#instead of just a flat out 'no'..........

[dragon-ascent]

Being the partner of the Rex Lapis means you can get away with most anything, really.

He could be standing around near his adepti, probably telling them something important regarding their standing in the war, or how to spearhead progress in the nation. You pass by behind him, a mischievous smile on your face, and a resounding smack fills the air. You scamper off gleefully.

Rex Lapis rubs his rear, only disoriented for but a moment, and then resumes whatever he's talking about. His little audience has to keep a poker face and pretend his partner didn't just give this supreme deity a spank of epic proportions.

Self-adhesive stickers are this century's latest invention, and it's not long until stickers of decorative purpose are released to the public and mass-marketed in Liyue. You buy whole sheets of them excitedly, fascinated by all the cute little decorative pictures that can be stuck onto anything.

You don't stick them onto paper or other flat surfaces though, no. That's boring and basic. You stick a whole ton of them on your husband's face instead, and the golden-eyed god finds himself making his evening rounds of the city covered in holographic rainbow, flower, and heart stickers, discussing seriously with a merchant the benefits of the new trade routes from Sumeru and Inazuma.

There's an emergency meeting of the Seven being held in the next nation over, and Rex has of course been called to attend. A meeting of the gods is of utmost importance, after all. So he kisses your head and briefs you of the situation before turning to leave, promising he'll be back as soon as he can.

"Not until you finish the food I made for you!" you say indignantly, holding out a plate of dumplings. "It took quite a long time making these, you know. I'll be sad if they go cold." He eyes you, then the plate, then back to pouty ol' you.

He's a little late to the meeting, which earns a few rolled eyes and raised eyebrows, but at least his belly is satisfactorily full of delicious dumplings.

[moonstruckme]

Hello tumblr has decided to temporarily disappear the request I'm ready to post again, so sorry and thank you for requesting <3

Request: i love love love your writing and was wondering if you’d write a period hurt/comfort with james? i have really bad endometriosis, and i’ve never really had someone take it seriously :( fainted earlier so i’m in pain rn and i just know james would be such a sweetheart

cw: modern au, reader who menstruates, very mild/vague description of cramps, male gaslighting/suspicion of female pain (what else is new)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 895 words

“Will that be all?” The geniality in James’ tone is starting to wane thin. He paces aimlessly around your flat, down the hall and into the bedroom and then back out again, footsteps meandering about the kitchen. “Right, yeah. No, I’m quite sure she’ll be out all day.” 

James shoots you an exasperated look as he comes into the sitting room, and you manage a smile-esque grimace from the couch in return. Your boss is a piece of work, you know. 

You hold out your hand for the phone. James shakes his head. 

“No, she can’t come to the phone right now,” he says, sitting beside your curled-up legs. “She’s resting. Did I mention she fainted a bit ago? Alright, yeah, just checking. Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll let her know.” 

You grimace again when he puts down the phone. Hanging up without telling the other person to have a lovely day is like James’ equivalent of the middle finger. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“What’re you sorry for?” James gives your calf a gentle squeeze. “Your boss is rather pushy, isn’t he? Shouldn’t take so much to use a sick day.”

“I don’t think he believes me.” You let your face mush deeply into a throw pillow. There’s a light sweat broken out on your brow, but you couldn’t be more grateful for the sweltering heating pad held tight over your abdomen. “I could’ve talked to him.” 

James makes a face. “You shouldn’t have to deal with someone like that when you’re already poorly.”  

“What did he want you to let me know?” 

“Oh. Uh.” James seems as though he did not, in fact, plan to let you know, but now that you’ve asked he can’t avoid it. “He said that he expects to see you in tomorrow. We’ll see.” 

You sigh. “I might be able to manage tomorrow. Or I might be a bit better, at least.” 

“We’ll see,” he says again, stooping to mush a kiss into the side of your head. “Don’t worry about that yet, sweetheart. How are you feeling now?” 

“Better than when I woke up.” 

“Yeah?” James asks hopefully. It’s a low bar, considering that early this morning the pain had been bad enough to cause you to pass out. But if there’s one thing James can be relied upon for, it’s a positive outlook. “That’s great, lovie. Is there anything you need?”

You shake your head, breaths shallowing as your cramps worsen. Nausea pinches the back of your throat. James’ face pinches, too, as he sees. He rubs your lower back where the muscles tend to clench. 

“Is there anything you want?” he asks instead. 

It almost makes you laugh. Almost, but even that’s enough to ease the pain slightly. 

“No,” you say, breathing out as the worst passes. James continues massaging your back. “Thanks.” 

“Maybe we could try a walk later, if you’re feeling better,” he says. “Some light exercise might help.” 

“Maybe,” you murmur. Truly, the thought of leaving this couch anytime during the next week makes you want to sew yourself into the cushions. James probably knows you’re only humoring him, but he doesn’t say anything. When you hug your heating pad closer, he spreads his palm flat over your back to transfer heat there, too. 

You relax some when the cramp eases the rest of the way. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take over your whole day.” 

“Sweetheart, why are you sorry?” James places his free hand over yours on your heating pad. Between that and the one on your back, it’s almost like a hug. “I know you don’t want this to happen. And, honestly, I’d rather have my day taken over by you than anyone else. Don’t tell Sirius.” 

That coaxes a small smile out of you. James grins, leaning down again to plant a kiss on your cheek. 

“I’m sorry you’re so miserable.” 

“I’m not miserable,” you say. “I’m with you.” 

James makes a horrendously fond sound, cuddling you close. “You flatterer. I don’t know where you find the energy to be so sweet during times like this.” 

You make it easy, you want to say, but James will only think you’re playing along with him and you want to say it when he’ll hear the sincerity you mean it with. Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his and say, “I’ve thought of something I want.” 

“Yeah?” James sits up. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, mindless of your clamminess. You think that maybe the only thing bigger than James’ capacity for love is how it feels to be at the center of it. “Some tea, maybe? That tumeric one helped a bit last time, remember?” 

“Maybe later,” you say, voice softening. “For now, could I please have a kiss?” 

James blinks once in surprise, but then he grins. “Ah, for the endorphins,” he says, already bending down. “Good thinking, angel.” 

“Right.” You don’t know where he gets these facts. You suspect he scrolls through endometriosis reddit forums while you’re asleep. “Yeah.” 

James makes it a kiss worth asking for. He keeps his hand flat over your back as he leans over you, the other cupping your cheek to encourage your face towards him. And when your lips part, you do feel a bit better. It’s a magical cure-all, just like the fairytales say.

[syoddeye]

What if Simon goes back fo rhis card, but she won't give it back unless he tries again?

prev.

"sound it out, big fella."

simon huffs and glares at the barback in the corner of his eye. the man's pretending not to listen, working a damp cloth over a two-top that's already shining.

the place isn't even open yet. the door's propped ajar with a brick, and it's hours before service starts. he came early on purpose, figuring he could grab his card and go. maybe avoid this exact interaction. but no. here you are, dangling it in front of him.

he could take it. just lean over the counter, swipe it out of your hand, maybe get a handful of your hip and a squeeze in the process. but no, you had to go and get cute about it.

"'and it over."

"nice try. you know i mean whatever line you were going to feed me the other night."

"wasn't gonna feed you a line."

"no? then what the fuck was that? a disappearing act?" you lean forward on the counter, elbows resting on the wood, fists tucked under your chin. it makes you look pixieish, face tilted up, playing at innocence, but the glint in your eyes says otherwise. you're enjoying this. "performance anxiety?"

a lick of heat lashes over the back of his neck and curls around his throat until he swallows. "slip of the tongue."

your mouth takes on a shape he'd find annoying on any other face. you tilt your head, and he swears he can almost see a spade tail swishing behind you.

"right. so then what was the plan?"

"there was no plan."

"mm," you hum, skeptical, dragging it out. "and that's why you've sat closer each time you come in? that wasn't you working up the nerve?"

he could lock a single hand around both of your wrists, hoist them above your head, reclaim his card, and get a good long look down your top. easily. he must harbor some kind of masochistic streak to keep talking. it grinds his teeth.

"no, and you're gettin' on my last nerve—"

"i bet i am," you cut in, cheerful and unbothered. "so why don't i make this easier for everyone, and…"

you pull back, then rise onto your toes, leaning over the bar to reach him. he watches, fingers twitching, as you slide the card into the front pocket of his shirt and pat it twice.

"there's a note taped to the back," you smile, wicked and triumphant. "my number. call it. unless you'd like to run for it again."

simon remains frozen for a beat, your hand lingering just long enough to burn its shape into his chest. his jaw flexes, gears gumming up in his head.

you pull back, light on your feet like you haven't just tucked a grenade into his shirt. that teasing gleam in your eyes, daring, like you're so sure he won't do something. a baited hook, glaring and obvious, as if you don't care he's big enough to snap the line.

he exhales hard through his nose. "you're a pain in the arse."

you grin, wide and unrepentant, backing away with your hands in your apron. "you'll get over it. or not. but you'll call me first."

he watches you retreat through the door to the back, disappearing before he can think of anything clever to say. his mind wiped. instead, he stands there, stuck.

the barback clears his throat, breaking the silence with a nervous chuckle. "she got you, mate."

simon cuts him a look harsh enough to make the man flinch, but he doesn't say a word. he turns on his heel and strides out, letting the door slam against the brick.

later, in the quiet of his flat, he studies the note like it might combust. he twists the corner, staring hard at your name and number. been ages since he got one. longer since he called a bird up.

he doesn't care. shouldn't care. but you've got an attitude, quick and cutting. poking the bear, prodding the bull. testing to see how far he'll let you go. mouthy.

he wants to see what you can do with it.

[marauders1971-1978]

This is the post I channel for James' characterisation for years 1-3

The dormitory grew brighter around him at a snail’s pace, the weak Autumn light struggling through the flat, white cloud cover. Remus was exhausted and frustrated, but still, infuriatingly awake. He gave up trying to get any rest and clambered over to the bottom of his bed to pull out a book from his trunk to read until it was a reasonable time to be up. 

His eyelids were just drooping over his copy of The Wishing Chair, Again that he’d brought from home to lend to Lily when something heavy and unexpected dropped onto his legs. 

“Morning!” James whispered over Remus’ grunt of pain. He was beaming, and looked like he’d slept outside in a hurricane. 

“Yeah, morning.” Remus pulled his legs from under James, lest he break them, and put his book to one side. “You’re up early.”

