's always enough.

Every year, he arranges a nice lunch for them in a lovely clearing in the forest, an idyllic little spot that you can only find if you know where it is. The Siblings (two Brothers and a Sister this year) get their invitations and of course they're thrilled - what an honor, to be treated to something so exclusive!

What a shame that the excitement dulls their sense of wariness - if it didn't, maybe they'd notice the gentle wash of magick that hits at the edge of the forest. A trap set for the unsuspecting wanderers, one that douses them in a specific blend of pollens masterfully crafted for these occasions. Designed to dull the mind, to make them complacent and stupid, even for humans.

Prey.

They arrive together, finding a lovely picnic style spread laid out for them. Mountain stands nearby, masked but with a gentle smile on his face. He even bows to them, a sweeping gesture, and guides them to sit. They do, of course. They all know Mountain, the gentle giant responsible for refreshing the greenery planted around the abbey. The one they see working the orchards and puttering around in the greenhouse, always quiet and never threatening despite his size.

They take in the spread before them - individual salads topped with nuts and seeds, fresh fruits and cheeses, little chocolatr tarts topped with edible flowers and glasses of something fizzy at each place. None of them bother saying thank you before they dig in, too affected by the mind numbing pollen and their rumbling bellies, and they all miss the way Mountain's eyes flash.

He hovers at the edge of the gathering, watching like a hawk while they stuff their faces with little elegance. Chugging their sparkling wine, shoveling food down and barely chewing. He has all the patience in the world when it comes to this particular event, and not even their increasing lack of table manners could make him look away. It never lasts all that long anyway - all he needs them to finish is the salad.

The final Brother wolfs down the last of his portion, fork abandoned in favor of his filthy human hands, and while it makes him grimace Mountain ends up with eager butterflies in his stomach anyway. It's time for his favorite part.

He moves to stand before them, snaps his fingers, and like a pack of dumb dogs they look up at him. The Sister has a smear of berry juice on her cheek, one Brother has a mess of something he can't identify crushed into the front of his habit, and the other one is busy sucking his fingers clean. Mountain can't help his sneer - it doesn't matter now anyway, if they see his disdain. They don't have the brainpower left to notice it anyway. The butterflies in his belly pick up the pace.

He addresses them one by one, walking slow circles around the trio while he rumbles their respective misdeeds. As he does, he lays hands on them. Nothing major - casual passes of his hands on their shoulders, the backs of their necks. Subtle things that only add to the distant looks on their faces. They're far too lost to feel the sparks that sink into their skin with every brush of his callused fingers, and as each of their eyes begin to sparkle the most unnatural shade of green.

The Sister is the first to grab her stomach, to loose a pained hiss, and Mountain grins.

The others are quick to follow, and soon enough they're all curled up and writhing on the blanket. Kicking out and breaking plates and glassware, clutching at their clothes and gasping for breath. Mountain crouches as he watches them suffer, dragging his fingers through the soft grass of the forest floor with a serene smile on his face. Listening to the creak of new growth blooming inside them, a sound that only an earth ghoul could pick out, provided by the seeds they'd all so willingly shoved down their greedy gullets. Growth spurred by his power, by the spark of life that will, soon enough, steal theirs.

The Sister makes a bizarre croaking sound, and Mountain delights at the sight of the first green vine snaking its way out of her gaping mouth. Sprouting buds and leaves already, it isn't alone for long - a dozen similar ones join it in short order, forcing her jaw wide and her eyes wider. The Brothers follow suit, choking around the winding growth filling their throats, and as they stare at him with pleading eyes all Mountain can do is give them a wink.

The first blossom blooms at the corner of one Brother's mouth, a collection of brilliant blue petals in perfect health. The first of many, different for each Sibling, but soon enough all three of them will become little more than hosts. Vines curling around their limbs while the light fades from their eyes, flowers blooming as their struggle through their last breaths. A beautiful sight, Mountain thinks - three measly human lives traded for countless others.  He relishes their final, shuddering sighs - sounds that will live in the back of his mind until next year.

When they're gone, he can get to work at last.

Each of their overgrown bodies has a destination:

The Brother growing those lovely blue flowers, along with lush leaves and one particularly stunning white lily (which Mountain will pluck and set aside as a gift for Sister Imperator), will land in the greenhouse fertilizer pile. Destined to be broken down into a nutritious mulch that will enrich every potted plant Mountain can manage.

The Sister, sprouting wild grasses, thistles and buttercups, will be planted in the center of the peach orchard. Her body will feed the trees and the bees alike, enriching the soil and encouraging the fruit there to grow fat and sweet.

The final Brother, coated in thick ivy and tiny white blossoms, will be gifted to Ivy at the hidden cottage she shares with Terra and Pebble. He's not allowed to know what they do with the body, despite how many years he's been doing this, but Ivy is the only one entrusted with the upkeep of Primo's rose gardens so he doesn't have much room to argue. One day Mountain will convince her to let him in on those particular secrets, he's sure of it, but until then he's little more than a delivery ghoul.

