#I wanted to get home and use pictures of the looks

[ridingreeves]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈➤𝟤

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾’𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾－𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌－𝖧𝖺𝗋𝗌𝗁 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾，𝖭－𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾，𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗑 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾，𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋

A/N- im not good at part two's so i hope you enjoy it 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗆𝖺 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽❤︎︎

Smoke’s name lit up your phone just after 11 p.m.

You were already turned away from the light, arm tucked under your pillow, trying to pretend the day didn’t shake you. But that name on your screen?

It flipped your whole body heat like a switch.

You groaned and answered anyway. “What, Elijah?”

Smoke chuckled, low and gravelly like he’d been waiting for you to cave. “Damn. Full government? You mad or tryna be professional?”

“I’m tryna go to sleep.”

“Yeah? Thought maybe you was waitin’ on him to get home. But that nigga probably still somewhere drinkin’ kombucha and talkin’ about tax brackets.”

You sighed, loud. “What do you want?”

“You doin’ somethin’ Saturday?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said—Saturday. You busy?”

You sat up a little. “Why?”

“Family cookout,” he said like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just turned your whole emotional equilibrium inside out hours earlier. “Stack throwin’ some ribs on the grill, aunties bringin’ plates, kids gon’ be in the yard actin’ up… you know the drill.”

Your voice flattened. “So? What’s that got to do with me?”

Smoke hesitated, just for a second. Then came the truth.

“Wanna see you there.”

You nearly laughed. “Why would I come to your family cookout?”

“Because you family,” he said, voice low and firm. “Still my son’s mama. Still got my last name. And ‘cause you already know my people been askin’ about you.”

“Oh, have they?” you said, sarcastically.

“Yup,” he said. “Aunt Dee talkin’ ‘bout how you used to bring them red velvet cupcakes, askin’ if you finally left that boy who look like he drive a Prius and listen to meditation playlists.”

You sighed. “Smoke…”

“Look, I’m not askin’ you to come over here and confess your love. I’m sayin’… I'm taking lil man. Come eat. Chill. Be around folks who know you.”

“And him?” you asked.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Smoke scoffed. “Man, he not invited. Hell, if he pull up in them tight-ass pants talkin’ about chakras, Stack gon’ put him on the grill next to the sausages.”

Despite yourself, you snorted.

“C’mon,” Smoke said, quieter now. “You ain’t gotta stay long. Just come through. Our boy gon be running around with his cousins. Let your hair down.”

“I don’t know…”

“Let me make it easy,” he said, voice slick now, confident. “If you don’t pull up Saturday, Stack gon’ post that baby picture of you at our gender reveal. The one where you fell asleep holdin’ that blue onesie with cupcake on your face.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“I already sent it to his phone.”

“Smoke!”

He laughed. Like deep, belly-rolling, “I got her” laughed.

“That’s dirty.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s family business, right?”

You were quiet for a long moment. The idea of seeing them all again—his people, your people once upon a time—was dangerous. You knew that. Knew it’d be stepping back into something you worked too hard to walk away from.

But also?

You missed them.

You missed you—the version of you who laughed too loud on plastic lawn chairs with a cup full of spiked sweet tea. The you who wore crop tops and hoop earrings without worrying about what her new man would think.

“…What time?”

Smoke didn’t say “I knew you’d come,” but you could hear it in the way he exhaled through a grin.

“Three. Bring some of that pasta salad they always beg you for.”

You sighed again, but softer this time. “You better not start with me when I get there.”

“I won’t,” he said, voice low. “I’ma just be happy to see you. And maybe… remind you what you walked away from.”

You shook your head. “You never stop, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you? Nah.”

You didn’t say goodbye. You just hung up and stared at the ceiling in the dark, heart pounding louder than it should’ve been.

SATURDAY

The music hit you before you even turned onto the street—classic Frankie Beverly & Maze, the anthem of every Black barbecue across the country. You rolled down the window a little and smiled despite yourself.

You hadn’t even parked before your son ran to your car.

“They got the bouncy house again.”

“Do they,” you said, trying to keep it cool.

He lit up like a firecracker anyway. “YESSS!”

You parked down the block. Far enough away to feel like you could slip out if things got weird. Close enough to be seen.

And oh, you were seen.

Stack spotted you first, posted by the grill with a white towel over his shoulder and a pair of tongs in one hand.

“Look what the wind blew in!” he yelled, grinning. “Look at her—comin’ through with the thighs out like she ain’t been missed!”

 “So where yo’ boyfriend at? He don’t do sun, or he just allergic to bein’ useful?”

You rolled your eyes. “He had to work.”

Stack laughed like that was the funniest lie he’d ever heard. “Of course he did. Probably somewhere tryna sell somebody an extended warranty.”

“Stack—”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your sunglasses. “Don’t start.”

Stack came over to you, watching your boy run back with his cousins, then winked at you. “Your man let you out the house wearin’ that, huh? He brave.”

You didn’t answer. Just walked behind your boy toward the backyard where all the noise was coming from—kids hollering, grown folks talking over each other, people playing cards.

And then you saw him.

Smoke.

In a black tee, chain glinting in the sunlight, red Solo cup in one hand, leaning back in a lawn chair like he didn’t start half the drama in your life—and dare you to hold it against him.

He stood up when he saw you, smile slow, easy. Dangerous.

“Look who decided to bless the function,” he said, eyes sliding down your body.

“Relax,” you muttered. “I’m just here for my son.”

“Mmhm,” he said, stepping in close enough that only you could hear. “But you brought that sundress and them hoops like you knew I was gon’ be lookin’. That for me, mama?”

You pushed past him.

But the heat in your chest betrayed you.

⸻

The afternoon rolled on in that chaotic, beautiful way only family cookouts can. Kids in the sprinkler. Aunt Dee yelling at folks not to touch her potato salad. Stack on the grill talking ‘bout “I do this,” while burning the hot dogs anyway.

You sat on the folding chair under the tent, trying to stay cool and low-key, sipping sweet tea and avoiding all the side-eyes and slick comments from Smoke’s nosy-ass cousins.

You hadn’t been around in a while, but they remembered.

“Ohhh, she came back,” one of them whispered, not quiet enough.

“Lookin’ like she ain’t missed a beat,” another said, fanning herself.

Smoke was everywhere—tossing his son over his shoulder into the bounce house, cracking jokes with Stack, throwing shade with charm. But every time you glanced up, his eyes were already on you.

Like he never stopped watchin’.

Like he never would.

⸻

Later, when the sun was low…

You were sitting alone now, your son passed out under one of the tents with a plate next to him, cheeks sticky and hair wild.

You leaned back, trying to breathe. Trying to remember why you said you’d come.

Then, of course, Smoke appeared.

He sat down beside you, close but not touching. Just enough for the air between you to get thick.

“Appreciate you comin’,” he said.

You nodded.

He nudged your knee with his.

“You remember last summer’s cookout?” he asked. “Before everything fell apart?”

You looked at him. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You was dancin’ to that Fantasia song like you ain’t had no worries. I remember thinkin’, ‘Damn. That’s mine. Ain’t no way she ever leavin’.’”

Your chest ached. Because you remembered too. How good it had been before it wasn’t.

He turned toward you, full now. Honest. Dangerous in a new way.

“Everybody out here keep sayin’ we done,” he murmured. “But they don’t know how we built this. What we survived together. What we still feel. You think you can run from that, mama? But you always end up back here.”

“Back here don’t mean I’m stayin’.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Then why you still got that ring in your jewelry box?”

You looked at him, stunned.

He smirked. “Yeah. Ej told me. Said you wear it sometimes when you think nobody lookin’. Said you said it was ‘just a memory.’ But you don’t keep memories in velvet cases, do you?”

You stood fast, heart in your throat.

“I gotta go.”

Smoke stood too, but slower. Measured.

“You sure?” he asked. “’Cause you ain’t even tasted Stack’s ribs yet. Or had your second plate. Let me walk you to the car like I used to.”

You didn’t answer.

You just walked to your sleeping son, lifted him gently, kissed his sticky forehead.

Smoke followed behind you all the way to your car.

You laid your baby in the back seat, adjusted the belt, then turned around—and there he was. That same damn look on his face. Like he knew.

“Thanks for today,” you said, voice soft.

“You gon’ thank me better later?” he teased, but there was an ache in it. Something deeper.

You looked at him for a long second. Then whispered

“Smoke… don’t make me come back if you not gon’ keep me this time.”

His jaw clenched.

He stepped forward, hand brushing your wrist.

“I ain’t never stopped wantin’ to.”

You didn’t kiss him. Didn’t let him kiss you.

But the promise hung in the air.

And when you drove off that time, hands still trembling slightly on the wheel?

You weren’t scared like before.

You were curious.

Because you knew now—

That door?

Wasn’t as closed as you told yourself it was.

[mononijikayu]

thinking about how ryomen sukuna husband, marin the dog's dad, national athelete, pro-volleyball player is now stuck in this conundrum of a situation.

if he was being honest, he didn't even know how the national japanese team social media manager got him to do this. maybe it was because they bribed him with his favorite protein shake. maybe it was because they promised to stop bugging him.

but if he admit that they were the things that got him, it would be a lie. no, it was all the hd pictures of you from all the previous games these past season.

he didn't know they had existed since now. but because they had them, he had to get it. he had to get those really pretty pictures of you and keep it for only him.

ryomen sukuna was already regretting saying yes to the lie detector segment. he’d done interviews before for everything and not once has he ever been nervous.

after games, in locker rooms, on buses that smelled like sweat and glory. even when he was exhausted and ragged in the bones and just wanted to go home and sleep hugging you, he'd do it. even if it was a hassle.

but this situation was different. he was terrified. why shouldn't he be terrified? this was a whole different thing and people just knew it. everything about this was not something he was used to.

this was wires, blinking lights, a host who smiled like he knew too much, and a chair that felt suspiciously like it belonged in an interrogation room.

still, he looked good and cool.

sleeves rolled just enough.

the usual cocky slouch.

he had to fake it till he made it.

“all set?” the the social media manager asked, grinning.

sukuna shrugged. “unless this thing shocks me when i lie, yeah.”

they started easy. and he liked that. is your hair naturally pink? no. (duh.) do you think you’re the best player on the national team? yes. (double duh.)

each answer got a soft, obedient beep. truth. he was cruising. smooth. untouchable. until the host pulled a new card. this one looked different. evil, even. ryomen sukuna could sense it. he could feel it in his bones.

“sukuna-san, here's your next question.” the social media manager said slowly, way too pleased with himself, “is it true that when you were newly eighteen, you and your now-wife, [name]-san, had a pregnancy scare… and her dad almost murdered you for it?”

sukuna blinked. once. twice. “…i’m sorry. what?”

someone behind the camera snorted. sukuna’s eyes narrowed. and then, he heard it. he could feel his eye twitch all the sudden. your laugh. soft, familiar, and 100% guilty.

his jaw dropped. “oh my god. you’re here.”

you didn’t even try to deny it at all. i mean, this was the first time in a long while you'd gotten to be ridiculous. especially now that you've come back to work and had your hectic schedule again.

you always took the opportunity when it was offered. so, you sat somewhere off to the side and let yourself be silly. you laughed once again when you heard him curse.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you really sent that in? seriously?”

the host was trying very hard not to lose it.

“answer the question, sukuna-san!"

he sighed. long-suffering. dramatic.

“…fine. yeah. it’s true.”

beep. truth.

and just like that, the flashback hit him like a football to the face. it happend when you were teenagers, last year of high school. nothing even happened back then. it was just hanging out most of the time.

well, there was the occassional making out. but even when it went somewhere, you both stopped. and even when you wanted to, sukuna was the one to stop it all.

after all, he didn't want to ruin your future. you wanted to be an astrophysicist. you had a dream and he wanted you to focus on that. as much as he focused on volleyball.

so that day, it was all too different. and he could feel it in the air. you were on his massive bed, staring at your phone like it owed you an explanation.

sukuna walked in, unwrapping a sandwich, and you just… said it. “my love, i’m ten days late.”

he dropped the sandwich. “what do you mean, ten days late?”

“i mean what i said, my love. i'm late.” you said calmly, yawning in between. “ten. days. late. no period. no signs. my uterus is a cryptid.”

sukuna looked like he aged ten years on the spot. "w-what do you mean? w-we.... we didn't do anything just yet—"

"well i'm not sure!" you whispered to him. "i mean, when on my birthday, we both went and drank together quite a bit and—"

"yeah but i don't remember anything happening!" he says, choking as his red turned flushed. he stops and then his eyes go wide. "wait....i blacked out right?"

"yeah and maybe......" you hide your face in your hands, feeling like you were going to cry.

“okay. okay. don’t panic.” he said, immediately panicking. “we’ll go to a clinic. or a pharmacy. or maybe time travel. can we still time travel?”

you were surprisingly calm, at least from the standards usually had on pregnancy reactions. ryomen sukuna, on the other hand, looked like he was about to faint at the mere thought of diapers and daycare. but the worst part wasn’t the scare.

it was doing the impossible. it was telling your dad about everything. your ex-military, early-rising,suspicious-of-every-boy-on-earth dad, without him getting mad.

you told him while your poor unfortunate boyfriend was in the house. well, he thought that it was appropriate. even if he was shitting himself.

he was sitting politely in the living room with a mug of tea when you broke the news. your dad turned and just stared at sukuna. no yelling. no questions.

just pure, soul-piercing silence. for five whole minutes. ryomen sukuna sat frozen, gripping the mug like it was a grenade. it might be one of the worst days of his life.

you tried to ease the tension. “it’s probably just stress! we’re being responsible! we’re not even sure—”

your dad stood up. slowly. like an ancient god rising to smite. sukuna stood too. immediately. like his legs were possessed. your boyfriend, the former troublemaker and fist slammer, looked scared for the first time in his life.

“s-sir, respectfully, we're not....we're not even sure.” he blurted, voice cracking, “but i can swear to you that i respect your daughter. i-i swear....i'm going to take responsibility."

you covered your face all througout. ryomen sukuna, like years before, started mumbling about how from the very beginning, he's willing to stand up for you and be a father if you were pregnant. it was quite a thing.

in the end, you had nothing to worry about. after you took multiple tests, you were not pregnant. and a few days later, sukuna remembered what happened (likely out of fear of your father) and told you that you did not in fact make love.

back in the studio, ryomen sukuna shook his head like he was still recovering. he sighed as he looked at you. you were smiling at him giving him a thumbs up.

