#there is not a single bone left in there

[dustandthought]

Did Charles commit suicide?

What if he didn’t go north... What if he left for good? (A soul-crushing headcanon about Charles Smith)

What if Charles took his own life? Yes, yes, just like that — what if he left, not north, but FOR GOOD. I keep thinking about this more and more. Because so much about him screams — “I can’t do this anymore.”

Everyone says: he went to Canada. Oh sure, sure. But maybe it’s time to stop repeating that comforting bedtime story. Canada was mentioned once, barely, like a breath. But in another dialogue — he says he wants to go to INDOCHINA. Can you imagine? Indochina! Where is that, and where’s Canada, and where is he? He’s lost. He’s torn. He doesn’t know where to go. Because he feels at home NOWHERE. And all of this — it’s not a plan. It’s emptiness. It’s pain wrapped in scraps of fantasy.

And when he tells John: “What does your family need an old gunslinger for?” — that’s NOT A JOKE. That’s a scream. A plea. A wound masked as a smile. Because he’s the outsider among friends. He’s the extra. He’s just... there. But he’s not part of it. And he knows that. Feels it in his bones. In his heart.

He doesn’t even sleep in the house. Doesn’t sleep on the property. Wanders into the woods. Into the dark. Into solitude. Some would say — it’s just habit, right? He’s used to the wild. Used to isolation. Bullshit. It’s not habit. It’s escape. Because being close — hurts. Watching Abigail, watching John, watching their child — it’s like a blade across the soul. Their dream came true. And him? Who is he? He’s — no one. Once, he was an outcast among outcasts. Now he’s just... the only one left. Alone among the joyful.

And the doubts he voices to John — “Will this life be enough for you?” — that’s not about John. That’s about himself. He’s asking himself. He doesn’t believe happiness is possible for him. That he deserves it. That he’s even capable of feeling something other than this tight, choking loneliness.

And that talk about going north, starting a family, finding a woman... I DON’T BELIEVE IT. NOT A SINGLE WORD. It sounds like a script. A rehearsed line. A mask. A way to say something so they’ll stop asking. He has no plan. No place. No direction. He says it himself. “I don’t know where.”

Not Canada. Not Wapiti. He could’ve gone back there a hundred times. In eight years. But he didn’t. Because he never saw it as home. It was something lost, something nostalgic — not a place he was needed.

And just finding a woman? Really? This is Charles. A man who lets NO ONE in. He’s built like a fortress. In his mind. In his soul. In his silence. And if he lets someone in — it’s forever. And if he doesn’t — no one gets close. This isn’t about “settling down.” This is about finding a soul that moves him. And those are rare. Maybe one. Maybe none.

He says: “These last eight years, I’ve come to accept the things I can’t change.” Is that supposed to be hope? It’s not acceptance. It’s surrender. That’s not light at the end of the tunnel — it’s the tunnel closing in. It’s numbness. It’s emptiness.

And John, dear John… tells him: “You’re the strongest man I know.” I HATE THAT PHRASE. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY IT ABOUT HIM. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY IT ABOUT ME. It’s NOT strength. It’s survival. It’s when life beats you so hard, all you learn is not to fall. It’s not a choice. It’s endurance. He’s not strong. He’s exhausted. He’s shattered. He’s lonely, he’s silent, and he’s so, so tired.

Even if he met “the one” — would she love him? The real him? The broken one? The quiet one? The distant one? Or would she fall for the mask — for the “I’ve made peace with the past” lie? And if she never sees the real Charles — how could he ever be happy with her? He doesn’t do halfway. Not him.

Abigail and John are different. She knew his pain. All of it. His monsters. His sorrow. She accepted it. Who would accept Charles? Who even knows who he became?

And in that last ride... he says: “I’m heading north.” Turns down Sadie’s offer to work together. Says it’s time to move on. But what if he wasn’t moving forward. What if he was moving toward the end.

(Another powerful and unwavering argument for me: we all remember how Charles and John ride out to save Uncle in the epilogue — and how Charles, with a chilling steadiness, says that if the uncle’s wounds are too severe, the only mercy left would be to help him cross over. He speaks of killing — not driven by hatred, not poisoned by cruelty — but as a final act of love, a broken, desperate kindness to release a soul from agony. And I ask: was it only uncle’s suffering Charles wished to end? Or was he, too, reaching for a way to quiet his own howling grief? I believe he was. I believe he desperately was.)

What if that was his way of saying goodbye. Softly. Quietly. Not “farewell.” Just — gone. So they could keep living, believing he’s somewhere out there. Alive. Just... far. But in truth — he had already made peace. He had written his ending.

Not to the north. Not to Wapiti. Not to a woman. But to the place where nothing hurts anymore.

And if that’s what happened... if he really left...

...maybe, finally, he found peace.

[bats-and-the-birds]

I have an obsession with Batfam meets the Justice League fics and headcanons in general, and my favorite situation is when the JL fully knows Nightwing, he's on the team, they all like him quite a bit, and he's so charming and open seeming that they all collectively forget that they don't know anything about him.

I want that, then on a mission, fighting a magic user of some sort, Nightwing gets zapped back to young Robin age. So everyone else on said mission is left confronted with 9 year old Dick Grayson in full Robin gear, who is fully ready to fight every single one of them, and they generally have no idea what's happening or who this child is, other than the fact that he's probably young Nightwing, except he won't answer to that name.

And Dick, extremely confused and suspicious because he doesn't know half of the people there, and the ones that he is aware of are wearing different costumes or are just straight up different people than they're supposed to be, proceeds to try and fight them, then actively try to run away.

Then they finally manage to wrangle him back to the Watchtower, trying to grapple with the implications that Nightwing has been a highly trained, costume vigilante since childhood, and managed to break a bone in Green Arrow's hand before they subdued him, and is still thrashing around and trying to bite various League members.

They call Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman in to see if they have any idea what to do with him, and when Robin sees Batman, he squirms out of Flash's grasp, runs to Batman, and climbs up his side until he's wrapped himself around his shoulders like he does it every day.

The Bat lets this happen, sighs in exasperation, then calls Zatanna to help.

The League is then left to piece together why tiny child Nightwing ran to Batman for safety, and why Batman seems a whole lot less confused than everyone else.

[frownyalfred]

Being a Batkid doesn’t mean pushing through pain just for the ego or superiority win. It means pushing through pain long enough to make it somewhere safe to get help. It means not giving anyone, even an ally, a chance to parse weakness.

Dick finishes a rough mission with the Titans where he got thrown hard into a wall, smiles and jokes with everyone, and then zetas back to the Cave where he promptly throws up and collapses because almost every bone in his left arm is broken and not a single person noticed.

[buckysleftbicep]

eyes don't lie 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (no spoilers though!)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, one bed trope, dom!bucky, lots of sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, self-pleasure, rough sex, slight degradation, bucky manhandles you, rough sex (please read the warnings)

summary: you and bucky were trapped in a storm during mission, with one bed and so much tension. (really just lots of filthy sex guys)

word count: 2.8k

author's note: hi! i am obsessed with the one bed trope and i've been trying to write something for thunderbolts!bucky! i am glad i finally finished this up! thank you for reading! again, please read the warnings, I received some comments on my previous work, i understand my fics may not be for everyone, so please take care to read the warnings! love ya guys and stay safe!

It should have been easy, a covert extraction in the Romanian wilderness, just as you and Bucky had planned, weeks ago. Intel in, asset out, and given how you and the brunette had run riskier ops with much less and fewer exits, this was supposed to feel like a walk in the park. But the weather had turned fast, almost as if it had a vendetta, ominous dark clouds had spilled over the carpathian ridge just as the both of you had left the drop point, and within twenty minutes, the sky had cracked open in a violent deluge. 

The mountains were drowning as you sprinted through sleet and biting wind which soaked through your gear in seconds, thunder splitting the sky like a scream. “Which way is it?” You managed to ask as the wind howled, “right, we should be nearby” Bucky replies as lightning flashes close, lighting up Bucky’s face in ghost-white bursts as he moves beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, jaw clenched, steps unrelenting. You followed the fallback coordinates, grateful that Yelena had embedded it in your comms, breath ragged, legs burning with adrenaline. A safehouse, government-owned, forgotten, and you and Bucky’s only shot at shelter. 

By the time you stumbled through the warped wooden door, your boots were squelching with every step, water dripping from your clothes in heavy droplets, you shivered, your skin cold to the bone. 

Then Bucky turned, and your breath stuttered in your chest, the firelight from the stone hearth barely reached the corners of the single-room cabin, but it was enough for you to see the way his soaked, black, tactical shirt clung to him, transparent in all the right places. You noticed how his hair, now longer since the last time you saw him, wild from the rain, plastered to his forehead in thick waves. His jaw was tight, the stubble sharp and biting, water slid down his throat, over his collarbone, disappearing beneath the cling of drenched fabric. 

You hated how your gaze had caught there for too long because when your eyes snapped up again, you found Bucky already watching you. For a moment, something passed between you in that moment, heat, recognition, restraint stretched, razor thin. His stare didn’t falter, it raked over you in silence, dark and heavy, almost as if it had a weight of its own. 

You looked away first, he was always like this after missions, all silence and sharp edges, carved from restraint. But it seemed lately, ever since he asked for your expertise in retrieving files and other classified information hidden across Europe, you realised that restraint had been reserved only for you. 

You peeled off your soaked jacket and gear piece by piece, trying to focus on the hearth, “well, this is cozy” you muttered, eyeing the single bed tucked in the corner, “hope you like cuddling”. 

Bucky didn’t even blink, he crouched low by the fire, striking a match, the flames crackled to life on the third try, his jaw flexed as he stared into the fire almost as if it owned him something. 

“Better than freezing out there dollface”. He said finally, voice like gravel dipped in whiskey, you tried to ignore the way the nickname he had for you made you feel, the way your cheeks heated up as you crossed your arms, teeth still chattering, “don’t suppose there’s a hot tub?”.

“No power, its barely insulated, you’ll want to dry off,” Bucky replies, voice clipped, almost controlled, but you could hear it, the tremor in his voice, not from the cold, from something else, something neither of you dared to name. 

You stepped behind the divider wall, pretending you didn’t feel his gaze burn a hole in your back, your hands trembling as you peeled off your soaked clothes, bra, panties, socks, everything clinging to you like a second skin. You found an old thermal shirt in the worn down cabinet, grateful to whoever who had decided to chuck it in there because it was probably the most useful thing in the cabin right now. You slipped it on, and it fell mid-thigh when you did. 

You stepped out, seeing Bucky sitting by the fire, shirtless now, his tactical shirt placed over a chair, his hair had started to dry in soft waves, and you could see the scars that marred his shoulder, chest and back catching the flicker of flame. The scars he endured over the years, his vibranium arm, gold and black in the low light, sleek, deadly and almost beautiful. 

His eyes found you, dark, slow and unblinking, the kind of look only years could shape, Bucky didn’t just see you, he saw everything, every late night conversation, every one of those missions that just caused the tension between you and him to build, so thick you could probably slice through it with a knife, every almost that had ever happened between the both of you, not that you would ever bring it up.

He looked like he wanted to devour you and god knows how much restraint he must have had in him at that moment. 

You swallowed, sitting at the edge of the bed, trying to pretend your thighs weren’t already pressing together. “You taking the bed too?” You asked in a bid to break the silence, the thin ice you were treading on starting to crack beneath the weight of your own voice, brittle and breathless. You didn’t dare look at him, not when the heat of his gaze felt like it could burn straight through your spine. 

“I’ll take the floor,” Bucky said after a beat, “you need rest”. 

“Does it look like I’m sleeping?” you reply. 

The silence was thick, smoke-like, you didn’t want to see those cerulean blues, because if you did, you’d remember what happened in Prague just weeks ago. That kiss—a fake out, a cover that had happened when you both were at some stupid alleyway, a whisper of heat at the edge of danger. You had pressed your lips to his jaw like a lie, in a bid to escape the eyes of agents hunting you both down after escaping with a hard drive. 

But the look in his eyes afterward? That hadn’t been fake. Neither of you spoke about it, not after, not ever. Not even when Alexei joked about how the both of you seemed awkward, and he joked about everything, despite Yelena’s eyerolls and groans. He always had a quip ready, but after Prague? He and the rest of the team had watched the two of you with careful eyes and said nothing. The silence had been louder than any tease.

Because something had changed. 

You had felt it in the heat of Bucky’s breath against your lips, in the way his hand lingered too long on your waist after that kiss. In the way he didn’t look at you for days after, or when he looked at too much or too long, almost as if the man was trying to remember how to keep his distance. 

You had spent nights wondering if he felt it too, the shift, sure the tension had always been there, since the day Steve introduced you to him, since the days you spent with him in Wakanda, but this spark was different, it felt electric—like the gravity of something neither of you could name. Or if he was just pretending it hadn’t happened. 

But now? It pulsed in the air between you like it has never gone away, just buried, waiting. 

You lay back, letting the warmth of the fire lick at your skin, the coarse wool blanket that you had draped over yourself scratching lightly at your thighs, but it wasn’t what made you squirm. 

It was him. 

Bucky. Stretched out near the fire like a wolf at rest, deceptively relaxed, every inch of him radiating coiled strength. Every line of him was cut from shadow and heat, his muscles taut, almost as if he were sculpted by Adonis himself, glistening faintly from with the remnants of rainwater and sweat. His dog tags glinted faintly in the fire light, rising and falling with slow, even breaths that belied the tension buried just beneath the surface. 

He wasn’t looking at you, not really, but you could feel the weight of his presence like a hand around your throat, firm and deliberate. The tension in his body hadn’t left, in the rigid set of his jaw, the way his metal fingers tapped against the floorboard with rhythmic precision.

Like he was trying to keep himself in check. 

His eyes flickered toward the fire as if he was trying not to look at you, as if he didn’t want to give himself away. But you catch the way they flick back now and then, the slight twitch in his brow, the shift in his throat when you move. Like he couldn’t help it, like you were a habit he hadn’t meant to form. 

He hadn’t touched you, but god, he didn’t need to. 

Your thighs pressed tighter together beneath the blanket, you kept replaying the way he had looked at you, how his gaze had dropped to your thigh, your ass, then back up. 

You imagined his voice, low, rough, almost dangerous.

A soft, involuntary shiver rolled down your spine. Fuck. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, let the image of him bloom, imagined his fingers dancing along your skin, his breath warm against your neck, that vibranium arm spreading your thighs like he owned the right, one hand around your throat, the other slick with your arousal. 

You swallowed hard, and your hand was already moving. You slid it beneath the blanket, then under the hem of your shirt, lower, lower, until your fingers brushed our soaked, needy skin. You gasped softly, hips twitching at the contact as your fingertips circled your clit, slow, desperate, and in your mind, it was his hand, his voice. 

“So fucking wet for me”. 

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep the sounds quiet. 

But not quiet enough. 

You didn’t hear him move, didn’t hear his boots on old wood, your mind cloudy with the things you wanted him to do to you, until his voice rasped through the dark, like a gun shot. 

“You touching what’s mine princess?” 

You froze, eyes wide. You didn’t even have time to stammer out an excuse, any excuse. The blanket was ripped away in one swift, brutal motion, and there he was, looming, dominant, those cerulean blues now blown wide with lust. Bucky’s jaw was clenched, fists tight at his sides, chest rising and falling like he had run a fucking marathon. 

