#when you have something to hide you have to be

[oreo-creampies]

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mean/angry nerd!switch!choso, hate fucking/academic rivals, Daddy/brat, biting, degradation/mocking, two pussy slaps, a hint of oral/fingering for some prep, pain kink, begging, just the tip, choking, light fem dom!reader, biting, hair pulling/dragging, mirror sex, full nelson, squirting

Oreo: @arminsumi @vampress7 lets all be delulu over nerd!choso, normal choso could and would never be so mean. I stand by that but this is nerd!choso Au whose done with your shit even if you are right! 🤤

“You’re such an annoying brat correcting me in class.” Choso grabs your arms pinning them above your head. Stuffing his thigh between your legs. Grinding your hips, your soft clit perfectly rubbing on his thick thigh.

Fighting the urge to groan. “If you weren't wrong, I wouldn't have to-!” Choso shuts you up with a rough kiss, biting your bottom lip. Slipping his tongue past when you cry.

Squeezing your neck, pulling away, smirking down at you. “Say something now, do anything other than grind your clit on my thigh like a pretty dirty whore.” Glaring up at him, unable to stop yourself. It feels to go to rock your clothed cunt on his clothed thigh.

Sneering, “If only the class knew what a pathetic whore you are. Glaring up at me like you won't beg for my cock.” It’s going straight to your needy cunt the way Choso is looking down at you with such angry hunger.

Moving his thigh from between yours. Roughly unbutton your pants, yanking them down your thighs with your underwear Curling two thick fingers into your cunt. “Already stupidly wet for me, nnn can't believe such a pretty cunt belongs to such a brat.” Letting go of your neck, crouching down ripping your pants down the rest of the way.

“Aw Choso Kamo is mad 'cause I’m right! Doesn't matter how much of a stupid cock drunk slut your fat cock makes me it won't change that!” Slapping your clit and cunt repeatedly. Slapping your hand over your mouth, muffling your cries from the sweet sting.

Biting your stomach, gliding two thick fingers. You grab a fistful of his dark hair tugging till he whines. Your sloppy wet cunt quivers around Choso's thick fingers from the beautiful sound. “Annoying brat.” Propping your thigh on his broad shoulder, shoving his face towards your clit.

“Shut up and suck my clit.” Biting your thigh, pumping his thick fingers faster. Massaging your sweet spot, licking your soft clit. Groaning into your cunt, grabbing your hip digging in his nails.

Squirming grinding your hips, swiping your clit on his pierced tongue. Curling from your toes from the sweet pressure of his hard bar. “Fuck you for being so damn beautiful with my cunt on your face.” Sloppily sucking on your soft clit, groaning getting off in the soft squelching of his finger sinking into your sloppy wet cunt.

Gliding his fingers out, slipping your thigh off his shoulder standing up. Unbuttoning his dark pants, pushing them down, kicking them to the side. “No underwear? Figures why everyone could see the fat outline of your cock when you were in front of the class.”

Picking up his beautiful cock. Biting your lip, stroking your clit, you love the way he’s so fat and heavy he hangs. He smirks looking down at you, trapping your head between his large hands.

Grabbing his cock touching stroking your clit. “I knew you were lookin’ n you lied sayin’ you weren't.” He groans when you slide your side lips along his cock, smearing slick into his cock head. Helping you stroke your clit better.

“Fuck you, you didn't deserve the satisfaction after being wrong. You should have studied better, I'm disappointed in you can I even think of you as a rival after that.” Biting Choso’s tattoo of black flowers and dark green leaves and thorny vines.

The large garden covers most of his body. Hiding scars you’ve memorized the placement of. You hate him so much, yet you know his body better than your own.

Tracing over the one above his heart. Kissing the bite mark. “Please you know you’re going to be thinking about seeing me in class tomorrow. Let’s see how good your essay is, if I think it’s less than 96 you’re not cumming.” Grabbing your hair pulling your head back.

Looking up at him, siding your hand down from his thick hard pecs to his sculpted abs. “Fuck whatever stupid grading system you have it's rigged. You just want to hear me beg.” Stepping back, taking away his thick, warm cock on your soft clit.

Choso leads you from his living room into the hallway with a firm grasp on your hair. “Damn right, I want to hear you beg for this cock. Watch yourself, see what a dumb slut I fuck ya into.” Letting go, shoving you into his bathroom, grabbing your arm, and twisting you to face the mirror. Bending you over, lifting your ass up in the air.

Grabbing the counter. Admiring Choso in the mirror. His broad chest, thick arms, and slim waist. “I want to be fucked dumb by your fat cock.” Lining his thick cock up gliding in just his fat cock head.

Suspended in the air with only his tip in you, you look so desperate begging. "Please fuck me with your fat cock, I don't want to think of anything else. Wanna be your pretty dumb cock sleeve." Gliding his cock out, slapping himself on your lips.

Clenching with every wet smack, lining himself back up gliding only his fat tip into you. His fat head alone stretching your cunt feels too damn good. "Please fuck my bratty attitude outta me, make me your mindless cum stuffed slut. NNn." Roughly pulling you back to meet his harsh thrust, stuffing you full of his cock.

Loudly moaning, "Fuck me!" Choso grabs your hair, yanking you upright. Wrapping an arm around his neck. Choso slips his arms underneath your legs, folding you in half. Bouncing you in time with his hard, quick thrusts.

Stroking your sweet spot before stirring your guts up. "That's what I thought it's ok ya can moan you are my stupid pretty slut." Slipping his arm across your body, trapping both your legs over his thick forearm.

You're tightly pinned, knees to your chest watching your cunt get stuffed. Getting off on how Choso needs one arm to support you. Stroking your clit whining from the sweet toe-curling pleasure, clenching his fat cock. "Nnn daddy please!"

"Daddy? Already is it that good? Like seeing how your cunt is making a perfect circle from how fat my cock is." Steadily stroking your soft clit. Over the months of ending up in his apartment he's perfected playing with your clit.

You couldn't do it better yourself anymore. Couldn't cum this hard that your eyes are rolling back, body trembling, jaw-dropping. Your thick slick dripping down Choso's balls, some of your squirt splashing onto his counter.

Forgetting everything but getting fucked stupid on Choso's fat, veiny cock. “Ya cummin' so much for me, thought ya hated me but look at you. Giving me those love sick eyes." You don't have the mind to protest.

Choso smirks, "I might be second in class but I'm still your Daddy. No one else can fuck ya like I can look at ya already a stupid drooling brat.”

oreo’s m.list

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

✧. 🐍 TITS, ASS OR THIGHS?

If Zayne and Caleb had to choose, it would be thighs—every damn time.

Caleb was the type to act casual about it, but the way his hands never left your thighs told a different story. Sitting next to him? His fingers would be tracing idle circles against your skin, squeezing just enough to make you shift in place. Laying in bed? He’d have his head resting on them, kissing the soft flesh like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. But it was when you were wrapped around him, legs locked tight around his waist, that his obsession really showed.

“Fuck, pipsqueak,” he’d groan, grinding deep into your pussy as his cock throbbed inside you. “You tryin’ to trap me here? Keep me buried in this pretty cunt?” His fingers dug into the plushness of your thighs, holding them open so he could watch himself slide in and out of your soaked heat. Every thrust had him panting, gaze flicking down to where his cock stretched you, glistening with your slick. “Shit—these thighs, baby. I could cum just from feeling ‘em squeeze me like this.”

Zayne, on the other hand, didn’t just love your thighs—he was fucking obsessed with them. He'd never admit it outright, but the way he grabbed, bit, and marked them told you everything you needed to know. If you so much as tried to close them around him, he'd slap them apart with a sharp smirk, watching you jolt.

“You think you get to keep these from me?” he’d sneer, his cock already pressing against your dripping slit. He’d spread your thighs wide, staring at your clit twitching with need before dragging the thick head of his cock along it, teasing. “Nah, sweetheart. These thighs are mine.” And when he finally slammed into you, he’d growl at the way they quivered, his fingers bruising your soft flesh. “Fuck—look at ‘em, shaking already. You like this? You like when I use your thighs to keep you nice and open for me?”

Caleb worshipped them. Zayne ruined them. And both of them made sure they were covered in cum by the time they were done.

If Xavier and Rafayel had to choose, it would be ass—no hesitation.

Xavier acted like he didn’t have a preference, like he was too composed to be caught up in something so simple. But the second you turned around? His sharp blue eyes were locked on your ass, jaw tightening like he was barely holding himself back. And when he had you beneath him, pressed into the mattress, he didn’t bother pretending anymore.

“Look at this,” he muttered, gripping the plush curve of your ass with both hands, spreading you open just to watch your pussy clench around nothing. “Bet you love teasing me with this—walking around like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” His cock was already leaking, thick and aching as he dragged it against your soaked slit, teasing your clit before pushing in slow. His grip tightened as you arched, forcing you to stay in place while he sank in to the hilt. “Yeah… this is what you wanted, huh?” His voice was low, smug, but his fingers trembled where they dug into your flesh. “Wanted me to fuck you so deep you feel me in your stomach?”

Rafayel was the opposite—he didn’t bother hiding how obsessed he was. The moment he got his hands on your ass, he was squeezing, grabbing, leaving marks with his nails and teeth. He’d groan every time you rode him, watching the way your ass bounced with each drop of your hips. But what really drove him insane was taking you from behind, one big hand pressing down on the small of your back, the other kneading your ass like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, slamming his cock into your soaked pussy, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. “Shit—this ass was made for me.” His fingers spread you wider, watching the way his cock disappeared inside you, coated in slick. "Gonna fill you up—gonna make you cum just from me using you like this." His thrusts turned rougher, desperate, and he groaned when your walls clenched tight. “Yeah, that’s it—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum all over this pretty ass, aren’t you?”

Xavier liked to tease. Rafayel liked to claim. Either way, your ass was theirs, and they made sure you knew it.

If Sylus had to choose, it would be tits—without question.

From the moment his hands first cupped them, Sylus was hooked. He wasn’t shy about it either—whenever he had the chance, his palms were kneading, thumbs teasing over your nipples just to see you shiver. He loved how soft they felt against his calloused fingers, how they looked when they were spilling out of your clothes, how your breath hitched when he kissed down your neck and nipped at the sensitive skin. But what really drove him insane? Having them pressed against his face, his mouth worshiping every inch.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lips already wrapping around a hardened nipple, sucking slow and deep while his other hand massaged the plush curve of your breast. “So fucking perfect—made just for me, huh?” His cock was already hard, throbbing against your slick heat, but he was too lost in the way your body arched for him, the way your clit twitched when he rolled a nipple between his fingers. “Look at you,” he murmured, breaking away just enough to admire the way your tits bounced with every needy grind of your hips. “You like this, don't you? Letting me suck on you while I stretch this pussy open?”