“i had nightmares about that stare for months!” he said. “every time her dad looked at me when i came by the house, i thought he was imagining my funeral arrangements.”

you laughed again off-camera, totally unapologetic. you were really lucky you were cute. he really couldn't get mad. not at you. not even once. he purses his lips.

“and the kicker?” sukuna said, leaning forward with a dry laugh. “she wasn’t even pregnant! just exam week stress. i almost died for nothing.”

he pointed toward where you were standing. “you’re evil.”

beep. truth.

a little while later, ryomen sukuna did get the hd pictures of you in a real big envelope. later, it was added to the pictures of you in his office. and all of that made him sigh, more fondly than ever before. life was good.

"i wonder what it would look like...." he mused to himself. "when we have kids too....."

"my love, dinner's ready!"

he smiles. "i'm coming!"

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 5

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2, Bonus Scene 3, Bonus Scene 4

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Former Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 6589

Synopsis: The summer between Junior and Senior years doesn't go exactly as you'd planned

Warnings: ANGST!! Relationship insecurities, feelings of isolation, bullying, implied excessive alcohol use

Notes: This wasn't my fault! Someone suggested this a while ago and I wasn't planning on doing it because it's too heart-breaking but then my brain went 'do it' and I had to obey 😭

Summer between Junior and Senior Years

The air on campus buzzed with early summer heat and long goodbyes. Students were dragging overstuffed suitcases down the sidewalks, calling out promises to meet up over the summer break, hugging, laughing, and posing for last-day selfies.

Cait adjusted her bag on her shoulder and turned to Vi with a look that said don’t make a scene.

Vi, of course, was already making one. She had you pulled tightly against her chest, chin tucked over the top of your head, swaying the two of you back and forth with a grip that didn’t seem like it would never let go.

“Eight weeks,” Vi muttered into your hair. “Fuck it, you’re not going, you’re coming with us.”

“Vi-”

“Cait can refund your mom whatever she’s booked, you can’t go,” she begged.

“Vi-”

“How the fuck are we supposed to manage without you for two months!”

Cait spoke louder than you, calling firmly, “Violet.”

She sniffed, shaking her head. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it. I’ve got it. It’s only eight weeks. That’s nothing. That’s just, like…Forty gym sessions. Without you. Fuck, I’m gonna be so buff by the time you see me.”

Vi finally let go, though her hand lingered around your waist, reluctant to fully let go.

You chuckled softly, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

Cait stood close, watching the hug, arms folded lightly. She looked so poised, even now, dressed neatly for her family’s car service that was waiting by the curb. She was trying to keep it together. You were already upset, Vi’s neediness and clinginess was starting to come out…Someone had to be strong. But her eyes softened when you turned to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you to the train station?”

“Cait, it’s almost an hour away, in the other direction. You’ve already got to drive three hours; don’t make it five. I’ll be fine, the campus bus’ll be here any minute.”

She nodded unhappily. She knew you were going home to be with your mother over summer – your mum had booked some non-refundable vacation spots months ago, as surprises for you, not knowing you were now in a relationship – but it didn��t mean she wouldn’t miss you.

Still, you’d come spend the last two weeks at the Kiramman summer estate with them (even though Cait’s parents didn’t yet know you were a throuple) but it was still going to be a long summer without each other.

“Have you got your ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Purse?”

“Yes.”

“Phone charger? Headphones, book for the journey?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Cait nodded. “Text us when you get to the station.”

You smiled, trying to force down the tears. “Okay.”

“And when you arrive,” Cait said, stepping forward to cup your face in both hands. “And I expect full updates from you. Books read, meals eaten – with pictures! – outfits worn, exercises done. Photo collages of all the places you go with your mother.”

“Got it,” you whispered. “Everything. You’ll be sick of me.”

Vi’s hand twitched on your waist, resisting the urge to pull you back in. “You’ll be okay, right? You’ve got your mom, and…We’ll have video sex every night-”

You giggled, tears in your eyes. “Not when I’m sharing a room with mum on vacation.”

“Okay, secret titty pics in the shower will suffice for those days,” Vi joked.

“And we made the shared playlist, so we can think of each other when we’re apart…” Cait’s eyes started getting damp.

“Yeah,” you interrupted gently. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Eight weeks. Two months.”

It felt like you were all saying it to reassure yourselves.

As they said their final goodbyes, Cait pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, and Vi bumped her forehead against yours, whispering, “Don’t forget us, baby.”

The campus shuttle bus arrived only a minute after their car pulled away. You queued with your suitcase, trying not to cry as you got on board, settling into a window seat, watching the campus slowly empty of students as they all went home for those glorious weeks between years.

It wasn’t until you put in your headphones and they didn’t automatically connect that you realised the worst had happened.

You hadn’t noticed at the time, but as you’d been scrambling to finish packing that morning, you’d accidentally knocked your phone off the bedside table, and under the bed. In the chaos to get out of the house on time, you hadn’t checked if it was in your bag.

Your lifeline – your only connection to the women you loved – was out of reach. And would be for eight weeks.

The train ride was torturous. Not only did you not have your music or any way to communicate with your girlfriends or your mother, but because you knew Cait and Vi would be worried sick. You hadn’t texted them when you’d arrived at the train station, you hadn’t texted once during the two-hour train ride, and you hadn’t let them know you’d arrived in your hometown. You knew they’d be going insane with worry!

But you tried to put it out of your mind; there was nothing you could do about your phone, and when you got back to your childhood home, you’d just think of another way to contact them. At least you still had your laptop.

You walked through the Arrivals area of the train station, looking out for your mum. You smiled wide when you saw her.

“There you are!” she called happily, running over and pulling you into her arms.

You hugged her back tightly, not wanting to let go. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this; your mum’s shampoo, her perfume, the warmth of her voice, the way she held on like you might slip away.

“Hi, mum,” you choked against her shoulder, trying to hold back tears.

“Oh, I missed you so much, sweetheart!”

Sweetheart.

Your heart panged. Vi. She’d be so worried about you.

“I was texting you, you didn’t reply.”

You shook your head. “I forgot my phone in…My dorm,” you covered quickly.

“Oh, no. We’ll sort something out when we get home. We could always get you one of those ‘burnt’ phones?”

“A burner phone?” you teased.

“Oh, stop it. Come on, let’s get you home. And you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to!”

The house looked the same as ever: white paint peeling just a little more, flower boxes full of red geraniums struggling in the summer heat, wind chimes clinking softly in the breeze.

Inside, everything smelled like lemon polish and fresh laundry. You sank into the familiar cushions of the old sofa, curling your legs under you as your mum bustled about, making tea.

“You look tired,” your mum said, handing you a steaming mug and sitting beside you. “School been that rough?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. The semester ended okay. Just…A lot happened this year.”

“Girlfriend trouble?” Your mum raised an eyebrow and gave you that look – curious, patient, not pushing.

You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb. “Well…”

She grinned. “I knew it! I knew my baby had a girlfriend! Who is she, what’s her name?”

“Well…Um…”

“Oh…Oh, is it a boy?” she asked in surprise, like it were a secret.

That snapped you out of your hesitation. “No, no, definitely not a boy.”

“So, we’re still lesbian?”

You laughed. “Yes, mum, we are still a lesbian.”

“Well, spit it out then! Who is she?”

“Cait-”

“Cait! Awww, that’s such a nice name! Is she-?”

“-And Vi.”

Your mum paused, blinking. “Caitandvi? That’s her name? Where’s she from?”

“No, mum. Caitlyn and Violet. I have two girlfriends.”

She gasped your full name. “Are you cheating on those girls? Do they know about this?”

“No, mum, stop! I have two girlfriends. We’re all together. We’re in a three-person relationship. I have two girlfriends; Cait has two girlfriends; Vi has two girlfriends.”

You could almost see your mum’s brain rebooting. “Oh. Oh, I see! Is that the open relationship stuff?”

You shook your head. “No, not open. The three of us are together, no-one else. Closed unit.”

She finally nodded. “Okay, okay, got it. How long have you been together?”

You sipped your tea. “Since just before Christmas.”

She gasped. “And why haven’t you told me this before?”

You looked at her. “Mum, can you imagine trying to have the conversation we just had…Over the phone? When half the time you still face the camera the wrong way.”

She rolled her eyes at you. “Alright, missy, settle down.” She was quiet for a beat. “Are they nice to you?”

You smiled a little, surprised by the question – and the emotion it stirred. “Yes. They make me feel safe. Loved. Seen.”

Your mum nodded slowly. “Then I’m happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet them. It’s not about the shape of the relationship. It’s about how it makes you feel.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, feeling so relieved at your mum’s acceptance and blessing. “They’re really different. Cait’s like…Precision and care. She was Class President this year, and she’s won again for next year too! And Vi’s all fire; she’s on the school football team. They balance each other, and somehow…I fit in there too.”

“They sound like good girls,” your mum said, sipping her tea.

Your eyes stung a little. “I miss them already. I can’t believe I dropped my phone at home and didn’t even notice! I haven’t been able to get in touch with them. They’re going to be so worried about me, or think I’m ignoring them!”

Your mum reached over, rubbing your shoulder gently. “They’ll be waiting for you. The ones who love you always are.”

The first few days at home weren’t terrible. Maddening. But not terrible. You’d spent the first evening trying to figure out how the hell you could contact either, or both, of them.

Your mum had offered to buy you a burner phone – but you didn’t know their numbers.

You’d considered email – but you didn’t have their email addresses.

You could see their social media accounts, but you couldn’t comment or message without an account.

You’d tried to get into your private account (that you only ever used to doomscroll and look at what Cait and Vi posted), but the platform wanted to send a verification code to your phone number – which you didn’t fucking have access to! You’d emailed the help desk, offering to answer any and all security questions – do anything they needed! – but they said there was nothing they could do without your phone.

You could write them a goddamn letter – except you didn’t know either of their families’ addresses, and the Kiramman summer estate was unlisted.

And this rate, you’d have to resort to smoke signals or carrier pigeons…You could just imagine trying to wrangle a bird, sticking a letter to its leg and telling it to go find Cait or Vi. That would only go well…

You unpacked slowly, folding your clothes into the drawers of your childhood bedroom, surrounded by posters you hadn’t bothered to take down when you left for college. Your mum made all your favourite meals, fussed over your hair, asked too many questions about your relationship. It was familiar. Safe.

But not the same.

You kept reaching for your phone, again and again, only to realize it wasn’t in your pocket. Wasn’t on the dresser. Wasn’t in your bag. It was nowhere.

Day by day, the silence stretched out longer. No Cait teasing you in the morning with perfectly timed sensual voice notes. No Vi sending blurry selfies from the grocery store with captions like do we need ten frozen pizzas?

Just…Nothing.

Your mum had surprised you with a disposable camera on day three.

“I know it’s not a fancy phone but you can still take pictures to show the girls! You’ll have to get them developed and printed, but that’s what we did back then,” she explained as she unpacked some groceries.

You examined the camera with a smile, eyeing the extra rolls of film she brought. “Thanks, mum. This is kinda cool. Retro.”

“Please do not describe anything from my youth as retro,” she scolded.

So you started taking photos. You hoped they were okay, you couldn’t see what you’d taken. Maybe everything would end up blurry, or your finger would be over the lens. You captured your outfits of the day – OOTD, as you’d learnt from Cait’s social media. Most of your meals, so Cait would know you’d eaten, even if she wasn’t getting live updates. The beach day you and your mum went on (obligatory secret titty pic for Vi, which then gave you a panic attack thinking of an employee at a photo shop who may end up seeing your boobs). An award-winning photo of your feet propped up on the porch swing, a book in your lap, the sunset in the distance, a gentle blur to the photo to give it that soft and romantic vibe.

The knowledge that the girls would see the photos in the future kept you going, even when you were cut off from them. It was a little thing to hold on to.

But by day ten the doubts began to creep in.

You’d been looking at their social media accounts over the days. Smiles, sun, cocktails by the pool, evening meals in restaurants Cait’s family paid for. Not one mention of you, or missing someone special. Nothing. Just them enjoying themselves.

Two carefree love-struck college girls, living their best summer life.

Maybe it was easier if they didn’t love you back.

Maybe it was better not to hope.

Maybe they’d gone back to Caitlyn’s estate, to her rich family and fancy silverware and acres of land, and realized how easy it would be to forget about you.

You began to wonder if you’d made it all up. If the love was temporary. Conditional. Something that had ended with the school year, like a class schedule or a lease agreement.

Without Cait or Vi checking in, holding you, reminding you that you were safe and wanted and real… You’d never felt so alone.

You walked past your old high school on your way to the grocery store, and it made your stomach twist. Your mind filled with all the horrible memories of your years there – the mocking, the tormenting, the horrific isolation.

The fluorescent lights in the grocery store buzzed quietly overhead. You hadn’t meant to linger, just grab milk for the two of you and leave. But your thoughts kept wandering – without a phone to distract you – to the feel Cait’s fingers tracing your hip, Vi’s laugh muffled into your neck, the smell of both of them next to you in bed.

“Oh my god, look who it is,” a voice drawled behind you.

You turned slowly, praying it wasn’t—

Heather Scott. The girl who played the prank on you in high school, outing you to the whole school, your humiliation published on social media for the world to see. Same perfect teeth, same overly tanned skin. She looked you up and down with a smirk that made you feel fifteen again.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here,” Heather said, arms crossed. “You always acted like you were too good for this town. What happened, college not work out?”

You frowned. “It’s summer break, Heather.”

Her eyes scanned you. “You look the same. Bit skinnier. Still quiet, huh? Still lesbo?”

You wanted to disappear, but somehow you couldn’t move.

“Oh, come on. Not learnt how to take a joke yet? Bet you’re still the weird girl no-one wants to sit with.”

Your cheeks burned. “Actually, I’m not.”

She raised her eyebrows. “No? You finally got some friends at that fancy college?”

“I do, yeah. I’ve got a best friend-” Shit, you haven’t been able to talk to Powder, either!

She laughed. “Wow, that’s super impressive…”

“And two girlfriends.”

Heather blinked. “Two girlfriends? Now I know you’re making shit up.”

“Look them up: Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet Lanes,” you challenged, even though you hated every desperate word pouring out of your mouth. Why were you doing this? Why were you so desperate for this bitch’s approval? You’d stopped liking her the second she aided in your public humiliation, and that was years ago!