“You gonna lie to me, sweetheart?” he gritted out, his voice wasn’t angry, it was worse—controlled. “Or are you gonna be a good girl and tell me what the fuck you were doing”. Your breath caught as your thighs instinctively snapped shut, but Bucky was already kneeling between them, spreading you wide with both hands, one rough and warm, the other smooth and unrelenting, vibranium pressing against your skin like a brand. 

“I-” you gasped, but he was already dragging the hem of your shirt up, exposing your slick cunt to the cold air and his greedy eyes. “I couldn’t help it” you whispered, “you couldn’t help it” Bucky echoed, mocking. “Poor little thing, soaked and needy while I’m just over there, keeping myself in check like a fucking saint” he cupped your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “I see you princess. Walking out in that shirt like it’s not a god damn invitation, shifting under that blanket like you wanted me to notice”. His hand slid down, over your collarbone, between your breasts, down your stomach, slow and firm, until his fingers brushed the slick heat between your thighs. 

“And now look at you,” you whimpered when he dragged a single finger through your folds, slow and devastating, watching the way your hips jerked.

“So fucking wet for me”.

“Bucky-” He cuts you off, “you don’t get to say my name like that, not when you’ve been touching yourself like that. This,” he swiped through your folds again, this time bringing his thumb to your clit and pressing just enough to make you cry out, “belongs to me. Say it”. You whine, pleasure sparking up your spine like lightning. 

“It’s yours, Bucky, fuck, it’s yours”. “That’s right” his voice dropped, dangerous and delicious.

“Now, beg”.

“Please” you whispered arching into his hand. 

“Please touch me, I need, need more” you whimper. 

“You gotta be real specific princess” Bucky’s voice was velvet over knives. “Beg me to wreck you” your face burned, but your body screamed for it louder. “Please, Bucky, wreck me” you breathed. “I want it, want you, need your cock, need you to fuck me until I can’t breathe, p-please” he stood, the sight of him towering over you, muscles taut, eyes ravenous, made your breath catch. He tore his belt off in one swift pull, tactical pants shoved down just enough to free his cock, hard, thick, flushed and leaking. 

Your mouth watered, he gripped your chin, forcing your eyes to stay on him. “Keep your eyes open for me dollface, don’t make me repeat myself” you obeyed instantly. He wrapped your thighs around his hips and slammed into you in one smooth, brutal thrust. The sound you made was half-scream, half-moan, shock and pleasure colliding as he filled you completely. The stretch was overwhelming, perfect. Bucky didn’t give you time to adjust—just gripped your hips and started to fuck you, raw and deep, snagging into you with bruising force. 

“God, Bucky!”

“You begged for this,” he snarled into your neck, hair falling over your cheek. “You asked me to ruin you,” You could barely think, the way he filled you, relentless, punishing, perfect, had your brain short circuiting. His cock dragged against every sweet spot inside you, ruthless and filthy. You clawed at his back, legs trembling as he slammed into you over and over. 

“You wanted my cock that bad?” he hissed, fucking you harder. “Needed to get yourself off thinking about me? Is that what you do sweetheart? Lay in your bed, fingers buried in that needy little cunt, whispering my name like a fucking prayer?” 

“Yes, fuck, always think about you-”

“That’s what I thought” Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanked your head back and bit your throat, sucking a dark bruise into the skin as you writhed beneath him. “You’re mine” he demanded. “Say it”. “I’m yours, I’m yours” you choked out, pleasure running through your veins as you felt that coil in your stomach tighten as Bucky inches you over the edge. “You gonna come for me now princess? You gonna soak my cock like that desperate little thing you are?” your body was already there, strung so tight, you could hardly breathe. 

When Bucky’s thumb found your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts, you shattered. It ripped out of you like a storm, your orgasm crashing through your body so hard it stole air from your lungs. You screamed his name, back arching, thighs shaking as you pulsed around his cock, soaking him just like he promised. But Bucky didn’t stop, god no, he fucked you through it, groaning as your walls milked him, thrusts growing sloppy, brutal. 

“Gonna fill you up baby” he panted, burying his face in your neck, “gonna give you every fucking drop” you whimpered begging for it, pleading like you didn’t care how filthy it sounded. “Please, Bucky, want it—need your cum inside me” his hips snapped once, twice—Then he came with a snarl, cock buried deep, ropes of hot seed spilling inside you as he trembled against your body, moaning your name like a curse and a prayer. 

You stayed like that for a long, long moment, breathing hard, clutching each other like the world outside didn’t exist. And then slowly, Bucky eased out of you gently, catching the whimper that left your lips with a kiss, his mouth was so soft now. Reverent. He dragged it across your cheeks, jaw, your temple, grounding you as his hands cradled your body like you were breakable. 

“You did so good for me, princess” he murmured, voice low and warm. “So perfect.” you blinked up at him, dazed and blissed out. Bucky grabbed the blanket, wrapped you up in it before tugging you into him. His hands smothered over your thighs, your stomach, brushing your hair off your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it, you nod, smiling sleepily. “I’m better than okay”. His smile, small, crooked and real was almost enough to undo you. He leaned down, kissed your temple, then your lips.

“Good. You’re mine now, you know that?” you tangled your fingers in his hair. “Always was” he chuckled. “Cock drunk little doll face”.

And then he tucked you in against his chest, wrapped you in his arms like you were the only thing that mattered. 

Because to Bucky, you were.

thank you love for taking the time to read this fic!

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 SWEETEST (CREAM)PIE ?!

☆ sum. you let him finish inside for the first time and he's never been the same since. toji, nanami, choso, gojo, sukuna.

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, major breēding kinks, size kink, talks of pregnancy, praise, manhandling, mating press, pròne bone, doggy, pússy drunk men, dirty talk, implied multiple rounds, overstim, choking, squırting, praise, spanks, spıt, biting, bòob fondling, cum... balls... lots of cum

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

“p- please,” he swallows, beads of sweat racing down both sides of his forehead. you’ve never seen him so needy before. breathy minuscule gasps leave from his lips after each succulent thrust from your hips. “oh fuuuck,” he whines, your maddened bouncing against him already causing his pretty raven eyes to roll way back into the depths of his head. thin sable tresses of hair stick to his skin like glue as he’s openly glancing at your perfect cunt swallowing him whole every single time. your grip was purely enticing—he clenches down on his jaw as his scarred open palms cling to your rickety waist. “baby, wanna cum inside. wanna give you a-all of me.”

with a sleazy lopsided grin, you lean in to kiss the right side of his mouth. coral pink lips of his twitch at your sudden contact before he moans. “do it choso,” you sweetly coo, continuing to rut your jostling hips against his. your warmth—he couldn’t ever in his right mind fathom how good you felt from the inside. choso fell in love the second he eased his eager cock into your gummy walls. your words were as smooth as silk. “ ‘s okay, baby. you can cum inside.”

“okay,” he whimpers, and as your hips continue to buck, he buries his face into the cute exposed crook of your neck. “ ‘m not gonna miss, promise.”

choso bites down on his lip as he’s continuing to plummet his full balls into raw.

his breath continues to hitch and his head tosses itself back in sweet rapture.

“fuck, fuck, ‘s gonna be so much,” he whines, slick bodies grinding against each other in pure rhythmic sync. he’s just as hot as you—sweltering with perspiring sweat. your drooling chasm continues to grip around him and he’s hungry for more. with the way choso’s black lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, you could tell he was visibly pussy drunk. his brows furrow in pleasure as he feels your hands swiftly wrap around his neck. “y- yeah, choke me baby. please, fuck me.”

your bouncing against him accelerates quicker as he’s chasing his incoming orgasm—it’s coming quick and he can barely prepare himself. the pointed tips of his ears burn with parching heat as your plush keen thighs ricochet onto his own, continuously slap slap slapping against his skin. “that’s it, ‘cho,” you whisper, your body swerving back and forth to match his crazed tempo. he’s sitting up, taking in the flawless view of you riding him. so pretty, he’s practically speechless. nothing leaves out from his lips except for sweet melodic whimpers and looping cries of your name. “good boy, jus’ let go for me. make a mess, ‘s okay, baby.”

choso’s heart continues to race at your obscene words and he leans into your touch once your hand cups his right cheek. “y- your good boy?” he mewls, already feeling the slight twinge of tightness engulf around his cock. it feels so good, he’s always been poor with eye contact but at this current moment—his eyes never left yours. this new feeling, he couldn’t describe it. it left a saccharine taste in his mouth and he wanted more.

“my good boy,” you press a wet kiss near his temple, and he’s almost drooling at the spongy texture of your pussy squeezing and hugging around him. he’s getting off to your praises every time—it fuels him. choso’s hands never leave from your jerking waist and he’s trembling right underneath you. “hold my hips, yeah, that’s it,” you coo against the soft shell of his ear. choso whimpers, trying to follow your lewd instructions. he’s awkwardly holding you upright, making you bounce quicker down on his dick before he’s biting into your neck. “baby, ‘s okay, give it t’me.”

“fuck,” he gasps, compressing his pink glossed lips. he feels the pang of tightness that wraps around him and he doesn’t want the feeling to ever shy away. choso’s whining was so loud, it’s like a ringtone that you wanted to constantly hear on repeat. his hands remain on your waist, guiding your movements before he’s getting more vicious. just a tad bit—he’s hearing the sloshing squelches yelp out from your pussy and a large full breath gets caught in his throat the moment he cums. “baby, babyyy.”

there’s a subtle popping in his ears once he finally feels it. the searing hot friction that glues against both sloppy mounds has his silently babbling out more whispers of your name. your broke him—he was an entire sloppy mess and the cute pussy drunken grin that slowly spreads against his lips prove that. you moan right with him, running your tangled fingers through his black loose locks. it was so intense—and as he’s finally cumming, his voice cutely cracks.

“hngh,” he squeezes his eyes shut, now filling you up with such mucilaginous masses of cum. it’s so much, so thick that it’s overwhelming a bit—even for him, and he leans in to kiss you. it’s a wet filthy kiss, he’s not as passionate as he usually is and this time, he’s more sloppy. as his tongue moves in tavern with yours, he’s still shamelessly dumping loads and loads into you, gifting you with such hot amounts of seed. “i- i love you,” he whimpers between kisses, strands of saliva colliding against yours. his heart’s thumping right out of his chest in hurriedly beats as he’s holding you, using his left hand to give your right asscheek a soft needy squeeze. “s- so much.”

“i love you—too,” you moan between unkempt kisses as parching ropes spurt deep into your womb. your thighs were sticky, and he’s panting before tenderly nibbling against your bottom lip. choso was so in love. once your pointer finger runs a straight line down his bare chiseled chest and you give him that look, he’s damn near ready to propose. you had him weak, and he only wanted to fill you up more again, and again. .

choso grows quiet as you both come to a halting pause. his strong beefy arms wrap around your torso and he’s holding you close, devastatingly breaking away from the kiss with a pout. “y- you milked me,” he whines, leaning down toward your neck to seep his teeth into your skin softly. he can’t help but suck against your collarbone, gingerly swirling his warm tongue near your flesh. so sweet, you’ve got him hooked and it’s only been a few minutes. “i wanna—i wanna do it again, baby.”

“of course you do,” you sweetly tease, feeling as full as you’ve ever been. choso came so much that it’s spewing all down your thighs. you’re weakly grinding against him before you cup his face one more time—planting a chaste kiss on his lips once more. “y’know, you could get me pregnant, choso.”

his eyes light up at your words, and a whine leaves his lips once he grabs your ass again. “pregnant,” he repeats in a low voice, his adam’s apple bobbing. “i- i wanna try gettin’ you pregnant now, baby,” and his eyes meet yours. the most feral look he’s ever gave you by far. you gulp, and choso leans into your ear, a hand reaching down toward your cunt to squeeze it. “teach me more. i- i wanna make you a pretty mommy, please.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“hah, don’t say nasty shit like that ‘n not expect ‘ta get pregnant afterwards, doll,” a gruff voice murmurs from behind you, and suddenly you find yourself flipped over on your back. landing with a soft oof, a big palm swats against your ass and his swollen cockhead slaps down against your sopping leaky slit. toji groans, narrowing his eyes at your wet cunt, flicking a tongue across the notorious scar that always lives down the right side of his lip. the bed strenuously shudders inward from the abrupt weight and he’s slowly easing himself inside. “god, thought about fillin’ this pretty pussy up since i first laid eyes on you.”

“do it then,” you grumble, moaning once his fat fingers drag further down your twitching folds. right at your exact words, he smacks your ass again without warning and you let off a cute yelp. “ngh,” you bite the inside of your cheek, preparing to take even more of hod thickset heavy inches.

toji was always big—you feel your mouth starting to shamefully water at how he’s easily stretching your cunt open. you’re so quiet that you hear yourself squelching and squeaking around him, ‘pop’ after ‘pop’ ringing through one ear and out the other. “quiet, babygirl. this slutty pussy should be the only thing who’s talkin’, not you.”

you moan at the familiar position you were in yet again—his favorite, doggystyle.

toji always made sure you had the most presentable arch for him, and he grunts the second his dick’s stretching you out from the inside. “atta fuckin’ girl, thereeee we go,” he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight. toji gnaws on his lip once he sees your ass throwing back into him forward and he snickers once he catches you’re trying to secretly crawl away.

“hey,” he cocks his head, wrapping all five digits around your neck softly. at his grasp, he reels you right back into him and you moan once his cock’s resuming to deeply barrel itself inside until it can’t no more. “you wanted a good fillin’ so y’er gonna take it, not run,” and your cunt immediately pulsates from his lewd risqué words. “got me?”

“y- yes,” you whine, and you can’t help but gasp at the way your legs nearly give out just from his weighty size alone. you’ve taken him more times than you could count, but every time always felt like the first. your hands precariously grab onto the velvet-colored sheets before you bawl them up into your sweaty open palms. “fuuuck, jus hurry up toji. always take so fuckin’ long.”

“caaareful,” he warns you in a gruff voice, and he starts pounding right into you. you almost choke on the saliva that resides near the far back of your throat as his sharp hips pivot. there’s a sly undertone in his words as he speaks—and toji’s cock buries deeper into your soaked cunt until he’s really nice and snug. “you watch how ya speak ‘ta me. for all i care i could stop right now ‘n make you finish yourself off.”

a pout curls against your lips at his words, but his hips were just so mean and sloppy. you’re jerking back and forth against the stained sheets with his crushing weight endlessly hovering right over you. just a few more inches and he’d be literally crushing you for real, pounding into you much deeper than he already was.

“fuck,” you bite down on your jaw, and the bed starts to wail out in sweet agony. the constant creaks were getting hard to ignore, and callused hands of his continue to spank your ass every few seconds. “tojiiii, fuck right there . . please,” and he’s so deep that you feel his jutting dick pump in gummy areas that made your stomach churn. so good, all you could even think about was imagining his cum spilling all down your thighs and flooding your cunt full. “cum in—ow!”

he jibes once his rough bare hands snake between your slick thighs, gifting your slobbering stuffed pussy with a single mean smack of its own. you moan at his touch, and as you’re just profusely sopping wet, you grind your teeth against each other as his rowdy pace becomes even more ruthless. with toji—he could never keep his hands off of you, you’d have to pry them off. he’s touching and feeling you up everywhere, giving you slow yet deep thorough strokes every second.

scarred big hands grab near your tits, massaging the centers of his thumbs against your nipples as he’s now in prone bone. “yeah, that’s it,” he lets out a raspy whisper next to your ear. as he’s slowly swerving his hips into yours, his long tongue flicks against your lobe. “you don’t care about nothin’ dontcha, you jus want a fuckin’ baby, huh,” and he’s still got both hands attached to your breasts, moving his lips to pepper toward your neck. you moan from his hot touch, feeling your cunt eagerly gape up around him. so thick, the stretch always made your mouth water and knees buckle within you. “wanna be my pretty mama, all swollen ‘n pretty jus for me. you want that don’t ya?”

