#Request

[palesweetsdeer]

i NEED some nsfw art of perpetua🙏 him with literally anyone pretty please😋

Love me some Batbug

[lonerslug]

I have a theory.. I feel like sevika would HATEE when the reader cracks their bones (like cracking your knuckles on your neck) around her😭 I feel like it makes her annoyed or uncomfortable LMAOO could u maybe turn this into a fic?👀

stop doing that

fluffy crack

You didn’t think it was that loud.

Just a casual twist of your neck to the left, then a tilt to the right. The satisfying double pop of vertebrae lining back into place. A little knuckle crack combo to follow it up. Harmless. Helpful and therapeutic.

But Sevika?

She reacts like you just stabbed her in the gut.

Her entire face twists, brow crumpling, lip curling back like you cracked your spine at her instead of just… near her. She actually flinches, like the sound hit her in the eardrum with a bat. and she’s halfway across the room, on the couch with a beer in hand, lazy, one leg over the armrest, but she tenses like she’s gonna fight the air.

“Stop doing that.”

You blink. “Doing what?”

She glares. “That.”

You pop your knuckles again just to be annoying.

Her whole jaw clenches. “I swear to god.”

You snort, grinning, and collapse onto the other end of the couch with your legs up in her lap. “You’re so dramatic. It’s not even that loud.”

“It’s disgusting.” She looks away from you, eyes back on the TV, but her fingers twitch around her bottle. “Sounds like your bones are trying to crawl out of your skin.”

“Jesus, Sevika,” you laugh. “What kind of horror movie bullshit —”

She cuts you off with a grunt, then shoots you another sideways glare. “It’s unnatural.”

You wiggle your toes at her. “You have metal in your body.”

“That’s different. That’s science.”

You raise your eyebrows. “So’s joint cavitation.”

She groans like you just pulled out a med school thesis. “Babe, no. You’re not gonna nerd your way out of this. I don’t wanna hear your skeleton popping out of place every five minutes.”

You stretch, arms overhead, and crack your shoulders just for fun. She visibly jolts. Her hand flies to the remote, slamming the volume up on whatever’s playing.

You giggle. “You hate this sooo much, huh?”

She doesn’t answer. Just grabs your ankle and shoves it off her lap.

“Hey!” you yell, letting your leg fall dramatically off the couch like she mortally wounded it. “What was that for?!”

“You cracked your toe bones at me,” she says darkly.

“They’re feet, Sev! They can’t help it!”

Sevika finally looks at you, slowly, with the deadpan exhaustion of someone who’s been dealing with this for too long. “You ever think maybe you’re too bendy? Like your body’s possessed or some shit?”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts, “Oh my god, you’re insane,” you wheeze.

“And you’re gross.” She leans back, eyeing you with deep, theatrical judgment. “One day you’re gonna snap something wrong and then what.”

You crawl closer across the couch, climbing into her lap with no remorse. She gives a grunt of protest but doesn’t push you off.

You cup her cheeks, smushing them just a little and coo, “You still love me though.”

Sevika doesn’t answer.

You lean in, all syrupy-sweet “Even when I go pop pop pop!” You crack your neck again.

She shoves her hand over your mouth.

You squeal into her palm, laughing uncontrollably, and she mutters something like “i’m gonna put you in a damn body cast if you don’t quit.”

You whisper behind her hand: “But then i’d just crack from the inside.”

Sevika physically shudders.

[caruskie]

Firstly- ur art makes me kick my feet and giggle every time I see it ITS JUST SO INCREDIBLY CUTE

can u draw hector like super mega flustered, or like really blushy n stuff…

Ah, thank you! (*ˊᗜˋ*)

Overheating HVAC 💨

[daily-basil]

Basil throwing tomatoes at his fuckass parents who abandoned him when he was a TODDLER 🙄🙄🙄

sorry he's messy but arent we all a bit messy

[valesyart]

✨Today I’m showing you a carousel of sketches because I’ll dedicate this entire month to the sketch requests of my patrons (sfw and nsfw)! ✨♥️ Fell the wizard is from a request of yesterday eheh 🧙🐍

If you want a Go sketch from me without pay a commission, it’s the right time to join us!