She just laughed to herself as she tapped away on her phone. After a few seconds, she paused, eyebrow lifting. “Blue hair, kinda tall?”

“Yeah! That’s Cait-”

“You’re seriously trying to tell me that these two,” she turned the phone around and showed you the latest photo on Cait’s profile – the two of them sitting in the shallow end of a pool, each with a drink in hand, kissing passionately, “Drop-dead gorgeous women are into you?”

Your heart twisted. “Yes-”

“No fucking way, Y/N. They are way too hot for you. They’re both off-the-scale hot, and you’re seriously like a three on a good day. And besides,” she scrolled back on Cait’s feed, shaking her head, “There’s no mention of you. No other girlfriend, they don’t say they miss anyone, they’re not looking forward to seeing anyone…”

Your heart twisted again. “I’ve asked them to keep me off social media-”

“Why, if you’re really together? Oh, because of that stupid prank years ago? You really think people from school will still pick on you for that? No-one gives a fuck about you anymore.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a fucking loser, Y/N. I bet you’ve made up this whole thing in your head, and these girls don’t even know you. Hey, let me check.” She tapped away on her phone, chewing her gum for a few seconds, and then laughed. “Ha! See!”

She turned the phone back around, showing you a private message screen between her and Cait.

Heather Scott: Y/N says hi

Caitlyn Kiramman: ??

Your lip trembled, your heart pounded.

No.

No, they wouldn’t.

Two question marks doesn’t explain anything! That could mean anything!

Then another message popped up:

Caitlyn Kiramman: Stay the fuck out of our business

* * * Ten days earlier * * *

“Do you think she’ll miss us?”

Vi lay on Cait’s chest in the back of her family’s car, a waterproof blanket beneath them and fluffy one tucked over their naked bodies. It was a three-hour drive to the Kiramman summer estate from college; they had perfected a routine, one they couldn’t wait to show you.

Vi held Cait tightly, as Cait stroked her fingers through her dark hair, lightly scratching her scalp.

“Of course she will.”

“Has she messaged?” she lifted her head a little of Cait’s chest, only to have her hand bring it back down.

She checked her phone screen, unable to hide her disappointment. “Nothing yet.”

“But it’s been two hours,” Vi protested.

“I know,” Cait soothed, “But she might have been in a rush at the station, or maybe her phone died on the train. She’ll let us know as soon as she can. Now, do you want another quick round, or a 30-minute nap before we have to make ourselves presentable?”

Vi growled playfully. “What do you think?”

The Kiramman summer estate was beautiful, quiet, and utterly suffocating. The white brick mansion sat surrounded by orange groves, miles from the nearest neighbouring mansion. Complete with a large pool and bar, terrace, home gym, games rooms, home cinema, and much more, it was the perfect place to escape city life for those precious few weeks of glorious summer weather.

Cait stood at the balcony of her bedroom, arms crossed, watching the distant lights of the city on the horizon. Her family’s staff had unpacked their things as they got settled with tea with her parents. The sheets were pressed, the pillows fluffed, and dinner had been served with ceremonial polish.

But it was missing something. Someone.

Vi tossed and turned behind her, huffing softly. “She hasn’t texted.”

“I know.”

“I know she can be forgetful, but she wouldn’t just disappear.” Vi sat up, bare arms tense, tattoos flexing with every anxious movement. “What if something happened to her?”

Cait turned. “Maybe her phone died, or maybe she’s just catching up with her mother. She’s been saying for weeks how much she’s missed her. She’ll reach out when she can.”

Vi ran her hands through her hair, agitated. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” Cait admitted gently. She crossed the room, sitting beside Vi. “But she knows how much we love her.”

Vi leaned forward, elbows on knees. “How can she not have texted back yet? She cried when we were 10 minutes late home last week!”

Cait smiled faintly, brushing Vi’s arm with her fingers. “Okay, to be fair to her: her period was really messing her up that day and she later admitted that she overreacted.” They both smiled softly. “She’ll come back to us, Violet. She always does.”

Cait’s mother, Cassandra, insisted they have tea on the terrace, dressed in light summer linens, surrounded by the expansive gardens filled with bright flowers and gleaming marble paths.

Vi barely touched her tea, her legs jostling under the table constantly.

When they returned to Cait’s room, Vi threw herself down onto the chaise, groaning.

“I’m losing my mind,” she said into a pillow.

Cait sat on the edge of the bed, undoing the clasp of her sandals. “It’s only been three days.”

“Exactly. And I already feel like I’m going to chew through the walls. Why hasn’t she messaged us back! Or even just read the messages!”

Cait looked over at her, walking over slowly. “Is this about missing her, or needing something else?”

Vi met her eyes. “Both.”

Cait’s expression softened.

Vi looked up at her, and for once her bravado cracked – she looked small. “She grounds me. I’m angry all the time and she just…Dissolves it.”

Cait kissed her forehead, then pushed her onto her back on the chaise with a hand on her throat. “Then let me help until she’s back.”

Vi pulled her hips close with a desperate sigh. “You better. I’m losing it here.”

They always shared Cait’s bed at the summer home – the Kiramman parents weren’t naïve enough to imagine that the girls would sleep separately. It was soft and plush, a wonderful bed by all accounts. But neither Cait nor Vi had slept well since they arrived.

“Cait,” Vi whispered desperately on the fourth night, “Touch me.”

Cait turned, stroking her hand down Vi’s side. “You’re trembling.”

“I just…I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I know.”

Vi pressed into her, mouth at Cait’s collarbone. “You have to take it. All of it. Please. I can’t be gentle.”

Cait allowed Vi to roll her over in a practiced, effortless shift of movement. “Then don’t be. Let it out. You know I can take it.”

Vi’s fingers clawed at her, and Cait kissed her like a balm. Steady, grounding, there. There was no teasing. No slow build. Just desperate hunger, and the two of them trying to chase something that didn’t feel whole without their third.

Afterwards, Vi broke down a little, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. Cait pulled her close, combing through her hair as they lay in the dark.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispered.

“Not until she’s home.”

Cait stared at her phone, brows drawn.

“She still hasn’t read any messages,” she said, sitting on the lounger by the pool, clad in her favourite bikini.

Vi paced the patio like a trapped tiger. “She always answers. Even if it’s just a heart. Even if she’s in class.” She groaned, squeezing the back of her neck. “I knew something felt off. Something’s happened.”

Cait raised a hand. “Let’s not panic. It could be something small. Broken phone, tech issue...” But even as she spoke, she didn’t believe it.

Vi paused, hands clenching and unclenching. “What if it’s not?”

Cait shook her head powerlessly. “Well, she hasn’t blocked either of us, and she hasn’t left our group chat. So, we’re not dumped yet. Plus, imagine how she must be feeling – at least we’re together; she doesn’t have either of us, she’s on her own.”

They both sat in silence for a moment.

“I just…” Vi started, then stopped. Her voice cracked slightly. “I just miss her so bad, Cait. And I feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t, because I’m with you and I love you – I love you so fucking much – but it’s like...Half of me’s gone.”

Cait took her hand and pulled her down to sit next to her on the lounger. She wrapped her arm around Vi’s waist, leaning into her chest.

“You’re allowed to miss her,” Cait whispered. “I miss her too. Every time I wake up and she’s not wedged between us like our little space heater, I miss her all over again. Every time I send her a text and see it sitting there, unread. You’re not alone in that.”

Vi buried her face in Cait’s shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d fall this hard. For both of you. But I did. And now it feels like she’s just…Gone.”

Cait pulled back just enough to cup her face. “She’s not gone. She loves us. We’ll figure out what’s going on soon, and then we’ll laugh about how panicked and stressed we were.”

Vi nodded slowly, clinging to the hope in Cait’s voice.

Vi barely made it halfway through breakfast.

The Kirammans had insisted they join the morning meal on the terrace again – polished silverware, crystal glasses, and political small talk.

Vi pushed her food around her plate – having drunk too much the night before – and gave clipped, muttered responses. Her hand twitched toward her pocket every few minutes, checking her phone again and again for a message she knew wouldn’t be there.

When her fork clattered too loudly against the porcelain, Cait’s mother looked at her in concern. Vi muttered an apology and stood.

“I’ll go check on her,” Cait said smoothly, folding her napkin and excusing herself to follow before Cassandra could ask what on Runeterra was going on with the two of them.

She found Vi standing beneath the covered walkway, staring out at the fountain like she wanted to punch it.

“She’s still not answered,” Vi said when Cait came up beside her.

“She still hasn’t blocked us, though. That’s something.”

Vi huffed, tugging at her hair. “You don’t get it.”

“I miss her too, Vi,” Cait replied defensively.

“No, Cait, I need her. I wake up thinking about her, I can’t sleep without her breathing next to me. You’re my rock, you always have been, but Y/N…She’s like breathing now.”

Cait didn’t speak. She only reached out, gently curling her hand around Vi’s, pulling her forehead to rest against hers

“I don’t know how to calm down without her. I need her here. I need her safe. I can’t do another seven weeks of this, Cupcake,” she wept.

“We’ll help each other,” Cait said. “And when we get back, we’ll remind her how much she matters to us. Every day.”

They didn’t speak much that morning. Vi was up first, pacing the length of their bedroom like a caged animal. She needed to fucking destroy something. Cait stayed in bed longer than she normally would, her arm curled around your pillow, which Vi had insisted they bring, despite Cait’s protests that it was ‘a little much.’ Both women were grateful for it now.

She buried her face in it, inhaling your scent, and when Vi looked back over to check on her, Cait didn’t lift her head.

“Hey.” Vi knelt beside the bed. “You alright?”

“I thought I’d be stronger than this,” Cait admitted. “I thought if anyone would hold us together, it’d be me.”

Vi’s heart ached seeing her like this, neat hair loose, voice small.

“We both suck at this,” Vi said, crawling into bed beside her and pulling Cait against her chest.

“I want to be with her. I want to wake up with her. I want her curled up on the couch reading while you and I bicker about what to make for dinner.”

Vi smiled softly. “I miss those dumb slippers. The ones with the ears. I always said they weren’t cute. But now I realise how fucking adorable they are.”

“I miss her humming while she brushes her teeth.”

Vi leaned her forehead against Cait’s. “We’re so gay.”

Cait laughed for the first time in days.

By the eight day, something had changed.

Cait had retreated into a cold silence. She read books, scrolled on her phone, posted pool pics like nothing was wrong. But Vi saw through it – the coolness that was a mask for something fraying underneath.

That afternoon in their room, Cait pulled out her laptop and scrolled through photos, silent.

“She’s in every one,” she said softly.

Vi came to lie beside her on her front, looking at the black-and-white photo on the screen.

You were in a towel, hair wet and smiling shyly as Cait took the picture.

“We made her feel safe,” Cait said. “And now she’s gone home, without us. To that place that was never safe for her.”

Vi swallowed. “We’re gonna bring her back. We have to. She’s probably scared. Or lonely. Or convinced we’ve forgotten her.” She gritted her teeth. “Why can’t we just say we miss her in a post?”

Cait shook her head softly. “She asked us to keep her off social media. We made a promise, Vi. We can’t break her trust just because we miss her.”

Vi teared up a little. “But if she’s watching our feeds, she’d see it.” Her throat started burning and she had to swallow thickly. “She’s hurting somewhere, I know it. And we can’t do anything about it.”

“We will,” Cait said. “As soon as we get home.”

“In seven weeks,” Vi almost sobbed into the comforter.

Taking a break from the pool, Cait and Vi were in the pool’s private kitchen getting some cold drinks. Cait sat on a stool at the bar, Vi rifling through the glass bottles on top.

Cait looked up. “Vi…,” she said softly, a small shake of her head.

The dark-haired girl sighed, hanging her head. With annoyed acceptance, she pulled out a pitcher of fruity mocktails from the fridge, pouring two glasses.

“Day ten,” she said, voice flat.

Cait replied quietly, “I know,” staring at her dark phone screen. Waiting for message. Anything.

Vi braced her arms on the counter. “What if she thinks we’ve moved on? What if…What if her mom said something? Or some dipshit from town?”

“We don’t know that. But we know her. We know how much she loves us.” It had become a mantra for them both during their stay.

“Then why hasn’t she tried to message? Not even a fucking email?”

“Violet, she doesn’t know our emails,” Cait reminded delicately. “She doesn’t have our numbers memorised. Who does, these days?”

Vi looked up, red-rimmed eyes meeting Cait’s. “I feel like I’m falling apart. And I’m with you. That should be enough, right? But it’s not. And I hate that.”

“Vi. You don’t have to choose between me and her. Missing her doesn’t mean you love me less.”

Out of nowhere, Cait’s phone pinged. She grabbed for it frantically, almost dropping it in the process.

1 message from [Unknown Contact]

It was you! It had to be! You found a way to make an account!

Cait’s face lit up…And then dropped.

“Who the fuck is Heather Scott?” Vi demanded, reading over Cait’s shoulder.

“And why is she with Y/N?”

Cait typed back ‘??’, dreading the response she would get. “I don’t think Y/N has ever mentioned-”

Vi’s head shot up. “She’s that bitch!” she shouted, accidentally too close to Cait’s ear.

“Ow, Vi!”

“She’s that bitch that pretended to like Y/N in high school and then posted her online! Heather Scott!” she slammed her hand down on the marble top in rage.

Cait glared back at her phone, fury rising within her.

‘Stay the fuck out of our business’

She had to stop herself throwing her phone down, putting her head in her hands, rubbing her scalp to try and calm down.

“I want to go home,” Vi said firmly. “Now. We’ll go home, and we’ll find a way to get to Y/N from there. I don’t give a fuck if we have to drive to her town and scream her name out the car window. She’s not safe there.”

Cait nodded. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

The front door creaked as Cait eased it open. The house was still. Dim with the blinds half-drawn, stale with the scent of summer heat. Vi followed behind her, suitcase thunking softly against the floor as she put it down, exhausted from the journey. Three-hours was a long way to sit in tense silence.

Faintly, from upstairs, they heard sniffles.

“Y/N?” Cait called gently, looking towards the staircase, her heart in her chest.

Silence.

Then more sniffles, a weak cough.

Vi ran ahead, heart pounding. What if you were hurt? How long had you been there? What if you’d broken your legs, or your back?! What if you needed a fucking ambulance because you were dying?! Cait heard her footsteps along the hallway upstairs, and then—

“Cait,” Vi’s voice cracked, “She’s here.”

Cait dropped her own bag and rushed toward the bedroom. God, what would she find? The door was open, Vi in the doorway.

