#i'm fucking losing my mind over this no joke

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: Dancer!Geto x F!Celeb!Reader (18+)

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Work Married Couple; No Curse AU; Work Hubby!Geto x Work Wife!Reader; Friends to Lovers; Work Couple to Lovers; Sexual Tension; Lowkey Flirting; Requited Crush; Exhibitionism; Public Sex; Mirror Sex; Tattoo & Piercing Kink; MDom!Geto x fsub!Reader; Cum Play; Creampie; Cuddling

Writer's Note: This is heavily based on THIS SEXY ASS DANCE VIDEO FROM TAEHYUNG'S FINE ASS ABOVE (from BTS if you don't know him). Idk what the hell he was thinking trying to kill me like that. If we were dancing, the entire studio would have to witness some very nasty stuff....enjoy! -Jazz

***********

I'm thinking extremely hard about Dancer!Geto who you already know would have the girls, the gays, and the theys losing their minds once he stepped onto the scene.

Dancer!Geto who started making a splash when he started posting on Youtube and later, TikTok, but his true shot to stardom and the celebrity world was when he posted his viral video of him dancing to "What's Your Fantasy" by Ludacris.

Dancer!Geto who was aware he got the entire internet wet over him...including you, a renowned singer, dancer, and songwriter. Who has won awards including two Grammys and is in Rihanna's Apple Music library.

Dancer!Geto who was down with the chance to dance for you in one of your music videos and was such a joy to work with that you kept him around.

Dancer!Geto who becomes your personal dancer, choreographer, close friend, and..."work husband".

Dancer!Geto who laughed at the title that his and your fanbase started giving him since you both work so well together and have so much chemistry on and off stage.

Dancer!Geto who takes the title and starts calling you "wife" while you jokingly call him "hubby".

("Bye, hubby!" you shout as you leave the studio to meet your personal driver. "See you tomorrow, wife," he calls back, watching your ass in your yoga pants as you leave.)

Dancer!Geto who takes his role as your work hubby VERY seriously, such as massaging your sore muscles or fetching you extra water during dance practices ("You need to hydrate," he firmly says. "Now stop playin' with me and open your mouth. I'm not about to have you pass out on me.").

Dancer!Geto who is absolutely smitten over you and everyone on your dance team sees it, but the only one who doesn't seem to is you despite the little touches he gives you on your shoulder, waist, or back. Despite the fact that he's always beside you about 80% of the time. Despite the fact that he always yearns to be close to you.

Dancer!Geto who is aware that he is fine as hell with the ink littering his skin, his many piercings, and toned, cut body from years of dancing and disciplined workouts.

Dancer!Geto who can get real cocky when it comes to dancing because the guy can fucking move, his movements perfectly matching whatever song is playing and becoming so memorizing when he dances.

Dancer!Geto who has stolen your heart, but you don't want to say anything in fear of ruining your friendship and work relationship, so you laugh off any prying questions that you and him are dating. "We're just good friends," you always giggle.

Dancer!Geto who silently simmers at constantly being friend zoned by your cute but oblivious ass and regrets not taking the chance to kiss you during your private dance rehearsals where it's just the two of you rehearsing and joking around.

Dancer!Geto who jumps at the chance to have another private rehearsal with you when you hit him up one random night and nearly fucks up his ankle trying to rush out of his apartment on time to meet you.

Dancer!Geto who knows your body and reads it like a book when he steps into the studio and sees you looking tense, wired, and absolutely in need of some relaxation. "It's just a deadline problem," you sigh when he asks what's up. "My label wants my new single out by the end of the month even though we have a show in a month too."

Dancer!Geto who hates your label for stressing you out so much and would gladly blow the motherfucker up for you...but decides that dancing works too.

Dancer!Geto who helps you do warm-up stretches, gently instructing you to do certain poses in ways that don't hurt your muscles. Whose fingers are so gentle yet firm as they press into your thigh or angle your hip, making your skin flush and your hairs stand on end.

Dancer!Geto who makes you giggle and laugh as you dance side by side in the wall-length mirror in front of you, the both of you moving in tandem with one another, becoming one force as you move to the beat.

Dancer!Geto who looks so sexy when he dances, his long hair moving like a curtain in his face and his feet so quick and light as if this is so easy for him. Whose arms glisten with sweat in his loose tank top. Who is starting to make you flush and throb from below as his eyes peek out at you from behind his mask.

Dancer!Geto who shouts "Whoa!" when you suddenly teeter-totter to the left and he catches you before you hit the ground, the both of you panting and staring into each other's eyes, your leg hiked up over his hip and his hands firmly gripping your waist.

Dancer!Geto who allows you to pull down his mask to see his full, pink lips and the snakebites protruding from his bottom lip that feel so cold against yours when you suddenly kiss him.

Dancer!Geto who can't think about anything but your taste and how hard you've made him in his sweatpants as your soft lips move against his. Who grabs you and keeps you close when you begin to profusely apologize and try to separate from him.

Dancer!Geto who exhales, "I've wanted this for so long" before he kisses you again, quickly becoming heated and more passionate as you two suddenly hit the floor and start touching, kissing, grinding, moving with one another.

Dancer!Geto whose hands feel so good peeling you out of your sweaty clothes and roaming across your body. Whose tongue piercing tickles you as he licks across your skin, grunting as you complain about your sweat. "I don't give a fuck," he growls. "And neither should you. Just enjoy this, baby."

Dancer!Geto who bends you over the dancer bar and uses those big hands to spank your soft, jiggly ass as he sloppily eats your pussy. Whose tongue is so good that you whine and moan as you grip the bar for dear life, your knees shaking and every muscle in your body tense from the pleasure.

Dancer!Geto who whispers, "Cum for me, wifey" when he feels that sweet pussy tightening around his tongue. "Give it to me, mama. Give it all to me." Who moans and feels his cock twitch when you finally cream around his tongue.

Dancer!Geto who lets you palm at his hard dick in his sweats and soon strip him out of them, revealing his long, thick, beautiful, hard cock to you. Who laughs when you ogle at the silver hoop dangling from the underside of his dickhead. "Like it, baby?" he asks, quirking a brow at you.

Dancer!Geto who has never had anyone make him sweat the way you do when you use that mouth on him, gently sucking on the head before slowly taking his length in your pretty, wet, sloppy throat, gulping and gagging as he groans at how good you are for him, his hand in your hair.

Dancer!Geto who has to resist busting in your mouth, filling your mouth with his spunk, and instead holds out until he's inside of you.

Dancer!Geto who fucks you stupid against the bar, making you grip the metal pole as he plunges his big cock into you again and again. Who asks you "Who's that pretty girl?" and "Why the fuck are you so sexy, hm? C'mon, lemme hear you sing for me" as he fills your cunt and makes your eyes roll back.

Dancer!Geto who scoops you up with ease and fucks you against the wall, his hips alternating between grinds and piston thrusts that make your toes curl and your heels dig into his firm bubble butt. Who lets you pull on his long locks and swirl your tongue nastily with his.

Dancer!Geto lets you cum first, grinding his pelvis against your needy, buzzing clit until you unravel on his cock, your nails digging into his broad, tatted shoulders. Who lets out an echoing "Fuck!" as he spills his spunk inside of you, groaning into your tits as he fills you up.

Dancer!Geto who fetches you water and puts his hoodie on your naked body as you both lie together in the afterglow, limbs tangled and bodies panting as the music continues to play in the background.

Dancer!Geto who gives you soft kisses on the forehead and strokes your hair as he makes you giggle. "How's that for a work hubby?" he whispers.

Dancer!Geto who has now become your boyfriend and sends the internet into a frenzy when you both step out onto the scene holding hands out in public for the first time.

Dancer!Geto who is as good of a boyfriend and a lover as he is a work husband and a dancer.

[blackboxtheater]

Voted for mumpearl! Would have anyways, but the extra incentive is nice. As for a prompt... Hm... I'll keep it short: trying something new.

Yes team lets go!!!!!

Go vote for Mumpearl in the Mumbo Jumbo ship bracket!!

But onto the fun stuff!

This turned out more platonic than romantic, but it's still cute. Idk.

But your prompt of "trying something new" and the fact that Mumbo has had Cleo and Scar both come visit his season 10 base to teach him new building techniques kinda crashed into each other in my head. Add that to the fact that I see Pearl's timelapse videos literally every time I look at her YouTube page, and you have the making of a toxic waste river monster in Mumbo's base........

*-* *-* *-*

"Pearl!"

The startled noise the comes out of Pearl's mouth should not be as funny as it is.

"Sorry," Mumbo gets out between laughs as he crosses the street to xB's food shop.

The look Pearl shoots him as she slowly lowers her hand from where it was clutching her chest is a good hint she doesn't quite believe him.

"You scared me half to death mate!"

"No really, I'm sorry. I am sorry. That was just a very funny noise," Mumbo manages to get out, voice sounding a little less breathless as his laugh subsides even if he is still grinning.

"Glad my heart attack at least entertained you! Where did you even come from?" Pearl looks up and down the street of the shopping district as if looking for more specters to spawn from nowhere.

"Restocking the iron mine," he tips his head back across the street. "I'm surprised you didn't hear the elevator? I think that means once and for all that xB's lawsuit was a fraud."

"I think that was about you contaminating the entire server's food with your toxic metals."

"I'm not saying I did that. I'm not. I'm innocent of everything including the brick vandalism incident despite rumors of widely circulated video evidence. But if I did expose everyone to heavy metals, that might explain why everyone is so crazy around here," he offers with a grin just this side of a smirk, and that earns him a laugh.

