#i loved adding the lighting effects so much

[bochowssinner]

🪽 GUEST.

summary: your mama gave remmick permission to come in whenever he wanted, not knowing what he was, and he wanted you first. but remmick has a problem of playin' with his food.

warnings: fighting, light choking, hair pulling, spitting, biting, and a lil freaky.

a/n: y'all loved my other remmick post so i made another. bad at endings, sorry.

your mama had always been sweet, perhaps a little too sweet. especially when a white man stood on your porch one afternoon and offered to cut the grass for free. nobody did anything for free around here, at least that you were aware of. and what white man would do any kind of work for some black people? something wasn't adding up, and only you noticed.

that afternoon he saw you... it had been like a punch to the gut. something that made him want, something that made him.. ache. now here you were, trapped in his arms, just what he wanted. just his type.

“quit fightin’ so hard.” remmick’s voice was a near order as he stepped closer, forcing you back until you bumped against the edge of the kitchen counter. he lifted you higher, strong enough to maneuver your body without much effort at all.

“you sound.. sweet like this.” his hand around your throat loosened slightly, a few gasps of air escaping your lips. he leaned closer, nose brushing your ear, voice low and gravelly.

“what’s that pretty mouth taste like?”

you were pretty when you squirmed, really, it was almost sexy how hard you were still trying.

remmick’s hand squeezed your neck again, tilting your head to the side and back, forcing you to expose the long column of your pretty throat. “i'm gonna find out,” he murmured.

his tongue slid from his mouth, slick with spit and unnaturally long, and you instinctively screamed in disgust as loudly as you could, tilting your head back away from him as you struggled in his firm hold. remmick tsked. now that just wouldn’t do. he didn’t like that sound, or that struggle.

his thumb pressed on your windpipe enough to cut off more airflow while his other hand tangled roughly in your hair, yanking that pretty head back. he leaned closer, mouth just above that exposed neck, breath hot enough to send a shiver down your spine. "you know, you oughta be nicer.” his tongue flicked out, a quick tease of the skin. "you’re real vulnerable like this.”

his tongue traced an invisible line down the curve of your throat, lips pressing softly against you. he held you like a vice, body flush against yours, hand wrapped so tight in your hair it bordered on painful. "maybe I’ll make that pretty mouth scream again,” he murmured, teeth nipping at your collarbone. “just not in disgust this time.”

you reached up and grabbed a chunk of his hair and yanked his head away from your neck. he didn’t like that at all. in a quick, fluid motion, his hand gripped your wrists and slammed both against the edge of the counter, effectively trapping both your hands in one strong grip.

he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear. "do that again, and i’ll do worse than just bite you.” his fingers pressed into your skin, enough to leave little red spots. “i like my hair right where it is, thank you.”

then you spat. right on his lower lip. you weren't any stronger than him, but god forbid you let him bite you with those teeth. that was a bit more than the usual struggle, enough to break his attention. he raised a brow, eyes narrowing as he licked the saliva from his lip. it would’ve been funny if it hadn’t just taken him off guard.

"careful now.” his tone was still low, still thick with a sinful edge, but that sharp hint of warning was clear. he shifted his grip, pulling your head back a bit more as he leaned forward. if you wanted to spit.. he’d have a good way to shut you up. “spit on me again, and I’ll make sure that voice is hoarse for a week.”

“what makes you think you can just spit on me, huh?” he murmured. that ain’t how you should treat a guest, is it?”

"i ain't let you in—" you protested, breathing heavily as he craned your neck back in an uncomfortable position.

“no,” he chuckled, breath hot on your ear as he pulled back far enough to watch your face. “your sweet lil’ mama did.”

he leaned closer, lips just above your pulse. “your sweet ma let me in and told me i could stay as long as i needed to. said i could have a seat at the table and everything.”

his teeth scraped your skin. “so i think that does make me a kind of guest.” that was the last thing you heard him say before he sank his sharp teeth into your neck, piercing every vein along the way.

[the8thsphynx]

“Hearken… the Evening Bell tolls thy name…”

[King Hassan & Master OC]

(do not use/repost w/o permission)

[ysaefinn]

Pairing: Dilf!Satoru Gojo x gn!reader x Dilf!Suguru Geto

Synopsis: you try being sneaky behind your boyfriends' backs. But they're dead set on pampering you.

Good riddance.

You feel like ripping your hair out. The Zoom meeting has been going on for what feels like forever now. You've already told the interviewer everything he needed to know, your educational detaile, your degree, your previous experiences in the work force, and even your living arrangement for whatever fucking reason. So why on earth is he still running his mouth?? The ache in your cheeks from holding that tight smile makes you begin to regret applying for the job in the first place.

"You know you don't have to do this." And you do know,"we take care of you just fine, don't we?" And they do,"please, you stress yourself enough with school. You have enough on your plate already." And you do "Awe baby, just let us take care of you." and you should, but you just wouldn't fucking listen huh?

Your married boyfriends hate to see you like this. Don't get it twisted, they find it endearing the way you just don't seem to be able to sit still, how you just have to be doing something to contribute. But you just love taking it too far, working yourself to the bone, burning yourself out. Something the two middle aged men just can't have. And so, Suguru and Satoru have taken it as their mission to turn you into their spoiled little baby, a tiny little kitty in their palm, ever since they lured you into their marital home with charming smiles and hot meals.

The interviewer's words fade into the background as more and more doubt begins to cloud your mind. Realistically speaking, you really aren't in nee-

"Oh? what do we have here?"

You freeze.

But a pair of strong muscular arms wrap around your own, warming you right back up, you recognize that teasing tilt of tone anywhere. Lost in your own thoughts, you haven't been able to catch Satoru make his way into the room you swear you locked, and pull you into his embrace, your back pushed against hid soft plush chest.

"We talked about this didn't we? I can't believe you would go behind our backs like this? Im so disappointed~"

And usually, you'd laugh, kiss his cheek, tell him to stop being so dramatic, or even play along if he's lucky. But not when you've been caught red-handed, not when you've promised them time and time again that you'd take better care of yourself, and not when you've been pushing this interview around for when they both would be at work, and definitely not with your camera still on.

"U-uh satoru..." Said man responds with a hum against the back of your head in between gentle feather-light kisses.

"I'm uhm...in the middle of something....as you can see"

A second then two pass before he takes his face off of your hair. You can feel his piercing blue gaze burn the back of your head before he bursts into laughter. You shrink and curl back into him further.

"Awh sweets, the audaci-"

"Easy, Satoru. No use in being mean, you know our little angel just can't help it"

Your stomach drops to you ass once you register your other boyfriend (who's also your other boyfriend's husband)'s voice. Satoru rests his chin on your shoulder before pouting childishly.

Once again, your camera is very much still recording.

Suguru is leaning against the frame of the wide open door, a fond little smile on his face. And all hope is thrown to the wind. You may have had a chance at escape with Satoru, but definitely not with his husband. The feeling of hopelessness intensifies when the long haired man stands up straight and makes his way to you with purpose.

Suguru carries himself with the same elegance that caught your eye the first day you've met, a select few gray strands catch the sunlight making his black locks almost seem bejeweled. His hand comes down to ruffle his husband's hair and then to pinch your cheek affectionately before taking your unoccupied side. Effectively adding more fuel to the fire. Your hands fly to hide your flaming hot face, and your men share a look of amusement.

"Aww sweetie, come here." And of course. he wouldn't be Suguru if he didn't jump at the chance to coddle you in his own arms. "i know, i know... all of this work business must be stressing you out to no end," he noses at your temple, then moves to smear a long chast kiss on your cheek.

Maybe it's out of consideration for your rapidly beating heart. Maybe he thinks it's something only you should have the privilege to hear, either why you're thankful the next words came in the form of a whisper againt your cheek.

"But that's why you have us, right? We'll handle everything. You can just be our little one, wouldn't that be nice?"

And you nod, you actually nod. Can you believe that? That's all it took. Being sandwiched between the couple, a few kisses here and there a gentle whisper and you're once again swept off your feet.

"Why do you have to be this waaaayyy..." your muffled whining only serves to endear them, a big hand travels under your shirt to rub soothing circles on your back.

"It's for your own good" Suguru is yet to drop the soft cooing.

"And you do it to yourself!" Satoru is yet to drop the teasing.

You're reminded of two big happy cats when they start rubbing their cheeks on either side of your face, it's pretty impressive how synchronized they can be sometimes, yet again, you suppose it just comes naturally after a decade of marriage.

"..excuse m-" "You're excused!" Satoru quickly shuts your laptop. Effectively interrupting the interviewer, almost out of fear of an impromptu change of mind from your end, you can be quite stubborn, something they're working on correcting as well.

The embarrassment doesn't get a chance to sink in before Suguru scoops you up in his arms, eager to mother you as per usual.

"You've barely eaten anything for breakfast, you must be starving.. our poor baby..."

And your brain is melting again.

Maybe another day of unemployment wouldn't kill you.

[venomvalley]

FEED ME!

PART III: MILK AND COOKIES ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 4.7k words

SUMMARY: The third trimester.

TAGS: 18+ (oral and fingering, both receiving). fluff. happy ending.

NOTES: this is the last chapter and im so sad about it. already working on an epilogue i love these two so bad

-> READ ON AO3 | 1 / 2 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Sevika is officially at a loss. She's never experienced this kind of… affection before, and maybe it’s a pregnancy thing, but you just won’t leave her alone. Constantly touching her, talking to her, following her around both the apartment and the streets like you can't bear to be apart.

It's weird. Terrifying, as much as she hates to admit it. Because she actually likes it. Has gotten a taste of what she's been missing, and she can't get enough.

Her favorite moments are when you join her in bed, all sleepy and grumbling. Smelling like her soap, wearing her clothes, laying in her sheets. Hers. Hers.

She's never been able to say that.

You curl up against her side as best as your belly allows, cheek atop her shoulder, arm slung across her chest to play with her hair. She purrs like a cat, turns her head to give you better access to the strands that have grown a bit too long for her liking.

“Found a midwife while I was out yesterday,” she says. “She's probably delivered half the babies in the Undercity.”

You exhale a soft breath. “That's a relief.”

“We’re going tomorrow.”

The hand in her hair moves to shift her head toward you, touch light against the curve of her jaw.

Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chin dimples as you peer up at her. “Thank you, Sevika. I mean it. I'm grateful.”

She nods, leans forward to rest her lips against your forehead. “I know.”

You sleep in late the next morning, a new routine you’ve picked up over that last couple of weeks. Late enough that she has to wake you up for your unofficial appointment, and you sulk in bed for the better part of twenty minutes before finally getting up to start the day.

After a long walk, you reach the building belonging to the midwife. The woman that waves you inside oozes experience with her curly grey hair and deep-set wrinkles. A pillar of the community according to the women she spoke with (Sevika had to make sure that she would take good care of you, after all). Brought into the world half the kids walking around the Undercity. Stern but loving.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’m Lyra.”

You smile in return and give her your own name, accepting the arm that the woman offers to help you onto the stoop.

Lyra orders Sevika to wait outside, says the exam shouldn’t take long. It makes her skin itch, the thought of leaving you alone with this stranger, but you give her one final, reassuring smile, and she knows she’s outnumbered.

Fine. She can wait. But she doesn’t have to be happy about it.

She spends her time smoking cigarettes and people-watching. The streets are busy this time of day, families passing through, couples holding hands. A father carries his daughter on his shoulders, her tiny hands curled beneath his chin, and she thinks of her old man. If he’d see the person she became and look upon her with pride. Maybe he’d tell her that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, that his grief over losing her mother and brother corrupted him. That he fucked up big time with raising her the way he did.

