#drabble *

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Baby’s First Resurrection

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, established marriage, angst, mentions of death, suicide, self mutilation, hurt/eventual comfort, reader discretion is advised.

Synopsis: In which Nanami’s death doesn’t stick.

An: You are all going to pretend that I made Gojo’s sixth eye make sense in this story. You will not ask me questions on how it works. Everyone wanted Nanami to come back after this post, so here it is. The secret third option.

The world moved in bouts of chaos around you, but time stood utterly still. The Shibuya Incident will forever be ingrained into your mind. The atrocities and losses that occurred that night altered the Earth’s path, shifting it on its very axis.

Not only did the Earth shift, your world collapsed entirely. Your husband, your provider and protector, the father of your sweet daughter — gone.

The absolute pinnacle of evil stole the most righteous man and plucked him from the mortal planes. Nanami had always been too good for this world, but you selfishly wanted him back anyway.

Voices were static in the background. Shapes and colors blurred together in your vision. You couldn’t react. How could anyone expect you to after a half of your soul left you?

Your eyes were glossed over from staring straight ahead without blinking. Nothing made sense anymore. You had everything you could ever want right in the palm of your hand, and it was viciously ripped from you without a second thought.

The place around you was filled with life. Jujutsu students and teachers alike took shifts, keeping you company. Perhaps it was a suicide watch, or maybe they just felt the need to try and make up for his death.

It didn’t change the cold sediment that weighed down your lungs.

The sick joke about grief was the guilt that came along with it. Nanami was gone, but you had a daughter to raise. Hana had done nothing to deserve the emotionally distant mother you were slowly becoming.

In the early stages of your pregnancy, you and Nanami would talk for hours about different parenting styles. His palm would gently rub against your stomach as he listened to you pray that you would be better than your own parents.

He always encouraged and praised you to no end — your biggest supporter. He reassured you that you would a fantastic mother. The amount of love you had to give would supersede all else.

He was gone, and it felt like he took all of your love with him.

“Dada.” You flinched like Hana’s word — the only word she knew — stabbed you right in the chest.

Your vision slowly focused, and it was a mental effort to turn your head. Your beautiful blonde daughter was sat on the floor with Yuji. Her chubby fist was in her mouth as she smiled up at her adoptive big brother.

An invisible force squeezed your heart, causing your chest to ache. Even when you didn’t think you could possibly have anymore tears left to give, they streamed down your cheeks anyway.

Mom guilt was a different breed. You should be there for them. You’re the adult, aren’t you? Nanami would’ve been there for them if you had passed.

Why couldn’t it had been you?

“That’s right! That’s Papamin-“

“Dada,” Hana sassily corrected, looking up at Yuji like he was wrong.

“Uh, I knew him first, and we called him Papamin,” Yuji rebutted before he carefully looked in your direction. He was worried for you, but he hoped it didn’t show on his face. No one could get you to eat, drink, or move from the rocking chair that Nanami loved to sit in with his morning coffee.

You met his gaze, and you could immediately see through his facade. Yuji never had a good poker face. He was just a kid. A kid who was worried and lost. A kid who witnessed Nanami’s death with his own eyes.

Did you have any right to grieve when Yuji was there when it happened?

He was being so brave. Nanami would be proud of him, but he’d also give him the space to break down. To be vulnerable. To be a kid.

Your legs felt quaky and unsure as you rose from the rocking chair. Yuji was at your side in an instant, bracing you. “Where are we going?” he asked.

He was never suffocating in his approach. He didn’t try to make you sit down or do anything you didn’t want. He met you where you were at, buckled in along for the healing journey.

“I wanted to sit with Hana,” your voice was uncharacteristically quiet, a bit raspy from not using it, except for when you sobbed and called out for Nanami at night.

“Ten-four,” Yuji said, helping you down to where Hana was playing.

Your daughter had a building block in her hand, and she glanced up at you with a cheeky grin.

This felt unfamiliar, even though you used to spend your days playing and teaching her. She was right there — right in front of you, but she felt like she was miles away.

Your hand hesitantly reached out and brushed against her soft pudgy cheek. She was here, alive and breathing. Your daughter cooed from the touch, waving around the building block with excited flappy arms.

“Thank you… for being here, Yuji. You are one of the strongest kiddos I’ve ever met.. even when you shouldn’t have to be.” Your eyes look up to meet the teenager who had at some point grown taller than you.

Yuji furrowed his eyebrows a bit as he tried to keep his tears at bay. His cellphone was still barely hanging in his hand. Getting down onto his knees, he pulled you and Hana into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give him a proper death.”

*** *** ***

Loss looked different. Satoru stared at himself in the mirror, and for once in his life, he couldn’t see everything in the space between him and the mirror.

He used to pray for days like this. Satoru Gojo was on another level — the strongest because he was gifted the six eyes technique along with limitless. It was fucking isolating being on top.

However, now that he’s looking in the mirror… he couldn’t see every molecule of energy radiating from him. He thickly swallowed. At some point after Suguru’s death, Gojo found comfort in being lonely at the top.

