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Happy July from the Seabreeze Street's coordinators! Our application season is officially open and we are accepting members; you can find out more about joining us here.

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THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING

dr loomis is autistic pass it on

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i am. so addicted to spiderverse rn

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-ˋˏ THE NEWLYWEDS ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. marrying the person you are in love with has to be the best decision you have ever made. here, we explore the daily life of these four suitors as newlyweds.

CHARACTERS. luke pearce, artem wing, vyn richter, marius von hagen

CONTENT. f!reader. married au. fluff, suggestive (artem & marius). 1.3k wc. rewrite of the newlyweds at my old main blog @/verxsyon. reader can be imagined either as rosa or an original character.

VERA. i don’t play this game much anymore, but i miss my boy luke.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. LUKE PEARCE

epitome of childhood friend romance. he’s the top tier bestie anyone could ask for.

he has been with you for as long as you can remember – through thick and thin, and through the good and the ugly. it’s natural for him to make jokes here and there around you, including marrying you when he comes back to stellis. little did you know, he was very serious about it. years later he will be at your door to put a ring on your finger, and the rest is history.

whenever he comes home from work, you are either cooking in the kitchen or sleeping on the couch while the TV is on. you two have a special welcome home greeting, which starts with a kiss on your temple followed by an exchange of heys.

“hey, lu.” to which he responds, “hey, you.” and afterwards, he’ll pepper more kisses along your jaw until he places one upon your lips before asking how your day went.

he loves to update you about his investigations. realizing that he can’t keep everything to himself, his goal is to confide in at least one person he can trust. it makes you so happy to hear that he’s enjoying his job despite the amount of stress he may be experiencing.

on his day-offs, he’ll marathon crime shows with you — popcorn, drinks, and everything. his favorite show to marathon is sherlock since he is inspired by him.

he claims to miss you whenever he’s away for long hours performing his investigations. to cope with his concern, your husband keeps a picture of you in his breast pocket so you’ll always be in his heart no matter where you are in the world.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ARTEM WING

he may appear cold and strict on the outside, but is actually a warm and awkward softie on the inside.

due to his status as basically being married to his job as a senior attorney, romance is the least of his worries until you enter his life. his approach to you for a date isn’t as smooth as the both of you had expected, but he improved in that aspect when he popped the question.

even after months into your marriage, he still doubts how he gives you affection. are his lips in the right place? is he holding your hand right? ever since the incident where he accidentally groped below your back when he was trying to hug you, he remains self-conscious whenever he touches you.

to make him comfortable with initiating intimacy, you would walk around the house half-naked and observe his reaction from there. instead of admiring your body, he rushes to lend you a piece of his clothing to cover yourself. what a gentleman indeed, but this is not the result you wanted.

“artem, honey.” he flinches at the heat enveloping his front. the sight of your bare legs makes his skin flush and paralyzes his movements. you guide his hands to your sides with a gentle smile on your face. “relax. you’re doing everything more than perfectly.”

a hidden talent of his is that he can cook, and my goodness his food is brilliant. on some days when you come home late at night, seeing a delicious platter by your husband is quite the treat. to further practice his romantic skills, he would set up wine, candles, and flowers as well. to be honest, he doesn’t need to go all out because cooking dinner is already romantic enough for you.

he is fond of children, especially their positive energy. in fact, it’s canon that he visits orphanages and hangs around them. the moment you step into one, he knows that the children will automatically love you. he would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine having a family with you, but time will tell when the two of you will be ready.  

𝄞༉‧₊˚. VYN RICHTER

a wise person once said, “he is the whole package.” a psychiatrist who is also a criminal psychologist and he’s hot as hell? not to mention that he’s also good at pretty much everything the universe has to offer.

his emotions are still hard to read even after marrying him, but he’s trying his best to make them transparent. although you can’t tell in plain sight, he appreciates every single thing about you, most especially your belief in him being loved.

in addition, he appreciates your knowledge in classical music. you have brought up the fact that you did play piano a while back multiple times while the two of you were still dating. his wedding gift to you was a grand piano, which made you cry not because he had thought of you, but because it cost thousands. that being said, you are touched that he had thought of you.

the grand piano surprise motivates you to regain and refine your musical skills from the past. you challenge yourself by practicing a difficult piece, which vyn recognizes almost immediately just by a few notes. your hands crash and burn against the white keys, startled by your husband’s sudden presence.