Tiers start from 5 euros And I won’t prioritize anyone; I will try to please everyone based on my current mood and the time of day I can draw (I’ll need privacy for NSFW, obviously 😆)

Find more info in the free August newsletter

https://www.patreon.com/posts/135411895?utm_campaign=postshare_creator

[daily-mc-block]

Dark Oak Button

[s4dpngs]

[redtsundere-pngs]

Hi hi !! Can you make some swirly pngs please? Thanks so much I love ur acc !! :3

[daemonbussy]

heyy i’m the one who requested the lux and skips HCs ! i loved them ur writing is rlly good thank u :D

would u write something for dirk + scent kink if ur ok w that? thanks :p

Yay! Glad you liked them! And ofc I can! You must have read my mind because I've had Dirk and scent kink on the brain for a few weeks now lmao 😵‍💫

So Dirk is definitely a bit of a pervert, but honestly what did you expect from your literal dirty laundry?

Whenever you toss another pair of dirty pants into the corner of the laundry room, Dirk immediately grabs them and sniffs the ass and crotch regions.

When you throw a few sweaty shirts or hoodies in the hamper, Dirk is ready to yank them back out and huff them deeply, inhaling your scent until his eyes roll back into his head and his dick creates a large tent in his pants — well… your pants technically…

And when you need to wash some undies? Oh boy, Dirk has a field day borrowing them first and either jerking himself off with your underwear, or wearing them on his face while he furiously masturbates.

He sort of pretends to be discreet about his scent kink, but honestly who is he fooling? Half of the time he'll keep touching himself once you walk back into the room to actually start on the laundry. All you can do is roll your eyes affectionately and let him keep a few items of smelly clothes until the next wash cycle.

OR, if you're in the mood to truly indulge your hot, moody lover–

Pin Dirk against the wall when you're sweaty or haven't had a shower yet. Let him press his face into your armpits or your greasy hair, let your scent alone get him hard before you fuck his brains out 😊

His legs wrap around your waist, preventing you from leaving until he's satisfied (or his legs go numb and limp~). Your cock pushes in a bit too rough, but Dirk doesn't mind, he moans loud and proud, clinging to you and inhaling more of your amazing scent. You manhandle him and drive him wild with your touch, railing him and unloading the week's pent-up frustrations deep within his core.

The objects outside of the laundry room would assume that you're railing one of the girls with how Dirk moans. His moans are so feminine and cute, it's hard to believe that his voice even gets that high.

OR, if you want to get a bit kinkier with it–

Catch Dirk jerking off with your smelly underwear, pretend to be disgusted with him, then toss Dirk over your shoulder and carry him upstairs (still naked so that all of the objects you pass by can see how naughty he's being~) and throw him right onto your bed.

Make him rub you through your underwear until you cum in them, then take them off and stuff them in his mouth. Rub your semen on his tongue while you prep his hole for something nice and big.

Those lovely girly moans tumble from Dirk's lips like crazy, and they only get louder when you finally penetrate him. You wouldn't be surprised if the entire house is able to hear your little mid-day adventure. Not with the lewd plaps of skin on skin, Dirk's bold and unashamed moaning, and your degrading words as you fold him into a mating press.

Pin Dirk's wrists next to his head, make him dizzy with how much you're hitting his prostate. But! don't cum in him; cum on him and mark him with your scent~

Dirk will melt into the happiest puddle, savoring the stickiness of your seed on his skin and in his hair. No way he's taking a shower any time soon. Your dirty lover wouldn't dare cleanse your lovely scent from his body!

Bonus Clarence, because I love that twink:

The scent kink is less intense with Clarence, since he literally has to be clean in order to be Clarence. But you can still find your lover sniffing your clothes artfully draped across his body. The lingering scent of your body, or the body wash and shampoo you use makes him shudder.

While your workout gear is technically clean, the remnants of your sweat still excite Clarence very much~ If he's not careful, he may end up accidentally dirtying himself 😳

[cherrylacuna]

"I Think I Start Liking Ice Cream" (Pt.2)

Pt. 1

Summary: After the first kiss — and the taste of vanilla ice cream still lingering on your lips — it’s all you can think about. Coming back to set, acting like nothing happened? Impossible. Especially when Hayden keeps looking at you like that. So he offers to help… and one “practice” kiss at his place turns into something real.