After all, it was his six eyes that allowed him to immediately see through Kenjaku’s disguise and avoid being captured in the prison realm. Shibuya would’ve been a real travesty if he hadn’t swiftly dealt with what he could get to on time.

On time, which he wasn’t. Mahito’s soul transfiguration had already sentenced Nanami to death.

It was a swift decision after the curses were properly dealt with. A decision that was made with only Shoko present.

The two were alone in the morgue, right where Yuji had previously beaten death by making a deal with Sukuna.

“Are you sure?” Shoko asked in a rare tentative tone. She wasn’t even smoking a cigarette. That’s how serious this was.

What’s the point of having six eyes if you can’t see your only friend anymore?

“I can’t let another one of us die. I can’t. He has a wife, a daughter—“

“You don’t need to convince me. I’m just not sure it’ll work.” It had to work. It had to.

The blade slashed through the sixth eye like butter. Satoru couldn’t tell if it simply didn’t hurt or if he was numb to all physical pain after Nanami’s passing.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His hand was streaked in blood, the only evidence of his sacrifice. Two cerulean unharmed eyes stared back at him through the reflective glass, and despite everything, he didn’t feel overstimulated for once in his life. His brain wasn’t being overloaded with data gathered by all six of his eyes. He wasn’t over analyzing every small detail.

The cursed energy that had inhabited Gojo’s sixth eye had no where to go… no where besides the body Shoko had repaired with reversed cursed technique.

Nanami’s first breath back into this world was a dry heave. “Malaysia,” he gasped. His eyelids blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “Where are my wife and kids?”

*** *** ***

“Let me watch Hana,” Shoko insisted. “I even washed my hands. She’s not going to get any sort of secondhand smoke.”

“I’m fine, really…” you responded, trying to keep your tone from snapping at Shoko who was just clearly trying to help. “I want to spend time with her, and don’t you hate kids?”

Shoko ran a hand through her hair with a ragged sigh. This stupid plan was Gojo’s idea. “Maybe I don’t hate them anymore. Are you going to deny me the chance to find out something new about myself?”

You sent her an incredulous look, and she let her shoulders drop. She couldn’t bullshit you anymore. Crouching down, she placed her hand on your shoulder. “Look. Gojo wants to show you something, but it…” It felt wrong referring to their little ‘surprise’ as an it. “It may be best if Hana doesn’t see — not yet.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. What could he want to show you that Hana shouldn’t see yet? Surely it had something to do with Nanami. You hadn’t been able to explain to Hana that dada wasn’t coming home anytime soon.

“Okay..” you said reluctantly, passing Hana towards Shoko. She held your daughter very… clinically, like she was scared she might contract rabies from your little bundle of joy.

“We’ll be in the play room,” she said awkwardly, walking off with Hana in her arms. You scoffed a small laugh. It was the first time you could find humor in anything since him.

Your hands fell to your lap. Yuji had left a little while ago, called out on a mission. The house was silent, unmoving. Looking back towards the rocking chair, you could picture him there, drinking a mug of coffee while reading a book. He always knew when you were looking at him. Sometimes, he’d shoot back a charming smile and invite you onto his lap.

You’d never feel one of his embraces again.

Just as the tears started to well up once again, the door opened to reveal Yuji in his uniform. He had a wide grin on his face as he practically bounced his way into the living room.

“Hope you don’t mind. I’m here for lunch,” he said, flopping himself onto the couch. Despite his energetic demeanor, he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“Why would I mind? This is your home, Yuu.” You slowly stood to go to the kitchen. You were trying your best to be normal, but it only seemed to work if you were caring for others rather than yourself.

“Hey wait—“ Yuji said, sitting up from the couch with the intention of preventing you from leaving the living room. “Gojo’s coming too.”

“That’s alright. Shoko told me. I’ll make enough for him as well..”

“Shoko told you…?” Yuji asked as he furrowed his eyebrows. His lips curved into the small pout he made while he was confused by something. He thought you’d have a bigger reaction than this…

Before anything else could be said, the door opened once more for Gojo to step through. “Sorry. I don’t knock,” he said with a boyish grin on his face, leaning against your doorframe.

You looked over at him, and you immediately tilted your head to the side when his eyes met yours. He wasn’t wearing his blindfold or his glasses. As far as you knew, Gojo had been relatively unharmed in Shibuya, but perhaps you were wrong.

“That’s okay… You’re looking.. well today,” you said because what else were you supposed to say. It was rare that Satoru had his eyes out for everyone to see.

The white haired male grinned even more as his brushed his hand against his own cheek. “Yeah? Tell me more. Notice anything different about me?”

You rolled your eyes at his usual antics. Satoru never shied away from the limelight. “You just rarely walk around without something protecting your eyes. It’s refreshing to see you like this, but are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have a headache or anything right?”

“You’re cute when you fuss over me, Y/n, but I have a feeling your husband probably feels jealous hearing you talk to me like this.”

Out of habit, you nearly looked to your side where Nanami would’ve been. He would’ve coughed, signaling his discomfort with Gojo’s flirtatious nature. He would’ve told him to knock it off.