“keep playing, my love.” he snakes an arm around your waist to pull you into a kiss. “you are doing so well.”

besides psychology, he’ll be glad to teach you some of his hobbies such as equestrianism and gardening. in comparison to luke, he is also quite knowledgeable in areas either related to or outside of his expertise. you don’t know whether to admire or fear the capacity of his intellect.

whenever he’s free of work, he’ll take you on bike rides around the city and perhaps have picnics at the park. spending time with his spouse is what he deserves from juggling between teaching students to treating patients to solving cases on a daily basis.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. MARIUS VON HAGEN

a little shit. always a little shit, but is your little shit who deserves a slap in the face (affectionate).

your first meeting with the heir of the pax group was insufferable to say the least, justified by his constant teasing and duping. he was a person that you wanted to avoid at all costs, but he eventually managed to win your heart and settle down with you.

the von hagen household isn’t itself without the two of you bickering left and right. the topics in questions are usually miniscule, and marius is aware that lawyers do not invest their time in such types. he always forfeits from the arguments in your favor, suggesting that he’ll make it up to you with gifts.

speaking of gifts, he loves spoiling you with a range of his own paintings to stuffed animals from the arcade to luxurious brands of the pax group. he has done so much for you already, you tell him to stop buying all those things. of course, he doesn’t listen and still does it anyway to keep you happy.

the ultimate king – pun intended – of teasing doesn’t let you breathe in peace, whether that be in public or at home. as an act of revenge, you do the same. except more… spicy.

he sometimes catches you in your robe when he comes home from work. he seems to not suspect much other than you look very sexy in it; after all, he was the one who bought it. you’ll make your intentions known by whispering in his ear, “i’m not wearing anything under.” let’s just say he doesn’t waste any time to wipe that so-called innocent smile off your face.

somewhat on the same side of the spectrum, he paints portraits of you which he hangs around the house. you made a mistake of telling him to “draw me like one of your french girls”, and now he won’t stop pestering you to take your clothes off. the paintings of you are priceless; they’re for his eyes only.

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hello to anyone listening — i’m super multifandom, and have been considering returning to an old hyperfixation of mine, even though i’m sure not many people are writing for this fandom much these days …

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hidden corners — ft. wriothesley

before you read: female reader ; mature content 18+ ; established relationship ; public sex (except it’s not really sex and you don’t get caught) ; dry humping ; wriothesley cums in his pants <3 ; not proof read

The fortress is a big place. Walking to Wriothesley’s office means you get your step count up—but it also means it takes a good few minutes to get there at all.

You’re patient enough to wait. He, on the other hand, sometimes is not.

“Wrio?” Your head tilts to the side. You’re more than a little surprised to see his serious face as he quickly approaches you while you walk towards his office. You grin, teasing glint in your eyes as you hum, “what? You couldn’t wait to see me—oh!”

He’s dragging you by the hand, pulling you along as he turns corners and walks in the very opposite direction of his office with you following in tow (against your will).

“Where are we going?” You ask, blinking. “Your office isn’t this way.”

“There’s an emergency,” he says quickly. Too quickly. You take a good look at him for a moment before you realize something’s off—his coat. It’s not draped over his back like it usually is, instead worn properly over his upper half and buttoned up completely.

Your eyes narrow in confusion. “You’re wearing your coat?”

“Got cold.”

“But the heating has been on for—”

“Heat’s not working in my office.”

“Why don’t you—”

He lets out a shuddering breath, shaky and almost impatient enough that you simply shut your mouth before stressing him out further. He seems to appreciate it, too, because he doesn’t make anymore extra comments—just makes one last turn, pressing you against a hidden corner behind a wall of pipes and caging you with your back against a cold, hard surface.

“Couldn’t wait,” he breathes. “You were taking too long so I met you halfway”

“What do you mean? Wait for wha—” The buttons of his coat come undone quickly enough that you cut yourself off in shock, watching as he flings off the thick, furry material and lets it drop to the floor. “Wriothesley! The floor is dirty and you drape that thing over me all the time, are you insane—oh.”

Oh.

Your eyes land on the clear reason why he’s been so tensely impatient: a heavy, thick bulge in his pants that’s been covered up until now by the mid-length coat that draped over his torso. He lets out a shaky breath, stepping closer as he presses his face deep into your neck and breathes in your scent.

It seems to only make things worse because he lets out a strangled groan and says hoarsely, “I’ll fucking wash it. Now’s not the time.”

“Wriothesley, we’re in the middle of the—”

It seems today is very keen on forcing all of your sentences to cut off halfway because once again, you can’t finish what you want to say. Not before he grunts and presses his heavy, throbbing erection against your clothed cunt and murmurs, “no, we’re in a hidden corner.”

“We’re right by pipes! Have you never heard the way they carry sound?”

“These don’t lead anywhere important.”

“This is absurd,” you say sternly. He rolls his hips stubbornly, grinding the thick girth of his cock against your heat, separated by fabric but brought together by friction.

“Need you, sweetheart,” he moans lowly, “need you so bad I’m tired of waiting. Please.”

