#it will Not hold on to the knot on my thread

[lorebird]

I made Belinda!!!

I’ve never sewn before (except for joining crochet, if that even counts) and don’t have a machine, so she’s really rough around the edges…….. but I love her <3

From Creative Soft Toys to Sew (2005)

She’s perfect, she’s adorable, and I hope one of you can bring her to life :)

[joestarfucker420]

god if my parents really decide to more i’m so royally fucked

[nanaslutt]

let me hold you

ʚ cont: fem reader, oral (f!r), dirty talk, pussydrunk gojo, jerking off, cream pie, cock warming, soft gojo, fluffy after sex stuff ^.^

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

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

Gojo groaned as he pulled your ass apart with one of his large hands, shaking his head against your cunt as he ate you out like a man starved. "Ffffuck-" You groaned, your toes curled and your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of Satoru burring his tongue inside your hole. His hot breath tickled your cunt when he huffed out a short laugh at your reaction, always amused by how easy it was to make you feel good. 

Your body writhed and twitched on top of his desk as you reached behind you with one hand and pressed his head harder against your cunt, your fingers threading through his soft, fluffy hair. Satoru groaned, the squelching noises getting louder from behind you as Satoru increased the pace he was jerking himself off, his hand sloppily stroking his wet length with no rhythm. "Pussy's clenching around my tongue so hard-" Satoru giggled drunkenly, his voice muffled as he spoke so close to your cunt.

"Don't h-hah, don't talk while you-" Your words were cut off when Gojo wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his soft lips immediately wrapping around the hard bud as his tongue bat at it rapidly, making you see stars behind your eyelids as they rolled back in your head. "Oh, my fucking g-godd-" You groaned, your voice getting louder than you meant it to when he started rolling his tongue around it, making the knot in your stomach tighten with the need for release. 

"Satoru- baby right there- k-keep doing that-" You whined, your face scrunching in blissful pleasure as Satoru ate you out like a man starved. He was eating it so messily, drool and your juices dripped down his chin and fell onto his hand that was stroking himself off, only making the slick sounds even wetter. "Mhmm-mmmm." Satoru moaned against your cunt, his eyebrows furrowed and slightly open, looking unfocused and blurry from his own arousal.

"Oh fuck- fuck that feels so good Satoru- you're d-doing so good," You whined, your inner thighs shaking as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge by Gojo's tongue. Gojo's face burned at the praise, you could feel him smile happily against your cunt as he opened his mouth for a second along the length of your cunt to drink up your juices before he went back to sucking on your clit. 

Gojo felt his balls ache as he stroked himself off, feeling his high grow closer and closer the longer he tasted you on his tongue. Satoru was jerking himself off so fast, not worried about cumming before you or trying to hold himself back, he felt so good, and he bounced back quick. Your fingers curled against his scalp harder as you jaw opened in a small O when you felt your orgasm start to creep up on you.

Gojo groaned at the harsh treatment of his hair, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling. "I-I'm gonna cum- S-satoru I'm gonna cum-" You cried, completely forgetting about being quiet. The only person who should still be at the school was Ijichi, but you were hoping his office was far enough away to where he wouldn't hear what the two of you were up to. "Cum, please, give it to me-" Gojo groaned against your pussy, his voice only edging your orgasm on quicker as his words vibrated your cunt. 

Gojo shook his head rapidly back and forth, humming and groaning against you as his cock ached for you to cum. He felt totally blissful and fucked out just from eating you out, he could feel his skin vibrating with excitement just waiting for you to cum. "Fuck- fuck-" Your toes curled in your shoes and your moans went quiet right as your orgasm peaked. 

Your body jerked and spasmed as you came around nothing, your hole pulsing and squeezing, dripping juices down your cunt and against Satoru's lips. Gojo popped off your cunt with a moan and quickly stood to his feet, still jerking himself off quickly and sloppily. You snapped your legs shut and crossed your legs at the feeling of him no longer sucking your clit as you continued to cum.

Faster than you were able to understand what happened, Satoru rammed his cock inside you and gripped your waist hard enough to bruise as his chest collapsed against yours. You let out a scream from the unexpected penetration, undoubtedly loud enough for your poor coworker to hear. Gojo ramming his cock inside you prolonged your orgasm, giving you a whole other wave of pleasure as you clenched rhythmically around him. 

Gojo sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder and bit down hard as his cock kicked inside your walls, his hot cum spilling out from his cock and into your cunt. His balls clenched as he released his seed deep inside you, feeling completely at ease as his whole body felt warm from being inside your hot, soft cunt. Satoru released one of his hands on your waist and reached it up to grab your face and tilt it to the side.

You hummed and whined into Satoru's mouth as he kissed you sloppily, moaning and gasping against your lips, making a mess of saliva on your chin. Gojo's hips weakly thrust inside you as he made sure your pussy milked all of his cum, even as his cock went soft he continued to just push his hips against your ass even while already being balls deep. 

Satoru broke the kiss and kept the hold he had on your chin as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, panting like a dog. You let your head dangle off the front of his desk as you relished in the warm feeling of his solid body pressed firmly against your own. "It's so soft inside you...don't wanna pull out ever," Satoru whined, his voice coming out weak and childish as his hot breath tickled your skin.

You bent your elbow back and let your hand find his hair, running your fingers softly along his scalp, making him moan softly in pleasure and gratefulness for the soft touch. He rubbed his head into your hand like a cat, wanting more and more of your touch. "Y'think Ijichi will drive us home? Don't wanna move..." Gojo asked. It was true, he did seem extremely worn out. After all, he was basically pressing all 190 pounds of himself on your body. 

"Let's not involve him in this. I'll drive." You said, ruffling his hair. "Okayy," Satoru moaned sleepily, showing no signs of moving or pulling out as he relished in your soft body under him. "Carry me to the car?" He asked childishly, making you scoff and shaky your head, ruffling his head a little harder to keep him awake. "If you pull out I'll try my best, but you did a serious number on my legs." You replied, feeling how shaky your legs were.

"I'm not that heavy, you got it. I'm putting my trust in you so don't drop me or I'll be upset." Gojo said, groaning as he begrudgingly pulled himself up and slowly slid his cock out of you with a whine. The man tucked his still-sopping wet cock into his boxers and grabbed your hips to pull you up. Satoru always got so clingy when he was tired, it was adorable. 

You were barely able to reach down far enough to pull up your panties to stop Gojo's seed that wanted to slide out of you the second you stood. Gojo wrapped his arms around your body and rested his head on your shoulder, his breathing now evened out. 

"You smell good..." He said quietly, his tongue poking out to lick the side of your neck. You giggled and tapped his hand playfully that was wrapped around your torso, signaling him to let you go. "Off, big baby. Gonna take you home." You said, letting him rock you side to side as he groaned at your words, saying something about just sleeping at the school in a spare room for the night. You eventually dragged him to the car after enough convincing. 

[glossysoap]

ring ; john price

summary: here’s my thoughts on price fingering you with his ring on. this is also my birthday present for @loveyhoneydovey !! i love ya! i hope this cheers you up and that you enjoy your birthday! <333

warnings/tags: 18+, afab, fem reader, written with plus size reader in mind but it can be read as size neutral if need be, pure smut, no plot, fingering, emphasis on his size (big hands/thick fingers), clit play, pussy slapping, cum eating, married price and reader.

word count: 1-1.5k at least

The hard wood was cold against your bare thighs as he had you sat on his desk in front of him. Your panties were pulled down to your ankles, revealing your already dripping cunt to your husband who is sat right in front of you.

