#this was just supposed to be practice for drawing hands

[sourkiki]

INK SURPRISE.

VOL. 15: you surpised your boyfriends by getting matching tattoos of their names on. needless to say, they love it. what better way to show how much they love it by spoiling you?

wc: 2259 𑁛 explicit mature content established+threesome relationship dom! 西村力 & dom!박성훈 x sub! fem! reader non-idol au other 02z made a brief cameo pussy eating+fingering unprotected sex (wrap it up) blowjobs ⪩⪨ usage of pet names service dom! riki sunghoon's a tease here ❀ catalogue

note. fun fact: this was only supposed to have sunghoon but when i saw my twt timeline about riki potentially having a tattoo, i ranted to my moot aka @jun2ki (bless you btw) and ended up making it hoonki x reader. this is for you too, i guess... @kireilien

“I think my girlfriend doesn’t love me anymore.” 

Silence. 

Sunghoon’s sudden statement caused his friends: Jay and Jake to stop what they were doing. Jay’s hand froze in midair while holding a fork. Jake, on the other hand, was attempting to steal some of Jay’s fries. They shared a confused and bewildered look, unable to believe what they were hearing. Jay cleared his throat, lowered his fork and placed it on his plate. 

“Why? Did you two argue?” He questioned, concerned, slapping Jake’s hand without looking when he continued his attempt. Jake flinched, withdrawing his hand and rubbed the now sore spot, huffing his cheeks and muttered something inaudible under his breath. 

Sunghoon shook his head, furrowing his thick eyebrows as he recalled back. “No, we rarely argue. You know that, Jay-ah. I don’t know why but she’s been ignoring me.” 

“Ignoring you how? Like does she pretend you don’t exist or?” Jake chimed in. 

“We don’t fuck anymore,” he deadpanned and Jay picked the wrong time to take a sip of his drink, only for him to end up choking. Jake scrunched his nose, disgust written all over his face. 

“And to think we’re worried because something actually happened but no, it’s just your hornyass who can’t go without having sex for a month,” the eldest deadpanned after recovering from his near-death experience. 

“This is a serious matter to me! You don’t know what it’s like to go without sex for a month!” Sunghoon complained, lightly knocking his head against the table. His slight raise of volume caused the nearby students to shoot them a weird and judgemental look, to which his friends were embarrassed by, on his behalf. 

“Have you talked to Riki about this?” Jake asked, regaining his composure. 

Sunghon huffed, raising his head and resting his cheek on the palm of his left hand. “Yeah, he’s just as confused as I am.”

Again, his friends shared a look. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you guys can figure it out. You know what they say, communication is key.”

“Not the time for your smartass words, Jake.”

“Jay, please just shut the fuck up.”

~

Unknown to your two, sweet beloved boyfriends, you were doing this for a reason. It’s a surprise for them and you didn’t want to ruin it. Which was why you had only told your shared group of friends except for Sunghoon and Riki. You could only pray that Jake won’t ramble his mouth off, considering how he has the tendency to spill secrets. Right now, you’re seated by the dining table in your dorm as you worked on your report that’s due by the end of the week. You weren’t sure how many hours had passed, drawing a long, heavy sigh from you as you removed your glasses to rub your temples, groaning in frustration. 

“Baby? You alright?” 

Looking over your shoulder, your features softened to see Riki closing the door behind him, his bag casually hanging over his left shoulder. You didn’t get up as he was quick to be by your side. He cupped your face, thumbs running along the skin underneath your eyes. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, burying your face in his stomach.

“What happened to your dance class?” You asked, voice muffled. 

“It got cancelled. The water pipe in the practice room bursts and they need two weeks to fix it,” he replied, unable to help himself as he squished your cheeks until your lips were fully puckered. 

“Riki!” You whined, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend. He ducked his head, planting a kiss on your forehead. The small display of affection was enough to turn your face red as compared to Sunghoon, Riki prefers to shower you with love behind closed doors. 

“Sorry, you’re too cute,” he apologized but the tone he used said otherwise. He looked at your laptop, curiosity shown on his face on the bright screen. “How long have you been working on your report?” 

“Uh, a few hours?” You answered meekly, averting your eyes in shame when he arched an eyebrow at you. 

“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we, hm? You shouldn’t be pushing yourself too hard,” he clicked his tongue, lightly poking your forehead, eliciting a whine from you. 

“I’m sorry. I really need to finish it and I’ve been busy working on my other projects too,” you sighed. 

Riki coos. “Aw, poor baby. Let me take care of you, please?” 

You nodded, squeaking when he easily lifted you up, like you weighed nothing. It was by instinct that you wrapped your arms around him, like a koala bear as he brought you to the bedroom. Riki gently placed you down, only for him to capture your lips in a needy, intense kiss—the contrast giving you whiplash. You gasped when he teasingly nipped at your bottom lip, giving him the chance to slide his tongue as he explored your mouth with one, thorough lick. It’s enough to make you feel all tingly, your strength leaving your body as you let him do as he pleased. 

His hands began working on removing your clothes but he paused when he realized you were wearing his hoodie. It completely engulfs you with the hem reaching your thighs. Riki swore when he also realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath the hoodie and shorts. 

“You’re such a tease, aren’t you? Wearing nothing but my clothes,” he groaned against your lips, hand making itself at home between your legs, drawing a breathless mewl from you. 

“You’re already dripping wet for me. Looks like someone’s needy,” he purrs, about to push your hoodie up when a voice interrupts the two of you. 

“What’s this? Starting without me? How cruel.”

You turned to the door where Sunghoon was, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Despite the laid-back tone, you could tell he was barely holding himself back, with how his eyes darkened as he took in your current state. You whined, barely able to speak as you made grabby hands at him. Sunghoon softened as he entered the bedroom, sitting behind you while Riki remained in between your legs. Sunghoon lifted you up, placing you on his lap with you leaning against his chest. He rested his large, warm hands on your thighs, holding you down when Riki lowered himself to his elbows.

“Shh, just relax and let us take care of you,” Sunghoon murmured into your ear, planting kisses along the expanse of your neck. 

Riki pushed the hoodie up and up, only for him to freeze, gaining Sunghoon’s attention. What they saw took their breaths away.

They stared at the tattoo—their names, imprinted on both sides of your hips, just above your hip bones. Their minds blanked out as Riki’s hand brushed against it, sending shivers down your spine. You, on the other hand, were nervous. You didn’t expect them to find out this early as you wanted to wait until you’ve fully recovered. 

“..Is this why you’ve been avoiding us?” Sunghoon asks in awe. 

You squirmed about on his lap, unable to face either of them. “I wanted this to be a surprise. Does it look bad?” 

Sunghoon clicked his tongue, turning your chin towards him. “No, it doesn’t. And considered us getting surprised. We didn’t expect you to do this. But, we like it.” 

You glanced at Riki, who nodded his head. He didn’t give you time to react, licking a long, flat stripe along your dripping folds. You visibly flinched, instinctively trying to close your legs but Sunghoon was faster. He tightened his grip, nails digging into your thighs, forcing you to remain still. In an attempt to distract you, he kisses you, eagerly swallowing your sounds while Riki eats you out, like a man on a mission. 

You outright whined at the feeling of Riki sliding three fingers in, pumping them at a slow pace while Sunghoon had reached down, spreading your pussy lips apart, granting the younger to slide his fingers deeper in. 

“F-Fuck, ngh, t-too much,” you panted, blindly reaching out with your hands as you grabbed onto a fistful of Riki’s hair while your other hand grabbed onto Sunghoon’s wrist, the very same wrist that’s spreading you apart for the younger. 

“Too much? But your body says otherwise,” Riki chuckled, thumb gently pressing down on your clit, laughing at how you whined at the mere contact, hips jerking up but he withdrew his thumb, fingers still inside you. 

You realized through your blurry state that while your two boyfriends are still fully clothed, you were completely bare. The huge contrast shows the type of roles the three of you have in your relationship. Your ears registered the rustling sounds of the sheets behind you and the next thing you knew, Sunghoon had lifted you off his lap and placed you on the sheets. You whined at the lack of warmth but he was quick to soothe you by running his hand through your hair. 

“Open up, princess,” he softly demands, now standing near the bed with his sweatpants and boxers lowered, just enough to free his hardened cock. The sight made your mouth water and you parted your lips, jaw slackening as you let Sunghoon gently pull you forward until your head was dangling off the edge of the bed. 

“Hyung, I’m busy here,” Riki whines, sending the older a light-hearted glare and you would have cooed, if Sunghoon didn’t push his cock into your mouth. 

Your eyes widened, tears blurring your vision as he continued until the tip hit the back of your throat. Just like Riki, Sunghoon didn’t give you time to breathe, moving his hips in a lazy pace as he fucks your mouth. You tried your best to keep up, tongue darting along the girth as you traced the outline of his veins protruding but it was easier said than done. You couldn’t focus, not when Riki had detached his mouth from your pussy. Heck, you weren’t even aware that you had come undone, thanks to Riki’s skillful tongue. 

His chin and lips glistened underneath the light, covered in a thick layer of your slick. Riki wiped them away with the back of his hand, fumbling to tug his sweatpants and boxers down. He scooped the goop dripping from your pussy, using it to lube his cock. Riki grabbed your left leg, tossed it over his shoulder and pushed it in one go. You couldn’t moan, not when your mouth’s full of cock and could only let out a high-pitched, muffled sound. 

“Shit, you’re so tight,” Riki rasped, hands drawing circles on your hips. 

“Poor princess. Can’t even speak,” Sunghoon coos, faux sweetness evident in his voice as he looks down at you, smirking at your teary eyes staring back at him. 

Riki begins thrusting into you. The bedroom was filled with the loud, lewd and obscene squelching sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, rearranging your insides to the shape of his cock. Sunghoon, on the other hand, groaned at his incoming climax. He didn’t warn you, spilling his cum down your throat. You gagged but managed to swallow them all and he pulled out from your now swollen, bruised lips with an audible ‘pop’ sound. 

Now that your mouth’s empty, you were able to let out the sounds you’ve been holding back. 

“R-Riki, fuck, p-please,” you whined, throwing one arm over to shield your eyes when you realized how Sunghoon was merely watching, like you’re putting on a show for him and only him. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum? Wanna let Riki know how good he’s making you feel?” Sunghoon asks, now sitting on the edge of the bed, glancing at Riki, who understood his intentions and stopped thrusting, allowing Sunghoon to manhandle you, returning to your position—you sitting on his lap. 

Riki had to shuffle closer, sliding his cock back in and this time, he pounds into you with newfound determination. The determination to make you cum for the second time. Sunghoon leaned down, angling your head towards his to kiss you. You felt like you were being tortured, your senses on overdrive as your two boyfriends showered you with nothing but love and affection. 

“Ngh, gonna cum, gonna cum,” you cried out, breaking the kiss. Your head dipped backwards until it landed on Sunghoon’s shoulders, eyelids fluttering shut. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, princess,” Riki coaxes and you came with a high-pitched moan, chanting his name like a prayer. 