Your heart sank as you realized no one was there to keep him in line.

The room was still and heavy. Nanami’s loss left a hole in conversations. He wasn’t there to balance everyone out. The universe simply felt wrong without him.

“Stop torturing her,” a familiar voice said gruffly. Gojo chuckled as a hand shoved him to the side. He stumbled out of the doorway, so another figure could walk in.

He was there in all of his glory. Fixing his cufflinks awkwardly like he did the first day he met you. He slowly met your gaze, and it felt like his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest to get to you.

His entire left side had been permanently marred, skin red and irritated with divots that were not there before. His left eye had been carefully wrapped, showing how he had experienced loss as well. His usually perfectly styled blonde hair laid messily upon his head, giving a rare sight of his undercut.

Your late husband somehow stood before you, and he was perfect.

You were glad that you were not holding anything in your hands because you would’ve dropped. You would’ve trampled people to get to him.

You had dreams like this where he would come home just for a day. You knew that you couldn’t let any time pass by.

His arms which were perfectly sculpted to hold you carefully wrapped around you as soon as you flung yourself at him. The questions of ‘why’ or ‘how’ died on your lips. You didn’t want to waste any time with him worrying about that stuff.

“Darling,” he gently rasped as he felt your tears soaking through his shirt. His hands gently rubbed up and down your back soothingly. “I love you. I’m sorry it took a while to get back to you.”

You shook your head vigorously. “Don’t be sorry. I love you so much. I missed you so much. Nothing made sense without you.”

His hand trailed up to your hair as he dipped his nose against your neck. You smelled just as he remembered— like home. His heart finally seemed to rest a bit with the promise that he was right where he should be.

“In case it hasn’t been clear, I’m retiring,” Nanami spoke up, looking over to Gojo, but he didn’t dare stop holding you.

“Aw, that’s okay. I’m pretty sure you were considered terminated anyways while you were—“

A sharp glare from you made the words clog in his throat. “I’ll plan your retirement party,” he corrected with a cheeky grin as he joined in on the hug. He was like a little parasite that you two couldn’t get rid of. A parasite that had made himself at home with both of you. A parasite that both of you cherished.

“I’ll miss you at school, Nanamin,” Yuji said, walking over to join in on the hug, rubbing his face into Nanami’s shoulder. When he was called out on a mission earlier, he had actually been brought into the morgue to see Nanami, to help plan the surprise, which was terribly hard to keep a secret.

“You’ll have me here though,” Nanami said as he used one of his palms to ruffle Yuji’s soft pink hair. “I’ll still come visit the campus as well.”

You let out a deep breath, releasing the tension in your body that had been there since Halloween night. Everything felt so surreal. He was really here, breathing in your arms. His flesh was warm and very much alive.

“Hana hasn’t stopped asking for you,” you whispered against him, still not ready to let him slip from your arms.

Nanami’s chest rose as he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t want to scare her… I know I look different.”

“You’re still you, Nanami, and you’re perfect. She may not recognize you at first, but our daughter is a bright little girl. She’ll recognize the love you have to give.” You finally leaned your head up, pressing your hands to either side of Nanami’s cheeks gently.

His hazel eyes shined with unshed tears, and the smile on his face was bittersweet. “I’m just glad to be home.”

“You are my home,” you whispered before capturing his lips in a soft, longing kiss.

“Ew.”

“Gross,” Yuji echoed as he and Satoru both pulled away from the group hug.

Neither you nor Nanami reacted to their comments. Both of you were too caught up in each other’s embrace — unwilling to give up the serenity.

“Ugh, I wish I would’ve waited a few more minutes before coming in here.” Shoko’s voice cut through the tender moment. Her nose was scrunched up as she feigned disgust.

You reluctantly peeled yourself from your husband to look behind your shoulder. Shoko was holding Hana near the hallway to where she couldn’t see Nanami just yet.

“Bad news. I’m still not great with kids,” she said with a lilt of sarcasm in her tone that made you chuckle a bit; however, Nanami tensed in your arms.

He knew what he looked like, and he knew how easily young toddlers could get scared. One time before the Shibuya incident, he had let a five o’clock shadow grow on his chin and jaw. Hana wouldn’t let him hold her until he shaved it off. He was so devastated that he shaved it almost immediately.

“No matter what, it’ll be okay,” you murmured to him. “Having you here is what matters.”

He nodded, knowing that you were right. Hana would get used to the scars… eventually. He could handle his daughter looking at him like he was a stranger for a little while.

“Ahem— Hana..” he said tentatively as Shoko walked closer to the front entrance way. The world stood still while everyone held their breath.

Hana immediately perked up from where she had her fingers wrapped up in Shoko’s long brown hair. She turned her head, eyes bobbing around to see the source of her dad’s timber voice.

As soon as your daughter’s eyes — the ones she got from her mother — found Nanami, her entire face lit up. “Dada— Dada!” she grunted while fighting to get out of Shoko’s arms.

The doctor gladly passed her off to Nanami, wiping off her coat sleeves with a relieved look on her face.