As funny as her startled shriek was earlier, he has to admit he likes this particular Pearl noise better.

"But that's not why I came over here!" he quickly adds. "I came to ask you to help me build a monster!"

"A monster?"

"Yeah! Like the monster in your base!"

"The little purple guy? Oh that wasn't me. That was Joel. Maybe you should-"

"But you made that giant thing on your base last season!"

"Yeah I guess���"

"And all the cool animal creature things on your own servers!"

Mumbo doesn’t register what he's said is odd until Pearl tilts her head at him. That finally gets him to pause, preventing any more words from tumbling out into the silence between them as Pearl looks him over.

"I guess I just didn't think I was the person on the server that was known for building stuff like that."

Because she's right.

She's not.

Now that Mumbo's brain cells have had a moment to catch up with his mouth, they unhelpfully remind him that most of the builds he's thinking of were not things Pearl made on Hermitcraft. Not things she made since he's known her.

They were from before she joined. Creations and designs he would have had to have searched out and found. Which, of course he did. He has spent far too much time looking at her work because how could he not for someone as massively talented as Pearl? He's just usually better at not embarrassing himself over how big of a fan he is.

"But you're still really good at it," is a flimsy recovery, but it’s the best his tired brain cells can think of after running after his mouth. "And I will need a lot of help to make something cool for my toxic river."

"If it’s a water creature then maybe you want to talk to Gem, she has all the cool organics this season."

There's a hesitance to Pearl's voice that sends Mumbo backtracking.

"I mean, if you're busy right now, don’t worry about it. I can talk to some-"

"I just think there's other people who would be better to help you out if you want a toxic mutant river monster. I wouldn’t want to mess up your base."

Now it's Mumbo's turn to be confused.

"Mess up my base? Pearl. Participating in my toxic, environment destroying lore aside, there is no way you would mess up my base. Your builds are incredible. You actually, like, know what you're doing with those kinds of things."

The way Pearl shifts away from his gaze makes his mouth take off again, brain cells be damned and left in the dust as he keeps talking.

"I mean, in season 8 you pranked me with a monster so good it became my base. I think that means, by definition, you can't mess up my base."

"I was only involved in that because I happened to be around when Grian needed help."

"And now you're here when I need help on my monster!"

Had Mumbo planned on building a monster in his river this afternoon? No. He had a gold shop to restock and farms to finish and countless other things on his ever expanding to do list. But when he saw Pearl right there in front of him as he took the elevator up from his iron mine, it felt like it was a perfect chance to learn something new, and from an expert no less.

"Well I was just going to do some Hungry Hermits this afternoon, but I'm sure Tango would love to have some time to actually make some updates…"

"So...You'll teach me how to make mutant river monsters?"

He's sure his voice sounds too eager and excited, but with all the hesitance in Pearl's voice it feels wrong to pretend he is anything other than extremely eager and excited at the idea of building something with her.

"You need a lot of space to build a good creature, so we need to look at the river first," she offers, but there is a twinge of excitement in her voice that has him internally cheering.

And external cheering as well because his brain cells aren't doing great at stopping his stupid mouth from embarrassing him today.

But the smile Pearl sends his way as she turns to walk towards his base is exactly what he need to tell those ridiculous little brain cells to get lost.

[tornadodyke]

ARE YOU FUCKING TELLING ME I COULD'VE BEEN DOING THESE FUCK ASS CALCULUS PROBLEMS JUST BY USING THE DERIVATIVES INSTEAD OF THESE STUPID DRAWN OUT WAYS

[falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand]

gonna beg to take a mental health day tmrw 😻

[thelastspeecher]

Wow I just LOVE being diagnosed with another issue to cause dietary restriction right before fucking CHRISTMAS

[willgrahamscock]

Things that make me lose my mind: Poolverine edition:

"Are you ready to be calm?"

"Not all of you was asleep."

Logan telling Wade that he'll never save the universe and it cuts to Wade looking like he'd been hit by a truck and the pan back to Logan instantly regretting it and getting even angrier than he was + Wade taking it all silently.

Wade using his thighs and leg to smash Logan's head into the side of the car.

Leg over Logan's shoulder as he penetrates Wade + Wade arching up and taking it like a good boy.

"I take it back, the Honda Odyssey fucks hard. Too bad you don't, needle dick." (ok, BRAT.)

"Oh we're just getting started, bub." (ok brat tamer.)

Logan smiling with Wade's blood dripping into his mouth. (freak...)

That shot of Wade bricked up in the back seat.

The entire Honda Odyssey scene alright. It's called sex when you're gay.

"You're the one that I want" Playing as they're trying to maul each other by the way.

D: "You smell something?" W: Yeah, you. A lot of you." Right before the DP variants appear. (why do you know what Wade smells like hm? that's gay.)

A song about blowjobs playing as they fight all the DP variants. "I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there???" and "I hear you call my name, and it feels like home" (gay.)

From "Did you just say you made an educated fucking wish?" to "Don't listen to him he's a liar." to "You didn't lie, you made an educated wish."

From "It's one of god's best jokes that you can't die" to breaking down the reinforced steel door to get to Wade.

Wade getting jealous when other people were ogling Logan shirtless and Logan actually listening to Wade and putting on a jacket.

"They called after me and I ignored them." To Wade calling Logan's name and taking a second before turning and going home with him.

The way Logan looks at Wade when he's being introduced to Blind Al. (I haven't seen him smile like this ever.)

[gojosprettyprincess]

❝​REPAYMENT​❝

Synopsis - Oh no! What happens when the big, massive strong man that saved you during a very dangerous war, wants something from you in return for his bravery?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!reader

Warnings - Dub-con, mentions of killing people, creampie, ass play, size kink, he stuffs his gloves in your mouth, he's possessive, mentions about keeping you with him. Dark content. this was kinda rushed so sorry for any errors!!

Art credits @umkochannart on twitter!

A/n - I NEED HIM, SOMEONE PLEASE

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Oh my— fuck! Sir, please we shouldn't be doing this, someone might see!” you stammered, legs trembling as your panties lazily pooled around your ankles. You mewled at the feeling of his hard, cold gear slapping against the mound of your ass, making the flesh ripple against his clothed pelvis. You keened as the wooden table dug into your stomach as you held onto the edge for dear life.

His cock was so thick and long—perfectly curved as it stretches open your tight, compressed walls to alter his girth. He grunts, feeling your tight little pussy eagerly fluttering around his invasive dick as you blabber on and on about your little worries about getting caught. Of course, you minded that a stranger man was destroying your pussy, but that was the least of your worries right now. The thought of getting caught and someone seeing your vulnerable self—almost naked, being pounded against a small table in the supply room by a big solider that's fully clothed, except for the crotch of his pants that's zipped down to free his aching cock, that's currently having your cunt drooling—making a mess all over his thick combat pants, made your mind hazy and your cunt throbbing in both excitement and frustration.

“Aww don't worry bout' that darling—I’ll just kill them for you so they won't say anything, will that be better?” he chuckles, his gloved hands digging into your hips as he deeply thrusts himself inside your dripping pussy relentlessly, fucking every single brain cell out of you. For someone who is “scared”, your pussy sure as hell was soaked and aroused.

He smirked under his skull mask at the feeling of your sweet pussy throbbing in tight circles around his cock to his words. “Oh? What a dirty little slut, does my talking about killing people make you horny? Such a sick little bitch, this pussy is clenching around me like it's fucking addicted to my cock, you a virgin, darling?”

Your eyebrows furred together at his sick wordings, you felt on the verge of losing your mind as the feeling of pure pleasure clouded your mind. “No, M’not!” you whimpered out, your tits grazing against the wooden table as your gushy pussy leaked all over his veiny shaft, every thrust had your pussy coating his cock even more with your filthy juices—as if you were enjoying it, or maybe you were?

“Oh yeah? Well, your cunt sure is fucking tight and warm—squeezing me so hard for someone that's a whore, whaddya say I keep you here and split open this little pussy whenever I feel like it?” he chuckles darkly, a huge palm slapping your bouncing ass as it jiggles against him, you moaned, tears prickling at your tear line as his thick, filled balls slaps against your poor clit, creating even more friction that had you seeing stars.

“No! Sir—can't, you promised you'll let me go after this!” you muttered, feeling so stuffed by the big man’s cock. “Shh, shhh I'm just joking with you doll” he laughs wickedly, perverted eyes moving down to where the two of you were lewdly connected. His eyes fixated on your other little neglected hole, which's already coated with some slick from your pussy. He eagerly pulled off one of his gloves and placed it on the table. You jolted unexpectedly when he stuffed a thumb deep into your mouth, he pressed his weighted chest onto your smaller back—getting closer to you as he whispered, “Get it all wet and lubed up, it's for your own good, darling”, you were confused and oblivious to what he'd be needing his thumb for but obeyed him anyways, not wanting to make the big man angry.

You whirled your tongue around his finger, making sure to get as much spit on it as possible. After, you hummed, letting him know that you were done. He pulled his finger out, sticky drips of spit coating him. Your eyes widen with fear when you felt his fat thumb circling your virgin asshole, he spreads the spit all over the shy, fluttering hole before sinking it in little by little. “Fuck! Sir—please be gentle, never had anything in there!” You yelled as you cried out in pain of your untouched hole getting stretched out. He quickly picked up his glove and shoved it into your mouth when there were footsteps heard thumping outside the room. “For heaven's sake, please shut the fuck up or I’ll really kill someone. I'm not joking darling. You’re mine now and I won't let other eyes see what's mine” he said in a stern tone. He hissed lowly at the feeling of your asshole swallowing his whole thumb in, all the way to the hilt.