He's left feeling very accomplished, once the heavy lifting is done. Knowing that his plants will remain healthy, their harvests bountiful, and that he'll earn a pat between the antlers from Sister Imperator for his efforts.

That's not all he gets for his troubles, of course.

To their credit, no one ever asks why the sacrifices are missing their hearts.

[pucksandpower]

Crazy Cravings

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader

Summary: pregnancy cravings can make you (and your husband) do crazy things … neither of you particularly minds

Warnings: 18+ content and pregnancy

You sit in the Red Bull Racing garage, feeling the warm Spanish sun on your face through the open door. The roar of engines and whirring of power tools surrounds you as the mechanics prepare for the race.

Your eyes are drawn to the iconic blue and silver cans scattered around the garage. Those tantalizing cans of Red Bull that everyone else seems to be drinking so casually.

Everyone except you and Max, that is.

You rub your rounded belly, feeling your precious cargo kick and squirm inside you. At six months pregnant, your cravings have been … intense, to say the least. But none more powerful than your longing for the crisp, fizzy taste of Red Bull.

The caffeine is off limits, of course. You would never dream of jeopardizing your baby’s health. But oh, how you crave that sweet, energizing flavor that used to be such a routine part of your life.

Max emerges from the back room, his bright grey eyes instantly finding you. He strides over, that effortless confidence and raw athleticism making your heart flutter, even after all these years. His gaze drifts to the Red Bull can in a mechanic’s hand and a grimace crosses his face.

“Liefje, are you alright?” He murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I know how much those are torturing you lately.”

You force a smile, not wanting him to worry. “I’m fine, Maxie. Just … ignoring the siren call of carbonated temptation.”

His thumb strokes your cheek as he studies you, clearly not convinced. Max has been so incredibly supportive during this pregnancy, abstaining from Red Bull himself in solidarity. Cutting out his biggest vice, just so you don’t have to be tormented by the sight and scent of it everywhere.

“We should get you out of here,” he says, looping an arm around your waist to help leverage your bulk out of the chair. “The smells can’t be helping those crazy cravings.”

You open your mouth to protest, not wanting to pull him away from his work, but a fresh wave of dizzying desire hits you as a mechanic cracks open another can. The fizzing hiss and unmistakable scent make your mouth water uncontrollably.

“Max ...” you whisper, feeling your throat tighten with barely restrained craving and hormonal tears prickling your eyes.

He follows your yearning gaze to the Red Bull can and understanding dawns. “Oh, liefje ...” Scooping you into his arms, he strides from the garage, shooting an apologetic look at his crew.

Once outside in the fresh air, you bury your face against Max’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar, comforting cologne as he carries you to the motorhome. He eases you onto the couch, brushing kisses along your forehead and temple.

“I’m so sorry, schatje,” he murmurs, anguish lining his handsome features. “I hate seeing you suffer like this. If there was any way I could make the cravings stop ...”

You catch his hand, lacing your fingers through his calloused ones. “Max, you know I would never actually ask you to give up Red Bull, right?”

He shakes his head fiercely. “Not being able to have it for nine months is nothing compared to your sacrifice, carrying our baby. I don’t deserve you.”

Pulling him down beside you, you cup the chiseled line of his jaw, making him meet your gaze. “I happen to think you deserve the very best, Mr. Verstappen. And right now, the very best for both of us would be ...” Your voice cracks with fresh longing. “A damn Red Bull.”

Max’s eyes blaze with sudden determination, that iron willpower that has made him a champion coming to life. “Then that’s what I’ll get you. If those tossers at Red Bull Company won’t make a safe, caffeine-free version for pregnant women, I’ll personally make them regret it.”

You laugh shakily. “Max, you can’t just bully a corporation into creating a new product line for one person’s weird craving!”

“You’re not just one person,” he growls, tangling his fingers in your hair and bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “You’re my everything. And our baby deserves for its mother to be happy and have her cravings satisfied.”

Pressing a fierce kiss to your lips, he adds, “I’m calling them right now. And then straight to the CEO, if I have to. I’ll get you that Red Bull if it’s the last thing I do.”

True to his word, the indomitable Max Verstappen spends the next several days working every possible connection and calling in every favor. You catch bits of conversations, his clipped tones making it clear just how serious he is about this bizarre quest.

“No, I don’t care if it’s not ‘cost-effective’. This is for my very pregnant wife ...”

“She’s risking her health to grow an entire person! The least your company can do is make a freaking caffeine-free energy drink ...”

The crew quickly learns not to open any Red Bull around you, lest they face the wrath of an overprotective Max. Which is slightly embarrassing … but also incredibly sweet.

Your hormones most definitely approve.