Your husband melted. Tears welled up in his one functioning eye, and he held Hana close to his chest. “Hi pumpkin,” his voice cracked. “I missed you,” He looked up towards you, “and your mama so much.”

Her small stubby arms wrapped around him, still chanting his name with glee. Gojo patted his back, a silent gesture to welcome him back home. Nanami didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay Satoru for the sacrifice he made.

Your daughter’s small hands experimentally touched the wrapping around Nanami’s eye. “Dada,” she cooed. Her eyes then searched until they landed on Satoru like he was the one who should have the wrappings around his eyes. She was such a clever little girl.

Nanami followed her gaze until he saw Gojo. “Yes, I’m here,” your husband responded. “Are you looking at Uncle Toru?”

Satoru leaned down a bit to look Hana in the eyes. Babies always seemed a little rattled by him, probably due to the amount of cursed energy he practically radiated.

It was if the two had a silent conversation between them. You and Nanami stared in confusion, wondering what was going on in your daughter’s head as she stared at Satoru.

No matter, she smiled and turned her attention back to Nanami with a loud giggle that turned into a squeal. “Dada!” She then followed that up by a bunch of incoherent babbling.

“His name is still Papamin,” Yuji corrected, to which Hana merely stuck her tongue out at him and blew a raspberry.

It didn’t matter which name you all called him: Nanami, Nanamin, Papamin, Dada. You could call him whatever you liked, so long as he got to cherish the rest of his life with his family.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[bistrocatxx]

sukuna was loud. not just in the way that his voice carried, but him. his hulking frame that filled whatever room he was in, his tattoos and piercings that drew stares and pulled whispers from whoever he was with. his mere presence was impossible to ignore.

and because of that, it always seemed like others got louder around him too. like they were trying to compete with him, fearing that they'd get lost in his shadow if they didn't. sometimes it was amusing. sometimes sukuna relished in the knowledge that others would do so much, just because they were intimidated, maybe insecure, or just wanted his attention. but there were times too, like tonight, where he just couldn't stand it — that there was never a moment of silence.

he was on edge more than usual already, having had a trying day, but he still decided to go out to the bars with some friends. he thought maybe it would take his mind off things.

he couldn't have been more wrong.

the entire night was a fucking headache. his jaw was aching from how hard he was clenching it in irritation. his temples and the spot between his eyes were throbbing from having his brows furrowed all night. it felt like everyone was in a 'let's piss sukuna off' competition, and they were all winning. and so, after only a mere hour, he was pulling out his phone and clicking on your contact, practically begging you to come pick him up.

you laughed softly through the line, and he could already feel the tension in his shoulders dissipating. he felt like he could finally breathe again when you told him be there in five.

shortly after that, sukuna found his relief in the oasis that was your apartment. it was warm from having the oven on, the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies filled the air, a lingering sweetness on his tongue from the few (ten) that he ate.

you both had already changed back into your pajamas, your hair held back with fluffy pink headbands, face masks on. he was laid across your couch that was much too small for someone of his size, his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his head lightly. he had a hand resting on your thigh, mindlessly tracing little circles on your skin. his favorite moments were always these ones. with you. when he could finally enjoy a moment of peace and just be. no pressure to conform to the the loud persona everyone imagined him as.

and so, the two of you sat in comfortable silence as the tv played softly in front of you, rolling an old 2000's chick flick (that he'd picked out).

[moonietuney]

katsuki bakugo is NOT a nonchalant boyfriend. if you even sigh weirdly he’s all over you trying to pry whatever’s wrong out of you. he loves with the same intensity he fights with, and it shows in everything he does. when people look at you for too long in public, his hand practically slaps to your waist and pulls you into him. “quit starin!” he’ll bark. he hates when people ogle you like you’re some damn mystical creature they have to have. when you’re alone, he makes it well known he likes you messing with his hair. it’s relaxing and he won’t hesitate to make you do it. katsuki will lay his head on your chest and mumble, “play with my hair. now.” in a pouty voice. only the gods above know he’d never let his classmates see him like that. this side of him is reserved strictly for you.

more mha || masterlist ↖

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Fucking Divine || Johnny Storm ||

A/n: here it is! As promised!

Warnings: Pregnancy sex

The soft whirr of the fan in the Baxter Building did little to cool the flush blooming across your face. Third trimester, swollen ankles, and a dress that didn’t quite drape the way it used to.

You stood by the mirror in your shared bedroom with Johnny fidgeting with the waistband of your maternity slip. You knew he’d never said anything unkind—but lately, every reflection felt like a stranger.

Your hands skimmed over the curve of your belly, a small pout forming on your lips.

“I look like a house,” you muttered.

“Excuse me?” came Johnny’s voice behind you, smooth and edged in disbelief.

You turned halfway, startled, catching him in the mirror’s reflection—white T-shirt, dark slacks, and that stormy look in his eyes reserved only for two things: villains, and you doubting yourself.

Johnny walked up slowly, arms crossed, heat radiating off him in more ways than one. “You wanna say that again, sweetheart?”