Your thighs trembled from the intensity of your climax, body going pliant as you slumped against Sunghoon’s chest. A soft whine left your lips when you felt Riki spilling deep inside you, making you feel full of his cum. You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath while Riki slowly pulled out. 

“Wha-!?” You squeaked when your vision turned upside down. 

You gulped at the sight of Sunghoon now hovering over you. Glancing down, your breath hitched to see him aligning his cock against your sensitive entrance. You wanted to push him away, protests forming at the tip of your tongue but Riki was faster. He was instantly behind you, pinning your wrists behind your back as he rested his head on your right shoulder. 

“Ah ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. We did say we’ll take good care of you, didn’t we, hyung?” He murmured, directing the last sentence to Sunghoon.

He nodded, eyes darkening a shade. “Yea, so you better prepare yourself, princess. Because we’re not stopping until we’re satisfied.”

tags list: @chuhees, @byshens, @hoonstqr, @doucious, @emisluvr, @riqomi, @onlyywwon, @jjung-v, @minjunis, @rikisoup, @i-love-hannah-more-than-chan.

[desigal-26]

This is…filth. Completely. Unfiltered. Also, I kind of took inspiration from Oscar’s very obvious disappointment over the penalty in Silverstone

Reader races in Lewis’ seat and Lewis just…retired I guess (don’t hate me for this pleaseeeee)

Also I did a little blunder…mistakenly most of the tweet dates are from Jun 9 but it was supposed to be Jul 9 so plssss ignore it (and I am too lazy to change it)

Leaked Footage

Oscar Piastri x Ferrari Driver!Reader

‘Cause everyone needs a way to vent their anger out—only his turned out to be a certain driver and a leaked tape

After Silverstone’s chaos that played well for a few but ended in complete disaster for some others, a long tape appears a few days later—and it sets the world of F1 on fire.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ Content, Smut (kind of), Oscar is NOT shy in this (like NOT AT ALL), D/S dynamics, Degradation kink, dirty talking, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), mirror kink, hair pulling, piv intercourse, choking kink, he pinned her wrists (I can’t remember what this is called)

Oscar had just gotten off another call with Zak Brown, the McLaren CEO, who’d been teetering on the edge of a heart attack since the tape had leaked earlier that morning.

It had started with a single ping—a message. Then another. And then a tidal wave of notifications crashing in. But it wasn’t until her manager called that the panic truly set in. She had a strict do-not-disturb policy during summer break. Calls only came through if it was absolutely necessary.

Oscar had watched the colour drain from her face as she answered, her eyes growing wide, her grip tightening on the phone. Without thinking, he reached over, placed his hand on hers in comfort. But that clearly wasn’t what she wanted. The glare she shot him could have set most people ablaze. But not him.

He just raised an eyebrow, unfazed, pulling his hand back and leaning against the couch with a casual kind of defiance. His arms crossed as his gaze scanned her face—tense, unreadable, and beautiful in a way that always made his chest ache a little.

Then her eyes flicked to his phone. Her lips moved silently: “Open Twitter.”

In a normal situation, he would’ve teased her for still calling it that instead of X, but this—this wasn’t normal. So he did as told, ignoring the deluge of notifications lighting up his lock screen.

And when he saw it—his entire feed plastered with the leaked footage—his stomach dropped.

How the hell did that get out?

He swallowed hard and wordlessly handed her the phone. She scanned the screen, her eyes narrowing as the implications hit her all over again. Then she looked up, met his gaze.

That had been almost an hour ago.

Now, she sat curled into her favourite armchair, nursing coffee from her comfort mug, her expression distant. A faint red imprint lingered on her wrist—his handprint—from a moment captured and shared with the world. The hoodie she wore swallowed her whole.

His hoodie.

Oscar let out a slow breath and approached her, dropping his phone carelessly on the couch. He knelt in front of her, wrapping his hands gently around hers—drawing her attention back to him. She blinked, then offered a tired smile, soft and a little crooked, like she didn’t quite have the energy to mean it.

“What did Zak say?” she asked quietly, almost like she didn’t want to know. It wasn’t like their relationship had been a secret in the paddock—both team principals knew, and their core teams had long caught on. But fans? The media?

They had no idea.

Oscar, the current leader of the WDC, shrugged with practiced calm, his thumb tracing slow circles along her knuckles.

“He didn’t die,” he said simply.

She let out a soft snort and rolled her eyes, setting the cup down on the side table before reaching up to rake her fingers through his curls. He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into the touch.

“That’s… promising.”

He chuckled, lifting his gaze to hers. “How did Fred take it?”

She exhaled, her smile tilting a little more now. Almost playful.

“He didn’t die either.”

The video had been taken down, and both teams had jointly sued the website where it had originally surfaced. So, in a weirdly twisted way, a semblance of peace had been restored—at least within the quiet walls of their shared apartment in Monte Carlo.

She was cooking. Something savoury, rich with spice and distraction, because the endless vibrations from her phone were driving her mad. Enough people had seen the tape to make damage control nearly impossible, and those who hadn’t were making damn sure they caught up through frame-by-frame analyses on fan forums and Twitter threads.

She’d read a few—just a few.

And she would be lying if she said it hadn’t horrified her. The way people dissected their… activities with clinical precision and emotional detachment was something straight out of a psychological thriller. No privacy. No context. Just voyeurism masked as fandom.

But Oscar… he had been unusually quiet for a while.

Not silent—he wasn’t the most talkative by default—but still. Too still. Eyes glued to his phone. That alone was enough to make her pause. He never gave the device much attention when they were both at home. His interest always leaned toward her, not a screen.

“What are you doing?” she asked, settling down beside him on the couch with two plates of pasta. Comfort food. A small gesture. A way to anchor themselves.

He looked up, raised a brow at the plate in her hand, but took it anyway.

“That’s the third meal today,” he commented casually, already taking a bite. He hummed in satisfaction, eyes half-closed from the flavour—but they didn’t miss the way she immediately pouted at his observation.

“Technically it’s the first one,” she defended, twirling her fork with authority. “Chocolate and croissant don’t count as meals. That was sugar and vibes.”

Oscar chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.”

She beamed at him, smug with victory, but her curiosity hadn’t waned. She nudged his arm gently. “So… what are you doing?”

He smiled then. That slow, mischievous smile that always meant he was up to something.

Instead of answering, he handed her his phone.

It was an Instagram post. From his official account—not the burner one only she and a select few knew about. No, this was public. Verified. Seen by millions.

It was a black and white photo of them in helmets, standing side by side on the grid. They were looking at each other—intensely, silently. She remembered that moment. Jeddah. He had won the race. She’d finished seventh—right where she’d qualified. But he had found her after the cooldown lap, helmet bumping hers gently in celebration, and someone had captured it.

The caption made her pause.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowing with affection. “Yours, hm?”

Oscar huffed a laugh, nonchalant as his arm slid around her shoulder, anchoring her to him. “The world knows that better than anyone now.”

oscarpiastri just posted!

liked by thatferraridriver, lando, mclaren, scuderiaferrari and 362986 others

oscarpiastri since the cat is out of bag, I claim her mine ✨

view all comments

thatferraridriver I too claim this calm man mine 🥰

arthur_leclerc calm as if the whole world didn’t see him fing you like it’s GOT

user not tur tur spitting facts 🤣

lando so are we gonna pretend we didn’t see you two fuck like bunnies?

thatferraridriver so am I gonna pretend I am not thinking of crashing into you on purpose in Belgian?

thatferraridriver for legal purposes, I have been told by my team to say that I was joking

user not her commenting that too 😭😂

lando will you two be heart-eyeing each other on paddock now?

thatferraridriver can you please shut up?

lando @oscarpiastri she is bullying me

oscarpiastri you brought it on yourself

lando @thatferraridriver you were better in the video

thatferraridriver and you will be better in the barriers

user @oscarpiastri pls get your girl she obliterated lando 😭😂😂

mclaren does that mean we have to share our fav couple with Ferrari?

scuderiaferrari I guess so 😮‍💨

user I want to see Zak and Fred handshaking fs of them

logansargeant mama papa 🤩

thatferraridriver our practice child 🤩

user this is the most friend third wheeling core thing ever 😂

charles_leclerc so now my teammate is my…daughter in law?

thatferraridriver hello father-in-law

user so basically…Ferrari is a big Leclerc family now?

user and McLaren has the Leclerc son 😭

f1 the most beautifully unhinged couple 😍 ♥️ by author

[minhohaze]

❖ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 ❖

(Saja Boys x Fem!Reader | Poly!Relationship | 2.5k words)

----------

You never intended to fall for one demon—much less five.

Your life was already chaotic: juggling part-time gigs, art school deadlines, and that one supernatural incident involving an abandoned nightclub and a burst of violet flame. You didn’t expect the Saja Boys—K-pop idols, demons, and infuriatingly attractive roommates—to drag you into their world.

But the more time you spent with them, the harder it became to leave.

---

✦ JINU – The Mind

Jinu was the first to see you.

Literally. You’d stumbled into one of their warded spaces by accident—an alley stage door that shimmered gold under a blood moon. While Abby panicked and Baby unsheathed claws, Jinu stepped forward, calm and unreadable.

You remember his hand brushing your cheek, not romantically but like he was studying you.

“She’s not just human,” he’d said. “She’s… safe.”

He never elaborated, but you noticed the way he stood nearest to you in crowded spaces. You were always between him and the door. Always protected.

Now, weeks later, he watches you from across the living room couch as you curl up between Mystery and Baby. His book is open, but his amber eyes flick up to you every third line.

“I could read to you instead,” he offers, voice low, soft.

You nod, and he begins—a lull of myth and poetry that seems to settle the other four boys like a ritual. His voice grounds you. It always has.

---

✦ MYSTERY – The Soul

Mystery rarely speaks, but he touches.

Feather-light brushes of his fingers against your wrist. A pen slipped into your hand when you’re anxious. The soft hum of music from the piano late at night when you can’t sleep, always tuned to your mood.

You didn’t even know his real name until weeks in. He’d whispered it into your ear when the others weren’t listening—then kissed the shell of it like sealing a secret.

He doesn’t compete for your attention. He simply is, in every shared glance and quiet sigh.

Tonight, he nestles against your side, drawing slow circles on your knee with his thumb while the others banter about comeback plans.

You shift your hand into his lap, linking your fingers with his.

He smiles faintly. And leans in to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

---

✦ ABBY – The Heart

Abby was the one who broke the rules.

Demons weren’t supposed to fall in love with humans—especially not all five of them with the same one. But Abby had never cared much for rules.

“C’mon,” he’d said one night after dance practice, sweat dripping from his collarbone. “You like all of us, right? It’s okay. We don’t mind sharing.”

You’d sputtered. Blushed. Denied.

But he grinned, and that had been the beginning.

Abby is always the warmest. Always the first to hug you after bad days. The one who sneaks into your bed when the storm is too loud. The one who convinces the others to take breaks, eat dinner, laugh.

“You’re the glue, babe,” he says, stealing another fry off your plate. “You keep us from exploding.”