“Such a tight little asshole, M’honored I’ll be the first one to break open this pretty ass”. Your muffled cries got louder as he pounded his hefty cock harder into your pussy, making it gushing all over him as he fucked out more and more juices out of your body. Soon the pain turned into pleasure as he started wiggling his thumb inside of you, feeling it exploring your tight walls. Your moan grew sweeter and more fucked out as you felt your orgasm washing over you—his huge cock tip nudging against your G-spot bullyingly, making your mind hazy. He felt it—felt the way your pussy grew more wetter and tighter around his length, taking him in all the way in as he pants. “Fuck darling are you gonna cum? Go on baby, you can cum, cum all over my cock, you slut”. He ordered, letting his thumb hooked into your butthole as he uses three other fingers to rub wet circles around your clit.

You moaned out, standing on your tippy toes as you clenched both holes tighter around him, making him hiss as you squirted all over him—your filthy mess splattering all over his uniform and gear as he fucks more and more juices out of your dirty pussy. He groaned loudly as you made a mess all over him—he never had someone squirting on him before, so it drove him fucking crazy. He lands slap after slap on your ass cheeks—making the flesh red as you whimpered. “Such a messy little whore, you really squirted on a random man you don't even know? You really are a little slut, I'm definitely keeping you darling” he laughs out, feeling his orgasm following him. “I’m gonna stuff this cute little pussy so full of my seed, gonna drain it so deep inside you baby, it'll come out your mouth” The whole room reeked of sex as he towered over you, his massive cock snugly engulfed by your little pussy, so tight and warm for him. He moans louder, splitting out a few curses as he pulled out his thumb out of your ass, making your little hole wink at him at the loss of his finger. He used both hands to grip your hips, holding you steady as he used your body as a little fuckdoll, manhandling your little body to meet his cock halfway as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

“No please! Sir not insi-” Too late, hot ropes of warm sticky cum spurted into your poor hole, filling it up as your eyes roll back. “Fuckkk, ohh fuckk yesss, such a good little cumslut for me” he moaned out with ecstasy as he emptied into your warm pussy—after so long.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he stilled himself into you. He bent over once again, his chest and gear touching your back as he whispered to you. “Don't worry sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you, will fucking kill anyone if they dare look in your direction. You'll be mine forever, pretty”.

[malachitezmeyka]

It's been 3 hours since the switch was randomly flipped in my brain and guess who was fucking right in saying that it will prevent me from falling asleep

[corbinite]

Netesofuhetsunese chinisu nichitsutanafuchi tene

Op what does it fucking mean

Lots of medicine makes it difficult to operate a forklift, but my comic has something that does the opposite.

Item: Potion of Forklift Operation & Certification

[lacydollette]

Lol, this is from my own current personal angst in my life but I was thinking it can be used for an angsty Rafe x Reader. I have very low self esteem, I don't think I look pretty so I have a hard time accepting that a guy could be interest in me or find me appealing, especially cuz guys have called ''mid''. Right now I'm talking to THE sweetest guy. THE most greenest flag of all. Super respectful, mature and kind. I had a freakout and pushed him away, wanted to stop talking. He got super upset, send me a drunk text basically being like ''I'm so attracted to u and your everything I've ever dreamt of. I just wanna make you happy and make you smile. Your so special to me. I keep saying that your beautiful, amazing and gorgeous but you won't hear it. Please don't let your insecurites get in the way of us. I fkn miss you'' I mean...hey feel free to take whatever inspiration you want from that, change it, build on it, whatever you want! We just want a sappy head over heels Rafe who is heartbroken being pushed away (but with a happy ending)

a/n tysm for sharing this with me! and please don’t let your doubts get in the way of your happiness. you are BEAUTIFUL and you MATTER ❤️‍🩹 i hope u like this little piece.

warnings rafe cameron x fem!reader, reader with low self esteem, situationship, angst, fluff, rafe being a sweetheart

Rafe couldn’t really tell when it started, but he could feel it in your forced smiles and short responses. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the ache in his chest told him otherwise. Every attempt to figure out what he had done wrong was met with your dismissive shrug and a short, “I’m fine.”

But what Rafe didn’t know about was the chaos in your mind. You liked him—really liked him—but your insecurities were keeping you from letting yourself fall completely. You couldn’t ignore the way girls seemed to flirt with Rafe at parties, the way people whispered that you weren’t pretty or cool enough, to be with someone like him. It didn’t matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful—the doubt in your mind drowned out his words. So, you began to pull away, convinced it was only a matter of time before he realized you weren’t what he wanted.

And that’s why Rafe ended up going to this party alone, although it should have been a night that you two spend together. You had promised to go, only to back out at the last minute with a stupid excuse about not feeling well. Rafe knew you were lying. Obviously he didn’t want to go without you, but after Topper wouldn’t stop begging him, he gave in.

He spent the first hour trying to lose himself in the crowd, nursing a beer and pretending to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but it was useless. Every girl who tried to flirt with him only reminded him of you, and every drink made the knot in his chest tighten. Eventually, he escaped out into the yard, needing space to think—or maybe just to breathe.

The cool night air sobered him slightly, but not enough to stop him from pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered over your contact before he finally hit call. It rang three times before you picked up.

“Rafe?” You said softly, voice trembling slightly. You winced at how vulnerable you sounded.

“hi, baby.” he said, his voice breaking slightly before going right in. “What’s going on with you? Please, just tell me. Did I do something? Did I hurt you somehow? Because if I did, fuck I swear to God, I didn’t mean to.”

Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your stomach. He sounded so desperate, so unlike the confident, self-assured Rafe you knew. You didn't know what to say, how to explain something you couldn't even fully understand yourself.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing what’s wrong. I care about you too much to lose you like this.” His voice cracked, and he raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “I’m completely crazy about you. I don’t care about anyone else. You’re it for me. You’re the only one I want.”

Your heart shattered at his words. He cared about you, really cared about you. But how could he? How could someone like Rafe Cameron, with his perfect smile and effortless charm, care about someone like you?

"Rafe..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. “No,” he interrupted. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I think about you all the time—when I wake up, when I go to sleep. You’re all I want, y/n. And if there’s even a part of you that feels the same way—then please, stop pushing me away.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Rafe leaned against a tree, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. Then he heard you breathe out, followed by muffled sobs, which you tried so hard to suppress by pressing your palm over your mouth. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words sink in and erase all your doubts. But the fear was still there.

“I didn’t think I was enough for you,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “You could have anyone, Rafe. And people keep saying I don’t deserve you, and maybe they’re right.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice rising as he couldn’t believe that you’d actually think that. “Baby, you’re more than enough. You’re everything. Don’t let what other people say get in your head. They don’t know you. They don’t know us.”

Your sniffle came through the line, and he could picture you wiping your tears, head bowed like it always was when you were upset. “I just… I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back,” he replied softly. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.” He paused. “Please, just let me in. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and you believed him. Believed that he was serious about you two. “Okay.” You said. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled shakily. “Okay,” he repeated, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m coming to you right now.”

Your eyes widened, “No, Rafe, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said firmly. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you. We’ll figure this out together.” And with that, he ended the call, his heart pounding with determination. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. You were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

[nanaslutt]

What do u think of Gojo begging you to give him a handjob and promising he wont cum during NNN but surprise surprise he fails so u ruin his orgasm 🤯

I think YES???? this was insanely fun to write, tysm for the ask nonnie<33

tell me why i forgot nnn was a thing LOLLL

contains: fem reader, crack, handjobs, whiney!satoru, established relationship, cumming handsfree, ruined orgasm, failed edging, begging, gojo calls you 'ma'am ' once as a joke, 'baby' and 'princess' used for reader

2k words :p

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

"Baby pleeeeease." gojo whines, laying his head on your knees from where he sits between your legs on the carpeted floor, 

"Satoru, you were just begging me last month to not let you cum during November no matter what." you sighed, he does this every year, making you swear up and down that you'll hold him accountable and not let him lose NNN, hearing from geto that if you last the whole month, the orgasm on December first was mind-numbing

of course, he wouldn't know, becasue every year he came crawling to you about how stupid this challenge was, barely a week into the challenge, and he was dragging you to the nearest surface and fucking you against it, filling your guts with his cum,

but not this time, miraculously he had held out this long, only eight days before the challenge was over. he of course had you to thank for thank, deep down you knew he really did want to complete this challenge, and thats why he was so insistant every time the dreaded month came around. 

but Satoru was a slut for pleasure, especially for the kind of pleasure he got from you. Whether it was your hands, mouth, cunt, he could get off using any part of your body and he would be the happiest man on earth

"I won't cum, swear, just miss your hands on me baby pleeeease," he practically cried, hugging onto your knees, turning his face into your skin whining and groaning like a spoiled child,

"Toru, you and I both know you do not have enough self-restraint to just edge yourself," knowing him better than himself

together, you guys have tried edging, Satoru never being able to make it past the first time you stopped right before he came, once again saying how stupid this was, quickly fucking his cock back into you and bringing himself to the brink of orgasm using your body, cumming with no restraint, even though he was once again the one who brought the idea to you,