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x f!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: extreme fluff, age gap, soft emotional tension, first kiss, lots of cute/funny dialogue

Your mind betrays you. Again.

You’re just trying to function like a normal person — finish your makeup, check your call sheet, memorize lines, maybe sip water like a hydrated adult. But no. Your brain won’t shut up. It keeps rewinding that night on loop, dragging you back to the taste of ice cream… and vanilla… and—

Let’s not call it a date. Actually, screw it. Let’s call it a date. It felt like one. Looked like one. Smelled like one.

Felt like… more.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You don’t even like ice cream. That’s the punchline. You’ve said it your whole life. Too cold, too sweet, too overrated. Especially vanilla. Vanilla is like the color beige. Or reading a Wikipedia page. Serious. Predictable. Kind of boring.

And yet—

There you were. Sitting on the curb under a palm tree like a scene from a teen rom-com. Sunset dripping gold down the side of Hayden’s car. Warm concrete against your thighs. And him… holding out his spoon with this little glint in his eye like he was offering you a secret.

“Try this,” he said, spoon hovering in front of you. “Most underrated vanilla in L.A.”

You made a face. “You’re kidding. Vanilla?”

He didn’t answer — just tilted his head with a smug little smirk and held the spoon closer, like trust me. So you did. Because apparently that’s what you do now: trust Hayden Christensen with dairy products.

And when the taste hit your tongue?

Okay, fine. It was good. Actually, it was better than good.

It was smooth and soft and warm despite being cold. Sweet but not sickening. It melted quick, but in a really romantic way, like the kind of thing you’d taste while falling in love and never forget. You weren’t chewing exactly — but somehow it felt like you were chewing it while looking into his stupid blue eyes. And for some reason that made everything worse. Or better. You don’t even know anymore.

He laughed when you closed your eyes. “Told you.”

And your heart did something extremely inappropriate.

You ended up stealing three more bites. Not because you were into the ice cream. But because of him. Because of how his voice got lower when he said your name. Because of the way he’d look away and then back at you too quickly, like he was fighting something. Because every time his knee brushed yours, it short-circuited your brain.

And you were fine. Totally fine.

Until the car ride.

You sat in the passenger seat, finishing your own ice cream — some minty thing with chocolate in it — and stared out the window like you were in a Lana Del Rey music video. But your mouth still tasted like his vanilla. You’d eaten yours after, but the vanilla refused to leave. It lingered, like him. Light and loud. Sweet and serious. And kind of addictive.

Which is insane.

Because again — vanilla? Really?

And then you got to your apartment. And he pulled up to the curb and you unbuckled your seatbelt, mumbling something like, “Thanks for the ride,” with your cup still in your hand and your heart all out of place.

You weren’t expecting anything. You swear on your whole family. On your childhood hamster. On your goldfish named Bob that died after three days when you were nine. You didn’t expect anything.

You were halfway to the elevator, plastic spoon in your mouth, when he called your name. Soft. Curious. Almost like he was asking a question without saying one.

You turned around.

He was leaning on the side of his car now. One hand on the hood, one in his pocket. Looking at you like he was about to do something reckless and already regretted it.

And then he crossed the space between you in four lazy steps, stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat off his chest — and kissed you.

You don’t remember if you dropped your spoon. You don’t even remember what your name is.

You just remember the vanilla.

You remember his lips being softer than you thought they’d be. You remember the way his hand slid into your hair without hesitation, his thumb grazing your cheek like he’d touched you there a thousand times already. You remember the gentle pressure under your chin as he tilted your face up, and the pause before he kissed you — like a warning. Like he was giving you a chance to run.

You didn’t.

His kiss didn’t taste like mint. Or chocolate. It tasted like him. Like his vanilla.

And now it’s your favorite. Stupid, boring, beige vanilla is your favorite now. Because it tastes like his lips.

The lips that smiled at you across set. The lips that teased you when you forgot a line. The lips that called you “trouble” in that low, playful voice. The lips that kissed you like you were something worth craving.

Now you were back on set.

The break was over — just a few days, barely enough to reset — and now the cameras were up again, people buzzing around with call sheets and clipboards, makeup brushes tapping cheeks, someone yelling about lunch options.