“I suppose. Hey, sorry to spring this on you, but I forgot to ask yesterday with all the excitement. Are you a werewolf?”

Remus lunged forward and clapped his hand over James’ mouth, looking over to his left in a panic. Peter was still snoring. 

“Jesus Christ, James, shut up.” 

James pried Remus’ hand away from his mouth and grimaced apologetically. 

“Sorry mate,” James apologised, keeping his voice hushed. “Anyway, you are, aren’t you? I double-checked the lunar charts over summer-”

“James, are you mental?” Remus groaned. He couldn’t take much more anxiety in one night. “What do you mean, you were ‘checking lunar charts’? It’s like, five in the morning - why are you asking me this right now?”

James looked horrified. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I was so sure I was right - I suppose that was a bit presumptuous. Please, ignore what I said, I’m so sorry-”

“No, you’re right, it’s just that-”

“Wait, I’m right ?”

Remus wanted to obliterate himself on the spot. What an idiot. 

Well, he supposed at least he could stop worrying about it now. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

He stole a tentative glance at James, expecting disgust, or horror, or fear. Instead, he looked… smug?

“ Knew it!” he hissed. “I’m such a great detective. Sirius isn’t going to believe that I figured it out before him-”

Remus couldn’t believe his ears. Was it simply that James hadn’t thought of the reality of what he’d discovered? Perhaps it was still all a game of Cluedo to him. Perhaps, once he’d had a few minutes for the horror of what he’d said to sink in, he’d go straight to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore, and ask that Remus be housed elsewhere, or expelled, for their own safety. 

And he’d be right to. 

Remus flinched as a hand waved before his eyes, far too close to his face. 

“Hey, Lupin. You okay there?”

Remus blinked at him, waving his hand away. He didn’t want to touch him. 

“Am I okay?”

James huffed. “You keep just repeating me.” James seemed to stop, pull the breaks on his own train of thought, and really look at Remus for the first time since he’d sat on the bed. Remus could feel his eyes searching him. “Sorry. I think I’ve made a mistake.” 

There it was.

“I’ve really freaked you out, haven’t I?”

Freaked him out?

“I bet it’s been really hard for you, you tried to keep it a secret. And here I am blabbing away about it. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I can keep a secret, I promise. Especially for a friend.”

Remus refused to cry for the third time that day, so he leaned forward and hugged James roughly, before he could think twice about it. James squeezed him back.

BONUS - Peter

“I guess this is about the werewolf thing?”

Remus snapped his head up, bashing his forehead on James’ chin as he did. Peter stood beside the bed, sleepy eyed. Remus rubbed his head and looked bewildered at Peter. 

“How do you know?” He asked, incredulous. 

“You were sick at the full moon and your scars don’t heal,” Peter shrugged. “I supposed you were trying to keep it a secret, so I didn’t say anything. Seems like that’s over and done with now though.” He smiled up at him and Remus felt his chest ache like someone had reached inside him and squeezed his heart. 

How did he deserve this?

James unlatched himself from Remus and huffed at Peter. “Wait, when did you figure this out? I thought it’d gotten it first?”

“No way, I figured it out end of last year - I’m sure you only put it together in the holidays-”

“That’s not true, I was just double checking! I knew last year-”

“You did not, you’re a liar-”

Remus: Oh no. You don’t want to befriend me. I’m a handful.

James: [excitedly] I have two hands!!!

[girl-lostconnection]

New continuation to this

I’m sitting on the idea of Ghoap x Reader AU where Reader is Simon’s best friend that’s been with him since childhood, through thick and thin.

They leave together when they graduate, start renting a flat before Simon leaves for army which initially changes nothing. He still comes whenever he can, calls them pretty often, he’s there for Christmases (if they get leaves for it).

And then something changes. It’s nothing noticeable, he is just a little more distant, he’s slipping their Christmas for the first time instead inviting Reader to come out somewhere in Scottish Highlands (you decline partially because you are upset that he just cancelled out on you all of a sudden and partially you and Simon are two socially inept people and the thought of spending Christmas with bunch of people you don’t know is…well, not alluring).

And then at some point Simon introduces the shiny John (“Johnny”, practically purrs Simon and you feel your blood pressure rising) “Soap” MacTavish who’s beautiful and joyful and whose smile is infectious.

And you are cordial, trying to be friendly, trying to push down the “oh, so that’s who you spent Christmas with in Scotland” because it’s not fair to Simon, because Simon doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t together after all.

And Soap is incredibly friendly, grinning wide, touchy in a way that overwhelms you at some point, discomfort probably evident because Simon pulls Soap away by the nape of his neck, growling that he needs to let you breathe.

And it would be better if Soap instead didn’t drape his hand over Ghost’s shoulders and god, you never were one to be jealous but for some reason (yeah, why is that, i wonder) you want to hole up somewhere and hide.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

PUSH AND PULL

a/n: Hey! Sorry it's been a long time, but rn I have a lot of exams… While I finish them, here's something I've written before.

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: they fight but happy ending! long af

summary: In love, mess is inevitable—especially when you're as stubborn as Jude and you. A fight breaks out, and with it, comes chaos. But instead of facing it like adults, you both become kids again, unable to stop poking at each other and pushing each other's buttons. Whether it's a teasing remark, a too-close-for-comfort touch, or a pointed silence, you both dance around your feelings, caught in the tension of unspoken frustration. However, when the stubborness between you becomes unbearable, one kiss shatters the walls you’ve both carefully built.

The flat was a battlefield of silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the sharp-edged, suffocating kind, where every creak of the floorboards sounded like an accusation. Jude sat sprawled on the couch, legs wide, one hand gripping the remote. The TV played highlights from some old match, but you could tell from the way his eyes lingered on the screen without focus that he wasn’t watching.

You also sat on the couch, cross-legged, your laptop balanced on your thighs. With the television humming faintly in the background, you pretended to be engrossed in your laptop, fingers brushing aimlessly over the keys. Your hair fell over one shoulder, hiding the way you glanced at him every so often, wondering if he would break the silence. He did not. What he did, was catching you once, his dark eyes locking with yours for a brief moment, before you both looked away as if burned.

The tension in the room was suffocating, as if the air itself refused to move. Neither of you dared to take the first step to break the silence, which stretched between you like an invisible wall. The funniest part was that, in a house so vast, the two of you had ended up in the same room, sharing the same couch, barely a few inches apart. It was almost ridiculous. Tho, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. Internally, you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

The fight from last night sat heavily between you. It was the kind of argument that left no room for winners, only wounds. You weren’t even sure how it started. He neither. A jab here, a poorly timed comment there, and before you knew it, the words turned sharp, biting into places neither of you wanted exposed. And now, all that was left was this: icy silence and the simmering frustration of two people who loved each other too much to let go but were too proud to make the first move.

Jude turned up the volume on the TV—just a notch higher than necessary. A small, petty move, but you caught it. You gritted your teeth and opened another tab on your laptop, pretending to type while your jaw clenched.

He leaned back, draping an arm casually across the back of the couch, his shirt hitching up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. A silver of his abs. You noticed—of course, you noticed—but you stubbornly refused to let your gaze linger. He was doing it on purpose, you were sure of it. The smug bastard.

To be fair, you weren’t entirely innocent either. You’d been wandering around the house all day without a bra, and you were well aware of how his eyes occasionally darted toward you before he quickly looked away. It wasn’t overt, nothing you could call him out on, but you could feel his awareness of you, just as you were hyper-aware of him.

In retaliation, you slammed your laptop shut, regardless of the tabs you had open. The noise echoed through the room, over the loud volume of the TV, and for a moment, Jude’s eyes met yours. There was a challenge in his gaze, a slight arch of his eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. Then, as if nothing, you opened the device again.

After a while, your boyfriend, decided that now the couch was not as comfortable as it was minutes before and went to the kitchen. In there, Jude’s movements were deliberate, exaggerated in a way that felt almost taunting. He opened the fridge with more force than necessary, the door creaking loudly, and lingered there for what felt like forever before finally pulling out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap with unnecessary force, the crack of the seal piercing the silence.

“You could’ve done that quieter,” you muttered, not looking up from your screen.

He snorted, the sound low and derisive. “You’ve been so sensitive later.”

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you tapped harder on your keyboard, the clatter of the keys a pointed counter to his earlier disruption. It was petty, childish even, but you couldn’t help yourself. If he was going to be difficult, you could be too. You knew he hated that, and when you turned back, you caught the briefest twitch of his lips, as if he was holding back a smirk.

The audacity of him almost made you snap again.

The minutes dragged on, and the uneasy rhythm of your coexistence continued. Jude eventually moved to the living room, sprawling across the other end of the couch. His long legs stretched out, nudging your thigh as he adjusted his position. It wasn’t accidental—you could tell by the faint smirk that tugged at his lips when you glared at him.

“Can you not?” you snapped, shifting slightly away from him. Honestly, even when you were angry, you still liked the warmth of his contact, but you knew that pulling away would bother him.

“What? I’m just sitting,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. But then he moved his leg again, deliberately pressing it against yours, skin against warm skin. This time, you didn’t move, choosing instead to act as if you didn’t notice at all.

“Sitting doesn’t involve invading someone else’s space.”

He didn’t respond, but the smirk on his face only deepened, as if he found your irritation amusing. Leaning further back into the couch, he made himself completely comfortable, clearly unbothered.

You turned your focus back to your laptop, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like you were getting any actual work done.

When he grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels, the sound of the TV growing louder with each change, you shot him another glare. He didn’t acknowledge it, his gaze fixed on the screen as if he couldn’t feel the weight of your annoyance.

“Are you trying to be obnoxious, or does it just come naturally?” you asked, your voice sharp.

He finally turned to look at you, annoyed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, but neither of you said anything more. Instead, you both retreated into the silence, your mutual frustration simmering just below the surface.

By early afternoon, the passive-aggressive dance had reached new heights. You were in the kitchen, making yourself a coffee when he got up moments later, brushing past you as he headed to the sink. You could have moved, made it easier for him, but you didn’t. Neither did he. Your shoulders bumped, and you felt a spark of irritation—at him, at yourself, at the situation.

“Excuse me,” he said finally, his tone clipped but low, his breath brushing your temple as he reached over you for a glass. You stepped aside, not because you wanted to but because your pride wouldn’t let you linger there like some lovesick fool.