"I'm starting to think you might have commitment issues," you mumble under your breath, his fake cries and obnoxious pouting pulling you out of your thoughts, phone dropping by your side, looking down at him with a huff, 

"Please, all you gotta do is rub my cock a little, just for a second please," he drags out the please once more, lip sticking out in a pout as he looks up through his snowy lashes at you, "jus wanna feel you please, it's been so long, need it, baby, please."

shutting your eyes and sighing once again, unable to deny him any longer with him being so persistent, especially when he asks you so nicely, looking up at you with those beautiful eyes of his, 

"oh my goddd Satoru, okay, fine." you shake your head, slapping your hand over your face, and he perks up, immediately abandoning his spoiled rich kid act, leaving fat kisses all over your knees, "yes yes yes thank you, baby, promise I won't let you down," 

he stands up and you peek through the cracks in your fingers, hand still on your face and your jaw practically drops at the sight, he is already sporting a huge tent in the crotch of his grey sweats, smile stretching from ear to ear while he looks down at you,

"you're already hard?" you exclaim, disbelief plastered on your face, "feelin' on ur legs made me hard," he says nonchalantly, the expression on your face not changing, "now up you go!" leaning down he scoops you up from under your arms and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, "woah! toru!" you exclaim, caught off guard as he takes long strides to your bedroom

strong hold on the underside of your knees as he hums, making his way through the hallway, finally reaching his destination and plopping you down in front of him on the hard floor, "how do ya want me your majesty?" he smirks, hands in his pockets waiting for your direction, "jus' go lay down on the bed you freak," pushing his solid chest back towards the king mattress, 

putting on a show as he faux stumbles backward, flopping back on the bed, fluffy white hair on the pillows, putting one hand behind his head, the other coming down to rub himself over his sweats, "don't leave me waiting princess" biting his lip, lips corners of his lips curling up into a flirty smile, 

"stop fucking touching yourself," you sigh, "gonna cum before I even get my hands on you." You're feeling undeniably aroused yourself, you and Gojo have a very active sex life, never going weeks without touching each other unless he is away on a mission. since he made quite the effort with the challenge this time around (largely thanks to you) you've been feeling pretty antsy, participation in the challenge yourself as a way of supporting him, 

though there's no real pressure on you, if you wanted you could rub one out at any time. the only downside is that getting off on your own never felt as good as it did with Satoru,

he whistles, giving himself one last grope before his heavy hand joins the other behind his head, "yes ma'am" he says slightly teasing tone lacing his voice,

you crawled on top of him, resting your ass right above his knees, "remember Satoru, you're not going to cu-" he cuts you off, waving his hand in front of you, rolling his eyes, "yeah yeah, not gunna cum, I got it," he says snarkily, a little too snarky for someone who was quite literally on his knees begging you to touch his stupid cock, but you digress,

narrowing your eyes at him before sliding your slender fingers over his upper thighs, over his hips, teasing his lower stomach, barely grazing his twitching clothed cock on the way back down, repeating the process a couple of times, sometimes opting to skip over running your fingers over his cock altogether

his jaw is slightly slack, watching your hands intently, "cmon, don't be a tease baby," he sighs, pushing his hips off the bed towards you, "You're in no place to make demands right now," staring into his intimidating eyes challengingly, 

he bites his lip, shutting his mouth, awaiting your move, pushing his shirt up, resting right under his pecs as you tease your fingers on the short white hairs of his happy trail, right above the hem of his pants,

smile now off his face, looking concentrated as he bites his lip harshly, eyes darting back between your fingers and pretty face, looking so concentrated on what you were doing,

your cunt was aching to feel him inside you, trying to push your own needs out of your brain, feeling nearly impossible as you exposed more and more of his happy trail the more you teased down his pelvis,

finally grabbing the fabric of his pants and sliding them down his incredibly toned thighs, he lifted his hips, aiding you in undressing him, his breathing started to pick up when you looked closely at his cock straining under his boxers

staring at a dark spot where his pre was leaking from his tip under his briefs, trying not to roll your eyes back when he made his cock jump. taking your index finger and rubbing it on the wet patch on the head of his dick, drawing little circles around it, his breath hitching, breathing picking up slightly watching you pull your finger back slowly, a string of cum connecting the two of you,

giving his boxers the same treatment, slipping your fingers underneath the hem and sliding them down, his hips raising again to make your job easier, and he's grinning so hard when your jaw drops open, watching his flushed cock slap back against his tummy, flexing the appendage again, putting on a show for you,

"your cock is so pretty Toru," you marvel, squeezing your thighs together so you can focus on the task at hand, "ur leaking so much," finger tapping his angry head a couple of times, proving your point as the cum makes little 'plap' 'plap' sounds when your finger comes in contact with him,

"There's so much it looks like you already came," you tease, finally wrapping your hand around his warm tip, hips leaving the bed once more to slide into your hand, "hips on the bed please Satoru," you correct, muscles in his thighs and abs flexing as you feel him connect his ankles together behind you,

starting to give him steady shallow pumps and his jaw is slack, eyes rolling back when you twist your wrist over the head of his neglected dick, "fuuuuck baby, just what I needed," he breathily laughs out a smile, "a little faster please," he requests, both hands leaving their place behind his head to grip the sheets by his sides,

"let me know when you feel close," you instruct, waiting to see him nod in acknowledgment before pumping your hand a little faster, sliding effortlessly up and down his cock with vulgar wet sounds thanks to his leaky cock,

"yesyesyes s-shit, squeeze harder," breaths entering and leaving his lungs rapidly as he tips his head back into the pillows, when you follow his instructions he lets out a long groan, abs clenching more frequently, your body jolting a bit every time he fidgeted his legs around the sheets behind you, 

breathing heavily yourself, free hand coming down to press against the heat between your thighs, a temporary relief as you tried to memorize his every reaction he gives you,

"you close Satoru?" you question, noticing his breath come in shorter pants, warm cock twitching and straining against your hands, his thighs. tensing and unsensing more frequently, all telltale signs of his impending orgasm, "I asked you a question," you emphasized with a strong squeeze at the base of his lengthy cock, "n-no, not close yet, promise," he bites his lip, keeping his eyes screwed shut, sheets between his fingers practically ripping before you continue,

choosing to believe him you keep up the previous pace, squeezing your fingers tight around the tip of his cock on the downstroke and that's when you notice one of his hands abandoning his grip on the poor sheets to cover his mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo, and you know exactly whats happening

He's going to cum, and he lied to you about it

jerking your hand up his cock once more before you let go completely, anticipating his moves when he shoots his head up, hands reaching for his cock and you catch his wrists, pining them above his head, if he had half a mind he would break out of your grip with ease, but he was milliseconds from cumming, not having his usual strength coursing through his body,

"no! Nononono," he's protesting when his back arches, curling in on itself, legs thrashing under your weight as his cock dribbles out long spurts of cum, twitching and throbbing with every string, "Fuuuuck nooo, no, ughhh," he groans at you for ruining his orgasm, whole body twitching, 

dick starting to soften in his own mess against his lower abs,

"you seriously thought you were gonna get away with that? you asked in an incredulous tone, hes pouting, letting out a long groan of your name before tipping his head forward and making eye contact with you,

"That was sooo mean" he pouts, "ive been saving that load..." he whines out, cock still twitching in the aftershocks,

"what was mean, is when I asked if you were gonna cum and you lied straight to my face," you spat, laughing in disbelief, swinging your legs off his torso while his eyes follow your figure, watching you wipe your hands using a tissue from the box you keep on the bedside table, he groans out your name again, "I'm sorryyyy, was feeling sooo good," he tries to justify

giving him a look that screams are you actually serious right now, as you start towards the door, "sounds like you need a pussyban to me," you deadpan, walking through the doorframe out into the hallway,

"WOAH!! woah, woahwoahwoah," practically teleporting his feet on the floor, hastily pulling up his pants as he chases you out of the room, hot on your trail, "baby! baby, haha, let's not do anything drastic now, kay?" he baffles in disbelief, worry laced in his voice. 

[seattlesellie]

dads best friend!abby scenario cause why the hell not.

cw: sexual themes mdni, age gap, abby’s a cocky but charming asshole, power dynamics-ish? : ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

— "Oh and honey? Doctor Anderson's coming over for dinner" Everything felt oppressively hot and everything felt impossibly tight. The food seared your tongue, humid steam rising from the vegetables on your plate causing your throat to constrict and your eyes to sting with tears. Your right hand was clenched in a tight fist, left hand gripping your fork like it might grow legs and run away if you let go of your grasp. Your tights were itching relentlessly, tank top strap kept sliding off of your shoulder and built itself a home down your arm. Your lipgloss felt too sticky and your palms too clammy, you felt agitated, uncomfortable and way too goddamn nervous.

You felt consumed.

You didn’t know why.

Sure, Doctor Anderson was attractive, with palms twice bigger than yours. She wore a tight fitted muscle tee that had you squinting then turning your head around fast enough to crack your neck, noticing a goddamn six pack poking through maroon fabric. And yeah, she had an intoxicating scent of pine and wood and a hint of pepper that made your eyes nearly roll back inside of your skull, voice silky smooth, thighs firm and muscular, eyes icy blue, a smile that made you melt and all that stupid jazz,

but none of these things were a good enough explanation to why you were feeling this way — dazed, stupid, all bothered.