And him.

Back to Hayden.

The second you saw him, it hit you like a truck.

Your heartbeat spiked like someone flipped a switch. Just— boom. Panic. Warmth. You forgot how to breathe, literally forgot. It wasn’t just nerves anymore. This wasn’t the usual oh wow he’s hot and famous and I’m intimidated by how blue his eyes are. No, this was a whole-body shutdown. A brain malfunction.

Because he kissed you.

And now your brain was showing you a highlight reel every five seconds — that slow lean-in, the way his fingers threaded into your hair, the press of his mouth on yours, the vanilla.

You were standing by the coffee table on set, pretending to sip water, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending to exist like a functioning adult. But all you could think about was his lips. On yours. The softness. The way his thumb traced your cheek like he was memorizing the shape of you.

How are you supposed to act normal after that?

You tried to breathe. You really tried. But then he looked up.

Hayden. From across the stage.

His eyes found you like they always do — too fast, too specific. Like no matter where you are in the room, he’s tuned into your frequency. He smiled, slow and warm, a little crooked like he wasn’t sure if he should.

You looked away so fast you nearly spilled your water.

And that’s when it hit you. This is real.

You were always a little flustered around him — okay, a lot. But this? This was a different kind of chaos. You couldn’t get his kiss out of your head. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe right. Even now, while someone from wardrobe was tugging on your jacket, fixing a seam, asking if you needed anything — all you could think was: I kissed him. He kissed me. And now I’m standing here like my mouth still belongs to him.

Lines? What lines?

You had five pages of dialogue to memorize. You’d read them. Rehearsed them in the mirror. Whispered them on the ride to set. But now they were just... gone. Blank. Evaporated like mist. Because your brain wasn’t storing words anymore — just sensations. Just memories of vanilla and soft lips and his hand in your hair.

You weren’t supposed to be this messed up about it.

You told yourself it was casual. A moment. A glitch in the universe. But now? Every time you blinked, you saw him. Every time someone said his name on set, your stomach did a stupid little flip like you were thirteen.

This wasn’t a casual crush anymore. This was a full-blown, heartbeat-hijacking, sanity-destroying emotional crisis.

You got called.

The set hushed. Lights shifted. Cameras clicked into place. You took your mark. Hayden took his. Not far from you — close enough that you could smell that same aftershave he wore the night of the kiss. Clean, soft, maddening.

You were fine.

You were fine.

Until the scene started.

“You don’t get to walk away from me like that,” Hayden said in character, stepping closer, voice low and urgent — the way it was written. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”

You turned slowly, your character’s scripted hesitation easy to fake now because it was real. He was looking at you like he meant it. Not as his character. As him.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the only one who—” Your voice cracked. Wrong line. Or was it? You couldn’t tell anymore.

Hayden stepped closer. You felt his hand graze your elbow — light, grounding, almost like you okay? but not out loud.

And then… it happened. The part you forgot was even in the script.

The kiss.

He leaned in. And you panicked.

Not visibly, thank God. But your brain just— short-circuited. When his lips touched yours (gently, softly, professionally?), your entire body flushed from head to toe like someone turned on the sun inside you.

It was so quiet on set. Too quiet.

And then — silence.

Because your next line didn’t come.

You just stood there, eyes wide, lips parted, blinking up at him like a girl who’d never been kissed in her life. Your brain? Empty. Gone. Zero thoughts, only Hayden.

Someone coughed.

Someone else said, “Cut?”

And your face went bright red.

“Let’s take a quick break!” the director called, cheerful and oblivious.

You didn’t wait. You just mumbled something like “sorrysorrysorry” and practically ran to the corner of the stage, hiding your face in your sleeve like a literal child.

And then you heard footsteps.

And then…

“Hey.”

That voice. That low, soft, Hayden-voice. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

“Hey,” he said again, gentler this time. “You okay?”

“No,” you muttered into your sleeve. “I’m dead.”

He let out a quiet laugh behind you. “Don’t think they let ghosts on the call sheet.”

You peeked over your shoulder.

He was standing there with both hands in his pockets, trying to act casual but definitely failing. He rocked on his heels a little. Like he was nervous too.

You turned toward him just enough to glare. “I forgot all my lines.”

“I noticed.”