Finally, there’s a break in the stalemate. Helmut Marko himself shows up at the motor home, those bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed.

“Max, this is ridiculous. They will not reconfigure an entire product line just because Y/N is having a little … craving.”

You brace yourself for the explosion, but Max just levels Helmut with that intense stare. “If you could experience these cravings yourself, you would be singing a different tune. Y/N is sacrificing everything to have our baby. The least Red Bull can do is give her a safe option to have the flavor she misses so much.”

Helmut’s expression softens slightly at the obvious devotion in Max’s voice. “You know that corporate will never go for it. Not for just one person ...”

“Then make it for all the other pregnant women dealing with the same issues,” Max returns, unruffled. “Or is a company that plasters ‘Gives You Wings’ on every can really too cowardly to follow through on empowering people?”

You suck in a shocked breath at his daring play. But the flicker of anger and resigned capitulation in Helmut’s eyes shows that it worked.

“Fine, you little shit,” the older man growls. “I’ll talk to product development. But I’m not making any promises!”

Except somehow … Max’s sheer bullheaded tenacity eventually batters through all the corporate resistance and red tape. Three weeks later, an unmistakable bright blue can appears on the counter, the iconic Red Bull logo stamped across it.

“What’s this?” You ask in confusion.

Max slides an arm around your waist, beaming proudly. “Open it and see.”

You crack the seal, sniffing cautiously … and almost melt at the nostalgic, beloved scent of Red Bull. But just as you start to panic about caffeine, you notice the slightly different flavor.

“Max, is this ...”

He nods, grinning. “Zero caffeine but all the taste you’ve been craving. No more tears over those damn energy drink cans, okay?”

Throwing your arms around him, you yank his head down to capture his mouth in a grateful kiss. “Have I mentioned lately how incredible you are?”

“Once or twice,” he jokes, then sobers, cupping your belly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you and our baby happy.”

“You’re giving me everything I ever wanted and more.” You take a long pull of the perfectly flavored liquid, sighing in blissful satisfaction. “We hit the jackpot with you, Max Verstappen.”

He kisses you again, reveling in your obvious enjoyment. “The only jackpot I need is right here.”

***

Your baby bump has popped out to truly impressive proportions now at eight months along. What started as an innocent craving for Red Bull has escalated into an all-out physiological war.

Nothing seems to satisfy you for long — you’re a walking bundle of hormones and insatiable desires.

From the plush solitude of the Red Bull hospitality suite, you try not to gaze wistfully toward the Ferrari encampment. But you can’t resist fixating on the tantalizing cones of rich gelato constantly streaming from their hospitality tent.

Watching a couple of Ferrari mechanics stroll by, licking at scoops of pistachio and stracciatella, is enough to kickstart a powerful new yearning. Your mouth waters shamelessly as they pass, the creamy dessert leaving you weak in the knees. Before you can overthink it, you’re shuffling toward the entrance, one hand cradling your belly.

“Scusi,” you call out hesitantly as you peek inside. “Mi dispiace … is it possible to get some gelato?”

You half expect to be waved away — it’s well known that the Ferrari team is notoriously insular and protective of their spoils. But the cheerful greeting you receive is instantaneous and overwhelming.

“Madonna mia! Look at this beautiful piccina!”

Suddenly you’re engulfed by a whirlwind of chattering Italian voices, greeted by smiling faces from the team of elderly signoras who comprise the Ferrari hospitality staff. Weathered hands pat your belly and cheeks, clucking sympathetically at your swollen state.

“You poor bambina, absolutely enorme! Of course we’ll get you some gelato to refresh you. And biscotti too! You need to keep up your energy, si?”

You’re ushered toward a plush sofa, various grandmotherly types fussing over you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing. It’s … surprisingly wonderful. They clearly adore babies and pregnant women. You get the sense that indulging a mother-to-be is hardwired into their very beings.

A tray of gelato cups appears, the rainbow of flavors almost dazzling in their variety — chocolate, pistachio, prickly pear, lemon, stracciatella. Before you can reach for one, it’s plucked from your grasp.

“No no no! Leave it to Nonna Maria.” A stout signora with a green paisley dress and frosted silver curls shakes her head sternly. “I’ll start you with the lemon to whet your appetite. Then a nice creamy stracciatella as a proper treat for the bambino.”

The tangy flavor of the lemon gelato hits your craving exquisitely. As soon as you’ve polished off that cup, Nonna Maria presents another brimming with the creamy chocolate chip perfection of stracciatella. You moan in appreciation, unbothered by the chorus of approving noises from your doting new entourage.

Before you know it, you’ve been plied with cups of hazelnut, strawberry, and caramel flavors as well. These hospitable Italian ladies simply won’t be deterred from pampering a future mamma. As you scrape the last smears of gelato from a ramekin, a new grandmother settles on the sofa beside you.