He filled the glass with water, the sound of it cascading against the sink somehow louder than necessary. His presence so close to you was suffocating, but you refused to move too far. He stood there for a moment with heavy eye contact after taking a sip, leaning against the counter like he was waiting for you to react.

You didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it, appearing uninterested. You saw him glance at you from the corner of his eye, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw amusement flicker across his face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way—sharp glances, clipped words, and small actions that seemed designed to provoke the other. When Jude left his empty glass on the coffee table instead of taking it to the sink, you picked it up with exaggerated care, your movements pointedly loud as you placed it in the dishwasher. When you adjusted the thermostat without asking, he changed it back moments later, the beep of the controls echoing like a challenge.

This repeated a few times.

Neither of you said what you really wanted to say. The words hovered in the air, unspoken but undeniable, like a ghost haunting the space between you.

As the night deepened, the tension between you became almost unbearable, thick and suffocating in the dimly lit room. You lay curled up on the bed, your fingers mindlessly scrolling through your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating your face. At the other end of the mattress, Jude sat hunched over his own device, the faint light from his screen carving sharp shadows across his features. His face was drawn tight, his brows furrowed in a way that made the lines of worry and frustration painfully obvious. You couldn’t help but wonder if you looked the same—tired, distant, and weighed down by the silence hanging between you.

You despised this chasm that had grown between you, the quiet hostility that lingered unspoken in the air. The silence wasn’t a comfortable one—it was filled with an unrelenting tension, an undercurrent of anger and hurt that felt alien and wrong. This wasn’t what you had envisioned. It wasn’t what you wanted. You loved him, even now, even through the haze of pain and frustration that churned within you. That love was still there, steady and unwavering, but it felt harder to reach, buried beneath the heavy layers of everything left unsaid.

Jude shifted slightly, his movement breaking the stillness. His fingers brushed against your arm, light as a whisper, a touch so brief it was almost nothing—but it wasn’t nothing. The contact jolted through you, surprising in its warmth and its ability to remind you of what once felt so natural. For a moment, you both froze. The touch lingered, suspended in time, carrying more weight than such a small gesture should. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, he pulled his hand away, retreating back to his side of the bed.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

The bed had grown colder as the hours ticked on, the tension between you and Jude acting like an invisible barrier, keeping you both firmly planted on opposite ends of the mattress. Sleep came to you first, though not peacefully—it was the restless kind, with the occasional shuffle and murmured sigh as your body sought the warmth that your pride kept you from asking for.

Jude stayed awake longer, his phone abandoned on the nightstand. His gaze flickered toward your sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of your shoulders pulling at something deep inside him. Even in sleep, there was a tightness to the set of your jaw, a lingering sign of the frustration that had consumed the day. He wanted to reach out, to smooth the lines away with his thumb, to press a kiss to the crown of your head like he always did when you argued. But the memory of your sharp words, and his own stubbornness, kept him still.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted off into a restless slumber.

Next morning, the dim light of morning crept through the cracks in the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. Jude stirred first, his body stiff and warm under the tangled sheets. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, until he became acutely aware of two things: the faint scent of your shampoo and the fact that his arm was draped securely around your waist.

His heart thudded once, heavy and slow, as the realization hit. Sometime during the night, you two had moved closer, the invisible wall of your argument forgotten in sleep. Your back was pressed against his chest, your legs loosely intertwined, his nose buried in the crown of your hair. It felt impossibly natural, like the way you used to fit before the fight. His hold on you was firm but careful, as if even his sleeping self knew you were something precious, something not to let go of.

Jude’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles before his pride crept in, whispering to him that this was just a fluke. He wasn’t supposed to be happy about this, was he? You were still angry—still caught in the push and pull of your unresolved tension. But damn it, holding you like this felt good. Really good. It felt right. He allowed himself one more selfish second to savor the moment before you stirred.

Your soft murmur pulled him from his thoughts. You shifted slightly, pressing closer to his chest, your body melting into his as if seeking his warmth even in sleep. His heart ached, and a wave of affection so fierce it startled him coursed through his chest. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you he was sorry for the things he said, the things he didn’t say. But pride anchored him in place, so instead, he lay there, pretending he didn’t feel anything at all.

You woke to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the unmistakable weight of his arm around you. For a moment, still caught in the haze of sleep, you sighed contentedly, nestling closer to the warmth behind you. It felt safe, familiar, and so achingly right that it made your chest tighten.

But then, reality crashed in like a bucket of cold water. You froze, eyes flying open, as you realized exactly where you were—and who you were with. The fight, the tension, the stubborn refusal to bridge the gap between you—it all came rushing back, drowning out the soft thrum of happiness that lingered from waking in his arms.

Still, you didn’t move immediately. Instead, you let yourself linger for just a moment longer, feeling the solidness of him behind you, the warmth of his breath against your neck. Your heart ached with love, raw and unrelenting, a stark contrast to the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. How could you feel both so intensely at once?

You wanted to turn around, to meet his gaze and let the love you felt show on your face. But the pride that had fueled your argument held you still. You couldn’t be the first to crack—not after last night. So, you did what you always did: you pushed the feelings down, buried them under a layer of indifference, and carefully shifted away.

You swung your legs out of bed, avoiding Jude’s gaze as you reached for your robe. He remained lounging on his side, his dark eyes tracking your movements.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. It wasn’t quite warm, but it lacked the sharp edge from yesterday.

“Morning,” you replied, fastening the belt of your robe with deliberate nonchalance.

As you padded to the kitchen to start the coffee, Jude followed, his footsteps soft but noticeable. He leaned casually against the counter as you worked, his arms crossed over his chest. The silence between you hung heavy but was no longer suffocating—just thick with the remnants of stubborn pride.

“You’re not going to make me a cup too?” he asked, arching a brow when you filled a single mug. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Yep, that early in the morning.

You turned, lips also twitching. “Last I checked, you have two hands and know where the mugs are.”

That smirk persisted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t mocking—it was teasing. “Wow. So generous this morning.”

You shrugged, raising your mug to your lips. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Jude shook his head, stepping forward to grab his own cup. You moved to lean against the counter opposite him, your mug cradled in both hands. He stood closer than necessary, the distance between you shrinking inch by inch as the minutes passed.

“You were hogging the blanket last night,” he stated suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me? I was hogging the blanket? You’re the human furnace who takes up three-quarters of the bed.”

He scoffed, setting his mug down. “Three-quarters? Dramatic much? You sleep like a starfish.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it—a real, unguarded laugh that felt like a balm to the tension still clinging to the edges of the morning. Jude’s lips quirked into a grin, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face and made your heart skip despite yourself. You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

The teasing was lighthearted, a refreshing shift from the icy tension of the previous day. But underneath it, the stubbornness remained—a silent promise that neither of you would be the first to openly admit you wanted peace.

Jude leaned against the counter, his coffee in hand, watching you with that maddening smirk. It wasn’t just his expression; it was the way he stood, as if the entire kitchen belonged to him, as if he were perfectly at ease and you were the one who had to figure out how to navigate the unspoken rules of this little game.

“You’re staring,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your coffee calmly.

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Can you blame me? You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“Oh, please,” you retorted, setting your mug down and crossing your arms. “I’m not in the mood for your cheesy one-liners. They are not working.”

“It wasn’t a one-liner. It was an observation,” he replied smoothly, taking a step closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, “And besides, it’s not my fault you look cute when you’re grumpy.”

Your jaw tightened, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward for just a moment before you caught yourself. “I know you miss me, but this is not the way of fixing things.”

“Miss you?” he shot back, leaning closer, his proximity making your heart stutter. “I woke up with you cuddling against me so…”

You rolled your eyes and turned away, feigning nonchalance as you began to tidy the already clean counter. “That’s not how... forget it,”

The morning passed in a steady rhythm of petty jabs and fleeting touches that neither of you could resist. When you walked past him to grab something from the pantry, his hand brushed lightly against your lower back—just enough to make your skin tingle. You shot him a look over your shoulder, but he was already looking elsewhere, as if the contact had been incidental. You knew better.

Later, as you stood by the sink rinsing your mug, Jude joined you, crowding your space under the guise of washing his hands. The sink was large enough for both of you, but he leaned in anyway, his arm brushing against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“Do you mind?” you asked, tilting your head to glare at him.

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You huffed, turning to move away, but his hand darted out to catch yours. The suddenness of it made you freeze, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the air thickening between you. Jude’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a simple, unassuming touch that sent shivers racing up your arm.

But just as quickly, he released you, his smirk returning as if to mask the moment of vulnerability. “Don’t trip over your own stubbornness,” he said, stepping back.

You bristled, turning sharply to face him. “Me? Stubborn? That’s rich coming from you.”

The tension that had been simmering all morning suddenly flared, sharp and electric. That was what you both needed. “You’ve been impossible since yesterday,” he shot back, his voice rising just enough to match yours. “I’m not the one slamming laptops shut and stomping around like a child.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you took a step closer, your chest brushing against his as you jabbed a finger at his chest. “And I’m not the one deliberately trying to piss the other off!”

Jude tilted his head, his smirk fading into something darker, more serious. “Oh, you think I’m the one pushing buttons here? Newsflash, love—you’ve been just as bad.”

“Love?” you repeated, your voice dripping with incredulity. “Don’t you dare—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Jude’s hands moved, quick and decisive. One slid to the small of your back, the other cupped your ass firmly, and in one smooth motion, he pulled you against him and lifted you off the ground. A startled gasp escaped your lips, but it was swallowed almost immediately as his mouth crashed against yours.

Finally, you thought to yourself, something you would never say out-loud.

The kiss was hot and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongues that mirrored the intensity of your earlier fight. Jude’s lips moved against yours with a ferocity that left no room for argument, his grip on you possessive and unyielding. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding purchase in his neck as you pulled him closer.

For a moment, you forgot everything—the fight, the pride, the stubbornness. All that existed was the heat of his mouth on yours, the solidness of his body pressed against you, and the way his hands gripped you like he never wanted to let go. It was messy and desperate and so painfully raw that it left you breathless.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were red and swollen, his breathing uneven as he stared at you with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something softer. “You argue too much,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You blinked at him, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened. “And you—”

“No no, shhh,” he interrupted, his mouth crashing against yours again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. It was an apology, a truce, and a declaration all rolled into one.