Your husband’s forehead was pressed against yours and his lips were so close, you could feel his breath fanning against your face.

He had started out by trailing one finger up and down your wet slit to gather your juices. Moving agonizingly slow, taking his sweet time in pleasuring you. Using his other hand to hold your thigh, keeping your legs pried apart for him.

His hairy arm brushed up against your plush thigh as he started grazing your folds.

“Look at how wet you are. All for me, isn’t that right?”

He used one finger to spread your juices along your slit, before letting a second finger join in. That second finger was his ring finger, where his wedding band rested, all gold and engraved with your name along the inside. Then he used those two fingers to play with your slippery folds, but never dipping inside.

Those two fingers move to trace little figure eights in your slit, enjoying how slippery and slick your lips were because of how wet you had gotten.

“Uh-huh,” You nodded quickly, restraining the urge to buck your hips into his hand. You knew you had to be good, acting up would only get you so far. “Just for you.” You were in such a daze that you didn’t even notice how his lips quirked up into a grin at your words.

Stay still, stay still. You knew you had to be patient. You just had to wait.

Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait for long this time. Because before you knew it, he was dipping those two fingers inside of you.

He slips them inside inch by inch, giving a quiet chuckle at how easily they slide in. His eyes burn into you as he eases his fingers in, looking at how your brows were furrowed and your mouth was slightly open in a pant.

“Oh, god,” Your breathy moans fill the privacy of his office, mixing with the lewd wet noises produced by his thick fingers plunging inside your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t stop your hips from bucking and gasping when he’s pushing those two fingers in knuckle deep. The slight burn that came from the intrusion mixed with the feeling of being filled made that warmth in your stomach grow hotter.

What made that feeling even more intense was the cold metal of his wedding band that was flush against the walls of your cunt. The harsh temperature was such a contrast to the warmth of your entrance, it was driving you crazy in the best way possible.

To make the knot in your stomach tighten even more, the ring just added that extra ridge to his already thick finger. With every pump of his fingers inside your pussy, his cold ring rubbed against your soft walls so fucking good.

While the metal of his wedding ring was sending shivers through your core, your own wedding ring was sitting comfortably on your ring finger. A silver band with a perfect arrangement of diamonds that were all the perfect size, and his name engraved along the inside of the band. Just like your name was engraved along the inside of his.

Your own moans grew stronger, just like the wet noises, when his fingers started moving at a furious pace.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, searching for something, anything to keep yourself grounded in reality. One hand flew to clutch at his dark hair, fingers threading through his soft strands. Your other hand moved to grasp at his muscular arm that was positioned between your legs. The muscles flexed with every plunge of his fingers inside your cunt.

“That feel good?” He murmurs, watching as you nod for him, eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide with lust.

“God, yes!”

His gaze dropped and zeroed into your lips, all bitten and shiny from spit. It took every ounce of willpower to not just crash his lips onto yours and devour you. He wanted to hear every whine and gasp and moan, and unfortunately he needed your mouth unoccupied to be able to do so.

So he settled for the next best thing, worshipping your neck.

He moved down to your jaw and started showing much needed love and attention to your skin. You could feel his beard scratch against your skin as he left open mouthed kisses along your jaw, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin.

“Yeah?” He teases, beard scratching your skin as he continues mouthing your jaw. “Feels good having my fingers buried in that sweet cunt?”

Right at that moment, he curled his fingers in search of that spongey spot that made your toes curls. He never stopped pumping his fingers in and out, he just started curling his fingers in tandem with every plunge inside. He heard your breath hitch and knew he was close to finding it. He figured this was the perfect time to slip in a third thick finger.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You babble mindlessly as his fingers keep stretching you out, with him growing dangerously close to finding your g-spot.

“Just a little bit more and..” He pushed his fingers further inside and curled them over and over until he feels you jerk and buck against his hand.

“Oh, fuck—,” You cut yourself off with a choked sob as his fingers tapped that sensitive spot that had you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“There it is.” You could feel him smirk against your neck.

Now that he found the spot that made you writhe, he started abusing it.

Pumping his fingers in your tight hole at a furious pace, hitting that soft spot every single time. He felt you clench around him so fucking perfect, reminding him of how you would always squeeze around his cock and milk him dry.

While his fingers were busy fucking you, his mouth went back to work on your neck. His full beard scratching your skin as he licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake.

“So fuckin’ tight, love. You just needed me to take you apart, huh?” He all but growls into your neck, teeth scraping at your pulse point. You can feel the vibrations from his words rumble against you. “Needed to soak my fingers? Hmm?”

You can’t even bring yourself to answer his questions, and he knows it, as the only thing that can escape your lips are moans and cries.

John has taken to sucking on your pulse point, then biting and tugging with a rumble from deep in his chest.

Every single bit and lick and suck from his torturous mouth went straight to your weeping pussy, which was quickly inching towards its release.

You knew full well that you wouldn’t last much longer, and he knew that just as much as you did. Maybe even more so, because you were hugging his fingers so damn tight.

He fucking loved it. He loved how slippery your cunt was and how much you were clenching down on his fingers, and he especially loved how your juices were dripping down onto his hand.

He wanted to feel you gush all over his fingers, and he wanted to feel that now.

So he used the pad of his thumb to rub rough circles on your swollen clit, all while he used three fingers to hit that sensitive spot over and over and over.

“C’mon, c’mon. Come f’ me.” He groans into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin. His tongue licking a stripe along the span of your neck before sucking your soft skin.

If your sharp gasp and desperate bucking of your hips against his hand were any indication, you were about to come.

“Yeah,” he eggs you on, “that’s right. Give it to me.”

So he circled his fingers inside of you, not only hitting that sensitive spot perfectly but also rubbing the area around it. The rough pad of his thumb just kept furiously rubbing at your swollen clit.

At that exact moment, he licked at the crook of your neck before biting down, hard.

“Oh, fuck!” You wail, your eyes squeezing shut and your mouth hanging open. Your pussy throbs and flutters as you squeeze around his fingers, your legs twitching and writhing from all of the stimulation.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wild wave as you squirt all over his fingers and drench his palm in the process.

He couldn’t help himself as he pulled his soaked hand out from your cunt, before using it to lightly slap your swollen clit. He smiled as he watched your hips jolt and your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“There you go, good girl.” Was all your husband said, husky voice dripping with praise, before he did something that had your pussy throbbing once more.

He lifted his soaked hand up to his mouth and licked your juices clean off. His gaze burned into yours as he licked a broad stripe along his palm before sucking each finger clean with a pop. Then finally, licking his wedding band clean as it rested on his ring finger.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

🏷️: @loveyhoneydovey @divine--serenity @warenai @viylikescats @cassiecasluciluce @ghastlybirdie @lilpothoscuttings @jumbojazzcats93 @violet-phantoms @krakenbabe @lordlydragon @bunnyreaper @blackrose4242 @ansaturn @luvecarson @luvmeijii @kenqki @zittles3000 @theloneshadow24 @moonriseoverkyoto @msdevil333 @vgilantee @stargirlrchive @blissful-bunny @damnirina @wrathofcats @claymorexpunisher @mandalover2023 @kiroshang @ivymarquis (struck out names are ppl tumblr wouldn’t let me tag. let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[marvelfilth]

Her idiot

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: your night out with Thor and Valkyrie leaves Natasha worried unimpressed.