“I literally stared at you like a starstruck extra.”

“You looked cute,” he said before he could stop himself.

Your mouth dropped. “You did not just—”

“I did,” he grinned, suddenly cocky. “You were very… method. Like your character just got kissed for the first time ever.”

“I wasn’t acting!” you blurted.

Silence.

You slapped your hand over your mouth.

His brows lifted. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Weren’t you?”

You turned away again, hiding your burning face behind both hands now. “Kill me.”

“No can do,” he said. “But… I could help.”

You glanced sideways, suspicious. “Help?”

He shrugged, casually-uncasually. “Run lines. Practice. Off-set.”

“Off-set,” you repeated, like you’d never heard the phrase before.

He nodded. “You know… after filming. At my place. Just to make sure you don’t forget your lines next time I kiss you.”

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“You mean… actually rehearse it?” you asked, trying to sound normal, even though your heart was doing cartwheels.

“I’m a method actor,” he said seriously, then grinned. “Kinda.”

You laughed. Your whole body actually did a little bounce, like your soul was kicking its feet inside you. He looked so proud of himself for making you laugh. Like a boy who just got a girl to smile at prom.

“I mean, if you don’t want to—” he started, suddenly shy.

“No! I mean—yes. I do. Want to.” You coughed. “Rehearse. The scene. Lines.”

He smiled again, softer now. A little blush crept into his cheeks. Not the kind you’d expect from a man who’s been famous half his life. But the kind you’d see on someone with a crush they’re pretending not to have.

Your heart folded like paper.

“Okay then,” he said, nodding like this was all extremely professional. “After wrap?”

You nodded.

“Cool,” he said, too casually. “I’ll text you.”

You tried to walk away then, tried to rejoin the cast and pretend your brain wasn’t still melting. But just as you turned, you heard him behind you.

“Oh,” he added, “and for the record?”

You turned.

He smiled again — lazy, warm, flirty. “That wasn’t just acting either.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You’d forgotten.

Like… totally.

You were still in bed, face half-smashed into your pillow, wearing an oversized tee and staring at the wall like a half-conscious possum when it hit you — Hayden.

Your phone was dead. Of course.

You rolled over, plugged it in, and waited through those agonizing seconds of rebooting while your brain scrambled to remember what day it was — what hour.

The second it lit up, his name was there.

Hayden: You can come at 9 p.m. You want me to pick you up?

Sent a while ago. You blinked at the time.

8:30 p.m.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, launching yourself upright. “Oh my actual god.”

You texted back with lightning fingers:

you: nooo i’m good!! i’ll come to you, i promise, on the way!!

Then you stared at yourself in the mirror. Thirty minutes. To look like a normal human girl. One who wasn’t in bed all day dreaming about a kiss.

Somehow, you managed.

Makeup on. Hair pinned up. A soft cardigan layered over a cute tank top. Casual, but… thoughtful. A little effort. Vanilla-colored, without meaning to. Or maybe because of him.

By the time you got to his place, the sky was dark and the skyline was glittering like it was showing off just for you.

His apartment was high up — top floor kind of high. And when he opened the door, standing there in a black t-shirt and joggers like he hadn’t tried at all but somehow looked better than most magazine covers, you almost forgot your name again.

He leaned on the doorframe, smiled slow.

“Wow,” he said, eyes tracing you gently. “You look…beautiful”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “I look normal.”

You found yourself curled up on the edge of his massive couch, knees tucked under you, eyes wide as you stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city like a painting. You could see everything — the sharp angles of downtown, the dim haze of the hills, and far in the distance, glowing quietly like it knew it was famous, the Hollywood sign.

The lights shimmered. So did your heart.

You hugged your knees. Tried to act normal. Not like you were in Hayden Christensen’s living room. Not like he kissed you. Twice. Not like you were minutes away from fake-kissing again. Not like you were sitting in the exact epicenter of your slow, soft emotional crisis.

Then he came back — barefoot, holding two bowls of ice cream.

“Peace offering,” he said, handing you one. “Vanilla. Of course.”

You took it with both hands, grinning. “You’re trying to brainwash me.”

“It’s working?”

You took a bite. Closed your eyes.

“…I hate how I actually start accepting this.”