When he pulled back this time, his hands lingered, one sliding up to cup your cheek while the other stayed firmly at your waist. His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. His chest was heaving, just like yours, as if the kiss had stolen the air from both of you.

You stared at him, the heat of his touch grounding you even as your heart raced. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with everything that had just been said without words.

Finally, you broke it, your voice soft but steady. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “For… being difficult. For letting it drag on like this.”

Jude raised a brow, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “Oh, so you can apologize,” he teased, though the smirk on his face softened at the edges.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched despite yourself. “Juuude, don’t ruin the moment,” you warned, your tone light.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Keep going, come on, I want to hear you say how wrong you were.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, and you swatted lightly at his chest. “Don’t push it.” But then your smile faded, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “I really am sorry, baby.”

His teasing faded as he looked at you, the sincerity in your voice settling over him like a balm. “Yeah, well,” he began, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer. “I’m sorry too. For being a stubborn ass. And for… picking fights when I should’ve just talked to you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “We’re a real pair, aren’t we?”

His thumb traced circles against your hip, his touch impossibly warm. “We’re kind of great, though,” he whispered, his voice almost teasing. “When we’re not driving each other crazy.”

You let out another soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re not wrong.”

The air between you shifted, the playfulness giving way to something deeper. Your lips hovered over his, your breaths mingling as the tension built again, electric and magnetic. You kissed him this time, slow but deliberate, pouring every ounce of affection and apology into it. His grip on your waist and ass tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his heartbeat echoed yours, fast and unsteady.

When you finally broke apart, his lips were slightly swollen, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he gazed down at you. “You’re a tease, you know that?” he muttered, his voice husky.

You smirked, the heat still thrumming through your veins. “Only for you.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured, his tone both teasing and sincere. Then, without warning, he bent slightly, sliding his hands down to your thighs and hoisting you up effortlessly. A surprised laugh escaped you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you out of the kitchen.

“Jude—what are you doing?” you asked, though your tone betrayed more excitement than protest.

“Making up properly,” he replied, his voice low and rough in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “No more interruptions.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands threading through his hair as he kissed you again, his lips stealing every thought from your mind. Whatever tension had lingered between you melted away completely, leaving only warmth, laughter, and the undeniable pull of each other.

[betweenstorms]

Ghost never used your callsign.

Not once outside of a mission.

Everyone else did, of course. On the comms, in the field, even in the rare moments of downtime. They called you Snaps, quick as the crack of a match, sharp as the sound of fingers breaking the quiet, edged with the understanding that some fires were meant to burn, not to warm. You were a role to fill, a name to answer to. You were your rank, your title, your purpose, stitched to your chest, something impersonal and replaceable.

But not to him.

Ghost used your name instead, your real name, the one buried beneath the weight of duty and protocol. It wasn’t obvious at first. Your lieutenant wasn’t careless. Not with his movements, not with his silences. Not with you.

The way he said it—it was different.

He never said it like Johnny’s name, thrown out with familiarity, with ease and sometimes with warning. No, when Simon Riley spoke your name, it was as if he was testing it. Like it didn’t belong to him, but he wanted to know how it felt in his mouth anyway. He said it like he wasn’t supposed to, like it was something personal lodged in his throat, heavy enough to keep there, dangerous enough to let slip.

“Why don’t you use my callsign, sir?”

A shift. Barely there.

Ghost kept his head forward, kept his hands steady as he checked the strap on his vest during your team's usual mission preparation. His balaclava hid everything, but you knew his eyes had gone sharp, calculating. Measuring the weight of your question before deciding what it was worth.

“Don’t see the point.”

Flat. Blunt. Dismissive in the way only he could be. But his voice was lower than usual. A fraction softer, like a thread had come loose in all that careful restraint.

“You do with everyone else.”

“You ain’t everyone else.”

The answer came too quickly. Too easily.

Like it had been there all along, waiting.

You opened your mouth to press further, but his eyes flicked to yours, cutting through the air like a warning. Not unkind, just final. Like a door being shut. You blinked, but he didn’t offer anything more. Just finished adjusting his gear and straightened, towering over you in the dim light. But then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders loosened. He tilted his head, his attention drifting to the entrance of the hangar, to the night outside. “I call people what they are,” he muttered, almost to himself. “And you’re not just that.”

That was all he gave you.

And yet, somehow, it was enough.

And the worst part? You didn’t know if he was talking about your name on his tongue or the fact that you liked it there.

Because you did.

He was never a man of many words, his intentions lived in the spaces between them, woven into subtle actions, in the careful precision with which he spoke. He never wasted breath on unnecessary sentiment, yet somehow, you always understood him. Whatever his reasons, you found yourself drawn to it, to him.

And you liked it—God, you liked it.

Just as much as you liked the weight of his stolen glances, the sharp edge of his wit, the quiet cruelty of his humor, dark as the depths that called to him. You liked the way his deep voice carried, low and steady, a storm before the crash. You liked his bravery, the way he walked through danger like it was nothing but an inconvenience.

And if you were honest, you liked everything about him, really.

More than you should. More than was safe.

Maybe that’s why you never corrected him.

Why you never asked him to stop.

Because you loved everything about him.

Even the things you shouldn’t.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[thekaratcake-blog]

Oh no! A globe shill! I mean, sorry, a trans shill!

You're not even just using flath earther logic, you're using their language too

Also, again, statistician, studying mathematicl theory

What is this even meant to mean? This is just a sad attempt at nothing, again, refer to: our dms

I have given in the last day, 5 sources, in the last 3 days, you have given: 0

You have instead used conspiracy, like here ^

Complaining about the globe, I mean trans shills, despite having no evidence of that

Or are you still blatantly lying about what he says at the start of the video, because your ears seem to only pick up what you want to hear?

It's amazing to me that you argued he has a politicaly agenda becasue when he talks your brain picked out one part "This is not advocacy, nor is this some sort of political agenda, I DO OF COURSE PERSONALLY HAVE A POLITICAL AGENDA, but I'm not going to let that influence this" you only latch on to one part and miss everything else that blatantly is telling you that your dumbass view is wrong

That when the awarding winning neuroscientist says "i'm not a neurobiologist who knows a lot about this stuff" you hear "i'm not a neurobiologist" which isn't even fucking close lol

People say that sort of shit, an astrophysicist talking about nuclear physics would say "I'm not a physicist who knows a lot about this stuff" that doens't mean they're not a physicist

And of course it's all dishonesty too, there's no way you missed the video description or never bothered to google him, you know what you're saying is all lies don't you? That's all you have left after all, lies and now literally word for word flat earth defenses

Algorithms are manipulating young men.

Men are putting their feelings of toxic masculinity before the safety of women.

Every time.

[leviathanleva]

Neighbor! Simon, who sees you moving into the flat next to his one afternoon.

And out of pity, seeing you struggling alone with heavy furniture, he helps out. Picking things up with ease that you were fighting just to drag past the door.

He’s so sweet that you offer to pay him once everything is all set up. Of course, he refuses.

So instead, you offer him a coffee. It’s 7PM before you know it, he’s such pleasant company even though he’s not much of a talker.

Coffee turns to dinner.

He helps out the best he can, stirring the pot of pasta while you prepare the sauce.

It’s your first night in your new apartment so you decide to celebrate with a glass of wine. You offer him one too.

You wipe pasta sauce off the corner of his mouth. He bombards you with his best dad jokes.

And suddenly your lips are on his. You’d meant it to be a peck on the cheek, but he’d pointedly turned his head just in time.

You chase him out with excuses that it’s getting late, you need sleep, work tomorrow. He doesn’t protest, only smiles to himself as you push onto his back.

You slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, fingertips brushing against your lips where his kiss still lingers.

[lemonade4wanda]

Sugar mommy Wanda imagine

A/n: NOT PROOFREAD, srry for the unexpected hiatus :( life has not been kind to me so this is kind of a short thing

Imagine her taking you out to a restaurant

☆ She picks you up from your flat and she's at least fifteen minutes early as per usual. As she knows what your like with being on time.

☆ instead of her usual flashy sports car she's parked up beside a rolls Royce with a chauffer. She stares out into the night while leaning against her car. She's dressed ever so elegantly. Tonight, in a collared shirt with the top few buttons undown and smart dress trousers. The shirt, of course, matches the dress you are to wear. She'd picked them out that way as she always does so everyone would know you as hers.

☆ When she sees you walk out she immediately approaches you and links arms with you. Whispering something not so appropriate in your ear as she leads you to the car.

☆ When in the car and at dinner, she can find herself being a bit of tease.In the car, she's all over you, kissing up your neck and jaw. Her hands wandering your thighs and chest as she talks casually. "You dressed so pretty for mommy tonight, huh?" She'd whisper into your ear before asking about your day.

☆ In the restraunt she's just as bad. Her hands stroking your leg under the table, flipping up your dress up, her fingers straying ever closer to your cunt as you attempt to read the menu.

☆ Of course she orders for you. Deciding what drinks you'd like and when to cut you off. Picking something so extravagant and expensive from the menu for you as a subtle show of wealth.

☆ The restraunt itself is so over the top that you almost feel out of place. A crystal chandelier hangs from the centre of the room. Your table is right over in the vip sections where if you were lucky you could rub shoulders with A list celebrities.

☆ As you feel out of place she immediately picks up on your mood and begins rubbing the small of your back. "Darling you belong here just as much as anyone. And anyway at least hide your insecurity, it's not attractive." She could often be like that, you'd think she was going to say something nice but instead she'd say something slight backhanded.

[cherrycranes]

Observed (Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Judge Jonathan Crane x Fem! reader Summary: You just moved to this fancy building and your serious neighbor invites you for a cup of tea... At first... Word count: 4,749 Contents: (Minors DNI) Drink spiking (aphrodisiac), light dom/sub, degrading, spanking, p in v, unprotected sex, ass play, orgasm denial, creampie. Author's notes: A new collab with bestie @fuckiingloser! Enjoy cause we've been thirsting for Crane lately. At the end you'll find a playlist to set the mood for this specific fic made by yours truly and a Pinterest board made by @fuckiingloser!

Things had finally improved with you this past year. Your poorly paid job as a waitress was finally replaced with something that gave you much more money than what you were used to. Sure, being a stripper wasn’t exactly a career your family would be proud of, but it showered you, quite literally, in cash. The most exclusive strip club in Gotham had been so generous to you, you easily moved out of the east of town into a safer, wealthier area on the other side of the city. A nice apartment in a high rise condo much better than anything you had before.