“I just… I feel huge. My thighs rub, my back hurts, and don’t even get me started on my—”

Before you could finish, he was behind you, hands on your hips, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You’re carrying our baby,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “You think that makes you anything less than fucking divine?”

You tried to deflect with a soft laugh as you tried to twist away, but Johnny wasn’t letting go. One hand slid around to cup the underside of your belly, while the other smoothed up your waist, fingers splaying over your ribcage.

“I want you,” he whispered, voice turning molten. “So bad I can barely stand it.”

“Johnny…”

His lips pressed to the back of your neck. Then your shoulder. Then lower.

“You don’t get to hide from me,” he said as he knelt down, hands trailing reverently over your hips. “Not when you’re glowing like this. Not when you’ve never looked more like mine.”

He nuzzled your belly, then looked up at you from under those lashes with a wicked grin.

“Lie back for me.”

You hesitated only a second before letting him guide you to the bed, slow and careful. You propped yourself against the pillows, your thighs parting as he crawled between them.

He kissed the swell of your belly again before trailing lower—down to the top of your mound.

“God, I love your pussy when you’re like this,” he groaned, breath hot. “All soft and swollen and dripping for me.”

Your breath hitched, warmth creeping up your neck as gaze remained glued to him. He pushed your thighs wider, kissing the plush inside of one while his fingers slipped to tease at your entrance.

“You feel that?” he murmured, drawing a long, slow stroke through your folds. “You’re soaked.”

“Johnny,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby, you’re gonna forget every single thing you said in that mirror.”

His mouth descended on you, slow and greedy—tongue curling into your folds, lips sucking your clit just the way you liked, until your hips bucked and your fingers gripped the headboard.

“God, Johnny, I—”

“That’s right,” he growled, replacing his tongue with two thick fingers, fucking them into you steadily while his other hand kneaded your thigh. “Let me hear how beautiful I make you feel.”

Your walls clenched hard around him, and he groaned like it hurt. “Fuck—I need to be inside you.”

He stood, hastily pushing his pants down, cock springing free and hard, tip flushed and dripping.

You opened for him instinctively.

“Look at you,” he said, climbing over you. “So perfect. So fucking made to take me.”

He guided himself to your entrance, his forehead pressing to yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed.

He pushed in slow, deep—inch by inch until you were filled, stretched, utterly wrecked beneath him.

“Shit, sunshine,” he groaned. “You feel unreal.”

You whimpered, clinging to his biceps, thighs shaking.

He pulled back and rocked into you again, hips finding a rhythm that hit deep—slow, deliberate thrusts that brushed everything inside you. The bed creaked, your moans mixing with his.

“I can feel how tight you are,” he gasped. “Squeezing my cock like you wanna keep me in there forever.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged.

“I’m not fucking stopping,” he growled.

He shifted, slipping a hand under your thigh to angle you just right—each thrust now pounding into the perfect spot, cock thick and pulsing inside your pussy.

You cried out as the pleasure crested, eyes wide as it overtook you.

“Johnny—!”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he panted. “Cum for me, beautiful. Milk my cock. Show me how pretty you are when you fall apart.”

Your pussy clenched around him, spasming through your orgasm, and Johnny couldn’t hold back—he drove in deep with a strangled cry, his cock pulsing as he filled you with thick, hot come.

He stayed there, breathing ragged, forehead to yours.

“That,” he said, voice hoarse, “is what beautiful looks like.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and glowing.

He leaned down to kiss your belly once more.

“And now I’m gonna go run you a bath, rub your feet, and remind you every damn hour how sexy you are with my baby inside you.”

You laughed, flushed and breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m obsessed,” he corrected, already slipping off the bed. “There’s a difference.”

And you let yourself believe it. Because with Johnny Storm, you never felt anything less than adored.

[knowledgeableknitter]

Alpine's Betrayal

Thursdays with Alpine! A new drabble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (this one is gn, but it's sorta connected to another one that will be fem)

Word Count: <500

Summary: Alpine FINALLY picks you over Bucky. Bucky pouts adorably.

Trigger Warnings: Fluff with a fluffy cat.

Author’s Note: so, all my Alpine’s are apparently gonna be interconnected. Cause it’s hard for me to not keep going with a storyline…

Masterlist

You didn’t mean to gloat.

Okay, maybe you did. Just a little.

It started on a quiet morning, sunlight pouring through the windows, the three of you nestled in Bucky’s apartment in that comfortable, slow-moving rhythm you’d all found together. He sat on the couch with his usual mug of black coffee and the cocky confidence of a man who knew the cat was going to choose his lap. Again.

And Alpine was perched on the back of the couch, judging, as usual.

“C’mere, girl,” Bucky murmured, patting his thigh like he was summoning a royal subject. “Got your spot right here.”

You smirked from the other end of the couch, legs curled up beneath you, one hand idly scrolling through your phone. “You know, one day she’s not gonna choose you.”

He glanced at you, amused. “Never gonna happen.”

Alpine stretched, long and dramatic, and then turned, paused, and flicked her tail thoughtfully.

Finally, with calculated grace, she walked right past Bucky’s lap and stepped over to you.

You froze.