Masterlist

“Nat-”

“No.”

“But-”

“But no.”

“Just let me-”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth promptly snaps shut, the sound of teeth clattering echoing through the empty Compound.

You're being dragged to Natasha’s room, or you hope you are - you wouldn't put it past Natasha to lock you in one of the holding cells in the basement. You kinda deserve it. You can admit that even in your current inebriated state.

She drags you upstairs once you reach the end of the hallway, your shoes squeaking on the concrete, making you grimace with each step you make.

You're also starting to get cold.

You're not stupid enough to tell her that.

Wanda's head pokes out of her room, her eyes bleary with sleep and her expression pure confusion. Her eyes grow twice their size once she sees the state you're in. And then she laughs, shaking her head.

“You're so dead,” she whispers when you pass by and ducks back into her room lest Natasha unleashes her wrath on her.

You gulp.

Yeah.

You probably are.

Natasha halts her stride, opens the door to her room, and pushes you inside.

“You better not get any of that on my carpet,” she growls, tugging off your drenched shirt.

You're thankful you've had enough of a mind to leave your heavy winter coat by the lake before you decide to-

“Off.” Natasha gestures at your feet, putting a stop to your musings. You shrug off your dirty boots, carefully leaving them by the door. As carefully as you can, that is. The room is spinning a bit, and Natasha's face is a little blurry around the edges.

Then, she tugs down your jeans, making you wince as the harsh wet fabric slides down your legs. She looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You're starting to shake, a little bit. And your teeth won't stay put. Or is it your jaw?

Natasha sighs and leads you to the bathroom. It's already full of steam and the bath is full of bubbles, and you sag in relief, almost tearing off your underwear in haste to jump in.

You moan the second you sink into the warmth.

“You do know how stupid that was, right?”

You nod, wishing you could hide from her gaze.

“Then why?”

Your cheeks redden, not from the warmth, but from the sheer embarrassment. Now that you've sobered a little, none of the fun and entertaining ideas Thor and Valkyrie proposed sound fun and entertaining.

She sighs again, and starts gently threading her fingers through your hair, untangling the knots she finds there.

“You're not drinking with them ever again.”

“Okay.”

“And you're not going anywhere near that damned lake anytime soon.”

You wince at the memory of falling through the thin layer of ice after successfully making it halfway across the lake - just like Thor dared you to - and then swimming under said thin layer of ice the remaining half of the way and emerging on the other side, right in front or very angry and very concerned Natasha.

You're probably gonna-

“And you're sleeping on the couch.”

-sleep on the couch. Yep.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You're an idiot.”

“I am.”

She snorts. “It's very hard to stay mad when you're being so pliant.”

You bite on your lower lip, keeping a bashful grin from emerging. You decide to test your luck when the fond glint in your girlfriend's eyes intensifies.

“So no couch for me, then?”

Her eyes narrow, lips pursing. “You can sleep on the floor if you'd like.”

No luck. Ugh.

“Okay. Couch it is.”

She hums, leaving your side to retrieve a warm fluffy tower. You get up, almost falling into Natasha's arms when you slip. She wraps the towel around your shoulders, holding you against her chest.

“I love you,” you mumble into the crook of her neck, your body buzzing with love, warmth and remnants of alcohol. “So much.”

“And I love you. Even when you're being an idiot, which is-”

“Always?” You interrupt with a grin, pulling away just a tad to see the expression on her face.

Her eyes sparkle in the low light, the lines of her face all soft. “Yes. Always.”

[heich0e]

rintarou's sheets are scratchy.

they're new, and haven't yet gone through the wash enough times to properly soften. they haven't been slept on enough times to be fully broken in. you know he bought them because you always used to tease him about his old sheets: faded with some holes in them—a mismatched fitted sheet and top sheet in two different shades of blue, unbefitting of a grown man making grown man money.

so, he got new ones.

these new sheets are green, in the exact shade you like so much—the one you always point out when the two of you are walking in the park near your office on your lunch break. he sent you a picture of the package when he got them home, fishing for praise you refused to give him for doing the bare minimum. they're nice sheets, though. expensive, organic cotton with a high thread count.

but right now, they're scratchy.

and they're irritating you as you lay tangled up in them, the top sheet wrapped around your waist like a belt and twisted around one of your bare legs. you must have been tossing and turning a lot in your sleep, because when you properly rouse from your slumber to take inventory of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that you're practically knotted into the stiff, new cotton.

you extract yourself from the blankets, stumbling a little towards the door in a fog, and make your way from rintarou's bedroom in the direction of the kitchen.

"oh," rintarou perks up once you appear around the corner, his eyes bright when they spot you. "you're up."

you shuffle around the kitchen counter towards him, your head heavy and pounding, your mouth dry. you feel nauseated, and without thinking, you slump against him with your forehead pressing into the valley between his shoulder blades. you're confused. you're hungover. but he's warm, and smells like laundry detergent. suddenly you feel a little less queasy.

"what's going on?" you grumble into his back. you peel yourself away from him, blinking slowly, and sweep your gaze around the room to get a better sense of things.

suna holds up a frying pan and a whisk. "i'm cooking!"

you blink again. "okay?"

it's not what you meant when you asked him your first question, but rintarou simply smiles. he has an almost puppy-like personality when he gets like this—you can almost picture ears atop his head and a tail wagging happily as he stares down at you.

"how'd i get here last night?"

rintarou freezes, but only for a moment. he quickly turns his back to you again to continue on whatever misguided culinary adventure he'd been attempting before you woke up. "you were pretty drunk."

"my seniors kept egging me on," you complain, rubbing your forehead as the hazy memory surfaces from the night before. it was a company dinner you couldn't get out of, and it had quickly spiralled out of hand. "i don't even remember leaving."

rintarou laughs a little. but he still won't look at you.

"suna."

he doesn't turn, whisking something you can't identify but that you're almost certain should not be whisked in a bowl in front of him on the counter.

"suna." you repeat yourself again.

suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes you.

no.

no.

you pat yourself down in search of your phone, but the attempt is useless. you're dressed in one of rintarou's t-shirts and boxers, neither of which come equipped with any pockets, and your phone is nowhere to be found. you whip your head around in search of it, but don't spot it anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

"hey—" rintarou finally looks at you when he senses your alarm, and his tone mirrors your own panic. "don't—!"

you swipe his cellphone off the counter in front of him, using the passcode you'd managed to weasel out of him a few months ago to unlock the device and navigate to his call log. you take off running as you tap your way through the various screens on his phone, but he's quickly in pursuit of you—leaving whatever he'd had on the stove to burn like he world's saddest funeral pyre.

"stop, stop!" rintarou is faster than you are, and has longer legs, but even by the time he catches you, you've already found what you're looking for in his call history. he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto his sofa with him in the living room, and the two of you land in a tangle of limbs against the cushions, your breathing laboured.

"i didn't make this call, did i?" you ask meekly, pointing at a brief call in the late hours of the night prior that sits at the top of his call history. it's from your number, but you're confident you hadn't been the one to dial.

rintarou pouts a little bit, avoiding your eyes. after a moment he shakes his head. you groan, rolling over on the sofa underneath him and hiding your face in your hands.