When he finally pushed inside, he groaned at the way your walls squeezed him, your body trembling as he filled you. His mouth went straight back to your tits, licking and sucking like he was desperate, his pace slow but deep, making sure every thrust rubbed against that perfect spot inside you. “Fuck—gonna make you cum just from this,” he muttered, voice rough as his cock dragged against your clit with every grind. “Gonna fill you up, have you milking my cock while I suck these pretty tits dry.”

Sylus didn't just love your tits—he worshiped them. And he made damn sure you knew it.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ oscar masterlist

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𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨?!

✩ : apparently, the f1 75 live new liveries reveal won't be the biggest surprise of your night...

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : oscar piastri

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1,1k

✍︎ : lando's version next???

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You and Oscar stood in comfortable silence as you got ready for the F1 75 Live launch event in your shared hotel room in London. You were struggling with the necklace clasp when your eyes met his in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“What?” you asked without turning around, giving him a half-smile.

“Mh?” He blinked and raised his eyebrows, almost as if your question had just snapped him back to reality.

“You’re staring.”

The way he immediately averted his gaze and focused back on the buttons he still hadn’t fastened, his cheeks flushed, made it seem like you’d caught him red-handed. Your smirk widened at the thought.

“Sorry, I– you just… you’re beautiful.”

Your heart swelled at his words as your own face turned a light shade of pink. It wasn’t unusual for Oscar to compliment you, quite the contrary; more often than not, he wouldn’t shut up about you — which usually ended up with Lando whining about how sickening it was to be around him. But this time, something in your boyfriend’s tone sounded different… more meaningful.

“I wasn’t complaining,” you said over your shoulder, both reassuringly and teasingly, a curse leaving your mouth right after as your fingers fumbled again with the pendant around your neck.

Oscar let out a breathy chuckle and crossed the room until he was standing just behind you, his head towering over yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his hands grazing your bare skin when he took the delicate chain between them. A shiver ran down your spine at the warmth of his touch.

“There,” he said softly as he finally managed to work the tiny hook into place, his fingertips lingering a little longer than necessary over your back.

You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, only that this time you didn’t have the courage to hold his gaze. Which made no sense.

It’s just Oscar. Why are you so nervous?

Without thinking, you reached for the top drawer of the dresser to keep your hands busy, hoping it would prevent them from fidgeting too much.

Apparently, that was a big mistake.

The moment your fingers brushed against a small — and smooth? — object, Oscar’s were already wrapping around your wrist to stop you, an almost panicked ‘Wait–’ slipping past his lips.

Too late.

As soon as you lifted the little velvet box from its hiding place, your heart picked up the pace and started beating so loud you were sure the boy himself could hear it. He, for his part, was frozen like a deer in the headlights when you finally turned around and glanced up at him, wide-eyed.

He swallowed hard before releasing your arm slowly, almost as if he was afraid you’d run away once he let go. His voice was laced with guilt when he spoke again.

“I– this isn’t how it was supposed to go. I had a whole plan in my head and…”

“Osc…”

“And it involved flowers, music– maybe champagne? God,” he ran a hand over his face, “I spent months making sure everything was perfect, and I still messed it up.”

“Oscar.”

“So much for a surprise–”

“Oscar Jack Piastri, are you going to propose to me, or are you just going to keep crying about it?”

Maybe it was the way your voice had cracked at the end of the sentence or the tears welling up in your eyes, but your boyfriend finally stopped rambling and looked at you — really looked at you.

A faint smile ghosted over his lips, his own gaze shining under the dim light of the room as he took a step forward and grabbed your trembling hands in his, giving them a soft squeeze.

Then, just as the silky case was about to slip through your fingers, he caught it, his eyes searching yours one last time, looking for a silent confirmation that this was what you truly wanted. You simply nodded, unable to talk.

“Alright then,” he whispered, “I guess we’re doing this now.”

The mere sight of Oscar — your Oscar — getting down on one knee with something that resembled reverence was enough to push you over the edge, tears now rolling freely down your cheeks.

“Okay, so… I’d prepared the perfect speech for this moment, but, uh, I forgot half of it–”

You pressed your fingertips against his mouth, interrupting his train of thought once more. “This is perfect,” you choked out, barely above a whisper.

Relief flooded his face as he carefully lifted the box’s lid, revealing the most breathtaking ring you’d ever seen. The cut was simple, the gemstone not too big or shiny, but it was undeniably you.

“Then…” he pecked you gently on the knuckles, “… will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

The dam broke, loud sobs escaping your throat as you nodded again and watched him — or at least tried to, with how much you were crying — put the elegant band on your ring finger.

While he got back to his feet, you saw your reflection in the mirror from the corner of your eye, and the view made you gasp in horror.

“Oh my God, I look like a raccoon,” you sniffled, unsuccessfully trying to wipe off the dark circles of mascara that surrounded your bottom lashes.

“A very sexy raccoon, if you ask me,” was Oscar’s unusually flirty comment as he slid his arms around your waist and started peppering kisses all over your wet face.

“Wow, so romantic,” you giggled. “My fiancé, ladies and gentlemen.”

The boy stiffened behind you, his breath hitching.

“Say that again.”

You tilted your head to the side and found him already staring at you, his gaze visibly darker than before.

“What, fiancé–?”

He barely gave you the time to answer properly before he cupped your jaw, his lips crashing against yours, holding you so close it felt like you were actually melting into each other.

A thrill of excitement shook you from head to toe. Sure, you’d shared moments like this before, but the way your mouths moved together, almost as if tasting each other’s flavor for the first time, the rush, the urgency of it all… that was new.

Even when you pulled back, breathless and grinning like two idiots, you couldn’t loosen the grip on your bodies just yet, probably needing something to cling on to as an anchor in reality.

There was a beat of silence — then Oscar sighed.

“Lando’s going to kill me.”

“Why? Was he expecting a proposal, too?”

“No. But he did help me organize yours, so…”

“Oh no.”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, already resigned to his fate. “How offended do you think he’ll be?”

“I’m afraid there’s only one way to find out,” you shrugged, pecking his lips with a knowing smile. “So, shall we?”

“After you, Mrs. Piastri.”

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©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[girl-lostconnection]

So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[thesecondhandwoman]

im craving some fluff fic right now, and I think you're going to nail this one. how about a stubborn Sevika not letting the reader take care of her when she's sick? it's like she's hiding from the reader and acting tough or silly when she's clearly not okay.

𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: A cold has recently been going on around the Undercity, and when Sevika catches it, she as stubborn as ever to try and ignore her feverish state, ultimately leading to you dealing with a messy bundle of sass.

Request: Anon 🤍

A/N: Just a short yet silly fanfic of Sevika and a running fever (it was fun to write).

It started with a cough. Just a little thing, scratchy and low, like she’d swallowed the end of a cigar wrong. You wouldn’t have thought much of it if it weren’t for the way Sevika immediately shut up afterward, like she was waiting to see if you noticed.

You did.

The problem was that she noticed you noticing, despite her hope that you’d think she had only fallen quiet over the noise of the bar.

“Doll,” she warned, lifting a hand as if that would stop you from speaking. “Don’t.”

“Sevika—”

“I’m fine.”

Ah, here we go.

The woman had been acting off all day. She wasn’t touching her drink (which, in itself, was a glaring red flag), her usual sharp scowl had dulled into something more sluggish, and worst of all, she was being too quiet. Sevika was never loud, but she always had something to say, even if it was just some grumbled remark about how stupid someone was being. But now? She just sat there, arms crossed, looking miserable but too damn proud to admit it.

You folded your arms. “You’re sick.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re literally sweating.”

“It’s hot in here.”

“It’s the middle of winter.”

She huffed, shifting in her seat at the bar. “Then someone should fix the damn heat.”

“Sevika.” You reached out, brushing the back of your hand against her forehead before she could swat you away. Her skin was burning. You gave her a pointed look, but she just glared right back, as if sheer willpower would convince you that she wasn’t, in fact, dying of fever.

She turned away. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Stand up.”

Sevika scoffed and pushed herself up from the barstool, only for her legs to buckle beneath her immediately. If you hadn’t caught her, she would’ve face-planted right onto the grimy floor of The Last Drop.

“Uh-huh. Fine, my ass.” You tightened your grip on her waist, helping her stay upright while she grumbled against your shoulder. “C’mon, big mama. We’re going home.”

Sevika groaned, but she didn’t have the strength to argue, not when standing up alone had already proven to be too much effort.

She was sick. Really sick.

And you were about to have the worst time convincing her to let you take care of her.

The next challenge was actually getting her home.

Sevika, even half-dead with fever, was as stubborn as a damn mule. She refused to let you carry her, claiming she could walk just fine on her own. That was a bold-faced lie, of course. She nearly tripped over her own feet twice before you started guiding her yourself, one arm around her waist as you led her down Zaun’s damp alleyways toward her apartment.

She didn’t make it easy.

“You—you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she slurred, leaning heavier against you with every step.

“Yeah? You just tried to pick a fight with a mailbox.”

“It was looking at me funny.”

“Sure it was.”

She made an irritated sound in the back of her throat but didn’t argue further. Probably because she knew she’d lose.

By the time you finally got her inside and onto her bed, she was half-asleep, mumbling under her breath about how you were “too bossy for your own good.”

“And you’re too stubborn for your own good,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you pried her boots off. “Now stay put while I get you some medicine.”

Sevika didn’t respond. You thought she had actually, finally, fallen asleep—until you came back with a glass of water and found the bed empty.

Your eye twitched.

“Sevika.”

No answer.

You checked the bathroom. Nothing.

The kitchen? No sign of her.

It was only when you turned toward the closet that you noticed the faintest shuffle of movement in the shadows, realizing this large woman of a girlfriend was hiding in a closet that could barely fit half her size, especially with her clothing.

You sighed. “Are you seriously hiding from me right now?”

“No.”

A blatant lie.

“You are sick,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Get back in bed.”

“I don’t need to be in bed.”

“You almost passed out earlier!”

She grumbled something incoherent, but when you stomped over and yanked the closet door open, she just squinted up at you, her tall frame awkwardly hunched in the cramped space.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She blinked. “Hey, doll.”

“Bed. Now.”