“Now ... tell Nonna Gina what this little maschietto or bambina has been craving, eh?” She pats your belly affectionately. “We have chefs who can whip up anything your heart desires!”

Is it a pregnancy thing, this sudden wave of tears that blurs your vision? Or just being so insanely touched by the kindness and maternal care of these lovely strangers? You blink rapidly, swallowing hard.

“Honestly … gelato has been my biggest craving these past couple days. I don’t know if I can eat another bite.”

A chorus of disapproving gasps and tuts rises from the assembled grandmothers. “Bah! This pregnancy has ruined your appetite, piccina,” one crows, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll soon get it back to rights, don’t you worry.”

For the next hour, you’re lavished with attention, fussed over and coddled like the most precious jewel. Cold drinks and chilled towels appear to keep you comfortable as the nonnas take turns sitting with you, petting your belly and swapping outrageous birth stories.

Their colorful Italian voices swell and ebb as they bicker over whose recipe for pasta al ragu is most authentic, who has the most grandchildren, and whose first-born grandson is most handsome.

It’s chaos and noise and overwhelming affection … and you’ve never felt so utterly content.

As the afternoon light slants golden through the awning, a familiar figure appears in the entrance, haloed by the fiery rays.

“Liefje? I’ve been looking everywhere ...” Max’s disbelieving gaze sweeps over the scene in front of him — you, surrounded by a veritable coven of grandmotherly Italians who seem entirely absorbed with you. “What in the world ...”

A chubby signora with a bright orange shawl wrapped around her ample form hops up, beaming widely. “Ahh! We have been absolutely spoiling your beautiful wife, of course. Did you know she had a craving for gelato? Well, no problem for us — we have taken her like one of our own bambinas!”

The others cluck and murmur in outraged agreement at his shocked expression.

“We absolutely will not let a piccina in such a state go hungry or uncomfortable! Now you sit down so we can get you a plate of some proper food too!”

Max gapes at you, utterly nonplussed as you grin back at him with unabashed glee, utterly stuffed with Italian desserts and reveling in the indulgent babying. You pat the space beside you invitingly.

“You’ve got to try Nonna Gina’s tiramisu, Maxie. It’ll knock your socks off.”

He settles beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and still looking rather dazed. But the instant the first warm smile and pat lands on his arm or knee, Max’s expression melts. This team of fussing Italian grandmothers has clearly adopted you both as their own.

Nonna Maria reappears, shoving a plate stacked with crispy arancini, indulgent risotto alla Milanese, and a creamy slice of tiramisu into your husband’s hands. “Eat up! You need to keep your strength up too, caring for this sweet cosa bella.” She plants bristly kisses on both your cheeks before scurrying off again.

Max watches her go, then turns to you with a bemused chuckle, squeezing you close. “Well, schatje. I have to hand it to you — at least your pregnancy cravings bring you to some … interesting places.”

You hum in agreement, perfectly content as you snuggle against his side. “Can you really think of a better place for me to nest?” You grin as another nonna appears to pat his cheek, welcoming him into the chaotic fold. “I think I may have just found my second family.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes sparkling with warmth. “Anything that makes you happy and keeps our baby healthy.”

As he kisses you tenderly, surrounded by clucking encouragement and rapturous croons of “bello, bellisimo” from your new Italian grandmothers, you know you’ve never felt so blissfully cherished.

You and Max make your way slowly back to the Red Bull motorhome, stuffed to the gills with gelato and trailed by a gaggle of besotted well-wishers calling out farewells and advice.

“I still can’t believe you managed to befriend the entirety of Ferrari hospitality,” Max laughs, helping ease you onto the couch in his driver’s room. He nudges your belly playfully. “This little one is shaping up to be quite the international charmer!”

“Says the man who single-handedly compelled Red Bull to create an entirely new product line,” you point out, patting your swollen middle contentedly. “I have a feeling this baby is going to be the most spoiled child on earth.”

Max settled beside you, gathering you close with a tender smile. “Can you blame all our people for wanting to give the world to you two?” His thumb traced your jawline reverently. “You’re carrying a little miracle, liefje.”

Your breath catches, as it so often did when he looks at you like that. Like you’re his entire universe. With so much pure adoration and love shining in those grey eyes.

“Our miracle,” you correct softly, cradling his calloused hand over your belly. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Not just supporting me … but giving me everything I could ever dream of.”

He opens his mouth like he wanted to protest, but you press on, needing him to understand how treasured he makes you feel.

“You don’t stop until I’m happy. Even when I get these raging, random cravings that probably seem crazy, you move heaven and earth to give me whatever I need. Most people would never ...”

“Neither of us is most people,” Max interrupts fiercely. He presses a searing kiss to your lips, then the swell of your abdomen. “You and our little one are my entire world. I’ll spend every day showing you how much I love you both, how grateful I am to have you in my life.”