You knelt on the floor by the bed, a chaotic assortment of your things on the floor around you, a suitcase open in front of you as you shoved things in, uncaring for the state of your clothes. Your phone lay on the comforter, charging by the cable, the battery image flashing red.

“Y/N?” Cait called gently, not wanting to overwhelm you, even as she longed to pull you into her arms. Her soft tone just earned more sniffles and a miserable hiccup. “Sweetheart, did your phone die? Is that why you didn’t reply to us?”

You groaned loudly, coughing as you cried.

Why was she being nice to you!

Your eyes were red, as though you’d not stopped crying for hours. You were crying – sobbing your fucking heart out – as you kept stuffing your items into the suitcase, purposefully not looking at the two girls.

Vi didn’t hesitate.

She ran over and dropped to her knees in front of you. “Baby. No. No, no, no. What are you doing? Talk to us, baby.”

You looked up slowly. Your voice was hoarse. “I lost my phone on the first day, and I didn’t hear from you, and I couldn’t contact you,” sob, cough, “and I thought…You were just faking before. And I made it all up in my head. I couldn’t-,” cough, “I didn’t have any photos to prove to myself it was real.”

Vi let out a sound that was more of a howl than anything else and pulling you into her lap, arms wrapped tightly around you, like she was afraid you might disappear. You were too upset, too weak, to even wrap your arms around her in return.

“You didn’t make it up,” Cait said gently, stepping into the room. She looked shaken too, but her voice was steady. She came over to kneel next you, her hand gently but firmly stroking your back. “We’ve been messaging you every day. We thought you wanted space, or you were having so much fun with your mother. Vi was tearing her hair out.”

“I was going to leave,” you confessed. “I didn’t want to come back here, and you both pretend it never happened.”

Vi pulled back, cupping your cheek. “Don’t say that. We’ve been counting down the days to see you again. We missed you. We fucking missed you, sweetheart.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough,” you said. “Not enough to miss. Not enough to matter.”

Cait leant forward, kissing your shoulder. “You are the most important part of us. We love you so much, sweetheart. You belong here. With us.”

Your jaw trembled. “But Heather Scott-”

Vi growled. “Fuck that bitch and anything she said to you.”

“I don’t want to be apart again,” you whispered.

“Then don’t be,” Cait said. “Move in with us, officially.”

Vi nodded fiercely, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re already here all the time anyway. You can choose new bedsheets, we’ll redecorate whatever you want!”

Your lower lip trembled and then you sobbed even harder.

“I missed you both so much,” you breathed.

“We’re home now,” Cait said. “And so are you.”

They didn’t unpack. They didn’t talk about what they’d missed or try to explain the ache in their chests in any eloquent way. They just held you close.

You lay together in bed, your head nestled on Cait’s chest. Vi had curled around your back, arm slung tight over your waist. Cait had her phone in a holder over your heads, talking you through all the photos and videos they’d taken in the first few days when they could, somewhat, function. Their voices soothed you, but you weren’t truly listening. You just needed them there. And they knew that; they’d tell you everything again when you all felt better. The familiar scent of the house, the softness of clean sheets, and the presence of the women you loved wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I didn’t realize how quiet it would be without you,” Cait murmured into your hair.

Vi gave a soft grunt. “I was tearing through the garden like a maniac.”

“I slept in my mum’s room a few times,” you whispered. “I felt twelve again.”

Neither Cait nor Vi said anything for a long time. They just held you tighter.

Your voice was muffled when you continued. “I ran into Heather. The girl who played that prank on me. She asked if I was still weird and lonely, and I immediately started trying to prove myself to her. Like, ‘I’m cool now, I have two girlfriends!’”

Vi lifted her head slightly, about to speak – probably something brash and full of fire – but Cait gently touched her arm.

“We’re proud of you,” Cait said quietly. “That you stood up for yourself.”

You shook your head sadly. “Wasn’t much ‘standing up’. I cracked the second she was mean to me, about us.”

Vi sighed and kissed the back of your shoulder instead. “We’re going to remind you every day that you’re not that girl anymore. And even if you were, you’d still be ours.”

You sniffled. “I thought maybe I’d made it all up. You two, this house, everything. It felt too good to be true.”

Vi kissed the edge of your jaw. “No way. You’re the best part of it.”

Cait adjusted slightly to press a kiss to your forehead. “You ground us, darling. We fell apart when you were gone.”

You lay like that for a long while, tangled in warm limbs and whispered promises, the kind too soft and slow for the daytime.

Eventually, Cait reached for a remote and turned on the soft glow of the fairy lights they’d strung up before summer – your idea to give your photos and videos some mood lighting. The room filled with a delicate pink warmth.

“Let’s stay like this,” she said. “No expectations. Just us.”

Outside, the evening deepened. Inside, they breathed as one.

Safe. Together. Home.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup

[chromehoney]

Hey really like your writing and I was wondering if could do more smoke and stack black!fem!curvy/plusize!reader. I do think this will go well with the nerdy/girl next door or the independent baddie type of reader. But you make her personality and lifestyle whatever you want.

aweee thank youu!!! and ofcccc , this is a little rushed since i just wanted to get atleast one request done today so excuse errors!!!

You was tired. Tired of them twins—Smoke and Stack—playing in your face like they didn’t want you. Like they ain’t watch your ass in every room, talk about “that damn dress,” whisper in your ear at family functions, make you cream off one look. They’d tease, flirt, touch your thigh in the truck, but never make a real move. And the second you put a little distance? Act like they owned you.

So tonight, you said fuck it.

Your thick ass was outside at one of your friends parties in a strapless bodycon that gripped every roll and dip like sin itself. Soft pink, and made to make a man stutter. You had on lashes that batted without tryin’, nails long and wicked, diamond studs shining through your wild curly hair as you laughed with your girls. You posted a story before you left the house, of a picture you took of your body in your long vertical body mirror, the dress was thin so the picture got the outlines of your tits and your nipples were poking out, and the picture also showed a lil’ hip. You weren’t playin’ shy no more.

That was until your phone buzzed in your purse.

SMOKE: Bring yo’ ass home.

STACK: Before we come find you.

Your heart jumped.

You swallowed thick. Laughed a little too hard, trying to play it off—until you caught sight of him. Trey. One of Smoke and Stack’s old running buddies. Standing across the bar like he ain’t have a damn drink, arms crossed, eyes on you. No smile. Just watchin’. Close enough to move if needed. That’s when you knew. They had eyes. Ears. Everywhere . Shit, they probably knew what color your panties were before you left the house.

You snatched your keys. Whispered to your girls, “I gotta go. Emergency.” They looked confused, but you didn’t stop to explain. Just shuffled fast in those heels, heart pounding, thighs rubbing, heat blooming between them before you even made it to your car. The house was dark as hell when your car pulled up.

But the porch light was on.

They was waiting. Smoke leaning against the railing, Stack sitting back in the chair beside him, both passing a fat joint between calloused fingers. Lazy, country, smug as hell. They wore black tees that clung to muscle, jeans sitting low, boots tapping against the wood.

You stepped out the car slow.

Their eyes dragged down your body like rough hands. That damn dress clung to your ass like it was made to sin. Stack’s jaw clenched. Smoke exhaled smoke through his nose, eyes low and hot. “Didn’t we say bring yo’ ass home?” Stack muttered, voice thick like molasses and thunder.

“She was tryna show out,” Smoke said, barely glancing at his brother, like he couldn’t take his eyes off you. “Look at her. Lil’ dress tight as hell. Like she want somebody to rip it off.”

“You mad?” you asked, head cocked, lips pursed—trying to keep your bratty edge, even while your thighs pressed tight. “No,” Stack stood up, slow and towering, licking his lips. “We done bein’ mad.” “We done playin’, too,” Smoke added. You ain’t get another word out before you were pushed back against the front door, that joint flicked into the grass.

Four hands. Rough, greedy, mean.

Smoke grabbed your chin and made you look up. “You think you grown, huh? Think you can tease us? Walk around in that lil’ dress and not get fucked like we hate you for it?”

Stack was already behind you, hand fisting the hem of that tight fabric. “You made us chase you. Made us watch you postin’ pics like you single.” “I am—” His hand cracked across your ass. “Say it again.”You whimpered. “I ain’t!…” “Damn right,” Smoke growled, dragging his tongue down your cleavage. “You ours. Say it.”

“Y-Yours—”

And then they was on you. Everywhere. Clothes ripped, dress yanked, lips bitten, thighs pinned wide against the door. You were lifted, filled, devoured. One held your wrists while the other fucked you deeper than breaths. Their mouths left marks on your tits, your throat, your soul. Each thrust came with a growl, a curse, a whisper about how they should’ve claimed you sooner. You cried and came, then cried some more—smeared and swollen, your lip gloss gone and your sass unraveling like lace.

They fucked you like they hated you. But kissed you like they owned you. And when it was over—your body limp and slick in their arms, breath shallow—Smoke played with your curls as he fixed his mouth to speak. “We done playin’, baby.

Stack kissed your neck, slow and possessive. “Time to settle the fuck down.“ You blinked up at them. Mascara running. Cheeks flushed. And all you could do was nod. Because deep down… You knew you weren’t going nowhere ever again.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers!

btw , i got alllll yalls requests done! i’m surprised but i did it. so imma drop em in bulk , another one should be coming out either later on today to tomorrow .. depending on how im feeling!! after they all drop imma give myself a few daysss to rest from writing before i start a new fic.. ‘m thinking maybe annie x fem reader ??? andddd there’s also gone be a new series comin’ out so stay tuned for that.

[smileycarat]

cozy comforts

your favorite part of the day is coming home to your boyfriend

masterlist

Returning home to an empty house is a luxury. The living room lamp casts a gentle ambient glow, creating tranquility that is nearly impossible to interrupt. Fatigue seeps into your limbs as you walk through your home in silence. When you pass the kitchen you spy a bright yellow sticky note fixed to the microwave sporting neatly written directions on how to reheat your dinner.

You can't help but smile subtly as you picture the faint furrow on his forehead when he discovers later that you disobeyed orders once more. You have to pick your battles for another day and continue your journey to your bedroom.

Behind the slightly open bedroom door, you can hear the TV humming. Warm and steady, the amber glow of your favorite salt lamp seeps into the hall. Mingi used to be the biggest tease about it, referring to it as "your little pink rock." But as your relationship progressed, he started flicking it on for you without even asking, reaching for that small comfort item the same way you did.

He is stretched out over the bed, face down, with one leg thrown over the tangled comforter and his face smashed into your pillow as though it were his.

Slipping into the bathroom, you start your shower. It's enough to lift some of the load of the day but it won't do anything to wake you up fully. By the time you finish, your boyfriend is still wrapped up in blankets and remains blissfully snoozing. He does slightly perk his head up when he hears you enter, barely managing to open his eyes.

Tenderly shutting the bathroom door, you say, “Go on back to bed, honey, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He softly lets out a sigh, rolls over onto his side, his soft, sleepy gaze following you as you put away your jewelry, and pad over to switch the TV off.

“How was your day?” he questions in a low, groggy tone from sleep.

"It was okay," you whispered, trying to match his quiet tone. You near the bed and kick off your slippers. "Long, but I'm so glad to be home."

Rolling onto his side, he automatically starts pulling back the comforter to make space for you as his arms slide under the blanket. The warmth of his body relaxes your back and with it, some of the tightness eases off. You exhale a long, content sigh at the comfort of your body against his.

He pecks the crown of your head, almost as a reflex. "I didn't hear you start the microwave. You know you need to eat."

You let out a soft chuckle at the tone of his voice. Despite having your back to him you can practically see the frown on his face. "I'm more tired than hungry right now, I don't want to risk the tummy ache."

His hand reaches for yours under the cover, long fingers crossing with yours as he rests your joined hands on your chest.

"You worry me sometimes," he says into your hair, his tone almost inaudible.

You press a kiss to your joined hands, "I know, honey. I'm fine, though, you take care of me plenty."

He hums and moves you to lie on your back so you can look up at his eyes. "Still. I just wish I could do more to ease the stress off your shoulders."

You can't help but melt at the pout on his face, his eyes struggling to stay open but fighting against sleep just to look back at you. "You do more than enough, trust me when I say that you are the reason I get through the day."

He smiles gently, eyes fluttering open. "You know, you're not supposed to steal my pick-up lines."

You laugh softly and turn to bury your face in his chest. "I learned from the best."

"True," he laughs gently, the movement from his chest slightly jostling you. A few seconds go by before he whispers, "I missed you today."

"I missed you too, I wish I were just here all day."

He kisses your hair again, his breathing starting to even out again. "Just quit your job and stay here with me then."

You can't help but snort. "Sure, I'll tell my manager that I've found my true calling, cuddling with my boyfriend."

Mingi smiles, his eyes already shut. "I could always write a strongly worded email."

"I know you would."

It's quiet for a moment before he whispers again, "I really love you, you know?"

Your heart does a dangerous flutter at the soft tone in his voice. "I know. I really love you, too."

By the time you finish speaking, there's already a soft snore escaping from Mingi's chest. You lightly shake your head, a soft smile on your lips as you press a kiss to his chest. It doesn't take you long to join him in slumber.

let me know what you think! life would be a whole lot easier if i had mingi by my side ngl

[aetherograph]

I grew up in Southern California. Normal weather includes fire, ash raining from the sky, earthquakes. I've lived in Tornado Alley, Hurricane Country, and Blizzard Country. I've seen dry lightning and had Zeus gutter his bowling ball right over my fucking roof, thunder crack so loud everything JUMPED.

Most Americans live somewhere there are BIBLICAL natural disasters as regular weather. And this is before climate change, this is just what it's like here. We have EXTREME weather here. People have also lived here for millions of years, most of them without the technology we enjoy today that increases safety and the ability to survive more injury and disaster than ever before.

Let me tell you something else. It's a number.

369

That's how many California Condors are flying free in the skies of my home region as of last year's count. Do you want to know how many there were when I was born, nearly forty years ago?

0

We did that. Scientists and politicians and regular people all did that together. In 1979 the scientists said they had to try and capture and breed the 27 remaining condors in captivity. People said it was impossible. people said what was the use, they'd be extinct in a few years anyway. But enough people said, "I want my grandchildren to see them. Let them try. What do you need, scientists?"

"But that's too expensive" said the haters.