She groaned but didn’t resist when you pulled her to her feet and shoved her back toward the mattress. She collapsed onto it with a sigh, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes.

“You are so difficult,” you muttered, draping a blanket over her.

Sevika just huffed, her breathing heavy. You could tell she was exhausted, no matter how much she tried to act otherwise.

“You wanna keep pretending you’re fine,” you said, voice softer now, “or do you wanna let me take care of you?”

She hesitated.

Her pride was probably waging a violent war against the undeniable fact that she felt like shit. But after a long moment, she shifted, peeking at you from under her arm.

“Just this once,” she muttered.

Your lips twitched. “Oh? Just this once?”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

You chuckled, brushing some of her damp hair away from her forehead before pressing a cool cloth against it. She melted under your touch, though she’d never admit it.

“See? Not so bad, is it?”

She grumbled but leaned into your hand.

You’d take that as a win.

For the next day and a half, Sevika was in absolute hell. Not because of the fever, but because she had to endure you fussing over her.

You forced her to take medicine.

You nagged at her to drink water.

You made her soup, even though she swore she hated soup (yet somehow, the entire bowl mysteriously disappeared when you weren’t looking).

She complained the entire time.

“Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re literally watching me breathe, doll.”

“Making sure you still can breathe, actually.”

Sevika groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “This is worse than the fever.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I would, but you’d probably shove a spoonful of medicine in my mouth the second I opened it.”

“Damn right, I would.” You teased, half-jokingly.

Still, for all her grumbling, she didn’t stop you.

And when the fever finally broke, and her strength came back, she sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over her face.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “I feel like I got run over.”

“You look like you got run over,” you teased, ruffling her already messy hair.

She scowled but didn’t swat your hand away. Instead, she glanced at you, something unreadable in her gaze.

“Thanks,” she said gruffly.

Your lips curled. “For what?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You know what for.”

You grinned. “Say it.”

“No.”

“C’mon. Just say it, baby.”

“Absolutely not.”

You poked her cheek. “Sevika.”

She grunted.

“Vikaaaa—” you cooed her name, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned into her.

She groaned, pushing your face away. “Fine. Thanks for taking care of me, you insufferable brat.”

You beamed. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes. Excruciating.”

You laughed, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her forehead before she could complain. “You’re welcome, you stubborn thing.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d let you take care of her again next time.

Even if she would make you drag her out of the closet first.

A/N: BIG MAMA.

[apatheticsunday]

Idk, but I literally can't stop thinking about this lol

Like imagine Danny thrown into Gotham because of something-something-portal-shenanigans and suddenly he's a kid on the streets of Crime Alley. And there's this dude who's definitely half-dead running around shooting bad guys' kneecaps and gesturing threateningly with his gun to a particularly bat-shaped shadow while shouting about something. Whatever, Danny's not one to judge.

None of the other Crime Alley residents seem to care, either, just muttering amongst themselves: "Hood's at it with the Bat again?" "Yeah." "That's like the third time this week." "Apparently Hood didn't go to family dinner again." "Yeah, that'll do it."

Anyway, Danny tries to stay under the radar because clearly he's in another Haunt but it's kind of difficult when there's rumors of a new homeless kid who floats when he walks and can fly through walls.

So, yeah, Red Hood hears about this ghost kid and thinks, what the hell. Might as well figure out if he can help Danny "move on" or whatever. Maybe because Crime Alley is his territory and maybe, just a little bit, because Jason understands how how terrifying it is to die young and alone.

Danny suddenly bumps into the half-dead helmet guy everywhere. At the library? Helmet Guy is there speaking with a redheaded woman in a wheelchair. Danny's (kind of) shoplifting some food from the gas-station? Helmet Guy is violently telling off a robber (ironic, considering Danny is also technically robbing, sans the gun and ski mask).

He's literally so done when he flies through the roof of an abandoned building he found and sees Helmet Guy! Sitting on the ledge of his abandoned building! It's his favorite because of the super old gargoyle statue, how could he not like it, c'mon! (It's also Jason's favorite, although he'd never admit it's because it reminds him of hiding beneath Batman's cape on a similar ledge so many years ago.)

The secret's out so Danny - who's had his fair share of being hunted and stalked, was thrown head-first into a reality where he doesn't even know if he exists - just snaps, "What do you want from me?? Are you a freakin' creep?? Why can't you just leave me alone??" Because he's literally a kid. He's tired, scared, alone, and hungry. He misses his parents, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker.

And Jason... kinda sucks at the whole "comforting a ghost kid" thing. He's an angry something-year-old with serious daddy issues, he's defensive and what he says comes out with biting sarcasm or spiteful rage half the time. He still makes disturbing comments ("Remember that time you left me to fucking die? I think I can have the last cookie, old man.") to Bruce just so that he can watch the twinge of grief-guilt-pain in his expression because the resentment never fully went away. How is he supposed to talk to this kid?

He does, though. Tries to talk about how he understands because he died, too, and it was terrible. It was painful, scary, lonely, he felt betrayed by the people he loved - the people who swore to protect him. And it works! Of course, Jason doesn't know that talking about a ghost's death is very, very personal and basically akin to drunk girls sobbing in a bar bathroom together. That's basically a lifetime bonding experience right there.

Danny is horrified because holy Hells, this guy's pre-ghost life sucked. What kind of sicko beats a kid to death with a crowbar? But also -

"You actually got a grave?"

"Why? You want one?"

Yes. Yes, he does. He never did get a proper burial; his family never knew he died, so nobody grieved him. Nobody decorated his headstone with flowers, nobody whispered about missing him, and his Ghost feels that - absence, I guess. Even if Danny is technically still in "his" body, the body he was born with died.

And Jason's like, this is it! This is what'll make the ghost kid move on! (Tbh, this feels like fairly reasonable request. Jason half expected needing to hunt down and kill a couple people.)

Cue Jason in Central Park or something because Danny's like, "You can kind of see the stars through the smog over here!" Just. Digging a kid's grave. It's a little disturbing, but it's actually crime-free (not a lot of gas-stations for Joker's cronies to rob). And, hey, if Jason squints, he really can kind of see the stars. As long as the kid's happy.

And Danny is!! Because he has his own grave, just for him, and his Ghost finally settles for the first time since being thrown into this smog-filled city where he can't see the stars (he lied earlier, he was pointing to satellites, but it made Jason smile so he didn't correct himself). And as Jason gently puts a couple of pretty rocks they stole from the vicious geese at the Park's pond at the head of his grave, Danny thinks maybe everything's not so terrible.

(Several moments later, Jason asks, "So is this it?"

Danny's like, "What?"

"Are you moving on?"

"What."

"I thought you'd, y'know, feel complete. Move on or whatever?"

"I mean maybe for a full ghost, but I'm a half-ghost so I'm technically still human. It's nice to have a grave, though."

"You're human??")

Commence my Jason-adopts-Danny HC!!

Something something Danny learns that Jason died and crawled out of his own grave.

Danny, to Jason: You actually got a grave?

Jason: Why? You want one?

He doesn’t notice how this could potentially sound like a threat from an outsider’s perspective.

[neontiger]

breakfast downtown

♡ MDNI 18+

♡ Jason Todd x fem!reader

♡ Bad week at work? Don't worry, princess. You can take your frustrations out on Jay. He's a big boy, he can handle it. Maybe. Smut served with a side of angst.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A scream bubbles in your gut as glass crashes to the floor into a million pieces. Maybe the stars were out of alignment, or mercury was in retrograde, or some other bullshit – something to explain the absolute mess of a week you’d had. Maybe you’d done something wrong, pissed somebody off, and they’d put a curse on you.

That guy on Tuesday, the one in your section at table three, the one who’d flirted with you relentlessly and then called you a bitch when you turned him down. Maybe he’d fucked up your week. It certainly had thrown you off-balance enough that by Friday night you were demanding Saturday off because you couldn’t take it anymore. Thankfully you had sick days saved up.

The elevator is still out of order, and you have to make the hike up three flights of stairs. A normal week that would be fine, but tonight each step sounds like echoes of bullshit. You wonder if Jason will be waiting or if he’s already gone for the night.

That pisses you off too. He’s always running away. You’ve never spent an entire night together – no, that would be asking too much of somebody who thinks of themself as some sort of savior of a city that could not give less of a shit about him. He’s like a goddamn cat, coming and going as he pleases, with a set of morals to match. What are you to him? Is your apartment some sort of fucking safe house?

What the fuck is he planning with you? Is he even planning anything, or is he just here to get his dick sucked?

You forget to remind yourself to rein it in before you shove open the door to your apartment. The first thing you see is Jason’s mask on your kitchen counter next to a sink full of dishes. Your bag drops to the floor with a loud thud.

Jason gets up from the couch. He’s half in his uniform; the leather jacket is thrown over the back of the couch along with the multitude of holsters. He walks up like nothing in the world is wrong and leans in to kiss you.

You turn your head. His lips land on the corner of your mouth. He grips your chin in gloved hands and turns you back to him to steal the kiss you don’t want to give.

“Stop.” You shove his hand down.

“What’s wrong?” Judging blue-green eyes look you up and down underneath a furrowed brow and a curl of white. You roll your eyes and push past him, not bothering to be pleasant when your shoulder meets his arm.

He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t reach out. Just stands there, staring at you as you head to the wardrobe by your bed and rip out clothes to wear.

He takes a few steps and stops by the kitchen counter. There’s no space to hide in the studio apartment except the bathroom, so you gather your clothes to take them in there to change. He blocks your path. “What’s wrong?” He asks, again. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.” You could cut skin with the sharpness in your tone. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Here, I think,” he says. “If you don’t want to talk –”

“I don’t,” you snap. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed, so can you get out of the way and go do your stupid – whatever it is you fucking do, Jason!”

That’s not how you meant for it to come out, but you don’t come to that realization until too late – by then his eyes are narrowed with hurt and his fists are clenched at his sides, his mouth closed tightly, his feet taking a step back for you to move past. You don’t, not right away, frozen with the fear in your gut that you just fucked up something.

Jason lifts his hand, gestures for you to walk. It hurts your entire body to take that step.

You watch from the bathroom door as he clips on his holsters. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He nods, pulls on his jacket. “Okay.”

Okay is a brick to the head. You watch him put on the mask, and the Jason you know disappears. The Red Hood looks at you for a moment before leaving through the fire escape. You fucked up.