She paused in front of your legs, gave one slow blink, and then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, climbed into your lap and curled up in a perfect circle of fur.

You looked up.

Bucky was staring.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said, sounding genuinely offended.

Your grin spread slowly. “Oh my god. Are you pouting?”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You absolutely are.”

“She sits with me every morning.”

“Apparently not anymore.”

Alpine yawned, tucked her nose into her tail, and purred loud enough to make your chest buzz.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the cat. “I gave you a home. I bought you that overpriced organic food. I brushed you last night.”

“You sound like a jealous ex.”

“I sound like someone who’s been betrayed.”

You laughed, gently running your fingers down Alpine’s back as she snuggled in deeper. “Maybe she finally realized who the better cuddler is.”

Bucky scoffed and stood dramatically, grabbing his coffee. “Fine. Hope you’re happy together.”

You bit back another smile. “We are, thank you very much.”

As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, “She’ll come crawling back.”

Alpine flicked her tail once, almost like she was saying don’t count on it.

You leaned back against the cushions, grinning down at the purring traitor in your lap.

“Good girl.”

Tag list: @lovely-seb @calwitch @its-in-the-woods @ficmeiguess @yesiamthatwierd

[lululoveyy]

whenever i see a sub enha writer on tumblr i nearly cry with joy cause im so sick of all the dom stuff whenever i look for smut. i love whiney pathetic men and you write them so well :'))) i love how you write heeseung could i request for more sub hee...

i feel the exact same i understand that soo good, i hope you'll keep enjoying my works and i hope you'll like this one💕💕

m. list

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: l. heeseung x reader

ᡣ𐭩 genre: smut

ᡣ𐭩 tw: dry humping, begging, unprotected sex (wrap up), cowgirl position, praise

you’re straddling him on the couch, legs tucked on either side of his hips, arms around his neck. the movie you’d put on for background noise is long forgotten, playing to no one as your mouths move in slow, lazy sync. deep kisses, lips brushing, tongues meeting in a rhythm that feels too perfect for how unhurried it all is.

his hands are gripping your thighs, fingertips pressing harder with every soft moan that slips out of your mouth. heeseung kisses you like he’s starved, but also like he has all the time in the world. like he wants to memorize every taste, every sound you make, every shiver in your breath.

and then it shifts, subtle at first.

he starts to roll his hips up against you, slow, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. but then it happens again. and again.

“baby…” his voice breaks, barely above a whisper. there’s a flush across his cheeks, his lashes fluttering as he bites his lip and presses up into you once more.

you pull back just slightly, resting your forehead against his. “what’s wrong?” you ask, even though you already know.

he lets out a shaky breath, hands traveling up to your waist. “you’re killing me,” he mumbles, eyes hazy. “you’re sitting there looking like that and kissing me like that and... what do you think is wrong?”

you smile, soft and a little dangerous, and shift your weight just enough to drag yourself against him, feeling how hard he is beneath you. he groans, head falling back, throat exposed.

“needy?” you murmur, lips brushing his jaw.

“so bad,” he breathes, like it physically hurts. “i need you.”

you don’t tease for long. just long enough to hear him whine. just long enough to feel his hands start to tremble against your skin.

you lean back, only to peel the oversized tee off your body. his eyes snap to yours, wide and reverent, and he swears under his breath. you're not wearing underwear. “holy sh—”

you cut him off with another kiss, deeper this time, and his hips stutter up into you like he can’t help himself. you don’t even say anything, just reach down, ease your hand under his waistband, and feel the way his breath catches.

“please,” heeseung gasps, already begging before you’ve even done anything. “please, i need you, baby, please.”

you hush him gently, kissing along his jaw as you free him, feeling the way he throbs under your touch. his voice cracks again, a breathless moan escaping before he bites down on his knuckle to quiet himself.

you guide him against you, slow, steady, and when you finally sink down, his whole body jerks. like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

his hands grip your waist like he’s holding on for dear life.

“oh my god,” he says, breathless, voice breaking. “you feel—i can’t even, don’t stop, please.”

you move slow at first, just to watch him fall apart. he’s gasping, rambling under his breath, curses, praise, your name over and over like it’s the only word he knows.

“so good,” he whispers. “you’re so good. you’re perfect. i’m yours. god, i can’t think”

heeseung’s completely wrecked. whining with every movement, hands desperate but obedient, eyes fluttering shut like he’s overwhelmed by the way you’re taking him apart without mercy.

you lean in close, press your lips to his ear. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he shudders, letting out a sound that’s almost broken. “don’t stop. please don’t stop. i need you.”

and you don’t. not until his voice is hoarse, his body trembling, and all he can do is cling to you. his hands tangled in your hair, his mouth pressed to your neck like he’s trying to ground himself, like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

- lulu

[auracorazayne]