As a teenager she was rebellious, desperate to free herself from under his thumb. Got into the wrong crowd more times than she can count. An unfortunate side effect of anger and impulse—a dangerous recipe she’s relieved she grew out of.

For the longest time, she was left with that anger. It never failed her, never broke her heart, never left her behind. It was safe.

Your presence hasn’t fixed everything in her life, but it’s softened her edges. Cured the loneliness that added fuel to the fire. And every day that passes means one less day she might have with you. She knows the kid is due soon, a month at most.

She can’t lose you like she lost her mother. But she’s in too deep to back out. Couldn’t if she tried.

Still, the thought terrifies her.

And although she’s never considered herself a good candidate for parenthood, for building a family in general, she’s accepted that she now has a kid to raise. A less scary prospect when it’s you she’s raising it—her—with. You’ll be a great mom, already are despite the circumstances.

When the front door creaks open, she shoves away from the wall and stamps out her cigarette, waving the smoke away (even though she stands at the corner of the building).

You step out with a wide smile and a new canvas bag looped around your arm, waving goodbye to Lyra. When the door closes, you spot her immediately, reaching for her hand as she walks over.

“How was it?” she asks, leading you out into the street.

“Good. Baby’s healthy, and she thinks I have a few weeks before I give birth.” Your unoccupied hand reaches around to rub at your back. “Praise Janna, ‘cause this kid’s getting heavy.”

“I’ll rub your back when we get home.” A second-nature offer, instinct at this point.

“Oh!” You squeeze at her hand, take a step in front of her to say, “Can we get some more sweetbread while we’re out? I’ve been craving some all day.”

Your eyes shimmer at the mention, and she fully expects you to start drooling at any moment.

“Yeah, we can.”

An expression of relief paints your face, and she can’t help the smile that stretches her lips. “I absolutely love you right now.”

Her heart explodes inside her chest. She wonders how deeply you meant it, then decides that she’d rather not find out. Better to exist within the realm of her own fantasy for a little while longer.

.

.

.

The kid’s due any day now, and you’re ready to lose your mind. She’s given more massages in the last few weeks than she ever has in her life. Every day introduces another thing for you to cry over. Sleeping is difficult, as is every other task.

But today, she touches your stomach for the first time. Lays a hand against the taut skin and registers the flutter of… something beneath her palm.

“Feel that? She’s kicking the shit out of me.”

She looks up at you with a raised brow. “Takes after her mom.” Says it just to watch you giggle and roll your eyes.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You have a lot more room than she does.”

This is her life now. A realization that catches her off-guard, stops her in her tracks, and your hand reaches over to comb through her hair as her entire world falls apart. Like her center of gravity has shifted—like there’s no gravity at all anymore.

“Hey. You okay?”

She looks up at you, brows furrowed in thought. “Yeah.”

Everything has changed, and soon, things will change even more. She’s already bribed a handful of lackeys to do her jobs the next few weeks, and she’s lost sight of the main goal. Can’t really pinpoint when the switch happened.

Except she can: the moment you grabbed her hand that night in the alley—the moment you dug yourself a home in her heart.

But she has a plan. Set you up in a quaint house in the better part of the city, get in touch with some old friends that could hire you on for some money, and continue her duties as Silco’s right hand. It’s selfish of her, wanting the best of both worlds, but maybe there doesn’t have to be an either/or. Maybe she can have both.

Maybe her old man was wrong.

(Shit, she's turning into Vander—the Vander who prioritized his kids before the good of the Undercity.

If she starts considering deals with Enforcers, she might as well hang it up.)

A soft kiss to her forehead as she lays her cheek on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Nothing you need to concern yourself with.

She exhales a breath through her nose. “I’m not used to this. Being happy, I guess.”

“Me neither. It’s weird, isn’t it? The good kind.”

“We should move. Get a bigger place.”

“What, you don't like it here?”

The mocking grin you shoot her makes her lip curl. “No. I never have.”

You roll your eyes. “I was joking. I think it's a fantastic idea.”

“Later, then. After the kid comes.”

You press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, snuggling closer into her side. “Fine by me.”

When she gets home the next day after a chaotic morning of running around the docks, she finds you in bed with a large book and a pen.

“So. I got this today.” You hold it up to show her the covering, the letters embroidered in the black fabric.

“You sure you’re supposed to be holding something that heavy?” she asks, brows lowered as she walks up to the bed with an outstretched hand.

Lips twisting into a frown, you pull the book to your chest. “Not the point. Look at the title.”

100 BABY NAMES AND THE MEANINGS BEHIND THEM.

She exhales a laugh. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Tayla brought it by. Gave us some free cookies, too.”

“Really? I didn’t see any.”

You glance away from her, lowering the book to your lap. “I might’ve indulged a little bit, but to be fair, I didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”

Something warm swirls in her chest. Affection—an emotion she welcomes with a small smile. “I told you I’d be back today.”

She takes a seat next to you on the bed, peering over your shoulder to the page below. You’re on the letter S now, some names underlined in pen.

You blow out a breath, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder. “I need your help picking a name.”

“I'm not the creative type.”

“You don't have to be. The list is right here.”

In truth, she doesn't want to choose. It's not her kid, not her future to determine.

“You're her mom,” she says, quiet, words stained with a sadness she didn't realize she even had.

You fall quiet for a moment, picking at a corner of the page with your thumb.

“If you want, and only if you want, you can be in her life, too—”

She says your name with a resigned sigh.

You turn to look at her, a hand braced against her thigh. A searing brand even through the fabric of her pants. “I know we haven't talked about it, but… I don't expect you to take care of me forever, especially since I'm gonna have a baby. I just—”

“Stop.”

She hasn't talked about it because it isn't a conversation she wants to have. Confronting the inevitable means moving forward, and she doesn't want to. She wants to live in her little bubble where the Big Bad is defeated and she might actually get a happy fucking ending.

“I'm serious. You've done enough for me. She's my responsibility, not yours, but—”

“You both are. End of story.”

“I wanna be more than your responsibility, Sevika.”

At the hurt look on your face, the prickling of tears in your eyes, she panics. Backtracks as quick as she can. “No, you are. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then I want you in her life. Taking care of her, teaching her, loving her the way you do me.” You rest a hand on her cheek, smile sad and watery. “The way I do you.”

She doesn't know what to say. If she can even form words right now from the way her tongue hardens to stone inside her mouth. But her heart tenders, dissolves at your words.

You love her. You actually love her. Stupid, naïve, weak woman.

She kisses you, soft and sweet. Cradles the back of your neck in her palm like you're the only thing keeping her world glued together.

“You mean that,” she mutters, nose brushing against yours, lips a ghosting touch against your own.

“That I love you?” She nods, and you grin. “Have you met yourself? How the hell could I not?”

She exhales a laugh. Relief relaxes the pouch of her lungs—relief and something a lot more sickly.

Fear. Can't remember the last time she's been loved, been open to it. So far beyond possibility's reach she couldn't grasp it if she tried. For most of her years alive, she hasn't even wanted it. At its very core, love is what killed her mother and destroyed her father from the inside out. It makes you weak, stupid, impulsive. Irrational. A word that has no business in her vocabulary.

So why, then, does the word seem so appealing when it's you?

“I would like for this… thing between us to last a while. But I don't want you to feel pressured into it.” You shrug. “I come with a lot of baggage.”

She exhales through her nose. Says, “So do I.”

You roam your eyes over her face, a soft smile stretching your lips, before you plant the book in her lap. “Pick. I've already underlined the ones that interest me.”

“And if it's a boy?”

“It won't be. I'm telling you, I sense it. The baby whispers to me in my dreams.”

She actually laughs at that. “That another pregnancy thing?”

“Yep. Now pick. Don't make me tell you again.”

With a raise of her brows (you already have the mom voice down), she turns to the page. Runs her finger over each underlined name, testing them on her tongue, before landing on:

Stella — ‘star’

“This one.”

You peer down at the one she chose, cheek squished against her arm. “Why that one?”

She pulls a face. “Well…” It reminds her of how you've been the brightest thing in her life thus far, and if everything goes to plan, the kid won't be limited to the cage of the Undercity–she'll have the whole universe at her fingertips. “I like the sound of it.”

You nod, slow and thoughtful. “Stella… Ste…lla. Stella.” A tilt of your head. “I like it. It's pretty.”

So are you, she wants to say, but she stays silent.

.

.

.

You're ready to pop this kid out.

Lyra stopped by yesterday, examined you behind the locked door of the bedroom, and said that it was time. Suggested a more… unorthodox method to induce labor.

(”Sex is the most natural thing in the entire world,” she had said, turning to Sevika with both hands on her hips and a deep frown. “Why do you act so surprised, dear?”)

You're a lot less open to the idea, no matter how ready you are to be done with pregnancy.

“I just don't understand how you could want me,” spoken softly, melancholic.

Sat on the bed, Sevika soothes a palm over your thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean physically. ‘Cause of the…” You motion to your stomach, and she shushes you with a kiss.

“I don't care. You're more than that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I want to help you.”

Your brows cant upward, a war waging in your brain as your eyes dart back and forth over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I'm sure.”

With a relieved breath, you nod your head. “Gods, please help me.”

Sevika is not soft, but she has to be with you. Wants to be.

You lay down in the sheets that smell so much like you and spend five minutes getting comfortable, fluffing the pillows behind you and removing clothes and adjusting your hips. You spread your legs and her first instinct is to bite, to scar the plump curve of your inner thigh, but she can't. Won't. Too much trust in the way your soft body blooms for her, fingers delicate on your full tits.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. A loaded question—it isn't the act itself, but the person you've chosen for it. She wants to be seen as worthy after what you've been through.

“I've had the last ten minutes to change my mind,” you say, lips spreading into a dopey grin. “Need it so bad. Need you to help me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a steady breath at the sound of you so needy and sweet. Smooths a rough palm over the lower curve of your belly before pressing a kiss to your cunt. Already slick, puffy against her lips. Her tongue licks over your clit and you whine, fingers twisting around hers so tight the joints creak.

“Shit, that's—” You're cut off by a heavy sigh when she sucks the bundle of nerves into her mouth, soft and rhythmic, humming against you.

Best thing she's ever tasted, skin so soft under her hand, so wet she risks drowning. What a way to fucking go. You tilt your hips up to rut against her face, and she rides out your movements, offering up her tongue for you to grind against. Her hands move to your thighs but you bat her flesh one away.

“Fingers, Sev, please–need your—”

She's quick to split you open on two, groaning at the slick heat that sucks her in, at the way your shudder and keen high in your throat.

Between the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers and her tongue licking over your clit, it doesn't take much for you to cum. A surprisingly short time, in fact. Must have something to do with hormones, who fucking knows. It's hot. A beautiful thimg to watch—and feel, fuck—as you fall apart from just her fingers and tongue. Thighs tensing over her shoulders, insides fluttering, a hand fisted in her hair.

When you whine and shove at her head, she leans away with a long inhale of breath, sitting back to look at you still spread out beneath her, chest heaving, cunt plump and glistening. You've made a wet spot on the sheets under your ass.

You swallow with a click, arms stretching over your head. “Damn. Didn't realize how bad I needed that.”

She huffs out a laugh, wiping the lower half of her face off with her shirt (still can’t get over how wet you were; never seen anything like it in her life). “Glad I could help.”

“Your mouth should be illegal.”

She crawls up on the bed then settles in beside you as you lavish her with praise, basking in the afterglow with a hand in hers. Heat flushes up the back of her neck and courses down the length of her spine when you beg to kiss her, to taste yourself on her tongue.

You'll be the death of her.

She curls a hand over the back of your neck and slots her lips against yours, and immediately, you lick into her mouth. A moan vibrates your chest as you pull her closer, both arms wrapping around her neck.

“Can I return the favor?”