"We're going to try anyway," said local politicians, said regular joes, and got what they could. And the scientists tried. They made puppets of adult condors to make sure the babies didn't get raised tame. They tried. And tried. And tried.

And now there are 369 of them flying free in their natural home again. There are over 500 if you count the ones in captivity--the breeding program is still going!

So remember that number. 369. Tell their story to yourself like a rosary against losing hope. And look at this picture of where my mom grew up (Los Angeles):

My mom was 13 in the picture on the left. She tells me stories about how back then, the air was sometimes so poisonous that they kept the children indoors for days on end. She had to have recess inside. In 2005, she was 50, and her children had never lived a day having to know what it was to be told, "the air is too dangerous to breathe, stay inside today". People did that. People cleaned up the air.

here's a post where lots more people chime in with conservation success stories. @reasonsforhope is a blog worth going through and watching so you know what good things are happening because people are standing up for our little blue spaceship in the big sky.

It's going to be okay.

We can fix it.

We ARE fixing it.

Ok, loves, so we've all got the message that joking about suicide is bad for your mental health. Now we need to get on "joking that the planet/all of humanity has no future" is bad for societal health/encouraging resistance to bad shit."

[sunsetmade]

Symptoms: You

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky ends up getting sick leaving his girlfriend to take care of him— even when he’s grumpy.

There was a specific kind of stubbornness that only came with a hundred-year-old super soldier who refused to admit he was sick.

Bucky had been sniffling since he got home—quiet at first, trying to hide it—but she noticed. His shoulders were drawn up, tense with the kind of discomfort he wasn’t ready to admit to, and his eyes, usually so clear and alert, were glassy. A flush high on his cheekbones gave him away more than anything else. That, and the subtle wobble in his steps as he moved through the apartment.

From the kitchen doorway, she watched as he tugged a blanket haphazardly over his shoulders, trying to look functional. Steady. But the illusion cracked with every dragging step and shallow breath.

“I’m fine,” he said, again. That made four times now.

“You don’t look fine,” she said gently, arms folded as she leaned against the doorframe.

He didn’t look at her. “I always look like this.”

“No, Bucky. Usually you look tired. Now you look sick and tired.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder, a glare that should’ve been sharp but barely registered as a pout. It dissolved entirely when he stopped halfway across the room, bracing himself against the arm of the couch like just walking had winded him.

She walked over, pressing a cool glass of water into his hand without waiting for him to ask. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m not—”

“Bucky.”

Just his name, softly spoken, but with a firmness that made his shoulders sag in defeat. He took the water with a quiet grunt, eyes avoiding hers as he sank into the cushions. She followed him down, crouching beside the couch and reaching up to brush the damp strands of hair off his forehead.

Her touch made him close his eyes briefly. His skin was hot beneath her fingers, flushed and clammy. Not just tired. Burning up.

“Let me take your temperature.”

“I don’t need—”

“If you argue again,” she warned, lifting a brow, “I’m going to take your arm off and use it to hold the thermometer still.”

That finally earned a faint spark of amusement, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re bossy when I’m dying,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

“You’re not dying. You’re congested.”

Beep.

She showed him the display: 101.3°F.

He didn’t even flinch. “I’ve had worse,” he mumbled, half-asleep already.

“That’s not the point.” She huffed out a chuckle.

She stood up without waiting for a reply, disappearing down the hall. Bucky slouched further into the cushions, blanket pulled tighter around him, muttering something about “being babied” like it was a crime. But he didn’t move. Didn’t protest when she returned a few minutes later with a bowl of soup, a cold washcloth, and the thermometer still in hand like a silent warning.

She set the tray down and knelt beside him again, dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out with care. He watched her through heavy lids, blue eyes hazy and rimmed red from fever. She didn’t say anything about the way his hands were trembling. Or how his flesh hand stayed curled tight against his abdomen, like every breath hurt just a little.

She just pressed the washcloth gently to his forehead, soft and cool.

He exhaled slowly, leaning into her touch and sliding his metal arm around her waist.

“You don’t have to take care of me doll,” he said after a long pause, voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to,” she replied simply, tucking the blanket higher over his chest. Her fingers brushed his collarbone before pulling away, gentle as the rest of her.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her face, and for a long moment, he just looked at her. Really looked. Fever still dulled the usual sharp edges in his eyes, but something quiet and unguarded rested there now. Something soft.

“‘S not exactly how I pictured our night,” he rasped.

“I know,” she murmured, smoothing his hair back again, letting her fingers linger this time. “Me neither.”

He exhaled through his nose, the sound tired, but content in a way that made her chest ache. Leaning back slowly, he let his head fall against the couch cushion while she adjusted the blanket higher up his chest, tucking it gently under his chin. He didn’t flinch when her hand brushed his jaw in the process. If anything, he leaned into the touch—barely, but enough to make her pause.

The room had gone still, wrapped in warmth and the soft hum of the heater. The spoon resting in the bowl beside her made a faint clink when she stirred the soup absently, her hand still resting on his blanket-covered chest. His eyes were closed again. Not asleep, just… resting. Giving in.

Then, her voice came through the quiet.

“Do you want to lie down, Buck?”

“No,” he whispered. “‘M good right here.”

But not even a minute passed before he shifted, sluggish and deliberate. He nudged his head gently until it found her thigh, testing the weight of it like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. She didn’t move. Only adjusted slightly to support him better, her hand already finding his hair again.

He let out a low breath, one that seemed to deflate the last of his resistance, and nestled his cheek against her leg. The fever had him flushed and sluggish, but this—her—he trusted enough to let go.

“You okay?” she whispered, thumb tracing a line just above his temple.

He hummed softly. It wasn’t a yes, not fully, but it was close enough.

She didn’t speak again. Just carded her fingers through his thick hair, slow and rhythmic, her nails barely grazing his scalp. Comfort. Anchor. Something solid for him to sink into.

He didn’t say much after that. Didn’t need to.

His hand found her knee, warm and heavy, fingers curling gently around the curve of it like he just needed to feel her there. His thumb moved once, brushing her skin—just once—and then stayed. Quiet thanks.

She kept brushing her fingers through his hair, and when she whispered that he should try to sleep, he didn’t answer. But his breathing slowed. Grew deep. Steady.

And then—still.

He’d fallen asleep in her lap.

His vibranium arm hung limp off the side of the couch, the metal catching the last bit of fading daylight, fingers twitching faintly as if even in sleep, part of him still lingered half-aware. But the rest of him—the real, human parts—had melted into her like she was something safe. Something known. His cheek was warm against her leg. The weight of him there was heavy but not burdensome. Never that.

She kept her hand in his hair a smile resting on her face. Gentle. Reassuring.

Time passed like that. Minutes stretching, soft and undisturbed.

By the time he stirred again, the room had dimmed. Evening had settled, casting shadows along the walls. He blinked slowly, groggy, his brow pulling together as he tried to make sense of the hour.

“How long was I out?” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.

She looked down at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Couple hours.”

His brow creased. He shifted slightly, then stilled again. “You should’ve moved,” he murmured. “Bet your legs are numb.”

“They are,” she admitted softly.

He lifted his head an inch, enough to glance up at her through squinted eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, looking down at the curls spilling over his forehead. Her fingers brushed them back gently, tucking them behind his ear. “You looked peaceful.”

He didn’t respond right away. His hand still rested on her leg, the weight of it grounding both of them. Then, just above a whisper—

“You’re too good to me, doll.”

Her gaze lifted to his, surprised by the quiet tenderness there. “You’d do the same,” she said.

And he would. She knew that.

His eyes softened. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I would.”

She brushed her hand over his face again, her knuckles grazing his cheek. His skin was still warm, fever lingering, but his breathing had steadied.

“I still might take your arm if you try to get up tomorrow,” she said, half a tease, half a threat.

He gave a rasp of a laugh, low and rough in his chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She smiled. “Don’t test me.”

A grin ghosted across his lips, tired but real, and he let his head fall back onto her leg with a sigh. This time, he shifted just enough to bury his face there, nose pressed into the curve of her thigh, like he needed the closeness. Her warmth. Her smell. Something real to cling to in the haze of fever and exhaustion. He pressed light kisses to her bare thighs making her giggle.

“Stay a little longer,” he murmured, breath tickling her skin.

She didn’t answer.

She just curled her hand in his hair again, her other brushing lightly along his shoulder, and stayed right there—holding him through the quiet, until sleep took him again.

⸻

Bucky woke slowly, the early morning light filtering through the curtains and casting a soft, golden haze over the room. They were now in his bedroom. His body felt lighter, the tight ache in his chest from the day before finally loosened. The fever had broken sometime in the night, leaving him just tired—and comfortably warm.

Warm, because she was still there.

He yawned, stretching his arms out with a low groan before letting them settle again—one draped possessively around her middle, hand splayed against the soft fabric of her shirt, keeping her close. She was tucked beneath the blankets with him, curled into his side, her head resting against his shoulder, their legs tangled somewhere under the sheets. His chin found its place atop her hair as easily as breathing.

His fingers flexed slightly against her stomach, pulling her in even closer, like his body couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them.

A soft, sleepy smile tugged at his lips as he felt her begin to stir beside him.

She mumbled something incoherent and shifted, rolling toward him until they were chest to chest, her cheek now pressed over his heart. Bucky moved without thinking, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his thumb ghosting along the curve of her cheek.

“Good morning, doll,” he rasped, voice still heavy with sleep.

She grumbled in reply, nuzzling closer with a sniffle, her breath warm against his chest. Then, without even lifting her head—

“You got me sick.”

He chuckled, the sound rough but amused, and tilted his head to look down at her. “Guess we’re even now.”

“No,” she mumbled, her voice thick. “You were a pain when you were sick.”

“And you love me anyway,” he muttered smugly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She grumbled again in a way that sounded suspiciously like agreement, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist, burying herself in his warmth.

Bucky shifted just enough to look at her fully, eyes soft, hand tracing slow, absentminded circles against her back. “You stayed with me all night,” he said quietly.

“You drooled on me.”

He grinned. “Still nice of you.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, the smallest smile on her lips now, even through the sniffles. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Need anything?” he asked gently, voice low, rough with affection. “Water? Blanket? Revenge?”

She shook her head against him. “Just this.”

Bucky stilled at that—then held her tighter.

“Okay,” he murmured, lips brushing her hair. “Just this.”

And he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Not even when her breathing slowed again, soft and steady against his chest.

He stayed right there, wrapped around her like a blanket, like he’d never let her go.

[lavenderchqn]

✧・┆cottons and linens

— stealing clothes and accessories can go both ways. anemo men make sure you don't forget that.

content warnings: it's implied you either share clothing sizes or the clothes are oversized on you.

this set of scenarios has been requested by anon!

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

“Oh, sorry!” Aether rubs his neck as he realises what just happened. A pair of freshly dried sweaters had to have gotten mixed. And yes, the two of you own the exact same hoodies. The same size, the same embroidered details. The sole reason as to why you’re surviving is that they’re marked. 

“That’s alright,” You reply, putting Aether’s sweater on. 

It’s equally comfortable. Slightly warm from the dryer as the floral scent envelops you. And yet, it doesn’t smell exactly like yours. Perhaps some of Aether’s own scent has gotten itself into the fabric? That’s the sole explanation. 

The blond seems to mirror your move, taking the florals in. Oh, how cute. With a dishevelled braid and nose snuggling into the sleeve, Aether looks like a baby. Even more babies than usual. 

“Oh, Ae…” You coo, cupping his face. “You look adorable!” Your cheeks are so stiff from how big your smile has gotten. It’s like… like you’ve been shone by a sun child.

Aether leans back, his doe eyes trying to follow your movement. He’s slightly pouting, unhappy with being treated like a child. “I’m not.” He says it, but on the inside, he’s enjoying all the attention.  

In sickness and health, you shall share the hoodies until the death. 

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

“You’ll catch a cold.” You whisper. The jacket that was around your shoulders mere moments ago is now keeping Venti warm. It sounds exactly like a situation he’d end up in — shivering during a walk and waiting for his saviour (you) to swoop in. 

“Thank you,” Venti’s voice is equally hushed. His cheeks are tinted pink. It’s both the ‘sheer’ cold of the outside mixed with how romantic your gesture is. Making sure their beloved is not freezing to death, how chivalrous! “I appreciate it, Muse.” 

You nod. Taking a step back, you evaluate the situation. Your partner, wrapped in your jacket, as he’s snuggling into the collar. Adorable. Simply adorable. 

“You’re staring…” Venti giggles, catching you off guard. The smile gracing your pretty face is now quite sheepish. He wasn’t supposed to know you’re watching. Alas, Venti is Venti. He knows. He will use his knowledge against you. 

He envelops you in a hug. “Oh, don’t be angsty, Lovie…” The scent is quite overwhelming. Your perfume, his perfume, the laundry detergent. It’s all a tad bit too much. You try and lean back. Getting air into your lungs. “Nononono—“ Venti pouts, leaning into you.

What a cat he is. Ironic, really. He leans so close that you can feel your legs giving out. Heavens, when Venti wants… he can be such a cutie pie. Your jacket is only a plus. 

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

“Does it look okay?” Xiao turns around, about to present you with his masterpiece. Well, it’s your shirt, but he can take the credit here. 

Jokes aside, he looks stunning. With his hair pushed back, the cuffs to the black shirt and some smart slacks… Damn, is he hot. He desperately needs more button-downs like these. It's not like he'll wear them without an occasion. Perhaps Xiao would consider one making you happy? 

“Close your mouth.” He rolls his eyes. Your eyes say a simple thing — starstruck. As much as Xiao is aware of his… pleasant appearance, getting this reaction from you cannot but make his little heart flutter. “A fly will fly…” 

You cover your mouth with your hands. You’re realising you haven’t said anything yet. But, oh my heavens, how can you describe what you’re thinking. Degenerate. A degenerate is what you are. An art gallery. That’s where you have to stick to Xiao. 

On the other hand, you don’t want anyone to look at him. Especially when he looks like that. Taking a picture. Maybe three thousand. You could have an art gallery at home. Perhaps you should think about buying some beautiful frames? Only the best for Xiao’s grace. 

“You look nice.” You say with a smile, yet downplaying the reality. 

“With how you’re looking at me,” Xiao raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s a little more than nice.” 

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

It’s absolutely the worst feeling. You swear you’re going crazy. Your sock cabinet, for no particular reason, is empty. You see your socks in the wash. They don’t disappear in the washing machine, you’ve checked. Hell, you’ve even attempted an exorcism on the thing one time. 