It was definitely an adjustment, to say the least. In its pristine, minimalistic halls you stuck out like a colorful, almost nouveau riche thumb. No wonder you hadn't talked with your new, snobby neighbors yet. The most you got were dirty looks in the elevator or the hallway. Everybody could see right through you.

Even then, you tried to not let that get to you. If you could pay the rent, you belonged there, plain and simple. So you settled in. 

It was a Friday night. Surprisingly, you didn’t have to work, instead you filled your time unpacking some things and procrastinating on the rest in favor of some trashy TV. Three knocks on your door snapped you out of it. A few packages you were expecting laid on your doorstep to your surprise. You had imagined those would be delivered to the lobby. 

You brought them in. The first three matched in name, address and expected contents, the last one, however, was addressed to somebody else. A neighbor who seemingly lived right across the hallway from you but you had never met before.

Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Of course, you had to return it. You slipped into a pair of shoes and walked the small distance between your front door to the apartment number read on the package. You gave it a few knocks and right after, the door opened. 

Now, you had definitely seen him before in the hallways, and even shared a silent elevator ride with him once, but it never crossed your mind that that would be Dr. Crane. He was attractive. Beautiful, in fact. And up close he was just a visual delight. The most mesmerizing pair of pale blue eyes, plump pink lips and soft chestnut brown hair faced you from just a few inches away. Had it not been for his serious, nerve-altering flat facial expression, you would have continued in the trance his beauty put you under. 

“Hi… I’m your neighbor down the hall and I think I got your package by accident and brought it inside my place… Just wanted to return it to you...” Your voice gained enough strength the more you went on, but the slight unease didn’t disappear until his handsome features softened a bit.

Doctor Crane opened the door a little more, just enough to receive your package, his calloused fingertips lightly grazed your hand and sent an unintelligible feeling through you. 

“Ah, well thank you for returning it…” His voice was just as attractive as him. Warm, clear, elegant. No trace of any particular accent that could give away his origin and open him up for a more meaningful small talk.

“Of course, what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn't?” You smiled kindly, a spark of the desire to stop being rejected by your neighbors obvious to his eyes and ears. He smirked, the kind of smirk a scholar would give to an open beginners book of a subject he mastered.

“Well, it was nice to mee-” You swallowed the rest of your words when Doctor Crane cut you off. 

“I was actually just about to have a drink. Would you like to come in and join me as a thank you for returning my package?” His voice was monotone, ascetic. No hint of the ulterior lust you were used to from men. It honestly seemed like a great effort on his part, he didn’t appear like the kind of guy who enjoyed company. 

Before your lips could mouth an automatic rejection, a rush of thoughts crashed over you. He was a stranger but he was also your next door neighbor. You were bound to see him frequently, in the hallways or the elevator. And if he was the only one in this building who didn’t look at you like you were trash, it wouldn't hurt to accept his offer. Could it? 

“Sure, I'd like that.” You replied softly and he let you in. Your eyes widened at the sight of his apartment that was easily triple the size of yours and had multiple floors. It was difficult to believe this was in the same building, less right across from you. You had your little newfound money but this guy was definitely loaded. 

He led you into what looked like his study, a dark, minimalistic place filled with books neatly arranged in their bookshelves, a handful of framed diplomas and expensive furniture that appeared brand new from how little they must have been used. You took a seat on the leather chaise lounge armchair in the middle of the room, taking in the environment.

“Anything in particular you would like to drink?” Doctor Crane asked cooly. Fitting. He walked across to the well stocked small bar he had there, actually ready for anything you desired to drink.

“I actually don’t drink alcohol…” You started, and he was a little shocked for a split second before returning to his serious but oddly kind expression.

“Interesting… How about some tea then?” He suggested, and that suited you just fine. He asked you how you liked your tea then disappeared out of the room and into his kitchen, leaving you alone.

The dark foggy Gotham City skyline stared right at you from the big window, droplets of water ran desperately down the glass thanks to the hard rain outside, usual for this time of the year. As you kept clouding your mind with remarks about the weather, the vastness of the city and your neighbor’s way of living, he returned with your tea, sitting in the chair right across from you and handing you your cup.

“Sorry I'm not really dressed as fancy as you…” You apologized with a faint laugh, your simple tight v-neck long sleeve and your pair of black leggings stood out in comparison to his suited form.

Doctor Crane smirked very lightly, pale blue eyes analyzing your form as if he had just noticed it was there. Your neck, cleavage, visible nipples, thighs and legs laid under the microscope of his mind, and it was much more strange than the filthy looks of desire men would give you. Even in the strip club, with you barely clothed, you felt less exposed. You took a sip from your cup, hoping that the rich flavor would wash away the feelings that look from him provoked in you.

“I've observed you have a rather strange schedule… always coming and going late in the night…” His voice was so casual, so deadpan, as if he had only commented about the rain outside. You nearly choked with your tea. Observed?

“Well, my job just has different hours-“ You swallowed hard, playing the “pretend you’re not a stripper” game you sometimes played. 

“And what is your profession?” Crane insisted not even a second later, his crystal blue eyes bearing into yours and fanning the spark. You felt speechless, helpless. Why did he care so much? And why did you like it so much?

You took another sip of your tea, wondering just how appropriate it would be to tell the truth and weighing how hard it would be to upkeep a lie. Ultimately, you decided to be honest.

“I'm actually a dancer…” You said bluntly, preparing for the common shock the people you did tell always had upon their faces, and getting surprised when he showed none. There was an awkward pause in the silent and dark apartment only interrupted by the distant thunder outside. You continued to drink, your anxiety finishing with the rest of your tea and placing the empty cup on the coffee table, accidentally depriving you of something to fidget with. Your hands toyed nervously with each other in the dead silence for an eternity before he spoke again.

“Does being a whore fulfill you?”

Doctor Crane’s tone was so simple, so… Professionally mind blowing. You took a second to process it all. Nobody, absolutely nobody else would have ever gotten away with saying something like that to you. At least not without you telling them to fuck off. But for some reason that had everything to do with his voice, his eyes and his face, instead of anger, you felt your pussy fluttering beneath your leggings.

“I'm sorry… what?” You asked in an odd mix of shock, rightful offence and growing desire, unable to tell which feeling dominated. Crane, still so deadpan, leaned over, setting his cup next to yours on the table.

“I asked if being a whore fulfills you…  Dancing for old men and taking their money? Does that make you happy?” Once more, his voice was flat, medically sterile. For a moment, you weren’t a woman. You were one of the many cases he studied.

You squeezed your thighs together, maybe to remind yourself of your own humanity, and your own growing arousal. This mad man had really invited you to his house, let you sit on his fancy chaise and invited you a cup of tea just to degrade you on your face. And, instead of insulting him and defending yourself like you should have, you got wet.

“It's just my job…” That’s all you managed to utter, your energies too busy keeping the rest of your body in check. Doctor Crane nodded, an obvious habit from his consultations. 

“Do you have a relationship with your father?” He asked simply, his voice deep, not even a hint of mockery, just brutal, raw, unasked-for seriousness, and perhaps, judgement. 

“That's a very rude thing to ask…” You whispered defensively. 

“It’s really not if you do have one, which I'm assuming by your answer you don’t… Do you think that’s why you enjoy dressing in provocative clothing and dancing for men?” Crane asked, reaching over to touch your knee. You hated to admit, but his touch was electric. Just as dangerous as touching a wire with bare hands. Your pussy fluttered and clenched, your breath hitched and all the words you could have used to tell him off disappeared in your head.

There was another awkward silence in which his eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, drilling their way into your psyche. Crane smirked, as if he had actually gained physical access to it, and leaned in closer to you.

“I bet you’re already fucking soaking... I didn't even need to give you that aphrodisiac did I?” 

Aphrodisiac. 

Your head spun terribly and your heart pounded at the knowledge that he was absolutely right. Confused, nervous and horny you were. Dripping wet too. You looked down at your empty cup of tea in a futile attempt to find a trace of anything. Doctor Crane’s fiery hand slid up onto your thigh and interrupted your flimsy examination.

“What?” That was all you could muster.

“I think, in my professional psychiatrist's opinion, you’re in need of some guidance and attention from a smarter, older man…” His smooth, attractive voice pooled into a warm wet patch on your thong. Your mouth hung open slightly, watching him blink as the pieces fell together in your mind. The packages delivered straight to your apartment door, the last one being his, the insistence of getting you something to drink, the passing comment about observing you… He had set everything up to therapize you. To crack your mind open. And when he had you at your most vulnerable, when all of his uncomfortable questions and the tea had you under his thumb, to inevitably fuck you…

Testing you, Crane pulled his hand away from you, reveling in the little whine you made at the loss. He stood up and stepped right in front of you, his crotch on your face and his finger tilting your head up to meet his intense, serious gaze. Not knowing how much was the effect of the aphrodisiac and how much was your own desire, you felt butterflies for his sexy imposing presence, for the tiny smug smile he gave you and for the way he held his thumb to you before uttering the word: “Suck…” as a soft but serious command. 

Craving the approval, you mindlessly wrapped your lips around his thumb, letting the pad of his finger rest on your tongue before starting to suck gently.

“Good girl…” he murmured, and it felt like a hit of a drug. The most addictive, altering feeling of your life.

“You know, I’m rather picky when it comes to my women. I think with my help you could be the perfect little wife. You’re much too pretty for that club…  And I think you know that…” The more he spoke, the more you rolled your tongue over his thumb. You hummed in agreement, visions of you bathed in his attentions and riches making your cunt clench.

Crane pulled his thumb out of you with a sticky pop sound, running the tip over your bottom lip. He gave you a sly smile, his serious demeanor slipping a bit and revealing just how turned on he was.

“Get naked for me doll…” He rasped and you nearly moaned in anticipation. Who were you to deny him or disobey him?

With your head still reeling and the aphrodisiac coursing through your system, you pulled your shirt over your head, your tits bouncing free for his eyes to devour. He loomed over you, his cock ached in his dress pants at such perfection. 

Intently, he visually traced every contour of your naked torso as you laid back on the therapist chair and slipped your leggings off, losing them somewhere on the pristine wooden floor. Crane enjoyed the show, sitting on the edge of the lounge as your most devoted audience. Blue eyes raked over the pink lace of your damp thong and he felt the urge to do something with his hands. His calloused touch slid up your legs, mapping out his new, soft, warm possession.