"i wasn't even there long, i promise," rintarou says, his voice impossibly close because of the way the two of you are sprawled across the sofa. his breath is warm against the column of your throat when he speaks.

you refuse to look at him.

"i didn't even say anything embarassing."

you still don't budge.

"i made sure to thank your coworkers for calling me to come get you and everything."

your hangover has been overtaken by your own mortification, a horrible heat creeping up your face to accompany the taste of bile in your throat. you've been so, so careful not to let your relationship and your career overlap thus far. so cautious about introducing rintarou into parts of your life that would make it even harder to face if or when the time came that he wasn't around anymore.

"are you embarrassed of me?"

his question makes your chest ache. the way he says it twists the knife.

you lift your face from your hands and peek at him over your shoulder. he's so close that your noses almost brush.

"no." you mean it.

the anxiety in rintarou's gaze eases. he presses closer.

"you sure?"

you narrow your eyes at him. "depends. were you wearing that awful yellow track suit?"

rintarou laughs, all breath, and then dips down to kiss you softly. you want to complain that you haven't even brushed your teeth yet, or that you kind of feel like you might be sick, or that whatever he was trying to cook is on the brink of burning down the building. but you don't. you just let him rest on top of you. you let yourself enjoy it.

when he finally pulls away, rintarou has a somewhat sly smile on his face.

"what, rin?" you ask him gently.

"just wondering if now that i've met your coworkers you're going to let me come visit you at lunch, or if you're still gonna make me hide in the park."

"i like the park," you pout.

because the park is green, the colour you like so much. like rintarou's scratchy bedsheets. and his eyes.

"okay, okay," he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i like the park, too."

[jamil-s-wifey]

I saw the rules that NSFW is fine & things u don't write for the NSFW, soo may i req hcs of Savannaclaw's dorm with gn!s/o (f!s/o is ok too) where s/o asks the boys to breed them? Ummm is my req still alright? do tell me if u feel uncomfortable with this. Thank u!

Yes, of course, your request is perfectly fine! One interesting proposition towards the Savannaclaw dorm coming right up! Thank you for diligently reading the rules! ♥️ I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Nsfw under the cut!

Leona

See, he gets it. You're dating a beastman. Of course you'd want to get a taste of the wild side - the primal urges, the possessive bitemarks, the delicious feeling of being full to the brim, like a good little bitch in heat. He gets it. ...But that doesn't mean he won't have some fun with it.

"Breeding, huh? You think just 'cus I'm a beastman, that we call it breeding, that it comes natural or something? Wanna live out your little creampie fantasies through me, huh?"

Oh that accusatory tone, that sharp glare.

Just as you were about to apologise, he interrupted you.

"You'd stand correct, herbivore."

Oh, that piece of-

And he was on you, pinning you to the nearest surface, which ended up being the bed itself. (Lazy lion be lazing) Sharp canines scraped over the pulse point on your neck, as his hips ground into you.

"You wanna be bred, huh? Filled to the brim, marked and scented, so that everybody will know who you belong to? Careful what you wish for, little herbivore."

"You might just get it. Now spread your legs."

Ruggie

He right about *choked*.

You? With him? Now?!? But he's not prepared for fatherhood. He'd want to have a steady income to provide for his family and - and it's so tempting, and you're pulling him in with those glassy eyes, and delicious lips and-

Oh, you meant in like-. Oh You just really want to be filled, don't you. Okay. He can work with that.

He'd be for sure frazzled at first, but very quickly get into rhythm. The more ye imagines it, the more obsessed he gets with the image of your hole dripping with his cum, reddened, used and thoroughly bred.

He'd have to wait until nighttime, when he's free, but the moment you two were left to your own devices he was quick to shed your clothing, nearly ripping yours from your body.

Surprisingly eager, considering the state of pure panic he was in earlier that day. All teeth, and growls, and breathless moaning, and all just for you.

"Shishishi, and here I thought I was the wild one. Oh doncha worry, I'll fill you plenty~."

Somehow that sounded more like a threat than a promise and you were content with both.

Jack

Every single fiber within Jack's body was screaming at him to take you right then and there. His instincts were going haywire at the prospect. He needed you carnally, viscerally... and you were just offering yourself to him?

His tail was a dead giveaway, as to the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him, as he stared at you. His fingers were twitching, aching to get a hold of you.

"You....do realise what that entails, right? We uh...we mate for life. I know you find it..uhm.....attractive, but I have to warn you."

He figured you were aware, he just couldn't believe it. His breeding also entailed a knot after all. You had to be warned. And you already knew. Of course you knew, you'd been together for years. After hearing your wholehearted confirmation, he felt the thin thread of his self-control snap within him.

A deep guttural growl left his throat, as he stepped towards you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for the kiss of a lifetime. Big, rough hands travelled from your face, to your neck and down your body, only to lift you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"I can't wait to paint your insides white. You'd look so good, full and sated, my perfect mate."

Who are you and what did you do to my Jack?

[fyodior]

alpha!toji x afab reader // more breedtober!! cw: toji in rut, lots of pregnancy/breeding talk, brief cockwarming, vaginal sex, toji is just Pathetic and Desperate. enjoy!!

want more breedtober?

“quit it, toji,” you scolded, smacking away the hand that crept closer between your thighs as his hips started to buck up into you.

currently naked from the waist down and a little bit pissed off, you were sat on toji’s lap at your desk, also trying to get some work done on your laptop. his hard, leaking cock was also buried deep inside you.

“can’t take it anymore, darlin’,” he grunted, gripping your hips tight. his face was bright red and dripping with sweat, forehead leaned against your back as he desperately tried to hold onto any semblance of self control he had left. it was quickly waning.

thought you could feel the way his heart was pumping in his chest and his breath quickening, you had already dedicated way too much time these past few days to taking care of toji in his rut and you really needed to get work done. your manager had been kind enough to allow you to work from home this week, but you still had to work. though toji, in this state, really struggled to understand that.

toji’s ruts hit him hard - there was no dose of rut or hormone suppressants that could touch them. he was absolutely insatiable, already horny again within minutes of his knot deflating from the last round. this was really unfortunate for you, his lover who still had a job.

so you promised if he let you get some work done typing out reports and emails, you’d sit on his cock and warm it while doing so. just thirty minutes was all you asked for, but he was struggling hard after only fifteen.

“can’t take it anymore,” he repeated, his tone more strangled this time.

“just fifteen more minutes, baby,” you attempted to soothe, checking the time on your laptop. you knew there was almost no chance on him lasting that much longer, but you figured you’d at least try.

it wasn’t like you weren’t horny too. his long, thick cock throbbed and leaked inside you, making you twitch and unable to keep your hips still. and you had lost focus on this email thread about ten minutes ago. the cockwarming was supposedly to be a relief thing until you could help him out, but clearly it wasn’t working.

“ok, fine,” you griped, closing your laptop and shoving it to the edge of the desk, knowing full well how feral toji was about to go.

“finally,” the poor man gasped.

standing up, he bent you over the desk with a little more force than he meant to, slightly knocking the air out of your lungs as your chest met the wood.