Hormones raging, you pull his mouth back to yours, savoring the taste and feel of him surrounding you. When you finally part, you rest your forehead against his.

“In that case, you better rest up for tonight,” you tease. “I have a feeling that someone’s going to get a craving for sardines and waffles right around midnight.”

***

At nine months pregnant, you feel like a blissfully beached whale.

Your belly protrudes so massively that you can barely see your feet anymore. Simple tasks like tying your shoes or rolling over in bed have become awkward geometric obstacles. Max has to help you up from every chair or couch, his strong arms levering your frame into a vertical position.

Lingering in the paddock is no longer an option either. You’ve been gently but firmly ordered back home to Monaco to prepare for the baby’s arrival.

Thank goodness your nesting instincts are going full tilt — otherwise you might go stir crazy waiting for this little one to make their grand debut. You’ve rearranged and re-organized the nursery a dozen times, washed and rewashed all the tiny onesies and miniature accessories, and baked enough lactation cookies to feed an army of nursing mothers.

Really, there’s only one craving occupying your mind now …

The thump of shoes in the hall makes you look up eagerly. Max appears in the doorway of the sunlit nursery, loose waves of brown hair framing his face. The plain white tee stretches enticingly across his chest and shoulders, making your mouth water for an entirely different reason than food.

“Hey schatje,” he greets, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes in your flushed cheeks. A knowing smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “Were you just ... thinking about me?”

You shake your head adamantly, wincing as the motion makes your whole body ache in protest. “Maybe just a little. This particular craving is getting out of control.”

Crossing to you in two strides, Max cups your jaw and brings your lips crashing together in a searing kiss. His tongue sweeps demanding and possessive into your mouth, making you whimper faintly. That intoxicating masculine scent of fresh sweat, motor oil, and sandalwood surrounds you in an alluring cloud.

After all these years, just the taste and smell of your husband is enough to drench you in molten wanting. Baby or no baby, Max Verstappen is still the sexiest goddamn thing on two legs.

“Mmm, I know exactly what you need,” he rumbles against your neck, nipping a tingling path along your sensitive skin. “Luckily for you, I’ve got a free schedule all afternoon to help take care of this craving ...”

He scoops you into his arms effortlessly, cradling your heavy weight against his chest to carry you to the bedroom. You twine your arms shamelessly around his neck, luxuriating in the hard strength of his body against yours.

“Aren’t you worried about ... squashing the baby?”

“Not at all,” he deposits you carefully on the bed. Those bright grey eyes darken with blazing lust. “I’m going to take such good care of you and our little one.”

His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once — caressing, nibbling, and stroking every sensitive inch he can lavish adoring attention on. You keen softly when he dips his tongue into your navel, rubbing reverent circles over the tight swell of your belly.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Max murmurs, lips brushing the crease where your torso and bump meet. “So ripe and round and radiant with our child. My beautiful, strong girl ...”

All you can do is lie there gasping, overwhelmed in the best possible way. He strips you methodically, leaving a trail of scorching, openmouthed kisses over every newly exposed inch.

“My sexy little pregnant wife,” he husks, tongue dragging up the slick crease at the apex of your thighs. “Can’t resist this craving can you, liefje?”

His fingers plunge inside you, curling expertly as his mouth closes over your throbbing bud. You throw your head back shamelessly, mindless with pleasure as Max devours you.

So good, so unbearably good …

He ravishes you thoroughly, sending gushing waves of release crashing through your body over and over again until you’re gasping and quivering. Atoms of blissful satisfaction hum in your bloodstream as you float back into sweet oblivion.

An insistent nudge against your belly slowly rouses you. Max looms over you, hair deliciously rumpled and eyes glittering wickedly. “Did I satisfy that craving sufficiently? Or should I keep going?”

Your mouth curves in a greedy smile, hands gliding over his flexing shoulders and chest. “Again, please ...”

It had long since become a running gag around the paddock and team — before you were advised to stop flying. When you couldn’t be located, someone would joke that you must be off ravaging your utterly besotten husband yet again.

Max took the ribbing with surprising grace, grinning unrepentantly whenever his shirt collar revealed another blossom of lovebites discoloring the skin of his throat.

You really didn’t care about the teasing. You’re indulging an entirely healthy and normal craving — just a wife thoroughly appreciating her man.

“Can you believe people used to call this a punishment?” You giggle breathlessly one afternoon.

Max nips a stinging path along the soft skin of your inner thighs, tracing tantalizingly close to your heated center. He laves his tongue soothingly over the reddened marks, leering up at you from between your parted legs.

“Let them call it whatever they want. I’m just taking advantage of your hormones making you insatiable for me.”

“Mmm, well I can’t seem to resist your obscenely perfect body either,” you admit with a lazy stretch. “Maybe we really are being punished.”

One dark brow wings up eloquently as Max drags his eyes over you in a deliberately insolent perusal. Taking your leg in hand, he licks an achingly slow, filthy stripe up the crease where thigh meets hip.