She sat down on the dinner table’s leather chair in a manspread as if she owned the place, and her thighs bulked up even more, veins of her arms becoming more prominent. She always knew what to say, and when you cracked a joke about orthopedic surgeons she cheekily told you to “watch it” — which made you thickly gulp and sheepishly smile down to the floor like your idol from age thirteen just told you they want to marry you and have you forever.

You needed an ice bath, but she also wouldn’t stop goddamn looking at you, even when you made it clear that eye contact with the surgeon, your father’s best friend, was a task that you apparently couldn’t manage to complete.

Her look made you nervous, and when she narrowed her eyes you nearly choked on a carrot, and when your father asked you “What’s wrong, kid?” you couldn’t even answer because what was wrong — was that you had to cross your legs together cause of some aching down there, and what was wrong is that his best friend made you feel like you were losing your mind at 9pm with a fork glued to your palm.

So you lied.

“M’just... tired, I guess” you murmured, then fake yawned, then internally cringed at yourself for performing the worlds fakest goddamn yawn.

“Already?” he voiced, shifting his gaze towards a visibly amused Abby. “Quite the night owl, that one... usually”

"What can I say, dad, loooong day" answered you, with a syrupy voice she wanted to stick her fingers inside and lick.

Abby chuckled, then smirked at you even though the response wasn’t directed at her. Then, she looked over to your father who was gnawing on some overcooked steak.

“She’s a kid, needs to get her sleep”

You scoffed, which made doctor Anderson poke the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “What...?” she murmured cockily, cracking a toothy grin. Your tights felt tight again, glued to your hot flesh, then you realized why they fucking call them tights because dammit they really are tight.

“I'm not a kid, can, y’know... drink, and stuff. Plus... M'busy, with... College"

You sounded like a damn idiot. All Abby did was chuckle and tilt her head back slightly, leaning further back in her chair.

“T'aw, I know, What'ryou studying again? Fashion science?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. That bitch.

"Sorry I don't wanna go to medical school and spend seven years of my life sticking my hands down a corpse"

So you didn’t go to your room after that, caught up in a whirlwind of proving a point. You stayed stubbornly with your feet glued to the floor and listened to Abby and your father ramble and yap on about work shenanigans. Usually, you’d semi doze off at this point, go on your phone and occasionally throw a snarky remark, but this was different. She was different than any of his other friends. Abby was actually funny, she didn’t brag too much, and if she did it faded quick cause she really was that good.

Abby threw a reference to a book you thought no one else had read except for you. You timidly lifted your gaze and remarked, “Oh, i read that book, actually”

Abby smiled and flattened her hands on the wooden table. “Smart cookie, huh? Did you like it?”

You batted your eyelashes like a kitten seeking more strokes at the praise, not noticing that body language of yours.

But she did.

You talked about the book for a solid ten minutes. Your father was the one, surprisingly, to go on his phone and faux-snort when he felt excluded from the conversation ran by two intellectuals and a giant elephant who goes by the name of "Tension", in the middle of the room.

Abby made you laugh and she made you think and she listened to your anecdotes. It made you buzz with electricity, and it made you yearn for her attention.

it also made her long for yours.

Your father interrupted by showing Abby a picture from work. When her eyes lowered to his phone, she shot you a lingering gaze and a smirk. You, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks, shyly looked away.

It was tight everywhere all over again.

So they talked more about work, Abby’s patients, their coworkers, Doctor Martha’s chicken pot pie, Doctor Johnson’s bizarre antics, the glass door no one bothered on calling to be fixed, blah blah blah, an endless stream of chatter.

And you listened, you listened with rapt attention, every ounce of your focus aimed at the prospect of another one-on-one conversation with Abby. Each time the older woman casted you with a quick glance, you flushed even harder. You waited, and waited and waited but your father was a blabber mouth, and you were oh so impatient,

you began mindlessly kicking the wooden table's legs.

Your sock-covered feet shifted restlessly from side to side, then you tucked them beneath your chair and resumed kicking, the movements gaining force. You curled your toes and continued to play with the table's handles. Abby winced, but you didn’t pay her any mind. You kicked again, with more force now.

You sighed.

Abby cleared her throat, and her cheeks suddenly bore a faint crimson blush. You couldn't help but notice, hm, must be the red wine finally catching on to her form. Ignoring, you kicked again, and the doctors back straightened and she stiffened in response. Your father asked her a question, and Abby… stammered.

“Yeah, that guys… uh— yeah”

You rested your chin on your hands and lightly tapped your fingertips against your cheeks thrice.

Then you kicked again, harder, you were bored and restless, waiting, give me some attention, Abby —

And then, you felt a pair of shoes encase your feet, ankles creating a cage around yours. It was then and only then that you had the startling realization: you hadn't been kicking the table at all. Instead, you had been unknowingly engaged in a game of footsies beneath the table with a goddamn world class surgeon.

And oh god did you want to die.

And oh god did abby sport a shit eating grin on her face that only you seemed to catch.

You froze, not even able to release your feet from her iron like grip. Unmistakably, she didn’t seem to release her grip either. So she kept them there, caged and locked.

“Alright,” your father sighed and cleared his throat. “Got some cuban cigars in the yard, shall we?” he gestured towards Abby, who was still holding your feet in her tight grasp.

“Yeah, go ‘head, I’ll just clear the table” she murmured absentmindedly. So kind and polite, huh?

You father chuckled and tapped abby on her shoulder, as he rose from his sit and straightened his back. “Nah, let the kid handle it”

Abby shot you a glance. Your pupils were dilated and your chest heaved rapidly up and down.

“She's not a kid, remember?”

Abby let go of your feet and you rose from the chair with such haste, you nearly had whiplash. When you lifted your plate, staying mute, looking like a deer caught in headlights as your father paced towards the yard, Abby gazed at you, and her eyebrow arched up in utter amusement.

“You uh, play soccer, by any chance?” quipped her, crossing her arms on her firm hard muscly chest.

You gulped.

“Huh?”

Abby lifted her wine glass to her lips, taking a sip that left a glistening sheen on her bottom lip. A chuckle escaped her.

“Jus’, y’know… with all the kicking, and everything. I mean, take a girl out for a drink before you do all that, yeah?”

You stood in shock, you didn’t speak, didn’t mutter a word, merely humming in response. Abby grabbed the plates from your hand, and then she grabbed the salt.

She furrowed her eyebrows and huffed. “M'just ’joking, smart cookie. If you wanna play, let's play"

Then you heard your father’s voice down the hall.

“Sweetheart?” he paced closer as Abby walked towards the sink. He leaned over the wall,

“forgot to mention it to you but, Abby’s staying over for the weekend”

[santaasi]

die with the smile

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: a love once haunted by nightmares finds solace in a sunrise, where promises of healing and hope turn dreams of a future into quiet, steady certainty.

warnings: !major spoiler for obx4 final!, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, establish relationship, talking about death, mention of panic attacks, no use of y/n, jj calls reader angel, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.9k

a/n: requested by this ask. thank u for request, love <з. and to everyone else – i'm waiting for your requests too.

ᯓ★ now playing…

lady gaga, bruno mars – die with the smile

IT WAS SUFFOCATING. After everything that happened in Morocco, it felt like your chest had been crushed under an unbearable weight. Breathing no longer came easy. Each inhale was a jagged reminder of the past, a sharp sting of memories you couldn’t escape. You hated sleep, hated the moments when your mind would surrender to the dark. Every night, the desert came back to haunt you, its endless stretch of sand suffocating. You saw JJ lying there, motionless, his body a broken promise beneath the burning sky. And surrounded by the Pogues, Rafe fucking Cameron, his hands digging JJ's grave, burying the love of your life six feet under.

You could still hear your voice, a fractured thing, torn from your throat as you screamed for them to stop. You fell to your knees, pleading with them to hear you, begging them to leave him there, to not let him go. But no one listened. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they just stood there, frozen, like they couldn’t see the life slipping away. Of course, it was just a dream — your brain's cruel joke, twisting everything you feared most into a nightmare. But in the stillness of the night, when you woke with your heart pounding and the cold sheets tangled around you, it didn’t feel like a dream at all. It felt too real. Too close.

And so, for three months, you lived like this. In the hollow space between waking and sleeping, where the line between nightmare and reality blurred beyond recognition. Three months of restless nights, clinging to coffee mugs as if they could fill the emptiness, while your eyes begged for sleep. But when you did manage to fall asleep, the dreams would return, relentless, each one leaving you more shattered than the last.

It wasn't as bad as it had been in those first two months, when every moment was suffocating with fear. When you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house, couldn't bring yourself to stop waiting for that phone call from the hospital. The one that would confirm the thing you couldn't bear to imagine — that JJ was gone. Everything had felt like a fever dream: tracking down doctors, finding anyone who could help, getting him back to Kildare, the hospitals, the bills you could never afford, the ones that now you had to face. Your parents never asked you to repay the money, but you knew how much they'd given up for it. They'd been saving for years. It felt wrong to let it go without giving something back.

And then there was that month of rehab, where the days stretched on like a never-ending ache. Sitting next to JJ's hospital bed, listening to the faint beeps of machines as nightmares still held you in their grip, tormenting you while you tried to hold onto him in the real world.

You hadn't cried once. Not in those two months. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to — weeping felt like you were digging his grave in advance. Like if you let the tears fall, you’d lose him all over again. But now, he was here. With you. Alive. The JJ you knew, the one who cracked jokes, who lived without fear, without hesitation. And you tried to return to who you were before, but it was harder than you'd expected. He made it seem so easy, slipping back into his old self, but you felt like you were still drowning in the wreckage of what had happened.