“Just admit it,” he said, sitting beside you. “You’re turning into a vanilla girl.”

You laughed. “That’s the most tragic sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Eventually, the bowls ended up on the coffee table, still half-full. Hayden stood up, stretching his arms over his head, and looked down at you with a mock-serious expression.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s rehearse. Before you forget all your lines again.”

“Rude.”

“True.”

You stood slowly, smoothing your top. Your palms were a little sweaty. The scene wasn’t long — just a few emotional lines and a kiss. Easy, technically. But nothing felt easy when he was this close. When his voice dropped like that. When his eyes looked at you like they remembered your mouth.

You stood facing him in the soft light of his living room.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you said, reciting your line. “Not after everything.”

His jaw tensed. He stepped closer. His voice was low. Controlled.

“I don’t want you to trust me,” he said. “I want you to feel what I feel.”

You inhaled sharply. The air felt thicker.

Then came the part you both knew was coming.

The kiss.

He paused — just like on set. Waiting. Making sure. Then leaned in.

And you let him.

His lips met yours gently. Slowly. No one was filming this time. No crew. No director yelling cut. No pressure. Just you and him. And the way your breath caught in your chest like it was wrapped in ribbons.

And that taste.

Vanilla. Again.

You could taste it on his mouth. Feel it in the softness. It was worse than before — better. Real.

And when he didn’t pull away — when his hand came up, brushing your cheek the same way it did that night outside your building — the acting fell away completely.

This wasn’t rehearsal.

You were kissing him.

Really kissing him.

He smiled against your mouth.

You pulled back just barely, flushed and breathless.

“That didn’t feel very scripted,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Maybe I’m improv-ing.”

You laughed, all nerves and warmth and light.

He stared at you for a beat, then said, soft and real:

“You make me feel like a teenager in love for the first time.”

Your heart dropped straight to your knees.

“You’re forty-four,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, smiling. “Isn’t that insane?”

Neither of you moved for a while.

You were still standing in the middle of his living room, breathless, lips tingling, hearts a little too loud. Hayden’s hand rested on your waist like he forgot it was there. Or didn’t want to move it.

You pulled back just a little, still close enough to feel his warmth, and stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Did you mean that?” you asked.

His head tilted slightly. “Mean what?”

“What you said. The whole teenager thing.”

A soft smile bloomed on his face — shy, almost nervous, like he wasn’t used to being this open.

“Yeah,” he said. “Every word.”

You blinked, still reeling. “But you’re literally… you.”

He chuckled. “You say that like it makes me immune.”

“To… what?”

He didn’t look away. “You.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m completely—” he paused, searching for the word, “gone for you.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, his voice dropping to something softer. “I just… I need you to know. I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Like it actually drives me crazy sometimes. I wait for the scenes where I get to touch you. Just a hand on your back, or brushing hair from your face — anything. I find excuses to stand closer than I need to. I memorize the way you laugh. And the way your eyes squint when you’re concentrating.”

You let out a soft, choked sound.

He took a breath.

“I try to play it cool, but I’m failing miserably,” he added with a crooked grin. “Being near you feels like high school. But worse. Because I’m supposed to know better.”

You stared at him. Absolutely stunned. “That’s… that’s exactly how I feel.”

His brows lifted.

You stumbled forward a step, rambling now, your voice shaking with affection and nerves and way too much honesty:

“I—I say weird stuff on set all the time just to get your attention. I fake little injuries so you’ll help me. I’ve literally forgotten lines just because you looked at me too long and I blacked out. And I get mad at myself all the time because I’m so young and bratty and chaotic, and you’re you — calm and talented and hot and grown. And I keep thinking I should act more mature or be less clingy but I can’t help it. You make me feel…”

You trailed off, overwhelmed.

He took a tiny step closer. “Feel what?”

You looked up at him. Eyes glassy, lips twitching.

“Like the world got really soft,” you whispered.

He melted.

“Come here,” he said, almost hoarse.

You didn’t hesitate. He pulled you to the couch, sat down, and tucked you into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world — your legs draped over his lap, your head resting against his chest.

The city lights stretched out below, glittering through the huge window. His hand stroked your back slowly, and yours curled into the hem of his t-shirt like it was home.

“You know what’s crazy?” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“What?”