Your heart beat out of your chest and through the delicate folds of your pussy, begging and pleading for contact.

“I said naked…” Crane repeated a little sternly, deciding to not trust you to comprehend a basic order in your state and doing it himself. He took hold of the pink lace covering your core and ripped it, pulling the now shredded fabric off your body.

You gasped softly, unable to hold back a moan. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and reeling under the influence. You needed him. Badly.

“Much better…” He purred in satisfaction, gazing into your eyes with a burning desire. Calloused hands pushed your legs apart and examined just what he had gotten.

“God you’re just dripping…” It was a whispered, slightly needy observation that betrayed the seriousness of his actions. You had a wet, delicious, hot cunt that invited him to touch, to part your pretty folds to get a good look at your aching hole.

“Please…” You whispered, if not begged, speaking for the first time in ages. Crane smirked triumphantly, he had you at his perfect mercy and he couldn’t feel prouder. He responded to your plea by leaning over you, chest to chest, and capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

Your arms wrapped around him for dear life, one of your hands plunged into his soft brown hair and took in the feeling of him, of his warm tongue slipping in slowly against yours in a sensual dance, of his hand that came up to cup your breast and roll your nipple. After a minute, he pulled back, leaving you breathless and looking up at him like a begging puppy. It was a perfect sight. Crane cracked a smile, soothing you with a caress to your cheek.

“God you’re beautiful…”

He whispered, almost fooling you into believing he had slipped out of the cruel dominant demeanor he had shown up to this point. The aphrodisiac, the praise and your own attraction to him had you reeling and buzzing for a second, and that was enough to drive you wild.

“Flip over…” Crane commanded. “On your knees, bent over and ass out for me…” 

Immediately, you did as he said, eager to please. It was not the most comfortable of positions, with your head turned to the side, your cheek against the cold leather backrest and your hands clutching the frame of the chair, but in all honesty, you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be fucked, and soon. 

Crane groaned a bit, moving to adjust himself behind your tempting flesh. Both needy holes bare and on display for him to use however he wanted. One of his knees rested on the lounger behind you and one foot got planted on the floor for stability.

Without warning, you felt his hand come down on your ass. Hard. You yelped, then moaned, the pain mixing with pleasure deliciously and making you desperate for more. It was a whole miracle your pussy wasn’t dripping down your thighs and onto the fine leather at this point.

Another hard smack. This time on the other cheek to make it sting equally. You stifled out a whimper with a bite to your lip, catching the sound of his belt coming undone then followed by the zipper of his pants. You nearly shook in anticipation the longer he took to fill you up, and you started to believe he was deliberately toying with you. His large hands then grabbed a greedy handful of each asscheek, spreading them apart to get a good look at both holes.

“Please, Sir…” You finally got the courage to whisper, driven by your need. You wouldn’t be able to take any more foreplay, it felt like it could kill you.

He smiled to himself at the little “sir” that left your pleading lips, and while he didn’t respond with words, you felt the tip of his cock slowly rubbing back and forth against your sticky wet folds just to tease you. Taunt you. He covered his tip in your perfect slick and made you moan, but he held back the pulsating need to slam into you. 

“You want me?” He asked huskily and simply so you could scream, obviously aware that you needed him. But he wanted you to say it.

“God yes…” You whined back to him, already out of breath. You tried to push back against him in hopes to get the tip to slip in, completely desperate for his cock. 

Then, you felt his palm coming down on your ass for a third time, the slapping sound echoing through the study and its high vaulted ceilings just to remind you of how much of a slut you were for this man. Desire and whatever it was that composed the aphrodisiac coursed through your veins .

“I’m going fuck the whore out of you…” He sneered and without another word, his thick cock slammed into you in one go. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, nearly blinding you. You let out the loudest, whiniest moan for him yet, unable to even process just how good his perfectly curved long cock hit parts of you you didn’t know needed to be hit…

His hand gripped your hip possessively, giving you no time to adjust to him as he started to piston his hips into you. As if you needed it, you were dripping wet. 

“Oh fuck- holy fuck-...” You whimpered and babbled absolute nonsense. Crane was fucking you stupid and drilling the obscene sounds of skin slapping and your pussy squelching into your mind. So filthy and erotic, you could even hear him grunting and groaning in a loss of composure. He couldn’t help it, not when he was balls deep inside this greedy slutty cunt after so much foreplay.

“This tight pussy’s getting fucked so good she’s talking to me… You hear yourself?” He asked, half satisfied, half degrading. It was like it fucking disgusted him yet it ignited him. Words failed you, all you did was moan over and over with his thrusts as a response.

“I think she knows exactly who she belongs to…” He cooed condescendingly to you, his hand coming down and spanking your ass again, leaving a sting that transformed into pleasure in its wake, adding to your already building orgasm.

“You…you… I belong to you!” You cried out stupidly, fucked so deeply, so thoroughly. His cock hit that special spongy spot inside you again and again, some drool threatened to spill down the corner of your lips from how mindlessly he was plowing you. He had really managed to erase every thought in your head, every single one except him.

“This pretty little asshole keeps winking at me…  She’s begging for my attention…” He grunted, his balls slapping against your neglected clit as he drilled into you. You babbled incoherently at his words, already so fucked out and you had’t even come yet.

You heard him gather saliva in his mouth, then, a hot wad of spit hit your asshole, you whined in response. Crane’s hand reached down until his thumb was spreading his spit around your puckered hole and pushing it into your ass.

“Ffffuuuck.” You moaned loudly at the new sensation. The burning tension of your building orgasm threatened to boil over any time now. “P-please… I'm gonna come…” You begged so sweetly, desperate for a release the harder he pounded. 

Crane’s hips then came to a stop, completely neglecting your orgasm. You felt like you could cry. 

“If you want it that badly, you can fuck yourself on my cock…  Work for it doll…” He said sternly, pulling his thumb out of your ass and making you whine. 

Immediately, you started to bounce yourself on his cock, throwing your ass back at him like a pathetic whore. It was a feast to icy blue eyes, following closely how his cock slipped in and out of your tight, wet, hot pussy. The sensation became so good he couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure that sent his head back.

Air barely filled you agitated lungs the more you bounced yourself, chasing and earning your orgasm with desperation. You could tell he was close too. You felt it from how his thighs flexed and by the grunts he made. He would never admit such a filthy weakness like that out loud however. 

A few more hard blows landed on your ass as you bounced his cock on him, making you clench hard every single time and moan like the whore he was trying to fuck out of you. Crane was even moaning himself, music to your ears and cunt.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, equally desperate. 

“Fuck me- flip over… I have to see that pretty face when I come deep inside you…”

Thank fuck. A smirk grazed your lips at the audible desperation in his voice. You turned over onto your back, meeting his handsome face again, his hair was now a little disheveled and his forehead glistened with a little sheen of sweat. His long, painfully hard cock was coated in your arousal, and you groaned at the sight, finally seeing it after only having it inside. Crane scooted closer, pushing back into you with ease and wasting absolutely no time. 

You bit your lip gently, looking up into his intense crystal blue eyes when you moaned in unison. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, spread them and pushed them up into your chest until he had you at a perfect angle, hitting the deepest parts of you. Your mouth fell open and your eyes closed just as he started to pump his hips into you, picking up speed until you couldn’t hold back loud whiny moans.

He reveled in the way your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, a smug smirk forming between heavy breaths. 

“You fucking like that?” He groaned to you, making you nod frantically to the rhythm of your squelching pussy.

“This pussy is just begging me to come so deep…” His voice gave away just how little he would last. Your mind reeled at his words, at his serious and harsh personality slipping away to reveal how much he loved the feeling of you.

The pressure of your orgasm tightened in your lower abdomen as he fucked you unforgivingly hard and deep. You wouldn’t last much either.

“Please… I'm-I’m gonna come...” You whimpered, so pathetically fucked out, unable to hold it back anymore. His hips fucked you on autopilot and he smirked.

“Come for me doll…” He cooed to you sensually and that was all it took. Your orgasm ripped through you like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Fireworks went off in your brain and your body trembled in the deepest, most needed pleasure. Your wet pussy tightened around him with greed, your back arched off the chair and your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my God!” You cried out to him, your legs shaking as he fucked you through it. 

Crane looked down at you in amazement, his jaw hanging open and allowing heavy breaths to escape him. It was truly the best pleasure of your entire life, the junction of his devilish beauty, your need and the last rush of the aphrodisiac making you wild. He felt you milking his willpower out of him, he had no way to resist, to keep up the front.

“Jesus-“ That was all he could muster to say. A deep loud groan resonated in the study as he gave into the intense pleasure. Akin to you, something he had never felt before.

Dizzy and mind blown, he leaned over you, his sweaty forehead against yours as his hips finally came to a stop. His cock pulsed and filled you deeply with his load, drowning your cunt in him.

You both panted heavily, hot breath mingling and hitting each other’s faces until recovery from the hardest orgasm of your lives finally came. A curious, tentative hand came up to touch his cheek with newfound softness. You smiled a little, his eyes softened in a rare moment of tenderness until his lips found yours. The soft kiss soon turned into a slow, sensual makeout. His tongue slided against you sending a flood of tingles all over you.

Crane pulled back after a minute or two of melting onto you, moving back into his position and keeling between your legs. You watched in complete devotion how his half flaccid cock left your sated heat, leaving you so empty without him inside. 

“Mmm, look at that…” He marveled, inspecting your puffy abused folds as his cum dribbled slowly out of you, his middle finger caught it and pushed back inside you. You moaned at the feeling, watching intently.

“I think with the proper training and sessions like these, you’ll be the most lovely little wife…” He practically cooed to you, and it became your life mission. Your heart swelled with the idea, no matter how demeaning it was, you were under his spell even though the aphrodisiac had completely worn off  by now.

The man you wanted to please the most flashed you that perfect smile, pulling his finger out of you just to offer it to your lips. You happily obliged, sucking it clean with your gliding tongue and humming at the combined taste of you.

“You’ll stay here tonight…” He commanded quietly, and you agreed right away, your obedience and devotion coddling to his already inflated ego. He had looked far and wide for the perfect partner… Pet…. Wife… Who would have thought she’d move in next door?