The question comes out of nowhere. By the steady rhythm of your breath, she thought you fell asleep ten minutes ago, but you're already rising to your knees to peer down at her with an expectant grin.

“That's not why I did it.”

“So I have to beg?”

A very nice thought. One she'd like to indulge in under different circumstances.

“How would you even—”

You roll your eyes. “For the love of Janna, I'm pregnant, not dying.” You scoot over to the side of the bed then grab one of the pillows you use to prop yourself up. “You can just lay on the edge of the bed, and I'll get on my knees in the floor.”

Well. You're more than willing, and she might actually combust if she doesn't cum soon. A win-win situation.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and helps you pull her briefs off.

When she spreads her legs, you tug your lower lip between your teeth, sweeping your eyes over her bare pussy. “I'm a little rusty, so you'll have to forgive me.”

She doesn't give a shit, will probably cum as soon as you get your mouth on her. And that's what she tells you.

With a teasing wriggle of your brows, you lean in, the flat of your tongue licking her from hole to clit. Her thighs twitch on either side of your shoulders, breath hissing through her teeth.

Shit, how long has it been since she—

“I don't have any other way to thank you for being so good to me,” you say, and her ears burn when you suck the lips of her pussy into your mouth. “This’ll have to do.”

She's nothing but a white-hot ball of need at this point. Heat broiling beneath her skin, coiling dangerously in the pit of her stomach.

You gaze up at her with low-lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue over her clit, watching her face twist up in pleasure.

Already, she's close. Thighs twitching, hips tilting up into your face. You circle two fingers over the entrance of her cunt, dipping in with a wet squelch.

When you lean away with a grin, she almost resorts to begging, and then you slide those fingers inside her, eyes locked onto the way she swallows you up.

“Fuck. You're so wet, Sev,” you pant, the thumb of your other hand raising to circle over her clit.

She knows. Shit, she knows—

“Please,” whispered under her breath.

Your soft gaze meets hers, and she's never felt so raw before. Flayed alive. Stripped down and vulnerable. The word means more than just begging. Sevika does not beg. Hasn't needed to in a very long time.

But she does for you.

“I know, baby.” You press a kiss to her puffy clit. “I'll take care of you.”

She will not cry. She absolutely will not fucking cry right now over some stupid little thing you said between her legs.

She collapses back against the bed and throws an arm over her face as you work her up to a quick orgasm with the steady rhythm of your fingers and tongue. She spreads her legs even wider when the coil in her belly snaps to keep from crushing your head between her thighs, and she grunts into the bend of her arm from how tight her limbs lock up.

It takes a good fifteen seconds before she can even breathe again, and she looks down the line of her body, flinching at the wet kiss you press to her stomach. Then another a little higher, and another, your chin sticky and slick as it glides over her skin.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for her hand to help you climb on the bed and straddle her waist.

You're beautiful like this. Sated and sleepy and still so wet that your pussy leaves a puddle on her stomach. But the heated look you give her is a warning that you won’t be satisfied with just the one time.

Three rounds later—with you riding her face, and her leaned back against the wall, and you bent over the bed, and at one point you go to the kitchen for a snack and bend her over the counter, and then she fucks you in the shower when you’re supposed to bgetting clean—you’re both curled beneath the sheets, your belly pressing into her side, halfway between wake and sleep.

But something gnaws at her. Something she should've done months ago.

“I feel like shit. About… the way I talked to you when we first met.”

You sigh, and her heart begins to pound.

“Yeah, you were an asshole. A huge asshole.” At her guilty wince, you curl closer into her, cheek resting on her shoulder. Your hand soothes over the skin of her stomach. “But I get it now. You don't like to get close to people.”

“That's a nice way to put it.” She exhales a breath through her nose. Can't remember the last time she's tried to conjure up an apology. “I really am sorry, though. I want you to know that.”

You hum, voice thickening with the lull of sleep. “I appreciate it. Guess I knew there was more to you than what you show people.”

“Did the kid tell you that, too?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You already did. Four times.”

You laugh, and her sky shines a little brighter.

Everything is good. Great, in fact. But that’s the thing. Good things are fleeting in her life. Something always comes along to fuck it up.

She just hopes that the good days last a little while longer this time.

.

.

.

Fresh out the womb, the girl already looks like you—the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, your fingers and toes. Chubby-cheeked, a head full of thick hair, eyes blinking the world into existence.

Sevika does not make life, she destroys it, and yet in the same hands that have killed many, she holds creation in its purest form. Her face is one of the first things this baby will ever see.

She wants to cry.

She thinks of her mom, dying alone on that cold floor, and her vision mists over. Not this time. She’s older now, stronger, more lucid to the world. She'll do right by you—both of you.

But she’s terrified. Doesn’t know if she has it in her.

A trembling hand curls over her wrist, and she looks over, greeted by the gentle curve of your smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” you whisper, voice dragged through the jagged rocks of the river.

All she can do is nod, a thumb soothing over the fine wisps of your daughter’s hair. Curious eyes peer up at her, squinting, wiggling tiny little fingers.

She’s never held a baby before. Always thought them too fragile, but Lyra insisted that if a baby can squeeze through a vagina, it can handle being held. It made her feel better, if a little flustered, and you had laughed yourself to tears at the look on her face.

But the woman had a point.

She won't touch her with her prosthetic, though. For all Lyra's talk about hardiness and resilience, that part of her has no business near such an innocent thing. It's seen and felt too much blood. Caused it.

You notice, though. Of course you do.

“We can put a sheet around it,” you say in an attempt to reassure her, trailing a finger over the metal. “It's gonna be hard to hold her with one hand.”

“I'll manage.”

You let it go, turning back to nurse your glass of water, and she's grateful. Wouldn't budge on this no matter how hard you try.

She holds the baby until she can't any longer, when it's time for her to feed and the room fills with fussing cries. Watches you for a long time, long enough for you to notice and look up at her with a smile, eyes turning to those crescent moons that she loves so much.

Loves. Huh.

Yeah, she—fuck, she loves you. The realization scares the shit out of her, but the sight of you cooing at your nursing baby (hers, too, if she wants it, and she doesn't think she's wanted anything more in all her life) makes the fear inconsequential.

Now, she just has to figure out where the hell to go from here. How to be what you need.

A new place is a good start. She did promise you, after all.

[rafeysbunny]

Ok rafe doing coke with the reader and then having a fuck fest 😌

a/n. this has been sitting on my asks for a while now, i really hope you get to see it anon! thanks for the request!

you are giggling softly as rafe's finger gently rubs a tiny bit of coke onto your pink gums for the second time tonight, the effects of the drug already kicking in —even though he was careful enough not to give you too much.

is it bad that you love getting high with him?

you can't help but suck his digit in a playful manner before he finally pulls his hand away, a thin thread of saliva stretching in between his finger and your lips as he takes it out of your mouth.

"now stay still for a sec, baby," he mutters, pouring a bit of the white powder for himself over your sternum.

your shirt is laying somewhere on the floor of his living room, boobs on full display while he does a line on your chest using his credit card —he has been insisting on doing this all night, and it's not like you can deny him anything.

every little brush of his fingers lights your skin on fire, more than it usually does, and you know that's the cocaine doing its thing. your little nipples are hard, panties already wet as you watch him lean forward to snort the cocaine from between your tits, his tongue sliding all the way up your flesh where the coke was just laying when he's done so none of it goes to waste.

you gasp in response to his actions while you reach out to tangle your fingers in his soft, blonde hair. you give it a slight tug, knowing how much he loves it when you do that, and you're rewarded with a little grunt of his own.

he leaves a trail of wet kisses all over your chest, collarbone and neck as he makes his way up your body, aiming for your lips. he kisses you like he's starving as his large hands force your thighs open so he can slot himself in between them. you're both panting when he breaks the contact.

"how you doin', baby?" he asks breathlessly, lips still brushing against yours while he talks, "feeling good ?"

you nod in response. "so horny, rafey," you pant out, your hips unconsciously bucking up to grind your pussy against his cock over your clothes, desperate to feel him.

"suck a needy, little slut, huh?" he chuckles darkly, wrapping a hand around your slender neck.

he's just as turned on as you are, his hard dick throbbing insistently inside his pants while he stares at your semi-naked body squirming beneath him on the couch. your breath hitches slightly at his rough grip and you can feel your cheeks blushing when he grinds back, the friction making you shudder.

"dirty girl... so fuckin' desperate for cock," he murmurs hoarsely.

his calloused thumb gently presses against your pulse point —feeling your fast heartbeat there, while his free hand reaches out to grasp the waistband of your shorts and yank them down your smooth thighs, exposing your black lace underwear. when he slips that same hand inside your panties, he finds you soaking wet for him.

"drenched already ? haven't even touched you properly yet... what a pathetic whore," he taunts.

he smirks against your flushed cheek as he pushes two of his thick fingers inside your tight cunt, and your pussy flutters around them. the dirty talk, added to the degrading words sent your way, has you turning to putty in his arms.

"gonna fuck this slutty cunt the way it deserves, you hear me?" he says, curling his digits inside you to hit your g-spot. when you moan and nod eagerly in response, he adds, "yeah? want me to ruin this fuckin' perfect pussy? words, baby."

you shiver at the demanding tone he uses with you, his raspy voice filling your ears and striking just the right chord in your brain to make your pussy drool.

"yes, need you to fuck my pussy so bad," you answer between pretty whimpers.

"you're gonna get it, a'right."

he's quick to get rid of your remaining clothes and then he undresses as well. once naked, he grips your hips roughly to turn you around, bending you over the couch. as he positions himself behind you, his hands are restraining you, one of them forcing your head onto the cushions so your back is arched while the other is pinning your hands at the bottom of your spine.

when he finally thrusts into your sloppy cunt, you're seeing starts behind your closed eyelids as you let out the loudest moans he's ever heard from you, which only motivates him to fuck you harder, hips slamming roughly against your plush butt and pussy squelching lewdly around his cock. he'd make you cum again and again, fingers bullying your swollen clit until you're begging him to stop, pretty cheeks wet with tears. only then, he allows himself to cum.

"baby, fuck, so good f'me," he'd moan while he fills you up, dick throbbing inside your spasming cunt as he fucks you through his orgasm, "such a good little slut."

more.

[entirelytoooobsessed]

needy!drunk!gojo satoru x gn reader-based off this post

synopsis: gojo is a lightweight, vowed to sobriety to keep whatever bit of shame he has left to his name. but he really can't help but take a few shots when he sees you doing the same.

warnings: sub gojo, gn dom reader, both reader and gojo are drunk, gojo's a lightweight, handjob, semi-public sex, he cries-like a lot, he also had nipple piercings bc i couldn't help myself, reader's kinda a hoe, feelings, think that's it

The warm press of hands against your hips is what makes you gasp. The soft touch of lips traced over your throat is what makes your head spin.

What a delightful feeling. 

What a human desire. 

“Touch me.” 

The room spins around you, the warm feeling of being held making you sigh, leaning into it. The scent of him, the greedy claiming of his presence in your mind. So selfish. Of him not to think of the effect that this has on you. To not care about the war going on in your mind. 

“Touch me, please?” A whine this time. A meek sound, spilling from his lips, making your body light up in return. 

“Satoru,” He practically purrs at his name on your lips. Pathetic. How easily riled up he is. How easily you’re able to make his knees feel weak. How much he loves the sound of your lips forming his name.

“Mmmm, say it again.”His nose sweeps delicately over your neck, working over a heavy sigh as he tries not to get drunk on the smell of your shampoo. Or more drunk than he already is, that is. 

“Your name?” You mutter slowly. 

“Yeah….” His words have been gradually slurring over the span of the night, with the amount of shots he’s taken, with the amount of drinks he’s had. With the inches of space between you closing until there’s nothing between you but the thin layer of clothing that does nothing to hide the bulge he shamelessly presses against you.