He kisses your forehead, then drags Baby into a playful headlock for stealing your juice.

They’re loud. But it’s home.

---

✦ ROMANCE – The Voice

Romance treats you like a muse. Every day, every moment.

He writes lyrics on your shoulder with invisible ink. Calls you his sunrise, his silence, his sin. You roll your eyes, but he catches you smiling every time.

He’s also the one who cooks the most—meals with flair, style, and spice.

You’re perched on the counter now, stealing bites of garlic rice while he stirs.

“I’ll write a song called Sunkissed Disaster,” he murmurs, reaching across to wipe a grain of rice from your lip. “About the girl who ruined five demons’ carefully cultivated control.”

You smirk. “You were never in control.”

He laughs—a golden, theatrical thing—and leans in close, his lips brushing your jaw.

“No,” he whispers. “But I’m not asking for salvation, sweetheart. Just your next kiss.”

---

✦ BABY – The Fire

Baby pretends he hates sharing.

He hisses when you cuddle Abby for too long. Snarls when Romance flirts too loudly. Growls when Mystery claims your lap during movie night.

But he always ends up at your side.

Always.

Tonight, he's curled into you like a lion cub, head buried in your stomach as you card your fingers through his snow-white hair.

"Don't leave," he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Ever."

You freeze, heart lurching. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that now..." he grumbles. But then he lifts his head and pins you with a stare. "If you do—I'll burn everything. Even the moon."

You press your lips to his forehead. “Lucky for the moon… I kinda like this hell.”

He exhales. And falls asleep with your heartbeat as his lullaby.

---

✦ The Five of Them. And You.

You never imagined this.

Not one love, but five. Not human. Not normal. But whole.

They fight. Of course they do. Romance flirts too much, Jinu overplans, Baby gets jealous. But when you cry, they all reach for you. When you laugh, they all smile. When you say, “I love you,” there are five voices—deep, sweet, soft, sharp—whispering it back.

You don’t know what tomorrow brings. Demon hunters still prowl. The spotlight of K-pop never dims.

But tonight, you’re tangled in arms and warmth and shadows and flame. A half-dozen heartbeats thrum around you.

And for once, you sleep without fear.

---

[ibuprofein]

plug!connie x reader pt 2

tags: angst, plug!connie, romantic tension, smoking, drug references, toxic relationship undertones, kissing, oblivious fwb

The thing about Connie was: he never called it anything.

Not a relationship. Not a fling. Not even you and him.

It was just late-night texts. “You up?” “Slide through.” “You still got that hoodie I left?”

And yet, he acted like he owned you especially leaving big and purple hickies on your neck every time he seen you!

One time, he had the nerve to be upset with you because you were a SINGLE woman talking to a SINGLE man at a party, who happened to not be connie, surprisingly. He immediately interrupted the conversation as soon as he noticed the guy was looking like he was a little to close for HIS own liking disregarding how attracted you might be to him.

Please don’t let anyone else got too close you like that again, he would do the unimaginable.

Welll…..It happened again at a kickback in Jean’s garage.

Someone passed you a drink—some lanky guy with a weak fade and too much cologne. You didn’t even catch his name. But he leaned in to say something, close enough that his words brushed your neck.

That was all it took.

Suddenly, Connie was behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other smacking your ass so hard the room went quiet for half a second. His voice dropped, casual but loud enough:

“Damn, baby. You just gon’ let dudes talk to you like that when you still got my marks on you?”

Your cheeks burned as you ducked your head. You already knew what he meant—your neck was practically a mural of bruises, painted by his mouth just the night before. You’d tried covering them with makeup, but Connie was possessive in private. He always made sure to leave something behind.

The guy stammered and walked off. Connie just chuckled, tugging you closer by the hem of your crop top.

“What?” he said when you glared at him. “I’m just lettin’ ‘em know.”

“Know what? You don’t even claim me.”

He smirked down at you, shameless. “Don’t need to say nothin’ when it’s obvious.”

And maybe he had a point.

Because when you two walked in together, he always had an arm around your shoulders or a hand in your back pocket. Because every party, every smoke sesh, every half-lit room you shared—he was next to you. Lighting your blunt. Brushing your hair back. Kissing your shoulder when he thought no one was watching.

But everyone was watching.

Sasha raised her brows every time you sat on Connie’s lap like it was natural. Jean once mumbled, “Y’all just gonna pretend you’re not dating?” and Connie just laughed, said, “She my smoke buddy.” But his hand stayed on your thigh for the rest of the night.

Even Mikasa once asked, “You guys still… friends?”

And you’d lied.

“Yeah. Just chillin’.”

But it wasn’t just chillin’. Not when his hoodie still smelled like you. Not when he’d call you at 2am and whisper things like “I wish I could stay.” Not when he kissed you like he was afraid you’d leave.

You hated how your heart skipped every time he touched you.

Because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But it was the little things. How he always made you split the last hit. How he got irrationally quiet anytime you posted a selfie with another guy. How his jaw clenched when someone asked if you were single and you answered yes.

How one time, at a diner with the group, he made you share his fries—fed you one—and when Armin raised a brow, Connie just said, “What? She likes mine better.”

You slept over that night.

Lying on Connie’s bed, the weed was still thick in the air. Your bodies were tangled—his arm draped across your waist, fingers drawing lazy shapes on your stomach. Shirtless, lips swollen, his breath slow like he might drift off.

“You ever think about it?” you murmured.

He stirred. “Think about what?”

You hesitated.

“This. Us. What it’d be like if… it wasn’t just smoking and hooking up.”

He was quiet too long.

You didn’t expect him to answer.

You rolled away from him, wrapping the sheet tighter around your chest.

“Forget it.”

But then—his hand reached out. Gripped your wrist. Pulled you back gently.

“I think about it all the time,” he said hoarsely.

You looked at him.

His eyes weren’t smug. Or teasing.

They were honest. Raw.

“But I’m scared to fuck it up,” he added. “Scared if I try to make it real, you won’t want me no more.”

You were stunned silent.

Then you laughed—quiet, bitter. “Everyone already thinks we’re in love.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

You leaned into him. Let his fingers tangle in your hair. Let him kiss you again, slow and aching.

Maybe you were both scared.

But if this was the only way you could have him—for now—you’d take it.

Yallllll I feel so accomplished finishing pt.2! I might just do little blurbs with plug!connie unless yall got some recs! Feel free to leave recs in my ask box and I’ll start writing ;)

[tiredandsapphic]

꩜ JUST CUDDLES

pairing ꩜ lottie matthews x femreader

summary ꩜ where lottie and you find a way to tether yourselves to each other in the wilderness

an ꩜ fluff nsfw…blurb cuz life be so busy <\3

you and lottie always have been close before the crash. sleepovers in her giant room, high on dumb snacks and teenage fears, joking about the future like it wasn’t going to collapse beneath you. though one thing you would never imagine going through together is having your plane crash deep within the wilderness.

it had only made sense that the both of you clung to each other, like your only grounding source. lottie came to you for everything, her worries, thoughts and well once you discovered the cabin you noticed her behaviour shifting.

you two of course shared the same bed in the cabin, duh. even when the others said there was more than enough supplies to make another bed. it was more practical for her to sleep you with, right? she made her claim. plus, it was getting colder at night, so every time you were fast asleep and lottie felt the threat of sleep she would slip in beside you. close, wanting to feed off your warmth and your security you brought her in such a tormented place. it wasn’t uncommon to wake up with her long arm around your waist, another under your head, legs tangled with yours and her breath steady on your neck.

lottie wanted to make you queen. softly suggesting it somedays, nearly demanding it other nights. you cared for her but not this spiral the other girls fed off. you were opposed to that, wanting to feel human still. you hate watching people blindly follow her and she hates even more that you’re not one of them.

you’re not really sure when or how it happened. but it was after the cabin burnt to the ground. you remember standing there that night, watching the ambers engulf it, lottie’s hand slipped into yours. when you peered over, the smile on her face was undeniable. she nudged you slightly, leaning down to whisper towards you. “it’s a sign of new beginnings. it wanted this.”

after that everything just went down hill faster. when the huts were made it wasn’t even a question that lottie and you would share a hut. you built it together—well maybe lottie did a lot of the work, she wasn’t that tall for nothing. you lived together like a little fucked up family now, coming ‘home’ to each other.

just cuddling quickly crossed a line, neither of you truly opposed to the idea. it happened one night, lottie spiraling just a little more than usual—you’ve had a tense day of arguments with shauna. it all just exploded that night, lottie whispering too many cryptic things, you already on edge.

“you know we’re supposed to be together, right?” she whispers, crawling closer to you on the hut ground, grabbing your hand.

you furrow your brows and scoff, not denying your hand however, “okay lottie, sure, the trees told you that.”

she simply shakes her head, dead serious, deep brown eyes on set on you. “i see it when im out there. me and you. it’s not a coincidence, it’s purpose.”

and she speaks like shes preaching a sermon—you nearly believe it for a moment. but without question your lips are colliding in frustration. it’s not neat or romantic, it’s primal.

after that it’s ritual. maybe it’s to keep you both a little more sane but it works—and neither of you are complaining. lottie fucks you like it’s a prayer and you take it like a sacrifice. the other girls are so aware of the relationship between you two but don’t dare to question it. no—lottie’s taken a firm possession on you. they know you’re hers.

whenever someone had ticked you off, lottie is there to listen. always. you’ve cried to her countless time, and she held you. cuddled up with you, holding you in her warm embrace. then proceeded to eat you out for hours. until you forget why you were crying. she takes you to another world so any problems you have here don’t matter anymore.

lottie is never found not drawing symbols on you with her fingers. whether it’s just while she holds you, or perhaps when you’re gasping against her. are they for protection or claim? you’ll never know.

most days are soft though. softness is needed in a place like the wilderness, everything is so sharp amongst the group. most nights you’re tangled together, bare and skin to skin. it’s so slow and somehow safe. lottie takes her time with you, knuckles deep in you but her words so achingly sweet. “i was made to love you and you were made to take it.” and when you come? “you’re so gorgeous when you come. you’re the prettiest thing out here.”

it’s the best when you’re in the hut, sleeping snd lottie decides to finally join. she slips in beside you, slender fingers trailing under your clothes, the pads of her fingers grazing your skin. it’s home that she’s learnt to love, and home that she’s too accustomed to now. you know how calm her down, to reassure her, and exactly where to touch her.

you’ll never be too sure what you have. you don’t push. even when she talks too much of signs snd letting go of earthy attachments. but when you’re curled together under your hut, when she kisses your neck and falls asleep with her breath on your neck—shes just lottie. your safe place. even if the wilderness is slowly taking her away from you.