“y- yes,” you nod, his mushroom tip continuing to kiss near the goopy insides of your cunt. toji sinks his teeth into your neck, and he grunts once his rhythm starts to get relentless - he’s snapping into you deep and he’s hitting you raw. your tongue was all lolled out and you were very much dumb from his cock. completely dumbfounded—not a single thought went through your mind, and as he’s tempestuously pumping you full of heavy inches, his head tilts back once he finally cums.

viscous sweaty limbs glissade and rub off against each other as he slows completely down. toji groans loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural bellow that makes your cunt pathetically twitch. “oh fuck,” and as if on que, hot balmy ropes trickle right into you, shooting way into your sweet welcoming womb. toji’s pants grow heavy, and he feels your weak body shiver right underneath him. it’s cute. his big burly arms flex as he wraps each bicep around you whilst he’s still plugged in, giving you ribbons of seed that then starts to tear down each of your trembly thighs.

“ugh, fuckin’ messy girl,” he swallows, and your honeyed slick unapologetically pours right on him, making an even bigger mess. his hips movements were as slow as a snail—and now, he’s just holding you, still propped up from behind. toji groans hoarsely into your ear, hearing your squelching cunt moan out its own desperate pleas before he tantalizingly pulls out. “god, look at this shit.”

your breath grows shallow and shaky as he’s still pressed on top of you—sinking his weight against your own trembly body. the bed dips at the pounds of heavy weight and toji creeps a hand down between your unsteady thighs again, this time brushing a few plump fingers down your clit.

“mhm,” he huffs, a swollen fat thumb scooping up a few excess remnants of cum before bringing it toward his lips. once he spins you around so you could face him, you watch with dewy hooded eyes. you’re panting heavily before he shamelessly laps the mess up with his tongue. toji pops his thumb right into his mouth before pulling you into a sultry wet kiss just for you to taste it for yourself. with two echoing smacks of crashing lips, he pulls away, tenderly rabbing your chin.

with a smug, sleazy grin pulling against his lips, cold viridescent eyes bore into you and he pats your tummy. “you’re gonna be such a good mama for me, yeahhh you fuckin’ are.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

after you let nanami finish inside, it’s almost as if he’s a changed man. he fully submits to you, and once you let him finish inside, he quickly becomes addicted. he wants you to do it again, and again, and again—milk him for all that he’s worth, use him for your pleasure instead of his.

“use me,” he pleads in a gruff voice, his back hitting against the fat cushioned pillows made of cottony fluff. just a few seconds ago at the least, he just came inside and yet, he wants more. he wants to feel more of you, and as you return his lustful gaze, you’re met with the most kindest fawn eyes. nanami still had his work clothes on, barely. his tie was halfway tugged out and his slacks were halfway on. nanami’s tucked out collar had lip stain marks stained everywhere, all because of you. he clings onto your waist as you’re still stuffed with such amounts of cock before he repeats himself, his husky voice cracking and faltering from each sentence. “use me, sweetheart. i need it, need you.”

“say please,” you lean up against his ear, hot breath fanning up against the sensitive shell of his earlobe. nanami shivers, and the blond tresses that stick against his forehead tickle against your skin. you’re so close—you can smell his loud wooden cologne scent, you can even almost taste it. he always wears the brands you really like. nanami groans from your continuous teasing, feeling his own dumps of cum stir inside of you as your hips continue to jostle against him.

with a longing grunt, he sighs. “please, please use me,” and you feel his beefy arms wrap around your body. you teasingly trail a finger down his perfectly sculptured chest, toying with the loose fabric of his tie and watch as his lips squeeze up into a needy pout. your hips—he was never ever a match for them, for you.

nanami stares at your pretty thighs that merely stick together due to such amounts of glutinous candied ropes trying to ooze all out of your cunt. he grows sheepish, scratching down near the undercut of his hair. “m- my love, you’re . . bein’ quite the tease t’night, no?”

“i just like hearing you beg,” you sweetly coo, and his pecs abruptly clench. your pussy’s keeping him so warm that it’s almost not fair. nanami’s panting like a dog as his arms wraps around you. he’s so pretty like this, all defenseless and submissive—the pout that continues to spread across his lips was only the icing on the cake. once you move again, you’re barely even moving your hips and yet you’re still keeping his dribbling seed stuffed inside. it’s thick and creamy, a few droplets start to stream down the insides of your thighs and he can’t help but drag a finger against the tenacious stringy strings of hot perspiring cum. “fuck, you feel it too, ‘ken?”

nanami swallows, and he’s just speechless as he feels himself delicately pumping you full of all that he’s worth—its lewd enough to make his mouth, and his favorite part was to just grow quiet and listen to the harmonic sounds of your sloppy talkative cunt squelch out its final concluding sounds. so sweet, he holds you tight before burying his face right between your breasts, nodding weakly. “y- yes,” he mumbles, and his entire body was hot. all because of you, there’s a sweet lingering taste in his mouth and his eyes continue to grow hooded and low from your gripping sappy folds.

“ugh, sweetheart. ‘m gonna cum again jus from how good you feel,” he warns softly, his tongue gently lapping near your exposed nipples. you gasp, letting off a shivering moan yourself once his faint kitten licks swiftly turn into full blown sucks. he’s sucking on each of your tits tenderly, with care. “mmph,” his mouth was full, and strands of saliva drag out from his lips as he gives each mound its deserved uninvited attention. every few seconds, nanami’s brown eyes peer back up at you and that’s when you deuce to give his head a soft pat. “you drive me crazy, honey.”

“i know,” you whisper, your arms still thrown over his slump heavy shoulders. nanami’s face softens the more he looks at you and oh, he’s so in love.

a twist of a smile purses against his lips as he sees you leaning in. once he sits up again from your chest, nanami’s entire body feels weak the moment you entrap his quivering soft lips with a kiss yet again, taking his shallow breath away once more.

“ ‘s okay, relax,” you purr in a syrupy voice between wet needy kisses, your hips continuing to rut up against him again in soft juddering jerks. he groans in your mouth, scissoring your swollen insides with his flaccidly soft cock. fuck, he was so sensitive. his entire body felt as if it was on autopilot, and your teasing didn’t exactly help things. your pretty cunt’s got him caught and enticed in a trance that he never wanted to escape out of — and that’s when a whine leaves his lips once he realizes that he’s cumming again.

spurts of hot seed shoot into you raw and he pulls away from your lips to gasp for air, digging his stubby nails firmly into your hips. “fuck, fuck,” and even his swear words sounded so pretty. nanami prefers it like this so much—he prefers it without the stupid feeling of rubber getting in the way, he prefers to feel the real thing.

you feel his swollen heavy base sink down from underneath you as he’s pouring such thick viscid clumps inside of you. “fnhh, hold me,” he pleads, and he’s shivering. you raise a brow and he grumps before abruptly rephrasing his lewd sentence, adding on a single word. “. . please.”

“good boy,” you whisper, holding him tight. nanami’s a mess crumbling right within your hold and he gnaws on his lip at the feeling of himself flooding you full. with cute exaggerated deep breaths, he’s languidly dumping in yet another hot load of cum inside of you. buttery white strings tape and glue against the sides of your legs and he feels his heart pulse quicken at your sudden praises. “that’s it, let go f’ me. make a mess, baby. ‘s oka—”

“just marry me already,” he moans, cutting you off mid-sentence. his face flushed and he just couldn’t take it anymore. he needed you, and he was already whipped. nanami can barely comprehend the things he’s spewing out from his wet parted lips but he doesn’t care. his face goes to shove back into the valley of your chest before he speaks in a cute mumble.

“fuck, i need you to be my wife. w- wanna do this every day day with you. please marry me, please.”

☆ SATORU GOJO.

“but—but baby please,” he pouts, his bottom lip quivering as he stares at your cute twitching body writhing underneath him.

frosty blue eyes rover down toward your stomach and it’s so cute—so swollen and plump. he’s been filling you up for hours, though of course for satoru, those hours only felt like minutes. his stamina was always equivalent to a horse. when it comes to satoru gojo, he fucks you mean and good at the same time until you’re just a babbling mess with his cum dribbling down your thighs.

like you are now,

he’s got you in nothing more but mating press and his weight’s nearly crushing you. satoru’s hovering over you and he leans in to tenderly suck near your exposed collarbone. “more, ‘m not done. my angel’s tummy isn’t plump enough yet.”

“ ‘toru, you always do this,” you moan, shaky flimsy arms wrapping around his broad pent up shoulders. he returns your gaze, and as the two of you lock eye contact, he’s nothing but feral. satoru’s heavily panting, bottomed out entirely inside of your pretty pussy as you’re trapping him with your sopping wet warmth. you’ve lost track of how many rounds it’s been, all you knew was that you were just as much of a mess as he was. satoru leans in for a kiss and you merrily return it, gasping once he starts to hump on you. he can’t help it, and his big broad hands sneak toward your bouncy tits, grabbing them softly. “ngh, ‘m full ‘toru, fuck.”

“but i wan’ you to get fuller,” he whispers in a raspy tone, and snowy white strands of hair occlude his eye sight from the constant unsteady movements. he’s so pretty, even more pretty up close. satoru’s thrusts become sloppy within seconds, and his fat cock’s emitting out even more slimy ropes of cum.

he grunts, burying his face into your neck as your sappy folds drip with racy filth of its own. so good, you can hear his choking whimpers continue to coo out from the back of his throat as his washboard abs press right up against your chest. “ugh, good girl. take it all f’me, you always take it so good everytime, fuck,” his brows curl up due to the overwhelming feeling of inevitable euphoria. satoru licks a stripe near your neck as he’s still rocking his hips into you slowly, and he grunts. “good girl, make me a daddy. ‘m gonna give you all my kids, promise.”

as he scrupulously pivots his hips further into you, his tremulous pants become more and more raspy. that little subtle detail about the changing patterns of his heavy breathing was attractive. his cock freely rummages through your greedy walls and satoru bites down on his lip, hard.

he was practically bending you, stretching you out as if your limbs were nothing but elastic. “s- satoruuu,” you babble as your cunt continues to clamp on and around him. so sloppy, your own sappy slick juices create a lewd concoction of filth as both bodies continue to move and pulverize against each other. the sharp collision of his hips that repeatedly slams into you leaves you speechless and entirely dumbfounded. he’s so rough, yet his hands were always gentle and tender. satoru loved more than anything to treat your pretty jerking body underneath him like a rag doll. “fuck, slow down ‘m gonna cu— oh!”

his bumpy crownhead vigorously kisses up against your sweetest spot thrice, and that’s when you feel finally yourself letting go. his hips punctuate within each jagged thrust and you don’t even realize that you’re gushing right down his cock. it was a feeling unlike any other.

“mhm,” he raises a brow, feeling a sudden spurt splash against him. satoru’s breathing gets irregular again as the bed resumes to creak until it’s just crying out desperate pathetic mewls. with skin continuing to stick against skin, you two were practically glued to each other. satoru’s throat grows dry once he registers that you just squirted on him, and he’s got the most smug expression. “oh,” he hums, slowly raising up one of your legs. with droopy eyes and a lazily hung open mouth, you watch as he playfully licks your ankle. “my baby jus squirted on me ‘n she didn’t even ask, how rude.”

“s- satoru,” you stammer out his name again, and you’re so feebly dumb from his cock that those same three vowels continue to slither from your lips again and again and again until you sound like a broken record. your body shook underneath him and he softly grabs your chin, still barreling his hefty cock deep inside. a shadowing flush of embarrassment overtakes you as you feel yourself staining the sheets with a grey forming tint. instinctively, your hands go up to cover your face and satoru snickers.

“nuh uh don’t do that,” he sweetly purrs, grabbing your wrists and planting a kiss near the center of your forehead. once his lips ghost against your skin, you feel hot again and he flashes you a cheeky grin despite how he was sweating bullets. “such a pretty girl,” and you moan, feeling him slowly pull out. the slippery piles of cum drool out from your saturated folds and you hear the ‘popping’ squelches slosh. satoru kisses the back of your hand, and he aligns himself once more, leaning up close to your ear.

“but baby, you’d be an even prettier mommy.“

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“stupid woman,” the demon snarls, slumping back against his royal throne with you straddling him.

all various crimson eyes of his maliciously bore into you as you’re grinding your hips against him, bucking sloppily into his very being. one of his arms wrap around your waist before he tilts your chin up to face him directly. you’re met with the eyes of the notorious sukuna ryomen, and a thumb rubs against your bottom lip before he scoffs. “tsk. is that what you truly desire? to be stuffed by me until your weak cunt’s all flooded with my cum?”

“y- yes,” you say in a whiny tone, hauling your flimsy arms over his broad shoulders. sukuna’s body was very big, and his frame was even bigger. you had some amounts of mercy since he was sitting down—but if he was standing up, you’d have an another force to be reckoned with.

his warmth frequently envelops your pasty walls as you continue to move in careless sync with his sharply structured hips. but fuck, every time your ass jostled into him, you felt his second cock that’s stacked from behind brush up against your swollen cunt. those brief feelings of gripping friction always makes your thighs shiver and send a school of butterflies to assault inside the pits of your stomach. you moan, secretly wishing you were taking both of him instead of just one. “finish inside, ‘kuna. please, i need it.”

he jeers at your plea, holding you in place as your body continues to grind straight into him—sweet wanton whines slip past your glossed lips as his bulbous tip continues to thrust into you in and out. “what you need is some manners, girl,” he playfully flicks your forehead, and you let off a sweet pouty whimper.

“uh huh,” and he lies further back against his regal throne, sitting upright with his left thigh bouncing to tease you even more. skin roughly slaps amongst each other in such a crude way that it makes all of the hairs near your neck stand up. every sound being made echos through his chambers and you’re just hoping that no one heard. the demon then grabs your chin again, pressing a chaste deep kiss onto your pretty quivering lips. “fuck, ‘m gonna make you my queen. ya gonna give me dozens of demon brats, ‘s that what you want, princess?”