You choke on a whimper, whole body jolting as he sucks a blossom of wet kisses into the satiny expanse of your inner thigh. Those bright grey eyes hold yours in wicked challenge as his clever tongue massages and swirls over your sensitized flesh.

“This certainly doesn’t seem like punishment to me,” he husks darkly. “Does it feel like punishment when I do this ...” His mouth moves higher. “Or this ...”

By the time he finishes torturing you into a quivering, needy wreck, you’re more than ready to beg.

“Please, Max!” You sob, bucking helplessly against the maddening sensations. “I need you, oh god I need you so bad ...”

He settles heavily over you, nuzzling your hair aside to trail searing kisses along your damp throat. “Then you shall have me. My needy wife can have whatever she craves ...”

It’s midway through one such shattering round of lovemaking that Max’s phone begins to ring shrilly. You try to disentangle, burning embarrassment tinting your cheeks, but he simply growls and clutches you tighter.

“Leave it!” He bites out, surging forward to recapture your mouth in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue between thrusts. “I’m busy ... satisfying … my wife ...”

After, as you lie tangled in a sweaty heap of satiation, you can’t resist asking with a wry smile, “Was that another craving I just demanded you satisfy?”

Max props himself up on one elbow, thumb stroking idly along your abdomen as his piercing gaze roams over your flushed, disheveled form.

“Whatever my wife needs,” he responds huskily. Those burning eyes promise infinite carnal delights to come as they caress your body. “I’ll always crave giving her everything she desires.”

He stretches beside you, a blissful smile curving his lips as you snuggle up against his side to exchange lazy kisses.

You’ve got a sneaking suspicion this is one craving that might outlast the pregnancy ...

[squishi-bunni]

🎬Movie Night Romance🎬

Sean Diaz x fem!afab!Reader

WARNINGS: smut, 18+, nsfw, light begging, light praise kink, first time, fluffy

AU where everything is fine and both Sean and the reader are 18 and seniors in high school

Y'all are watching Howl's Moving Castle btw

His brown face is tinted blue by the laptop screen in front of us. He's completely engrossed in the movie I've been wanting to show him while I'm engrossed in his cute face. I'm completely curled up against his chest, looking at his sparkling eyes; he smiles when Sophie, with her beautiful starlight hair, tackles Howl into a hug as they both laugh; he looks down at me and laughs as he meets my eyes. "You're not paying attention to the movie, (Y/N)," he teases.

I roll my eyes. "I've watched this movie a thousand times - I can watch you instead."

He blushes and kisses me tenderly at my temple. "Considering this is your favorite movie of all time, I'm flattered you chose to watch me."

"I just like looking at my handsome boyfriend's face."

He laughs and buries his head into my hair. "Shut uuuup!" he whines, gripping my back flusteredly.

I giggle at his silliness and roll onto his stomach so I'm lying on top of him. I cup his face with my hands and force his honey eyes to meet mine. I squish his cheeks and give him a soft peck on the nose. "You're a cutie," I tell him.

His eyes dart downwards and he smiles bashfully. "You're cuter. . ." he mumbles.

I giggle and kiss him softly on the lips. He sighs closes his eyes, relaxing and pulling me close. He grabs at my hoodie and rests his hands on the small of my back. He holds me tenderly while kissing me gently; he holds me like glass and savors my touch.

We pull away and he smiles at me sheepishly. I see stars deep in his dark eyes, and the creases around them from how much he's smiling. He pulls me back to his lips and sighs into me again, as every touch from me gives him bliss. My heart feels like a fizzy soda and I gently push him down so he's lying fully on his back.

The end credits play as Sean and I become lost in our own world. I run my hand through Sean's hair and he moans softly into the kiss. He pulls away from my lips and starts trailing kisses from the corner of my mouth, across my jaw, and to my neck. I sigh contentedly as he kisses and nibbles my skin. I gasp when he finds the spot right under my ear and nibbles and sucks at the skin. I feel him smirk against me and he starts to bite and suck harder. I make a soft high sound, knowing he's leaving a mark. He pulls away and kisses the mark he left. I smile at him and fall to his side, reattaching our lips while I let my hands travel his body. He rubs his hands down my back and hips as I venture down his torso. I drag against the plush of his hoodie until I reach the hem and reach under to touch his warm belly with my fingertips. He hisses as my fingers make contact with his skin, sensitive to my every touch. I graze his stomach and then start to fiddle with the elastic band of his sweatpants.

I pull away and look at him. Our eyes dart down and back at each other. "Um…" I bite my lip as his eyes lock onto mine, hanging onto my every word. "Is it okay if I. . . touch you?" My face feels warm under his gaze.

He nods slowly "Yeah! Uh, yeah, you can-- I would um, like that."

I smiled and kissed him. "Okay."