“You’re everything I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

You looked up. “Even with my weird fake injuries?”

He laughed. “Especially with those.”

You giggled, burying your face in his neck. “I do try to act cooler.”

“You’re perfect exactly how you are.”

You looked at him again. His blue eyes were so close. So impossibly gentle.

“You make me feel like I’m nineteen,” he said.

You leaned in and kissed him again. Soft. Familiar now. Like something you could do forever.

One kiss turned into two. Then three.

You kissed his cheek. His jaw. He kissed your nose. Your forehead. Your mouth again — lingering this time, his thumb on your chin, both of you smiling into it like idiots.

Eventually, you sighed and curled deeper into his side, your arms tucked between your chests, legs tangled.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled.

“I’m in love,” he whispered back.

You looked up, blinking.

His eyes didn’t move. “It’s true.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly breathless again. “I think I might be, too.”

Silence fell — not awkward, not unsure. Just full. Safe. Like you were both standing still in something too good to mess up with words.

Then you reached for the little melting bowl of ice cream on the coffee table and took a lazy spoonful, propped on his chest.

You chewed slowly.

He smiled, watching you.

And then you said it — quiet, sleepy, certain:

“I think I start liking ice cream.”

Love, xoxo

Hope yall like Vanilla Ice Cream too ;p

[marrons-235]

More fem remmick please? i love LOVE your art 🤎

+Final girl Sammie

Cuz why not 😊

Thank you hope you like it ❤️❤️

[palesweetsdeer]

On my hands and knees begging for sweet primal Omega and Terzo cuddles

Primal omega my beloved

[lvenoir]

hi okay i swear megan taking care of sick reader was so sweet to read i literally cried like a dumbass, thank you for that one, your writing is actually so comforting there's smth abt how you have a way to move with words. i'm locking in for the dani one right now

and i saw your requests were open and please, hear me out, if you'd ever write anything abt pillow princess!lara x strong service top!reader i will be unwell. but it does not have to be nsfw if you're ever not comfy with that, it can just be like the dynamics of the reader being down bad for her gorgeous gorgeous gf <3 thank you, and my life is yours

an: anon pls… handing me your whole life like that?? bold move—dangerously effective. couldn’t resist cooking up a little smutty something just for you. short, sweet, slightly unhinged. come back anytime. i don’t bite.

[18+] Velvet Devotion .ೃ࿔*:⋆

✧ genre/au: pillow princess!Lara Raj x reader [gn] | established relationship. soft dom/sub. body worship. teasing. aftercare. [MDNI 18+]

✧ word count: 1.2k+

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𖦹

summary: Lara’s had a long week—and when she climbs into your lap and murmurs “Do your job,” she means it. She doesn’t lift a finger, but you give her everything: hands, mouth, patience, love. A night of praise, pleasure, and pulling her apart, piece by piece, just to put her back together again. She’s bratty. You’re devoted. And she always gets what she wants. Especially when what she wants is you.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

It’s Friday night, and Lara’s exhausted—hours of rehearsal have left her drained, but that never stops her from doing what she always does when she needs you the most.

She doesn’t say much when she steps into the room, just shrugs out of her hoodie and climbs into your lap, straddling you slow and lazy like a cat stretching into sun. Her lips find your jaw, soft kisses trailing to your ear, and then she whispers with the smallest pout:

"Do your job."

You feel her weight settle on your thighs, bare legs pressing into yours, and any tension from the week falls off your shoulders instantly. You wrap your arms around her, your hands already tracing up her spine.

"Demanding tonight, huh?"

Lara pulls back just far enough to look you in the eyes, mischief dancing in hers. "Always."

You smirk. "Of course you are."

You guide her back, pressing her into the mattress like a delicate canvas only you’re allowed to touch. The overhead lights are off; the warm, ambient glow from the bedside lamp casts a golden hue over her skin, soft shadows clinging to every curve.

She doesn’t lift a single finger as you lay her back across the bed, hands gently guiding her down like she’s fragile glass you’ve been entrusted to worship. You take your time stripping her down, layer by layer. Soft cotton shorts. Cropped tank. Lace bralette.

Her skin is warm and smooth under your fingertips. You kiss every exposed inch like it’s your first time. Collarbone. Ribcage. Hip dip. Inner thigh. She sighs like it’s a prayer.