─── ⋆⋅❤︎⋅⋆ ───

Sleep doesn’t come until the sun does. You spent the night waiting for Jason to return, but he never does, and you fall asleep with tear-stained cheeks and tired eyes just as the morning light is peeking through your window. Hours later, after nightmares that have nothing to do with him, you wake up to the smell of coffee wafting through your apartment, and the sounds of the street below – cars honking, people talking and laughing. Music plays from somewhere and knocks on your skull, furthering the birth of a headache.

“Good morning,” Jason says dully.

You sit up halfway and frown at him in the armchair by the window. He’s out of uniform, now in a black tank top and a pair of black sweats. You want to admire his arms and chest, the muscles and the scars that mark him, tell his story…but you can’t, not now. There’s a new injury, still red and raw, on the knuckles of his right hand.

There’s also a tray of food on your nightstand, where the coffee you smelled in your sleep sits next to a plate of french toast and a bowl of berries sprinkled with sugar. You glance at it.

Jason frowns. “Or, good afternoon. Sleep bad?”

You sit up more, pulling your knees in. “Yeah. I’m sorry,” you say, voice breaking. “I’m really – I didn’t mean it, Jay. I’m really sorry.”

He nods. “I think you meant it.”

You bite your tongue, but it does nothing to stop the tears that bubble at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head, and open your mouth to say no, you didn’t, that you were just angry at everything in that moment, but he speaks first.

“It’s okay.” Jason runs a finger absentmindedly over his injured knuckles as his gaze remains on you. “I figure it’s not easy. I didn’t think we’d get this far, honestly. I thought you’d be tired of me.”

“I’m not,” you rush out with a choke.

He nods again. You’re beginning to hate that, but you say nothing, instead squeezing the fabric of your blanket to hold back your fears. “Are you sure? It’s okay if you are. We can…” His voice trails off and his gaze drops away from you to the floor. “Stop here, if you want. It might be better for you.”

“No.” You sound like a toy with a broken squeaker. You swallow, clear your throat, fight the tremble in your body to repeat the words, firmer and more sure. “No. I don’t want to stop here.”

Jason’s eyes jump back up to meet yours. “Are you sure?”

“Very. I'm sorry,” you say, more confident now as his gaze softens. “I didn't mean it, Jay, really. I've just…it's been a shitty week. I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

“Oh.” Surprise flashed over his face. “Next time just tell me. I can help you…with your frustrations.”

The breakfast he brought sits at the back of your mind. You don't think that's what he meant, not with the way his mouth curls around his final words. “Where'd you get breakfast?” You ask.

“That place downtown. Remember the one on the water we went to last month?”

“You went all the way downtown to get me breakfast?” A soft laugh escapes your lips, something you didn't think possible moments ago. Then it hits you. “Did you think I was mad at you?”

Jason stands up suddenly and stops by the bed, towering over you and blotting out the sun with his broad frame. The weight of the morning seems to lift from your shoulders at the delicious sight of him, and you can finally take him in as he deserves, dragging your eyes down from the scar on his cheek to his body, muscle rippling under tanned skin. The autopsy scar cuts across his chest and dips under the dark fabric of his fitted tank. You stop short of the waistband of his sweats and wrench your eyes back up. The ache between your thighs demands otherwise, however.

“I guess I should make it up to you. Last night.” You run your fingers lightly down his arm, tracing over a vein that runs down his forearm, until you reach his hand. You take it in yours and press your lips just above his knuckles. ‘What would you like?”

Jason smirks. “I was thinking the opposite. Gonna take care of you, get your mind off whatever's pissing you off.”

You blink up at him. “What? No. I was…I was mean. I should –”

His large hand keeps you in place as it grips your cheeks and his mouth crashes on yours, silencing any protest you might have had left. Spit connects your lips as he breaks from you. “Lay down,” he orders, breath hot on your skin.

You throw yourself back onto the pillows. Jason grins, a dark look in his eyes, one you've come to know well. You've wondered before if it's the same look he gets when he's on the streets at night, but you hope not.

“Uh-uh, princess. On your stomach.”

You roll onto your belly without second thought, sticking your ass in the air for him. Your attire is far from sexy, an oversized shirt (Jason's) and a pair of pajama bottoms that hang off your hips, but he quickly remedies that problem by tugging off your shirt before pulling down your pants, leaving you in nothing but gray cotton panties. He snaps the band once before slipping them down your ass and legs.

If he was being honest, he'd admit this was his favorite view, you ass up, face down, pussy already slick with arousal. Yeah, he likes all versions of you, but this one hits him differently, twisting his stomach into anxious knots and rushing all blood to his cock. He strains against his sweats, has to fight the urge to stuff you full of him this very second.

Jason swallows. “Keep that ass up,” he instructs, lifting off his own shirt now. You bite your bottom lip, savoring the reveal of his upper body. He places a knee on the edge of the bed and moves out of view, positioning himself behind you.

“You want to tell me…” His breath brushes over your slit, hot and cold at the same time. “What happened? Why are you so upset?” He blows gently on your clit, sending a shock through your body. You push back in an attempt to connect with his mouth but he pulls away.

“It’s stupid…it’s not – ah…” Cheek pressed into the pillow, your gasp is still audible enough to motivate his tongue, causing it to dart out from his lips to flick your clit again. His hands keep you in place with a solid grasp on the back of your thighs, preventing you from trying once more to quicken his pace.

Another lick, this one longer, slicking up through your folds. Your eyelids flutter, mouth suspended in a moan against the flower-patterned pillowcase. In an effort to keep still, you squeeze the life out of the pillow as your core burns with impatience.

This time Jason’s tongue presses inside, deep enough you feel the tip of his nose against your slit. One hand lets go of your thigh so he can press the pad of his thumb to your clit, making small, teasing circles. His tongue retreats and you nearly cry. “If it’s stupid, then why take it out on me?”

The question ruins the work he’s doing. Your cheeks flush red, guilt bubbling in your stomach. “I shouldn’t have,” you say. “The week – rough mm –”

His tongue shoves back inside your heat as he works his thumb with more sincerity, clearly seeking to see you undone. Your body trembles in his grip and the fight to keep still and not shove your whole cunt in his face starts to feel impossible. His hand brushes up your thigh to cup your ass, lifting you higher for him. “Make you feel better,” he whispers, the words vibrating against your pussy. “You want that? Kiss away your problems.”

You mumble against the pillow. “Uh-huh…I want…”

Jason runs a finger through your folds, teasing the entrance with the thick digit, and lowers his lips to capture your swollen clit in them. “Mm. What do you want, princess?”

“Jay.” At the moment you want to kick him, make him stop teasing with his fingers threatening to sink inside your heat but never making the connection, his lips brushing your clit, every word a jolt that doesn’t complete. You whine, squirming in his grip. He tightens his hold on you in response and pulls his mouth away from your cunt completely…to bite you on the fat of your ass.

You cry out, jerk your head around to glare at him. “What the fuck, Jason?”

Jason smirks, kissing the same spot. Heat emanates from the mark left behind by his teeth, a pulsating type of warmth that echoes in your core. It felt…good, maybe. But you don't want him to know.

“What do you want?” He repeats the question with his lips pressing your ass again, teeth scraping the skin like a threat.

He always does this – wants you to say it. Exposed as you are, arousal dripping down your thighs in his face, you still find it difficult to get the words out. Clothes on, maybe you've got an attitude – last night proved that completely – but like this, under him? You whine into the pillow. All that does is get him to sink his teeth into your soft flesh again, this time the back of your thigh. Your walls clench desperately around nothing.

“Want you to fuck me,” you mumble, whiny and feeling hot.

The tip of his finger presses inside your slit. You inhale, forget to exhale, as he takes his time sinking into you. “Like this?” He drags his finger almost out. You tighten around the digit instinctively, refusing to let go even though it's not exactly what you're looking for. This ache cries for something bigger, deeper.

Jason adds a second finger and scissors them in your cunt, stretching you out. His other fingers pinch your clit lightly. “So wet,” he whispers, almost too low for you to hear. “For me. All this…huh…”

You try to glance back, realizing he is talking to himself. He mumbles against your cunt words you can't make out, and fuck if it doesn't stoke the fire in your belly, the way his lips wrap your clit with intent, fingers fucking into you slowly, coiling you tight. He moans as he sucks. You watch him through clouded eyes, his free hand palming the front of his sweats, his cock in desperate need of some friction.

“Jay, please,” you whisper. Why is your voice breaking? “Fuck me now. I’m sorry.”

He pulls his fingers free, leaving you empty, and runs both hands up your thighs to your lower back as he gets up on his knees. The touch continues up your spine and guides you to flatten on the bed with your thighs pressed together, your skin soaked. He leans to whisper in your ear. “I know. It’s okay.” He sighs, and presses his lips to your neck. “You scared me. I’ve never…” He laughs softly, shifting above you as he pushes down his sweatpants. The bed shifts but he keeps you in place, sits on the back of your thighs, and kisses your cheek. “Never been scared like that.”

You twist to look up at him but can barely turn halfway with his weight holding you down. “I won’t do it again. Promise,” you say.

Jason says nothing. There’s no smile on his lips, but a tender look in his eyes remains locked on your face. He swallows. “I…” His mouth hangs open, a thought just on the tip of his tongue that doesn’t complete. Lips move, but nothing comes out.

“What?” You run your fingers up his arm, his hands on either side of you the only piece you can comfortably reach.

He exhales shakily. “I…uh, you’re beautiful.” He wets his lips before leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Gorgeous. Can’t wait to make you a fucking mess.”

You roll your eyes. Jason straightens up and places a hand on your lower back as the other grips his cock. The tip nudges your entrance, and you arch and lift as best you can to urge him on. He fills you achingly slow, spreading you open and stealing your breath until he bottoms out. His hips sit flush against your ass as he gathers your hair in one fist, tugging it gently out of the way for him to press his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck.

His teeth sink in – this time there isn’t an ounce of protest in your cry and your walls clench around him as he leaves his mark. His hips pull back and snap forward roughly, slamming the head of his cock into your cervix. You grab onto his hand where it fists the mattress for stability as he repeats the move. He flattens his hand and laces his fingers through yours.

The bed creaks underneath you, the headboard smacking the wall almost as loud as the sound of skin meeting skin and the squelch of your needy cunt. Jason fucks a quick rhythm, hardly pulling out enough and never leaving you empty, like he can't stand the feeling of being apart from you right now. Neither can you, your walls clenching around his cock every slight draw backwards, slick coating his length. You squirm, make small circles with your hips that pull groans deep from his throat.