“Your next session will be in the morning, you’ll show me how good you can suck a cock…” Crane’s hand stroked your cheek softly yet possessively, and despite how sexualizing and objectifying it was, all you could ever feel was excitement for what was to come in the morning. And every morning after that.

You could tell that it was just the beginning for you both…

-Pinterest board made by the lovely @fuckiingloser

-Fic playlist made by me.

[am-i-interrupting]

Helllooooo!!! I was wondering if you could maybe write something of Silco x Reader where reader suffers from headaches and he gives them a shoulder/head massage 👀 it’s can be fluffy, sensual, sexual…. However you want!! Xoxo!!!😘

Scattering Tension

With Silco’s busy schedule and chaotic life, one would assume he was the one who needed the constant care in any relationship. Did he need to be pulled to bed? Yes. Did he need to be reminded to eat? Occasionally. However, that was not the case.

He was actually a very attentive lover. He was in touch with your and your body seemingly better than you were. He would be able to spot the signs before you and drag you away to rest before things got bad.

Today was one of those days. You were unable to focus. Everything just went through one ear, around the boiling pain, and then right out the other.

The pain was behind your eye. It carved through the tissue into your brain. You could feel the blood rushing through your veins and the pain pulsed with it. It wounded its way into your teeth. The muscles of your jaw pulled tight. That tautness went down the back of your neck and into the tissues of your shoulders.

You felt a pair of cold, long fingers press into your temples. The pressure forced apart nerves. A moment of relief was granted to you as they no longer bounced against one another.

You leaned back. A soft chuckle was given in reply.

Two fingers pressed against your temples. Another two curled at the connection of your jaw. The knuckles dug into the tight muscles. A thumb was behind your ear. It was soft and caressing in comparison to the pressure of the other fingers.

“You work yourself too hard,” Silco’s voice said.

His chin brushed against your hair but you could still smell the smoke and ash on his breath. It brought you comfort.

You wanted to give some witty reply about a pot and a kettle or something of the sort but the knuckles which worked your jaw were too nice to part with. Instead you simply groaned.

The fingertips at your temples moved further down. They rubbed at the soft tissue until they met the hardness of your cheekbone. They passed beneath your eye and down.

The knuckles left your jaw but not before circling up one last time to the place at the top where your muscles were gathered. A final, hard press was given to them like a farewell kiss.

You were made aware of every piece of gathered muscle, tissue, and even the veins which rolled between and through as Silco’s hands wrapped around your neck. His thumb pushed and a hum left you. The tension was slowly ebbing away. A tide of pain and pleasure came to you as it did.

“You’re too good at this,” you said.

His hands flattened. He gathered up your skin and grabbed. The flat of his hand rolled at the back of your neck. His fingers pushed into the underside of your jaw.

“What can I say? I’m good with my hands,” you could hear the sly, pleased grin on his face.

You couldn’t even retort. His was right. In all the underlaying ways he was implying, he was right. He was a man who knew how to use his hands and use them well.

[gumims]

cops and robbers | choso x reader

for the @phantasmaebg event!!!

wc: 792

the city buzzed with energy as you slinked through the shadows, the sharp scent of rain clinging to the air. the museum was quieter than usual, almost eerie, the soft hum of the security system the only sound accompanying you. the painting you were after glinted just ahead, a priceless masterpiece practically begging to be stolen.

you’d done this countless times before. in and out, no complications.

but tonight was different.

tonight, he was here.

“y’know,” a low, smooth voice drawled behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. “for someone who prides themselves on being invisible, you’re pretty predictable.”

you turned, your heart skipping as choso kamo stepped out of the shadows, his dark eyes locked onto you with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.

“predictable?” you shot back, masking the flicker of nerves with a smirk. “i prefer the term ‘consistent.’”

his lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. instead, he stepped closer, his long coat brushing against his legs, his boots echoing softly in the empty gallery. you took an instinctive step back, your fingers itching to reach for the smoke bomb in your pocket.

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he murmured, his voice dipping into something darker.

“what can i say? i have a knack for making your job harder,” you teased, even as your pulse quickened.

“yeah, i’ve noticed.”

his gaze was unrelenting, a mix of frustration and something else—something that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t entirely prepared for.

“you here to catch me or flirt with me?” you asked, tilting your head with a grin you hoped looked confident.

his eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. “who says i can’t do both?”

your breath caught, but you refused to let it show. instead, you shrugged, leaning casually against the nearest pillar. “you’ve been chasing me for months, kamo. don’t you ever get tired?”

“never.” his answer was immediate, firm. “you make it interesting, plus if i wanted you arrested, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

you hated the way his words sent a spark of heat through you. this was supposed to be a game—cat and mouse, thief and officer. but the way he looked at you, the way his voice dropped just enough to make your pulse race, it felt like something else entirely.

“well,” you said, pushing off the pillar and circling him slowly, your eyes scanning for an opening. “if you enjoy the chase so much, maybe i’ll let you catch me one day.”

he didn’t move, his gaze tracking your every step like a predator watching its prey. “maybe tonight’s the night.”

“you think so?” you asked, stopping just out of reach, your smirk widening. “hate to break it to you, but i’m not that easy.”

“neither am i,” he shot back, his voice low and dangerous.

the air between you was electric, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with the job and everything to do with the way his eyes lingered on yours. for a moment, you wondered what would happen if you closed the distance, if you stepped just a little closer.

but then you remembered who you were—and who he was.

“well,” you said, taking a step back, “as fun as this has been, i’ve got places to be.”

you moved to dart past him, but he was faster than you expected. his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back before you could make it two steps.

“not so fast,” he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

you twisted in his grip, your free hand pressing flat against his chest to push him back. but instead of letting go, his hold tightened, his body impossibly close to yours now.

“gotcha,” he said softly, his breath warm against your ear.

your heart pounded, and you hated how much you noticed the heat of his skin, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scent—clean and faintly woodsy—seemed to wrap around you.

“you really think this is over?” you asked, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

his lips curved into a faint smirk, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of amusement in his usually serious expression. “you tell me.”

you leaned in, so close your lips nearly brushed his ear. “not even close.”

with a sharp twist, you broke free of his grip, your smoke bomb already in your hand. you tossed it at the ground, the room filling with a thick cloud of smoke as you made your escape.

“see you around, officer,” you called over your shoulder as you slipped into the night, your heart racing for reasons you didn’t want to think about.

you knew this wasn’t the end. not with him. and as much as you hated to admit it, part of you didn’t want it to be.

[buzzingroyalty]

how to grub your karkat

or you can use this for any other plush or if you wanna make a whole new plush entirely or whatever

disclaimer im not a professional in any sense of the word and theres anything technical im doing wrong or you think you can do it better by all means dont hold back

Things you’ll need

sewing machine unless youre really dedicated but doing it by hand is gonna be an agonizing feat i promise. I just used a straight stitch for everything

Fabrics: for the main body i suggest a minky or something soft, for the inner lining something in the same color as the main body and ideally with some stretch, and anything black for the legs. Less than a yard of each will do

if youre using minky or anything furry get a lint roller. Trust me

stuffing, i used polyfil

threads that match your fabrics

good fabric scissors

sewing needle for hand sewing/fixes

karkat plush (optional)

Heres the pattern i came up with! They are numbered for your convenience and pieces with the same numbers are going to be part of the same row of segments. cut everything out on the black lines (Make sure when you’re printing to fit the image to the page size.) on the left we have the belly pieces, the right is the main body, and we have the foot in between

Im using a relatively thin minky fabric, im sure you can use whatever but something with some fluffiness kinda helps to mask any imperfections in the sewing. When drawing out your patterns keep in mind what direction your fibers settle in and try to keep it consistent

On the wrong side of the fabric measure out at least a half inch seam allowance around each piece of the pattern, i used a centimeter and that worked but had me sweatin a bit.

For the main body pieces fold your fabric in half before you cut so you can have 2 of each segment that are mirrored to each other, i also extended all of the #1 pieces an additional centimeter/half inch at the top so we can fold them over at the very end. I highly suggest numbering the insides of all the cut pieces, especially in a way where you will remember what direction they are each meant to sit

After you’ve numbered all your pieces, set them aside and start making your feet!

Each of the 6 legs is made of two pieces, but i because i only had a swatch of the black minky i made up for the rest with some random black scrap fabric from an old project. Try to keep your fabric consistent if you can lol

I didnt give these pieces any more seam allowance on the fabric but i recommend adding a centimeter or half inch to the base of it to extend the length and have some more wiggle room

like so

Instead of cutting out 12 individual pieces and struggling to stitch them all together i started with 6, then pinning each piece real tight with the right/furry side down onto my secondary fabric, and slowly stitching around the shape real close to the edges- DO NOT CLOSE THE FLAT SIDE as we are going to stuff the feet through here

Now cut the shape out of the fabric and repeat till you have 6 feet

Now flip those bad boys inside out, stuff up, and if you wanna you can match them to their best pairs

now grab a pair of feeties and your #1 pieces and line them up, in this picture my belly #1 piece is shorter bc i forgot to add the extra centimeter and i recut that once i realized. Line those sides up with the right/furry parts touching and with the feet in between, flip it around to make sure everything's sitting the way you want it

Note. i didnt realize until later but i sewed my feet in upside down. save yourself the time it takes to fix it and dont make the same mistake

Straight stitch these layers together and repeat with the next two segments our good friends #2 & #3

Repeat this for the #2 and #3 sections but NOT THE #4, that part doesnt need feet! just line those edges up right/furry sides together and sew

the secret to the squish of the suit is making this inner lining from another fabric and stuffing it! I used what i had leftover from a stretchy red fabric for a kanaya skirt. For this we need to make a new pattern for each section, making sure it follows the curve of the round edge but the piece itself is shorter, almost like youre removing the seam allowance you added. Mine is a centimeter shorter on the top and on the bottom and reaches to the middle

Make one of these for each numbered segment,you only need to make half the pattern and you can fold your fabric in half on a crease and you end up with one symmetrical piece (bars)

Now you need to pin these pieces right on top of the wrong side of your numbered furry sections and line up the straight edges like so (disclaimer for LOTS OF SCARY NEEDLES !!)