Routine Check-Up

A pre-relationship ZayneMC one shot that originated from this twitter interaction

warnings: pre-relationship; no smut, just unspoken feelings and slow-burn-esque tension; but obviously per the above screenshot, some vague discussion about sex; Zayne and MC are both mentioned to be virgins in this fic, idc if that does or doesn't fit your hc's; second person POV; only allusions to reader's gender are via "Miss Hunter" used one time and "sister" used one time; I think that's it, let me know if I should add something else

word count: 3.8k (oops)

a/n: it's not even 24 hours after I tweeted that reply and I gained like 100+ new followers on Twitter and have like 40-50 replies to go through requesting tags on this, which is a crazy response. I SINCERELY HOPE that you guys enjoy this and that I did not just build anticipation for people only to disappoint lol. Either way, happy to hear thoughts, even if they are critical! Feedback helps me improve, so I'm always open to suggestions 🩵

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"The doctor is ready for you," the receptionist calls to you over the lobby desk, making your heart lurch with excitement. You run your hands through your hair for the 18th time and take a steadying breath, swallowing the urge to launch out of your chair and skip down the hall, as over-eager as you always are ahead of seeing your childhood-friend-turned-primary-care-physician.

The surprise came six or seven months ago when, during a routine appointment with Dr. Noah, you were introduced to the new doctor that would be taking over some of his patients in his retirement. The air left your lungs all at once, pure shock nearly dropping you to your knees, when in walked the sweet, quiet boy from your childhood you gave up hope on ever seeing again.

The sweet, quiet boy your heart never forgot about, even after he disappeared from your life without a trace, even after all the years of separation, even after all the time spent wishing you'd somehow cross paths again. The sweet, quiet boy your heart never let you forget about, despite the many days spent wondering where he was in the world, despite the countless nights spent missing him, despite all the perfectly suitable romantic options over the years that just fell flat because that very stubborn heart of yours continued to hold on.

And while your heart rejoiced at finally being reunited with that boy, all those feelings flooding back in the instant he walked through that door, your body had become keenly aware that he was now a man: tall, strikingly handsome, elegantly styled, graceful in ways that seemed unfair, carrying the air of experience. It made reconnecting slightly difficult at first, a few awkward lunches or coffee meet-ups full of nerves in the very beginning, but it didn't take long for things to fall back into the same smooth, easy rhythm you had as kids, both eager to catch up on all the missed time.

And just like back then, it only took one glance from his piercing emerald eyes to pin you to the spot and make your heart race in ways you were sure would one day lead to a cardiac emergency. Ironic, you think.

Fortunately, should that happen, there's quite literally no one better suited to save you than the very same perpetrator. Unfortunately, it was quite troublesome to always be dealing with inexplicable tachycardia in the presence of your cardiologist, who was quite concerned.

As you knock on Zayne's office door, that tachycardia threatens to surface and you do your best to fight it mind-over-matter. But the second you hear his rich voice call for you to enter, the battle is lost.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Li," you greet with an impish lilt as you take a seat in the exam chair; you never were able to stop yourself from teasing him, then or now. He pauses his typing to cock an eyebrow at your obvious cheek and you can't help but snicker.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hunter." His pointed return has you laughing again, and you catch a little smirk as his attention shifts back to his computer screen.

Not wanting to interrupt him, you quietly study his features in the few moments it takes him to finish his task, admiring the chiseled angles of this new, matured face of his. Puberty sure was kind to him, you think to yourself. If cardiothoracic surgery ever grows dull for him, surely the modeling world would welcome him with open arms.

"Now then..." He suddenly shifts focus, forcing you to quickly reign in your leering. "Before we discuss the results of your most recent ECG, a bit of housekeeping is in order."

You nod as he returns to his computer and clicks a few times, presumably pulling up your medical record.

"We're due to update some information," he explains before flipping one of his monitors towards you. "Are these medications and dosages still accurate to what you're following currently?"

You rise from your seat and lean over his desk for a closer look, reviewing the list with furrowed brows and a hum. "Everything that's listed is still correct, but there's one prescription missing." With a finger to your chin, you meet his gaze, his brows similarly furrowed as he tries to puzzle out what medication would be missing. "As of this summer, I've been on a thousand milligrams of sucrose weekly, per the orders of my doctor's dentist."

Your face pulls into a delighted grin as his falls deadpan, one of his hands coming up to flick your forehead. With a chortling laugh, you fall back into your chair, rubbing your forehead as he returns the monitor to its original position.

"Barring that, everything looks correct, yes?"

"Yes," you give with a lingering little giggle, never shy about laughing at your own jokes. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a half-smile, painting the perfect picture of the phrase 'fond exasperation,' and you can't help the way it turns your grin just a little dopey or makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. These were the most precious of little moments with Zayne that made your heart soar.

With a pointed nod, he gets back to business. "Moving on. Any major illnesses in the past 12 months?"

"No."

"Any major injuries or surgeries in the past 12 months?"

"No."

"Any incidents in the past 12 months that required hospitalization?"

"No."

"Any new or worsening allergies?"

"No."

"Do you drink alcohol?"

"Socially."

"How often do you drink four or more drinks in one sitting?"

"Never."

He pauses to look at you, again with that cocked eyebrow that does funny things to your insides. "Does that actually mean 'never' or does that actually mean 'sometimes?'"