“Fuck yes,” Jason pants, pulling on your hair and lifting your head from the pillow. He watches where his cock is sucked into your greedy hole, mesmerized with how well you take him, how you can't keep still because you need him that bad. “That's good, baby…don't stop. That's a good girl…” He leans forward for another taste, biting into your shoulder as his pace shortens, thrusts becoming animalistic and hard.

Your lungs constrict, hardly able to suck down air from his weight on you, and moving becomes impossible. He jerks on your hair to expose your neck further to him and give his teeth purchase on your throat. Your hand almost breaks from his – would have, if he doesn't tighten his hand around yours the moment he feels you try to pull away. His cock grinds against your cervix with overwhelming pressure. You squeeze your eyes shut, crying out with pleasure. Another sink of his teeth in your neck has your legs trembling as the orgasm rocks your body, release dripping from your swollen cunt to soak your thighs and the sheets.

Jason grunts close to your ear. “Close, baby – fuck.” Lips press your cheek. His breath burns your already feverish skin. His words are strained, caught between heavy breaths. “Where…do you want – ahh – want me? Tell me, baby.”

“Inside,” you choke out. The single word is a spell that undoes him. His body shudders under climax, cock desperate to press as deep inside you as possible as he comes. Inside your core it's hot, close to burning, as you clench around his twitching length. You can feel it, his release coating your walls, overflowing to drip down and mix with your fluids on the bed.

Jason rests his head on the pillow next to yours. Your hands, palms sweaty, remain tangled together, but you make no effort to pull them apart now. Instead you let your eyes close as you relish in the full feeling of him still inside you. Gradually his cock softens but stays snug, and you could almost fall asleep like this…if it wasn't for the need to breathe.

Jason, on the other hand, seems to have gotten too comfortable. He snores softly next to your ear, and you almost feel guilty jostling him awake. “Jay. Jay, can't breathe.”

He groans as he lifts himself, cock slipping free at last with a soft plop that reddens your cheeks. You startle as you feel his fingers brush your sore slit. He mumbles to himself.

“Stop,” you say, shivering. Not that you don't want it, but…you feel too exposed like this, knowing he's devouring you with his eyes, taking in the mess he's made.

Jason leans to kiss your cheek. “Sorry. Let me get you cleaned up.”

“No.” It comes out so fast, surprising both of you. You turn onto your back, self-conscious of the dripping down your ass when you do. “It's fine. I'll take a shower later. Just lay down for now.”

The bed shifts as he collapses next to you, pulling you into his arms. You nuzzle his chest and find his heart beat, still fast, not yet come down completely. His fingers make lazy circles on your arm. You want to sleep, but any thought of it seems to have faded, and all you can think about now is staying in this moment.

“Do you work tonight?” Jason asks.

“No.” You match his circles with traces of your own, going over the scars on his chest with light fingertips. “I took a sick day. Go back in Tuesday.”

He inhales deep and sighs, rolling you with the motion. “I won't go out tonight,” he says. “There's nothing…important. I'll stay here, if that's okay with you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's alright.” You prop your chin on his chest to look up at his face. His smile is soft, dreamlike. “Where do you live anyway?”

Jason shrugs a shoulder. “I've got a couple places.”

“Oh, really? Is one of them, like, an abandoned warehouse? A cardboard box under a bridge?”

He laughs. “You think I'm homeless?”

You hadn't really thought about it before, but the signs are there. “You always shower here. Your clothes are here, your toothbrush, and I've never seen your place…you just appear out of nowhere. I mean, shoe fits.”

“I like it better here,” he says.

“Then why not stay?”

He shrugs again, but this time it's almost sheepish the way he glances away, like he can't look at you. “Stay,” you say, before he can object, find some excuse. “I mean it. Move in with me. You pretty much live here anyway.”

Jason reaches to the tray on the nightstand and picks up the cup. He takes a sip and frowns before replacing it on the tray. “Coffee's cold. Let me up so I can make a new pot.” He starts to sit up, pulling his arm away and letting you fall softly to the pillow.

You stare at his scarred back as he tugs on his sweats again. “Jason, we're talking.”

He shakes his head. “Later. I have to think about it.”

Maybe an hour ago he was upset because you hadn't talked to him, hadn't told him what was wrong. He'd been scared. And now you can only stare at him in the kitchen, scooping coffee grounds into a thrift store coffee maker. You don't reach out. You don't know what you're supposed to say.

You say nothing. A scream bubbles in your gut but goes nowhere.

[abyss-seer]

Next week predictions

Check out my Insights on the missing Drum in Kim Krans Original Wild Unknown Archetype Deck (it is based on eternal recurrence of repeating life lessons)

Click the link below

Heres some predictions for

3 march to 8 march vedic astrology predictions

This week the sun is in Shatabhisha Nakshatra and Saturn in Purva Bhadrapada. This could speak a lot about expansion in a structured manner, as our souls feel propelled towards creating boundaries and finding ourselves drawn towards the concept of history repeating itself, as we end up finding ourselves in the same loop while struggling to expand ourselves for reaching out new horizons. Thus taking time to reflect on the patterns we are looping in while struggling to expand/extend ourselves.

You might see government and authorities repeating the same patterns, and trying to con us to hide something we were supposed to know, cause Shatabhisha does represent hidden mysteries being hidden, saturn in Purva Bhadrapada conjuct to sun, kinda supports this. Anyways with Mars in punarvasu we will be people actively trying to restore or protect themselves, taking time to replenish before hitting their potential. A perfect time to replenish yourself. This week is harmonious for making sweet efforts. Don't give up no matter what happens. Your efforts will be worth it this time around. Make your efforts for the balance in your life to be restored. Mars in Punarvasu, comes with beautiful results, but the catch is don't give up due to initial losses. Jupiter stays in Rohini, so there's a lot of potential for growth. A good time for liquid related business. You will feel motivated to grow this week, laziness may creep in, but lessons on emotional stability and growth will be learnt. So yeah rejuvenation is at it peak at this point. Venus is retrograde in Uttara Bhadrapada, a heavy karmic time in relationships for some of you. Given how moon stays in Ashwini nakshatra from 3rd March to 5th march, let's just say that healing is prevalent. Punarvasu and Purva Bhadrapada lord Jupiter is sitting in a moon nakshatra this time around, so calculative saturn and action taking mars are both focused on moon. And moon being in Ashwini nakshatra for these days signifies deeper healing. Wishing good lucks to you all. Happy shadow work!

Venus retro might make you feel like love doesn't exist for a while and some even feel like they are in the verge of break-up maybe, Rahu in Uttara Bhadrapada conjuct venus, gives that maybe you might realise you have been living in the illusion of one. There's some need to touch some grass when it comes to your love life / delivering your affection for the other person. As people might not be as interested as you might think. Or people might fly away. Be careful of being catfish in love.

As you are calculating and waiting on the next move with your years of accumulated make sure your relationships/love/luxuries of sleeping away, don't distract you. Especially the ones that may appear to be the genuine ones at first. Try to relax and see things from a leisurely perspective or continue doing your hobbies and what makes you happy rather than flying to moon for first sight love or stuff of that sort

Some may face difficulties in emotional growth due to recurring patterns in behaviour. Better communicate all your issues, before 11 march comes, cause Mercury goes retrograde then.

Alright take care of yourself, Good Bye

Eternal recurrence.

Wikipedia / Image from pinterest / Machiavelli / George Santayana / Thucydides / Image from pinterest / Abba - Waterloo / J. M. Barrie - Peter Pan / Fibonacci spiral / Catherynne M. Valente

[chuulyssa]

there’s glitter on the floor after the party !

teaser it’s your birthday tonight, but do they remember, or care? pair gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna x reader cw angst, just pure torture™, not proofread !

a/n it’s my birthday on 28th wooohoooo ! i wanted to be a sad girl tho *lana intensifies* let’s hope my parents take some notes and NOT do this

GOJO

for someone who liked cakes, sweets and celebrations so much, you didn’t think it would take this long for satoru to realize what day it was. you didn’t want to remind him either; he should remember it on his own, shouldn’t he? moreover, you had hated the look on his face when you reminded him of the anniversary date the two of you had planned together. he had panicked so hard and begun checking his notes and calendars, it was a pathetic sight, honestly.

“what?” his face had fallen immediately.

“don’t you remember?”

“uh, sweets, what exactly am i supposed to remember?” he had said.

he was just busy. but you had agreed upon this when you began dating him. not everyone was the strongest sorcerer in the world, not everyone had the number of things to do that he did.

“no, it’s fine.”

“you sure?” he had asked.

“yeah, it’s nothing, really.”

but you were quite sure he hadn’t forgotten. not this time. because you had checked in on his calendar a week before this, and today was marked rightly “her birthday” with a shit ton of emojis. so what was taking so long? maybe he was planning a surprise party? whatever it was, you didn’t think the prank needed to be dragged on for so long. since he remembered it, he ought to come out and celebrate already. and if he didn’t, well, whatever. you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when you saw that the party he kept was for someone else, some other girl, no

NANAMI

you’d been waiting for hours at this point. and it was nanami, the kento nanami. kento was never late, how could he be? if there was something he always relied on it was his ability to tell the time, whether it was his refusal to work overtime or his arrival on your dates before you.

so where was he now? he had hurried off in the morning before you had gotten a word out.

“i’m terribly sorry, sweetheart, i have to leave early today,” he had planted a quick kiss on your forehead.

“okay, okay,” you had blinked in confusion at his hurry. “where are you going though?”

“i have decided something.”

“decided what?”

he’d sighed cryptically. what was he hiding?

“it’s best if you didn’t know.”

“excuse me?”

he’d shaken his head and just… left? he hadn’t even wished you, not the night before, not the morning after. and just what had he decided? you were hurt, of course you were. where was he going in such a hurry? you had felt he had been growing distant from you for long now. but it did not make the pain of being left alone on your fucking birthday any better. but what could you do either way now? you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when you saw that he had returned to his sorcerer status, and completely abandoned all the plans the two of you had made for your future, no

GETO

he was too in love with his cult to notice, of course he was. suguru dumbass geto. of course it was his cult’s birthday today, who were you even? when he had first told you, to prevent yourself from crashing the fuck out, you had tried to shut up.

“oh.”

“yeah, so are you joining us tonight?” he had asked, as if he was bestowing an honour upon you by inviting you to his stupid party.

“i didn’t know you kept birthdays for your cult, haha,” please get the hint, you had prayed.

“we do, yes. you will join us tonight, hm? i want to take you there as my date.”

“oh, no, no i don’t think i will, actually.”