I slip my hand under the waistband of his sweatpants and the elastic of his boxers. He gasps when my hands find his cock, hard up already, and warm to the touch. I grab him firmly yet gently and begin stroking up and down. Sean moans out, then covers his mouth with his arm, looking away. I take his arm away with my other hand.

"I like your sounds," I tell him "They're cute."

His entire face goes red as he whimpers against my touch. I watch his face while my hands work on him. He's panting and whining, and I feel him buck against my hand a few times. He squirms slightly as I touch him, and whenever he makes eye contact with me, his eyes dart away. He is so cute and shy, and his sounds and squirms at my touch make my stomach bubble up with warmth because God he is so fucking hot.

I kiss him against his jaw when he turns his head and gasps into my hair.

He pulls me off him and brings my lips to his. His hands grope and squeeze at my ass before he brings them to the waistband of my pants.

"(Y/N). . ." he says against my lips. "Can I touch you too?" He gulps as his eyes meet mine.

"Yes. . . please."

He nods and gently tugs my pants and panties down; I kick them the rest of the way. He slides down and lays his head on my chest; he urges my legs open and caresses my folds with his fingers. He blushes and grins to himself at the wetness he feels before slipping his fingers in. I gasp as he goes in deep and thrusts in and out. I feel bashful as he watches me, his honey-brown eyes wide with arousal as he stares at me. I feel shy, but I also love having him watch me. He's devouring me with his eyes, and when something he does gets me to moan louder, he adjusts his movements to keep me going.

"Does it feel good, baby?" he asks.

"Yes- mmnh! it-it feels good."

He pushes my hoodie out of the way, stopping at my breasts. He kisses my belly languidly as I whimper for him.

"Sean. . ." I sigh. "I'm, uh, I'm on the pill. . ."

His face flushes. "It's okay if I. . . fuck you?"

I nod. "Yes, I want that-- I want you, Sean."

He smiles at me sweetly and kisses my cheek. "Okay, amor; as long as you want it too."

He pulls his fingers out of me and guides me on top of him. He takes all of his clothes off as I yank off the rest of my hoodie.

I feel myself become more shy as he stares at my bare body. He rubs his hands up my sides and rests them on my hips. "Eres tan hermosa, (Y/N)."

I blush, "So are you, Sean."

He smiles and pulls me into a kiss. I whine as he grabs and grinds against my hips.

I pull myself up and position myself above him. He guides his cock into me and I sink down. We both moan as I lower completely onto him. He stares at me breathless as I sit on top with his cock inside of me.

When I feel ready, I start to move up and down. "Fuck!" Sean gasps. "Fuck. . . (Y/N), baby, please don't stop." I start to bounce faster and moan when his cock hits my sweet spot.

His nails digging into my hips cause me to look down at him; he's beautiful. He pants and gasps under me, mouth agape in bliss looking up at me dreamily.

Sean grabs my hips and slams me down on his cock, causing me to moan louder than I had wanted to. He covers my mouth quickly. "I love your sounds baby, but we can't wake anyone, okay?"

I nod.

He grabs my hips and starts slamming me down against him. I gasped and whined, trying to keep my volume down so no one would hear. I lean forward to bury my head into Sean's shoulder; I taste the salt of his sweat as I try to muffle my sounds into his skin. His moaning and grunting is even more audible now, right against my ear.

"Fuck!" I gasp. His arms wrap around my waist as he rams into me.

"God, you're so hot baby," he moans, "fuck, you feel so good. . ."

"Sean," I moan into his ear. The reaction to his name causes him to thrust harder, the bed frame creaking under us.

I feel a tightness in my core as he continues to ram and struggle to keep my noises down as I get closer and closer.

"Sean I- fuck-- Sean I'm close--" I whine.

"Fuck please cum for me, baby," he begs, "be a good girl and cum for me."

He bounces me until I come around his cock, and my body collapses and twitches atop him. I tug his hair and whine into his shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure pulsates through my body.

Sean doesn't last much longer after me, having a few more thrusts before finishing inside of me.

We lay there for a second to catch our breath, the scent of sweat around us.

Sean eventually lifts me off of him and to the side. He kisses me on the forehead before sitting up.

"I'm going to get a warm towel to clean us up," he says. I hum in response while he puts on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt and takes a short trip to the bathroom.

He comes back a bit later, a warm hand towel equipped. He cleans me up and gives me some of his clothes to wear. They're baggy on me, but I don't mind because they smell like him.

He snuggles us under the blanket and holds me close. I nuzzle my head into his chest.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Sean."

[rockingrobin69]

ruffians, and so on

“Oh,” Harry said, again, and then, “oh. It’s a—”

Tiny, fluffy thing in Malfoy’s arms. It hissed when Harry came closer to inspect, and Malfoy grinned like it was the cleverest creature in the world. He muttered a sorry that he evidently didn’t mean, stuffing his smiling face into the fluffy bundle.