Even so, you know that he's always been far beyond measures of shame, but this is a whole new level, the way he continues to press his body impossibly closer to yours, his broad chest against your shoulders, his hips canting against you. 

You’ve always hated how he’s been taller than you, his incessant teasing when he throws you over his shoulder as you yell and pound on his back. He takes advantage of it all too often.

You don’t mind now.

“Why, Satoru?” Maybe you’re cruel for the teasing, for liking your friend’s reactions all too much. Shivering, nearly violently, throbbing against your lower back. 

He whines, “Sounds so…-so much better when you say it. Makes me wanna just…”

His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol and you’re still not entirely sure how Shoko and Suguru managed to get him to break his vow of sobriety. Not when you’d seen him turning them down for the first bit of the night.

The next time you saw him he was getting dragged along by you, gulping down whatever liquids you shoved into his hands. 

With his feverish hands tracing up your body and his sinful hips pressing against yours. Muttering about how he wanted you and needed you, whispering about things he'd never have said in the harsh reality of day, but was that not the beauty of getting intoxicated beyond belief?

“Hmm? Just what?” 

He simpers, “Wan’ you to touch me, play with me, like I’m just a toy for you~” He grinds slowly and you wish you could kiss him. Kiss him until he’s breathless and red and can’t remember his own name. Dazed and dizzy and muttering gibberish while loosely gripping onto you. 

You don’t think if you’d even have to kiss him to do that right now, but the taste of his perfectly pink lips would just be an added pleasure to this delectable mix.

But you shouldn’t. And you won’t.

Not because he’s your friend and this will surely be crossing some unspoken line.

Or because it’ll throw off the axis of your entire friend group. You'd never let that stop you before. And you wouldn’t let something like that stop you now. Not when you've clumsily pressed your lips to Shoko’s, high out of your mind and hidden under the blanket of dark nights. Or when you let your hands wander along the lengths of Suguru’s skin, promising to make him feel things he’d never felt before. 

Not because Satoru Gojo is one of your best friends.

But because Satoru Gojo is currently drunk and so are you. And despite the fact that you’re practically drowning in the warmth of alcohol and all that is Satoru Gojo, you want whatever you do with him to mean something-be something. Not just a clumsy night of drunken mistakes and hazy flashes, not something you’ll forget in the morning and agree to never speak of again.

He’s too…important for you to treat him like that. And you’re too selfish to let anything you do to him to mean anything but the fact that he would be yours. But he’s not yours. And you’re not his. And all this thinking is only making a steady ache build behind your temples.

You sigh, twisting around in his arms. Blue eyes blinking back at you, slowly searching over yours and fuck, his lips are so kissable. Pink and plump, trapped between his too white teeth.

“Let’s get you back to Shoko and Suguru, they’ll take you home and make sure you don’t kill yourself.” You’re not entirely sure where they went or why they’ve left the two of you behind, all alone where they'd know neither of you were in the right mind to make good choices.

 “No,” He shakes his head, white hair tossing, ruffled and mussed from a night of clinging to you like this. Far too close for comfort though you still couldn’t bring yourself to pry him off.  “No, n-no, don’t wan’you  to leave…” 

You begin to tug him off either way. He’s not sane enough to make decisions for himself and you don’t think you are either. “C’mon baby, let’s go find your friends.”

He shudders and grips your hand, refusing to move an inch. Tears pool in his eyes and your jaw hardens.

You sigh. You didn’t know why you thought this was a fight you’d win either way. It was a losing game trying to argue with Satoru. His lips wobble and you can feel your resolve withering away by the second. Tearing down every single defence you put up around, being ripped away by him and his stupid tears as if they were paper. 

“Don’t leave.” He whispers and he looks pathetic but you know you’ll give in to him if he asks you to. “Don’t leave me…please.”

You cup his cheek and he purrs, melting into the touch as if he were a cat, pushing into you for more attention. Basking in your attention as you sweep his tears away with your thumb, letting him close his eyes and pull you into the soft cushioning of a booth. 

You feel heady or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. More tears roll down his cheeks, tracking along the slopes of his flushed face. Crystalline and sacred and you realize with a twist in the pit of your stomach that it’s arousing.

The sight of him. His sweat-soaked skin and his eyes big and glassy. And the fragile mask he’s worked so hard to keep up deteriorating beneath your very eyes, each tear breaking and cracking apart the image of the powerful man he claims to be.

A crumpled facade of a God into a something more, something divine and corrupt, something vulnerable and weak and so very human in your arms, falling apart by a mere touch.

Maybe you’re more fucked up than you realized. Maybe you’re just horny. Maybe because it’s him. And he’s Satoru Gojo and everything about him is perfect. Powerful. Transcendent. A God against humans, finally falling apart like this, before you, ready to fall to his knees. Perhaps he was always meant to.

“Don’t wanna be alone…don’t wanna…ngh~” 

His hips thrust up, a whiny gasp working past his lips. He pants as if he’s run a marathon and you want to do such delectably sinful things to him and you’re sure you could do them all and more and he’d only beg and plead for more.

Perhaps…

“Kiss me.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, you wonder if he can hear with how loud it is. “Satoru,”

He whines and grinds and you moan. And it’s a losing battle.

“Shut up,” he insists, hand cupping the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, almost obsessively. “Shut up and just kiss me.”

“You know we can’t. You-“

“I, am perfectly fine.” His words are a pant, a plea, whispered with a kind of reverence of a worshipper to a god. “Just kiss me, fuck me. Use me,” white eyelashes flutter, blue looking all the bluer rimmed with red and filled with tears. “Use me until you’re bored of me, until there’s nothing left-i don’t care.” He breathes, desperate and pleading and looking like he’s ready to get down on his damn knees on the dirty sticky floor. “Just-please.”

A losing fucking battle. 

Maybe it always was. Trying to keep your hands off him, now, you realized it was like setting a treat on a dogs nose and telling them to wait. A crazy amount self control with the eventual prize just in sight. 

All you can think as you cup his cheeks, flushed and wet from tears, warm against your hands is how fucking pretty he is. How you want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck, Satoru,” you mutter and he moans deep and appreciatively and then you’re pulling him in to slide your lips against his.

 And now all you can think about is how much of a dumbass you are for not doing this sooner.

He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes-when he had one you don’t know but you do know that it’s the most intoxicating mix you’ve ever encountered. You feel like you’re floating, high off his taste and his moans; like he’s a drug and you’re the addict, injecting him straight into the vein. 

It's far from elegant and he’s not perfect at it in the way you’d expect from a man as beautiful as him-godhood hasn’t blessed him in every aspect. But he’s desperate and he's eager to take everything you give, mewling against your lips. 

He’s so needy and it's crazy the way it sends you into a sort of reverie. His hands gripping your hips hard, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go, like he’s hoping you’re real and not a apparition of drunken hysteria. He pulls you closer, as if you could get close enough that no one could find where you ended and he started, that you might be able to meld into one.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same sentiment. If you didn’t try your hardest to do the exact same; nails pressing into his skin, making him whine as you tilted his head back and slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring, feeling, taking, using. 

Just like he told you to do.

He vibrates against you, nearly shaking with choked noises. He mutters soundless words, each and every one swallowed by you as soon as they’re spoken. Pleas and prayers, worships and praises. 

You’d show him what real ascension felt like.

You probably should be embarrassed, or at the very least shameful to be putting on such a show in front of what you know are watching eyes. But you know that Gojo is far past shame at this point and you're too enamoured by the beauty that is Satoru Gojo clinging to you like he’s about to break.

To be honest, you can't find it in yourself to give a shit about any of them. About anything but him, focusing your attention on devouring him whole as he shatters, ready to catch every piece as they fall into your waiting hands. No matter if the shards rip apart your skin and leave you a bloody mangled mess.

You break away first, fighting a smile at his whine as you pull away from him, panting. 

He looks unravelled, messy. His usual flirty facade lost to pleasure. His watery eyes and heartbroken whines gone as well. Overwhelmed by swollen lips and gasps to make up for lost air. A blush like he’s just realized where he is, burying his face into your neck to hide from the probing eyes. To whisper, "You're too good at that, you know?.”

You bark a laugh and he nuzzles into your skin. 

And then you’re redirecting him to your lips again.

In a flurry of hands and lips, messy steps and you’re clumsily stumbling into the bathroom. Quickly, Satoru is shoved against the door, fingers fumbling for the lock.

Your lips find his neck, fluttering a barrage of open-mouthed kisses over the heated skin, dragging your tongue along his thrumming heartbeat. 

He whines and he begs, muttering nonsense that makes it to your ears but not to your head as you hum against him. Slender fingers knit through your hair, holding you close to him, pleading for you to never leave him.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me.” He repeats, slurred and slow, his eyes drooped shut, his voice husky with want, with lust and everything he’s been just barely repressing all this time.

But you've only ever been a slave to his desires.

So you respond in tenfold, nipping and sucking, leaving evidence that you've been here, staking a claim that doesn't exist and maybe never will but for tonight maybe you can play pretend.

Because he keens when your teeth sink into his skin and his back arches, pressing evidence of his wanton yearnings against you like you might devour him whole.

Like he wants you to.

He quieter when he whispers something that could change everything. “Love me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest but you’d never turn him down. 

Fingers deftly undo the buttons on his tight-fitting button up, revealing porcelain-like skin underneath. His nipples are hard and pink and fucking pierced. 

He gasps when you touch them, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger.

And you've never been particularly mean but you can make an exception for the God in front of you, leaving him to tortuous touches all while he throbs and thrusts into nothing but the fabric of his too-tight pants, whining from the stimulation that's all too little.

He's been begging for this all night. Whispering dirty words like a little tease, like a shameless slut.

He got you all riled up and for that you think that he should take his own share of teasing.

For retribution, for your own piece of mind and the pleasure it is to watch him squirm against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and tearstained and begging in small breathless whimpers barely over a whisper.

But you've never been able to resist him long, not then, not now and not ever.

Your hand finally reaches for his waistband, his body shivering with the feeling of your fingers dipping onto hot, untouched skin.

But he stops you.

His hand, large and pale landing over your own in a quick moment of lucidity.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise because you could never leave him with any less. "Yes," your words a whispered caress, a undying oath in itself, a vow that you'd take beyond this in whatever may happen.

Your lips brush over his ear, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand wraps around him, dragging a ruinous moan from deep in his throat.

"I promise, I will."

And your hand is wrapping around him, hot and wet and hard, all for you. Just for you. And his head is turned off, just sensations and feeling and you.

Just you.

"F-fuck, yes, please," so broken, fragile almost as ironic as it is. "Yes, pl-please, feels so go-good."

He doesn't last long and you don't know if it's from all the teasing you've administered or from how long he's been worked up for.

But you rather like the thought of him being sensitive enough that your voice and a few strokes is enough to bring him to the edge.

To have him pulsing in your hand while his arms wrap around your shoulders, blunt nails scraping into you skin as his hips thrust with reckless abandon.

His body quivering with pleasure as your hand forms a loose hole for him to fuck into, your thumb playing with the sensitive head of his dick.

"Please, please I need it, need it so bad," And he has no right sounding this good, looking this good while fucking into your hand like a goddamn dog. "Need it more than anything."

He always has been one for dramatics.

His head falls back against the wall, throat bobbing with the moan deep in his throat, fuck how the marks of your teeth stand out on the pale skin of his neck. Your lips permanent on his body for now, forever maybe if he'll let you keep replacing them.

"Fuck, Satoru," You free hand threads through his head, pushing his lips to meet yours, messy and slopping as he arches against you, hips thrusting erratically to match your pace. Keening when you nip at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, nails scratching at his scalp sending tingles down every part of his body.