“huh, why not? you had been looking forward to this day for a long time, hadn’t you?”

yeah, you had. obviously you had. but when you were jumping around two weeks ago talking excitedly about a ‘birthday’, you did not mean it to be his cult’s day. was that too hard to notice? but all was okay, of course. ‘how could you ruin such a long relationship over a forgotten birthday?’ you were sure that’s what the older women of the cult would talk about if they knew. and besides, you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when he had decided to take another woman as his date for the event, showing that you were completely replaceable to him, no

TOJI

he had a mission planned out conveniently at midnight, just when the clock would strike 12 and you’d be a year older. but what could you say? it wasn’t as if it was in his control when someone wanted a person to die or not, he was just the man doing the job.

so you had let it go. one hour, two hours, twelve hours, eighteen hours, where the fuck was he?

“hey, sorry ma,” there was loud cheering from his side of the phone.

“where are you?”

“got this race i wanted to bet on actually—”

“shut up, no seriously, shut the fuck up, toji—”

“what? are you okay?”

“no i’m not, what the fuck—”

there was another cheer of celebration from his side. then silence.

“calm d—”

you hung up. 6pm and he was nowhere. you were sure even if he didn’t pick your call up that time. after this, he would go out drinking with shiu all night long, then come back home drunk and wobbling around, mumbling the tune to ‘happy birthday’ if he realized what day it was, and even then, you thought, you were being too optimistic with that last part. but he was an assassin, and you knew that. didn’t he deserve some happiness in life too? and you, you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when everyone tried to remind him of the day but he was too far gone to know, no

SUKUNA

what did you expect? your chamber to be full of decorations? the dining room to be laid with the most beautiful gifts ever? the corridors to be filled with balloons? though none of that was here, the mere mental image of sukuna blowing up balloons and trying not to pop them with his nails was funny.

funny. everything that could make your mind get off right now was funny. blowing the fire of your candelabrum out, leaving behind just smoke and discomfort. funny. pretending the dinner you had been served for the night was your highly expensive banquet designed just for tonight. funny. acting as if sukuna was right by your side, giggling, as if he didn’t always behave like human traditions meant nothing to him. funny.

“it’s my birthday, you know.”

“birthday? alright. what of it?”

“uh, birthday birthday? shouldn’t you be celebrating it?”

“what is there to celebrate? it is merely a day, no?” he had said it so simply that it made you backtrack.

“yes but—”

“and besides, you are only growing older. it would’ve been remarkable and truly something to celebrate if you had been growing younger by the days,” he chuckled, turning away from you to make his way to the council.

you laughed. funny. he was right though, wasn’t he? you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when he knew, he knew and he could not care less, showing his disdain for it too, no

of course, of course you had many other birthdays, many other years yet to come.

but not when it came at the expense of your self-respect, and you had to make a choice between loving and loving yourself, no

[prettyangellllll]

Your fuck buddy rafe finds out you have breeding kink

Pairing: fwb!rafe cameron x soft!reader

Warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk rafe being cocky

---

The phone rang at an ungodly hour, cutting through the silence of your bedroom. You glanced at the screen. It was Rafe.

You didn’t even hesitate. The agreement was simple—no strings, no expectations, just a call when one of you needed the other. You weren’t expecting anything deep or emotional. You just knew what you were walking into.

Pulling on your hoodie and slipping into the nearest pair of jeans, you left your apartment in a rush, your heart already racing for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of.

Rafe’s house was only a few minutes away, but by the time you stepped inside, you felt like you’d been standing on the edge of something you couldn’t pull back from. The door was unlocked, as usual. You pushed it open without knocking.

“Door’s open,” his voice drifted from somewhere deeper in the house, a tone you recognized as his usual cocky, casual self. You didn’t need to look at him yet to know the posture—the one that said he owned everything around him.

You stepped into the living room, your eyes locking on him as he stood by the couch, a drink in hand. He looked like he always did—laid-back, confident, too damn handsome for your own good. The only difference tonight was the dark glint in his eyes that made your heart skip.

“You’re here,” Rafe said, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze traveled over you, lingering for just a second too long. “Always so eager. You really can’t stay away, can you?”

The words stung, but you didn’t respond. You never did when he teased you. Instead, you swallowed, trying to calm the rush of warmth that was spreading through your body. He wasn’t even touching you yet, but you could feel the pull of him like a magnet.

“I didn’t call you here for small talk,” Rafe continued, taking a step forward, his eyes never leaving you. “You know what this is.”

You nodded, your throat tight as you looked up at him, trying to maintain your usual calm. But Rafe always had a way of making you feel small—no matter how hard you tried. His presence had a way of swallowing you whole.

With a subtle shift, Rafe reached out, pulling you close. His hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, the warmth of his fingers against your skin causing a shiver to ripple down your spine. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You look so sweet tonight. You know I can’t resist when you act all innocent like this.”

You blinked, heart pounding. Innocent? You weren’t sure if that was how he saw you. But in this moment, you felt anything but innocent. Your mind was clouded with the desire to be close to him, to be used by him, the way you always did.

But tonight, things felt different. It was almost as if he was waiting for something.

“You still like this, don’t you?” Rafe asked, his voice low and dangerous, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers moved lower, brushing the waistband of your jeans. “Tell me you do. Tell me how much you want me.”

You swallowed, your pulse racing, but when you finally spoke, it was barely a whisper, “I want you…”

“Yeah, I know you do,” he muttered, his hands sliding beneath your jeans, pushing them down just enough for him to feel the softness of your skin. “But I think there’s more you’re hiding, doll.”

Your eyes widened, a flicker of panic rushing through you. But before you could speak, his fingers dipped lower, brushing against a place you hadn’t expected him to go. The shock of his touch sent a jolt through you, your body instantly reacting, but you held back your gasp.

Rafe’s smirk widened, as if he could read you like a book. “I know exactly what this is. You like being bred, don’t you?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the heat of shame flooding your chest. You were embarrassed, humiliated even, but at the same time… the thought of him using you like that made your body ache in ways you couldn’t deny. You tried to look away, to hide the flush on your face, but his grip on your chin forced you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he demanded. “Tell me you want it. Tell me how much you need me to fuck you like that.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the truth hung on the tip of your tongue, and when he pressed against you, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I need it,” you whispered, the words escaping your lips in a breathless rush.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his hands tightening on you. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed you back onto the couch with a gentle yet commanding motion, his hands quickly stripping you of your clothes. The speed of it had you gasping, but you didn’t fight it. You never did when he took control.

Rafe loomed over you, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “You don’t get to be shy now,” he growled, his fingers sliding into you with a practiced ease that made you gasp. “You’re mine when I want you, doll. And right now? I want you.”

You closed your eyes, your heart racing. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. It was the way Rafe made you feel—like you were his, even when he wasn’t here. And right now, you couldn’t help but want everything he was about to give you.

Rafe’s breath was heavy above you, his fingers working with a sure, experienced touch as he stretched you, preparing you for what he had in mind. Every movement of his made your body react, whether you wanted it to or not. It was like an invisible thread tethering you to him, and you were powerless to fight it.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s me getting you ready, doll. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? Don’t be shy. You can’t hide from me.”

You could barely form words, your body so consumed with need that all you could do was nod, desperately trying to catch your breath. His thumb brushed your clit, sending a shock of pleasure through you. Your whole body stiffened at the sensation, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

“You like that,” Rafe observed, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss you, his lips tasting like whiskey and something darker. “You like being touched like this. But you also like being filled, don’t you? You like when I make you mine.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. The words were more than you could handle, but they also sparked something deeper in you. Something you couldn’t suppress. Your body craved him in a way that left you trembling.

“I—” You started to speak but couldn’t finish the sentence. You were too embarrassed to say it aloud. But Rafe wasn’t going to let you off that easily. He wanted to hear you say it.

“Say it, sweetheart,” he demanded, his voice a dark, teasing whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the warmth of his breath on your skin almost too much to handle. Finally, you managed, “I need you to—please… I want you to—fuck me like that.”

A satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest as he positioned himself between your legs, his body brushing against yours. “I knew it,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slid inside of you. You gasped, your body arching instinctively to meet him. The stretch was almost overwhelming, but the heat of his skin against yours made the discomfort fade quickly, replaced by an overwhelming need for more.

Rafe’s pace was slow at first, savoring each movement as he drove deeper, but it didn’t take long before his rhythm became harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“God, you’re so tight, doll,” he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so fucking good. Do you like this? Tell me you like it.”

“Yes,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “I like it, Rafe. Please, don’t stop.”

The grip on your hips tightened, and you gasped as Rafe picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, harder. You could feel him everywhere, your entire focus consumed by the feel of him inside you. The way his name fell from your lips—shaky, breathless—only seemed to drive him further into madness.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re mine now. All of you. And I’ll make you beg for more.”

His words were dark and possessive, and they sent a thrill straight to your core. You couldn’t stop the moan that left your throat, the shame of your desire quickly giving way to pure need. You didn’t care anymore. Not when he was like this. Not when he was all you could think about, all you could feel.

Rafe’s movements became more frantic, more desperate. His grip on you was almost bruising, but you didn’t care. You wanted him—needed him—just as badly as he needed you.

“Don’t hold back,” he growled, his voice rough. “I know you want it. Come on, let go.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, your stomach tightening as you felt your climax building. You were so close, so close to unraveling. And Rafe knew it. He could feel the way your body responded to him, the way your walls tightened around him, and it drove him wild.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin as he pressed harder into you. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

And then, with a final thrust, you came undone, your body shaking as the pleasure took over. Rafe’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless cry, and as you clenched around him, he followed you, the warmth of his release flooding you, his grip on you never loosening.

He stayed there for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, his body still pressed against yours. The room was thick with the aftermath, and you both just lay there for a few moments, your heartbeats slowing as the haze of pleasure faded.

Rafe pulled away, but he didn’t let go of you. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Good girl,” he muttered again, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You did so well for me tonight. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you responded. You’re mine when I want you, doll. And I always want you.”

You were breathless, your body still recovering from what had just happened. But there was something inside you—something about the way Rafe looked at you that made you want to stay, made you want more, even if you knew it was dangerous. You weren't sure what this was, but in this moment, you didn't care.

Rafe had you. And you were more than willing to let him take everything he wanted.