"You're so soft," you murmur. "So perfect."

Her legs fall open the second you kiss your way lower, her lips already slick and glistening just from your mouth on her skin. You don’t tease for long. You dive in, tongue flattening against her, licking from bottom to top with a slow, intentional drag. Lara gasps, her hand sliding into your hair.

"Fuck, baby," she moans. "That’s it. Just like that."

You eat her like she’s your favorite meal, tongue working tight circles over her clit while two fingers slide into her with practiced ease. She clenches, whines, thighs trembling.

You love this part. Love the way she arches her back. How she never once tries to take over. She gives everything to you.

"God, you’re good at this," she breathes. "Better than good. Like—"

Her words cut off with a sharp cry as you curl your fingers just right, tongue never stopping. Her hips jerk. Her legs clamp around your shoulders.

"Oh my god, baby—don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop."

You don’t. You keep going, pushing her higher, faster, rougher, until she’s moaning your name like a mantra. Her orgasm hits hard. She shakes, body writhing beneath you, a guttural moan torn from her throat as she comes against your mouth.

But you don’t stop.

You slow, just a little. Enough to keep her on edge, dragging your tongue softly over her clit until her body twitches again. She tries to close her legs.

"No more," she whimpers.

You pull away just long enough to kiss her inner thigh. "Yes more. You're mine, remember?"

She whines, face flushed, hair stuck to her cheek. But she doesn’t stop you.

You bring her over the edge again and again, taking your time, letting her ride every wave while your name spills from her lips in broken, breathless cries. She sobs once, overwhelmed, and that’s when you finally pull back, kissing up her stomach, between her breasts, her throat.

"You're okay," you whisper, wiping tears from her flushed cheeks. "You did so good. My perfect girl."

She clings to you. She always does after. You pull her into your arms, brushing sweat-soaked hair behind her ears.

Later, when she can breathe again, you run her a warm bath and carry her in, gently lowering her into the water. You feed her sips of wine between kisses, wash her hair with slow, loving strokes, and wrap her in your biggest hoodie after.

But she’s not done being pampered.

You settle her back on the bed, her favorite fuzzy socks pulled onto her feet, and a heating pad resting across her stomach. She's flushed and pliant, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds as you rub gentle circles on her sore thighs.

“Still with me?” you ask softly.

Lara hums, barely nodding.

“You want a snack? Water?”

She reaches for your hand instead, tugging it to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t leave.”

You lean down, kissing her forehead. “Never.”

Eventually, she falls asleep curled up against you, snoring lightly. And you lie there, wide awake, memorizing every detail—her breathing, the flutter of her lashes, the way her fingers curl against your side like you're her anchor.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

The next morning, she’s still sore.

You can tell before she says anything. The way she shifts under the sheets with a grimace, the tiniest whimper slipping past her lips.

“Ow.”

You smile. “Too much?”

She opens one eye. “You broke me.”

You chuckle and kiss her cheek. “Let me fix it.”

You coax her out of bed, guiding her to sit on the counter while you move around the kitchen. You know exactly how she likes her breakfast—soft scrambled eggs, a side of strawberries, and vanilla oat milk in her coffee.

Lara watches you with a lazy, satisfied smile, the hoodie you gave her slipping off one shoulder. Her legs swing off the counter as she picks at a strawberry, her whole aura relaxed.

After breakfast, you help her to the couch, bundle her in blankets, and queue up her favorite comfort show. Her eyes sparkle, her voice soft.

“Thank you.”

You lean in, brushing your thumb across her lower lip. “Always. I’ll take care of you every time, baby. All you have to do is ask.”

She kisses you back slow and sleepy, pulling you down onto the couch until you’re wrapped around her again. Her head rests against your chest, her voice muffled by your skin.

“You know you’re mine, right?” she murmurs.

You smile against her hair. “Yeah. And you’re mine.”

Because even if she doesn’t lift a single finger—especially then—you love giving her everything.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

[caruskie]

chubby hector,,, cuddling.,,,..

Your HVAC warmed up bed for you, c'mon (˵•̀ᴗ - ˵ )

[carlaconnors]

CORONATION STREET | August 1, 2025