He breaks away with a gasp and a cry when and only when he absolutely has to, eyes shining and chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.

And he's crying. And he's beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone or anything you've ever seen in your life.

"Shit, I'm close, m' so fuckin' close-!"

You’re half out of your mind and you couldn’t feel more sane. Like this was meant to happen-like he was meant to be yours. 

"Don' stop, please don't stop," he gasps, like you'd ever think about it, like you'd could even if you wanted to.

“Satoru,” And he shakes.

“Satoru,” And he sobs.

“Satoru,” And he breaks, head falling back as if in prayer, a finger pushing his chin up, clashing against a higher power he didn't think possible.

“My one and only Satoru.” Soft and sweet and just for him and only him. And he’s gone.

Ropes of cum spurt out, rope after rope, covering your hand and the floor. Covering his thighs and his stomach in a mess.

Everything feels fuzzy and his cheeks are pink. A stupid grin crossing his face as he melts, boneless in your arms. "I love you." He mutters, distantly, foggily.

Perhaps somewhere beneath the haze he thinks that maybe you've said the same back. But he isn't quite sure anymore. He needs to be sure.

Slowly, he's lowered onto the floor into a sitting position. The tile is cold against his bare skin but it's okay because you're still caressing him, holding his face in your hand, thumb wiping at his tears.

"You love me right?"

You leave for moment and a whines at the loss of you pressed against him. Even if it's only for a few seconds he feels lonely and empty without your touch.

But then you're back and you're wiping him down with a wet towel, cleaning off his skin so gently, as if he's made of glass of porcelain, like he something to be cherished and taken care of.

"Hey pretty boy, you good?" He recognizes your voice even throughout the cloud in his mind. He nods and you smile and he's melting all over again.

"Do you love me?"

You roll your eyes and for an awful second he thinks that maybe you're going to say no. But then you're pushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him so fucking gently he thinks he'll cry.

"I do love you Satoru."

And his heart is bursting-he swears it is, it's beating so fast and so hard he's absolutely sure that you can hear it and that the quiet laughs escaping your pretty lips is because you can tell how dumbly in love with you he is.

But that doesn't matter.

Because right now he's normal person and you're a normal person and nothing else will matter but the fact that he's your's now.

"I love you too, y'know?" He mumbles.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. On his forehead and his temples, his cheeks and the tip of his nose and each of his eyelids. You kiss everywhere on his face until his lips are pouted out and he lets out a little whine of frustration.

And then you kiss his lips. Barely a peck, too fast and short for his taste but he doesn't have time to complain as you pull him off the floor.

“C’mon pretty boy, let me bring you home.”

“Mmm,” He doesn’t move, boneless against you. “Will you fuck me again?”

You laugh, soft. “Like I’d be able to resist you.”

[formulaonecrumbs]

just read the max with an older sister and my heart broke for baby max 🥲🥲🥲 i'm begging for more max with an older sister pls

his favourite person

Max Verstappen x older sister!reader

summary: quiet moments between max and his favourite person who makes the world feel safe.

warnings: sibling fluff

A/N: thank u anon for the request!!! i’m very happy u enjoyed the last one and i hope this one has the same effect for u :p i made this one more fluffy, sweet and domestic if u will. love u hehe ❤️❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

“max,” she called, peeking into his room. “i made pancakes.”

he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, deep in concentration as he built some complicated lego set. his tongue was sticking out slightly, and his hoodie sleeves were pulled over his hands like they always were when he was extra focused.

he looked up at her voice, eyes lighting up instantly.

“with chocolate chips?”

she grinned. “of course. who do you think i am?”

he scrambled to his feet and followed her to the kitchen like a little shadow, bare feet padding softly behind her. he was still quiet in that way he always was around most people, but with her, it was different. he wasn’t afraid to smile, to laugh, to let his guard down. she never made him feel like he had to be anything other than exactly who he was.

“can i sit on the counter?” he asked, already climbing up.

“you’re literally already up there, dummy,” she said, ruffling his hair as she passed him a plate.

he took it with both hands like it was something delicate. “you always make them the best,” he said, quiet but sincere.

she raised a brow, amused. “better than mom’s?”

he hesitated. “…don’t tell her, but yeah.”

that made her laugh, and he smiled too — proud of himself for getting a laugh out of her.

she poured them both juice, then leaned her elbows on the counter beside him. “so,” she said between bites, “how’s the lego spaceship coming along?”

“good,” he said around a mouthful of pancake. “it has a hidden blaster under the wings. wanna see later?”

“obviously.” she nudged his foot with hers. “what kind of sister would i be if i didn’t admire your genius?”

max blushed, ducking his head like he didn’t know what to do with the compliment.

but then he looked up and asked, in a voice a little softer than before, “you’re not gonna go back to uni yet, right?”

her chest tugged a little — not in a sad way, just in that gentle kind of ache when someone loves you out loud.

“not for a few days,” she said. “why?”

he shrugged, swinging his feet slowly. “just like when you’re home.”

she bumped her shoulder against his. “yeah? well, i like being home too. especially when you’re here.”

he looked at her, and she could see it in his eyes — how much he meant it, how much he trusted her. even when he didn’t have the words for it.

“save me one of those pancakes tomorrow,” she added. “or i’m kicking you off the counter.”

he grinned, mouth full again. “deal.”

THE END :>

[stardustsymphony]

scar-mates || mattheo riddle

warning: smoking, burning.

a/n: i'm supposed to be studying for the exam i have in four hours and i have my book open in front of me but haven't even started studying yet so i hope y'all appreciate this cause i quite literally risked my future to write this. and please tell me y'all know that ‘sprinkle ✨ sprinkle ✨’ girl from instagram who makes reels about dark romance books mostly and she usually wears that soft, oversized pink blanket-like hoodie (or was it something else?). this one shot is inspired by one of her reel about a dark-romance book, i forgot the name.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ ♕♛♕ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

“You’re like a drug.” Mattheo said, playing with your fingers. His brown eyes flickered to lock with yours, a mischievous glint in them that made your heart do flips. 

“Drugs are dangerous.”

“So are you.” 

The soft melody of rain echoed in the room, the distant sound of thunder adding in to the comfort. You snuggled close to Mattheo as a shiver ran down your spine because of the chilly room. Noticing this, he pulled you closer, your head against his chest and his heartbeat under your ear making you relax into his arms each passing second. 

“Stop snuggling so much to me,” he said –but his voice was filled with playful sarcasm. He pulled up the thick blanket all the way up to your shoulder, pressing his lips against the crown of your head. 

You lazily smiled up at him. “Stop being so warm then.” 

“I prefer the term ‘hot’, darling.” he winked at you. 

You rolled your eyes, a slight smile on your lips, as he took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, lighting it. 

“You're smoking here?” you asked, he hardly ever smokes in front of you, let alone when both are cuddling. 

“Can't leave my girl alone to shiver, now, can I?” 

Your stomach flutters at his words –‘my girl’. Oh, how you loved whenever he said stuff like that, and he was well aware of the effect his words have on you, judging by his smirk hidden behind his cigarette. 

A comforting silence washed over you both as you both occasionally mumbled sweet nothings to each other, softly kissing each other between whispered words and giggles. 

It was moments like this that made you forget about everything, all the rumours that surrounded him, the different ways people had said he would break your heart. You never doubted your love for him for even a second, but there was still some time when you wondered if the rumours that surrounded him were true. 

Your relationship was not perfect, of course, it was filled with ups and downs. You never appreciated those ‘downs’, but your sister had always told you that ‘downs’ in a relationship was just as important as ‘ups’. She said she always reminds herself of this whenever she and her boyfriend go through a rocky phase, and next month, they will be getting married. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mattheo inhaled some smoke, kept it in his mouth, then exhaled it in rings. 

“My sister and her boyfriend.”

“They're getting married next month, no?” 

“Yeah,” you looked at him and brushed some of his hair from his forehead. “You've invited, by the way.” 

“I would have crashed the wedding if you hadn't invited me.” 

You snorted. “Of course you would've.” 

There was a moment of silence, then he asked. “What's he like? Your sister's boyfriend, I mean.” 

“He's nice, he used to buy me toys when I was young and sneak me out for lunch whenever I used to feel sad.” You smiled as you remember the time with your sister's boyfriend, Mick. He truly was like an older brother to you. 

“How did they meet?” 

“They're high school sweethearts.”

Mattheo gave you a slightly surprised glance. “That young, huh? You like talking about them, no?” He added when he saw your expression. 

“I can't help it,” you shrugged. “They're just so disgustingly in love, it's so sweet. Mick used to tell me he knew my sister was the one the moment they both met, like love at first sight. My sister tells me they both are scar-mates.” 

“Scar-mates?” Mattheo asked. “What's that?” 

“When my sister was young, she fell from the stairs and got a scar on her elbow. Mick has a scar on his elbow too, she used to tell me that if you have a scar somewhere, your soulmate would have one in the exact same place as well. She used to call them scar-mates.” 

“That's…dumb. And sweet.” He added hastily when he saw your expression flicker. “But you don't believe that, do you?” 

“I do, actually,” you said awkwardly, grinning a bit. “I've been hearing it since I was a child, so it's hard not to.” 

He gave you a look that looked like a mix of amusement and sarcasm. 

“In fact,” you continued, pushing down the shoulder of your sweatshirt and tilting your head to show him your collarbone. “I do have one scar here. It's when I fell from the swings in the backyard.” 

His eyes fell down at your collarbone, taking in the age old scar there. His fingers lightly brushed against it and you shivered. Then, as if you couldn't help yourself, you asked,

“Do you have any scars?” 

Mattheo didn't answer immediately, just brushed his fingers against your scar once more. Just when you thought he wouldn't answer at all, he sat straight and opened his shirt. 

It took all your willpower not to shamelessly stare at him. 

“Yeah, I do actually.” he said, taking his second cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling slowly, keeping his eyes on your face. And before you could react or ask him anything, he twisted his cigarette around and pressed it against his own collarbone, on the exact same spot where you had your scar. 

You gasped, horrified, and pulled his hand away and threw away his cigarette, not caring where it landed in the room. 

“What are you doing?!” you shrieked. 

Mattheo’s eyes never left your face, his expression not giving away anything as he held your chin gently, tilting your head to make you look at him.

“Scar-mates.” he said softly before leaning down to press his lips against the scar on your collarbone.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝔎𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔅𝔦𝔩𝔩.

❝ Rather be in Hell than alone. ❞ - sza.

This fic was inspired by the song Kill Bill by SZA.

yandere! modern au! phainon x fem! reader.

How did he get here?

The white haired man often asked himself that very same question for what seemed like ages now. Standing hidden away underneath the shadows like some crazed phantom became a nightly routine of his ever since his heart got shattered into a million pieces.

Phainon was popular, well liked and respected. He had a good life all things considered - a stable job, good friends and a lovely girl to come back home to.

With the realization that last bit was no longer the case, a sharp pang coursed through his chest. He watched your bedroom window closely, hands in his pockets as he noticed the fresh bouquet of flowers placed on your window. Fresh flowers from what he could tell, the pretty colours seemed to pop so cutely with the glow of the light coming from your living room and the wine red vase only added the blooms even more charm.

The same vase that he got you.

⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

He can recall the sensation of the comfortable armchair as it creaked underneath his weight. The sound of the clock on the wall set him off as Phainon twirled with his thumbs, his gaze cascaded downwards as a heavy silence hung in the air. That silence would soon be a blissful past as it was soon broken by a gentle voice, a sad attempt at sounding compassionate.

"Phainon? It's alright to be upset, that is a natural reaction to such a messy break up."