[sailornymph]

the shape of love; uchiha men

synopsis — you’re soft, shy, and far from the shinobi world they dominate, but to them, you’re everything and they’ll make sure you never forget your own struggles.

content warning — curvy/insecure fem!reader, body worship, teasing/flustering, reader blushes easily, age gap dynamics, possessiveness, oral, praise, light degradation, soft doms

requested via messages

♡ madara uchiha

— he notices everything; madara doesn’t miss a thing, not the way your arms wrap around your middle when you’re uncomfortable in your own skin, not the way you pull your clothes tighter to hide curves that draw attention. he’s a master of observation, a born strategist, and yet when it comes to you, his attention isn’t calculated. it’s instinctual. he knows your insecurities even when you try to hide them behind practiced smiles. and he doesn’t coddle. instead, he treats your body like it is sacred, never letting your self-doubt taint the way he sees you—always powerful, always his.

— his hands linger longer than necessary. he is not a man of idle affection, but with you, he becomes possessive in the most subtle ways. his large hands often rest at the small of your back, fingertips barely grazing the curve of your waist as if to remind you, this—this is his favorite part. and when he walks past you, he’ll let them skim over your hip, slow and deliberate, until your cheeks burn. he doesn’t need to say anything; he knows your body responds to his touch just as much as your heart does to his gaze.

— he uses his words like weapons—soft, cutting, and worshipful

“you cover yourself like you’re ashamed. if anyone should be ashamed, it’s them—for not being worthy of the sight.”

madara’s compliments are rare, but when they come, they crash through you like a landslide. he speaks low and slow, his voice dropping just for your ears, a private kind of praise that leaves you breathless. he loves how easily you blush, how he can reduce you to trembling silence with nothing more than a sentence. and gods help anyone who dares speak on your body with less reverence than he does.

— he’s extremely protective of your self-image

madara is not tolerant of your self-loathing. he’ll listen, sure, but the second you call yourself “too much” or “not enough,” something primal flickers in his gaze. he doesn’t comfort you with lies; he simply reminds you of how desired you are, how often he’s thought of bending you over the nearest surface or worshipping you until you forget the world outside. and then he shows you—over and over, until your thighs shake and your doubts vanish with your voice.

— he doesn’t want you small, he wants you powerful. your softness doesn’t lessen you in madara’s eyes. if anything, he sees it as a symbol of resilience—an echo of strength carried through blood and bone. he traces your stretch marks with calloused fingertips, presses his lips against your thighs like they’re altars, and tells you, “they called my clan monsters. you think i fear the opinion of people who can’t handle a woman with real presence?” he doesn’t want you to shrink. he wants you to take up space—his bed, his life, his legacy.

you’d never meant for him to see you like this. the mirror was cruel in its reflection—hips too wide, thighs pressed together no matter how you shifted, the hem of your robe catching awkwardly against the plush curve of your backside. the silk was supposed to be luxurious, tailored, beautiful. but all you could see were the places it clung too tight. the places it didn’t hide.

your fingers hesitated at the waist tie, debating whether to strip it off or wrap it tighter. and that’s when you heard it. the door didn’t creak. madara moved like a shadow, all presence and no sound.

“why are you frowning?” his voice, deep, rich, familiar—washed over you like gravity.

you froze. “i didn’t hear you come in.”

he took a step closer. then another. you could feel him behind you now, the weight of his attention far heavier than the robe.

“answer me.”

you didn’t want to. didn’t want to explain that your mother’s side always ran curvy, always had too much hip and too much chest, and you’d spent years wondering if men looked at you with admiration or ridicule. not that it mattered. you weren’t brave enough to ask.

he lifted a hand and traced the edge of your reflection—his knuckles ghosting along your arm, your waist, your lower back. he didn’t speak. just watched you squirm.

“i don’t know if i like how this looks,” you finally whispered.

madara’s expression darkened. not angry, but something sharper, something that pierced through your shame like lightning through silk.

“and yet,” he murmured, his palm flattening against your belly, “i’ve never wanted you more than i do now.”

your breath hitched.

his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “you walk through this compound like you don’t realize what you do to me. to every man who has to look away or bow lower so they don’t offend me. do you not see it?”

you shook your head, too stunned to speak.

he turned you, slowly, until you faced him. his hands slid down your sides, resting firmly at your hips. “i see you hide. i see you shrink yourself, and i hate it.”

he dragged his gaze down your body, taking his time, letting you feel every ounce of that stare. “you are not too much. they are simply not enough.”

heat spread through your cheeks—furious, flustered, undeniable. you tried to turn away.

but he didn’t let you.

“you blush so easily,” he smirked, thumb stroking the edge of your jaw. “i could get drunk off this.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but he was already pulling you flush against him, letting you feel just how much he wasn’t pretending. his arousal pressed hot and heavy against your stomach through the folds of his robes.

“do you still doubt me?” he asked softly.

you couldn’t speak.

he dipped his head, pressing kisses down your throat, hands sliding behind to grip your ass with greedy reverence. “good. then allow me to remind you how divine you are.”

and when he laid you down that night—spreading you open with slow, deliberate care—you didn’t feel small anymore.

you felt seen.

wanted, his.

♡ itachi uchiha

— his quiet admiration is endless. itachi doesn’t compliment you often in public, but his love is written into every glance, every lingering brush of fingers against your sides. he memorizes the dips and curves of your figure like scripture. the quiet, intelligent way he watches you undress—slowly, reverently—leaves no room for doubt. he doesn’t need to say you’re beautiful every second. his silence speaks devotion. when you doubt yourself, it’s always him who steadies you—with a gaze that never wavers, and a voice that reminds you, “you are more than enough. you are everything.”

— he helps you reframe what “too much” means. when you admit you feel too thick, too noticeable, too soft, itachi tilts his head and asks, “too much for whom?” not in sarcasm, but genuine confusion—because in his eyes, your presence is balanced, grounding, magnetic. he tells you with unshakable certainty that strength and softness are not opposites. “the world praises bones and angles,” he’ll murmur as he runs his fingers down your curves, “but i prefer the parts of you i can hold.”

— he adores the way you blush—especially when it’s because of him. you’re so easy to fluster, and itachi lives for it in his own understated way. he’ll whisper something devastatingly suggestive in that low, velvety voice, only to act innocent moments later—like the flush on your cheeks wasn’t entirely his doing. his eyes narrow ever so slightly in satisfaction when you squirm, lips twitching upward in a rare smile. teasing you is one of the few indulgences he allows himself. especially when it ends with you breathless and blushing beneath him.

— he has a nearly spiritual reverence for your body. when itachi touches you, it’s like he’s praying. his hands are slow and sure, mapping every inch of your body with unshakable purpose. he kisses the stretch of your thighs, the softness of your belly, the curve of your breasts, like he’s cataloging all the things the world told you to hide—and telling you, wordlessly, i want all of it. every mark, every swell, every inch.

— he reminds you with his body what his words won’t always say. itachi isn’t verbose, but his actions leave no room for misunderstanding. he’ll lay you out beneath him and take his time worshipping you until your self-loathing melts into nothing. he’s slow, thorough, relentless in his affection. and when you’re gasping his name, tears gathering in your lashes from the overwhelming intimacy of it all, he’ll murmur, “this is how i see you. this is how you should see yourself.”

the fabric of your top clung to your body in all the ways you hated. it was supposed to be a simple night in—no missions, no pressure—but that didn’t stop your reflection from twisting your stomach into knots.

you tugged at the hem. the shirt refused to loosen over your hips. your thighs, warm and plush, touched even when you stood with your feet apart. and the stretch marks creeping along your sides? loud. glaring. you hated how loud your body felt in silence.

“you’re quiet,” came itachi’s voice behind you—soft, inquisitive. he was always so damn perceptive.

“just thinking.”

he approached like he always did. calm. unthreatening. his presence grounded you, but tonight, even he couldn’t stop the shame bubbling up in your throat.

his hands came to rest lightly on your waist, thumbs brushing against your sides in lazy circles.

“you were frowning.”

“i didn’t mean to.”

he paused. then, “you think poorly of yourself again.”

you stiffened. “i’m just… aware.”

“of what?”

you looked down. “of how i look.”

itachi turned you slowly, carefully, his eyes meeting yours. dark and unreadable. but something in them stirred—something warm and focused.

“look again,” he said simply.

you frowned in confusion.

he reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it up, gently, exposing your stomach inch by inch. you almost protested, but his expression held no room for shame. only awe.

his hand slid over your bare waist, fingers grazing the soft flesh as though it were precious.

“do you think i do not notice you?” he murmured.

you blinked, heat rushing to your face.

“the curve of your hip,” he continued, voice low, reverent. “the dip of your back. the softness of your thighs when you sleep against me. it’s all i think about when you’re not near.”

his words knocked the air from your lungs.

“i know what the world tells women who look like you. i know how cruel the silence of comparison can be.” he leaned in, brushing a kiss just above your navel. “but when i look at you, i do not see lack. i see the kind of beauty that cannot be faked.”

you swallowed hard. “you’re just saying that—”

“no,” he interrupted, eyes sharp. “i don’t lie to you.”

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down. you trembled.

“may i?” he asked.

hesitantly, you nodded.

his kisses trailed lower, worshipful, slow. over your hips, your inner thighs, your stretch-marked skin. like every part of you was a verse in some sacred text he alone had been granted the right to read.

you whimpered when his mouth reached the place you ached the most, thighs instinctively trying to close. he held them open with firm hands.

“don’t hide,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “not from me.”

your skin burned. your body sang.

he took his time, tongue and lips working you open until you were gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair, your shame long since dissolved into pleasure.

when you came, it was with a sob. not just from release, but from the overwhelming weight of being wanted—truly, deeply, seen.

he held you after. silent. strong and you realized something.

in the hands of itachi uchiha, you weren’t too much.

you were just right.

♡ indra ōtsutsuki

— he’s completely unapologetic in his attraction. indra does not believe in hiding desire, and when it comes to you—especially your body—his admiration is borderline primal. the first time he saw you undressing, his gaze locked on your hips, on the softness of your waist, and he stared like a man witnessing divinity. he didn’t say you were beautiful. he said you were glorious. there is no shame in the way he looks at you, and no hesitance in the way he touches you. his attraction is loud, proud, and utterly unshakable.

— he believes softness is strength. to indra, strength is not only in battle—it is in carrying, enduring, and bearing the weight of existence. he sees your curves not as excess, but as the physical embodiment of everything he respects: resilience, warmth, fertility, softness that hasn’t broken under pressure. he traces the fullness of your thighs or the plush of your stomach and says things like, “this body was made to be worshipped. to be held. to be protected.”

— he loves how easily he can get you flustered—and he’s relentless about it. you can’t hide how easily you blush when he flirts or stares too long. it’s in the way your lips part when he praises you, in the shiver that races down your spine when he grips your hips and growls his approval in your ear. indra uses it to his advantage, whispering the filthiest things in the calmest voice until your face is glowing and your legs won’t stop shifting. his smirk only deepens. “you burn so prettily for me, little one.”

— he loathes self-deprecation and shuts it down instantly. the moment you speak negatively about yourself, something cold flares in his eyes. not at you—at the world that made you feel that way. “who told you that nonsense?” he’ll demand, voice like a storm. when you stammer through old insecurities, he pulls you close and speaks with the kind of conviction only a god’s son can carry. “you will never speak of yourself like that again. not in my presence.” and then he’ll make you feel as divine as he believes you are.