For weeks, you sat beside him, feeling his skin warm beneath your touch, hearing his laughter echo in the spaces between you. But still, in the quiet moments, the fear lingered. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared waking up in another cold bed, alone. But each morning, you’d find him there, by your side. He was here, alive, and you began to let yourself believe it, piece by piece.

Slowly, the days started to fill with color again. It wasn't easy, but it was better. Breathing no longer felt like a battle, and with each passing day, you felt yourself letting go of the haunting fear, the dread that lived just behind your ribs.

And you never left his side. Once, it had always been JJ who took the lead — who reached for you first, who kissed you first, who pulled you close. Now, you were the one to reach for him, to thread your fingers through his, to press a soft kiss to his lips or his forehead. It was like you were holding him tighter, making sure he was still real, still here.

"If I had to almost die for you to get this clingy," JJ teased one evening, grinning up at you as you curled into him on the couch, "You could've told me sooner, you know. I didn't know I had a personal koala bear all this time."

You smiled at his playful jab, though your fingers gripped him a little tighter. You tucked your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was like a song, a reassurance that he was here. That he was alive.

You were learning how to laugh again. How to joke. How to be you again. Or at least, almost. Because even though the world felt like it was beginning to make sense again, you couldn't shake the nightmares. They were still there, lurking in the shadows. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared that the night would swallow him whole once more.

But for now, he was still here. And in that moment, that was enough.

The chateau had become your sanctuary, a fragile semblance of home. But even here, in the quiet of its walls, you couldn't escape the void that followed you, the weight that pressed on your chest every time you woke up without him beside you. The comfort of falling asleep wrapped in his arms didn't seem to be enough anymore. It didn't stop the dreams from coming.

Every night, they came like a storm. JJ, dying in your arms, blood staining his chest. JJ, sinking beneath the waves after falling off the boat, reaching for you, but you couldn't reach him. JJ, spiralling off his dirt bike, tumbling into the dirt, and you couldn't save him. And then, there was the desert. Always the desert. You couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

But in the moments before the nightmare took hold, when you woke to the warmth of his body next to you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his breath soft against your neck, you could calm yourself. You could breathe, steadying your heart before the panic could rise. He was there. He was alive. And you would cling to that reality until the night came again, bringing with it the horrors you couldn’t outrun.

JJ, of course, remained blissfully unaware. He slept soundly, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of someone who had earned a brief reprieve from the chaos. And you — you would lie there, bathed in moonlight, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, needing to touch him, needing to see that he was really there. That he wasn't slipping through your fingers. Over time, the nightmares began to fade. They became less frequent, their grip less tight. But just when you thought you could breathe freely, just when you thought the storm had passed, it came crashing back.

Two weeks of peace. Two weeks of deep, uninterrupted sleep. But that night, everything changed.

The dream returned. The one you feared the most. JJ, lying motionless in the sand, his clothes stained with dried blood, his body pale under the desert sun. The wind blew the sand into your eyes, blinding you, choking you, as Rafe stood above him, digging, his hands moving with the unholy rhythm of a grim reaper, burying your love beneath the earth. You fell to your knees beside the pit, the hot sand searing through your clothes, but you didn't care. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t look away from the hole that was swallowing everything you loved. With each shovel of sand, the pit grew deeper, and with it, your heart.

The faces around you were blank — pale, cold. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they stood there, frozen, as if they were burying someone they'd never known. No tears. No grief. Just... emptiness. It broke you. It shattered you, piece by piece.

"No! No! Please! Enough!" you cried out, your voice cracking as you scrambled to your feet, your body shaking. You turned to them, your heart a fragile thing, desperate for anyone to react, to feel something. "Do something! He's not dead! JJ's not dead! John B! Sarah! Please!"

The tears fell freely, hot against your cold cheeks, choking your breath. Everything blurred around you, and all you could see, all you could feel, was his face. His beautiful face, pale and cold under the relentless sand. You reached for him, your fingers trembling as they traced the outline of his cheek.

"I love you, JJ... Please, don't leave me... don't you dare leave me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar in your ears. You pushed the hair from his face, trying to pull him back to life with your touch. "Please, Jay, wake up. I love you. Please..."

The heart-wrenching sob that escaped you felt like it was tearing you apart, even as they began to throw the sand over him. As they buried him. Covered him. And the world turned dark.

Someone's hands grabbed at you, pulling you away, but you fought them, kicking, screaming, dying with him as the earth swallowed your love.

"No! Please, no!" The words tore from your chest like jagged glass, but it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

Then, a voice — soft, familiar, grounding. A warmth that pulled you from the nightmare. "Hey, hey, angel..."

You gasped, eyes snapping open, panic seizing you as the darkness of your dream lingered. The bed was empty. The space beside you, cold and vast. Your body trembled as sobs wracked your chest, but then arms wrapped around you, strong and steady. They held you close, pulling you into warmth, into the comforting scent of the sea and something more.

"Wake up... come on, angel, it's okay," the voice coaxed, his words gentle but firm, a tether pulling you from the depths of your nightmare.

You turned, eyes still blurry with tears, and looked over your shoulder. You half expected to see nothing. To be alone in the darkness. But then you saw him. JJ. JJ. His face was the same as it always had been — familiar, comforting, real. The soft smile on his lips made your heart stutter, and you found yourself reaching for him instinctively.

"JJ… you're here," you exhaled, your body relaxing, your mind calming for just a moment. But then the overwhelming relief struck you, and suddenly, you were gripping him as tightly as you could, clutching him like you'd never let go. You turned in his arms, wrapping yourself around him, pressing every part of yourself against him, trying to absorb his presence with every cell of your being. You needed to feel him, needed him to know how deeply you'd been shaken.

"I thought you were… you were… I saw…" you choked out, the words barely a whisper, breaking apart in fresh waves of tears that trembled through you. You buried your face in his neck, shuddering as his hand ran soothingly down your back.

"Shh... I'm here, love," he murmured softly, pulling you even closer. "I'm with you, and I'm not going anywhere." His hand traced gentle circles in your hair, his voice a soft balm over your wounds.

JJ knew how much you’d been struggling. He saw it in your red, swollen eyes each morning, in the tired shadows that lingered beneath them. He noticed how you would sometimes drift off mid-conversation, lost to a place he couldn't reach, as if carrying something too heavy to share. He felt it every time you’d reach for his hand, holding it tighter than you used to, grounding yourself in his touch. And he felt it every night you stayed at the chateau, choosing to lie beside him rather than in your own bed, pressing your ear against his chest just to hear his heartbeat.

JJ Maybank wasn't oblivious. He understood what haunted you, and he wished with everything in him that he could erase it. Because he knew — if it had been you, if you were the one hovering on the edge of life and death... he couldn’t even let himself think of it. You were his everything, his only certainty in a world that had never offered him much. And knowing you were hurting like this, knowing he was the reason, that was the worst thing he could imagine. It was worse than the death he’d nearly met.

And so he tried to help you in every way he could. He stayed close, always nearby, holding you tight whenever you needed it. He whispered sweet promises in your ear, spun dreams of the future for you both, reminded you every day just how much he loved you. He did everything he could to show you that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.

But seeing you now, shattered and trembling in his arms, feeling your tears soak his shirt, it tore at him. It was like a raw ache, a knife twisting deeper with every sob you released. You were suffering because of him, and he could feel the guilt clawing at his chest. He’d never wanted this — not for you.

As your breathing began to calm, your hold on his shirt loosened, and he shifted back slightly to meet your gaze. Your face was swollen from crying, your eyes rimmed red, and he felt a tenderness rise in him that he could barely contain. He lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb grazing your skin as he leaned in, gently brushing his lips over yours, a silent promise, as if he could kiss the fear away.

"I'm fine," you whispered, though your voice was trembling and raw. JJ just shook his head, unconvinced. He bent down, picking up his hoodie that had been lying on the floor, then draped it around your shoulders. The familiar, comforting scent of his cologne surrounded you, filling your senses, and you closed your eyes, sinking into the warmth.

"Let's go for a walk?" he asked softly, his voice gentle but insistent. You managed a small nod, slipping out of bed to follow him.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as you reached the beach, bathing everything in a soft, golden light. JJ's hand was intertwined with yours, and his thumb traced delicate patterns along the back of your hand, grounding you. The breeze tugged at your hair, the salt air filling your lungs as you took slow, steady breaths, savouring the tranquility of the moment.

When you reached your favourite spot, tucked away behind the rocks, JJ settled down, pulling you between his legs, his arms circling you. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you felt a soft, involuntary smile tug at your lips. His heartbeat thudded against your back, steady and reassuring, and you let yourself melt into the safety of his embrace.

For a few quiet minutes, you both watched the sun rise, bathing the ocean in warm, shifting hues. Then JJ's voice broke the silence, low and hesitant.

"You know... for a second, I thought I was going to die," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let himself show. "When I blacked out, I thought... this was it. That y'll would leave me there in Morocco, that I'd lose everything."

JJ swallowed, as if trying to steady himself, and you could feel the tension in his arms as he held you tighter. He’d tried to laugh it all off before, hiding behind jokes and smiles, but now — now it felt real. The memories weighed down his words, and you could hear the unspoken fear beneath them.

"JJ, don’t," you whispered, your own voice catching. You pulled his hoodie closer around you, burying your face in the soft fabric to push away the memories of that day, the endless days that followed. His arms tightened around you, his cheek pressing against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he drew you closer, as if he could shield you from the memory.