You’re nothing if not a doting girlfriend. A very pliant one, at that—so soft and willing to give into Wriothesley and his whims even when they might land you in compromising positions. (How could you say no when he’s pressed up against you like that, though? How could your mind and body respond with anything except yes when he all but molds his body onto yours and drags himself desperately against your own core? Self control was never an easy task in the first place.)

“A little decorum once in a while would be nice, you know,” you huff—still, your arms go right around his neck like they always do, letting his chest firmly press against yours.

He chuckles, low vibrations that you can feel tickle your ribcage as his nose digs into the skin along the crook of your neck. “I told you,” he murmurs, lips tugging into a crooked, wolfish grin, “we’re hidden. And I’m the duke. I know what goes on in this here fortress—no one will find us.”

Smug is one way to describe him—needy is probably better. Far better. Because the way his hips roll to drag his thick, heavy cock along your cunt is far too impatient to be considered anything else but pure need.

You shudder, head leaning back against the wall as a soft, breathy moan spills from your lips at the way his bulge drags along your clit, the pressure from his cock and the friction of your clothes building a steady ache along your core. You can feel the heat of his confined length, the way it twitches in his pants, the way it leaks with pre cum and dampens his fabric enough to match the wet fabric that clothes your cunt.

“Wr-wrio…” you breathe, voice tapering off into a soft, high pitched whine as he roughly glides against your clit particularly harshly. Your hands search for the familiar fur draped on his shoulders to grip onto—only it’s not there.

It’s on the floor along with the rest of his jacket.

He chuckles roughly, voice low and gruff and a tiny bit labored from the air that doesn’t seem to be in his lungs. His hands reach for your wrists, grabbing them gently before guiding them up to his hair, letting them tangle into the strands as he mumbles lowly, “go ahead and pull, sweetheart. I can take it, yeah?”

Large, scarred hands find your waist, fingers digging into plush skin as he pulls your hips forward, rubbing you along his length while he lets out a raw, throaty groan.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “f-fuck, I just couldn’t wait. Couldn’t…couldn’t wait—you understand, right sweetheart? D-don’t be mad.”

He’s babbling. Voice wavering and sweat clinging to his forehead as he hides into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, where he can breathe in the scent of your perfume and feel his cock swell impossibly harder at the sweetness of your perfume. It’s driving him mad. Borderline throwing him into insanity’s clutches from just the sensation of grinding against you.

It’s nothing like being buried to the hilt inside of you. The wet, warm, tight walls that welcome him in every time, the gummy, soft feel of you wrapping around him and constructing with every thrust. He’d like to spill into you, fuck load after load after load until his mess leaks down your thighs and coats your skin with one more layer of proof that your his.

But he’s not particularly patient enough for that. Not willing to wait until he knows you’re stretched out and dripping enough with slick to take the thick girth of him splitting you open—so instead, he takes this. The feeling of you taking over his senses. The feeling of your heat seeping into his body. The smell of your perfume and sweat invading his nose. The rough, unforgiving sting of your fingers tugging at his hair.

He’s pathetically wrapped around your finger tightly enough that even when he craves for more, anything you give is still enough. Maybe he’s not feeling you, but the feeling of you near him is enough to still satisfy that raging, unforgiving ache that settles between his thighs and goes nowhere. Nowhere.

He’s tried—for long enough before your arrival, he’s tried to ignore the way he grows in his pants. Tightening and straining against crisp fabric that’s not meant to stretch and accommodate his cruel problem. It makes his hands tremble as he signs documents. Makes his mind and thoughts race to memories of you—memories on your face, your voice, your ecstasy.

And he can’t wait.

So he finds you half way along the path to his office, dragging you to a hidden corner where the pipes cover your bodies and the walls muffle your sounds.

Wriothesley is the duke. The fortress is his playground. Whatever he says goes—and if he restricts access to the back east wing before he leaves his office…well, he’s confident no one will come. Not because he doesn’t want anyone to catch him seeking relief in the arms of the only person he can call home, but because anyone seeing, hearing, witnessing the way you break from him alone is sinful.

This meant for him. For his eyes. For his ears. For his cock. You’re meant for him.

“I’m close, baby,” he rasps, “fuck, what’re you doing to me? I’m gonna cum right here in my fucking pants. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you gasp, tugging his hair to pull him away from your neck and press your foreheads together.

He chuckles, breathy pants fanning along your mouth as his lips hover yours while he murmurs, “yeah? That’s what you want?”

“Yes, Wriothesley,” you whimper, “want you to cum and make me cum, too.”

“I think I can do that, sweetheart. Think I can make that happen right now, if that’s what you need.”

And he doesn’t lie. Because his hips give one, two, three rough thrusts against you, rubbing the hard bulge in his pants along your dripping cunt and swollen clit before he stills for a moment and shudders.

Instinctively, your lips both find each other, swallowing shallow gasps and low moans as you both break at the same time. His cock jerks in between his legs, twitching with rope after rope of thick, sticky cum that soils his boxers and leaks through his trousers.