You sigh, digging around again. Maybe if you pray enough, the sock gods will answer. 

“Babe,” Heizou’s voice is muted — coming from downstairs. The two of you have made plans and should have left by now. It’s especially annoying since the shoes you planned on wearing simply require socks. A single barefoot, and you’re risking blisters for weeks. “You ready yet?” He shouts some more. 

“Almost! Looking for socks!” You shout back, growing more frustrated by the minute. You can hear the footboards creaking. Is Heizou coming to help you? 

The door to your room flies open, showing an amused redhead. “If you wanted to stay home badly, you could’ve said so…” He sighs, looking around the room. You’re there, pitiful on the floor. The entirety of your cupboards open. “Wait, you’re seriously looking for socks.” 

The surprise in his voice shocks you. Is he not plagued with a sock monster of his own? You look at Heizou’s own shoes… and socks. Now, hold on?! 

“Are these my socks?” You ask rhetorically.

“Yeah?” He answers. “Is it a big deal?” So your socks haven’t gone missing. They haven’t entered a separate dimension. They just were… in Heizou’s drawers. You take a deep breath. “Heizou, I exorcised the washing machine, looking for my socks.”

“No fucking shot, dude.”

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

“But you have so many of them already!” Your hands are on your hips as you stare at your partner. Kazuha’s grabby hands have managed to finally lie themselves on your lucky hat. 

You still don’t understand this habit of his. Sure, this might be the first time you’re the victim, but… All the apology letters you’ve forced him to write? Worrying. 

Kazuha says he cannot help it. There are these two little brain cells telling him to just… take the hats. He appreciates all the details of the hats. The materials used, the tiny decor, the smell. It’s all comforting. 

“Oh, but love…” His voice is meek. The pleading one. The one he uses solely when he wants to get something. And with how whipped you’re for the man, it’s a given. You’ll break one way or another. “We’re not even going anywhere.” 

That’s right, you’re not. Maybe… maybe, just maybe, you could give it for some time? Kazuha will be pleased, and you’ll have the situation under control. At the very least, it’s not the property of a stranger. Not to mention, you’re sure he will return it the second he’s done. 

“Okay, okay…” You sigh. Kazuha has won. There’s this pleasant smile plastered on his face. A tad adorable and quite smug. And well, he does look nice in the hat, doesn’t he. 

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

“These are mine.” You say, coldly. You’ve barely started the day and you’re already upset. You’ve had two things planned for today — wearing your comfiest house pants and having a cup of coffee first thing. Recently, work took out everything from you. You… needed the break. 

“Should’ve woken up first, idiot.” Wanderer barely acknowledged your presence when you stormed into the kitchen. Not only is he wearing the comfy pants but he’s drinking the most bitter of coffees. It’s like he wants to replace you to live your ideal day. 

It’s maddening. A pout makes it itself onto your face, matching the ‘sour-ness’ in which your brows are furrowing. If he plans on stealing your pants like a child, you’ll just behave like one. “You’re so mean!” You yell, stomping your feet. A tantrum, that’s what he’ll have. 

“What are you? Five?” Wanderer raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. There’s this glint in his eyes — the one where he’s amused to no end. You place your hands on your hips. Now you really look like an angry baby. All because he stole your trousers. “Get a grip, you.” 

“Give the pants back.” Your voice is loud and clear. Until you receive your pants back, you’ll get on his nerves. “I bought them.” “He stops, pointing at you. He’s telling you to quit it. Not a chance, mister. 

On the other hand… What if you just steal his instead. Eye for eye, a pair for pair. 

𝐈𝐅𝐀

“Is it really okay?” Ifa, asks with worry written all over his face. He tugs on the sleeves, clearly enjoying the plush material. His hair is soaking wet. A towel is placed on his shoulders. A typical, yet unfortunate, aftermath of getting caught in the rain. 

“It's all good, silly.” You say asking him to bend down. The moment he leans, you grab his towel to dry his hair. In all honesty, you could care less Ifa's wearing your sweater. Not only is it made from natural material, but the colour brings out his eyes. “It suits you.” You murmur, fighting a smile. 

A smile is not the sole thing you’re duelling against. You can feel how your cheeks feel warmer. Ifa… really does look nice. And now he gets to smell a little more like you. Like home. 

Is this what it's like for others to see their partner in their clothes? No wonder all fictional boyfriends allow their hoodies to be stolen. Maybe you should rummage through Ifa’s closet yourself. He’d probably let you take anything you desire. You rub the towel through his pretty hair, soaking all the cluttered water.

“You’re adorable,” He chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours. It’s like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Is— Is it really that visible? Ifa’s not the one to have figured out mind reading already, you think. 

date of posting — june 25th 2025

[bratbarzal]

Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

[bunsim]

Did you know you can modify your game files to start with custom lots in the lot bin? Did you know you can add your favorite lots to the program files and you'll never have to import them ever again? I sure didn't. Here's how.

Part 1: Freshen Up That Lot!

Locate the lot you want to freshen up. If it's in your Documents > LotCatalog, it'll be named something like cx_00000001.package. [Hint: you can use CleanInstaller to browse your LotCatalog with pictures!]

Clean it up using LotCleaner and LotCompressor (and Magic Wand, if you want). Here's a tutorial. Do NOT skip this step, or you risk contaminating future save files with old sim references.

Make it a spiffy new picture. Personally I like to lump my similar lots together with a similar title/street name. And I color-code using CatherineTCJD's color-coding format. If you want to match me, you can download my template psd here.

Open your lot in Simpe and replace that old preview. Click 'jpg/png image'. Right click the property > Replace. Change file format to 'all files' to see your image. Click either 'yes' or 'no' on the 'resource changed' popup (it doesn't matter--one updates the image preview immediately, the other doesn't). Click save.

Part 2: Relocation Time! *MAIN LOT BIN*

You cleaned up your lot, right? No sim references left? Don't skip this step or you risk messing up future hoods. Clean up that lot!

Select your lot file and rename it to the cx_00000000.package format. You can use any numbers but it must be in that format and have 8 digits. The number denotes the order so get creative with your categories. (ex: lots cx_00000100-150: modern houses / cx_00000200-250: beachy, etc.). You can use any bulk renamer to rename files in order without having to manually number each one.

Pick an Expansion for your files. Mansion and Garden comes first in the lot bin, Base Game last. The expansion you select will denote the location of your lots within the catalog. The file location is the same in every expansion, so you can even spread your lots around for max organization.

Move your cx_#.package lot file to Program Files > The Sims 2 > [expansion of your choice (ex. Nightlife)] > TSData > Res > UserData > LotCatalog. You will already see some files here. These are the maxis lots that fill the lot bin every new game. You can delete them if you really want to, or just change the extension to something else to make them go away. (Catherine has a backup if you need them back.)

Done! Now your custom lots will prefill the lot bin every time you generate a new The Sims 2 save file in your documents!

This will not pre-fill existing games. If you want to put your new clean lots into your current file, rename your main The Sims 2 save file (in your Documents folder) something else. Launch Sims 2 so it regenerates a clean copy. Create a new Hood, let the game load, and check out the LotCatalog. It will be now filled with your brand-new lots. Copy them over to your main file's LotCatalog. [Check your main LotCatalog in game to make sure you won't be deleting/overwriting anything you want to keep (make a backup just in case!) Check it again with CleanInstaller. Do not delete/overwrite occupied homes! And delete your old and crusty lots in game if you want to be extra safe.]

Part 3: Relocation Time... 2! *SPECIALTY LOT BIN*

You cleaned up your lot, right? No sim references left? Don't skip this step or you risk messing up future hoods. Clean up that lot.

We will now populate the second tab in the lot catalog, the Specialty lot bin that holds Hotels and Apartments. You can put whatever you want in here; it doesn't have to be hotels or apts. You can move lots from the main catalog to this one, if you want. These lots do not appear in the LotCatalog of your main save file, in case you try to look for them there later. They only exist in the program files.

Rename your files. Unlike the previous lots, you can name these lots anything you want, as long as it ends in _Permanent.package. stinky_Permanent.package is perfectly fine. Name it something descriptive.

Pick an Expansion for your files. You can put them in any Expansion folder, but personally I keep my apts in Apartment Life to stay organized.

Move your files. Take your stinky_Permanent.package and move it to Program Files > The Sims 2 > [expansion of your choice (ex. Nightlife)] > TSData > Res > LotTemplates. You'll see some other files here already. These are blank lots and hotels/apts (if you're in Apt Life or Bon Voyage). Don't touch the blank lots, but you can remove the hotels/apartments if you don't want them. (You can move them to the main lot bin by renaming the files to the cx_# format and moving to the location in part 2). You can open them in SimPe to check what they are, but Catherine has a visual list here.

Done! These lots will appear in the Specialty lot bin every time you boot up the game, even in your current saved game.

Have fun and enjoy organizing!

[PS: did you know you can not only delete or relocate existing bin lots, but replace them with better, and cooler lots by simply overwriting the existing cx_0000000 files in your UserData > LotCatalog folders? Catherine has a visual guide which file is which, if you want to reinvent them all. The lot bin is your oyster!]

credits: CatherineTCJD for the Lot Refresh project that made me learn this. Bluerubberbear for the majority of the lots in my thumbnails and the lot in the psd file. Plumbtales for the other lots in the thumbnails and for the beautiful lot makeovers that I replaced maxis's community lots with.

[allwaswell16]

A masterpost of Soccer Aid 2025 One Direction fics for @himynameiszayn and anyone else looking for fics inspired by Soccer Aid! (If other Soccer Aid fics get posted, I'll add to this list.)

⚽ Don't Shoot 'til He Scores by larry_hiatus / @emilarry (E, 9k)

With Louis off playing a charity football game, Harry has been tasked with a little game of his own back in his bed—he gets to touch himself, but only when Louis gets the ball.

⚽ I want him - One Shot by tolovelikelarry (NR, 5k)

At Soccer Aid 2025, football-enthusiast Louis Tomlinson immediately draws the attention of suave entrepreneur Harry Styles. And Louis can’t help but be intrigued in return—there’s something about Harry’s quiet confidence that suggests he wants Louis all to himself. From the moment their hands first met, it was clear: neither was about to let the other slip away. But after that first lingering glance across the pitch, will they actually manage to find each other once the final whistle blows?

⚽ The Gods Wish They Believed In Us by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 (E, 4k)

Harry smirks, resting his hands on the mat below him and leaning backwards. “I think I know how I could encourage you to get done with your workout a bit quicker.”

Harry’s not wearing a shirt, which isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Just a tiny pair of cherry red gym shorts cling to his muscular hips. Although the term gym might be a bit generous. They’re so small they would barely be appropriate for the beach.

Not that Louis is complaining, mind you. It’s just an observation.

(Or the one where Louis is struggling to find motivation to finish his workout. Harry has an unconventional and effective way to encourage him).

⚽ Off the pitch: Into bed (no rest for the wicked) by Louis_loves_28 (E, 3k)

Tired from footy training, Louis' ready to call it a day and hit the couch.

But Harry - hot under the collar from all the pics flooding the socials of his boy in blue - has other ideas.

Sweaty strips, holding poses, troublesome cramps and no one's even talking about the footy any more...

⚽ desire defined by sunflowersue / @sunflower-sue (E, 2k)

what happens after socceraid

⚽ Oral Support by lyrasbutterfly (M, 2k)

“You said you needed some oral-” Harry laughs and shakes his head at his slip up “I mean moral support and i just wanted to take care of you” Louis huffs out a laugh “you lured me into the locker room for some head” Harry's hand moves closer up Louis’s thigh “Not just head, oral support”

Or Louis goes into the locker room to unwind from Soccer Aid and Harry gives him oral I mean moral support

⚽ they can try but they’ll never touch us by Anonymous (E, 2k)

It’s so hard for Harry to keep Louis off his mind when pictures keep dropping of his husband hot and sweaty on the field.

⚽ Just A Taste by @berzerkshires (E, 1k)

Louis always showered before he and Harry got down & dirty. With Louis at practice for Soccer Aid, Harry planned to catch Louis when he didn't have a chance to get clean.

⚽ Just A Taste - Part 2 by @berzerkshires (E, 1k)

When Louis comes home late after getting back from Soccer Aid, he expects Harry to be sleeping but is pleasantly surprised he isn't.

[sualette]

hi!!! i just found ur page and I AM IN LOVE.

I don't know if ur taking reqs or not but I'd love to see u write something like a second chance thing with exhusband!jake with like angst and smut. THANKS

HI WHAT THANK YOU SM !! + my comeback

warnings : smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), second chance ??

you didn’t mean to end up at his door.

but the city felt too cold, your chest felt too tight, and the only number you could dial when your hands were shaking was his.

he looked surprised when he opened the door. hair messy. shirtless. gray sweatpants slung dangerously low.

“...you okay?”

your throat clenched. “no.”

he stepped aside without a word.

and you walked back into the place you used to call home.

same scent. same hallway.

same picture frame on the shelf — your wedding photo. still dusty. still facing out.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he said after a beat, voice low. careful.

you laughed—bitter. broken. “i know.”

he stared at you. like you were a ghost. like he’d been haunted by you every night since the divorce.

“i tried to move on.” you whispered it like a secret.

his jaw tensed. “did you?”

you shook your head.

silence. thick. heavy. painful.

and then he crossed the room and kissed you like he hated you for showing up, hated you for leaving, hated himself for not stopping you.

your back hit the wall. his hands slid into your hair, gripping tight, tilting your head back so he could bite at your bottom lip, steal every gasp.

“you don’t get to show up like this and look at me like that,” he muttered against your mouth, breath hot, voice sharp.

“like what?”

“like you miss me.”

you whimpered when his hands dragged down your waist. “i do.”

he growled low in his throat—a sound of frustration. grief. want.

“take it off,” he ordered. fingers already yanking at your shirt. “everything.”

you didn’t argue. just stripped. and he watched you like it hurt.

"fuck," he breathed when you stood bare in front of him. “still so fucking pretty. still mine.”

“jake…” your voice cracked.

he kissed you again, hard, and this time he didn’t stop.

you ended up half-dressed in his sheets, legs spread for him, his mouth between your thighs like he’d been starving.

he sucked your clit with slow pressure, two fingers deep inside you, curling until you were panting his name like a prayer.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “god, i missed how you sound.”

you tugged at his hair. “please.”

he came up, mouth shiny, eyes dark. “you want me to fuck you?”

you nodded. desperate. “please, jake.”

he slid in without teasing—one slow, thick thrust that made your back arch and your mouth drop open.