The voice of his therapist echoed slightly in the overly white office, which only set him even more on edge. He grumbled in annoyance, cursing his meddling friends for forcing him to seek professional help instead of just letting his anger bubble inside him.

Besides, he was never angry for too long. His anger always comes and goes.

That's just the kind of guy he is.

Phainon snorted, a pained grin on his face, a pathetic attempt at trying to lighten the situation. "Sorry Doc, guess I just lost myself for a second there!"

From the corner of his eye, Phainon could see the worried looks his therapist was giving him. It was horrendously obvious that he was doing a poor job at trying to mask his concerns with that faux smile and the stench of his cheap cologne made him grateful for having a better sense of smell. His own was so much better, he figured. A truly childish thought in the grand scheme of things but he really could not be bothered to think like an adult at the moment.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a tiny wine red ribbon hanging subtly on the Doctor's right hand, a stark contrast to his otherwise crisp and perfect exterior.

It didn't suit him whatsoever, Phainon thought flatly, his eyes still glued to his shoes.

⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

With a startle, Phainon realized that he was now standing in front of your door. His heart thumped in his chest, it made him wonder if he was going to die from cardiac arrest right then and there. All of the wonderful memories of his love came back to him, all of the sweetness he had soaked up only to lose it all in the end. It wasn't fair how much of an effect you had on him, even after all this time Phainon was still wholeheartedly yours.

And you did not want him. Not anymore.

He bit his lip, hard. The taste of blood filled his mouth as a few droplets of the thick liquid fell on his jet black hoodie, the dark material masking it.

This really was not his best idea.

⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

His hour was almost up. Huh. He figured he should be more ecstatic about that. The last hour felt like a century due to the incessant nagging of his therapist, who kept trying to get Phainon to open up. It was beyond clear that he was a rookie but he was trying, which just added insult to injury. It was fascinating how hard the man was trying to help him, how desperately he tried to offer up some solution to Phainon's sea of endless heartbreak.

None of which was working.

Looking back at the clock, Phainon strained his ears to see if there was perhaps someone else waiting in front of the good Doctor's door. Another lost soul seeking some sort of refuge, a comforting ear of someone who actually cared.

A true rarity in such a business, as he found out not too long ago.

He gritted his teeth as his ears picked up nothing. No sound of any eager on uneasy footsteps, not even a hint of a cough, the only sign of life was right here, in this white box he was stuck in.

... Perfect.

⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

He did not even feel the thousands of splinters of the wooden door clinging to his skin as he broke into his old flame's apartment. He did not feel how the sticky fabric of his clothes clung to his being, thick sweat and something more heavy trying to weigh him down.

The only thing he could focus on was the shrill scream of the one he holds so dear.

He looked at his old flame and his eyes were suddenly brought back to life. Gone was the lifeless tint of grey in his eye, his mouth forming into an overly happy grin as he rushed straight towards his sweetheart, large hands grabbing onto the shrieking person who was trying to hit him.

How mean. But it was a reasonable reaction, he supposed.

For the first time in forever, things felt right. Phainon wanted to scream from the rooftops that he had you, he finally was holding you in his arms once again. Gone was the pain, his sorrow melting away into a puddle of need as he kissed your face all over, salty tears staining the cheeks of the one most precious to him, which caused him great agony. He grabbed the hand which was now raised high up, his grip iron tight as he pleaded to just be heard -

- And then as the man turned his head, all he could see was red.

A small, dainty little piece of fabric clinging onto your wrist, the tiny red wine bow a stark reminder of why he came here in the first place. He chuckled maniacally, his chest reverberating back and forth as he tilted his head backwards, his gaze meeting the soft glow of the moonlight as he felt the white hot rage take over his whole being.

This is not the best idea.

But, he could not even think of that statement at the moment.

He had other things to do.

⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

The man thrashed helplessly beneath Phainon, the massive wooden desk now a mess of documents and spit as the Doctor tried to feebly break free from the chokehold in which he was held in. A pathetic trail of his own vomit drizzled down his busted lip as Phainon grinned like a mad man, pleased to see that the one who caused him so much pain was finally feeling a fraction of what he has been feeling these past few months.

Who did this pathetic waste of oxygen think he was? Big fancy doctor got his degree and gets and overly inflated ego to boot.

And his precious peach fell for it.

She fell for it and it hurt, it wounded him so revoltingly. In that office at that moment, Phainon was less of a man and more a beast. A true deliverer of suffering. If the stars had decided to place him into an overly dramatic Greek tragedy as the main hero, then so be it.

He was going to be the star. He was going to be the brightest, most brilliant fucking star anyone had ever seen.

And Phainon was going to burn so bright that he was going to suffocate the man beneath him with his light.

His knuckles twitched sickeningly, the disgusting sound of impending death reaching his ears as he felt the tears of his victim on his wrists. The cool liquid felt surprisingly pleasant against his overly hot flesh, giving him a brief sense of reprieve. Phainon wondered if the engorged vein on his arm was going to pop due to the strain he was putting on it, his perfectly white flesh a stark contrast against the dark blue seam. Suddenly , he snapped at himself, there was no time to waste on mindless idling - harder.

He needed to press harder. And so, he did.

He needed to see the life out of the man's eyes being snuffed out. He needed to feel the sensation of his spirit leaving his stupid body, he needed to make sure that in this life and in all the others that this man would never reach you. Never, not ever.

With a sick thud, the Doctor went limp in Phainon's embrace. The silence was so thick and heavy that it felt as though it could be cut with a dull butter knife. Phainon held the fresh corpse in his hands, the broken neck of the man he had just savagely killed being lulled side to side like a broken souvenir one would get at a cheap pawn shop.

Once he was sure that the man was gone for good, Phainon stood up. He drooped the body carelessly onto the green carpet, the fuzzy fabric now stained crimson. The Doctor's hand was next to his head, that stupidly cute ribbon still clinging onto him even in death. Phainon roared in anger, heavenly blue eyes shining with fury as he grabbed his victim's hand and ripped the ribbon off. Stuffing it into his pocket, he turned his back away from the gruesome scene and made his way out the door, his steps thick and heavy.

He'd rather be in jail than feel this pain.

⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

Phainon was weeping. He didn't know what he was doing, hell, he didn't even know why he was doing it in the first place. He did not understand why he had his arms wrapped around your neck, he did not understand why he was choking the life out of you with that same wine red ribbon which he had taken earlier.

All he could focus on was your face. That beautiful, ethereal, angelic face. The face which haunts his dreams and nightmares, the once cheerful face which was turning plum purple by the second. Phainon heaved, his body heavy with regret and sorrow but the anger... Oh how he choked back on a sob, thick snot escaping his nose as he gripped his peach even harder, the soft flesh becoming more and more dull in his grotesque hold. Gone was the lovesick puppy, banished deep within the darkest pits of Hell the moment he snuffed the life out of his first victim. Standing now was a man who had lost his will to live.

He had nothing. He had lost you. Once upon a time, he vowed to you that no one was ever going to lay a single finger on you. In some macabre way, he kept his word. For as long as he walked on this Earth, not a single soul dared to harm you.

Never once did he think that he was going to be the one who was going to end it all.

Phainon watched you take your last breath and he wondered if this was perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen you. No one could take you from him, not even he himself could do that now. The thought of having no one, it made his soul whimper in morbid misery. But right here, right now, he had you. He was never going to be alone, never again.

Phainon had made up his mind ages ago. He'd rather be in Hell than be alone.

A/N: Ah, there really is no better tension between a girl who has to study for an important exam vs getting a fic idea right in the middle of her study session.

I literally got screwed over by SZA for showing up on my playlist because this fic just popped in my head. I made it a modern AU because I thought it fit the tone of the song better, hope y'all don't mind. I'm also having a bad creative block as of late so I've no idea if this fic is actually any good or not! Everything I write looks wrong these days and I had to go back and rewrite this multiple times because I just could not get it to look right.

If anything, it was at least fun to edit.

[aventurineswife]

I cannot stress how much I love your works

So I have a silly request

Aventurine, Dan heng, ratio, Jiaoqiu, moze, sunday, and Caelus (I don't see much love fr himmmm T^T poor racoon bb) when their s/o steals their jacket,

now they see their s/o with their jacket on and reader sees him without his jacket (them looking like a snack I swear with those snatched clothes) and now both get flustered or flirty

-🍮🩵

The Jacket Chronicles

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Moze x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Flustered Reactions, Teasing, Subtle Possessiveness, Playful Tension, Light Romance, Jacket Stealing Trope, Embarrassment, Vulnerability.

Aventurine sat in his study, lounging comfortably in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. His mind was sharp, focused on the calculations for the latest gambit he was orchestrating. The subtle hum of the lights was the only sound filling the air, a contrast to the swirling thoughts in his head.

But suddenly, he paused.

His gaze snapped to the door, where you had just walked in, his jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. The sight was... distracting, to say the least. The soft fabric hung loosely, but it wasn’t the jacket that caught his attention—it was how you wore it, casual yet so undeniably alluring.

You looked up at him, noticing his wide-eyed expression, and smirked. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing this. It’s quite comfortable,” you teased, adjusting the jacket as it fluttered around you. You looked nothing short of a vision, the way the jacket softened your features and added an air of effortless elegance.

Aventurine’s mind immediately went into overdrive. His usual calm demeanor faltered slightly, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, placing the wine down with a soft thud. “I must admit,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

The comment had its intended effect. You flushed, a little caught off-guard by the heat in his gaze. But instead of backing away, you shot back with a wink. “Maybe I should just keep it.”

He stood up, taking a slow step toward you, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “Careful, darling. Stealing my jacket is one thing, but you might just end up stealing my heart next.”

You laughed, and he couldn't help but pull you closer, letting the flirty banter continue, both of you lost in the tension that had quietly filled the room.

Dan Heng had just finished checking the controls on the Astral Express when he walked back to his quarters. His movements were careful, measured, a reflection of his usual quiet demeanor. But when he opened the door, his eyes instantly found you—wearing his jacket.

His jacket. The one that was a little too big for you but looked perfect with the way it draped around your figure, your hands tucked into the sleeves. He froze for a moment, his eyes locked on you, unable to mask the heat rising in his chest.

You glanced up at him and smiled, clearly noticing the way he seemed to freeze in place. “Does it look alright?” you asked, your tone light, playful.

Dan Heng’s usual calm composure slipped, just for a moment. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, and took a step toward you. "You—" He paused, glancing at the way the jacket swayed around you. “It... looks good on you.”

Your teasing smile grew as you shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I’ll keep it.” You turned to leave, but Dan Heng moved quicker, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Not without a fight,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. The proximity had your heart racing, and you looked up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

His eyes were intense, flustered but determined. “I think I’d like to see how well you can fight for it.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine. You smirked, leaning into his touch, enjoying the moment of playful tension. Maybe you didn’t want to keep the jacket after all.

Ratio was reviewing some notes when he noticed you walk by, his jacket hanging effortlessly around your shoulders. The dark fabric was a perfect contrast to your figure, and the subtle shift in his gaze was undeniable.

He cleared his throat, his fingers still tapping on the edge of the table as his mind scrambled for something intelligent to say. “I—uh—don’t think you understand how much that jacket means to me,” he said, his words blunt yet carrying a hint of something more.

You turned to face him, the teasing glint in your eyes making his heart skip a beat. “Is that so? I thought it looked better on me than it ever did on you.”

He set down his papers, standing a little straighter. “I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison, my dear. You may look good in it, but there is something about seeing you in my jacket that makes me feel... more than a little possessive.” His eyes flicked to the way the jacket clung to you, the small adjustments you made with it.

You smirked, inching closer, the space between you narrowing. “Are you suggesting I’m not allowed to wear it?”