“mhm,” you nod, and he barely gives you a chance to reply with the way his crooked lips slam onto yours. sukuna tastes sweet, he always does.

a rich sugary flavor coats his forked tongue as your own delves straight into his mouth. your body blissfully saws against his in such insane sync that it makes you feel tingles everywhere.

sukuna smugly hums, feeling your cute curious human hands roam down the edges of his silky made kimono. “please,” you croak between sweet needy kisses, his cock repeatedly hammering up against that spot every single time. it was as if his cock was a dart and your swollen pulsating cunt was the target. after each striking sloppy thrust, he’s hitting bullseye every second. with the way he’s hitting you in all the right spots at the right exact time, it scratches a carnal itch in your brain that leaves you utterly stupid for a few seconds. “make me your queen, ‘kuna. breed me, make me f- full.”

by this point, he’s just using you as his own personal—favorite—fleshlight. two wide hands glue to your waist, sharp dark fingernails teasingly stroking against your skin as he’s bouncing you up and down his bulging massive shaft.

you moan, feeling his ruby red eyes stare at you menacingly the entire time, and you’re chasing each drawn out pant of your shallow irregular breaths. “c’mon then,” he snarls, baring a single serrated fang. the both of you were so so close to shooting blanks until it eventually comes. everything comes immediately like a wave. “take it, princess.”

within seconds, you’re creaming down his cock and he’s pumping you full of thick ribbony ropes.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “s- sukuna,” you stammer, and your walls were forevermore oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him. you both cum in torrent and a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins. it’s a slight feeling of tweaking pangs that efflux through the undersides of your thighs before your entire body erupts with shakes. “fuck, ‘s much.”

“ ‘n ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans, suddenly getting quiet once he feels your jittery hips start to pick up its bouncing again. he’s still sensitive, and he hisses before slumping back against his throne, trying to keep up his stern somber façade.

sukuna’s entire body was dipped in sweat, and his pink slit brows arch together in euphoric agony.

silence is his next response, and he’s still holding you by the waist, an oozing dribbling knot plugging into you effortlessly. it’s so warm and sweltering hot, a temperature you couldn’t even describe as well as your pussy ever could. the very pit of you stomach coils in lewd awe as you’re met with his now flaccid cock just stilling inside of you.

“c-curses, fuck me,” the demon shrills, grabbing your hips and bringing you to a pausing halt.

and for a split second, you could have sworn you just heard him, the king of curses whimper. .

[harbours-lighthouse]

Jason Todd with a gf who isn't good at replying to messages. It's not that you mean to be rude, it's just that you're busy and often you forget about the notification that only lights up your phone's screen for half a second. Besides, if what you're being sent are memes and random tiktoks, then those can wait. But when Jason Todd jumps into the picture? That habit of yours is a problem. At the beginning, you were on top of things, replying in a timely manner—then you got comfortable, and the habit crawled back into your life. The first time you let a message from Jason go unanswered for nearly an hour, you were left with your door hanging off by a single hinge, the wood splintered. You purse your lips together, watching the door sway precariously. Awkwardness bubbles inside your chest, though you're half-convinced it's more of the desperate urge to laugh at the ludicrous situation you're in.

Turning slowly to face Jason with your hands on your hips, you grimace at the tense line of your boyfriend's shoulders and the tightness around his mouth.

"Um...well," you clear your throat. "We know that the door isn't okay, but are...you...okay?" Jason's sigh is laced with a wariness that's bone-deep and you wince, face scrunching as regret stabs through you. You throw him an apologetic, weak smile. "Sorry..." It's safe to say that you put in the effort to consistently answer Jason's texts, purely because you'd rather like your door to remain intact, and to prevent your boyfriend from using his body as a battering ram to get into your apartment.

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── GOOD BOY ♡

♡ pairing: milf!reader x younger!rafe

♡ summary: rafe has the biggest crush on his father’s friend.

♡ warnings / tags: smut, masturbation (m), mommy kink, MDNI!

♡ author's note: he has the biggest mommy kink known to mankind i feel it in my bones…

RAFE MASTERLIST

there was only one person rafe truly hated, and that was your husband. he didn't appreciate you enough, didn't pay enough attention to you, didn't fuck you hard enough to put a baby in you...

your husband was his father's best friend, and when you got married to him, you became the best friend of his stepmother. another thing you became? the subject of every single one of rafe's dirty fantasies. he couldn't remember the amount of times he had woken up with his boxers ruined just because he had another dream about you.

every event he attended where you were present always ended up with rafe having to rush into the bathroom because the problem in his pants was becoming more and more visible every time he caught a glimpse of your cleavage, no matter if it was a charity gala or a casual barbecue among friends, rafe usually ended up in the bathroom.

even now, with his hand wrapped around his cock, a black pair of your lacy panties that he'd stolen pressed against his face as rafe's hand squeezed his lubed-up cock and stroked, lewd squelching noises getting out whenever his hand made contact with the base of his cock decorated with dark curls, his other hand pressing the panties down even harder as if trying to amplify your smell, licking at the small spot you'd left in them.

"feels so good-" his groan was muffled by the lace as he pictured your hand being the one stroking him, telling him "you're doing so good, rafey." like you did that one time he was the one doing all the grilling instead of someone they'd usually hire.

"doing so good for me, baby..." rafe mumbled under his breath, his voice mixing in with the one he was picturing inside of his head, one belonging to you, his strokes speeding up as his cock throbbed around his hand, "doing so good for you mommy..." he whimpered, picturing you holding rafe in your arms, your ample breasts pressed against the side of his face as you stroked his hair, telling him he was good enough, telling him he was your good boy...

rafe let out a muffled "nnngh!" as warm cum practically erupted from his cock, painting his lower stomach white, heavy pants leaving rafe's lips, his eyes pressed closed, a slow smile taking over his lips as he pictured your face in his mind. "you did so good for mommy…" still echoing in his imagination.

[cowboy-heart]

'BUTCH MANIFESTO'

inspired by 'FEMME SHARK MANIFESTO' by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

(ID under cut)

Ko-Fi (Commissions Open!)

[ID: an original poem titled 'BUTCH MANIFESTO'. the stanzas are all on the left side of the page and lineated, except for the first line, and last stanza. Poem begins:

Listen up! Butches hold it down! We don’t spend hundreds of pounds on designer clothes and black and white tuxes – we shop off the charity shop rack, hand-me-downs from our bois, our men, our women. Butch is not a glamour word - Butch is not for the white collars in their 9-5 and their office parties, Butch is not for the woman in a police uniform with short cropped hair, Butch is not for the masc who looks down on our femmes, Butch is not for the dumbass white people who call themselves stud, like our people haven’t taken enough from black lesbians, Butch is not for the politician or the soldier, it’s for those of us who get shit done and don’t throw anyone under the bus; who stand between our loved ones and the white-knuckled fist; it’s for the people who take a breath of relief when they get home and get to lay their head on the shoulder of their baby and say, it’s hard, and I need you right now; it’s for those of us with hard-soled feet, worn by hours of standing, just so people can buy some useless shit on a Sunday. Butch is for the primary school teachers, the neighbour keeping your package safe, the hairstylist, the barber, the youth worker, the locked up, the sectioned, the evicted, the boy on the dole. Butches hold each other up, Butches stand up for communities, no matter how different we might be.

Butches stand up for Butches, because only we know the shit we face, we don’t argue over what butch looks like for someone - their struggle doesn’t counteract ours. We’re brothers, sisters, siblings, lovers, mentors, we don’t fight over femmes or fight each other. We help up our siblings who can’t hold themselves up and shouldn’t have to.

Butch is recognising our hurt, our pain, and making sure nobody has to go through that, in the very least not alone. Butch is not reproducing that hurt, butch isn’t the transfem exclusion, the toxicity, it’s driving our girls and boys to the abortion clinic, it’s holding your femme’s hair back over the toilet bowl, it’s telling your darlin’ to take a deep breath, before you poke the needle into her thigh, it’s holding back on punching the catcaller because you know it’ll put your lover in more danger, it’s fishing in your closet for an old, dusty dress for your questioning girl, it’s never calling the cops, it’s carrying the Narcan, it’s gathering the funds for bail, it’s tipping the waiter, it’s kissing the bruised chin of a fellow butch who’s built like a brick shithouse.

Butch is not all muscle, able-bodied, white Butch is not all skinny and androgynous Butch is care Butch is NURTURE. Butch is a cane and an unsteady step Butch is putting down the ramp Butch is wheeling up it Butch is addict Butch is straight-edge Butch is diaspora Butch is desi Butch is antiracist Butch is socialist Butch is punk Butch is black Butch is brown Butch is fat Butch is fat-loving Butch is mental illness Butch is antipsych Butch is autism Butch is trans Butch is anger Butch is tears Butch is grief Butch is the old bull Butch is the closeted kid in a dress Butch is the baby dyke wearing a rainbow flag cape Butch is smile lines Butch is crinkled eyes Butch is crying in your friend’s beat-up car Butch is foetal position Butch is pink Butch is motherhood Butch is fatherhood Butch is cat-dad Butch is fucking Butch is getting fucked Butch is stone Butch is bashful Butch is humble Butch is cocky Butch is proud Butch is single Butch is uneducated Butch is poet Butch is poetry Butch is council estate Butch is gentleness Butch is bones and spit and the soft curve of our lower backs the clenched jaw under a double chin the hard-eyes that any femme can see right through the estradiol the testosterone the carabiner clink the thick hands the cellulite the bloody pads the tampon string the mood swings the sagging tits the top surgery scars the swinging cock the hairy pussy the protruding t-dick the leather harness.

Butch is eternity Butch is sewn into the fabric of atoms Butch is love and solidarity Butch is never leaving anyone behind and never selling anyone out.

End poem. In the bottom right corner, the poet is signed as 'Ren H.' End ID].

[falesten-iw]

Nothing can truly show you the reality of what's happening in Gaza, not a picture, not a video, and not even words. The truth is far worse than anything an image can capture. Families are not just enduring genocide, they’re being erased. Their history, their homes, their existence, wiped away like they were never there.

What’s left behind? Bits and pieces. Fragments. A scrap of fabric here, a shattered memory there. People are still trapped beneath the rubble. Some are alive, their voices weak but desperate, pleading for help that will never come. There’s no rescue equipment. No teams to save them. And anyone brave enough to try is met with drones, striking down anyone who gets close.

Those who’ve managed to survive aren’t just hungry, they’re freezing. Imagine huddling in a makeshift tent, shaking not just from fear but from the biting cold that seeps into your bones. The wind tears through everything, ripping apart whatever tiny bit of warmth you’ve managed to cling to. Inside the tent, there’s no comfort. Only the sound of bodies rustling as they try to stay warm, muffled cries of grief, and the haunting sound of people buried beneath the rubble, their faint cries for help echoing in the dark.

The cold doesn’t care. It doesn’t spare anyone—not children, not parents, not the elderly. It sinks into everyone, leaving them numb, both physically and emotionally. Hunger takes what little strength they have left, and the cold takes their hope. This isn’t some tragic story from the past—it’s happening right now. These are my people. This is my family.

A single line can hold the weight of an entire story, and a single choice can save a life. What if you skipped that extra coffee, brush pack, or subscription and put that money toward rescuing lives in Gaza ? One small sacrifice from you could provide food, warmth, or even survival to my family who’ve lost everything.

You might wonder, “Does it really matter? Can I make a difference?” The answer is yes. Every dollar you give is a line of hope, a stand against the darkness. Don’t let this story fade. Don’t let Gaza disappear into silence.

Please help us and donate now if you can, and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Donate on GoFundMe: Link

Donate on Paypal: Link

Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 250 SEK is equivalent to 25 dollars, and 506 SEK equals 50 dollars and so on. Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[differenteagletragedy]

In which Simon Riley meets a distressed single mom at the park and is immediately LOCKED IN.

Here's Part Two and Part Three and Part Four and Part Five and Part Six and Part Seven and Part Eight and Part Nine :)

Simon likes going for walks.

It's an easy way to eat up time when he's on leave -- every minute he's walking is another minute he doesn't have to sit staring at the walls in his cold, dull apartment. And this way, he gets to see all sorts of things, trees and flowers, beautiful buildings and people that he passes by so quickly that he can almost convince himself they're beautiful too.

He doesn't think highly enough of himself to believe that he can truly have any of these things. That's why his apartment is bare bones, sparsely furnished with only the necessities, nothing even close to a frill in sight. But on his walks, he can catch little glimpses. He's been telling himself for so long that this is enough that most of the time, he believes it.

Then he met you. And now, suddenly none of it matters -- what he believes he deserves, what he thinks he can get by with, none of it. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he's filled with such an exquisite, excruciating rush of want that it drowns out everything else, floods all the ugly little nooks and crannies in his mind and his heart until all that's left is you.

It happened at the park. Not the big one he walks by sometimes in the nicer part of town, with its brand new shiny jungle gym and the constant crowd of children and parents and nannies and noise -- no, it was at the small little rundown one closer to home. The one that's almost always vacant, which is probably one of the reasons why he noticed you there.

Another, much more notable reason would be the way you were nearly screeching, your voice filled with panic and fear as you stood by one of the tall slides.

Simon heard you from a distance, and when he was close enough to see you, it was easy enough to figure out why. You were standing there, your belly big and swollen with child, looking up at a little boy with your complexion and hair color as he stood by the railing of the steps leading up to the slide.

"Get down right this instant," he heard you hiss when he snuck even closer. "Charlie, i swear to God, this isn't funny, get down."

The boy, with a playful, terrorizing little smile Simon could make out from a distance, shook his head, replying, "You come get me."

And there was the problem. You couldn't get up the narrow little staircase of that part of the playground with your pregnant belly, and the boy wouldn't come down on his own. Simon surveyed the park once more, but he already knew there was no one else there. You were alone, no husband to step in and take care of things.

At this point, he was strolling along the sidewalk beside the park, trying to decide if he wanted to help or not. On one hand, you seemed a little desperate, but on the other, he didn't want to frighten you even more. He knows how imposing he can be, and at least in these kinds of situations, he's mindful of it.

Then he hears it: a frustrated, choked little sob from you. That made up his mind.

"All right?" he asked carefully, slowly approaching you.

You jumped at the sound of his voice, your hand instinctively going to cradle your bump, then glanced back up at the boy.

"We're fine," you told Simon. "We're just waiting on my husband to come back, then we'll call it a day."

It was a weak lie -- he'd already clocked that you weren't wearing a wedding ring, nor did you have a tan line there, but even if he didn't go on that, you were just not a good liar. He might have laughed at your attempt to brush him off, but then little boy put his hands on the railing and leaned over it to greet him, and your nervous gasp brought him back to the situation at hand.

"Charlie, stop," you barked, an authoritative mom voice if he'd ever heard one. But Charlie, it seemed, was a headstrong little thing, and he simply laughed and began jumping, apparently not noticing or caring that his reckless behavior was causing you so much stress.

"Could get him down for you, if you like."

He didn't know why he said that. Why he even thought to offer. But you looked up at him, really looked at him with those wide, teary eyes, and he knew he'd do that and so much more, if only you'd let him.

"I can't ... it's ok, you don't have to do that," you replied, still hesitant to accept the help from the big, bulking stranger.

"'Course I don't have to," he answered simply. "Just trying to help."

You glance between him and the boy once more, and you even give Charlie one more chance to listen and come down on his own, but he just shrieked with laughter, pleased to be the center of attention, so you just sighed and gave Simon a nod.

He easily climbs up the tall metal structure, squeezing his wide body up the narrow steps to where the boy stood. Then he stopped.

He's not a people person by any stretch of the imagination, so of course he's not a kid person either. He's never interacted with them much, so as stilted and closed-off as he is with most adults, he's even more clueless with children.

He didn't know if he should pick him up and carry him down to you, maybe push him to the slide to get down that way. He also considered that maybe he shouldn't even touch him at all, but that left talking to the kid, which didn't sound great either.

Luckily for Simon, Charlie was chatty enough for both of them.