You don’t fare much better. It feels like you’re soaked—your walls gushing around nothing and dripping your slick essence until it leaves a wet patch on your own panties, dampening through them and leaving you to feel the wetness it leaves.

“More, Wrio,” you cry between kisses, rolling your hips in time with his as you ride out the last waves of your pleasure. A string of saliva connects your lips to his as you pull away to speak.

But he chases after you, closing the gap once more before moaning one last deep sound into your mouth as he slumps against you, pecking your lips once and mumbling, “can’t. We’re in the middle of the fortress, remember?”

It’s smug. So cocky for someone who just took you without even properly taking you right here in a dark, cold corner with pipes surrounding you.

You glare at him, watching as he throws you that easy, confident grin before grumbling, “then lead the way to your office, your grace.”

“With my utmost pleasure, my lady,” he laughs, slowly peeling himself off of you, “who knew you could be so impatient?”

You quirk an unamused eyebrow before glancing down at the wet, messy dark spot along his crotch. He follows your gaze, flushing while you point to the coat on the floor and huff, “put that on before someone sees the absolutely sorry state your pants are in, you smug bastard.”

You fix your clothes, smoothing out your appearance before walking out of the dark corner and heading for his office—and he follows soon after as he buttons his coat, trailing after you like an excited, energetically impatient puppy.

I don’t want to talk about what inspired this . Everyone don’t talk to me for one million years thanks 👍

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⟡ ﹚﹕ 𝐴.𝑅𝐶𝐴𝑁𝐸. ‧ ₊

⭒ pitfighter vi smut imagine.

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SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE .ᐟ ── PITFIGHTER VI. been wanting to do something like this for a while now omg. i keep thinking about @shouyuus’s work and i decided to make my own version, because … i have rotted for far too long over this woman and i cannot lose any more sleep.

TAGS . . . 18+ !!! , f.reader , meeting at the bar , drunk vi , but she sobers up as she fucks you , vi yearning for you .

+ @eveningatthemoviesnetwork @thehoneypotserver @pixelcafe-network <33 tysm guys

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI probably spotted you across the bar she always crashes into after her bloodied wins. she’d definitely give you a look and continue to stare even when you catch her, her eyes darkened and her brows furrowed as if she’d met you before and that non-existent encounter held a gory weight.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI pushed past all the people dancing and flailing around just to get to you. some poor guy even tripped and fell on his ass just from her drunken shove alone—and seeing as she too were fighting ghosts to keep from swaying, it couldn’t have been that strong of a push. then again—this is vi, the pitfighter champion.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI somehow had the balls to let loose in front of you while you were trying to dance by yourself. you surprisingly didn’t mind despite how heavy her glances were, and it was almost telepathic how you both communicated wordlessly when you allowed her hands to rest on your waist.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI kisses like she didn’t wreak of cheap liquor, her tongue nearly pinning your own down from how aggressive she was with needing to feel you on her. chest to chest, she supported your back when she continued to push against you like she knew she had this horrible habit of greed, of needing everything from something as sweet as you in three seconds, physical limitations be damned.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI cursed herself when she grabbed your hand and led you back to her room, knowing exactly how disgusting and grimy her sweat-filled bed was and had of course decided she’d rather get a slap to the face for even thinking you’d ever lie down on that thing than not try at all. what do you take her for, a madwoman? with a girl like you, she would be if she didn’t take you somewhere when you gave her enthusiastic consent.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI seems like she’s begging to get lockjaw when her tongue swirls anxiously around your clit, every so often flicking upwards in that sweet spot she’d discovered made you squeal and arch your back. how you reached new heights in both your moans and your nerves when she very carefully slipped a finger in, her thumb replacing her tongue when she rose up again and let you taste yourself on her tongue without warning. you grabbed her shoulders as if you want to shove her away, and when she entertains the idea that you could in fact hold a candle to her strength, she just huffed and smiled before going, “you opened your mouth, princess. don’t tell me you didn’t like that.”