— has a worship kink the size of a mountain range. indra loves control, but even more than that, he loves devotion. and with you, devotion becomes worship. he wants to be on his knees. he wants his mouth on every inch of you. he wants to feel your thighs quiver around his face as you sob out his name. he gets off on seeing you unravel, to prove that no one will ever adore your body the way he does. “let me show you what the world should have taught you,” he’ll whisper. “that a goddess like you deserves to be revered.”

you tried to leave your robe on when indra pulled you into his lap. you sat sideways, thighs pressing firmly against his as his arm circled your waist. you felt… exposed. large. not because of him, but because of you. your mind spun in quiet self-loathing. too heavy. too soft. too much. and he was so ethereal—so sharp-jawed and otherworldly—that you felt like an echo beside him.

you tugged the robe closed tighter.

“don’t,” indra said, voice low.

you froze. “don’t what?”

his hand slid up your thigh, slow and firm. “don’t hide from me.”

you looked away. “i’m not.”

his fingers stilled. “do not insult my intelligence.”

your stomach turned. “i just… i’m not sure how this looks on me.”

indra’s hand curled around your waist. in one smooth motion, he shifted you so you straddled him fully, his large hands gripping the softness of your thighs and settling you right against the thick ridge of his clothed cock.

you gasped at the contact.

“this,” he murmured, voice steady, “looks like it was made for me.”

you blinked.

he leaned forward, nose brushing against your neck. “your thighs could crush me. your hips—gods, your hips—you were shaped like this to drive me mad.”

your breath hitched.

his hands explored you like treasure—reverent, firm, worshipful. every time you shifted to cover something, he stopped you. forced you to sit with the feeling of his touch.

“i have taken lands in my name,” he whispered against your jaw, “but none of them compare to the curve of your waist under my hands.”

“indra—”

“you don’t believe me,” he growled, hands tightening.

you shook your head, eyes stinging. “i’m sorry—i just… i’ve always been bigger, and people—”

his mouth crashed into yours before you could finish. not gentle. not soft. desperate. claiming.

when he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide. “you do not apologize for existing. you do not apologize for the way the gods carved you.”

his hands found your ass and gripped it, pulling you closer. “i want every inch of you. every mark. every place you think is unworthy.” he rolled his hips up. “i want to fuck your doubt out of existence.”

you whimpered.

“do i have your permission?”

you nodded, breathless. “yes.”

he laid you down on the furs like he was handling something sacred. stripped the robe from you inch by inch, growling softly when your full breasts spilled free. he kissed down your body slowly, hungrily, spending extra time at your thighs—praising their shape, biting gently at the flesh, whispering, “divine.”

and when he finally pushed inside you, it was overwhelming. he filled you completely, buried to the hilt as he held you still and whispered, “feel that? this is how perfectly we fit.”

he didn’t let you look away. didn’t let you close your eyes. he wanted you to see—to witness what he saw when he looked at you.

a goddess.

his goddess.

and by the time he had you screaming his name, sweat-drenched and trembling beneath him, there wasn’t a single piece of you left that doubted it.

♡ obito uchiha

— he never grew up with softness, so yours ruins him. obito was raised in a world of harshness: war, grief, expectation. but the first time he touched you—your hips, your thighs, your plush little belly—it broke something in him. the softness, the warmth, the way your curves welcomed him instead of rejecting—he became obsessed. you were comfort he never thought he’d deserve. his hands always wander to your waist, to your sides while you sleep, like he’s trying to ground himself in the fact that you’re real, and his.

— your body makes him feral, he doesn’t just like how you look—he craves it. the jiggle of your ass when you walk, the stretch of your chest in a low-cut top, the way your thighs squish when you sit on him—it all makes his brain shut off. obito has absolutely muttered, “fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” into your skin before burying his face between your thighs like a man starved. he gets lost in it. needy, panting, overwhelmed. he’ll tear your clothes if you let him.

— he teases you just to see you squirm. you blush so easily, and obito lives for it. he’ll lean in close when you’re around others, palm low on your waist, and whisper things like, “you know i was thinking about bending you over this morning, right?” just to watch the color bloom in your cheeks. the darker your blush, the smugger he gets. it’s how he distracts himself from the guilt and pain. when you smile shyly and swat at his chest, it’s the only time he feels peace.

— he has deep-rooted insecurities and gets protective when yours show. the moment you start downplaying your looks, obito gets quiet—but not because he agrees. it’s because he knows what it’s like to feel worthless. to hate your reflection and seeing you—his beautiful, thick, brave girl—talk about yourself like that makes him ache. he’ll climb into your lap, cup your cheeks with rough hands, and say, “you think you’re too much? i don’t even think i’m enough for you.” his pain cracks through, raw and real—and it always ends in soft, desperate kisses.

— he always ends up on his knees! whether he’s fucking you or comforting you, obito always ends up on the floor, hands gripping your thighs, face buried where you’re warmest. he’ll murmur confessions between kisses: “you’re perfect,” “i need you,” “don’t hide from me.” he thinks you’re ethereal. a miracle and he’ll prove it—tongue deep, hands firm, eyes full of need—until you believe it, too.

the apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the kitchen window where you stood in silence, fingers picking at the hem of your shirt. you’d changed out of your mission gear, and now you were regretting it.

the fabric clung to your hips. your bra strained slightly. your stomach looked too round from this angle. and the worst part? you could feel him watching you.

you turned your head slightly. obito stood leaning in the doorway—messy-haired, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips.

you hated how beautiful he was. his gaze dropped once again to your thighs.

you crossed your arms. “what?”

he blinked. “nothing.”

“don’t say ‘nothing’ when you’re staring.”

he pushed off the doorframe slowly, the bare soles of his feet soft against the wood as he walked toward you. you could already feel the heat rising in your chest.

“you’re mad that i’m looking at you?” his voice had that teasing tilt. the one that made your knees weak.

“i’m mad that i look like this.”

silence.

then he was in front of you—so close, you could feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“like what?”

you gestured to your body, flustered. “like this. thick. stretched out. not… shinobi-looking, if that makes sense.”

his brow twitched, then he laughed.

you glared. “don’t laugh—”

“no—fuck, baby.” he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. “do you even see what you’re doing to me right now?”

his voice was hot in your ear.

you could feel the hard press of his cock against your belly. thick. demanding.

“you walk around in that tiny shirt,” he growled, hand sliding to cup your ass, “with those thighs that won’t quit, and expect me to just… not stare?”

your whole body flushed, heating up in embarrassment.

“you blush like i haven’t had your legs on my shoulders, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, tongue teasing your ear. “should i remind you?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he dropped to his knees so fast it knocked the air from your lungs.

“obito—!”

“shh.” his hands gripped the backs of your thighs as he pressed slow, wet kisses against the meat of them. “let me prove it.”

you wobbled. he steadied you easily.

he leaned forward, lips brushing the waistband of your shorts. “i’m gonna eat this pretty pussy until you forget how to frown.”

“obito—oh—!”

he yanked the fabric down and buried himself between your legs like a man starved. his tongue was relentless, lapping at your folds, flicking your clit, sucking until your knees buckled and your fingers tangled in his dark, unruly hair. every moan you gave, every desperate grind of your hips, fueled him.

he moaned against you. “that’s it. give it to me.”

your thighs quivered around his face. his hands squeezed them tighter, holding you open, keeping you grounded.

when your orgasm hit, it tore through you in waves. and obito—sweet, messy obito—looked up with a glint in his eye, chin soaked, smirking like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

he stood slowly, dragging his lips up your body, pressing kisses to your belly, your chest, your flushed face.

“don’t you ever talk shit about my favorite body,” he murmured against your lips.

and you melted, because in obito’s arms, you didn’t feel like too much — you felt like everything.

♡ sasuke uchiha

— he doesn’t say much, but he sees everything, much like madara. sasuke isn’t vocal about your body, but his eyes are impossible to misread. they linger. they burn. when you walk across the room in just a shirt, his gaze drops immediately to your thighs. he notices how your waist dips beneath your clothes, how your chest rises when you sigh. even if you’re insecure, sasuke makes it clear—he isn’t. his stare is possessive. and when you catch him looking, all he says is, “what?” like he hasn’t just undressed you with his eyes three times over.

— his touch is silent reassurance. you might not hear praise from his mouth often, but you’ll feel it. in the way he wraps an arm around your waist in public. in how he pulls you flush against his chest when you lie down. in how his hand always settles on your hip, his thumb stroking absent circles over the skin he once claimed was “perfect for holding onto.” sasuke may be quiet, but his touch is loud with meaning, you are mine, and you are enough.

— he has a weakness for your curves, especially when you ride him. sasuke might be stoic, but when you’re on top, knees pressed into the mattress, your thick thighs caging him in—he loses it. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding your movements while his jaw clenches and his eyes flicker red. he watches your breast bounce, watches the sweat roll down your body, watches every bit of you take him like it was made for it. afterward, he barely speaks—just lays there, hand on your ass, breathing hard. ruined.

— he hates when you talk down about yourself, but he doesn’t argue. he proves you wrong; sasuke isn’t the type to argue with your insecurities. he doesn’t reason or comfort with long speeches. when you mumble something about being too soft or not fitting the shinobi mold, he goes quiet. then, he backs you into a wall, kisses the breath out of your mouth, and fucks you like he’s trying to erase every bad thought from your head. “too soft?” he growls between thrusts, “then why do i keep coming back to this?”

— he’s more vulnerable with you than anyone else, because your softness makes him feel safe. your body isn’t just desirable to sasuke, it’s healing. he finds comfort in your softness. in the way you wrap around him, hold him after nightmares, let him rest his head against your chest like a boy again. sometimes, he touches your curves like he’s checking if you’re real. because you, your warmth, your gentleness, your body, remind him that peace isn’t impossible. that maybe, just maybe, he still deserves something good.

you’d been quiet all evening. the mission hadn’t gone badly. in fact, it had gone smoothly. but still—you felt off. wrong in your own skin. too much.

your shirt felt snug across your chest. your thighs rubbed when you walked, chafed and sore. when you caught your reflection in the window, all you could see were the ways you didn’t look like the women sasuke was probably used to. lean. sleek. cut from kunoichi steel.

you sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your bare legs.

“stop.”

his voice made you jump. you looked over your shoulder. sasuke stood at the doorway—one hand braced against the frame, eyes narrowed. unreadable.

“stop what?”

“thinking like that.”

your heart skipped. “you don’t know what i’m thinking.”

“i don’t need to.”

he moved toward you. quiet, controlled steps. his chakra pulsed faintly in the air—calm, but unmistakable.

when he reached you, he didn’t kneel. he didn’t speak. he simply lowered his hand to your waist and ran it along the curve of your hip, then down over your thigh.

“you’re upset because of your body,” he said.

you bit your lip.