Ratio didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the jacket, pulling it closer to you, brushing his fingers along your shoulder. The playful tension between you both was thick in the air, and his voice softened. “Maybe, just this once, I’ll let you keep it. But be warned, I’m not one to share my things lightly.”

The teasing tone, though, never quite left his voice.

Moze’s eyes followed you as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to the jacket you had casually draped over your shoulders. He hadn’t seen it before, but the familiar shade of violet mixed with the scent of his cologne had him instinctively realizing what had happened.

You looked at him, your posture nonchalant, yet there was a certain way the jacket swirled around you that made his breath hitch. He said nothing at first, but the tightness in his chest grew.

You noticed his gaze, the way his expression hardened slightly. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone deceptively light. “Don’t you like it?”

Moze’s throat went dry. He swallowed, his usual detached demeanor faltering for a second. “It’s not about liking it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as they trailed over the jacket that now seemed to fit you so well, almost too well. “It’s just... not something I’m used to seeing.”

You stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you used to seeing?”

His voice lowered, the usual stoic coldness replaced with something a little more vulnerable. “Someone who wears my things... and makes them look better than I do.” His words were a challenge, but also an admission of the strange possessiveness he felt.

You smirked, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you. “Guess that’s your problem then, isn’t it?”

Moze’s lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp, focused on you. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean I’m letting you keep it.”

You grinned at the playful spark in his eye, realizing that perhaps, he wasn’t as emotionless as he wanted you to believe.

The battlefield’s cold winds howled, but inside the medical tent, it was a surprisingly quiet moment. Jiaoqiu sat cross-legged on a cushion, his feather fan resting against his lap. His usual composure was intact despite his pale salmon hair loose around his shoulders and his closed eyes reflecting his blindness. The faint scent of herbs lingered, remnants of his latest alchemical concoction.

"Jiaoqiu, have you seen my—" you started to ask but cut yourself off, realizing the absurdity of the question.

Instead, your attention was drawn to the elegant jacket draped across a chair—light gold with subtle, intricate embroidery that shimmered under the lantern’s glow. Before thinking it through, you slid the jacket on, savoring its warmth and how it carried the faint scent of his medicinal herbs.

“Ah,” Jiaoqiu’s voice was gentle but curious, his ears twitching slightly. “You’ve taken my jacket, haven’t you?”

“How could you possibly tell?” you teased, watching his lips curl into a small smile.

“Call it instinct—or maybe it’s the sound of fabric brushing against your arms,” he replied. He reached out a hand toward you, and you instinctively stepped closer, guiding it to rest against the jacket’s lapel. “Hm. It suits you better than it suits me.”

You chuckled, only to realize he wasn’t wearing his inner robes properly. His upper body was loosely wrapped in a light undershirt, his sharp collarbones and toned chest subtly exposed. The sight made your cheeks flush.

“Jiaoqiu, you’re—”

He tilted his head. “What? Is there something wrong with me?” His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but his hands now rested on his fan, teasingly tapping it against his palm.

“N-no! You just—you look good,” you stammered, trying to hold your composure as your face burned hotter.

His lips quirked up, though his closed eyes betrayed none of his thoughts. “You sound flustered. Could it be that my darling likes me better without my jacket?”

You huffed, trying to change the subject. “Well, you might not get this jacket back anytime soon—it’s incredibly cozy.”

Jiaoqiu leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a soft, teasing lilt. “Then perhaps I should take something of yours to even the score.”

The Astral Express hummed quietly as it sailed through the stars, casting a serene glow over its halls. Sunday stood near the observation deck, staring out at the endless cosmos. Leaving his tailored vest and crisp shirt on display. You’d never seen him like this before, his usually composed demeanor offset by the casual absence of his tailcoat.

“You left this lying around,” you called, stepping into view. Only it wasn’t true—you had “borrowed” it. Sunday turned, his eyes locking onto you, his wings twitching slightly in surprise.

His tailcoat hung loosely on your frame, the asymmetrical white and blue fabric looking far more casual and comfortable than it ever did on him. The scarf, still attached, fluttered slightly as you walked closer.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home in my attire,” Sunday remarked, his tone calm, though a faint hint of pink colored his cheeks.

“You weren’t wearing it, so I thought I’d put it to better use,” you teased.

Sunday raised a brow, his gaze trailing over your figure. “It suits you better than I expected… though, perhaps I’m biased.”

Your playful retort died in your throat as you took in his appearance. Without his tailcoat, his fitted vest accentuated his waist and shoulders. The way his hair fell over his eyes, paired with the faint flutter of his wings, made him look utterly ethereal—and undeniably attractive.

“You—uh—you look…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning.

Sunday smirked softly. “Lost for words? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t get cocky!” you shot back, though your voice betrayed your flustered state.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You wear it well, my dear, but be careful. I might need to borrow it back… or something else of yours.”

The Astral Express lounge was comfortably warm, but the chill from your earlier excursion lingered on your skin. Spotting Caelus’s jacket on the couch, you couldn’t resist pulling it on. It was heavier than expected, the black fabric adorned with subtle gold accents. You hugged it around yourself, savoring the warmth and the faint scent of him that clung to the fabric.

“Isn’t that mine?” Caelus’s voice startled you. Turning, you found him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Uh… maybe?” you replied sheepishly.

His eyes softened as he stepped closer, but then you noticed he wasn’t wearing much—a simple white shirt clung to his torso, highlighting the subtle definition of his chest and shoulders.

“Caelus, you’re—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your brain short-circuiting at the sight of him.

“I’m what?” he asked, his smirk betraying his amusement. “Cold? I might be… since you stole my jacket.”

Your face flushed. “I didn’t steal it! I borrowed it!”

He grinned, stepping even closer. “Oh? And how long do you plan to keep ‘borrowing’ it?”

“As long as I want,” you retorted, crossing your arms, though the motion only made his jacket swallow you more.

His gaze lingered on you, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “You look… good. Really good.” His voice was quieter now, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you replied, suddenly feeling bold. “But you should know, you look even better without it.”

His blush deepened, and he averted his gaze, muttering, “That’s not fair…”

[lcvemiyuki]

pilates workout | ushijima, hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: ushijima asks you for help on improving his core and balance

warnings: timeskip!ushijima x reader, established relationship, just a tad suggestive, fluff

characters: ushijima

word count: 502

a/n: you can tell how much i've been thinking about this😅...ushijima’s muscles go brrrrrr

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Toshi—no, you have to tighten your core more.”

You were determined to support your boyfriend, so when he asked for advice on strengthening his core and enhancing his balance, you took it as your mission. You were aware of Ushijima’s resolve and aimed to match it.

“Mm,” he grumbled, acknowledging your guidance as he adjusted his arms, moving back into the planking position.

Despite his incredible strength, the strain in his muscles was visible as he struggled to maintain his posture. His wide shoulders trembled slightly, and sweat trickled down his temple.

Circling him, you focused on making sure his workout was effective. “C’mon, just thirty more seconds. Keep your arms straight.”

As his hips began to sag again, you sighed lightly and crouched beside him. Gently, you placed your hands on his waist, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Here, like this,” you said softly, guiding his hips back into position.

His quietness was telling, the occasional nod indicated he was taking in your instructions. You could sense the effort in his muscles.

“I should add this to my workout schedule,” he stated, his voice steady despite the exertion.

“To spend more time with you,” he added sincerely.

Leaning in, you whispered, “I’d like that.” His words pulling on your heartstrings.

Your hands stayed on him a little longer as you looked into his olive-green eyes.

The sound of your phone alarm shattered the moment. Yet, the warm feeling lingered even after you turned it off.

Ushijima gently reclined on the yoga mat, the fabric sticking to his sweaty skin. He lay flat on his back, drawing deep, steady breaths. His powerful arms moved behind his head, veins bulging as he began to cool down.

You brought him a small, white towel and crouched near his head. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, you leaned in closer, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss on his forehead.

“Your reward,” you whispered, smiling at him.

His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours with an intensity that quickened your pulse. His gaze traced your features, saying more than words could.

His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his body glistening under the soft light. The sight was mesmerizing as your peripheral vision caught a glimpse of his waistband, which hung low enough to reveal the two sculpted grooves that trailed even deeper down.

Ushijima reached up, the back of his hand brushing against your cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” you replied softly, your heart racing as you hoped the warmth blossoming on your cheeks matched the heat of his hands.

There was a certain part of you, a hidden, daring side, that wanted to push him even further, just to see more of the sight of him now— sprawled out on the floor taking deep, heavy breaths.

A playful smirk crossed your face.

“What’s with the face, my love?” Ushijima’s deep voice pierced your bubble of thought.

“Oh! Nothing,” you assured him. “Now,” you clasped your hands together, “let’s continue, shall we?” you suggest, blinking innocently.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[starsofang]

thinking about johnny being completely smitten with an extremely reserved reader <3

johnny was head over heels from the very beginning. he couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened, but maybe it was when you first joined the force. at the initial greeting, he’d struck you with one of his bright smiles, only for a blank canvas to stare in return.

you hadn’t said a word, not a peep, and while others would be turned off by such reclusiveness, he was in awe.

an enigma, you were, and johnny was someone who loved a good puzzle.

you were cold and distant, but not in the way that was cruel and unnerving. you didn’t throw out snarky comments, you didn’t show a single bit of rudeness when somebody’s ticked you off. you weren’t hard headed, nor did you pitch a fight. you were a calm sea with peaceful waves lapping at the shore. a light rain on a dry day, one where in ancient times would’ve been a blessing from the gods. as cold as snow, but the kind that layered the ground in a fresh sheet of white right after a blizzard, painting the earth with powdered beauty.

if anything, you weren’t cold at all. you were just so incredibly awkward that johnny couldn’t help but be smitten by it.

you were that type of awkward where social cues were nearly impossible for you to comprehend. jokes didn’t land quite right whenever somebody made them, and you’d give a blank look to whomever fell victim, added on with a dumb “what?” because you didn’t understand it.

johnny’s been an unfortunate victim on many occasions. he’s always the type to nudge you on the shoulder with a crooked grin as he spilled out whatever joke ghost had told him over comms, only to be met with your complete and utter confusion.

that never stopped him, though. if anything, it made him much more determined to search up more jokes on the screen of a burner phone, reading through every single one and noting them in the back of his mind.

you were also as stone-faced as could be. some theorized you were a robot, others thought you were a demon in disguse. an experiment, placed into 141 as a trial run.

really, expressing yourself just wasn’t your thing.

you felt emotions, sure. plenty of them. you could find the humor in the occasional bar night with the force, amused at the linger of carefree conversation that carried between the men. you just didn’t show it.

it wasn’t something you realized until johnny had made the point of asking you if you ever smiled. thinking back on it, you recalled never directly doing so. you’d do it in your head, but when it came down to it, no, no you didn’t.

johnny was determined when keeping a goal in mind, and found himself ruthlessly running towards that goal of seeing you smile. he was enamored in the thought of seeing the slant of your lips when they curved upwards, in seeing your eyes crinkle and glimmer with delight, and he’d go through every single joke website in order to make it happen.

it took him an approximate year of you being in the force to get it to work.

it was lame, really. hardly one of his best jokes, he’d drunkenly slurred out, “what rank are all cats in the army? corpurrral,” with a tongue roll effect to go with it.

you had burst into laughter, filling the bar air with ringing church bells that he swore made the drunken state of his mind believe he was truly on his way to heaven. the gates had opened, inviting him in. he was levitating, slowly floating his way to the clouds.

your smile was like a breath of air — refreshing. it filled his lungs with such purity that all the cigarettes he’d smoked over the years of being in the force seemingly melted the thick layer of tar away, leaving him clean and refurbished.

it was like a drug, and johnny found himself seeking more out to get another taste, even if it took him another year to do so.

this is lowkey self insert bc this is my personality offline and i think other people who are so painfully awkward with socializing are cute and deserve love. wrote this with no sleep and a dream, silly ramble before i go to bed

i also just really love johnny, goodnight

[elizaleclerc]

Hi, Max and reader are dating (private) for a few years. reader is also working for Oracle (red bull's sponsor) and she comes to a race and surprises max.♥️

this requestttt!!! wanted to twist it a little <3 added lando for some fun flare ; reader & max want to keep it private but can't help but drop hints bc they love the chaos

locked longings ✧ ⁺˳

max verstappen x reader (smau)

summary: a private relationship online with fem!reader and max slowly comes to light

song: the alchemy by taylor swift

author's note: never done an smau before and lowkey underestimated the time it took byeee ; open to more requests for smaus <3 (no face claim imagine whoever i just liked the pics)

ynusername my sweet sweet summer <3

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, and others

-user8456 am i the only one wondering if her and max fell off :(

-user9902 they are probably both hella busy

-user4558 the most gorgeous redbull employee 😍

-landonorris can you bring me a redbull pls

-ynusername no.