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI finally gets to fucking you and holy shit she was waiting so painfully long for you—her first strokes of her clit against your own were rough from the very start, both of you soaking and bubbling from everything that had been happening tonight—except she held out on her own pleasure just so she could see you come undone on her tongue and fingers. She bucks her hips against you roughly and the initial contact is explosive—you both moan in unison, yours higher and shakier as if racing her to something. you fell limp right after that first stroke and she continued to hold your leg up against her, hips bucking at a frenzied pace like she could see your orgasm approaching quickly, stopping at nothing to claw and fight to bring it back down to earth and let it spill all over her.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI has a death grip on your thighs and your waist when you cum, making sure you don’t squirm away now as your clit and hers throb in an unspoken rhythm like they’ve done this before and have made their shapes match perfectly with where contact is made and rubbed and heightened. You’re certain there’ll be bruises where her thumbs dug into her skin, and you can see it on her face the way one corner of her lips turn up just because she managed not to dig her nails into your skin but oh fuck is it going to bruise. she doesn’t even seem to realize, she’s too drunk on your clit to think now.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI cums and you scream because she pushes her clit all the way up yours like she wants to take up all of you in a capacity physically and biologically impossible for either of you—but she pulls your leg and waist towards her anyway, screaming your name when she cums and she pants, letting her grip lax finally as half-mast black-smeared eyes drag up your body from one last lick of the view before she collapses next to you, both of you panting and taking in the liquor and sweat.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI found the strength in her to somehow get up and pass you her waterbottle. when you tried to sit up, you winced and she snapped her head back to you only to put the waterbottle aside and slide a leg under your knee, her left arm slipping under the curves and lumps of your back and its bones before lifting you like you were wind ready to slip away. “hey woah woah—i’ve got you,” she muttered and you swore stars circled your head at how incredibly gentle she sounded, as if someone else’s sweet, unused and unexercised voice made it into such a hard-trained throat and still managed to stay soft despite everything. her hand’s grip was tight but her arms were so stable you might as well have been lying on a rock or a bumpy wall.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI lent you her jacket when she offered to at least send you off to wherever you needed to be in the morning. you were about to shrug the jacket off when it was time to leave but she chuckled weakly as her hands weigh it down on your shoulders, keeping it there before going, “nah, return it to me when we see each other next time. i’ll be at the bar every night.”

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI lost her mind even more than she already had when you didn’t return for the next three days. her punching bag broke from its chain, stuffing blasting in her face and she had to go through one hell of a hassel to get a new one. but all she thought of was you and so she was ending fights quicker, thinning her voice and reducing it to a coarse hair of a sound from all the screaming. even if she had wiped the spot where both of you came, she flipped her mattress the moment she found the stain.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI jacked off to you eventually, needing to forget you quickly but after cumming found that it just might be her end because she can’t forget how sweet you smell, the taste of you somehow still lingering even when a week or two has gone by and she’s weakened by the lack of your essence—not just from your clit but from the saccharine flowers that you managed to plant in her head and her chest with the memory of your smile, eyes narrowed like it was making room for such a pretty thing. she can’t breathe when she jacks off to you, remembering how your hips twitched into her at how good her clit felt against yours.

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"do you have to go?" wriothesley wears a soft pout, burrowing his head into your shoulder.

"i won't be that long. i'll be back as soon as i can, i promise." you rest your head against his. it wasn't often you saw him get so clingy– a needy wriothesley was a rare one, one that you only saw when he was either sick or pushed to the point of exhaustion.

"you better keep that promise." his voice is muffled against your shirt. "or else you owe me a fresh batch of those choux puffs."

you let a soft giggle slip past your lips, running your hand through his hair. he almost instinctively melts into your touch – warm, soft, home. you. your husband lets out a quiet hum at the affection; this wriothesley was rare, but you most definitely liked this side of him.

"so you're going to let me go, then?" you press a sweet kiss to his forehead.

he grumbles and shakes his head.

"no. i'll make the choux puffs myself."

"come on. i'll only be a little bit. please?"

"it's going to take too long. i can't spend so much time away from you, how could you do this to me?" wriothesley whines. a soft sigh escapes you as your rub your hand against his cheek.

"i'm only going to collect the mail! "

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JUJUTSU KAISEN.

 ✸ PORK KATSU : drabble + fluff + gn.r ───  ( GETO. )  in which you cook for him when you find out that spirits taste horrible. takes place right after his talk with yuki.

✸ COIN MACHINE : wc. 2k + nsfw + f.r ───  ( GOJO. )  the coin machine stops working at the arcade and you and your friend aren’t finished playing. luckily a tall stranger with a heaping basket of coins catches your eye, and you seem to catch his, too.

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݁˖  COIN MACHINE !  ⨯   ──   g.satoru  x f.reader . . .      ╲   the  coin  machine  stops  working  at  the  arcade  and  you and  your  friend  aren’t  finished  playing.  luckily  a  tall   stranger  with  a  heaping  basket  of  coins  catches  your   eye,  and  you  seem  to  catch  his,  too.

wc.  2k . . .  tags.     nsfw (18+),   car  sex,   gojo  being  half  a  gentleman    —  so sorry it ends abruptly, this is my secret santa to @goxjo!!! I’ve held back your gift for far too long and I’m so sorry for that, I’m currently sick and in a foreign country so I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to post this if not now. If you’d like me to write more, I will gladly do so. I hope this suffices for now. Merry Christmas Aki!! I hope you enjoy <33 for the @pixelcafe-network secret santa event !

“Look’it you.”