“you think you’re too much.”

your throat tightened. “sometimes.”

he didn’t answer at first. just stepped closer until he was standing between your legs, your face level with his chest. then his hand curled under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“you know how many times i’ve come home from missions thinking about this body?” he said, voice low. “about how your thighs feel wrapped around me. about how you smell when you’re wet and writhing on top of me.”

you swallowed hard.

his other hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, finding the soft skin of your waist. “you think i don’t notice every time you try to hide? you think i don’t watch your eyes when you look at yourself and hate it?”

your vision blurred slightly. you looked away.

he didn’t let you.

“no more hiding,” he whispered.

then he kissed you.

it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t rushed, either. it was deliberate. a slow press of lips that said, listen to me. that said, believe me. you whimpered into it, hands reaching to grip his arms, steadying yourself.

sasuke walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“take it off,” he said, tugging at your shirt.

you hesitated. he raised a brow. “now.”

so you did. the shirt peeled off slowly, exposing your breasts, your soft stomach, the fullness of your body in the moonlight.

his gaze didn’t waver. he looked hungry.

“lie back.”

you obeyed.

he climbed over you, letting his fingers map every dip and swell like he was relearning you. he pressed kisses to your belly, your inner thighs, the stretch marks painting your sides.

then he moved up—grinding his hips against yours with a quiet growl.

“you think you’re too much?” he whispered against your neck. “then why do i want to lose myself in you every night?”

his cock pressed hot and hard between your legs. you moaned softly.

“sasuke—”

he didn’t let you finish. he slid inside you slowly, deliberately, until you were gasping, your legs trembling.

he fucked you deep. steady. grinding against your sweet spot with every thrust. his hands gripped your waist like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

when you started to fall apart, crying out his name, he leaned down and murmured, “this is mine. you’re mine.”

and when you finally collapsed, ruined and panting, sasuke stayed inside you. buried deep. forehead resting against yours.

“don’t talk about yourself like that again,” he whispered. “not when you’re everything i need.”

and just like that—you believed him.

[stellargh0ul]

Dom!Perpetua using the safe word part was through a BDSM scene because he realizes that his sub is pushed themselves too far to try and please him. And if they won't safe word, he will.

(can you tell that everything I know about BDSM is from fiction and I have very little idea what I'm talking about?🫣🙂)

doms can definitely safeword if they get uncomfortable about a scene or notice a problem! always have your rope shears handy if you're doing rope work.

(my husband had to safeword once bc there was a sewing needle on the ground and he stepped on it in the middle of a scene we were doing.)

“and what color are we feeling, little one?” Perpetua murmurs as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his hands stroking up your back. you give a little shiver as you feel his gloves run over some of the new bruises you were sporting on your ass, pressing just hard enough to draw little sounds of pain from your lips.

“g-green, papa,” you answer, closing your eyes to better savor the feeling. there’s an odd sort of burning in your arms, the chest harness he’d tied on you taking most of the pressure off of them but some of your weight still dangling from the hook in the ceiling. your shoulders are starting to ache, but you don’t want to stop this— don’t ever want to give up on the feeling of his hands on you.

he pauses anyway. you hear him ’tsk’ quietly before his voice gets a little loud.

“pineapple,” Perpetua says and you feel your eyes open as you hear the safe word. you’re nearly instantly rocketed out of headspace as he busies himself unhooking the ropes from their holder.

“what is it, what’s wrong?”

“your hands—“

he lowers you to your feet, one arm around your waist, supporting you until he can tell that you’re able to stand on your own. you feel slightly wobbly but manage to stay upright as he practically dives for the shears on the table nearby. with your eyebrows in your hairline, you try to crane your neck to see what has him so concerned but can’t manage to turn that far.

the rope shears make quick work of the bindings and you nearly yelp aloud as you feel all the blood rush back into your hands at once, not realizing how much your circulation had been cut off until it was restored. bringing them around from behind your back, you see that your fingers have turned somewhat purple, the skin of your palms angry red.

“why didn’t you say your hands hurt?” he asks as he reaches out to grasp your wrist gently, inspecting the deep marks the rope had left behind.

“they— I think I was deep enough in subspace that I could barely feel an ache, to be honest,” you say, flexing your fingers. you’re not getting tingling pain or hot and cold sensations, so you don’t think there’s any nerve damage or anything permanent done, but they do hurt now that the circulation has been fully restored.

“I must have messed up the harness somehow. most of your weight was supposed to be carried on your chest, not your hands. i’m sorry, lamb.”

“don’t be, it’s fine. you caught it in time, no harm done.”

Perpetua purses his lips as he looks at you.

“anything else hurt? here, let me undo the harness.”

“other than the obvious? my shoulders ache a little, but that’s normal for what we were doing.”

he nods, turning you around so that he can unpick the knots on the chest harness— no need to cut up more rope than you had to.

“i’m really fine. don’t beat yourself up about it, alright?” you hear him click his tongue but he doesn’t say anything else as he works on the knots, and you just know you’re going to have to spend the rest of the night assuring him that he hadn’t almost killed you. it was a little bit of tight rope, caught in time.

you tell him as much, turning around in his arms to press a kiss to his lips when he’s finished with the harness and Perpetua sighs into the motion.

“a bath and a movie…?”

“sounds perfect."

[thenexusofsouls]

As he listened to her describe him, Xenos' eyes widened with such innocent amazement at what she was saying. She... really seemed to think a lot of him. Had he really made that good of an impression on her in such a short amount of time? Xenos didn't know how he would've managed that, since his social skills were practically nonexistent, but he could feel it too... this connection they had. They had much in common, and perhaps that had served to shape their view of the world in similar ways. Beyond that, he could feel the pull of something stronger, something more abstract. An energy between them, a draw. Never before had he felt so drawn to someone else like this, and he rather liked it. It was exciting and invigorating.

"Why... would I not... be kind... to you? You have... been so... to me," he said, as if that was how the world worked. Maybe it was the way the world should have worked, but sadly, people didn't always reciprocate things like kindness. His expression softened into something a little more somber just then, though, the first part of what she'd said finally sinking in. "You too..." he observed. "Remained... kind... despite... hardship." Maybe Wanda hadn't shared what she'd been through with him yet, but he could sense that she had suffered. It was a feeling he got when he looked deep into her eyes.

"No. Not bad. Just... inter-... interesting. Never been called... before," he said. He supposed that maybe he was mysterious, covering himself in this manner. He wasn't trying to be, he'd only wanted to block out some harsh stimuli like light by wearing the hood, and to help himself to feel a little less uneasy with things like eye contact. He didn't mind looking into Wanda's eyes, though. Maybe that was because she didn't look at him with hatred, anger, fear, or disgust, all things he was used to seeing in the eyes of others.

"Yes," Xenos said without hesitation. "I mean it." Oh yes, she was very special to him. He would already do just about anything to protect her, even place himself in danger. She had made that level of a dramatic impression on him and earned that kind of devotion already. "Can always see," he decided. "If you want. I will... always... let you see me." That wasn't something he permitted anyone before, to see his face without the hood whenever they wanted, but Wanda had earned that from him. And he rather liked even when he did have his hood draped over his face, when she looked up and saw him anyway, a lovely smile on her face. It was like he was being seen in private, a beautiful dichotomy of feelings between hiding away and being exposed, but only to her.

"Never f-feared... you... either," Xenos admitted. "Was curious... but not... fearful." He leaned against her hand as she stroked his cheek. There was an innocence to his gaze, as though he was looking upon a goddess and he only a lowly servant. Or perhaps it was someone seeing the beauty of another, inside and out, for the first time after seeing so... so much ugliness in others.

- - - - -

Xenos was still wary of Tony and Steve too, but he didn't like seeing Wanda on edge either. For now, it seemed like they were merely curious, and if they really had gotten a room set up for him, then that was a most unexpected kindness. Xenos knew he should take that for what it was instead of being so suspicious, so he tried to push his nervousness way down in favor of letting Wanda know that he was okay so far with what was going on.

Not having the same boundaries or feeling of what was taboo or acceptable to human society as most people did, Xenos continued to hold Wanda close, even as he stood with her. Whatever image of impropriety he might be projecting by doing so was utterly lost on him. He did his best to answer Steve and Tony's questions, taking comfort in Wanda's warmth and letting both holding her and her hand ground him.

Instantly, Xenos visibly relaxed when Steve said he hadn't hurt anyone. He was fully capable of doing so, and maybe he wouldn't hesitate much if placed in the wrong situation, but mostly he went out of his way not to harm humans. And even if he was placed in a dire position, he still would try to escape peacefully, and had done so many times over the centuries. They merely seemed curious about the dome, and he understood why. Humans typically did not have such abilities.

"Yes. Many times," he answered Steve. "Defense me-... mecha-nism... for my sp-... species," he explained. "When... th-threatened... or... afraid... we c-create... protec-tive... spaces... for ourselves." Would that make sense to them? He wasn't sure, and so he did his best to explain a bit more. "In... my home... had no body. Made of... p-par... particles. Like... m-mist... or smoke. My kind... understands... how to... m-move... m-mani-pulate... particles. M-... mol-... molecules."

It was so hard for him to remember all these words, but he'd bothered to learn them for his own understanding of human language and in case he ever needed to explain himself. That time was now, it seemed. "When... threatened... my kind... forces out... harmful... or... d-damaging... molecules. People... humans... are molecules too. Easy... to move. Move safely... by k-keeping m-moleules... in same..." He paused, searching for the right word. The fingers on one of his hands fidgeted strangely for a moment as he did so. "Ori-en-tation? Same orien-tation. Create... pro-... protective... space... for myself... and safely... push humans... away. Done... many times... over centuries."

Tony looked at Steve, silently asking if he was believing all of this outlandish stuff. It was like something out of a sci-fi film, what Xenos was describing. "And... what exactly... is your species?" Tony asked, wondering if what Xenos said would square with what Strange had found during his research.

"Sh-shadow... being," Xenos said with a little shrug. He didn't really know what his species was, since it wasn't like they had a name. "W-without... body. In... incor-poreal. Energy... that... has g-gained... sen-... sentience." He realized that made no sense, given that he stood before them in a mostly human-looking body. "This..." he said, letting go of Wanda's hand for a moment to lay his hand over his chest, "belonged... to... a human. Forced on me... by... a sorcerer. To trap. Enslave."

Tony blinked. Well, then. No wonder he hates Strange. "That's um... There's a lot to unpack there," he said, looking between Xenos and Steve. So Strange was right, he thought.

"Tired..." Xenos sighed, sounding a bit out of breath. He lifted his hand to hold his head, feeling a little dizzy. "Speaking... is... d-difficult... for me."

"Why's that?" Tony asked.

"Not... natural. Have to... con-... con-cen-trate... hard," he said, the last word of that trailing off into a whisper. "Weak still... from crea-ting... large... pro-tec-tive space..." In fact, he sat down on the bench again, taking a few deep breaths. "Moment... please," he asked of them, in case they had more questions. Although he was an extremely powerful being, the imbalance between his spiritual essence and his physical body sometimes created obstacles for him that normal humans did not face.