“toji,” you whined as he manhandled you, not even bothering to ask him to be gentler - you knew he was incapable of it at this point. there was no fighting biology.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he grunted.

his large frame enveloped you entirely, chest pressed against your back as a means for leverage before thrusting back into you. the length and girth of his cock was unlike you’d ever experienced before, leaving you choking and gasping for air when he bottomed out within seconds. at least being lucid enough to understand that, he gave you a moment to adjust, your fingers losing feeling where they were gripping the edge of the desk.

“you okay, baby?” toji asked.

“ ‘m fine, toj,” you breathed, eyes screwed shut. “you’re okay.” he didn’t need any more encouragement.

there wasn’t much buildup - he had already done plenty of it in his hormone-addled mind waiting for you to finish up. he just needed to get off so fucking bad. his hard, deep, purposeful thrusts left you breathless, grunting and groaning right into your ear and clouding your senses.

“gonna breed you so full of my, pups, darlin’, need to get you pregnant,” he babbled, kissing your neck and back as he blew them out. “want you carrying twins - or even triplets.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his ramblings about breeding you, brain clearly completely overtaken by his rut and primal need to breed you.

sweat matted his dark hair to his forehead and dripped down the sides of his face as his fatigued body worked hard to keep up with his uncontrollable impulses.

“need- you- pregnant-” he growled, each word punctuated with a hard thrust into your poor, abused pussy.

you could feel him in your guts he was fucking you so deep. normally, his thrusts were somewhat shallow and erratic when he was just trying to get off and feel normal again, but this session had morphed into something completely different. the goal now was to fuck precum and cum so deep into your pussy and coat your cervix to force your womb to take it - you needed to carry his pups.

a hand came to rest against your lower belly, gasping as you felt the way it bulged out at the presence of his cock. you started to imagine what that bulge might look like if it were babies instead of cock.

“feels so good, toj,” you decided to encourage. he grinned wide at that, a shaky hand running through your hair as he kissed the side of your face.

“yeah? feel g-good, pretty little thing? my cock feel good?” he was rambling once again.

toji could feel himself teetering on the edge, slowly being pushed further due to your words and you clenching tight around his length. the hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your ass as he bottomed out with every thrust, reveling in the tight, wet heat of your perfect cunt.

“fuck, gonna c-” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before his knot was swelling and he shot thick, hot ropes of cum deep into your pussy, even whining a bit. you couldn’t help but cry out as his thick knot suddenly stretched you out even wider than his cock did.

“sorry, baby,” he muttered, petting your hair as his orgasm finally brought him back to his senses. he remained draped over you as he waited for his knot to deflate.

“ ‘s okay, my love,” you chuckled, still out of breath. “hopefully you’re feeling better now.”

“always feel better when i’m with you,” he cooed, kissing your cheek. his knot very slowly began to shrink.

“though you definitely would look really hot pregnant.”

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Aemond X Wife!Reader: Words of comfort

Warning: fluff, Aemond being a good husband, talk of pregnancy, fear of faliure, reader is a bit self consious, no use of y/n, gn reader

Word count: 970

You stared into the mirror, face twisted into a concentrated expression as you tried, for the third time, to finish your hairstyle. Normally a maid would help you do your hair but you’d sent her to help Heleana with her children. There never seemed to be enough people to help the twins when they got fussy. Heleana did her best of course but sometimes it was to much for the young mother to handle. 

You groaned in frustration, watching as your hair began to unravel on its own. Aemond watched you twist your arms behind your back in an attempt to grab a chunk of hair that was missing from your braid. A small smile tugged at his lips. You were quite amusing like this. He could have watched you in silence for the rest of the day but your eyes caught him in the reflection causing you to turn to face him.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I merely wanted to sit with you.”

“Well then, make yourself comfortable.”

Aemond began to walk around the room. You turned back to the mirror, focusing on the task at hand once more. Aemond stared out the window of your room, his eyes moving over the world outside with little interest. He was far more interested in the small rage filled noises you kept letting out. 

“Oh I give up.”

You groaned, placing your hairbrush on the table in aggravation. You placed your head in your hands, sighing in defeat. Aemond made his way towards you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved his palms against your body in a comforting manner. You let out a small sound, raising your head so you could see him. It was silly that something so simple had managed to get tears from your eyes but Aemond knew you weren’t crying about your hair. There was something more to it, and he would find out what.

“Want me to help?”

“I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. More important matters.”

“No matter is more important than the joy of my wife.”

You smiled at him, placing your hand on top of his. Aemond moved to sit behind you, fingers moving against your hair. You watched him unbraid your hair before grabbing the hairbrush of the table. He brushed your hair thoroughly, making sure there were knots. Once he was satisfied he placed the hairbrush down and began to braid your hair. His slim fingers moved over your locks gently. He looked so focused that you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him.

“How many do you want?”

“Two. And then you tie them together.”

Aemond gave you a hum moving to do the hairstyle you had requested. He’d seen you in it loads of times, it was your go to hairdo. It took him a while to get it just right, the amount of hair you had was quite large. Once he was done he rested his hand on your shoulders, observing as you took in his work. You turned your head so you could look at him straight on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you husband.”

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Want to braid mine?”

“Yes.”

Aemond switched positions with you, allowing you to become face to face with his hair. You knew he would remove the small braids you filled his hair with after he left the room but you didn’t mind. Messing with his hair calmed you down and Aemond knew that better then anyone.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?”

You let out a sigh moving to start another small braid. Aemond waited for you to start talking, his eye watching your lips quiver for a moment. When you finally started to speak he could tell you were trying very hard to hold back tears.

“I can’t do anything right. I can’t thread my corsets alone. I can’t braid my hair. The last time i tried to embroider my dress I stained it with red because I kept pricking my finger with the needle.”

These were all things that bothered you but Aemond knew there was something else. Something bigger. You bit into your lip, sighing once more before closing your eyes. 

“I can’t get pregnant.” 

There it was. The real root of the problem.

“How am i supposed to be a good wife to you if i can’t even perform my duties correctly.”

Aemond turned around, his hair slipping from your fingers as he did so. He placed a palm on your cheek. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Aemond its my one-”

“I do not care. You are my wife and I love you. It doesn't matter if you can’t get pregnant right now, we have time.”

“And if I do get pregnant, what if…what if I'm not a good mother?”

“That isn’t possible. I’ve seen you with Heleana's kids. They adore you. There isn't a bad bone inside your body. You will make a fine mother. Just as you make a fine wife.”

Aemond’s thumb moved to wipe away your tears before placing a small kiss to your temple. You moved forward, allowing Aemond to tug you into his embrace. His hands moved over your hair, tracing over the braids he’d made moments ago.

“And another thing. I quite enjoy the process of making a baby.”

“Aemond!”

You gave him a playful slap to the arm, feeling his chest move as he laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, Aemond had a way of always seeing the very best in you. You loved him for it. You raised your head from his chest, placing a kiss to his lips. He rested his head against your forehead, closing his eyes.

“I love you Aemond.”

“I love you more.”