"Never seen you here before," he told Simon. "You're too big for the slides."

"Not here for the slide," he said, his gaze drifting back to you where you stood below, watching anxiously. "Why don't you get back down there before you give your poor mum a heart attack?"

"I'm not supposed to listen to strangers."

"That so?" Simon asked. "Supposed to listen to your mum though, yeah?"

That easy bit of logic seemed to trip Charlie up, and Simon smirked, then nodded to the slide.

"Go on, then."

The child let out a dramatic sigh, then climbed the rest of the way up the steps and went down the slide. Simon watched you rush to the bottom of it, swiftly grabbing his hand when it came within reach.

"Thank you so much," you told him when he climbed his way back to the ground, your earlier trepidation gone, seemingly with relief. "He usually listens better than that, and I couldn't ..."

"No need," he said gruffly, cutting off your explanation. "Just glad I could help."

You gave him a smile, and just for a moment, he let himself think of things he never allowed himself to imagine. A life in which he not only had a family, but this family -- a family where you, the boy, and the baby in your belly all belonged to him.

That's when the wanting started. And now, nearly two weeks later, Simon finds himself walking past the park, again and again, hoping to find you there. Hoping to ease the gnawing little ache that began knocking around his chest that day, to see what he now believes could be the most beautiful thing this ugly world has to offer.

[supportgaza]

Another Talk at my Irish College About Gaza and my Family There Reopened My Wounds

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List].

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

Giving a recent guest talk at my Irish college about the horrors my family and I have endured, the war, its aftermath, and the hellish conditions of life in Gaza, was beyond heart-shattering. Speaking about it felt like performing surgery on myself without anesthesia, reopening wounds, and bleeding in the process.

What pains me the most is the unimaginable suffering my family continues to endure—living in constant fear and uncertainty, unsure whether the war will resume or if the people of Gaza will be forcibly displaced from Gaza.

Some of the slides I displayed:

I also spoke about how the war has left Gaza in ruins, where the bones of Palestinian victims lie scattered across the land. My family, like so many others, has been living without a single hour of electricity for months, their lives completely shattered.

As I spoke to Irish students, my heart ached for my family. All I wish for is to reunite with them here in Ireland, where we can finally live a peaceful, normal life. And I remain determined to make this dream a reality.

But I cannot do this alone—I am only human. I urge you to support my campaign in any way you can. Whether by donating, sharing, or simply spreading the word, your help can save my family’s lives and future. That is my ultimate number one mission.

As of 15/2/2025, we are almost at 70% of our final fundraising goal, and we expect the Rafah crossing into Egypt to reopen in the coming weeks. This could be our last chance.

Unfortunately, funds have slowed down at a critical time, and the future of Gaza looks bleak and uncertain.

Please share, donate, reblog, and help us reunite in Ireland where we can Finally live safely.

Tagging for reach! Please reblog my post and help reach our final goal and finally reunite. <3

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[bizarrelovetriangel]

crave.

rafayel wants to smash but keeps getting interrupted

fluff and smut so mdni. 18+ only. dry humping. m masturbation. cunnilingus.

sylus version / zayne version / caleb version

Rafayel crawls on top of you, trapping you at the end of the couch as he drowns you in a deep kiss that had you gasping for air while his hands caresses your figure.

You grab him by the collars of his shirt to pull him close, and he eagerly dives in to your neck while his hips grinds against yours.

THUD.

At his action, the couch jolts and accidentally knocks over something nearby and suddenly, the white floor has been painted pink.

"....Oops!"

Rafayel laughs after watching his own bucket of pink paint spill to the floor.

"It's fine, we can clean it up later." He captures your chin with two fingers and gently redirects your gaze back to him.

As if in a trance, you leaned in to give him a kiss. Then, the very second your lips touched, you snapped out of it as you remembered Thomas will be coming in soon to check up on the paintings.

"No, wait! We have to clean this up now!"

"Wha — "

Too late. Rafayel sighs as you slip out of his grasp, disappearing to get the cleaning supplies to get rid of the mess he created.

Interrupted yet again for the third time this week. Somehow, everytime you two are getting intimate, something always happens to ruin the mood.

If this keeps happening...

He can only hope that you can forgive him for the way he'll be behaving.

Busy from work, you didn't get to see Rafayel again until two days later. From the minute you were off the clock, you met up with him at the beach.

He was lost in a thought, observing a sea shell on his hand, so you took the opportunity to surprise him by jumping on his back.

However, you end up being the one caught off-guard because Rafayel spun around at the very last moment and caught you right in his arms while your legs wrapped around his waist.

"Woooow, you missed me this much, cutie?"

"How did you know?! I was making no sounds at all!"

"I have special senses just for you." He grins. "That's why I can even hear what you're thinking."

"Liar."

"Nuh-uh."

"Tell me what I'm thinking about right now, then."

"Fine." Rafayel pauses and tilts his head as he stares at you with squinted eyes. "Right now, you're thinking.... you want to give me one million kisses to make up for the past two days when you couldn't see me."

"....wrong."

"Oh? So you don't want to kiss me?" You were immediately met with a pout. "So you don't love me anymore?"

"...I didn't say that...." You squished his cheeks and pressed your lips against his. "I don't want to give you one million kisses. I want to give you two million kisses."

And Rafayel made sure that he'd get every single one of them by clinging onto you tighter and returning your kisses with twice the intensity.

His hands carefully shifts around your thighs so that he could squeeze your ass while your right hand fiddles with his hair on the back of his neck, and the fingers of your left hand trailing down from his collar bones to his chest after slipping past his shirt.

Feeling his body heating up with desire, Rafayel moans against your lips. Blood rushes down below his hips, and his legs want to shake and give out just so he could pin you down on the sandy ground.

This beach is private property, as a part of his house and studio, so no one can see you and interrupt you.

Rafayel wants to take you. Here and now.

With ragged breaths, he grunts your name as he starts to move your body up and down, rubbing your crotch against the bulge rising through his pants.

You moved your hips and reached farther down to palm his clothed cock, wanting to provide him better relief. You unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper, when suddenly, something came flying right at you.

"Ah!!!"

You shrieked at the three seagulls that appeared out of the blue and decided to flock all around you both.

Rafayel hissed at them while waving a hand to scare them away. "What are you guys doing?! Leave us alone, shoo, shoo!"

You then realized they weren't bothering you two, but specitically your bag on the ground.

"What do they want from that — oh!"

"Oh?"

You cursed as you got off Rafayel to pick up your bag and reveal a small, still warm takeout box that you'd purchased on the way to Rafayel. "I forgot... I got you some shrimp cakes."

You shoved the box inside your bag just so you could have both of your hands freed to sneak up and jump on Rafayel, but you'd gotten distracted and forgot about it.

Now the seagulls have come to punish you.

"They're for me?!" Rafayel happily takes the takeout box and hugs it close to his chest. "You hear that, birdies?! These are mine! Back off!" He then clicks his tongue and mutters under his breath. "And you interrupted us too. So rude."

You chuckled and took his arm. "Let's go back in your place before they summon more of their army and take us down."

"Tch. I can fight a hundred of them. With you, we can take down thousands."

"What about a million seagulls?"

"I guess we can beat them too, but only with an army of our own. We can start making our first recruitment tonight."

"Haha sure — wait what?! What do you mean?!"

Rafayel starts skipping ahead of you, eager to get back to his home. "Shrimp cakes~"

You and Rafayel had gone out to watch one of Talia's concerts in another city that wasn't too far from Linkon.

The roadtrip provides a lovely scenery that shines particularly late at night, so you and Rafayel decided to stop and park at a resting area by the mountain road to enjoy the view of the night sky above and the city lights below.

Rafayel was singing one of Talia's songs that got stuck in his head when you abandoned your seat and placed yourself on his lap, facing the passenger seat's window.

"Hmm?"

"Keep singing, please."

You rested the side of your head against his chest, and Rafayel places his hands on your waist before continuing to sing as requested.

You wanted to close your eyes and fall asleep to his beautiul voice that never fails to relax you, but the moon and the stars are so breathtaking, you didn't want to look away from them either.

Well, there is one view that more compelling.

Just one.

"You look pretty."

Rafayel stops singing and instantly becomes flustered. "Wha— why are you saying that all of a sudden?!"

"Why can't I?"

"You have to warn me first." He murmurs, looking away to calm his racing heart. "Also, I was supposed to say that to you first. I was trying to find the best time to tell you all night. But you cheated and distracted me by making me sing. I deserve a compensation."

You laughed. "Compensation? Sure, what do you want?"

Rafayel answers you by leaning forward to peck your neck, then he leaves soft, brief kisses on your jaw, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, and lastly, your lips.

You readjusted yourself by facing him properly and placing your knees on the sides of his hips, causing the skirt of your dress to be pushed up to your thighs.

Rafayel impatiently captures your lips and parts them with his tongue to kiss you deeply then sighing with content as he tastes the punch that you had been drinking during dinner with Talia.

You grabbed his tie to loosen it before undoing the top buttons of his shirt so your fingers could feel the warmth of his chest.

Rafayel's hands leave your legs and disappears into your skirt. His hands linger on your ass for a moment before two fingers wandered towards your underwear to trace your folds.

He swallows the moan that leaves your mouth as his fingers slipped inside your panty to rub your slit, already wet with need for him.

He slowly sticks in two fingers inside and you pull back as you arch your back, gasping from pleasure.

Rafayel takes pride at your reaction and admires the look on your face as you mewl from his fingers, which encourages him to move faster and deeper.

His pants tightened every time his fingers slip in and out of your core. His cock wants to take their place, demanding to be enveloped by your warmth.

And you must have noticed it throbbing, begging for your attention, because you lowered yourself and started to grind against his cock.

You captured his hand that had been under your skirt and brought it to his side before intertwining your fingers together, then you continued to ride his thighs.

Rafayel groans quietly, gripping your hands tighter as you quickened your pace, pressing your weight down on him even more so that he could feel you better.

His mind starts spinning, heart racing as he feels himself on the verge of exploding.

"I— I'm close — "

He thrusted his hips upwards, desperate to get his release.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Your flinch and screeched at the sudden loud noises of another car honking nearby.

Headlights are flickering right at you, which means that car is clearly angry at you about something.

"What the hell?!"

You rolled down the window and stuck your head out to see what the driver wanted.

It turns out to be an old woman wearing a uniform who's looking like she wants to smack you with a broom.

"You're not allowed to park there!"

"What?"

"You can't park there at this time!"

You then realized she's a parking enforcement.

"Oh...." You laughed nervously and gave her a wave. "Got it! We'll be leaving now! Sorry!"

You then looked down at Rafayel, who has a frown and furrowed brows on his red face, chest still heaving from your actions just a minute ago before the painful interruption.

He was so close...

"We need to leave now before she gives us a ticket."

You got off Rafayel and moved back to the passenger seat. He slowly sits up and his hand clenches the steering wheel.

"Are you okay? What's the matter?"

Rafayel wanted to slam his head on the wheel. That was the worst interruption by far.

Sure, you two shouldn't have started anything in public, but still....

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Yes, we're leaving!"

Three weeks.

Rafayel hasn't seen you for three whole weeks due to a business trip he can't opt out of. He wanted you to go with him, but there's a lot going on with the Hunters Association and they can't afford to lose one of their best hunters at the moment, so you had to stay back in Linkon.

Although he'd gotten used to being away from you from time to time, Rafayel will never not miss you. The beach house that he's temporarily staying at feels lonely.

At the very least, he can see and talk to you through a videocall. You got to share with each other how your day went, and you shared what you've eaten and what your plans are for the following day.

But from the moment it ended, Rafayel found himself sulking in his bedsheet, seeking for the warmth that always comforts him.

He wishes he could hear your voice in person.

He wanted to see you and feel you. He wanted you next to him. He wanted you under him. He wanted you on top of him.

He wanted you running your fingers through his hair. He wanted your hands down his chest. He wanted your lips on his. He wanted your body against his.

Besides the three weeks, it's been longer since he'd become one with you.

Right now, he needs to be inside you, feeling every part of you.

Rafayel's breath hitches as his body becomes ignited, thoughts of you filling his head and making his heart race.

His hands gripped the sheets covering his figure before one of them slowly travels to his hips, just between his thighs.

His desire for you has become visible. His cock hardens inside his pants, aching with desperation to be in your tight core.

Rafayel imagines himself taking you from behind, emitting sweet sounds out of your pretty lips as he pounds in and out of you.

A hand makes its way inside his pants, down to his boxers. With closed eyes, Rafayel touches himself while pretending it's your hand that's pleasuring him.

His hips pushes up to hump his own hand, quiet whines spilling from his mouth as he picture you riding his cock, hair falling all over the place while echoing the groans he's making.

Faster.

Harder.

Rafayel tightens his fist around his cock and picked up the pace, just like how you'd clench around him and move faster as you'd reach your climax.

Then suddenly, he stops.

Right before he could come, Rafayel lets go of himself and sits up. He rips the bedsheets off his body and wipes the beats of sweat that clung on his forehead and chest, then he takes a moment to catch his breath.

He wanted to come.

So badly.

But he wants to wait for you.

He's almost out of patience, but there's still just enough to wait for the day when he sees you again. As soon as he reunites with you, he won't let you go anytime soon.

He'll show you just how much he missed you.

For now, a cold bath will have to do.

"You're looking a little blue, sir. Would you like some wine to make you feel better?"

"No thanks, I'm — "

Rafayel snaps out of his daze as the familiar voice hit him. He looks at the person that just sat down next to him, offering him a glass of wine.

He blinks several times.

Is he dreaming?

Is this some kind of hallucination?

Is he drunk despite not drinking anything alcoholic yet?

"...A hello would be nice, you know? Just staring at me's kinda awkward."

That laugh.

It's definitely you.

And you're really here, in front of him.

"What...." Rafayel almost tears up at the sight of you. "What are you doing here, cutie? Couldn't resist following me at the other side of the world?"

"Yeah, actually." You admitted with a grin. "I've been missing you a lot. Thomas asked if I was free for the weekened, and when I said yes, he hit me up with a ticket and an invitation to a certain banquet."

Rafayel chuckles. "So that's why he hasn't shown up yet. You stole his spot as my plus-one."

"That's right. I did."

He smiles at your smugness before diving into your arms and kissing your lips, and he made sure to take his time pulling away.

He admired your appearance and noted that you're wearing a dress that matches the colors of his suit.

He can't forget to thank Thomas later.

"You look — "

"You look beautiful, Rafayel ~ "

"...I'm supposed to tell you that!" He huffs. "Stop stealing my line."

His hands remained on your hips, refusing to detach himself from you. He scooted his chair closer so that it's right next to yours, making it clear to everyone that you two are together.

"So, do you still want this wine?"

"Nope. I want something else instead." He leans in to get another kiss, but you block his lips by holding the glass of wine in front of your face. "Wha— "

"There's lots of amazing art on display here. Would you please show me around and tell me about them?"

Rafayel has mixed feelings upon seeing the innocent expression on your face.

He thinks you're up to something.

Nonetheless, he agreed to your request.

As he guided you around the gallery, Rafayel tried to steal some more kisses from you.

And you deflected every single one of his attempts with a suspicious smile on your face.

"Why won't you let me kiss you? Why are you bullying me?"

You pinched his cheeks as he pouted at you. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hmph."