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[wrenbird03]

wow i haven’t been active in a while huh? anyways take this art i made just in time for halloween :D

happy halloween tumblr creatures :)

[sysig]

You’re looking a bit different than usual! (Patreon)

[afteas2003]

someone on Pinterest asked me to draw a dc character I know nothing about and it was 4 am so I said fuck it and did a quick sketch. I was tryna play with more dynamic poses and I ACCIDENTALLY TWINKIFIED THIS MANS in like, a COMPLETELY different art style than is normal for me and I just sent it to them in shame guys wtf is this

[wawapiggy]

me when i witness the horrors:

transformations are very very cool :3

also this is for time week on the lu discord server

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

little dolores pencil sketch I did the other day

[mylove-thresher]

falling out of love with a lot of things lately

[kukinkrim]

the prettiest manager goes to..

saja boys x gn!manager!reader

notes: what's up with kpop groups and their pretty managers bro 🤧

the saja boys were gods among men.

literally. more than half of the nation's population practically worshipped the ground they walked on.

which is ironic since this group of boys are anything but angelic.

nonetheless, they were still worshipped. they were practically the nation's golden children next to huntrix. they were loved, not only in south korea, but all across the globe. these five demon boys had the whole nation in a chokehold that no one could quite explain.

it's a no-brainer. attractive men with honeyed voices? of course, everyone's already practically drooling on their feet.

well, that's what abby believes anyway.

"manager-nim, we love you!" he stares in disbelief as he was cast aside, being shoved somewhere in the back as fans rushed towards you who was merely standing in the background.

you, not him.

the fans that used to carry boards with their faces now had yours plastered everywhere with hearts decorating all over it. it's safe to say abby is in shock. he watches from the back as fans swarmed you from left to right, cameras clicking and fans chanting your name over and over again.

"it seems our fans love them," jinu chuckles as he watched you look over at them through a sea of heads, begging for help.

"am i the idol here?" abby blinks, genuinely still baffled at how things turned out. what was supposed to be just a quick move from their apartment to their black van, was now an unexpected meet-and-greet with their beloved fans. except, they weren't fawning over the saja boys.

they were fawning over their manager.

“you were,” mystery replied with a deadpan tone, patting him on the back comfortingly. “but not anymore,” he added, watching the chaos unfold before him. “we've been dethroned.”

“i feel… replaced.” romance sighed dramatically, trying not to laugh when he sees you sending him a look that screamed for help. the entire thinf was rather amusing to watch.

baby squints his eyes when he catches one of the signs that a fan has brought. a picture of your face decorated with glitters with a quote that says, 'MANAGER-NIM PLEASE HAVE MY BABIES' and he physically recoiled in disgust. "are you sure that's not sexual harassment?"

“well,” jinu grinned, clapping to gain the attention of his members. “that’s what we get for having a pretty manager, i suppose.”

durimg the car ride to the studio, who were utterly exhausted. your back hunched in the worst way possible as you drove. “next fan meet,” you muttered. “i’m retiring.”

“too late,” baby said, scrolling through twitter. “you’re trending. again.”

“#managernimsupremacy,” abby read aloud from his phone, pouting. “unbelievable!"

that's how it started; as a joke. it was something that was just amusing to watch. afterall, it wasn't everyday you get to see your beloved manager be awarmed by thousands of fans.

a harmless, chaotic little joke they all laughed about.

at first.

until it became an everyday occurence.

“wow, the fans love you more than us now,” romance teased one day as you stepped back into the van, arms full of fan gifts: hand creams, vitamin packs, an absurd number of plushies, and three more custom water bottles with your name on them in a cursive font.

he takes one of the hand creams from you, a rose-scented one, happy that he got a free product despite being a rich idol who could probably afford to buy more than 10 boxes of each scent.

you merely shrugged. you've gotten used to it at this point. you've learned to be grateful of the gifts you received, even when they are being constantly shoved in your face left and right. "i think they’re just being nice. i take care of you guys for years now, afterall."

"nice?” baby echoed, peeking into the box you placed on the seat beside you. “these creams are imported from france!”

“lucky. and i got a drawing of myself being lovingly thrown into the ocean,” mystery muttered, sulking as he leans against the door of the van.

it was funny at first, really. they’d giggle when fans squealed at your presence. playfully sulk when they caught fans sneaking pictures of you while pretending to wait in their lines. jinu even once asked a fan to move over so he could take a selfie with the poster of you she brought instead of his face.

all jokes. harmless teasing.

“manager-nim, i wrote a song about you. it’s called ‘my only manager.’ can i sing it?” a fan once asked as he skipped throigh the five boys during their fansign, waltzimg straight to you who was waiting at the end of the table. he was clasping his hands together, pleading, that you didn't have the heart to refuse.

besides, happy fans, happy idols, right?

you, being your polite, adorable, very-unaware-of-the-effect-you-had-on-people self, smiled and said, “of course!”

the moment he opened her mouth and serenaded you with tearful sincerity; with a voice that only a mother could love, the atmosphere had already began to shift.

suddenly, abby wasn’t smiling anymore. he was pouting with his hands pressed against his ears. his eyes were glaring at the fan who was still talking to you.

romance forgot what he was supposed to write on the album page and signed I HATE HIM in all caps. the poor fan looked at him in confusion, looking at her album before shrugging.

baby was recoiling in absolute disgust. his mouth opens once in a while, his hand on his microphone. his throat was itching to say something but the hand om his shoulder stopped him from saying anything that could get him cancelled. jinu's hand on his shoulder was firm, his eye twitching and his smile tight.

mystery looks like he's about to lunge out of his chair and bite the vocal chords of this stupid fan and his stupid serenade.

after that day, it wasn’t funny anymore. it became annoying.

fans constantly showered you with gifts and love confessions and marriage proposals—which is something they should be getting used to. they are idols in the industry, afterall. they've gone through it and so much other worse things!

but they really couldn't help but be annoyed whenever you were at the receiving end of their fans' affections.

“do you want people to fall in love with you?” baby asked one night during dinner at a restaurant, stabbing his kimchi a little too violently.

“i—what?” you blinked.

“maybe wear a mask or something,” abby suggested, half-joking. “your face is… too face-y.”

“face-y?”

"it means stop being pretty for once!"

"you guys are being unreasonable."

“we’re done,” jinu said as he placed his chopsticks down. "you're getting demoted to a water staff."

"what?!"

"you only get to show up once during the day and that's to bring us water. no mingling with fans!"

“wait—what? why?!”

“you’ve been working too hard,” he said, but his eyes were definitely glaring. though it didn't seem to be aimed directly at you. not at you, but at something outside the restaurant’s window. you followed his gaze just in time to see two fans holding up a banner that read: MANAGER-NIM, YOU ARE OUR LITERAL SALVATION 💘💘💘

you laughed awkwardly, waving at the two, before sighing. “is this because someone shouted ‘marry me’ at me during soundcheck yesterday?"

“it's because five people shouted it,” abby corrected, “one of them brought a ring.”

“an actual ring,” abby added. “it even had your initials engraved."

“that could’ve been a coincidence,” you tried, but even you, yourself, didn't believe in your own poor excuse.

“it had your face on the box,” baby deadpanned. “your graduation photo. the ugly one.”

“okay wow, rude.” you huffed, glaring at the teal-haired demon who only shrugged.

“don’t dodge the point!” abby snapped. “you do know this is parasocial, right? that kind of fan attachment isn’t healthy!”

You stared at him. “you’re all literal idols. you thrive on parasocial relationships.”

“yes,” baby muttered into his drink, “with us. not with you. that’s the natural order of things.”

“you’re quite literally disrupting the ecosystem,” mystery added, deadpan.

“yes,” romance said, “but not when we’re the ones being ignored! #managernim is now trending higher than our actual comeback teaser.”

there it was.

the real reason.

you slowly leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. a smile so smug forming on your lips. “ah. so it’s jealousy. you're jealous i stole your fans?”

“what? no—pfft.” jinu waved a hand dismissively, clearly lying. “it’s concern. genuine, heartfelt concern.”

“you’re mad because you tripped over a banner with my face on it.”

“i bled,” abby whimpered dramatically, rubbing his shin.

“you’re demons. you heal.”

“it stung me emotionally.”

romance groaned into his palms. “i literally sang a high note and no one blinked. but the second manager-nim smiles? everyone’s sobbing like they've been enlightened.”

“marry me. manager-nim is my mother and my father and my hope,” mystery quoted, mimicking the fan tweets he read before. “it’s endless.”

“i think it’s sweet,” you said with a small smile, just to poke at them.

five pairs of eyes glared at you in unison.

“no more public appearances,” jinu declared. “effective immediately. you’re on water duty and emotional lock-down.”

"you can’t be serious.”

“we are,” baby said. “and if any fan asks where you are, we’ll say you’re… on a paid vacation. to reconnect with nature. maybe with no wifi.”

“oh my god,” you muttered, hiding a laugh behind your hand. “you’re all actually insane.”

[riddlesrose]

kissin him stupid

w/ the housewardens

in which you were recently gifted a tube of lipstick from grim, you're unsure of where he got it or why he decided it's yours now but it's given you a fantastic idea.

(he probably stole it from vil somehow and wants to place the blame on you..)

note; malleus' is the shortest but the most full of love i swear to goooood but the post itself is quite long

part two!

if riddle could form a proper sentence right now, he might scold you for slacking off, or breaking rule six hundred and seventeen, or he may just ask you to do it again. if colours could speak, his face would scream in comparison to the red accents in the housewarden’s room, uniform and matching hair. 

you attempt to keep a sober expression but he seriously cannot be so flustered by a single kiss? the red lip stain on his cheek is bright against the flush of his cheeks, as he sputters vowels and consonants, attempting to speak, to protest, to ask you what in the queen’s name are you doing.

you invited riddle over to the ramshackle dorm under the guise of needing help with studying, but you had this motive the entire time. riddle could feel your rebel to his help and directions if he ignored the obvious fact you hadn’t even cracked the spine of your book yet (to be fair it was only assigned today, and it was a new book), and the devious smile you attempted to hide until now. 

riddle took a breath, finally feeling sensible enough, “what… was that.” 

“affection, riddle. this isn’t new.” you shot, tone dripping in sarcasm. 

“yes, my rose, i know that. i mean,” he grabs hold of your uniform tie, drawing you closer, “what’s with the lipstick?” your head probably could have exploded, where did this riddle come from and how can he be drawn out more often?

you press a swift kiss to riddle’s other cheek, thanks to the proximity. “i have no explanation,” you press another kiss onto his forehead, “i simply was gifted it,” a kiss to his temple, “this morning.” the grip riddle has on your tie loosens completely as it falls back onto your chest, slightly wrinkled from the force. 

“i just had this ironed!” you frown. 

“i-i’ll get it done again.” riddle stands, brushing invisible dust off his jacket, though nothing could distract from the shade of pink that covers his face. 

“you’ll iron my tie for me? how kind.” you wrap an arm around riddle’s waist, pulling him close. he drops his forehead against your chest with a thud, inaudibly mumbling to himself. 

you wrap your other arm around him as he takes your face between his hands, slightly squishing into your cheeks he drags your face to his height, kissing you feverishly. 