[poppy-metal]

twisting urself up in knots abt craving a rougher more frenzied touch from ur husband after the baby’s born ur body’s changed but ur libido hasnt and u dnt know how to ask for more so ur becoming more closed off meanwhile everytime yall do have sex art’s fighting demons to not stick his thumb in ur ass and plow u into the mattress

it's literally ridiculous like yall are STUPID. I feel like eventually you'd just blow the lid off during an argument YOU started because you're moody and horny and arts wearing a knit sweater and looks so fucking hot and dilfy you want to kick him. you want him to bend you over and slap your ass and beat your pussy up on his dick. and he won't!!!!! you yell at him for something stupid and simple like putting your babies toys away wrong (he wasn't) and art is so lost puppy about it all, he just wants to fix it, he hates seeing you upset. and eventually you just spit out - "you think I'm ugly!!" and burst into tears.

art almost cries himself because that statement has never been more untrue and his baby is sobbing and it's somehow all his fault and he sweeps you in his arms and kisses the top of your head so so tenderly. "baby, what's wrong? you know that's not true." when you don't answer him he pulls back, holds you at arms length. "hey. it's not true. you're fucking beautiful. like, it hurts how pretty you are."

you bottom lip wobbles. "th - then why don't you touch me anymore?" you say pitifully and art rubs his hands up and down your arms, his brows pinched in confusion.

"I do - I do touch you. am i.... is there a way I should be touching you that I'm not?"

you look away.

art implores you gently, "baby, please. talk to me."

"how you touched me when we were." you flushed. "trying for our baby. you don't touch me like that anymore, you don't- you don't fuck me like that.... anymore...."

art is quiet. his cheeks get pink. his hands squeeze your arms. he fumbles for what to say for a second and when you start to pull away he tightens his hold, almost loosens it, but then he sees the wide eyed expression you make and keeps his grip firm.

"you want me to -" he clears his throat. he's got alot of thoughts right now, "you want it like that with me? again?"

you look at him, incredulous. he seems shy about it. insecure, even.

"art that was the hottest sex of my life. I think about it when I touch myself next to you while you're asleep."

oh.

"oh."

you look at his chest, embarrassed by your outburst. you'd essentially thrown a tantrum over not getting dicked down the way you wanted to be and you felt like a brat. but he was your husband, dammit. you should be able to communicate to him. even about embarrassing things. and what was so embarrassing about wanting him, anyway? he was fucking hot.

"I miss you fucking me like - like I'm a slut." you mumbled the last part. aware your baby is just in the other room, put down for a nap. you don't want her to wake up and hear mommy and daddy talking about this stuff - even if she can't understand it. "you were so out of control back then - like you couldn't get enough of me and were just taking what was yours." you bite your lip. "I liked that."

art is so relieved. he'd been harboring guilt for the way he acted like an animal when he was trying to get you pregnant. he'd just..... he had a thread of control he was used to maintaining and it fucking snapped. he'd been working on keeping it intact ever since because that's what he thought you wanted.

"you liked it." he echoes. almost in wonder. he's looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted given to him wrapped in a little bow. the mother of his baby. the love of his life. his wife. the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. and the girl he wanted to bend over a bed and pound into without restraint. "that's - im glad you did." his ears are burning, cherry red. he naws on his bottom lip. "I wasn't sure you wanted to be treated like that again. it was - I was -" he chuckles, a flash of dimple. "- well I wasn't exactly gentle with you."

"I know." you tell him. you sway into him, his arms go around your waist and your arms hook around his neck. your fingers finding the babyhairs curling at the base of his neck and playing with them. "you fucked the shit out me."

your vulgarity makes him laugh - makes you giggle too. he quiets and when he looks at you, your whole body shivers. his pupils are dilated. his hands venture down your body, cupping your ass in his big hands and squeezing.

"I wanna have you like that again." he tells you, honest. his voice is soft and earnest which just makes his next words all the more intense. "I want to fuck you so hard you don't ever doubt how bad I fucking want you." he grips your ass hard, makes you gasp. "need that thought out of your pretty little head as soon as possible, actually."

you're breathless. "my mom," you tell him, "we can have her babysit- a- and we can have a night just the two of us."

he licks over his teeth, already thinking of your body under his - naked and twisted in pleasure as he teases that hot little pussy.

"I'll get us a hotel." he tells you. "do all the things I've been wanting to do to you - "

you nod eagerly "yes -"

the baby starts crying. but you're not disappointed. you feel tummy flutters as art kisses your forehead, lingering for a moment - before he goes to check on your daughter. god he's so fucking hit.

you wonder how he'd feel about you calling him 'daddy' in bed.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Desperation

A/N: I wrote something very similar to this with the Belsire previously but I couldn't help myself 🙏

Belsire: male equivalent to the Beldam (Coraline)

CW: kidnapping, manipulation, sewing needles

A beautiful lullaby hummed against your ear, fog-like breath both chilly and thick caressed against its shell.

You never imagined that he could sew; sure, he was keen to cook you extravagant dinners, you never saw him clean despite the crooked house always spotless, and the clothes that were put in your drawers were consistently washed-- but such delicate needlework? You didn't think the creature had it in him. His fingers seemed made for it though, long and spindly and black at the tips, they held the needle at a fine point, without having to lick the end of the thread before putting it through the eye.

"Stab the needle through the eye....wrap two knots around the tongue, and pull it out the mouth."

His low, rasped voice was unlike anything you've heard from the men in the "real" world. Its croaky demure made sound as if his vocal chords were on the brink of snapping. It was very few and far between that his voice resounded throughout the house in a thunder-like boom.

Tonight, was not one of those nights. Not unless you made an effort to wrangle out of between his stick-like forearms in the wooden chair and began yelling ungrateful spiels whilst staying in HIS house. He said it was yours-- your "other home," but since the gateway tunnel back to your original 1-bedroom apartment became nothing but sturdy drywall with a key hole, its been his. It was always his, you were just too blind to see past the beautiful illusions built for you.

"Just like that... mending is simple work."

You feel his left hand, the one once holding your torn cardigan steady, reach up to lay a cold finger beneath your chin. It rubs back and forth, relishing in the warmth of your throat, the soft flesh between your jaw and jugular.

The Belsire seemed to enjoy running his smooth, icy digits along your naked skin, brushing from side to side, up and down to dip against your collar bone. He relished your warm-bloodedness from how often he took advantage of it. It was a wild contrast to his ever-frozen, rigid body draped in fine blacks and bruised shadows.

"C-can you show me again?" You plead, hoping the end of this activity wouldn't be the finale before your demise. Each time you have one of these "bonding" sessions the Belsire encourages you to entertain him with, you anticipate it being your last.

Each day you wait and wait... wondering if he's hungry again, if it'll hurt, if you'll make one more frustrated comment away that'll make him snap and pick your bones clean.

"Again..?" He tapped thrice on your neck, a twitching habit that sent cold shocks through you. "Why don't you try it yourself this time, dear?"

The sweet, affectionate name oozing from his lips was unnatural-- and yet, perfectly normal for the creature of love seduction. How many had fallen for that same adoring title, only to find themselves now locked in his stomach?

You couldn't tell anymore what was genuine adoration, or a disturbing method at getting you to put your guard down. When he was angry with you, for hiding or attempting another escapade to get back home,  'dear' transformed to spits of "insolent one" and "maddening human", at the very least. On his worst days you were a bewitching, dimwitted little creature too stupid to be let free- better off in his hands if not crunched between his teeth.

"I'm not too sure, I might..accidentally stab myself with the needle, you know?"

You shrug in feigned helplessness, hoping your lack of enthusiasm wouldn't tick him closer to the dark side.

"If you do, then I'll lick your wound and we can start again. Give it a try, won't you? I've seen your work on my coats," he mumbles lowly at the rest of his comments, "and that damned quilt you seem keen to keep."