Admittedly i didnt estimate how long these pieces needed to be very accurately and overshot it a bit, if you start pinning it from the middle and continue outwards on either side thatll ensure its not too lose and you can cut off any excess after

The only exception is piece #1, if you recall we gave this #1 section extra seam allowance. This is so we can sew down that excess at the neck later and hide any of the inside that might show once its all put together. Do not connect the top edge to the inner lining! Since i added an extra centimeter earlier im gonna leave that hanging and pin + sew down the inner lining a centimeter lower than the top edge. LEAVE THE CURVED EDGES OPEN! DONT SEW THEM TOGETHER! those stay open to stuff

Straight stitch the lined up edges together

Now you have all these skinned pieces of little freak and we need to connect all these segments together making sure to sew UNDER the existing stitches so we dont see those on the outside when its all put together

Inside looks like a bit of a mess but thats fine bc its not the part that matters

Now stuff it! you might need a stick or pencil or something long and thin to get stuffing into the middle bits

Now thats its stuffed you can finally close those curved edges. Try not to sew over a thick mound of stuffing, push it in a little further to give yourself some space and you can fluff it back out after everythings closed. I cut off that excess lining fabric after sewing

Ough… they filleted my boy…

Finally, match up all the edges and lines and HAND SEW them right sides together. You will destroy your machine trying to work around that stuffing i promise. You also have an excuse to get up from your work desk and sew on a couch or smth. I used a standard backstitch for a tight finish and again, make sure you sew under any existing stitches so they arent visible on the outside!

Speaking of the outside, once you stitch everything together you can very gently flip this sucker inside out

This is @hatamonu’s cat Cocaina, aka Coco. Her perfectly square figure made it into my grub files somehow so shes essential to the tutorial

Check the fit and all thats left to do is roughly baste stitch down that excess neck fabric onto the stuffed lining and youre set! I gave the thread slight tugs as i went to tighten the opening a bit put dont tighten it too much

tadaaaaa

It fits pretty snug but starts to slip a bit with motion. Heres a bounce test

 If you do shake your baby make sure to safety pin the plush to the suit so he doesnt prematurely shed his exosekeleton

Now spread that baby fever and show your baby to the world

pics from the ALA 2025 homestuck meetup and supplied by para.dox.cos

Tysm for coming along this ride with me especially if you followed the prototype journey on twitter, much thanks to my more sewing savvy friend for the solution to my grub dilemma and for helping me design and build my dolorosa cosplay <3 much love and hopefully many more homestuck cosplays and meetups to come in the future!

[mzenins]

❛ far from a couple (of besties) ! ❜ ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * satoru gojo

꒰ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ──── contents: sfw, gn reader, friends to potential lovers, reader is a teacher at jujutsu tech, banter, black cat x golden retriever combo with a small side of yearning

“how come you never want to hold my hand in public?”

you take a long sip of your lemonade refresher, feeling your thirst automatically quenched by the cold drink. the ice cubes clinked against the glass and the warm spring breeze gently whistles, filling the small momentary silence.

as you reach the end of your drink, you prolong the activity as long as possible by intentionally slurping on the straw rather slowly and swishing around the remainder of the drink in your mouth before gulping down.

the glass hits the table with a light thud, “not this again.” you sigh, leaning back against your seat with your arms crossed over your chest.

“yes this again!” satoru exclaims with a small whine in his tone. he leans forward on the patio table, his hands flat on the surface.

grabbing lunch with satoru had its ups and downs. while you appreciated his generosity of inviting you out to eat with him —even offering to pay for the joint meals— and his vast knowledge of different cuisines and restaurants, moments like these damper the mood.

his knack for constantly talking about anything and everything instead of enjoying the meal and your company in silence soured the activity for you.

the days where he personally ventured out for you after his lessons with his students were arguably the worse; looking high and low in different locations of the establishment just to link arms with you and drag you away from whatever you were occupied with at the moment.

today was one of those days.

he shifts idly in his seat, “i just don’t get it— i mean, it’s not like a little hand holding is gonna hurt anyone~” a small grin tugs at the corners of his mouth due to the scowl that was present on your face.

you scoff, “i don’t even hold your hand in private why would i hold it in public?” you lean in forward against the table coming face to face with satoru as he sat across from you. you try to flick his forehead but he puts up his infinity before you get the chance, making your planned attack useless.

satoru has been pretty adamant on this oddly specific subject. saying how if you two were to “platonically hold hands” it’ll strengthen your friendship with each other. even going on about how him, shoko and nanami did it and now they’re the closest they’ve ever been.

however, you inquired to shoko about the accuracy of this statement and she looked at you dumbfounded which told you everything you already knew.

he evades your question and gasps. “don’t tell you’re afraid of physical touch, that might be a problem for future partner,” he quips.

he takes a small slip at his water and hums, “don’t you just love h2o. it’s the best, right?”

you can feel a vein in your forehead become more prominent as the scowl on your face deepens,“sure. i’m a big fan,” you deadpanned.

you tilt your head and raise a brow, “how does my love life correlate to me not wanting to hold your hand?” you can see him attempt and fail to contain his piqued interest. you’re finally asking him the right questions.

“i’m so glad you asked!” he stabs his fork into his desert, a strawberry covered cheesecake, and silently notions the fork towards you, offering a bite. you decline by shaking your head and he shrugs, taking the bite instead.

“if you can’t even hold hands with a friend how do you expect to get all touchy with your significant other, hm?”

he stumps you a bit with the question. there’s a thin line between a friend and a romantic partner, but with having a significant other also comes with a gained friendship. while you’re not touchy with most of your friends, you still hold respect for them and put enough effort to maintain those bonds.

physical touch has never been a problem for you. it’s something you don’t really mind but would pick another love language over it in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity.

before you could answer him, he speaks up. “all i’m saying is that i would make good practice so when your knight in shining amour comes around, you already know what to do.” he’s lowers his head as he peeks at you from above the small cracks of his sunglasses.

the gears shift rapidly in your head, noticing inconsistency. you narrow your eyes at him, “but wait, i thought you said us holding hands would “strengthen our bond?” where’s all this other stuff coming from?”

satoru freezes his movements. fork in mid air nearing his opened mouth. he slowly takes a bite and swallows nervously, he clears his throat, “..let’s just say we’d be killing two birds with one stone.”

“sureee..” suspicious laced in your voice, “but that won’t be necessary. we’re adults, practicing stuff like that, like we’re middle schoolers, is strange to say the least.”

satoru frowns at your words. “you’re never too young or old to learn and practice new things.”

“true but holding hands isn’t a new concept to me, satoru.”

the waitress soon comes into view at your table and asks if you’d like to close your tab. before satoru can answer with an expected ‘no’, you interject, asking for a takeout container for his cheesecake and the bill.

you let out an agitated huff while gathering your items, “we’re running late for training again. almost every time we eat out, we spend way longer than expected.” he snickers and takes out his wallet from his pocket, “yet you don’t show too much resistance when i bring you out.” he smugly bites at his lip.

“that’s because you force me out, i don’t have much of a choice.” you kick his foot under the table in annoyance and your blow presumably lands as you hear a small grunt from him.

“oh please, you would’ve been eating away at those stale donuts in the staff room everyday if it weren’t for me.” he pays for both of your meals and the two of you venture back to the school.

the walk back is surprisingly silent. something you longed for the whole day, however, it became unnerving after a few long minutes. you speak up, breaking the silence first. “by the way, i’m choosing the restaurant next time.”

satoru chuckles sarcastically, “oh? there’ll be a next time? lucky me i guess. and here i thought you didn’t enjoy my company.”

“oh my gosh will you shut the hell up.” you roll your eyes biting the inside of your cheek to hide away a forming smile.

© mzenins, all rights reserved … reblogs & feedback is welcomed.

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from The Hands Fic WIP! heads up there is one (1) brief mention of explicit content in here!

“D’you remember the lie detector? Thought that thing was gonna cut my fingers off.” Lando rambles on, not realising how much closer he just put Oscar to tripping over his own feet in front of what might as well be their entire team.

In lieu of an appropriate reaction Oscar lets his face just do what it wants. He feels, helpless, as his eyebrows raise and his eyes widen, staring staunchly at the floor because as long as he doesn’t look Lando in the eye he can still plausibly deny having had any sort of reaction to d’you remember the lie detector of all fucking things. 

Oh, does he remember the lie detector? Fucking hell. Of course he remembers the fucking lie detector. Could he ever not.

“Hmm,” he says, trying to school his voice into something that doesn’t sound suspiciously like yeah I remember how you giggled and blushed and hid your face into the crook of your elbow, I watched every single moment of it or the somehow catastrophically worse yes I’ve been jacking off to the knowledge of you having to re-buckle the straps because your monster-sized fingers wouldn’t fit into the space mine were perfectly fucking snug in, so thanks yeah I reckon I remember the lie detector.

Instead, he says, in an unfortunately conspiratorial tone, “I don’t recall it was that tight for me.” Which is somehow worse, and more revealing, than just the truth. If he’s lucky Lando won’t make the connection between Oscar remembering the lie detector and being able to fucking, compare their hand girth like an actual stalker.

“Heh, right,” Lando huffs. “You and your dainty princess hands. I’m jealous, Osc, mine are like, fucking monstrous,” he teases, mischief in his voice like he’s not just flipped Oscar’s world upside down. 

Lando shimmies both his hands out of his pockets and lifts them chest-level, demonstrating his point to Oscar. 

Inexplicably, some primal part of his brain decides that he should be listening to his mirror neurons instead of basic etiquette. He lifts his hands to match. “Yeah,” he says. 

“See? Tiny.” Lando says for emphasis, taking his other hand and craning it all the way over just to poke Oscar’s frozen-still limb. If Oscar wasn’t already used to Lando’s complete disregard of personal space, he’d think it was weird. Well he’d probably think it was weird if he could think at all right now. 

“Yeah,” he says again, pleasantly surprised that his tone is still bored levels of flat. Fucking hell. 

“Well, you know what they say about a guy’s hands…” Lando jests. He turns – to Oscar’s utter horror – to look him dead in the eye, anticipating something; Oscar’s reaction, maybe even a response. 

Oscar opens his mouth, says, voice mortifyingly rough, “right,” realises that there’s no way that’ll be enough to save either of them from social oblivion, and continues. “Big hands, big-” he fails to think rationally, “ego?”

And Lando- Lando laughs. Not a big outburst, just a cackle, of sorts. It brings the crinkle back to the corner of his eyes and snaps the tension from his shoulders. 

“Big hands, big ego!” He says. Bright like the sun, a happy little tremor in his voice. Like he’s relieved Oscar’s joke was funny.