-user5041 WAIT ARE THEY TOGETHER??

maxverstappen1 A much needed break, but can't wait get back to racing soon.

liked by charlesleclerc, ynusername, and others

-user4558 max turns into mr.worldwide on vacation

-charlesleclerc do you ever sleep?

-maxverstappen1 no.

-user9681 not the same joke y/n used with lando 😭

-user1141 they are so best friend coded

redbullracing What a wonderful day to get back to racing in Spa!

liked by maxverstappen1, ynusername, and others

-landonorris prepare to lose @/maxverstappen1

-maxverstappen1 says the man starting at p11

-ynusername cooked him omg-

-user4802 i can't tell if max actually likes lando or not 😭

-ynusername don't worry they are buddies!

-user3356 OH?

-user2301 y/n blink twice if you and lando are dating

ynusername back to work as usual! congrats to the big number 1 on the win!

liked by charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others

-user3105 max not lurking in the comments is rare...

-user4301 maybe bc she's with someone?

-user6882 stop pushing the y/n x lando agenda oh my goddd

-user2240 THE POLAROID AWWW 😇

landonorris Good times in Spa <3

liked by ynusername, mclaren, and others

-user4505 wait...that isn't y/n

-user4802 the y/n lando truthers are crumblingggg

-user3893 OMGG so happy for u lando!!!

-mclaren That's our boyyy! 🧡

ynusername glad i could finally see these gorgeous cars in action this weekend <3 a lovely time with wonderful people!

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and others

maxverstappen1 💙💙💙

-user3489 the social implications of these hearts

-user2210 that's a real friendly hug there...

-user5572 WOAH WAIT MAX & Y/N

-landonorris can you be my good luck charm next pls

-ynusername hmm i think i'll be busy that day

-user7005 lando what do you know.

maxverstappen1 Happy guy!

liked by ynusername, charlesleclerc, and others

-ynusername the caption, simple, but effective!

-user2804 love them together so much i need the rumors to be true

-landonorris a man of many words

-user1156 y/n and max together would make me combust

-user4401 i need them to be happy together 😭

-user5969 they are TRAVELING together it HAS to be true

-user2131 he's texting her in the last pic fs

ynusername the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me 🤍

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and others

-user2202 the taylor lyric OHHH they are so in loveee

-landonorris ugh finally i was tired of keeping my mouth shut

-ynusername yeah bc we all know you're so good at it too

-user3335 I KNEW ITTTTTT

-maxverstappen1 Happy 4 years my love 💙

ynusername love youuu <3

-user1203 FOUR YEARS?!?!

-user6061 keeping it private for 4 years...yeah they are endgame.

-charlesleclerc Paddock romance of the century!!!

[esotericbluntbaby]

stoner! hamzah x reader headcannons (sfw and nsfw)

mentions: weed, explicit activities

sfw!

- definitely looks insanely hot when the lighter is in front of his face. the room is dark with only his features lighting up from the fire in front of him. he feels the same about you when you decide to light your own blunt too.

- however, he prefers lighting for you. in fact, he prefers rolling for you too. i mentioned in my bf!hamzah headcannons that his love language is acts of service, which definitely shows when you two smoke together. he feels like smoking together is intimate and would like to do the basics for you so you don't have to.

- he puts your needs ahead of his when it comes to being high. if you look paranoid or scared at all, especially the first time you two smoke together, he's by your side at all times. if he thinks you're about to be sick, he'd hold your hair back while you're throwing up. he whispers reassurance in your ear if you get paranoid or sick, genuinely worrying for your well-being.

"it's okay, i'm here."

"shhh, it'll be okay. you're okay, i promise."

"i know it's scary but i'll stay with you the whole night if i have to."

- i feel like hamzah's the type to have the munchies when he smokes. he'd take you through some drive through and order a shit load of food for you two to share, since he never skimps on variety. you two probably end up laughing at absolutely nothing, blasted and eating crunchwraps from taco bell.

- slow kisses and hitting the cart/blunt with every breath apart. he takes his time kissing you. the look he gives you while his eyes are red and lidded makes you go absolutely insane and he knows it; he knows the effect he has on you as soon as he suggests getting high.

- sometimes, you guys get high at night and go to a mountain parking lot overlooking the city to look at the skyline. you smoke and talk and kiss and cuddle and the view is an added bonus to the fact that you're there with him. if you get cold, he gives you a blanket from his car or gives you his hoodie and cuddles with you. hamzah, however, rarely looks at the city skyline. his eyes are always on you.

"the city's over there, hamzah."

"i don't care about the city."

"why are we here then?"

"because you like the city and i care about you."

- hamzah gets insanely clingy when he's high. if you leave him, he follows you around no matter where you're going. i think sometimes he gets a little paranoid if he smokes too much, so he sees you as his comfort. he knows you're there for him, so he needs to be around you in order to feel safe.

nsfw!

- hamzah initiates long makeouts when you two are high. like i said in the sfw portion of this post, he likes the intimacy of being high together. he wants to savor every bit of you, so he goes painfully slow with his movements.

his hand grips your ass as he pulls you on top of him, straddling him, wanting to be as close as he could be with you. his tongue moves in your mouth as painfully slow as possible, leaving you yearning for more. it's an act of desperation, an act of desire; he knows what you want, yet, he'll wait to give it to you. you taste the gum he was chewing with the essence of weed from earlier mixed with the natural taste of his saliva, a taste you're all too familiar with; a taste you crave.

- in addition to being painfully slow, he's also a tease. he knows that you want to go quicker and faster with the movements you both partake in, but he doesn't see the fun in that. he wants you to beg for him; beg for his touch, beg for his agility, beg for all of him.

"hamzah."

"patience, baby. you'll get what you want."

- i feel like hamzah has an oral fixation when he smokes, like that's the reason he does it in the first place besides the goal of getting high. his mouth is everywhere on you, sucking, biting, and kissing. he kisses your neck the most when he's high, leaving hickies ranging in size everywhere. i could see him being someone who slowly moves down your body, marking every inch of you. simultaneously, he'd bite the skin of the marks he gave you and kiss it; both actions foil each other, obviously, but him giving it to you is the best of both worlds. (i'd honestly write a whole fanfic about this)

- i feel like he wouldn't want head from you while you're high; you're high to relax and him pushing your head down isn't very relaxing. instead, he'd want to give you head instead. i think he'd be heavily into overstimulation, and would use his strength to manhandle your legs apart. no matter how much you're shaking, he keeps them apart for him to feast on. he is an EATER. he genuinely takes pride in how good he is at it and how good you taste to him. he definitely makes you finish more than once, even if you think you can't take it.

"hamzah, i can't- it's too much-"

"you can, just one more, baby."

- if you guys decide to genuinely have sex, he starts off slow and loving, gazing into your eyes with the same redness that reflects into his. he whispers loving remarks to you. i feel like he wants to feel all of you, as you do with him. he goes insanely deep inside of you and loves the faces you make when you feel him. he thinks your pleasure is attractive and it turns him on even more. when you finish, the ripples of pleasure is amplified from going slow and deep.

- i feel like you guys' aftercare is just sleeping together and cuddling. before you do, he definitely praises you for how good you were for him. he tells you he loves you and that he doesn't know what he'd do without you in his life. you do the same to him.

you nestle your face into his neck, kissing lightly at the skin, "i love you so much."

he kisses your forehead in the same position, "i love you too, baby. go to sleep, i'll be here when you wake up."

authors note

what's up guys i haven't done my calc homework but i wrote this instead! i've been writing daily, so i think i'll try to stick to writing daily but no promises. it's like 1:52 in the morning and i have school tomorrow but i just needed to stock the hamzah fics for today. have a good day my babies <3 :3

[petrichormuse]

good day @divinit3a, and SURPRISE- I WAS YOUR SECRET VALENTINE!

hooray!! :DD

I love these boys' designs, bc I personally haven't seen anyone keep them as animatronics while also making them something else, like with these and your yeti designs! I love that detail so much!!

The setting isn't super clear as I probably should have asked if the Pizza Plex for this AU is like an aquarium or if they have a big open spot of ocean that they're using, so I left it up to the viewer's interpretation. And I added a lil, generic handler/worker Y/N too :)

These were so much fun to draw and I got so excited that I was able to draw for you bc your artstyle and concepts are beautiful and amazing to stare at. I have a good meal every time you post new DCA art!

I hope you enjoy and happy valentines (and ofc don't forget to click/tap for better quality bc tumblr really squashed this one) ^^

AND LASTLY:

here's a ver without all the lighting effects so you can see the colors and details better!

[nekohooch]

Otakon was amazing. Finally getting to wear my Azem summoning circle gown in person was so much fun. I had multiple people stopping me to gush over my costume and people from HERE telling me they saw it online and were so excited to see it in person. I haven’t been to a con since right before the pandemic and it was so nice to come back to a space I love so much. My goal of someone knowing what I was without me explaining was reached (thanks to the ffxiv photoshoot)! And I can’t wait to see the pictures of the group photo shoot. I added more details to the costume and (minus the stars which were my nemesis falling off the whole day) everything was perfect.

The gown itself took about 100 hours total. 85 originally and 15 to add finishing touches. The top is gold lamé and the chiffon overlay was ripping so I removed it. I have a whole costume breakdown under the tag for the original dress creation.

The necklace has an Azem summoning stone that my fantastic friends brought me from Fanfest which I repurposed. The most added details are the stars. I felt the black spots between the p design and the beams was a bit too big and wanted something to bridge the gap. I also considered adding my statics job symbols in the circles but they keep changing jobs XD

I added some more filigree details to the main Azem design in the front of the gown and individual rhinestones to each of the right angle v filigree and each of the small mirrored circles that make up the big circles because I’m extra along with a gold ribbon for the hem

Then I decided to add lights

Again because I’m extra

I don’t have skill with LEDs so I used individual 6ft fairy lights with tiny battery packs. I painted each battery pack black because the white shows through the skirt especially when lit up. There are about 75-90 battery packs I lost count at 2 am on Wednesday honestly ahaha. I looped them twice up and down so the effect would be less spaced out but I might edit that in the future if I figure LEDs and how to get more powerful ones because they weren’t really strong enough for 10 hours (you can faintly see them in the pictures above) and I kept turning them off when I sat. I used the same petticoat but added a hoop skirt because I was wearing tennis shoes (sadly sensible instead of fashionable) instead of my platform boots.

When people complimented me I would ask if they wanted to see my favorite part (which is spinning) and the laughs and gasps of delight were fantastic. Overall I’m so fucking proud of this costume. Thank you to all of you fab people from the FFXIV coordination who said such kind things I’m so flattered and lovingly overwhelmed. It was an amazing return to cosplay.