"No, I need to say this… I need you to hear it," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a shuddering breath, and you felt something wet land softly on your shoulder. A tear.

JJ gave a small, shaky grin and shook his head, leaning in close to murmur in your ear. "You've been with me through everything, angel. You saved me. You kept me alive."

The words settled into you, quiet and profound, and you turned to look at him, seeing the vulnerability he was baring, the weight he'd been carrying alone. You looked back at the horizon, feeling a deep ache inside, a pull that was both painful and reassuring, like your heart was finally finding its place.

You closed your eyes, concentrating on nothing but him — the feel of his arms, the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way his fingers tightened protectively around yours. You wanted to wrap yourself in this moment, to sink so deeply into him that you’d never be apart again.

"When I woke up for the first time… I heard your voice," JJ's voice trembled, breaking as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. "The way you told everyone that I wasn't going to die... the way you begged me not to... not to leave you..." His words cracked, and you felt the weight of his pain seep into your bones. He was broken, and it tore at your heart.

You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the soft, trembling pulse beneath his skin. "I couldn't die... every time I slipped away, all I could think about was you," JJ whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "That I couldn't leave you. That I love you, and I don't want to leave you..."

He gently cupped your chin, lifting your face toward his. His eyes — red and swollen from crying — met yours, and in that moment, you saw how deeply connected you were. You were both raw, broken open, and yet, still whole together.

"I love you so much, that even at death's door, I fought with everything I had to stay here with you," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand slid down your cheek, brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I put you through this, angel."

You felt your heart shatter for him, your lip trembling as his words hit you like a wave. Your hands moved instinctively to his face, cupping it gently, and you shook your head. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that life had dealt him such a cruel hand. It wasn't his fault that he had been made to suffer in ways no one should. You knew he didn't deserve this. He deserved better — so much better.

"I promise…" JJ's voice was tight with emotion, but he pressed on. "No, I swear... I will never make you go through this again. I swear it. I swear that after all this, I won't give you any reason to worry. I will always be here for you." His blue eyes searched yours, holding you captive with their intensity. The weight of his words felt heavier than anything you'd ever known. "I will be with you, no matter what. And I will build us the house you always dreamed of. A white house with big windows and a garden, where we’ll play with our dog — our dog, which we’ll name JJ Jr. And then... maybe a child, or two, or three...”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head, though tears still lingered. It had always been a dream, a fantasy you shared with him, but now, seeing the determination in his eyes, it felt like a possibility. It felt like something you could reach out and touch.

"I'll give you the world, angel. I'll give you paradise," JJ continued, his voice thick with promise. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure these stupid tears never fall from your beautiful eyes again. Do you believe me?"

There was a pause. His gaze was so sincere, so full of hope, searching for any sign that you believed in him, in what he was offering. You felt a warmth spread through you, a quiet certainty in your chest. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with a love so deep you thought it might burst.

Without thinking, you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow. You let your kiss speak for you — every unspoken word, every emotion that had built up inside you over the months, the fear, the longing, the desperation, and finally, the relief. This kiss was all of it, and more. You poured everything into it, every promise, every fear, every hope, every part of you that you'd been holding onto for so long.

You held him like you'd never let go, feeling the weight of time slow down, knowing that in this moment, you were safe, you were here, and he was here. Nothing else mattered — just the two of you, together.

"I believe you, Jay. I've always believed you, and I will, because I love you," you murmured, your words soft as they met his lips. He responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you into him as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he, too, was letting go of something.

You giggled as he playfully knocked you down onto the sand, its warmth wrapping around you like an embrace. The sand, once so haunting, now felt soft and grounding beneath you, no longer a symbol of loss but one of hope — a new beginning waiting to be written.

JJ leaned over you, his blue eyes softened by the first light of dawn, eyes that were once wild and filled with fear but now were steady, full of promises. "I love you more, angel," he whispered, his voice like a lullaby against your skin, "and I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in, capturing your lips again, and this time, every kiss melted the edges of past wounds, pushing away the darkness of every nightmare and sorrow you'd held. Here, with his arms around you and the sky lightening into the day, it was easy to believe in something beautiful, something lasting. You kissed him back, savoring each touch, each brush of his fingers against your skin as he held you closer.

For the first time in months, you let yourself imagine a future unshadowed by fear. A life filled with morning sunrises like this one, laughter echoing between you, the warmth of a home you’d build together. As JJ pulled you even closer, you felt a quiet certainty settle in your chest — a certainty that happiness was no longer a distant hope but a promise waiting for both of you, right here, right now.

thankx for reading <3

i was literally crying while i was writing this and i felt like this for the first time in my life. so, i hope you liked it. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[eightstarr]

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You’re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die. 

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. 

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn’t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave. 

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?” 

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.

[sluts4matt]

okay, i feel like this could be crazy? please take this any direction you want. like reader is at a party (like tara’s party) and her and chris get in a fight over a photo that was posted during the party. this has been on the mind, and im just not the correct person to execute this idea. but please take this any direction and change anything, please and thank you! i love your work please keep posting 🫶🏻

JEALOUS

pairing: rough!dom chris x sub!reader

summary: a picture of you a little to close to another guy at tara's 1 milli party is posted on the internet. chris does NOT like that at all and has to teach you a lesson.

warnings: SMUT, rough sex, spanking, degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, light bondage, blindfolding, choking, orgasm denial, pet names, slight dumbification (because i love it so much ), light fluff at the end

word count: 1652

author's note: i really hope i did your request justice @lovelysturniolos i HAD to feed into everyone saying chris and tara would look cute, i'm sorry, sue me. kind, constructive criticism welcome.

"what the fuck is this?" your boyfriend, chris, asks holding his phone to you. his tone wasn't an amused one which was very unlike him. "what?" you mumble, furrowing your eyebrows as you bring yourself closer to his phone.

the two of you had the house to yourself for the evening, and currently sat on the couch in the living room. you looked at the picture, you were wearing your sparkly black dress, the fabric hugging you just right.

you hand was placed on some guys arm. why? you were absolutely hammered and ended up trying to make chris jealous out of your own jealousy. he had been close to tara almost all night, and while his attention was on you, part of you seemed to think he'd rather pay it to her.

you and chris had ended up losing each other within two hours of being there. but when you found him, and he was talking to tara with tha big ass grin of his. the one he always gives you. you couldn't stand it.your hand immediately found the guy nearest you, batting your eyelashes at him while you giggled at the jokes he told.

all in hopes that chris would look over and see, but he never did.

guess a picture was taken though, so you'd still technically be getting what you want. "who the fuck is that guy? huh?" chris demands. "honestly chris? couldn't tell you," you shrug. "but it was someone who was nice to me while my boyfriend was off with another chick," you mumble the last bit, but chris catches it.

the dry chuckle that leaves his mouth sends shivers down your spine, and the way he was staring at you made your stomach feel tight. "i don't give a fuck about tara," he says.

"really? coulda fooled me," you retort. chris' jaw clenched, and he stood up from the couch, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you off the couch.

"where are we going?" you ask as you try to keep up with his large strides. "i'm gonna fuck some sense into you," he states. "and then, we're going to have a little chat about who the fuck you belong to," he tells you, opening the door to his (your shared) bedroom and shoving you inside.

"chris-" "strip," he says, cutting you off. his voice was stern, and left no room for arguments. he walked over to the closet, grabbing the silk ties and blindfolds that sat in a box on the top shelf. you stripped your clothes, watching chris as he got into the box.

"hands behind your back," he commands, walking over to you. "chris-" "shut the fuck up," he snaps. "unless you're gonna say the safeword, please, shut the fuck up," he repeats. you nod your head.

he places the tie over your eyes, and brings your hands behind your back, tying them together. "get on the bed," he tells you, smacking your ass as you walk towards the bed.

you climb onto the bed, sitting in the middle of the mattress. "chris, i-" you're cut off by chris' hand covering your mouth. "if you're gonna be using that mouth, it's gonna be for something useful ma," he tells you. "so, either stop talking, or put that fucking mouth to work," he says.

you nod your head, and chris removes his hand from your mouth. "yes daddy," you mumble. "what was that baby?" he asks, knowing he heard you. "yes daddy," you speak up, earning a satisfied hum from chris.

"that's more like it," he says, taking his shirt off, and kicking his sweats and boxers off. he grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, and puts it under your knees.

"open your mouth," he tells you. and you obey, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. chris grabs the base of his cock and guides it into your mouth.

you swirl your tongue around the tip, kitty licking it. chris grabs the back of your head, and pushes himself into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. "fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good ma," he says, moving his hips and thrusting into your mouth.

he pulls himself out, and smacks your face with his cock a few times. he rubs his tip along your lips, smearing pre-cum all over them. "such a pretty fucking face," he muses, shoving his cock back into your mouth.

he groans as you take him back in, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him off. "fucking choke on it baby," he groans, pushing your head further down until his cock hit the back of your throat, over and over again.

you gag on his dick, tears beginning to leak from your eyes, dampening the fabric of the blindfold. saliva dripped down the corners of your mouth.