“where did this riddle come from? i like him.” 

“i just felt… bold i suppose.” riddle’s red tinted lips smile against yours.

“do it again!”

leona stirs underneath you. you’re sat, straddling either side of his hips, weight pressed on his defined torso. leona doesn’t know it but you’ve practically trapped him where he sleeps. where he’s asleep currently, that is. in your dorm. 

on your couch.

using your pillows, taking in the setting sun like a true feline, though you would never dare utter the word feline anywhere near him lest you face the wrath of a moody boyfriend. 

you silently laugh to yourself, leaning down and pressing your lips on the prince’s temple.

leona stirs again at that, attempting to roll over – he cracks an eye when you gasp. slowly, coming to his senses, he furrows his brows at your positioning. you weren’t there when he fell asleep, when did you do that, and why are you sitting on him with half of a sinister smile across your lips…

and when did your lips turn red? he brings a hand up to rub his face, trying to shake the sleep out of his fogged mind, but you catch his hand before it makes contant. 

“don’t, it’ll mess up all my hard work,” you say with a half hint of embarrassment. (just a hint; only because you were caught before you could slip away undiscovered.)

leona’s confusion increases, as he detaches your hand from his wrist. he takes his freed hand up to your lips and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, smudging it further across the line of your lip.

he inspects his red finger, “is this… lipstick?” you purse your lips in an attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbles in your chest. he looks ridiculous; eyes half lidded, nose crunched in focus and red marks painting his face.

your tinted lips curl upwards slightly into a smug grin, “maybe?” if leona knows one thing, it’s smug grins. he matches yours and wipes his thumb on your cheek, smearing the lipstick off his thumb and onto your skin. 

you playfully swat his hand away and lean down to continue painting your masterpiece, placing another kiss on his skin – onto the spot between his eyebrows. leona’s hand find your hip, giving a teasing pinch to the side. 

leona may be a prince used to some pampering, but this is some treatment he could get used to. 

azul has a finger in every pie, as riddle likes to say. you’re very much aware of that as your boyfriend likes to talk your ear off about his investments, new opportunities and the lounge. you’re so very proud of all of his hard work but sometimes he gets off on a tangent that doesn’t stop until you make him. usually with a kiss. it flusters him just enough that he forgets what he was going on about and it works every time. 

this time, however, was a bit different. azul didn’t take notice of the hue change of your lips as you leaned in and shut him up. drawing back, you snicker at his pursed lips and flushed cheeks, and the red lipstick smeared around his lips.

azul peeked in your direction, curious. you usually find it funny when he’s flustered like this but you were laughing a little too much. he noticed the messy red lipstick and furrowed his brows, wiping a finger across his lips. 

you suppressed a smile as you watched him curiously examine his stained finger, “it’s lipstick.” he concludes. 

“well… obviously? i thought that would have been pretty clear,” you grab his hand, wiping the red off of his finger. 

before azul can retort you lean in to kiss him again; anywhere you can get your lips on before he shells himself away, utterly embarrassed. a kiss to his cheek, jaw, forehead, nose, other cheek, forehead again, has him sputtering, almost begging to be released. 

azul places his free hand on your shoulder, trying to push you away while laughing between breaths. when you do back up, leaning back on your hand, he almost looks sad. (as if he wasn’t actively trying to get you off!) 

“so, mister ashengrotto? feeling loved and appreciated yet?” you give him a toothy grin, watching as his face contorts from flustered to even-more-flustered. (if that’s possible.)

“well yes! i dare say i’m feeling very valued and cherished as well.” despite his rosy features, his voice is unwavering, full of conviction. 

his confident, put-together outer layer completely melts away when you’re alone with him, but this has him absolutely on fire, a feeling no number could replace. numbers can’t give affection, you give it tenfold in their stead. 

kalim’s permanent grin widens when you claim you’ve got a gift for him. he expectantly holds out his hands, making you shake your head. 

“it’s more of an eyes closed kind of gift,” you start, kalim instantly squeezes his eyes shut. he puts so much trust in you that you worry jamil has eyes everywhere. everywhere. but you brush the jesting idea away, believing that you wouldn’t even be allowed on scarabia grounds if jamil didn’t trust you with the housewarden. 

you turn to a nearby mirror, passing the tube of red lipstick over your lips. the smooth makeup applies nice and neatly. (doesn’t matter because you know it won’t be neat for long.)

you step back over to where kalim’s sitting on the edge of his bed, standing between his knees. he’s waiting not-so patiently, he looks like he’s almost vibrating, is he really that excited? you suppress a smile as you gently grab onto his jaw, tilting his head to the side as you press your lips to his cheek. his laughter immediately fills the room, making you press more kisses over his face. one to his forehead, one on the nose, another on the other cheek, his temples, and anywhere you can get before he’s laughing too much, pushing you away.

“it tickles,” he heaves a breath, “stop!” a wider smile grows on his face after seeing yours, the red lipstick you applied had smudged around your lips, looking not-so neat. his face isn’t much better, tan skin littered in red kisses.

while you’re mentally retaining the image of kalim covered in red lip marks, you notice him looking more intently at you. you raise a brow, curiously.

“my turn, give it here!” he reaches a hand out, expecting the tube of lipstick?

you look at him bewildered, “what?” 

“my turn!” he repeats. he seems real set on returning the ‘gift’ it seems. kalim’s all smiles as you hand him the black tube. he exposes the stick and passes it over his own lips, tossing it aside and pulling you down to his seated height. he flattens his lips across the expanse of your face, getting at any skin he can just like you did to him. 

when he deems he’s finished, you’re dazed and equally covered in red lipstick stains, smiles wide across your faces. matching stained faces for matching blitheringly infatuated idiots.

vil leans on the back of his vanity chair; his face littered in different coloured lip marks. the reason? he claims he wants to see which ones compliment him the most. 

you know he already knows exactly which shades of each brand line do exactly that. (thanks, rook.) vil doesn’t know that you know he’s already figured this out. 

you wipe the makeup remover-soaked cotton pad across your lips, ridding it of the pink. “what would all of your fans think if they knew you were being covered completely in rainbow kisses?” you wipe the moisture from your lips as vil reaches around you to grab another tube, but you stop him. 

“i’m sure they would lose their minds,” you reach into your pocket, revealing a miscellaneous tube of lipstick, it matches none of the previously discarded lipsticks, nor does it have a brand logo on it. “where did you find this?” vil takes the lipstick in his hand, nimbly examining the exterior. he removes the top to reveal a rich, velvety red colour. his eyes widen just slightly. 

“it’s a secret,” you wink and take the lipstick from him and apply it, smiling as you replace its cap and let it fall from your hand, onto a messy vanity behind you. 

vil wraps an arm around your neck, drawing you closer to his seated level, “well, share your secret with me, if you would be so kind.” you swiftly close the gap between yourself and the housewarden, administering a healthy dose of red onto his lips and the surrounding skin. 

he parts first, his cheeks dawn a hint of pink that’s hidden behind the various stains on his otherwise perfect skin. he truly is the most beautiful person ever. makeup or not, hair tied back or loose, vil is sincerely as pretty as the morning's first light, a flower; freshly bloomed, and a fresh set of nails. 

“you’re staring. not that i mind,” you snap out of your hazy daydream about your gorgeous boyfriend and back into reality. 

“yeah, sorry. you’re just really fucking pretty.” you lean down and tenderly kiss his forehead as he internally squeals like one of his fan-girls. he really hit the jackpot with you as his (second) biggest fan.

idia looks up at you with wide yellow eyes, but they have a sort of gloss over them that makes you believe he would not want you to get up and leave his dorm right now. you grin at his feeble attempt of a silent, inconclusive plea. an ask to what, you’re unsure because his face (minus the eyes) and hands grabbing at you tell you he’s very much enjoying you straddling his hips right now.

you reach into your pocket, revealing your master plan. a tube of lipstick, you swipe it over your lips once, then twice before replacing the cap and tossing it down, letting it hit the plush bedsheet you’re atop. 

the translucent tips of his hair start to turn pink as you lean down towards his face. a trembling hand comes up to your shoulder, not pushing you away but seemingly grounding the housewarden underneath you. “how cute,” you smile against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his left cheek, then the right. one more on his forehead for good measure. maybe one more. okay, one last one couldn’t hurt.

you sit upright and drag a hand down idia’s chest, over the sweater you know is probably two sizes to large for him, (but that’s how he likes them you suppose and it just makes for a more comfortable sweater when you steal ‘em) while admiring the definitely not smudge-proof lipstick marks on idia’s face, giggling as you compare the red smears to his blue features. you wonder if-

the rapid rise and fall of idia’s chest catches your attention, it almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating, but when you look up to his face it’s surrounded by fiery pink hair and a flush across his cheeks, spanning down his neck, you realize he’s fine. probably a little more than fine. 

“well, that’s some false advertising,” you smile, wiping at the edges of your lips lightly with a finger. idia snaps out of his stupor, hastily agreeing with a stuttered breath. his hands find your hips, giving you a small squeeze. you lean down and press a proper kiss to his lips, you lift away just as quick as you bent down, pushing idia back down as he chases you up, hoping for more. a pitiful whine escapes him as his hair burns brighter. 

the red lipstick mixes with his natural blue lips gives him a sort of purple that would put the octavinelle’s house colour to shame. though, he almost looks forlorn. the usual solemn and gloomy housewarden; reduced to a blushing mess after a few kisses. 

hilarious, isn’t it?

malleus’s eyes flutter shut, a pleased sigh escapes his lips. his hands, hidden by your sweater, trace messy patterns on your back as his nails scratch lightly. he’s unsure of how he got himself into this humanoid predicament but he’s not complaining. 

you’re sat in his lap, placing kisses all over his face, leaving red lip marks behind. 

“you look like you’re enjoying this more than i am, malleus.” you bring a hand up to rake it through his bangs, pushing them behind his horns and revealing the shiny scales hidden beneath. 

the housewarden cracks a sharp emerald eye, examining your features. the slope of your nose, the curve of your stained lips, your eyelashes, cheeks. your eyes. oh how he loves your eyes, the way they look up to him with adoration, not fear or indifference like other humans do. 

you cup his cheek, “malleus?” 

he blinks once, twice. the gloss over his eyes breaks, refocusing on you. “i apologize, i was lost in thought.” 

“i could tell,” you trace your finger to the tip of his ear, then drop your hand back into your lap. “what were you thinking of? me?” 

“yes.” 

“woah, okay. blunt!” heat rises to your face. 

a hand leaves your back, trailing around your side and up to tuck a piece of hair away from your eyes. “was i not suppose to tell the truth?” 

“no, malleus, you should have said you were thinking of pancakes.” 

“but i wasn’t? i was thinking of-” you cut him off, placing a kiss on his lips. 

“now, let me resume my art.”

malleus is more than happy to sit as still as the gargoyle statues he studies while you press kisses all over his face. he is, truly is.

this was so self indulgent i ain’t even sorry (is my favouritism showing??)

masterlist