“still fit me so good,” he groaned into your neck. “like your body never forgot.”

you clung to him—nails down his back, thighs locked around his waist, heart shattered all over again.

he thrust into you like he had something to prove. rough. deep. his hand wrapped around your throat just enough to hold your gaze.

“tell me you didn’t stop thinking about me,” he whispered.

“i didn’t,” you choked out.

“tell me you still love me.”

you cried. nodded. whimpered, “i love you, jake.”

his hips stuttered. his hand slid down to your stomach, pressing where he was deepest inside you.

“feel that?” he panted. “i’m right here. i always was.”

you pulled him in for a kiss—sloppy, teary, needy —as he fucked you harder. your orgasm hit like a wave, legs trembling, fingers gripping the sheets.

he didn’t stop. kept thrusting through it. chasing his own high with a raw, ruined look on his face.

“can i?” he breathed. “inside?”

you nodded. too overwhelmed to speak.

and he came with a broken moan—buried deep, holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear again.

when it was over, he didn’t move. just stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you sweaty and quiet and exhausted.

“you never stopped being mine,” he whispered.

and you didn’t dare argue.

© sualette

[noctiva]

Having g disgusting thoughts about ex bf toby who just cant get over you yknoe staring in yojr windows stalking where ever you go missing you angerly fisting his cock to the thought of yoh god helps anyone you try and date after him doubt he'd do anything public doesn't want you to know hes still watching till he wants you too. Just ough tje thought of the guy you went on a *good* date with thinking yoj fi ally recovered after toby only to open your door to see a gift wrapped box next to flowers you open it bam his heart and pictures of his corpse -M

RAHHHHHHHHH YEAH. the way he’d do this even if he was the one to break up with you. he did it because he thought it was for the best but every day without you feels like a gaping wound. lying awake in bed feeling nauseous at the thought of someone else laying their hands on you. someone else kissing you. someone else knowing your body like he does.

probably actually does throw up a couple times over it. especially if you block him/don’t immediately try to come crawling back to him. the idea that you might actually be doing better without him? it makes him shake. makes his throat close up. has the sadness and anger blurring together into one big volatile mess.

he stays away for maybe a week. and that’s pushing it. but he can only take so much.

picking up his jacket and still smelling your perfume on it making him want to slam his head through a window. up until the earliest hours of the night, his nose shoved into a pair of shorts you forgot at his place, pumping his cock fast and desperate. it used to suffice before he met you, but now that you’ve left your mark? it’s barely enough to get off. he can still vividly remember how perfectly your cunt gripped him - using his right hand after that is a joke.

so yeah. he stalks you. secretly hopes that you’re just as miserable as he is. that you can’t live without him. that you’d be ecstatic if he walked back into your life again.

and he gets that for a bit. sees the tears, the nights of frustration where you toss and turn. the scowl on your face when you break it off with yet another failed rebound. it’s gratifying. satisfying.

until it’s not.

you go on a good date, with a nice normal guy. he treats you well, makes you laugh, makes you smile - sends you home with a blush on your cheeks and a grin on your face. and god help you, because toby witnessed all of it. every little interaction. trailing you from the moment he picked you up, to the restaurant, to witnessing him placing a kiss on your cheek before he dropped you back off.

and that feels like a swift kick to the nuts. because how dare you? after everything he did for you? all the time you two had spent together? you’re moving on just like that? without even trying to make amends?

he’s not even sure who he’s more mad at; you, or the prick who somehow succeeded in sweeping you off your feet. as if he had any clue how to treat you right. as if he could ever love you the way toby did, and still does.

he wastes no time. follows the guy home after he drops you off. slaughters him the same day he stole your heart. and it is brutal. just so much unspent rage and grief taken out on this innocent bystander. but to toby? he’s anything but innocent. he’s a thief. he turned you into a traitor.

he doesn’t even notice it when the guy finally stops breathing, doesn’t even pay attention to his wails subsiding. just keeps delivering hit after hit, until he looks more like minced meat than a human corpse.

and of course, he wouldn’t want you to make this same mistake again.

you found it off that you didn’t receive a single text after the date had went so well. you’re checking your phone every five minutes, wracking your brain to try and figure out what you did wrong.

a knock on the door disrupts your thoughts. when you open it, there’s not a soul in sight. but on your porch? a bouquet of your favourite flowers, right next to a neatly wrapped little gift box.

and you smile. thinking that maybe this is a cute little surprise from your new love interest.

but of course it’s not. you should’ve expected that.

you drop the box as soon as you open it; the inner contents a mess of blood and gore that immediately makes you dry heave. the metallic scent clings to your nostrils, the Polaroid photo that accompanies it burns into your retinas.

dark and blurry, but it’s still clear as day what it is. the corpse of the man you had met just last night - slaughtered like a cow.

and next to it, a note.

‘nice try. stop wasting time and just come back to me.’

[corpscs]

i could eat that girl for lunch ⧗ natasha x avenger f!reader

♡ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , smut 18+ , friends to lovers , natasha’s gaydar is off , r eats box like a champ , lesbian protector thor , one bed trope if you squint but it’s not important , images are from pinterest , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , divider , russian is from google/reddit

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ dobroye utrechko - good morning

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ masterlist , word count: 2.9k

bones’ now playing ▶︎ lunch - billie eilish

natasha romanoff seldom hoped that she was wrong. this was not one of those times.

the black widow, specialist in espionage, had profiled you wrong? she was so certain that you were straight. but now she wasn’t so convinced.

her real suspicion started with thor.

clint, tony, and natasha sat playing cards. natasha had won every round of every game they’d started. she just cleared her hand in rummy, when thor was heard boasting from the hallway, “this is marvelous news!” he laughed.

“what’s got you so giddy?” natasha asked him.

“the littlest avenger considers me to be a tolerable man.” he was very proud, chest puffed out, hands on his hip. natasha’s eyebrows raised. she knew he meant you, by the nickname.

tony was fast to answer, “i’m sorry, she what?”

“little avenger has a list on her cellular phone of tolerable men.” he stated. “and of course she has placed the mighty thor this list.”

tony and clint began asking about the list and if they saw their names on it. when thor asked you about a tolerable women list, apparently you just laughed at him. claiming that you had a different kind of list for women. she became very curious about that one.

then, few days after, the team was all together for a rowdy dinner. by the tail end of it, tony and thor were drunk and bickering about which avenger had more sex appeal or something.

tony called your name. “you’re young and not natasha romanoff. which of us would you take home?”

natasha would have lied if she contemplated to tuning out your answer, but then heard you boldly announce, “tony i would rather sit on a hot grill than sleep with any men in this room.” you would prefer to physical pain over sleeping with any man in the room. maria had left with pepper to help clean up after a spilled bottle of champagne that one of them had tipped over onto the table. and natasha was the only woman in the room at the time.

natasha was looking at you now and she was sure through your peripheral vision you saw her too.

natasha decided to set you up, now helping guide the conversation towards the information she wanted out of you. “remember that one drag queen in boston that hit on you.” natasha randomly brought up.

“he was very good at his job!” clint defended himself. drunk you found it hilarious to picture a slightly tipsy clint get hit on by a drag queen. “i’ve never slept with a man.” clint drunkenly confirmed.

“me neither.” you giggled out.

clint looked at you confused or surprised maybe he was trying to showcase both in his stupor. “wait a minute.” he loudly whispered crunching his eyebrows. “do we bat for the same team?”

you shook your head yes with a lackadaisical roll to your neck as the giggles continued before tony announced the door dash was here.

not often would natasha romanoff be wrong. but she was pleased to be this time.

she called your name, stealing away your attention. “thor was mentioning you have a list of tolerable men.” you nearly choked on your drink. natasha knew about your list.

you nodded, “it’s a short list. he should be honored.” natasha hummed.

“he mentioned you have a list of women too. hopefully, i’m tolerable enough to on there.” she feigned innocence, leaning her chin in her palm.

“oh that’s it’s a different list.” you blurted, too inebriated to stop yourself. natasha should be ashamed of herself, taking advantage of your drunken brain. but she was afraid you would may have clammed up the moment she started poking otherwise.

“oh yeah?” she continued, keeping the eye contact.

“yeah.” you breathed. nat raised an eyebrow.

“so, i’m not on that one?”

“you are!” you rushed. her eyes caught the black shine of your phone slotted between your thighs. “mind if i peak?” she dropped her voice to a lower whisper, continuing to lean into you. if you were assumed straight sober, drunk you absolutely was not. you nodded dumbly opening you phone to the notes app. natasha read through the notes as you opened the app. random lists, meaningless words and number sequences that probably made little sense to you anymore, natasha’s eyes lagged on the note that had your bra size typed out before you opened the untitled note.

you were right, the list was short. immediate names where clint, bucky, thor, scott? (question mark included) followed by one of the oldest janitors in sheild and the very flamboyant nurse from medical. natasha did not try to contain her laugh. “what are your standards of this list?” you shrugged, laughing with her.

the second list a few lines down and far longer. it started with natasha’s name, then wanda, brunnhilde, carol, okoye, maria, nebula, followed by a collection of reputable shield agents, and a firefighter in the nyfd you had met during the battle of new york, and lastly one natasha did not recognize, lisa from the bakery.

“i see a theme, but i must ask about the baker.” natasha looked back up at you. you were chewing on the straw of your now empty cup, clearly nervous.

“have you ever watched a woman make bread dough?” you simply asked. natasha shook her head. “i’ll have to take you.” you promised, nodding enthusiastically.

everyone in the room seemed entranced in the food or their own conversation, so natasha pushed on. “what’s this list then, if it’s not tolerable women.” natasha watched your eyes shift nervously as you felt all the blood in your body rush to your face. it was at this point when your drunk brain began to catch up to what she was doing.

“pretty women.” you murmured.

“and i’m number one. that’s sweet.” natasha smiled at you taking a sip of her beer. not missing the way you watched her sip and swallow.

hook, line and sinker.

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

the next day you didn’t remember exactly what had gone on last night. just the general overview. you didn’t care much to dig on the topic as getting drunk with the team wasn’t out of the ordinary.

when you peeled yourself out of bed, your brain felt like it was replaced by sludge and you were unsure of where you had last had your phone. you began wandering downstairs with the intention to try and retrace your steps to find it.

when you got to the kitchen, it was empty, aside from natsha who was leaning against the opposite counter. still in the sweats you were seen in at dinner, you regretted not being fully presentable.

on the other hand natasha looked freshly showered, wearing jeans and a tight black tank top. you could even see the black strap of her bra poking out from behind the material. “dobroye utrechko.” you assumed it was a greeting. you blink the drowsiness out of your eyes as you ripped your eyes back to her face.

“you’re up early.”

“it’s 10.” she laughed. you had no excuse. “here.” natasha poured you a cup of water and opened the cabinet where the team collected their over the counter stuff. she slid you the glass and placed two tablets of whatever in front of you. zero survival skills in sight, you took the meds she gave you without even looking at them once. she then placed a muffin in front of you, remembering which ones you tended to chose over other flavors. natasha then pulled your phone out of her back pocket. “probably missing this too.”

“oh my god.” you rushed, mid-bite of the muffin. “thank you.” you cheered. “you’re the best.” friday called out something over the PA about steve needing natasha so she grabbed her water bottle and began to exit the kitchen.

“wouldn’t want you to have to restart your lists and i want to maintain my number one spot.” she exited the kitchen. her words were like a bucket of ice cold water and suddenly your memory of last night suddenly became abundantly more clear.

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

a few days later you’re stuffed into some tiny dress at some black tie cocktail party while the team works undercover with hotel security. the event was winding down and guests were beginning to leave. natasha was on the upper floor, blended into the regular security like the rest of the team.

tony sat outside the hotel watching the camera feeds from a large disguised rental van. he was only there if the iron man suit was needed, so he was running extra surveillance. but was tony and tony was getting bored. when you appeared on the feed rotation on one of the screens, he called you out over the com. “can somebody drop a pen? i want to know what shield issued g-strings look like.”

“looking to get one for yourself?” you asked him, looking to the wall to not look insane speaking to yourself. you were instructed to limit your com usage.

“if you help me pick one that matches pepper’s eyes.” he joked.

steve broke up the quip, “guys that’s enough. all dolled up or not she’s still your teammate.”

“she does look nice doesn’t she, boys?” natasha ignored steve. “too bad she’d burn her ass off before she’d touch any of you.”

“romanoff.” steve warned.

“did you really say that?” bucky laughed.

natasha answered for you “she did.”

“ouch.” sam said.

before you could even attempt to defend yourself, you were interrupted by some diplomat curling an arm around your waist.

you politely turned him down, telling him how flattered you are and that you’re with the event. he doesn’t like that answer, telling you that it should be the reason he take you.

like an angel, natasha appears in that stupid security uniform. “sir, this waitress is working i’m going to have to ask you to please allow her do her job.” she said curtly, keeping you behind her. after three minutes of torturous arguing the man was gone.

“am i done?” you whined, to both natasha and everyone on the comms. “i don’t think i can take anymore of this.”

“they’ve started packing up.” natasha confirmed while you puffed out a sigh of relief.

“thanks for that back there.” you told her.

she shrugged. “it’s the least i could do after having to watch you get picked at like a carcass all night.”

the team had finished and rounded up in a vacant lounge at the hotel. steve went over their plan to head out in the morning, he kept it short and sweet as the small team of agents looked tired. not battle worn, but socially worn, all spread out around the fancy couches. the dress you wore was inconvenient so you opted to sit on a barstool and by the end of the meeting you were miserable. meeting adjourned, steve began handing out the room assignments. “2 to a room, rank based, no coed.” very chivalrous, captain america. fourth group down was you and natasha. you found out upon arrival she would be roomed with you so you had no surprise so mask. the team checked in your room a day early to have the space to get ready in. “everyone get some sleep.” steve ordered.

“if it’s worth anything,” natasha said appearing next to the bar. her overnight bag was slung over her shoulder, your bags were already in the room. “i really like the dress.”