"fuck, i'm close," he moans. you move your head faster, bobbing your head, gagging and choking on his cock. "shit baby, that's it. gonna cum down that pretty fucking throat," he moans.

he pushes your head down again, and holds you there, letting his cum paint the inside of your throat. "fuck, fuck," he breathes, his chest heaving. he wraps your head in a makeshift ponytail around his hand tugging your head back.

he admires the way the black blindfold contrasts against your tan skin, "so pretty baby, too bad you thought you had to make me jealous to get my fucking attention." he says.

he takes his cock from your mouth and wipes the remaining saliva and cum off on your cheek. "now, i'm gonna fuck some sense into you, and after that, we're gonna talk about why it is you're my fucking girl," he says, pulling you up and positioning you how he wants.

his favorite position had your ass up in the air and your cheek pressed against the mattress. he rubbed your right ass cheek before raising his hand and landing a hard smack down on it. the sound echoed in the room, and the stinging sensation had you moaning because of the pain and pleasure.

"this ass, mine," he says, landing a few more harsh slaps down. "this pussy, mine," he continues, sliding his cock between your folds and pressing the tip at your entrance. "mhm, fuck," you gasp, as chris pushes himself into your cunt.

his right hand finds its way in-between your shoulder blades, shoving you down further as his left hand has a steady grip on your hip. his hips smack against your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room, accompanied by his groans and grunts and your loud moans. "i wanna hear how good my cock is," chris tells you.

"fuck daddy, so big. feels so fucking good," you moan, gripping the silk fabric tied around your wrists. "so fucking tight, ma," he says, his right hand sliding down to grab the fabric tied around your wrists.

he tugs your body back, forcing himself deeper into your cunt, causing your breath to catch in your throat. his hips move a million miles an hour, chasing his release, choked whines left your mouth that had you gasping for air, drool running down your chin.

"so fucking pathetic, look at ya," he chuckles, watching as you come undone underneath him. "such a whiny bitch, can't even speak." he tugs on the tie again, pulling you up. his left hand slides up to wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly.

"gonna cum daddy," you babble, your high approaching. "no you're not," chris says, denying you of your orgasm. he pushes you back down, pounding into you with no mercy, "chris," you whine. "wanna act like a slut to get my attention, gonna get treated and used like one."

"fuck daddy," you whine, the knot in the pit of your stomach becoming tighter. "chris, please, need to cum," you beg. he moves his left hand up to grip the hair at the base of your skull, "don't you fucking dare," he threatens.

"gotta earn it baby," he tells you. "how do you earn daddy's permission?" he asks.

"please," you moan, unable to think of anything else to say. "not what i'm looking for," he says, bringing his hand down on your ass, leaving a red handprint on your skin. "fuck," you hiss. "daddy," you cry. "please, please, fuck," you beg.

"that's more like it," he grunts. he leans over your body, his left hand reaching up to hold the headboard while his right stays in the same place.

"go on then, cum on my cock," he whispers, biting down on your earlobe, tugging on it. his words send you over the edge, and you come undone underneath him. your pussy spasms around his cock, squeezing and clenching, milking his orgasm from him.

he fills your cunt up, coating your walls white. his thrusts become slower, and the grip he has on your body is softer, until he stops altogether, and pulls out of you.

"good girl," he praises, running his thumb along your entrance, catching the mixture of both of your orgasms and bringing it to his mouth. he sucks the digit clean, humming at the taste.

he lays down next to you, pulling you into him, "now, who do i belong too?" he asks, holding you close. "me," you answer. "mm, and who do you belong too?" he asks, kissing your head. "you," you reply, leaning up to kiss him.

"good girl," he hums, placing a kiss on your nose. "want me to doordash panda express princess?" he asks, nuzzling his face into the conjunction of your jaw and neck. he peppered small kisses making you giggle. "nap first," you tell him.

he nods his head, grabbing the blanket and draping it over the both of you. he presses a final kiss to your temple, whispering, "i love you baby," before the two of you drift off.

tag list:

@sturnioloa @junnniiieee07

[daenysx]

lovely Hii

Can i get poly!marauders x fem reader where maybe she has been exhausted and busy lately and maybe they’re giving her some space cause they dont know if she wants affection now but she sees them all lovey dovey with eachother all the time and she feels sad cause she wants to join but feels too shy to ask so she tries to discreetly slip back and one of them notices?

Im sorry if that is a bunch of gibberish but i have been awake for over a day now and my brain is fried (i hate uni)

thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy <333

(comments are always appreciated and i literally need to see what you think to keep writing, angels. of course i can't force you to send me anything but it would be amazing if you take two seconds to tell me what you think. it's not always easy to keep doing something without getting any feedback about it ♡)

poly!marauders x fem!reader

the relationship between james and remus has always been somewhat chaotic.

they have huge chemistry, maybe something like opposites attract situation. remus is calm when james is bubbling with excitement, remus loves with silent kisses when james loses his breath as he makes love, remus likes rationality when james swims deep in his emotions.

you watch them flirt as they sit on the couch. you're at the table across them in the living room, staring at your laptop screen with exhausted eyes. it probably would be easier to complete what you've been writing if you could have more energy, but sadly you sit all tense and cold at your place. your arms get the chills, you avoid looking at your lovers.

if you leave the table to join them, james and remus would welcome you with open arms. the mere thought of james's lips against your forehead and remus's fingers rubbing your neck makes you want to cry loudly. it's just torturing yourself, but you don't think you're strong enough to ask for love. you need to get this done. you need to think about the classes you gotta pass.

james kisses a line on his boyfriend's cheek, so warm, remus practically loses his mind. "where's sirius?" james asks, remembering sirius leave for the kitchen minutes ago. "is he burning up our kitchen, do you think?"

"we would've notice."

"no, we wouldn't." james whispers. "you're too damn distracting."

remus melts. autumn always brings starvation for touch and loving, two things james is the best at giving. he looks at your way briefly, your droopy eyes worry him.

"she seems so tired." remus says, his lips kiss james's knuckles mindlessly. "should we say something to make her give a break?"

"she said the essay has a deadline, moons." james answers. "i mean, she clearly needs a break, but i'm not sure if we should interrupt her."

it's hard to decide because you get nervous with breaks sometimes. you complain about not controlling the time good enough when you're spending your free minutes with them and being unable to finish stuff at time. you say most of this teasingly, but the boys know there's always some truth in it.

sirius walks into the room with a big mug in his hands. he carries it carefully to your table. james and remus watch the scene, their hands together and legs tangled.

"here it is." sirius puts the mug on the table. "a perfect cup of hot chocolate for my gorgeous girl."

you look at him with the widest eyes. you can't cry. fuck, he's so sweet. he smiles, he looks so handsome with his old t-shirt and messed up hair. you close your laptop, curve your lips to stop yourself from crying.

"this is so nice, siri." you say to him, unshed tears clog your throat. "thank you."

"um- can i get a kiss? i spend fifteen minutes for this."

you nod with a smile, he leans down for you. you only mean to kiss his cheek, but he smells so good and he's so kind- your hand shakes as it touches his shoulder. it doesn't take sirius long to understand what's going on. he manages to hug you before you start crying.

"oh, baby, no-" he says with a sad voice. he attempts to make a joke. "you can't cry for hot chocolate- i'm sure it doesn't even taste that good."

james and remus sit straight with worry. "dove?" remus leaves the couch. "what's wrong?"

"are you okay?"

you nod, they probably won't believe it. you hold onto sirius, he lifts you up from the chair. it's a proper hug now, your skin tingles with the sensation. it feels so good to be touched.

"it's okay." sirius kisses your head. "you're just overwhelmed. you're okay."

you keep your head on sirius's chest. he's warm and his arms are strong, he supports your body to help you stay on your feet. remus brings his hand on your waist, his thumb gently draws a circle.

"can we go to bed?" you ask. separating yourself from sirius is hard, but it's harder to stay vertical. james extends a hand to you, you hold it greedily. they are all thinking the same thing, you'll calm down but you need to feel safe enough with your surroundings to do that. even though they'd like to keep you stuck in their arms, this might not be the best idea.

the bed is cold. it will pass in a few minutes. remus takes you under the blanket, james adjusts the pillows. sirius has a wrinkle between his eyebrows, he gets behind you on bed and wraps his arm around your shoulder. you sniffle softly, suddenly embarrassed by all the attention.

"sorry." you offer, your voice sounds sincerely sorry. "i don't know what came over me."

"i think we should be sorry." remus says. "jamie and i were talking about whether we should tell you to take a break but- we didn't wanna distract you. we should've distract you."

"it's not your fault that i can't manage my time doing stuff i've been doing for years." you say, weakly. "i'm just sick of being tired. i guess i- missed you."

sirius gives you a generous kiss on the side of your head. "you can jump on us any time you want, you know that, gorgeous."

"i think my head doesn't work like that when i'm exhausted."

"it doesn't have to." james says. his voice is like honey. "you don't have to ask for anything. we should be giving you everything before you even have to ask."

"he's right." remus agrees. "it should be like this for all of us, i think."

you nod. your eyes have a grateful look in them, they are undeniably tired, but still pretty to your boys. the bed is warmer. you force yourself to stop counting down the minutes for deadlines. james puts his head on your chest, hugs you as your back touches the bed, his arms are tight around you like you'll run away.

it's good to be touched. it's amazing to have contact with their hands, safe and secure, you can do anything you want if you always feel like this. remus kisses your fingers. his eyes are gentle. they are all so gentle, kind with you, you feel like you'll never break as long as you have them.

sirius's kisses help you fall asleep at the end. he's always bold with his affections, this time he manages to be softer with his lips and more tender with his hands. long fingers in your hair, chapped lips on your skin. he whispers how much he adores you, the tone of his voice hits your mind so well. you are okay. you think you'll be okay, and that's a nice beginning to get things done.