He was sulking for the rest of the night.

Luckily, the banquet ended soon, and Rafayel drives you two back without saying a word. You try not to laugh at him, and he definitely noticed and pouted even harder.

Once you're inside his temporary house, Rafayel walks in the bedroom and opened the balcony doors, revealing the view of the beach and the waves clashing under the moon.

"So you came all the way here but you don't even miss me."

"I didn't say that. I told you I missed you, didn't I?"

"So why won't you kiss me after that one time?"

You grinned and caught his tie to pull him towards you. "I didn't want to kiss you because I missed you."

Rafayel tilted his head. "So you've turned crazy without me. I'm sorry. From now on, I'll be sure to pack you in my bag everytime I go away."

You pinched his cheeks. "Will you let me finish so I can try to sound romantic?!" Rafayel holds back a laugh but says nothing, so you continue. "What I meant to say was... I missed you so much that I didn't want to kiss you, because I wouldn't be able to stop myself."

You closed the distance between your bodies and stood on the tip of your toes so your lips could brush against his.

"Once I kiss you back, I'd get greedy. I'd want more and more and more. I don't want to let you go."

Rafayel finds himself unable to make a comeback, feeling his throat tightening up at your words. His face quickly warms up as soon as your lips touched.

It feels like it's been forever since he last felt kissed you.

And finally at this moment, everything feels right.

He captured your waist and pulls you against him while you pulled his tie down to deepen the kiss. You loosened the knot and got rid of his jacket, and he follows up by unzipping the back of your dress.

Once it fell to the floor, you gently pushed Rafayel on the bed and immediately pinned him down by sitting on his lap. You then undid the buttons of his shirt before running a hand down his chest, feeling his heart pounding with excitement.

Rafayel was put in a trance for a moment as he watches you unbuckle the belt of his pants before undoing its button and zipper. He couldn't keep his eyes off you.

You're really here.

At last, he has you.

And he'll make sure to appreciate every second with you, cherishing every part of you.

"I missed you too."

Rafayel suddenly tells you, just as you're about to pull off his pants.

"I missed you so much."

He kisses you hard before leaning back and bringing you down on the mattress with him. He rolls over so that you're under him, then his tongue pushes between your lips while his hands caresses your chest, then your stomach, and lastly, your thighs.

He doesn't hesitate to discard your underwear and traces your folds with his fingers. His body heats up at the moans you let out, causing him to move his fingers faster.

His cock twitches behind his boxers, but Rafayel wants to take his time making you feel good first.

He's craving for your taste.

His lips leaves yours and drops a trail of kisses starting from your neck, and all the way down to the insides of your thighs. His tongue finds your slit and makes its way inside to devour you.

He hums with satisfaction, eyes peeking up to glance at your expression. His hands softly holds your thighs while his tongue flicks deeper into you.

It doesn't take long for you to come, almost crushing Rafayel with your thighs as they shook before squirting onto the bedsheet.

Rafayel's eyes darken with lust, removing every single piece of clothing he has left before pressing his weight on top of you.

He gives you some time for your body to relax by bringing his attention back to your lips, kissing them until they're plump and red. His teeth playfully tugs at them while your hands danced from his back and slid down to his ass.

With one hand, he rubs his cock a few times, coating himself with his own pre-cum before aligning his tip with your entrance.

He gazes at your eyes for a second, making sure you're comfortable. Once he sees your reassuring smile, he slides himself into you slowly.

Once he's all the way in, Rafayel doesn't hold back. He starts moving hard and fast, causing both of you to groan loudly, synchronizing with the sounds of your bodies clashing together.

His mouth envelopes your left breast, tongue circling around your nipple before sucking on your skin to leave a mark.

He does the same to your right breast while his thrusts become harder, causing your body to jolt upwards. The bed shrieks along with your movements, though neither of you could notice as your undivided attentions are on each other.

Rafayel exhales slowly before pulling out, only to bring your legs on his shoulders. Then, he shoves his cock back in again, this time hitting you at better angles that he knows drived you insane.

Your cries of pleasure encourages him to pick up the pace, and soon he finds himself reaching his climax. Rafayel's hips stutter, struggling to pull out of you. He barely manages to get his tip out before shooting his load right at your body, accidentally getting some on your face.

You came again not too long after him. He drops down next to you and his chest heaves as he catches his breath.

The two of you faced the ceiling, listening to the sounds of your breaths as well as the roaring sea right outside.

Rafayel turns to his side to face you with a grin on his face. "I hope you're not tired yet. We haven't made up for all the times we've been interrupted. That was.... how many times? Five? Seven?" He rests his chin on your chest before whispering to you. "I'll make you come at least seven times."

You squished his cheeks. "Then, I'll make you come eight times."

With that, you lightly push him on his back and pin him down with your weight, sitting right on his thighs.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 5)

This one is kind of Jinu orientated! Welcome to the debut chapter of Soda Pop! Please enjoy :3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7

‘Okay, what's the big deal? Also, you were eavesdropping on me?’ Y/N pointed an accusing finger at Rae, who annoyingly did not look a single bit guilty.

‘I wanted to make sure you were safe.’��

‘I was safe. How do you think I’ve been surviving this entire time before you guys came along?’ Y/N threw up her hands in indignation. ‘In fact, the most danger I’ve been in was when you guys tried to take my soul. Remember that?’

The boys collectively winced, knowing she was right.

‘She has a demon voice. She caused damage to the Honmoon, your friend is dangerous.’ Rae walked forward, taking her arm and pulling her toward the kitchen island

‘Rumi didn’t do it on purpose, she was scared and confused. She would never hurt me.’ Y/N sat down to Rae’s ushering. ‘What, what is-?’

‘It’s some sokkoritang. (Ox Bone Soup) You haven’t eaten.’ Jinu scooped up a bowl of rice from Y/N’s barely used rice cooker. She couldn't even remember if she bought it or it came with the penthouse.

‘I made it, so eat up.’

Y/N picked up her spoon, as Jinu placed a bowl of rice in front of her.

‘Thank you…’ She stared down at the bowl, stunned at the unexpected kindness.

‘We need you to be functional so we can steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu explained hurriedly, his cheeks coloured with a pretty peach colour. Luckily for him, this went unnoticed by Y/N, who was digging into her meal.

The soup was perfectly seasoned, flavourful and balanced.

How long had it been since Y/N actually had homecooked food? At least in this world, it had been months since she was able to have any, being on a world tour with the Huntr/x girls. It was a simple luxury she had since abandoned for convenience.

‘This is… It was amazing. Thank you Jinu.’ Y/N finished, standing to put her bowl in the sink. The rest of the Saja boys were rehearsing their song in the living area.

‘It was nothing.’ Jinu breathed out, as if a weight had been lifted from him. ‘Before things got really bad… I would help my mother cook.’ Jinu took Y/N’s bowl, placing it in the sink as he turned on the tap.

‘But that was four hundred years ago.’ He finished, tone hardening.

‘The food was amazing, you’d make a wonderful house wife Jinu.’ Y/N joked, leaning against the countertop next to Jinu as he washed the bowl. She could feel the unease, radiating off Jinu’s being.

‘Yeah?’ He smirked, shaking off the excess water from his hands. ‘You gonna find me a suitable husband?’ 

‘Hmm, I don’t know anyone willing to marry a maiden with such, attitude. I’m afraid we’re the only people who can put up with it.’ Y/N gestured to herself and the Saja Boys.

‘Is that so?’ Jinu hummed, gazing at Y/N forlornly as she nodded approvingly at the boys who were nailing their choreography.

‘Jinu, I get that you’re worried I might run off or that I’ll stop writing for you. But you can’t send-’

‘They all wanted to.’

‘Jinu…’ Y/N exhaled, turning to face the man, who at least this time, looked slightly guilty. ‘I have your number. You don’t have to send someone to look after me.’

‘Okay…’ He refused to meet her eye, staring at a blank spot on the wall to his left.

‘Although, I don’t mind the tiger. It’s so cute.’ Y/N gave him a forbearing smile. 

‘Yeah?’ Jinu grinned, face lighting up. ‘Did you see it’s-’

‘Tiny hat? Did you make it for the tiger?’ 

‘Yeah, but my bird keeps taking it.’ Jinu summoned the tiger with a flick of his hand, said creature appearing out of her floor.

‘Oh my goodness, hello there sweetheart!’ Y/N cried out, kneeling in front of the curious tiger.

‘Who is she calling sweetheart?’ A voice replied from the living space, sounding irate.

‘Oh, it’s the tiger.’ Another voice answered, footsteps shuffling toward the kitchen.

‘Oh, you precious little thing.’ Y/N splayed her hand, palm side up. The tiger gave a pleasant growl, rumbling as it butted its head against Y/N’s hand.

‘It’s cute but not that cute.’ Beom pouted, crossing his arms.

‘What do you mean?’ Y/N pouted in return. This baby is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, arent’cha?’ Y/N gave the blue tiger scratches underneath its chin.

‘Alright, you’ve got to sleep. Our debut is tomorrow and you need to be there.’ Jinu, waved his hand, causing the tiger to begin to sink back into the ground. The creature let out a downcast rumble in protest.

‘Aw..’ Y/N protested, waving goodbye to the equally disappointed creature. ‘Wait, why do I have to be there?’ 

‘So I have someone to focus on. You don’t want me to get stage fright, do you?’ Rae smirked, leaning toward Y/N’s face.

‘Hey, hey, what did I say about fake flirting.’ Y/N laughed, pushing away Rae’s face with a guiding hand.

‘Who said it was fake.’ Rae grumbled quietly under his breath, retreating toward a spinning chair.

‘Anyways, I will go to sleep. But only because I wanna go grocery shopping tomorrow. There’s this new snack I’ve been wanting to try.’

‘Oh, you mean this one?’ Rae held up a bag of the very snack that Y/N had been craving.

‘What, how?’ She spluttered, reaching towards the packet.

‘I saw you look at it twice when you were buying Kimbap with the demon hunter.’ Rae dangled the packet above her head, keeping it just out of reach.

‘Hey! I thought you bought it for me!’ Y/N jumped, swiping at the bag.

‘I did, but you gotta promise you’ll come to our performance tomorrow.’ Rae smirked, waving around the snack bag teasingly.

‘Ugh, Jinu, make him give it to me.’ Y/N pouted, pointing at Rae angrily.

‘You gotta promise.’ Jinu laughed, a tender heat spreading through his chest as he watched Y/N swipe at Rae. The way his friends got along with their new writer didn’t go unnoticed by him. To be honest, it was actually endearing to some degree. Like he and his friends had gotten a new pet.

‘Fine.. FINE I’ll be there so lemme-’ Y/N leapt, finally snatching the bag out of Rae’s hand, falling back into Mystery’s arms, almost collapsing on the floor.

‘Oops, sorry Mystery.’ Y/N stood, with the purplehaired man’s help.

‘Just Min, is fine.’ The soft spoken man replied, seemingly checking for any injury as he spun her around slowly. 

‘Alrighty, Y/N you go to bed. The rest of us will continue our rehearsal. We’ll be quiet, we promise.’ Abel placed his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her to her room as the rest of the boys stood up, beginning their stretching routine.

‘Goodnight everyone!’ Y/N called out, looking behind her.

‘Night Y/N!’ ‘Sleep well!’ ‘Sweet dreams Y/N!’ ‘Night.’ The boys chorused, while Abel walked her to her room.

‘Are you guys ready?’ Y/N opened her bedroom door, walking into her room.

‘Yeah, pretty much. We just need to make everything a little sharper. Otherwise, we’re pretty much perfect.

‘Thats great! Y/N smiled, pulling out pajamas from her closet.

‘Here, gimmie that.’ Abel tugged Y/N’s snack bag. ‘What are you gonna do, eat it in your sleep?’

‘Hey, I so could!’ Y/N laughed, releasing her hold on the food. ‘Now turn around or get out. I need to change.’

‘I have a question.’ Abel turned to face the bedroom door, closing his eyes for good measure.

‘Yeah?’

‘Has what happened to me, happened with any of the other boys?’ 

‘You mean that weird light that made your patterns shine?’ Y/N pulled her pants up, letting the elastic snap around her waist. ‘Yeah, actually when you guys went to go get me breakfast this morning, Beom and I had a chat.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I made this pattern shine, I touched his shoulder when we were talking about the deal he made with Gwi-ma.’ Y/N recounted, sliding herself into bed.

‘Huh, y’know he doesn’t really talk about it much?’ Abel twitched, wanting to face Y/N. 

‘You can turn around now. But, no I didn’t. I guess, at that moment I just felt so…’ Y/N trailed off, trying to recount her emotions and convey them into words.

‘I wanted to help. I didn’t want Beom to let Gwi-ma take credit for his talent.’ 

‘So it can just be anywhere.’ Abel hummed, leaning on Y/N’s doorframe. ‘I see.’

‘I mean, I still don’t know how to control it. I touched Rae’s hand today but nothing happened.’ Y/N shook her head, pulling the comforter to her chest.

‘Mm, sounds like there needs to be intent behind those touches.We can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just sleep.’ Abel nodded, stepping back and beginning to close the bedroom door. ‘Sleep tight.’

‘Night Abel.’ Y/N closed her eyes as the demon switched off the lights, easing the bedroom door shut.

–

‘You’re sure she was part demon?’ Jinu inquired, as Abel walked back into the living space.

‘Positive.’ Rae nodded, the group sitting in a circle formation not unlike a formal meeting. ‘If her patterns weren't enough, she had a demon voice.’

‘That shockwave was caused by her?’ Mystery leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Yes.’

‘She weakened the Honmoon.’

‘Is Y/N safe hanging around them?’ Beom picked at a loose thread on his sweater. 

‘We’ll keep an eye on her. I’ll send Derpy and Sussie to check on her.’ Jinu finalised, nodding his head.

‘You just had to show her you were following her, didn’t you Rae?’ Abel snickered, nudging the taller man with a playful elbow.

‘She was shivering. What was I meant to do? Let her freeze?’ He rolled his eyes, face slightly flushing a pretty pink.

‘Alright, let’s get back to work. Don’t forget, we’re here to steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu clapped his hands, breaking up the playful banter. He seemed troubled, his eyes were unfocused. Jinu was stuck between a rock and a hard place and seemingly with no other alternative.

As Y/N slipped into the realm of the unconscious, the Saja Boys continued their practice well into the early morning. They had finished around five am, deciding that they were ready to perform. All the boys made a brisk trip back to their neighboring apartment building to change.

Jinu however, stayed behind.

His reasoning?

‘I need to make breakfast for her so she doesn’t have an excuse not to come see the performance.’ Jinu shrugged, putting on an apron and rummaging through the fridge.

‘We’ll bring back your performance clothes so you can change after.’ Mystery nodded, patting his friend on the back. 

Jinu nodded, pulling out two eggs from the fridge, placing them into a bowl. 

Yeah, that was the reason he was making her breakfast. Why else would he do something like that? 

‘I need her so she can write more songs. So I can get Gwi-ma those souls, so I can forget.’ Jinu muttered, cracking the eggs into the bowl with one hand. He had already taken out a pan and set it on the stove, now pouring some oil into it.

‘That’s all. That's all it is.’ He shook his head, ‘She means nothing. I don’t care.’ Jinu mumbled, sliding the egg mixture into the pan, watching the edges bubble in the hot oil. A protesting groan, from the metal spatula, being dented from Jinu’s grip.