“She’s quite possessive,” his voice came out muffled. Harry didn’t growl, but it was a near thing.

“Yeah? Well,” swallowing the silly rant about being possessive and teach it a thing or two, about how Malfoy was his first and only then this little—little—kitten’s. “She’s a cat,” he spat eventually.

“Very astute,” Malfoy laughed, that crackly sound that still made Harry’s chest go all, all, fizzy and warm like bad lemonade. “I can see why you never became an Auror after all.”

“Hmm?” already lost his concentration. The white little thing was climbing up Malfoy’s chest, wrapping itself around his neck and Harry, er, wanted, erm, far better control than what he currently—that was his spot, and she had to go. “She has to go,” he said, stupidly.

“What?”

Harry blinked. “I mean,” but he had no idea what he meant. “Shouldn’t you take her to a, dunno, vet or something?”

“Darling,” still laughing, but he sent a hand out for Harry to grab, only a little hysterically. “Come here.”

As if he were pulled by a spell, a string, already breathless and taking in tiny little pants of Malfoy’s appley scent. Malfoy brought Harry’s hand to his lips, gave it a kiss. Then, with a mischievous eyebrow, lowered it to the lump of fur clinging to him.

“See? She’s entirely sweet,” as Harry’s hand trembled, still too scared to—“Go on. It’s fine.”

With only half a growl, Harry nodded, closed his eyes. The little kitten was… soft, and strangely warm. Like this, Malfoy was very close too, and Harry could put his head on his shoulder and—oh, there she was again. Nose to nose, she really was quite… sweet.

“Hello,” Harry whispered. The kitten gave him a green-eyed stare.

“What do you think we should call her?” Malfoy’s voice was so gentle.

“I—I don’t know.” Felt like a big responsibility, and also too soft, and Harry pulled himself back up and tried for a step back, only to be taken by the hips. One of Malfoy’s hands found the back of his head.

His eyes were grey as always, and just as fond. “It’s all right,” he said. “I know you’re not exactly mister creativity here. As far as I can recall, you never even named your broom.”

“Didn’t know you were meant to,” Harry grumbled. “Besides, I don’t think Icarus was such a good name.”

“I was being ironic,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, pouted a bit in the way that always made Harry kiss him.

“Well, you’re not naming the cat.” Sticking his tongue out, only a little melted.

“Because I’m sure you’ll find something very original.”

“Hey, Hedwig was a good name!”

“I was referring,” Malfoy tilted his head the tiniest bit closer, “to a certain teenage organisation you led. Never mind. If you want to name the cat, I’ll entrust this very important mission to you. Provided I receive my fair payment.”

Grinning, helpless, “Yeah? What’s that, exactly?”

“I believe a kiss is in order?”

Oh, Harry’s been dying for one for far too long to object. Leaning in that infinitesimal amount of space separating them, taking that deep, sweet breath, his lips already touching Malfoy’s when—

“OW!” Malfoy tore back, eyes huge and incredulous. “What in Merlin’s fuck, little cat? Why the claws?”

His frustration allowed Harry’s belly to calm, allowed him to actually laugh. “You said it yourself,” with a cheeky pinch of Malfoy’s nose. “She’s a possessive little bugger.”

“Very poor form,” Malfoy wasn’t paying attention to him, eyes only for the kitten now, and his voice infuriatingly gentling. Harry, with a huff, found himself still smiling.

“I guess I can understand. I wouldn’t let anyone else kiss you if I were hanging on your neck.”

“Yes, my point exactly. I’d expect such crass behaviour from him, but we are Malfoys, young lady! I’d appreciate it if you showed proper decorum to the high standard expected of you.” With a blink, looking at the ball of fluff currently yawning in his hands, “Or—well, or not. I suppose you can do as you wish, damn you.” Looking up at Harry: “Potter, I think I might spoil our cat rotten.”

Harry wasn’t jealous. “Yeah,” he managed, stiffly, “yeah, I reckon you will.”

“Don’t give me that look. As though I don’t have every intention of spoiling you rotten too.”

“Oh,” Harry said. His mouth was twitching.

“Oh,” Malfoy mocked, “oh, he says, like I hadn’t made it perfectly clear. Truly, I am surrounded by a troop of ridiculous ruffians and—yes, you included, little cat. Don’t think I forgot. And just because you have the most adorable little beans does not mean—what’s the point. It absolutely does mean it.” Turning back to Harry, “Well? Are you coming?”

“Hmm? Coming where?”

“To get dinner? Harry? You did hear me, right? You weren’t just staring at the cat the whole time.”

Flushing, “Of course not.”

“Right,” Malfoy’s eyebrow quirked.

“Right.”

The cat made a tiny sound, not a meow. It’ll get the hang of it soon.

(For flufftober day 28. Find the soft AO3 collection here).