[cherrycheolkat]

Hi there! For ur bingo, would it be fine request worship with praise kink? With reader being kinda crazy over mingyu's abs/stomach... (idk if you've seen his new ck photos are wild!!!!)

hiii - yes i did see them - he looks so good ^^ and i hope you like this drabble

♡ kat

bingo squares: worship + praise kink

pairing: mingyu x f!reader

word count: 0.8k

rating: NSFW | MDNI

warnings: smut, implied squirting, ab riding (thigh riding but abs), two-year age gap

you had seen him run his hand over his stomach a million times. it was maybe the one plus to having your baby brother - mingyu was his best friend, which meant every summer, you got to watch mingyu hanging out poolside. and in your mind, his body only got better every time you saw him. 

but this summer was maybe the peak summer for his ab game. they were truly mouthwatering. you had even picked up darker sunglasses just to feel more comfortable ogling him from your lounge chair. 

because why not? he was the one taking his shirt off at every opportunity and never seeming to put it back on, and you were just a pleased onlooker. one of many, you might add. 

besides, you knew him well enough to know all the awards he won for science fairs - he wasn’t unaware of his effect on anyone. in fact, you were fairly sure that he enjoyed his ability to have almost anyone openly stare at him in appreciation. you did not count yourself amongst the people who openly stared - you were less obvious - always hiding behind sunglasses, a book, and a hat. he did not need you feeding his oversized ego. 

the only issue was that he seemed to want your attention. he would go for a swim and then come to sit next to you, all wet and dripping and annoying. not to mention, he always wanted to know what you were reading. and the number of times you found yourself alone with him in the kitchen was a bit sus too - it was like he knew when you were going to your secret caprisun stash. and then you had to share so he wouldn’t tell anyone. 

it seemed to all come to a head one afternoon though - there was something about the middle of the day when really no one was outside - even with the pool and the ocean within walking distance, it was just the time to head inside. unless you had kim mingyu quizzing you over your current book, since he wanted an update on the drama. 

“you could just read it when i’m finished,” you groaned, happy that you were at least sitting in an oversized covered chair and avoiding the worst of the sun. 

“it’s better when i ask you - you have all your own little thoughts and commentary,” he whispered, his fingers tracing lightly along your side. 

you swatted his hand away, “rude,” you huffed. 

he smiled, “at least i don’t try to hide how much i watch you,” his voice was still gentle. 

“i don’t think there’s anyone hiding how much they look at you,” you turned onto your stomach, wanting to end the conversation. but you were literally in a little covered bubble with him, and turning over only meant you gave him tacit permission to touch your ass. 

you were quick to sit up and glare at him. but he didn’t shrink back like normal. he wasn’t exactly afraid of the person who had once been his babysitter - a two-year age gap didn’t really qualify you as more adult anymore, but it had always been just enough to lord over your brother and his friends when they annoyed you. he only looked amused now as he leaned close, tracing his fingers along the underside of your breast as his lips made contact with yours. 

things progressed quickly. 

and you found yourself straddling him, riding his abs, while he pushed the crotch of your bikini bottom out of the way to see your pussy. you couldn’t help that they were maybe your favorite part of his body, and since he had no issue with you rutting against him, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“so fucking hot,” you mumbled.

he grinned, “yeah?” his gaze flicking between your face and your pussy. 

you nodded, grinding your hips slowly over him, feeling just how defined his muscles were, every ridge helping you get closer to what you wanted, to come all over his perfect stomach. 

you could feel his hand shift to your hip, urging you on, “so good, baby girl,” he whispered as he watched you. 

you gasped when he touched your clit, “let me help, yeah?” 

you flushed but didn’t stop him - he was always helpful. it only took a few moments of his ministrations, and you felt the tightening in your stomach and your cunt - your thighs squeezed against him, “ fuck, mingyu, right there,” you whined, knowing your fingernails were leaving little half-moon marks on his chest. you didn't exactly mind the idea of anyone seeing those.

your orgasm was like a sudden flash, leaving you moaning and shaking as you came. you shivered gently, as he pulled you down to him, kissing you, “so good for me,” he whispered as his lips pressed to yours.

a/n: so i can write drabbles under certain conditions - sorry, i did have to sit with this a bit - i like when they have some litltle background thing going on ^^ and yessss, they're soft for each other ;-; i am who i am lol

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo ask the original bingo, is [here] and new nsfw only bingo is [here] - you can ask for squares from both

tag list: @syluslittlecrow ☁︎ @gyuguys ☁︎ @haik-chu ☁︎ @tinyelfperson ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin ☁︎ @starlit-rin

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] & this is my [master list] if you want to read more

[karthara]

I'm lactose intolerant enough I stopped drinking darkly coloured pop because of the caramel colour even though root beer is my favorite pop. It just wasn't worth the reaction I was having. It has thankfully mellowed out a little bit and I can have it on rare occasion now. I am also sensitive to soy and I have a medication that when mixed with alcohol can cause seizures and/or death.

I have a cousin who is celiac and several of my neiflings can't consume some food dyes. My sister is allergic to strawberries, my wife is allergic to eggs and vinegar. My cousin's husband has a nut allergy. A friend of mine has a shellfish allergy, a few more can't digest pork.

If you are hiding what you are feeding people you could kill them. And if someone doesn't want to eat something just because they don't like it that should be taken seriously as well. The idea of sneak feeding people things 'for their own good' is horrible. Let people make informed decisions about what goes into their body.

Also, it's fucking exhausting to have to say I can't eat xyz every single time someone else prepares food for you. Especially when people constantly treat it like you're a child who doesn't want to eat vegetables instead of a grown ass adult trying to avoid spending the next three days miserable and chained between the toilet and bed. It takes emotional and mental effort. Just please include an ingredient list so people can be informed.

Me not eating the thing you made isn't a slight against you as a person it is simply me trying to not suffer something I've suffered way too many times already.

“Meatless alternatives are getting so good, you should try them! I bet you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference! In fact….”

Please

Please

Please stop trying to sneak-feed me meat alternatives.

I am willing to prepare and share a vegan meal with you, I’m willing to skip animal products in our group spaces.

Please.

Stop trying to sneak-feed me meat alternatives.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

nsfw, read this to understand wtf is going on —> part one.

nanami knows exactly what’s going to happen.

the door to the archive room is slightly agape, and there’s only one person, aside from nanami, who could stumble upon it in the middle of a late night. knowing you are here, working late.

ino.

he’s well aware of the younger man’s quiet, lingering glances whenever you’re in the vicinity. it’s practically a game at this point—one that nanami’s become all too familiar with. the signs have been there: the way ino lingers in hallways, the subtle shifts in his body language when you’re nearby. and although nanami has allowed him the harmless flirtations, he knows this isn’t the kind of situation he’s willing to tolerate. not tonight.

inside the archive room, the air is thick with tension.

you’re pressed against the desk, your hands braced on the wood as nanami holds you firmly, his grip possessive as he pulls you closer, your back to him. the only thing that matters in this moment is the heat between the two of you—the way his fingers trail over your skin, the way his lips press against the curve of your neck as you gasp softly, barely able to focus on anything but the way he makes you feel.

“nanami…” you murmur, breath hitching as his lips move lower, his hands pushing you to the edge of control.

he doesn’t answer at first, his actions speaking louder than words. his hands travel beneath your shirt, his fingers pressing against your skin with an almost maddening precision. his touch is deliberate, skilled, drawing soft moans from you as you struggle to hold onto the edge of the desk.

nanami hums, a little dismissive, as his hands lower down your body, hiking up your skirt to touch the heated skin of your thighs, cold fingers making you shudder under him as you lean forward with shaky breaths. nanami leans with you, chest unwilling to pry away from your back, aching to keep you as close as possible.

you’re lost in him. you can barely focus on anything but the way his body molds to yours, how his presence swallows you whole. his breath is hot against your ear, his voice deep and soothing as he murmurs your name. groans loud enough for you to hear and pushes his fingers between your thighs so you gasp — loud enough for ino to hear.

but just as you’re lost in the pleasure of his touch, something catches nanami’s eye. he sees the slight shift in the doorway—the silhouette of someone standing just outside, too still, too quiet. it’s ino, of course. he stands at the threshold, eyes wide, caught in the act of watching.

nanami’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t flinch. he knows exactly what he needs to do despite how much the realisation makes him sick. he’d like to ignore everything and act like you and him are the only people in the world, yet there’s a lesson to be taught.

a lesson ino hadn’t learned the first time.

he keeps his focus on you, his hands stilling for a moment, drawing a soft gasp from your lips in confusion. your head falls back into the crook of his neck, unaware of the silent interaction unfolding behind you. nanami’s gaze hardens as it locks onto ino, his stare cold and commanding as he catches the younger man’s eye through the crack in the door.

the message is clear: stay away.

ino’s breath hitches in the silence, his wide eyes meeting nanami’s unblinking gaze. there’s no hiding from that look—the warning, the silent threat in the depth of nanami’s stare. for a long moment, neither of them moves. it’s a standoff of sorts, and nanami doesn’t budge, even as ino shifts uncomfortably, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

nanami pushes his hips forward and you whine, needy, adorably unaware of your surroundings, waiting for him to take you properly. you kiss wherever you can reach, making nanami tilt his head to the side as he allows you to suck on his neck, mark him. his eyes are still on takuma though.

two of his fingers, hand still nestled between the plush of your thighs, push inside whilst he rubs messy circles onto your clit with the heel of his palm. moan after angelic moan escape your pretty, parted mouth and one of your hands leave the edge of the desk to grasp his wrist, body twitching with burning pleasure. nanami kisses the top of your head, dirty words leaving his mouth as if he’s talking about work and not about fucking you senseless on the desk.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, ino pulls away, slowly retreating from the doorway, his face flushed with embarrassment. he doesn’t say a word, but nanami doesn’t need him to. the point is made. the message has been received.

only then does nanami turn his full attention back to you, and you, blissfully unaware, remain in his grasp, still trembling from the sensation of his touch. he turns you around as he shushes you comfortingly, your voice breaks the tension, breathy and soft, as you lean into him, your hands trailing over his chest, seeking more of him.

“nanami,” you whisper, the need in your voice sending a thrill down his spine. “please…”

he smirks, his lips brushing against your neck again, and in that moment, he’s all yours again. “don’t worry, darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “we’ll finish this, just the way you want it. and no one will interrupt again.”

you have no idea what just happened. you have no idea who was watching, or that there was anything out of place at all. all you know is nanami, and the way he makes you feel, so completely consumed by his touch.

and that’s enough for him. he holds you tighter, making sure that tonight, you belong only to him.

[hairmetal666]

The first time Steve meets Eddie Munson they're booked for a little indie wrestling show in Rhode Island.