‘Mm, what smells good?’ A drowsy voice filled the incessant whispering in Jinu’s head, effectively drowning out the unwelcomed voices in his head in an instant.

‘Just some eggs. Sit down, I’m almost done.’ Jinu relinquished his hardened grip on the spatula, using it to separate the eggs from the bottom of the pan. ‘Grab a plate and some bread.’ 

Y/N rubbed her eyes, stumbling half blindly to the cupboard containing all her dinnerware. She pulled out a plate before returning to the table, letting the plate clink against the marble top. 

‘I didn’t buy any bread this month.’ Y/N whined, smushing her face into the tabletop.

‘Yeah, I bought some for you yesterday.’ Jinu turned around, pausing to take in Y/N’s groggy appearance. Her hair was unbrushed, eyes still crusted with rheum on the edges. She was still in her pajamas.

And yet…

Jinu’s chest ached, a mellow pang rushing through his chest, radiating through every fiber of his being.

This.

This homeliness. This domestication. It was something he had since long forgotten, left behind when he abandoned his family to live a cushy life in the palace. Even then he had never felt this much…

Joy. 

‘Heh, nice apron Jinu.’ Y/N giggled, using a fork to cut her eggs in half. ‘Pink suits you.’

Jinu glanced down, realising he still had Y/N’s apron on. 

‘All colours suit me.’ He sniffed haughtily, before pointing at Y/N, ‘And you can’t talk! Look at your pajamas!’

‘HEY I bought these because they're cute.’ She protested, taking a bite of her breakfast.

‘Childish.’

‘Nuh uh!’

The pair dissolved into a fit of giggles, as the elevator doors dinged open, revealing the rest of the boys.

‘Wow, my PJ’s and you apron does not compare to Abel’s crappy Hawaiian print shirt.’ Y/N howled with laughter, leaning back in her chair. Luckily for her, Jinu had caught her again, casually with his arm.

‘It was this, or palm trees…’ Abel sighed, looking down at his shirt. ‘Rae said that I couldn’t wear a plaid one.’

‘Plaid is an abomination. We want them to like us, not judge us for our fashion choices.’ Rae crossed his arms, his yellow chiffon top ruffling.

‘Huh, what will you be wearing Jinu?’ Y/N lifted her head to look at the man still holding on to her waist.

‘Hm, not sure, whatever Rae decided to give me.’

‘Yeah, I have your clothes right here. Unless you wanna debut in a pink frilly apron that's fine by me too.’

‘I’d rather not thank you.’ Jinu picked up the clothes from Rae’s hands and wandered off to Y/N’s bathroom.

‘You better not go through my drawers.’ Y/N called out.

‘I’m looking through 'em right now, I’m rummaging!’ Jinu called back, closing the door behind him

‘So, you guys ready? Excited?’ Y/N stood up, walking towards her bedroom. ‘Lemme get changed, I'll be right back.’

The boys nodded, watching Y/N disappear behind her door.

‘Did you see her pajamas?’ Beom sighed, a tiny smile on his face.

‘Is it weird that I think she’s cute?’ Min hummed, staring at Y/N’s closed bedroom door.

‘I’d think you were weird if you didn’t find her cute.’ Rae remarked, his chin resting on his fist.

They each felt an inexplicable pull towards the girl. As if she was anchoring them to the earth. These were feelings they hadn’t felt in centuries, locked away in a box, buried beneath their shame and fears. They had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel happy. Abel and Beom had forgotten what it was like to be able to have their own thoughts, unpolluted by the soiled words of Gwi-ma.

‘Alright, whose idea was it to put me in pink.’ Jinu raised an eyebrow, as the boys all collectively pointed at Beom.

The youngest let out an unholy screech as Jinu chased him around, chuckling darkly. Y/N opened her door, met with the whining of Beom and teasing of Jinu.

‘Say you’re sorry!’ Jinu laughed, giving a particularly painful noogie to the blue harried boy. They were both on the floor, Jinu had wrapped his legs around Beom's waist, holding him snug.

‘I’M SORRY.’ Beom whined, writhing in Jinu’s grip.

‘Will you ever do it again?’ Jinu held fast, driving his knuckles into Beom’s skull.

‘NOOOOOOO.’ Beom complained. ‘HELP ME Y/N!’ 

Y/N giggled, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

‘You guys are like brothers huh?’ Y/N sat down on her gaming chair, pulling her shoes on.

‘Yeah pretty much.’ Min nodded next to her. ‘Jinu brought us all together, years ago when he found beom.’

‘We don’t have to get into that now.’ Jinu brushed himself off, standing and straightening his clothing.

‘Aw, but I wanna hear the story.’ Y/N slumped down in her chair in protest.

‘Yeah but we have a debut to get to. Here, if our debut goes well, I’ll tell you who's the oldest.’

‘Is it not you?’ Y/N blinked, miffed. ‘You’re four hundred. Beom-ie is two hundred.-’ 

‘Give or take.’ Beom interrupted

‘Yeah, Beom is our youngest.’ Jinu gazed at the blue haired boy with pride, ruffling his hair. ‘He’s our pride and joy.’

‘Hey! I’m gonna have to wear a hat to cover this mess up now.’ Beom sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. Rae handed Beom a yellow beret, seemingly materialised out of thin air.

The group continued their conversation as they packed into the elevator. Y/N continued to guess at everyone’s age but none of the men would confirm her guesses. They found it funny that Y/N was unable to guess their age order correctly.

They reached the plaza as Y/N gave up, stalking behind the boys as they chattered to each other, occasionally teasing the pouting girl.

‘Y/N?’ A deep feminine voice called out. 

‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, spotting a trio of girls walking out of a bathhouse. ‘Mira, Rumi and Zoey?’ 

‘Hey! You didn’t answer your phone.’ Rumi ran over to Y/N, giving her a hug. ‘I called but you didn't pick up, so I left a message asking if you wanted to come to the bathhouse with us!’ Rumi dragged Y/N toward Mira and Zoey. 

Y/N patted her pockets, searching for her phone.

Damn. She had left it at home.

Each of the girls were wearing somewhat of a disguise.  Zoey was wearing a yellow fuzzy bucket hat, obscuring her face, Rumi was wearing her pink hoodie, the hood covering her signature purple hair. Mira was wearing a black baseball cap, her face adorned by golden circular framed glasses. 

‘Yeah, are you free today?’ Mira gave an amused smile, leaning down to look at Y/N’s face closely. ‘Looks like you slept well last night. That’s good.’

‘Yeah! Wanna hang out with us? We’re taking today off!’ Zoey looped her arm around Y/N’s walking towards the plaza.

Y/N blinked, looking behind her, realising that the men had since disappeared.

'Yeah, we hear a new boy band is having a debut stage today and we wanna go judge them. What was their name. It was something stupid, to do with animals.' Mira chuckled, linking her arm around Rumi's.

'The Saja Boys. Honestly, sounds kinda corny.' Rumi laughed, the four walking toward a familiar beat filling the air.

'Huh, must be here. Look, there's pink mist.' Zoey pointed, leading Y/N and the erst of the girls to stand in the forming crowd.

The familiar beat of Soa Pop began to fill the air, as the pink mist revealed the Saja Boys.

'Don't want you, need you Yeah, I need you to fill me up.' Jinu began singing, spotting Y/N immediately, winking at her.

'Ew.' Rumi gagged, 'These guys are so cliché that it hurts.'

'Did he just wink at you?' Mira smirked, glancing between the boys performing and Y/N.

'Uh... maybe?'

'Oh, he was definently winking at her. They're all looking at her.' Zoey squealed, shaking Y/N excitedly.

'Wow, their song is annoyingly catchy though. It matches their vibe really well.' Mira brought her fingers to her chin, tapping her index finger thoughtfully.

'Huh, the writing style reminds me of you Y/N.' Rumi raised an eyebrow, as the boys continued to sing, blowing heart's out of thin air.

'Uh...'

'Wait, look!' Zoey gasped, pointing at the group. 'They have patterns! Look, you can see them.'

'Demons.' Rumi glowered, seeing under their human visage.

'What do we do?' Mira grumbled, looking at the huntr/x girls.

'They're demons, we just do what we always do. We kill them.' Rumi stalked forward, hands itching to grasp her sword. 'Besides, that one winked at our Y/N and I don't share.'

'Wait Rumi, it's too public.' Mira tugged Rumi back quickly, looking at the decent sized crowed.

'But look, they're coming after the fans. That must be why they're posing as this cringey boyband.' Rumi gestured widely to the boys, who were on a rising platform, decorated as a soda can. The Saja Boys had reached the climax of their song.

'I know, but we have to wait. Otherwise we'll have a swarm of fans questioning us. I don't think even Bobby would be able to cover that up for us.' Zoey mused with narrowed eyes, pulling Y/N behind her shielding Y/N with her body.

As the girls contemplated what to do, The Saja Boys finished their performance, sending one last flying kiss in Y/N's direction.

Rumi growled, watching the interaction.

'That's it for now! See you tonight, on everyone's favourite variety show! The Saja Boys love you!' Jinu flashed a charming smile, before giving Y/N a knowing smile.

The boys disappeared in a puff of pink smoke.

'We are so going to kill those dudes.' Rumi snarled, fixing her hoodie as the group walked back to the Huntr/x tower. 'Y/N do you wanna stay in the tower? We gotta get battle ready.'

'Uh, I actually have to go do the demo for What It Sounds Like remember? Y/N rubbed a hand on her neck nervously.

'Right...' Rumi sighed, smoothing back her braid. 'Okay well call us if anything happens. Actually, call us even if nothing happens okay?' Rumi babbled, swiping her key card at the front opening doors.

'She's right. Those boys seemed to be looking at you. They might try something so call us if you feel anything funny okay?' Mira placed a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder while Zoey gave her a hug.

'We'll text you when we send those demons back to where they belong! Maybe we can even record the song today!'

'Alright girls! Stay safe!' Y/N smiled, as the Huntr/x girls walked into the elevator.

'Bye Y/N/N!' The girls chorused, as the elevator doors shut.

Y/N released her breath, 'Oh damn. This is not good.'

Y/N hurried back to her apartment, checking her phone repeatedly.

'So, they wanna kill us tonight huh?' Abel smirked as Y/N rushed past the elevator doors.

'Yeah, I think the purple haired one has a crush on you.' Jinu raised an eyebrow, his face plastered with an unamused smile.

'What?' Y/N blinked.

'How come they get to call you Y/N/N.' Beom pointed at Y/N with his pastel yellow beret.

'YOU GUYS WERE FOLLOWING ME AGAIN?'

Part 6

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IM SORRY MY TAG LIST IS FULL- Follow this post

So you can be notified when I made an edit to the post! (I'll link part 6 when its posted!)

[lilaccmilk]

i just read your "men who look like they havent felt the touch of a woman"

imagine those same men coming from mere grinding

all clothes still on

and the whimpering would go crazyyyyyy

Right so *blushes while trying to act nonchalant* (let’s be honest, not a single nonchalant bone in my body.)

──────────────────

It was a day off for you both, you were straddling his lap, his lips on yours. Kissing you with such a fervour, it was as if he’d die if he didn’t feel your lips on his. Your hand raked through his hair.

You clothed cunt just above his bulge, grinding down on him. You can hear his breathy moans and whimpers, the sounds only spurring you on to grind harder. You left kisses and hickeys on his neck, kissing his jaw, lightly biting his Adam’s apple.

Baby, please need to- fuck- need to be -hah- inside you. C’mon love, please?

“Now now, be a good boy for me, yeah? You can do that right?” You say against his lips, in that sickly sweet voice of yours. His hands reaching up to hold your hips, to grind you down harder. His breathing heavier, his head falling back. And soon enough, you feel a wet patch against your inner things and cunt, you look down to see his pants, drenched.

A look of surprise flashes through your eyes, before you giggle, “Aww, did you come from this alone?” His face flushes red as he hides his face in your chest. But you aren’t finished, instead you pull at his hair, urging him to look at you, “You can give me one more, yeah?” All he can do is nod breathlessly.

──────────────────

The moment when I close my eyes All I see is red lights- Red Lights // Bang Chan, Hyunjin

Ethan Landry, Sub!Miguel O’Hara, Simon Aumar, Harry Potter, Yuta Okkotsu, Choso Kamo, Tyler Galpin, Bucky Barnes +your favs!

[whosashan]

hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

[mrspiastri]

✩ babbles and first words 🍼

pairing: lando norris x reader

cw: fluff, early parenthood, small fights, and baby fever warnings

wc: 3.6k words

an: wanted to write a second part to this, :)) ty for the req idea @cabbagescorp

The newborn months came in like a storm. Everyone had told them it would be hard: the books, the classes, the friends who’d already been through it. But no one could quite prepare them for the bleary-eyed, bone-deep kind of exhaustion that settled into their bodies during those first few weeks after Sophie was born.

She was beautiful. Perfect and endlessly fascinating. But she also didn’t sleep longer than ninety minutes at a time. Ever. Not in the middle of the night. Not during the day. Not in the car or the stroller or the bouncer that Y/N had read 1,200 glowing reviews about.

The house took on a strange rhythm. Day and night bled into each other until Y/N couldn’t remember what the sun looked like. Their once-tidy kitchen table was now a battlefield of bottles, burp cloths, and half-drunk mugs of tea. And Lando, usually composed, had dark circles under his eyes and milk stains on every single hoodie he owned.

Sophie cried constantly. And sometimes she screamed. The kind of scream that pierced through walls, through nerves, through reason.

It was one night, maybe around week five, that it happened.

Y/N stood in the nursery, swaying on tired legs, holding Sophie against her shoulder as she sobbed inconsolably into her mum’s collarbone. It was three in the morning. Again. The third night in a row where Sophie hadn’t slept more than forty minutes in one stretch.

Lando came in, moving slowly, eyes half-shut, hair a mess.

“Let me take her,” he said, reaching for the baby.

“No, I’ve got her,” Y/N muttered. “She just needs a few more minutes.”

“She’s been screaming for over an hour,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Maybe she’s hungry again.”

“She’s not. I fed her already.”

“But maybe she’s still hungry.”

Y/N turned sharply. “I said she’s not.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay. Sorry.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “I just… I’ve been trying. She was calm for a bit. Then she just started again.”

“I know. I’m just saying maybe she needs something else. We could try a bath? Or maybe her reflux is acting up—”

“She’s not broken, Lando.”

“I didn’t say she was!” He snapped.

“You’re acting like everything I do isn’t enough!” Y/N’s voice cracked, and Sophie whimpered louder, reacting to the tension.

Lando stepped back, his jaw tightening. “I’ve been up with her every night too, Y/N. I’m trying just as hard as you.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting tears. “Well, maybe your best isn’t working either.”

The words fell between them like glass shattering.

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of Sophie’s cries.

Lando looked away first, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to take a walk,” he said quietly, and left the room.

Y/N sat down in the rocking chair, heart pounding, shame and frustration rising in equal parts as Sophie cried against her chest. She rocked slowly and gently, whispering little nothings, but her own tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

She hated fighting with him. She hated feeling helpless. And most of all, she hated that she couldn’t make Sophie feel better, no matter how hard she tried.

It was twenty minutes later when Lando returned, his eyes a little clearer, a warm towel in one hand and a bottle in the other.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Y/N blinked, surprised.