His hands slid from your waist to the expanse of your ass. His gaze—much like his head—tilted up to meet your gaze as a pool of warmth began to rise from where you sat on his lap. The driver’s seat was certainly the place to be with one Gojo Satoru.

He rolled his lips to dampen it then turned to the side and looked out his car window.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you for even a second, however, eyeing you up and down again. “You sure you don’t wanna head back to your folks’?”

You kept your hands on his shoulders, even scrunching up the fabric on your palm when he couldn’t decide between your two eyes.

It almost seemed timed by the man before you, the way it had only begun to snow a few days ago and now you’ve met the cutest guy who seemed to have brought on the snow himself. When you brush your fingers on his jaw, the tips grazed what you were convinced were strands of snowflakes from his head.

His car had begun to match him with a white coat over it since he had been parked just outside your house for a few minutes now.

“I’m sure that’s not what you sent me here for,” you replied cheekily. Or at least you thought you were even with that grin pinning your cheeks.

“Oh, that’s just a bonus sweetheart,” he said in a lowered voice that drew out a little bit more of himself than before; a kind of slippery fervor that you had somehow coerced from his tongue.

Deciding he’d had enough of your prying eyes, he leaned into your ear and his breath swirled around the shell.

“But we both know you’d like that now, wouldn’t you?”

You leaned back as your brows furrowed. “You were the one making eyes at me at the arcade.”

A snicker left his relaxed grin. “If that’s the story you choose to tell yourself, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you a pot—the very same one calling the kettle black.”

He squeezed your ass and you nearly let out an audible reaction.

“Come now, don’t tell me you’re getting all coy on me after everything you pulled at the arcade.”

“And what exactly did I pull?”

His hands slid back up to your waist, as if withdrawing even just in the slightest degree.

“I don’t have to tell you what you did.” Your name slithered out from his lips and the very sound bled into your reaction.

.

“Shit!” She slammed her first onto the glass.

The sudden noise snapped you out of your trance, having you look away from the tower you had been eyeing since he’d sauntered in.

A very gorgeous tower indeed. One with white hair and crystal eyes.

You turned around to gaze back at the claw machine you had just been leaning on. “Give it up babe.”

Your half-mast eyes shot back to your friend whose eyes reflected the plush keychain they’d lost in the sea of its friends.

“That was my last coin!” Your friend whined as she grabbed the sides of the machine.

You shook your head but smiled as you pulled out your wallet from your back pocket and turned towards the direction of the coin machine.

“C’mon.”

Your friend followed behind you happily as colorful blinking lights painted spots on her skin.

“This arcade’s pretty weird, huh? Needing to put your money into a coin machine so you can play the games.”

“There’s a strategy to it. It’s more common than you’d think.”

“Right.” Your friend stared off into the distance absentmindedly, her eye catching on a pleasing sight. “Hey, babe?”

“Mm?”

“That guy’s totally checking you out.”

You looked over and sure enough, that gorgeous tower of a man stared right back at you.

His smile widened when he’d realized you looked his way.

You looked back at the coin machine and just before you could insert a bill into it, you saw an ‘out of order’ sign hanging above it.

the entire row of coin machines were out of order.

“Aw.” Your friend’s shoulders slumped. “Shall we go get a drink instead?”

But you had your eyes set on the man with snow for hair.

Specifically, on his basket.

He seemed to be sharing it with his friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind if you grabbed a few.

You made your way past the noisy arcade games, weaving through people and noises that jumped out at you before finally arriving at him.

He looked down at you and raised a brow. His brunette friend bent forward with his hands in his pockets to observe the hold up.

“The coin machine’s broken and my friend and I—we kinda wanna play more games. You guys have a basket full of coins, is there any way I could pay you for some?” You asked with a smile pinned to your blushed cheeks.

You made sure to look up at him with your eyes as much as possible; your eyes would naturally be made wider, and with eyes like that it might’ve sent the right message: this wasn’t just about the coins.

He gave you that same wide smile, all too gleeful and reassuring to be letting your guard down over.

“Sure. How about we follow you around and you and your friend can use as many coins as you want, hm?” He suggested, pushing up his circular shades.

“Cool! I’ll treat you to something after we’re done, thank you so much,” you beamed.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured under his breath but with how handsome he was, it was impossible to miss a thing that left him.

Your friend finally came over and the four of you introduced yourselves. Having to yell over the banging noises of the whack-a-moles wasn’t the best circumstance to be introduced to your future husband, but your mind wandered far too long and far into said future that it grew softer than white noise.

So there the four of you were—exploring the arcade and wasting away at claw machines. Luckily, both Satoru and Suguru didn’t seem to have a problem with your friend’s obsession with claw machines, but they did give each other looks every now and then that you had pretended to miss. You were on a mission, and it was crucial to be innocent in an already dully innocent situation.

Time went by too quick, however, and you had missed its call completely.

“Shit.”