He muses at the mention of your skilled handiwork you sneak to do when he's gone away at "none of your concern" events. However he knew of your activities in this prison cell while he was out didn't surprise you; the house had eyes, in places you'd rather not think of.

You took the needle from within his delicate grasp, mahogany red thread swinging loose and ready to be tightly wound in your wine colored cardigan.

You copy the movements he had done a million times, though you really weren't watching when he had. It was hard to concentrate with your body shivering, waiting for a sharp dagger or set of teeth to find it's way buried in your back.

The Belsire seems to ease up as you begin to complete the torn cardigan hole, placing two abnormally long hands upon the sides of your shoulders.

"Don't move," he grumbles, almost annoyed at the idea. "Smooth and quite warm... I never understood the pleasure of keeping food around longer than it's due date. But you, little button... why, you're almost opening a soft spot inside of me.."

You didn't like the sound of that. A soft spot within him would certainly be something he sought to squash.

"Are you sure you want a soft spot? I'm not even sure where that would be."

You almost laugh at your own joke, imagining his crisp limbs deflated. If you were making a soft spot, you best keep at making it grow.

"It seems you force it in me, whether I like it or not. I enjoy having you to myself, to come home to... even if the idea that you're taking part of me, is... infuriating."

The Belsire leans deeper into you, pressing the inside of his thighs against yours, craning his neck downward.

"The unfortunate part is, I think I may fall apart if you disappear."

You see the looks he gives from the corner of your eye; dark, empty buttons staring into you, awaiting your reaction. Was this another attempt to swoon you?

"Then I guess that means you can't eat me."

You sigh, hoping he'd agree. And oddly enough, he cracks a grin.

"I guess not. Though, don't hold your breath. I can't make any promises as to what my temper will lead to." The bridge of his nose is uncharacteristically pressed against your cheek, black dots boring holes into you. "On the topic, I'd be less inclined to eat you if you accepted my present..."

You round off the last bit of stitching, only to see an all too familiar velvet box on your left. It was open, music box playing a soft melody as a range of colors and sizes in buttons were available to view.

"I... I still can't, give you an answer." You go back to tying an end to the thread, praying for the Belsire's eerily calm mood to stay uninterrupted.

He goes quiet, habitually running a thumb down the shell of your ear. The chill was almost welcoming, soft flesh touching your heated one. It felt... genuine, a form of physical affection that was done for his pleasure more than your own. It would be comforting, if you weren't waiting for him to explode.

"I expected as much," he calmly huffs, shutting the box with a single finger. Its harsh snap made you drop the thread. "But you can't expect me to wait forever; you aren't going home. You will remain here, either as my slave, or my spouse. The difference is whether I have to force these buttons on you, or you take them willingly."

"I.. I just need a little more time. I haven't-- I'm not-- done adjusting. I'm not used to this world, like you."

You've given up pleading; for all you knew, there was no way back home that either of you could conjure. This was your fate.

Like a doll he dressed and cleaned and made a perfect dollhouse for, you were to sit here and provide him the comfort he could not create on his own. Like a god, creating his creatures of free will, he relished in the uniqueness you offered without him having to fabricate it first, the obedience you gave from fear in your own desire rather than a direct command.

A long silence left the air hanging stagnant, your patchwork sitting in front of you, finished and yet not quite the same as it once was. Why couldn't you go to the store and buy a new one, spend frivolous money and speak to the miserable cashier that reminded you humanity was still alive?

"...Fine. But not much longer, my sweet button...this-- mortal flesh still tying you to your world, has kept me at a distance I do not wish to stand at." A soft kiss, from creased, inexperienced lips touched the top of your cheekbone. "I want you for myself... I don't like not getting the things I want. And, I want you far more desperately than I imagined."

His voice was stoic, gentle and logical despite the romantic lines that were fed to you. Spindly fingers pulled back pieces of your hair, caressing the skin on your face with soft strokes. Like a human would do to an animal, running his knuckles against your cheek and his fingertips along your jaw.

Just a simple touch and turn of your chin was all it took to make you look at him.

"Don't make me wait. I will have you, and I want it to be because you will it. Please, don't make me do what neither of us want."

His tongue was warmer than his touch, somehow. Maybe it led to his even warmer heart, but you doubted it. Even with the way both his large, balmy palms were gripping beside your ears, pulling your face to touch his in a dance of lips and stolen breath, you wondered if this was just another web of lies spun to create your damnation.

But the desperation in how he swallowed you whole, pulling your hands away from the touchy needlework he was once keen on making you finish-- there was something human about it all, something touchy and irritable and obsessive. If he wanted you desperately then, you could only imagine how horribly ridden he was now, feeling your warmth as he made you colder with his hands and wrists, him never changing.

You peeked an eye open, wondering if those buttons stayed all-seeing, all watching, even when you kissed.

[lowkeyren]

YOUR DOCTOR AT BAY, KEEPS THE NIGHTMARES AWAY!

in which — your boyfriend comforts you from a nightmare

pairing —dr ratio x gn!reader

"an apple a day, keeps the doctor away" lol get it, short comfort fic ft our favourite doctor, from req: here!, reblogs w comments are vv much appreciated, anyway please enjoy!!! <3

the air constricts around you like a tightening vice, each breath coming harder than the last; your quiet sobs fill the room as the darkness envelops you like a shroud. the recurring nightmares haunt you each time you close your eyes, never failing to ensnare you in their chilling embrace.

the suffocating darkness presses in, its weight bearing down on your chest as you struggle to breathe; you curl into yourself, sweat lining against your back, clutching the bedsheets as if it’s your only tether to reality. the sheets twist and damp from your restless movements, you let out a yelp involuntarily, a desperate cry that echoes in the oppressive silence of the night. 

your heart races, pounding in your chest with each beat reverberating through your entire body, amplifying the fear coursing through your veins. your breathing now erratic, your eyebrows furrowing as you feel the walls around you slowly closing in.

in the midst of your turmoil, a gentle touch breaks through the chaos. dr ratio’s hand finds yours, his touch cool and reassuring against the feverish warmth of your skin. 

“you’re safe with me.” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering fear.

with his other arm, dr ratio draws you close, enveloping you in his comforting embrace. his heartbeat, steady and strong, reverberates against your chest, reassuring that you’re indeed, safe with him.

“i’m sorry i woke you up. i’m fine i—” you say meekly, unable to steady the shaky tone in your voice. “shh,” he squeezes your hand lightly, “you don’t need to apologize, i will be here for you, no matter what.”

you subconsciously lean into him, the scent of his skin a familiar anchor in the swirling maelstrom of your mind. he strokes your back gently, the tension in your brows loosen as you nestle into him. the fear and dread gnawing at your mind slowly dissipates, replaced by the soft touch of dr ratio tracing gentle circles on your back.

he notices stains of tears glistening on your cheeks, and your figure trembling slightly. “look at me,” you look up to meet his gaze as he wipes away the lingering tears with his thumb, “take a deep breath, it was just a dream.” his voice is tender and soothing, breaking through the remnants of fear. 

“i'm here,” he leans down, his breath warm against your hair. “and i’m not going anywhere.”

his arms are wrapped securely around you, the warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away any lingering chill of fear. he continues to stroke your back, the tender motion helps to unravel the tight knots of tension that have taken hold of your muscles.