He knelt beside her, gently brushing Sophie’s back with his knuckles. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just tired. We both are.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “Me too.”

He shifted closer, placing the warm towel across Sophie’s back. “I passed the mirror in the hallway,” he said, half-smiling. “I look like I’ve been dragged through four tornadoes.”

Y/N let out a tired laugh. “You do.”

Lando looked up at her then, and his eyes softened. “You don’t. You look like her mum. Which is to say, kind of amazing.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Just sat there, close together, as Sophie slowly began to calm in the warmth of their shared presence.

Eventually, they managed to get her down in the bassinet, asleep at last, her fists curled like she was dreaming of clouds.

They curled into bed together, not even changing out of their worn clothes. Lando wrapped his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head.

“We’re going to figure it out,” he whispered into the dark.

“We’re already doing it,” she whispered back.

In the months that followed, things didn’t get easier overnight, but they got better.

Sophie learnt to smile first. A gummy, glorious smile that came one random afternoon when Y/N was bouncing her on the couch and Lando made a ridiculous noise.

Then, she started crawling, flipping onto her stomach and determinedly moving towards her parents. She was everything but calm, much like her dad.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, folding a small mountain of tiny onesies and baby socks. She was humming under her breath, watching Sophie out of the corner of her eye. Their daughter, now just shy of eleven months, had pulled herself up to stand using the edge of the couch and was gripping the fabric like it was the most important thing in the world.

She’d been doing that a lot lately, pulling herself up, cruising cautiously along the furniture, standing in place and squealing with excitement when she managed to balance for a few seconds .

Y/N had seen the signs. She knew they were close.

Still, she didn’t expect it to happen today.

Sophie let go of the couch for a brief second and clapped her hands together, giggling at her own bravery. Then she plopped back down onto her diaper-padded bum and crawled in that odd, determined way babies have toward their mum.

“Hi, my love,” Y/N murmured, reaching out to brush a curl from Sophie’s forehead. “Tired of standing?”

Sophie replied with a babble that sounded like “mamamamama” and shoved a stuffed elephant in her face.

Y/N smiled and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

Ten minutes later, Lando wandered in from the kitchen, sipping a smoothie and wearing the same hoodie his daughter had coloured up with marker three days ago. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he looked freshly awake, despite the ever-present exhaustion that hung around both of them like fog.

“Everything alright in here?” he asked, setting the cup on the table.

Y/N nodded. “We’re doing laundry and watching a nursery rhymes video compilation.”

“Of course. Essential for child development,” he said seriously, then grinned and flopped down onto the floor beside her, long legs splayed out in front of him.

Sophie perked up immediately, crawling toward her dad like he was made of light. He scooped her up and blew a raspberry on her neck, earning a shriek of laughter.

Then he set her down again, sitting upright just a few feet away from her. She wobbled on her knees, looking at him, then at Y/N, then back at him.

And then, she stood. Just a baby standing in the middle of the living room like it was nothing.

Y/N gasped, clutching Lando’s arm. “Oh my God.”

“Shhh, shh—don’t move,” he whispered, frozen in place.

Sophie stood there for a moment, uncertain. Her arms flailed for balance. Her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as she concentrated hard, brows furrowed, curls bouncing ever so slightly with her tiny tremble.

Then she took one step.

A pause. A squeal.

Then another.

And another.

Three whole steps; wobbly, wide-legged, magical, until she lost her balance and fell forward right into Lando’s lap.

The house exploded in joy.

Y/N covered her mouth, eyes wide and wet with sudden tears. Lando scooped Sophie up and twirled her in the air, both of them laughing.

“You did it! You did it, baby girl!” he shouted, grinning like a man who’d just witnessed a miracle.

Sophie giggled and clapped, clearly thrilled with herself, before immediately trying to wriggle free and do it again.

Y/N was already grabbing her phone, fumbling to open the camera. “She just walked. She walked, Lando.”

“I know,” he said, pulling Y/N into his arms with Sophie still wedged between them. “I saw it. I saw all of it.”

They sank back down onto the floor, tangled together in a heap of limbs and joy, with Sophie babbling and bouncing excitedly between them, clearly not understanding why her parents looked like they were about to cry and laugh and scream all at once.

🪻🪻🪻

Sophia, now officially Sophie to just about everyone, was toddling unsteadily across the living room floor in a onesie decorated with tiny orange ducks, her hair sticking up in gravity-defying wisps from the post-nap haze. She had one sock on, one sock off, and a plastic spoon clutched victoriously in one chubby fist. Her steps were wobbly, like a baby deer on a trampoline, but she was determined, charging toward Lando with the serious, dramatic focus only a ten-month-old could muster.

“Dadaaa,” she announced proudly as she stumbled into his legs, clinging to his jeans for dear life.

Lando, who had been kneeling beside the coffee table attempting to fix one of her musical toys, immediately dropped everything. His face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Yes! That’s me! Dada is me!”

Sophia beamed up at him, cheeks flushed pink, drool glistening on her chin like it was the most fashionable accessory around.

“She said it again,” Lando said over his shoulder, looking toward the kitchen with wide eyes. “Did you hear her?”

Y/N was watching from the doorway, sipping a lukewarm coffee with the softest smile. “She’s said it four times this morning, babe.”

“Yeah, but this one felt really intentional. Like she really knew what she was saying.” He scooped Sophie up and kissed her cheeks noisily, making her giggle. “You said your first word! Again!”

“She also said ‘duck’ yesterday,” Y/N pointed out gently.

“Okay, yeah, but that isn’t as important.”

“You’re such a loser sometimes.”

Lando ignored that, because Sophie was now squishing his cheeks with her little hands and making high-pitched babbling noises that sounded vaguely like a monologue in an alien language.

“Oh my God,” he whispered dramatically. “It’s like she’s giving a TED Talk. It’s so cute.”

“Pretty sure she’s just asking for another biscuit.”

“Then I will give her ten biscuits. She deserves a whole bakery.”

Sophia let out a squeal of joy, flailing in his arms, which made Lando panic and adjust his grip like he thought she might catapult herself into orbit. Y/N walked over and plucked the baby spoon from Sophie’s tiny hand.

“What was she doing with this anyway?”

“No idea. She found it in the toy box and made it her mission,” Lando replied solemnly.

Y/N reached over to push Sophia’s flyaway curls back, then leaned in to kiss Lando’s temple. “You’re kind of the best dad, you know that?”

Lando turned his head to her, eyes softening. “I’m just trying to keep up. You’re the reason she’s this happy and fearless.”

Sophie, clearly sensing a quiet moment, seized the opportunity to dramatically gurgle into the space between them, startling both of them.

Lando grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Later that evening, after dinner (and an incident involving a sippy cup being hurled like a missile), Sophie was freshly bathed and wrapped in her favourite towel, a yellow one with a duck hood. She toddled around the nursery while Y/N tried to wrangle her into pyjamas, and Lando readied the bedtime book.

“Okay, duckling,” Y/N said, finally catching her and landing her on the changing table. “Pyjamas now. Please. For the love of sleep.”

Sophie responded by sticking her tongue out, giggling, and patting her own belly like it was a drum.

Lando peeked in, book in hand. “Did she do the belly thing again?”

“She did.”

He put a hand over his heart. “It kills me every time.”

When Sophie was finally zipped into her sleeper and snuggled in Lando’s lap, he read Goodnight Moon for the sixth time that week, complete with ridiculous voices and dramatic pauses that made her giggle and babble back. Y/N sat beside them on the rug, just watching the two of them. Lando’s hand cradled her little foot absentmindedly as he read, and every once in a while, he’d look at her like he still couldn’t believe she was real.

After the last page, Sophie blinked slowly and leaned her head against his chest, fighting sleep with all the might of a baby who didn’t want to miss a single thing.

“You can close your eyes,” Lando whispered. “We’re right here.”

And eventually, she did.

🪻🪻🪻

It was just past ten in the morning when Max arrived at the front door, looking only mildly panicked and about five per cent more rumpled than usual. He had his 14-month-old, Lily, in his arms, dressed in a soft lilac onesie and a matching knit hat that was slightly askew from her latest nap.

Y/N opened the door with a warm smile, holding a mug of coffee in one hand. Lando was just behind her, cradling Sophie on his hip.

“Thanks again for this,” Max said, shifting Lily a little higher against his chest. “Just a few hours. I’ve got a team meeting, and no one else could cover.”

“Of course,” Y/N said easily. “We’re happy to have her.”

Sophie perked up at the sight of another baby, eyes wide with curiosity as she leaned forward against Lando’s shoulder.

Lando chuckled. “I think Sophie’s already interested.”

Max handed Lily over with gentle hesitation, his hand lingering an extra beat. “She might cry when she realises I’m not around. Or she might not notice at all and just betray me completely. Either way, I’m preparing emotionally.”

“She’ll be fine,” Y/N reassured him, already bouncing Lily lightly on her hip. “Go. We’ve got this.”

Max looked between the three of them once more, nodded, and left.

The door closed, and the quiet lasted only a second before both babies locked eyes. Sophie, now seated on the living room rug surrounded by soft toys, blinked a few times at Lily as if trying to figure her out. Lily, laid gently next to her, looked just as curious. After a beat of silent baby inspection, Lily made the first move — a slow, uncoordinated reach that resulted in her hand landing directly on Sophie’s foot.

Sophie gasped dramatically, then let out a delighted giggle that sounded more like a hiccup. Lily responded with a squeal, and just like that, the two of them were babbling back and forth in completely incomprehensible but deeply enthusiastic tones.

“They’re talking,” Lando said quietly, crouched beside Y/N as they watched from the couch.

“They’re definitely talking,” Y/N agreed. “About what? I have no idea.”

The babies leaned toward each other, noses almost touching. Sophie gently smacked her palm against Lily’s knee, which made Lily let out a burst of laughter that sent her toppling sideways into a plush elephant. Unbothered, she flailed her limbs in what looked like applause.

Sophie squeaked and followed, rolling closer until they were lying side by side, cheeks squished together, giggling at absolutely nothing.

They spent the next hour like that, with Sophie and Lily crawling around the room like tiny adventurers. Sophie shared her favourite musical lion toy by dropping it gently into Lily’s lap, then immediately snatching it back with a suspicious look before offering it again, a bit more slowly.

Lily babbled in return, cheeks round and dimpled, her feet kicking like she was composing a song with just enthusiasm.

When it was time for their bottles, they sat side by side in their respective baby chairs, both swaddled in tiny blankets, clutching their bottles with both hands and occasionally turning their heads toward each other, eyes wide and sparkling.

Lando fed Sophie while Y/N gently helped Lily, and every so often, Sophie would stop drinking to let out a string of sleepy nonsense that Lily would match with a soft coo or blink.

By the time Max returned, both girls were asleep on the rug, lying opposite each other like a mirrored set. Sophie’s arm was flopped across Lily’s leg, and Lily had one fist curled loosely around the corner of Sophie’s blanket.

“They napped?” Max whispered in disbelief.

“They played. Then they conked out mid-conversation,” Lando replied, just as quietly.

Max crouched beside them, his eyes softening immediately. “Look at them.”

Y/N handed him a photo she had taken on her phone. “Don’t worry; we documented everything.”

He laughed under his breath, staring at the photo like it might be his new lock screen. “First playdate ever?”

“And a very successful one,” she said.

Max looked down at the sleeping babies again, Lily’s tiny nose brushing against Sophie’s knee, and smiled.

“Looks like they’re already ahead of us.”

🪻🪻🪻

The house was still and quiet in the soft blue hour of the morning, the kind of quiet that only existed before a party. Down the hallway, the nursery remained peaceful, Sophie still curled up in her sleep sack with her plush duck tucked under one arm.

Y/N stirred when she felt Lando gently tap her shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered, crouched beside the bed, already dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair unbrushed but eyes bright. “Come with me. Just for a second.”

She blinked, confused, then glanced at the clock. “It’s barely six.”

“I know. Trust me.”

She groaned lightly but sat up, stretching. “Is this about balloons? Did one pop?”

“No. No balloons. Just come on. You need shoes.”

A few minutes later, wrapped in her favourite cardigan and walking down the back steps into the garden with Lando’s hand in hers, she finally noticed the faint glow of candles flickering under the pergola.

There was a tiny round cake on the patio table, frosted in pale yellow with a single candle lit in the centre. Beside it, a wrapped box with a ribbon sat waiting.

She stopped in her tracks. “Lando…”

He gave her hand a little tug, tugging her closer. “I figured everyone’s going to be looking at Sophie all day, as they should. But before that happens, I wanted to say, Happy one year of being a mum.”

Her breath caught.

“You made it through sleepless nights, teething, pureed carrots in your hair, and a thousand loads of laundry,” he continued. “You sang lullabies at 2am and danced in the kitchen with her when she cried. You became her whole world. I know today’s about Sophie. But I wouldn’t have made it through this year without you.”

Y/N blinked rapidly as she looked at him, then down at the little cake.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said, voice catching.

He smiled softly. “I know. But I wanted to. Because it’s your day too.”

She leaned into him, burying her face into his chest for a second before he pulled back and nudged the box toward her.

“Open it.”

Inside was a necklace; gold, delicate, with a tiny charm in the shape of an ‘S’.

She touched it like it might dissolve under her fingertips. “Lando…”

“You can cry,” he said, grinning a little. “I’ll allow it. Just for today.”

She shook her head, laughing through tears. “I don’t deserve this.”

“I know you deserve more,” he said simply.

They sat together on the garden bench, splitting a slice of cake.

“Happy one year of being a dad, Lando,” she smiled as she leaned closer.

“Wouldn’t be one without you.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

“Well, if you weren’t so supportive and helpful, I’d be pretty shit at this whole parent thing. So thank you.”

He didn’t respond to her, just smiled and let his gratitude be conveyed through another spoonful of cake he fed her.

Later that morning, the living room slowly filled with the sounds of celebration; balloons tied to every chair, soft toys wrapped in cheerful paper, and family voices echoing through the kitchen.

Sophie, wearing a pale yellow dress with a duck print, sat like a tiny queen in her high chair, clapping her hands as everyone sang. She had cake on her nose and frosting in her curls within ten minutes.

Her grandparents snapped photos from every angle, with Lando and Y/N clapping along with her. Max brought Lily with him, who was equally excited about the cake.

Sophie babbled through it all, saying “Dada” and “Ake” to almost everyone and throwing a burnt-out candle at one point.

And in the middle of it all, Lando and Y/N moved together like they’d been doing this for years, lifting Sophie’s hands to help her clap, swapping bites of cake and little laughs.

At one point, as everyone chatted in the kitchen and Sophie napped upstairs after a long morning of overstimulation, Y/N leaned into Lando where he was sitting on the couch, Lily asleep in his arms now.

“Thank you for this morning,” she said softly. “It meant more than you know.”

He turned his head toward her, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “You’ve given me everything. This was the least I could do.”

And when the day was done, and the balloons had deflated slightly, and the kitchen smelt like leftover sugar and fruit, they stood at the doorway of the nursery, watching Sophie sleep with her hands tucked under her chin.

Lando whispered, “One whole year.”

Y/N reached for his hand. “The best one. And only seventeen more to go.”

“Don’t make me cry again!”

baby sophie has my whole heart! a very rare part 2 was necessary!