Your friend whipped around and blinked at you. “What?”

“That—that stupid christmas party at my place, I’m late,” you groaned, grabbing your bag from the shooting game you were about to step into.

You turned to Satoru and nearly winced. You bit your lip hadd as punishment to yourself.

“Fuck, sorry—I did really have the intention of making it up to you—”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s my treat. You know what? When’s the party?”

“Three.”

It was 2:40pm.

So much for your mission.

“I’ll drive you. We’ll get there in no time.”

“I live outside the city.”

“Not a problem,” Satoru insisted again. “Really, I’ll drive you. Suguru had somewhere else to be anyway.”

He looked towards Suguru, who returned the look and nodded with a quick smile.

“Satoru’s making me do all the work in our school group project.”

Satoru punched Suguru in the shoulder and they both laughed.

“Asshole.” Satoru rolled his eyes but his smile could drown people in blizzards. “So?”

“My friend … also needs a ride …” you pointed towards her, and she stepped out of the shooting game and gave a meek smile that matched your own.

You knew you were pushing it. But before a gorgeous whore, you were first a good friend.

“Oh, sure,” Satoru nodded without hesitation. “We’ll drop your friend off first.”

.

And now you’re sitting in the driveway near your house and on top of Satoru’s lap.

“Fine. Would you prefer I make demands?”

“It would be easier for the both of us, yeah.” Satoru reached for a wallet in his pocket.

“I’m on birth control,” you blurted, eyes tracing his veiny hand and you watched as it slowly retracted into his pocket along with his wallet.

“Duly noted,” he chuckled, and his hands busied themselves on the zipper of his black pants instead.

It didn’t take long before his cock was revealed to you, and he was reclining his chair just less than an inch back for slightly more room.

When you sank down on him, his lips fell loose, thumbs digging into your flesh when he grabbed your waist like he was trying to bruise you from his grip alone.

You sat on him completely and small noises escaped as you tried to get used to the sudden stretch. Lava for blood ran from your wet lips down to your legs while your arms and hands remained iced to the tips.

“Oh, you’re just adorable like this,” he grunted, a low growl falling through the gaps as he gritted his teeth. “Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

A knuckle had already found its way to your lips, your teeth biting down like paper on pencil as you tried your best to be modest in a not-at-all modest situation.

“C’mon.” Satoru chuckled when he gently held your hand in his, peeling it away from your face as you whined.

“Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

“It’s … a little … t-tight …”

“I know, I know … does it hurt?” He kissed a trail from your jaw all the way to your shoulder then down your collarbone.

“No—ngh!”

Satoru rolled a bruising thrust into you, his tip rubbing up against your cervix as he squeezed your ass with both of his hands as if they were handles.

“Fuck,” he cursed crisply into your ear when he hunched over from the pleasure he’d inflicted. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

“You’re so—ah!”

He thrusted in again and then kept up the slow rhythm with a force opposite from its pace, each wet slap dragging your heart closer to your gut as your cheeks ran hot.

“Satoru—fuck—”

“Mm, you’re already shaking—” He was cut off by his own groan as he grabbed your thighs like a lifeline, fingertips digging into your supple flesh as you clenched around him.

He had only thrusted in again when suddenly someone appeared through your front door and Satoru had the instinct of dropping his backrest flat against his backseat to hide the both of you from direct sight.

You both stayed completely silent and noisy simultaneously with your pants and his heartbeat in your ear.

“You should have drove away!” You hissed in gritted teeth.

“Why, do you want to stop?”

You made an indistinguishable noise and he only tilted his head and raised a brow at you.

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart,” Satoru cooed, the saccharine from his tone so viscuous you nearly choked on it.

You slowly rose and peered out to see where the bottom of the window met the person’s head—maybe eyes—rising too much would mean having to pull out from Satoru and you had that very deeply in mind and in other places too.

“It’s my uncle.”

“The creepy one or the one you like?”

“The creepy—wait how do you know about my uncles?”

“Every family has ‘em,” he replied as you physical felt his chest inflate with pride. “Now then.”

Satoru had somehow managed to reach down and swipe a finger against your clit. You twitched, and he tried not to wince at the sudden movement.

“Satoru!” You hissed. “He’s right there!”

“And he can’t see us. Let me guess, he’s taking a smoke right now and can’t give a rat’s ass about the fact that there’s someone parked by your driveway,” Satoru practically barked.

You shushed him, but he only rolled his hips into you causing you to squeal. He rubbed your clit in circles and something about this entiee situation had painfully turned you on even more despite the attitude you were giving him.

“Satoru,” you moaned, leg twitching from the sudden flood of stimulation.

“Do you want me to drive away, princess?” He twirled the little petname around his tongue as he snickered.