“everything will be okay.” gradually, the room around you starts to feel less oppressive as you feel the walls that once seemed to trap you now loosening and expanding. “you’re safe with me,” he repeats, his gaze locking with yours.

you nod at his reassurance, opting to bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear slowly lulling you back to sleep. he continues to hold you tightly, his fingers gently threading through your hair in soothing motions. 

he presses a tender kiss to the crown of your head, "sleep well, my dear." 

with those final words, you finally allow yourself to fully relax, the safety of his embrace guiding you into a deep, restful sleep. 

no matter what nightmares may come, dr ratio will always be there to hold you through them; even in the darkest hours, you are not alone. no matter how irrational “love” may seem, he knows that he will never fail to pull you back from the abyss that threatens to consume you, not when you’re safely cradled in his arms.

masterlist

[sunrenity]

ribbons ✶ nishimura riki

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ he loves tying pretty ribbons in your hair.

nishimura rikiㅤ✶ㅤfemale reader  .  g  fluff, est relationship, boyfriend! riki  .  wc  312 (0.3k)  .  bookshelf

EACH MORNING, YOU SIT at the vanity, light filtering softly through the window. the room fills with the gentle rustle of fabric as nishimura riki chooses a ribbon from the collection. his fingers, deft and careful, weave through your hair, pulling strands into delicate braids and knots.

"hold still," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. you do, letting the warmth of his touch and the quiet intimacy of the moment envelope you. the ribbon slides through his fingers, vibrant against the dark silk of your hair, a perfect contrast that makes you feel like a piece of art.

he steps back, eyes scanning his handiwork with a satisfied nod. "there, perfect," he says, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. you catch his reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with affection and a hint of pride.

"why do you always do this?" you ask softly, turning to look at him.

his grin widens, playful yet sincere. "because i love making you look even more beautiful," he replies, threading his fingers through the finished braid. "and i love the way you smile when you see it."

you smile, the simple joy of his attention and care making your heart flutter. with each ribbon he ties, riki's love is woven into every strand, a testament to the quiet moments that bind you together.

you smile, the simple joy of his attention and care making your heart flutter. with each ribbon he ties, riki’s love is woven into every strand, a testament to the quiet moments that bind you together.

"plus," he adds, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear, "i just love seeing you happy."

you laugh softly, turning to kiss his cheek. "you always know how to make my day."

riki chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "and i always will."

© sunrenity , don't plagiarize, steal or repost my work on any platform !

[armory-rasa]

COUCH POUCH!! Free Pattern & Tutorial

...called thus because they use upholstery-weight leather for the bag body, that in my case was in fact skinned off a couch. 🤣 Turns out they are relatively quick and easy to make, so I tidied up the pattern for printing and took pictures to document the process when I made another five of them.

First off, print your pattern, 100% scale:

The bag shape was a modified version of the pattern I used for the Morpheus sandbag, but sized to fit in the roughly 11" squares that my couch skin came in. It makes a bag that sits very well on a tabletop, thanks to the flat base.

Though it turned out to not be the most efficient use of material, because that plus-shaped pattern tessellates well, if you're cutting them out of a full hide, but makes a lot of waste when you're cutting them out of squares of material. A more efficient design would have a half-rounded front and back, and a gusset between them, like so:

Ah well. It's not like I have any shortage of couch skin, though for the next round I'm going to experiment with a more efficient pattern.

First step, trace and cut out the bag body from your chrome-tan leather:

Like I said, this was upholstery leather, but anything that's flexible and ~1.5 mm thick will do.

The flap and front need to be a stiffer leather though -- I used 7 oz latigo, but veg-tan would work equally well. (And then you could ✨tool it!✨)

Cut them out, and then use the pattern to mark where your holes are going to be. Mark the holes on your bag body too:

The latigo pieces get hand-stitched to the bag body, so I used a stitching groover to carve out little channels for the thread -- it's not strictly necessary, but it makes your stitches lay a lot more neatly:

Punch the holes shown below:

I used a ~5 mm hole punch for those, and a 1.5" slot punch for the belt loops. Some of the holes on the front piece you're not punching yet, because they need to go through both layers.

I put a dab of contact cement on the pieces (circled in white) to help hold them in place when I go to punch the stitching holes:

(Make sure you're not putting glue between the belt loops)

Wait fifteen minutes for the contact cement to dry until tacky, and then line up the holes and the edges and press the pieces together:

Punch stitching holes:

Saddle-stitch both pieces in place (takes 28" of thread per):

Now you can punch these holes:

(I used a slightly smaller hole punch than for the others, but it doesn't really matter.)

Now press the right sides of the leather together and sew up the seams from the inside:

A regular sewing machine should be able to handle this, though you will need thicker thread, a heavy-duty leather-sewing needle, and a walking foot attachment. (If you don't have a walking foot attachment, it is SO WORTH getting one, even if you don't expect to sew much leather. Seriously, I use it for everything -- once you go walking foot, you don't go back. 💀) Because you can't pin leather without leaving permanent holes in it, tiny binder clips can be helpful for keeping your material lined up.

What they look like when you're finished sewing:

Cut 19" of lacing for the drawstring, and 11" of lacing for the toggle:

I use the 1/8" EcoSoft lace from Tandy, I think it's stronger than real leather would be at that thickness. The only important factor here is that you need something with a bit of texture and friction -- a silk cord isn't going to stay closed, it's going to slip open.

MANY BAGS.

For these I used a wooden toggle -- cut another 8" of lacing, looped it through the toggle twice, and then made a tight square knot on the back:

But another option is putting a concho or a large button on the flap. The bag I copied this design from, in fact, uses a concho toggle:

Thread some beads on the laces to keep the ends from getting lost, and you are DONE! 😁

Happy Bagging!

[netegf]

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot. 

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath. 

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were. 

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another. 

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding. 

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway. 

Some things don't change. 

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses. 

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs. 

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too. 

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister. 

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend. 

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you. 

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere. 

Much to Topper's devastation. 

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise. 

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply. 

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you. 

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow. 

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely. 

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again. 

"You know he would do anything for you, right?" 

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you. 

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point." 

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat. 

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink. 

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face. 

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well. 

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him. 

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights. 

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.  

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly. 

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud. 

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly. 

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically. 

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray. 

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow. 

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming. 

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted. 

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display. 

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath. 

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage. 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it. 

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there. 

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him. 

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking. 

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint. 

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night. 

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates. 

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs. 

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway. 

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?" 

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again. 

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently. 

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you. 

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after. 

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else. 

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?" 

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house. 

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt. 

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway. 

"I love these." 

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much. 

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check. 

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat. 

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you. 

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes. 

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day. 

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing. 

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators. 

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night. 

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included. 

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.  

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all. 

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine. 

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger. 

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.  

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head. 

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date. 

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything." 

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall. 

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl. 

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together. 

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about. 

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am." 

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company. 

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you. 

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself. 

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off. 

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!". 

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin. 

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing. 

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote. 

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them. 

"Maybe later." You reply quietly. 

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else. 

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees. 

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized. 

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like." 

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that." 

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?" 

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point. 

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off. 

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement. 

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy. 

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs. 

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask." 

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that." 

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?" 

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity. 

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart. 

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long." 

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder. 

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party." 

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue." 

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground. 

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness. 

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!