“i’m still pretty convinced that it is actually just a top.” you hiked the pleather material down your upper thigh, as the two of you now made your way towards the elevators. having long since discarded the heels, the sounds of natasha’s boots and your bare feet sounded through the hallway. the cocktail dress only leaves about two inches to the imagination and just barely came down over your ass. steve was so flustered that he had given you his jacket to tie around your waist until mission go.

natasha selected the button for the second floor and you spoke up. “you know, it took two people to get me into this thing.” you said. natasha let out a light chuckle imagining the scenario. “i might need a hand getting out of it.”

a small flame lit itself inside natasha. her mouth ran dry, but she didn’t miss a beat. “of course.” she agreed with a smile. you, yourself, were smiling straight ahead at your warped reflection of the shiny metal until they slid open.

smiling, because of course you noticed natasha’s fishing expedition after you had asked clint to fill you in on whatever drunk you told natasha. you had always assumed natasha placed you in the coworker box but it became obvious that she genuinely did not know you liked women.

natasha held her breath when you reached into your bra and pulled the room card to key your door open, allowing natasha to step inside after you.

she could see the mess the team had made getting you ready. cosmetic and garnet bags along the table and an open bathroom door where she could only imagine what chaos the counter was in.

she watched you drop your shoes by your suitcase on the floor before you began peeling off your jewelry. rings and bracelets gone. the hoops you had been asked to wear had pulled at your ears all night that you were glad to bid goodbye. you turned to natasha, who now sat at the corner of the four-poster king bed. the security uniform jacket discarded beside her, now only in a tight black t-shirt and tactical pants.

“help me unzip?” you asked her as you turned your back to her. through the mirror you could see the top of her head raise from behind you as her posture straightened up. you made sure you were standing up straight, holding your posture to specifically straw her attention. you were pretty sure it was working.

l you felt her fingers grab at the top of the tight dress. she pulled the fabric back slightly, jerking you momentarily, before she unlatched the little eye and hook at the top. you had to try to regulate your breathing before she began on the zipper. “i think every man attending that event was thinking about doing this.” she spoke with a light laugh as her touch prickled your skin.

“ew.” you chuckled airily, deflating your lungs so she could get the zipper past your strapless bra. natasha could see from the band that it was red lace.

“i’m not going to lie, you had me so fooled.” natasha finally said. she peeked over your shoulder to lock eyes in the mirror. dress now fully unzipped to the swell of your ass. you’d have to shimmy out of the rest if it.

“fooled?” you parroted.

“unclockable.” natasha corrected. you turned to face her, a single hand on your chest being the only thing holding the last piece of whatever modesty that dress allowed in place.

“i wasn’t trying to be stealthy.” you joked. understanding what she meant.

“good, because that’s my thing and i’m taking it back.” natasha tipped her had to the side, her eyes wandering your face.

“you can have it,” you agreed, “you can take the dress with it if you’d like.” natasha made prolonged eye contact, silently asking permission. your hand dropped and the material being held to you chest fell. natasha was not shy when your gaze dropped to your chest. the strapless bra was shelf styled, worn specifically to boost your cleavage. that was the final nail in natasha’s coffin.

she used the folded fabric at your waist to yank you past the foot of space in between you two. when you stepped in between her open thighs, natasha didn’t hesitate to kiss you. it was soft, but desperate. like something she didn’t know she was starved of. you broke away to bunch your fingers around her shirt, untucking it and hauling it over her head.

her chest was covered with a black sports bra, a white logo you couldn’t read printed on the side of her ribs. you two didn’t stall, reaching for the black belt keeping the cargo shorts at her waist and quickly undoing its strap. the button came easily thank god. you yelled back to allow her to stand and shimmy the pants down. you tried to bite back a comment about how much you liked the fitted material. but the black tiny boyshorts she was wearing had you more distracted. when you felt the zipper of your dress pinch your back. natasha helped you work the tight material over your hips. red and black lace, of course you were wearing a set.

“i’m underdressed.” she joked, referring to your contrast between your undergarments and herself. “no, you’re practical.” you shrugged. keeping your eye contact, you reached behind yourself and unhooked the eyes of your bra.

once again natasha felt no shame as her eyes dropped back to your bare chest. “but i do want them off.”

natasha watched you sink to the floor with a twinkle in your eye, hands climbing for her panties. “i can’t believe i thought you were fucking straight.” she said lowly, pulling the material down her very well built thighs. your free arm wrapped around her one of her legs to pull her closer to you, curling at the top of her inner thigh.

“so the black widow has a shitty gaydar?” you began kissing natasha’s thighs, moving closer to her center.

“or you’re just full of surprises?” she countered, her breath stuttering when your kisses had finally reached their destination. you landed a kiss just over her clit, feather light. she didn’t flinch, but drew a long breath.

“i think i’m very predictable.” you made sure you were looking in her eyes when your tongue flattened out and lapped up her slit, each time your tongue toying with her clit. it wasn’t long before you pulled the bud in between your lips, sucking lightly. natasha was unable to catch the moan that pulled from her throat. you adored the sound and you hummed against her, responding in a subdued encouragement, and pulled one of her legs over your shoulder, opening her up further to you.

you’d been so forward this entire time, natasha allowed the hand of hers not gripping the bedpost to hold the back of your head. she experimentally rolled her hips forward just so slightly. and to her not so surprise you followed the movement, sat up straighter and allowed her to use your face.

she moaned when she locked eyes with your bleary stare. keeping your hand wrapped around natasha’s thigh, your dominant hand traveled around from her inner thigh to tease her entrance, beige slipping a singer inside.

her pace increased as she chased her high and you dutifully swallowed down her arousal, it messily dripped down your chin mixing with your saliva. natasha’s breathing increased as she felt her orgasm nearing. when natasha’s hips stuttered, you pulled her clit between your lips once more sucking harder this time. her heel dug into your bare back as your grip on her standing leg tightened, the strong muscles switched and flexing under you fingers. she began cursing in russian, you would have no idea what she was saying even if you weren’t busy with her thighs muffling the word in your ears. when she did cum, you stayed in place and chased her hips with your mouth swallowing her down.

you grinned up at her dumbly, face soaked in her arousal. your face felt hot and your head felt light. natasha had begun to catch her breath as you felt her fingers smooth over your hair. as her hands find their way to your face, thumbing over your swollen lips. “you would have been wasted on a man.”

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

i’m hoping to get part 3 of emergency contact up this weekend

𓉸 ♡,

bones

[the-dormant-ocean]

MC wants to send nudes to Sylus while he's at work to make him come home faster. But for some reason, she doesn't like the results of the photo she took. She ends up asking Zayne for help.

"How do you want me to help?"

"Can you be my photographer? I don't like the pictures I took."

"Sure, but what's wrong with yours?"

"I don't know! That's the issue. Can you give me your opinion on them, please?"

They go through the photos and discuss how they could maybe improve them, like scientists studying an experiment. It's odd, she is completely naked during this conversation, but the situation is so comical that it's fun.

"Wait, I have an idea. Pardon me."

Before MC can say anything, he lifts her up by the back of her thighs and plops her down on the bathroom counter. Heat radiates through her at how easy it was and how gentle he was. The marble counter is cold underneath her.

"Do you want me to-"

She starts spreading her legs but Zayne stops her.

"It's a good idea but it's not what I'm going for. Put one of your feet on the edge of the counter. Here."

"But like that you can't see my-"

"I know that's not what this is about. Lean back a little on your hands and there. Perfect."

"Really? It looks good?"

She can't really see the appeal compared to the other more revealing and seductive poses she did.

"Yes. You sat like this before. It was after the first night we all shared together. You were stunning. You look stunning."

Zayne isn't the type to wax poetry, but his compliments never fail to move her as they are said with utmost sincerity and love. He calls her beautiful like it's a fact that no one can disprove. She smiles, touched by the compliment, and Zayne uses the opportunity to take the picture.

"Verdict? Is it better than mine?"

"Yours were good. I think this one is just more you."

Zayne looks down at this picture of her adoringly and wantonly. He shows it to her and it does feel more natural and like her. She's looking at Zayne, behind the camera, in the picture. She is smiling at him, and is that what she looks like in love? She looks at Zayne's reflection in the mirror behind her and he's wearing the exact same expression. He is right. This photo is perfect.

"I love it. It feels really sweet and domestic but still sexy. It does suit me better."

"I love it too."

She watches proudly as Zayne sends the picture to himself with her phone before sending it to Sylus.

"Ah, sorry. Maybe you wanted to add text to the picture."

"It's fine, I'll send another text. Here, give me."

She goes for a casual and innocent tone, as if she were sending him a normal photo.

"Got bored and decided to send you a gift with Zayne's help! Isn't he an amazing photographer? I think I'm going to officially hire him as my photographer from now on! We miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

She knows Zayne isn't the type to take nudes of himself. So his presence in one of hers is really going to get Sylus all hot and bothered. And he looks hot in that photo as well. Sylus is 100% going to leave work early. She's a genius!

[theamberparadise]

Hai, Hai!!

Love love love your writing sm:33 was wondering you could mayb do like hcs of Jeff w a like alt civilian gf?? Like someone who’s into metal and all that stuff w hella peircings ?? If not it’s ok love ya!! 👅👅

JEFF THE KILLER X ALT! READER W/PIERCINGS

SYNPOSIS; how does jeff react to a civilian with the same music tastes and brings it into their way of fashion???? Hmmmm lets see lets seeeeeee hahaushskdhwioe

TW; degradation, light mentions of breathplay, Jeff being Jeff

A/N; can u tell im excited for this req im excited for this req can u tell can u tell tell me tell me if u can tell (i am going to include nsfw hcs for this because i SAID SO)

Jeff is launched into an excited frenzy when he sees you and your deftones t-shirt. “Finally, someone gets it,” he mutters to himself, watching you plop down on your couch with a bag of microwave popcorn in hand.

He was relieved when he saw you actually try to fight back against his invasion of your home, and after he nearly lost his ear from your kitchen knife he threatened to gouge out your eyeballs to make you sit and talk to him.

You never really knew why he wanted to talk to you. And then you find out he’s been stalking you for a bit now, and his reason? “Thought you were kinda cute,”. You wanted to punch him.

Then, to your dismay, he kept on visiting again and again. And for the days he stayed there overnight, Jeff would legit just stare at you in one place without moving until you went in another room.

You don’t bother to even try and change the locks anymore. It’s either he got through with one of your hairpins, or he managed to knock down the knob with his elbow.

Nonetheless you let him do his own thing, sometimes you lend him one of your mixtapes for him to put in your jukebox and jam to.

“The Offspring?” you questioned, taking a moment to suck off the pancake batter off of your thumb. “Hell yeah!” Jeff responded, cranking up the volume to the highest setting (which you were definitely used to), and started headbanging right in your living room.

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP (fluff?????)

Brings you home silver rings and chunky-as-fuck earrings for you to wear. He much prefers seeing you in them over gold. (mostly because it matches his jewelry as well.)

Would beam when you already do have piercings that match his. If he finds out you also have snake bites, he’s grinning like a kid on Christmas and stares at your lips for an uncomfortable amount of time.

He is such a loser for eyebrow piercings. Even better when you have an eyebrow slit. He thinks it’s “fucking badass” and finds every excuse on mother Earth to try and lick it.

Once asked you to pierce his nose bridge, right in between the corners of your eyes. When you’re finished, he looks at it in the mirror for at least an hour before going back to the mansion and flaunts it to everybody.

Traces his hand over your tattoos. He loves the big one on your thigh, especially when you wear those fishnet stockings he’s so fond of.

Even better when it reaches from your knee to your waist. He tries to resist to bite it (he has once) and just firmly pinches or holds the area.

You dress up in a full-alt outfit for a date, showing off your tattoos? And you’re wearing chunky platform heels, too? He tries coaxing you to stay home while you scold him for making you get ready for no reason and drag him outside.

When you are outside, he’s so jumpy and overly-aware of those who might snatch you right out of his hands so he grips your leather corset a little tighter.

He takes you on graveyard dates, making fun of the memorial pictures that are plastered onto the stone. 

Sometimes, he takes you where he killed his most recent victim and tells you in full detail of what he did and where he hid the body.

When on car rides, Jeff likes to play with your stockings or fishnets while waiting in traffic, grumbling about how many people really need cars. It’s also a way for him to fidget with something, other than the peeling leather of his gear stick.

Stole your tattoo gun one time and messily writes your name somewhere on his arm. The tattoo was infected for a while and now it’s just a small slump of what looks like a keloid scar that seems to have your name on it.

A good amount of his own piercings are infected as well, so you’d have to remind him to let you clean it. 

Does wear an article of yours somewhere, be it a belt chain or a necklace. Makes him feel giddy for some fucked-up reason.

NSFW

Remember those fishnet stockings? Expect them to be ripped to shreds on the floor despite your protests. “Shh, I’ll buy you new ones, baby. Just open up f’me, yeah?”

Jeff blasts heavy metal of his choice on your biggest speaker when he makes you scream. To him, it’s a message to your poor sleep deprived neighbors. 

He likes slightly freaking you out by getting dick piercings. Jacob’s ladder, Prince Albert… he loves the shock flash on your face before seeing that hungry, sexy face when you go down to lick it.

Jeff LIVES for nipple piercings and boob tattoos. He’s a tit guy at heart, so when he sees a flash of silver studs and intricate ink patterns on your mounds? He’s groping at them to the point where they’re both sore (and kinda bruised) in the morning. He won’t let go of them in any position.

Loves it when you suck on his tongue piercing. To him, it’s an invite to absolutely wreck your throat on the floor.

Likes seeing the red swell on your ass and hips accompanied by your tattoos by the time he’s done with you.

Weirdly has a thing for ear gauges? He loves the feeling of his tongue just gently swirling around them while he fondles your tits.

Purposefully cums on your tattoos and grins at it like it’s a trophy.

If you tattoo his name somewhere on your body Jeff will literally never stop staring at it. He thinks it’s even better when it’s at an intimate place, like your breasts or right above your clit. “Glad you know yer place, sweets.” 

He loves making you ride him while in a tight corset. Your out-of-breath gasps are to die for. Even better when your tongue is lolled out and your eyes rolled back. “Little bitch, you like this shit don’t you?”

Have a clit piercing? He's lapping that shit up like a dog. Tugs on it to make you squirm. Grinds the underneath of his cock on the warm bud of metal.

Finds bellybutton piercings to be sooooo slutty and sexy as fuck. Even more when you show it off in public.

One time he made you wear headphones blasting Slipknot during sex since he was drunk at the time and his moans were a little more high-pitched. It’s okay, seeing him twitch and his eyes going to the back of his head when you clench down on him is enough for you to feel a little bit cocky.