[lipsent]

─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt

[lipsent]

AHHH TYSM SORRY I MOVED FROM BINDEDS TO HERE <33 I HAVENT HAD THE TIME TO READ THIS BUT I’LL LEAVE A COMMENT WHEN I DO, THANK YOU SO MUCH

smut, mdni

✧ Pussydrunk Marius

afab!INSERT!reader x Marius von Hagen

My submission for @pixelcafe-network 's secret santa. Wishing you the happiest holidays @bindeds and I hope you enjoy reading through this <3

Spotting Marius in your info made my jaw drop. Instantly knew I was gonna write about him haha. I didn't write too much since I wasn't sure what pronouns to write for so I hope afab reader is fine with you. Else feel free to dm me and I'd be glad to write something that fits you better. Merry Christmas xx

The first time you let Marius eat you out was frankly, mindblowing.

You were in his office, keeping him company before a massive corporate event he was attending, and as your ‘company’ got heated, you finally decided to let him go down on you.

He swears he’s a changed man since that day.

The way you squirm beneath him as he drank up every single drop of you was just so addicting. If it weren’t for that silly event, he could’ve stayed between your legs for eternity.

Alas, heaven doesn’t last forever, and he did reluctantly leave. Although, not without valuable information.

Since that day, you could say Marius is what one would call ‘pussydrunk’. Constantly trailing down your stomach during makeouts or claiming you’re simply a better 'meal’ than whatever his dietrician put him on.

“Just one taste, babe. Promise I’ll be quick.” Marius begs from his newfound spot between your legs. You’re still clothed, but not for long as Marius starts to tug on the waistband of your clothing.

You chuckle slightly, finding it endearing how desperate he is to pleasure you. “Go on…” you assure, giving him all the permission he needs to yank your clothing, followed by your panties, down, disregarding them to the floor.

He stares, mouth slightly agape, at the sight before him: Your beautiful folds, already soaked and spread out bare just for him. The sight alone makes his cock throb in his boxers, aching for just a small taste at what lies in front of him.

"Divine,” he murmurs under his breath, just about audible enough for you to understand. His palms hold a firm grip on your thighs, keeping you spread open for him as his face hovers closer to his long-awaited meal.

He tries his best to savour you. Starting slow, licking one long line from the bottom up, getting his first taste. Stopping right before your clit as he relishes in the way you moan in satisfaction.

He lied. He definitely won’t be quick.

You’re his drug. Every noise he pulls from your pretty lips, every squirm and shake, you tempt him every time. And every time he always gives in.

He continues his assault on your folds, lapping the juices up and making a mess on his face and overpriced garments. Although he doesn’t care. The sight before him can’t compare to any material amount. As long as he can taste your sweet nectar.

“Fuck—princess, m’sorry,” he muffles between your legs, the vibrations going straight to your core as you let out a needy whine. “Don’t think I can stop, not when this pretty pussy tastes so perfect f’me.”

You don’t want him to stop. The way he eats you out, like a starved man finally being fed, is pure ecstasy. Every lick, suck, and nibble makes you feel pure bliss. And it’s not long ‘til you feel that all too familiar tension build inside of you. It never takes all that long when Marius is between your legs. Whether it’s his cock hitting your insides, making you see stars, or his tongue eating you out like you’re his favourite meal, he never fails to deliver.

You clench your legs around him, silently signalling your desperation. He knows you’re close now. His pace speeds up immensely, and his right hand makes its way to your clit, rubbing the string of sensitive nerves.

Between thrusting his tongue in your hole, he murmurs, “C'mon princess, make a mess for me.” he’s panting as you’re moaning praises around his face. One of your hands finds its way to his hair, taking a fistful of his purple locks and pulling him closer to you, desperate for release.

The sensation lets a groan slip past his lips, right on your heat, sending you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm hits you, moaning out Marius’ name while your thighs squeeze against his skull. He doesn’t stop; how could he when this is his favourite part?

He continues prodding your hole and teasing your bud whilst you ride out your orgasm on him. “Just like that, princess,” he praises. “You taste like heaven.”

You’re left a panting mess as Marius finally pulls away, giving him a chance to take a look at your state. Your cheeks are red and your eyes are glossy, but to him, he swears you look like utter perfection. Like a masterpiece he created with his own two hands.

The work of art in front of him does nothing to stop the ache in his crotch. Aching in the constraint of his pants. Although not for long, he climbs on top of you, pinning you beneath him as he slowly removes his own clothes.

“Time for my main course.”

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©lumiambrose ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[lipsent]

Since the booping has returned, reblog if it's okay to spam you with boops!

I wanna be polite and not spam random people without permission , ,

[lipsent]

g.enshin     j.ujutsu kaisen a.rcane    ╰   from  my  archived  blog.

[lipsent]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ BECK. 9TEEN . .ᐟ interacts from @blissen.

⌗ MLIST. GUIDELINES. PALESTINE.

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