Eddie is--scrappy, untested. It's obvious the only kind of wrestling he's ever done is of the backyard trampoline variety. But. There's something there; they can all see it.

He doesn't like Steve much, but then Steve can't blame him. The Harrington's are a legacy wrestling family. His dad, uncles, even his mom was a famous valet and manager before getting married and retiring. So, he's got this name, and this look, and--earned or not--a reputation, and Munson doesn't like him.

Steve tries not to take it personally.

In between tours and indie bookings, Eddie starts as a trainer at Hopper's gym, and they start doing demonstrations for the kids together. Eddie's good, really good. Even though it's just for teaching, their styles and energy match.

They get booked in their first match against each other at a local show a few months later. The energy they had at Hopper's is nothing compared to this. Sure, there's only about 200 people packed into this high school gym, but it doesn't matter. It's electric.

Eddie's long, curly hair, lean muscles, and tattoos caught Steve's eye the moment they met, but it never flourished into anything because of how much Eddie hated him.

Now, though, they're spending time together, talking, rolling around in a wrestling ring all day, and Steve's only human.

There's a Ring Of Honor pay-per-view, it's the first time that Steve and Eddie have wrestled for a large audience. Anticipation for the match burns in his stomach.

This is Eddie's first appearance in ROH, and no one quite knows what to expect. He only gives a little Cheshire Cat grin when asked. So, Steve is genuinely startled when the arena lights go out, less so when Master of Puppets blares through the speakers.

The lights come up and Eddie stands at the end of the ramp. He's shirtless, hair in damp, loose curls around his shoulders. He's wearing pleather wrestling pants with mesh cutouts across his thighs and shins. Steve thinks he might die.

Eddie slips between the ropes to wild cheers, and Steve stops thinking about how hot he looks.

The first time they tangle up, Steve leans extra close, whispers, "that was amazing." And Eddie gives him this smile that's part menace and part joy. Steve's heart leaps, and their bodies crash together. It's the best time he's had in the ring in years.

Steve's crush aside, he thinks it was relatively normal until he catches up to Robin backstage.

"What the hell was that?" She hisses.

"Huh?"

"Oh my god, Steve. You were all over each other."

"Yeah? We were wrestling?"

"Is this wrestling?" She pulls up the picture from the beginning, of Steve leaning close and Eddie's smile.

It's, uh, way more intimate than Steve realized in the moment. His ears heat. "It wasn't like that," he says.

Robin rolls her eyes. Of course she sees right through him. "Tell that to the 5.1 thousand people who've already liked and reposted this picture."

"It's not going to be a thing," he tells her. He's certain of it.

It becomes a thing.

There are memes, fan art, fan fiction. People ship them--a couple of their trainees, Max and Erica, show them all the fics about them on ao3.

They're a hit.

They're booked against each other again, and this time, Eddie grabs Steve by the back of the head, pulls him in until they're almost kissing, until Steve stops breathing, feels his eyes going starry at the proximity.

The crowd is screaming so loud he can't hear anything, not even what Eddie is saying, even though they're so close. He leans in, unthinking, and Eddie stutters.

"They're eating this up!" Eddie shouts.

And they are, totally captivated. Which is why Steve presses their cheeks together for a several seconds before punching Eddie in the solar plexus.

Their next match, someone starts yelling "kiss, kiss!" and then it's the whole arena. Steve has to hide his laughter against Eddie's shoulder.

They lean more into it. They're having a blast. It even sort of helps his crush a little bit, to kind of make it into something the fans are in on.

He debuts on AEW against Hangman Page. Steve gets the win, and as the ref lifts his arm, he takes a blow to the back of his head. He has a second to see Jason Carver's signature letterman jacket before he goes down. He tries to curl up to protect himself, but still takes a boot to the stomach and more hits to the face and head.

The crowd is already in a frenzy, but when the noise goes up to a fever pitch, he knows Eddie's running down the ramp. He hears the thunk as Jason goes down, then Eddie is hauling Steve up by the shoulders.

They don't leave the ring right away. Instead, Eddie holds him there, brushes his hand over Steve's forehead before cupping his cheek.

As they slip between the ropes, walk to the back, his ears ring. He doesn't think it's from all the cheering.

---

In their next appearance on AEW, Jason attacks Steve backstage. The cameras cut to them right as Steve is thrown into a brick wall. It's supposed to be violent, supposed to get bloody. When he crashes into the corner of a backstage crate, he lets it catch him just above the eyebrow.

The blood starts flowing, warm, down his eyelid and nose just as he hears Eddie burst through the door. There's yelling, the sound of Jason running off, then a warm hand is on his back.

"Steve?" Eddie yells. His voice breaks. "Stevie?"

Hands are on his face, his shoulder, pushing back his hair, pressing against the cut above his eye.

"Ed," he mumbles.

"I'm here, I've got you. Paramedics are on the way, okay? You're going to be okay."

The cameras go down, and the medical team rushes over to patch him up.

Eddie's waiting for him when they're done.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "There was blood everywhere."

"Yeah, I'm alright. Crate got me a little more than I meant for it to."

"Can I?" Eddie asks. He reaches towards Steve, like he wants to touch.

"Course." Steve's voice is thick.

Eddie gently presses his hair back, revealing the butterfly bandage on his forehead. He hisses in a breath. "Got yourself good. I--I don't like seeing you hurt," he says, soft. "I didn't expect--I mean, I know it's not--I didn't like seeing you hurt."

Their eyes lock, the air between them charges. Not like when they're in front of an audience, the cameras. It's just them, alone; just them, standing too close.

Eddie's eyes dart to his mouth, and he leans forward until their breath mingles. Steve's eyes drift closed as the warmth of Eddie's mouth ghosts over his own.

A door down the hall bangs open with a clatter. Eddie and Steve spring apart, the moment fizzling.

Later, Steve tells Robin he thinks he imagined it.

---

Steve isn't on TV the next few weeks, the story is that he required surgery to repair internal bleeding and ended up with a grade-3 concussion. His timeline for return is unknown.

Eddie is set to wrestle Jason at the next pay-per-view, Revolution.

During Steve's two week break, he gets a text from Eddie. "Miss you, Stevie. Not the same here without you."

"Miss you too," he says back.

He's so in love with him.

---

The night of Revolution dawns, nerves thrumming in his stomach. He stays low-key, out-of-sight. He isn't going to make an appearance for a while, and he and Eddie agreed to not see each other before the match to make the reunion all the more real.

So, he hangs out in a backstage room, watching the show on a small TV, and psyching himself up for what's to come.

He makes his way to gorilla position as soon as Jason and Eddie finish their entrances, watches the match play out on the producers' monitors.

It's an even fight at the beginning but it gets nasty at the first appearance of weapons. Eddie takes a steel chair to the face, Jason sets up a table and Eddie dives from the top rope to crash him through it. That mat is littered with thumbtacks and sticky with blood, and then Jason grabs a chain from under the ring, wrapping it around Eddie's throat.

Steve runs down the ramp and the crowd goes insane, distracting Jason and allowing Eddie to scurry free. Jason disappears over the barricade and into the crowd, but neither of them go after him. Instead, Eddie runs around the ring, pulling Steve into a tight embrace. The fans scream.

They hold each other tight, the roars from the stands washing over them until they coalesce into one word, "kiss."

"Should we give the people what they want?" Eddie asks. His eyes are bright.

It's not real, Steve knows it's not, and maybe this will hurt more than landing in a pile of thumbtacks once it's over, but he nods. He's smiling so hard his mouth hurts.

He expects a stage kiss, a quick peck, but Eddie's hand cups the back of his head, draws him in slow, their lips meeting in a gentle press.

Everything around them melts away and he sinks against Eddie, lets the kiss carry him away. He wants more, wants to taste, wants anything Eddie will give.

"Guys," a voice says next to them. "Guys, you gotta ease up. We have to re-set for the main event."

The audience noise comes back to him in a tidal wave chant of their names and "They're in love" accompanied by a rhythmic clap.

They walk backstage together, close but not touching, and Steve thinks he can't be disappointed if it was only for TV. It was the closest to bliss he's ever been.

In the bustle of backstage, Eddie pulls him into a quiet hallway, hands immediately going to Steve's face.

"I meant it." He says. "The kiss. I meant every second."

For their second kiss, no one is there to tell them to stop.

[letters2aprincess]

I’ll never speak ill of you…

I love you cessa… even if you don’t love me

I don’t regret meeting you.

I miss when I use to make you happy smile and laugh.

I knew I loved you hard and constant. I knew that was gonna be my downfall. You were use to inconstant affection which left you wanting for more… and I never left you wanting. You always had it when you wanted all my love and attention.

I knew I loved you before I ever said it. I remember how I was so scared to tell you cause I knew that it ment you had the power to break me.

I love you… you will be my cessa forever. I remember when I first came to me to call you that and the joy it brang you to be called something unique something that was ment for you that no other has. Your own special name. My cessa…

I was so proud to have you in my life. The joy it gave me speaking to you or even about you to my son. For him to see me so in love I couldn’t contain it or hide it from anyone. I hope it still makes you happy knowing you had someone that would speak about you in such a way. I would have presented you the same. To show you on my arm.

I hope you keep that ring I hope you wear it at times you need to feel loved. Just to remember me. That you had someone who would travel a thousand miles just to hold you in his arms. I’m glad i got to show you how much you ment to me. That it was real.

I love you cessa. Forever and always.

My love… Mi princessa…. My Cessa

- Clive Barker, The Thief of Always

[sidemari]

Aftercare Headcanons

Character included: Viktor x GN!Reader

Author's notes: Let me know if you want me to write something similar about other League of Legends or Arcane characters. Enjoy! ♡

He's the kind of guy who cares about your well-being before, during, and after you have sex.

It's not uncommon for him to stay with your body cuddled against his while your heavy breathing and overstimulation slowly fade away.

Cuddles, words of reassurance, slow and affectionate kisses, massages wherever you may be sore and a relaxing bath together after sex are essential for him to show you how absurdly perfect and important you are to him.

One of the greatest proofs of love that Viktor can show you is to sleep next to you (always after you, due to his protective instinct) and stay by your side all night, making sure to still be with you when you wake up, even if he has countless responsibilities and unfinished projects.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Good morning, Vitya." His fingers stroked your hair as you wiped the sleep from your eyes.

"Thank you for yesterday. You were absolutely perfect." A certain embarrassment took over you at the compliment, making you hide your face against his neck, inhaling that welcoming scent.

"Maybe I'll have to drag you out of your lab more often." You murmured.