"Dr. Li, what do you take me for?" You feign offense with a hand to your chest, but he simply levels you with the same silent look. "Truly, I don't have the tolerance you must think I have." His eyes narrow a fraction as he considers you and your innocent smile for another moment, the intensity of his stare drawing heat to your cheeks. When he finally seems convinced enough to return to his questions, you release the breath you hadn't realized you were holding under his scrutiny.

"Do you smoke, either tobacco or marijuana?"

"No."

"Do you use any recreational drugs?"

"No."

"Are you sexually active?"

You should have expected it, should have known this question would come up at some point and been better prepared to school yourself, but your whole body involuntarily goes rigid. You quickly mumble out a "no," trying and failing to hide your sudden tension, painfully aware of his discerning gaze swinging your way to study your reaction. As you feel your neck to your crown grow flame-hot, you keep your eyes riveted to the floor like your life depends on it, sure that there must be visible steam emitting from your ears.

After a long, tumultuous moment of loaded silence, he finally says, in a voice both gentle and quiet, "I understand our...friendship may make this an uncomfortable topic... however, for the sake of your health, it's best to be honest here."

At that, your eyes flick up to meet his, then quickly return to their spot on the floor. "I am," you assert softly, suddenly feeling like you might suffocate in that office.

In your periphery, you can see the way he tilts his head, considering. "Your sudden nervousness would seem to imply you're lying." Coming out of anyone else's mouth, it would easily sound accusatory, but from Zayne, there was only a gentle observation and an even gentler request to understand.

"I'm not lying..." your brows knit together before you will your eyes to drift up and meet his again, only to be overwhelmed and have to avert them to some nondescript spot on the wall. "I'm...embarrassed."

He wheels his chair around the corner of his desk and stops directly in front of you, aiming to bridge the gap between you, both literally and metaphorically. Knee-to-knee, he tries to capture your avoidant gaze. "Did I embarrass you?"

"No, I--" The thread of guilt in his voice has you jumping to explain yourself, heart squeezing, but your voice dries up in your throat when your eyes meet his once more and find him so much closer than before. Your mouth opens and closes a few times and you have to force a hard swallow in order to try again. "You didn't embarrass me." Then, quieter, you add, "if anything, I embarrassed myself..." Despite the desire to avert your eyes again, you find you're unable to.

"Can you help me understand how, why? Is it that you find it embarrassing to not be sexually active at the moment?" His earnestness makes your chest constrict and--oh god, he's so close, does he seem like he's gotten even closer?

"Zayne..." Your stomach twists knowing what you've resigned to admit out loud to him. "I'm... a virgin..."

Something indiscernible flashes across his features and all at once you feel hot enough to burst into flames, yet you still can't tear your eyes from his. He hums, giving nothing of his internal thoughts away. "And that's... embarrassing for you? Being a virgin?"

"S-sometimes..." You take to chewing on your lip to try to ease the way everything in you is screaming to jump out the 4th story window to your left. "It just feels like..." With a slow breath, you search for the words, any words. "At my age..."

In your heart of hearts, you know you just saw the corner of his lips lift, despite it only being an excruciatingly tiny amount, and, unsure of what it means or where you stand with him, it fully plunges your thoughts into the chaos you were trying to keep at bay.

Was it embarrassing to be a virgin at any age? Certainly not. Unless there was one person--one devastatingly desirable person that you ached for mind, body, and soul--that you already had slim chances of ending up with, which could possibly become even slimmer if he knew of your inexperience. Zayne surely wasn't the type to care about a little inexperience, but an intelligent, successful, mature man with a face like that? It stood to reason he had experience under his belt and desired a partner that could keep up with him, that he didn't need to teach.

Another long-seeded insecurity starts to drag itself to the forefront, opening up a gnawing pit in your stomach the way it always does when it rears its ugly head: the possibility that Zayne might view you as family, a sibling even.

in your eyes, even during childhood, Zayne has always been the one your heart longed for, but what were you in his eyes? Were you ever anything more to him than the troublesome little girl next door he was forced to look after? He was always smarter, better focused, better at communicating, better at not scraping his knees at every turn, and he certainly never made you feel less than for any of that, but could it have slowly sealed you away in a position of juvenility in his mind? Now, presently as your doctor, is he simply taking care of an adoptive little sister with nostalgic, familial fondness?

And did admitting your virginity to him only further cement a perceived gap in maturity?

As you lose yourself in your internal spiral, he assess you, expression soft, before leaning back in his chair and picking up a pen to twirl idly.

"Would you feel better..." He begins, snapping you back into reality, your eyes refocusing on him and his uncharacteristically relaxed posture. "...if I told you I was also a virgin?"

You gawk, features blanching, sure that you couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. And then you realize: he must be joking, or otherwise lying to soothe your ego. "Yeah, right," you roll your eyes before fixing him with an incredulous glare, your turn to cock a brow in his direction.

The corner of his lips lifts higher, this time enough that that it would be noticeable even to one not so well-versed in Zayne's micro-expressions. "It's true," he insists with his barely-there smirk.

You cross your arms and lean back in your seat, unyielding. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about the situation, but I'm not buying it."

His little crooked smile widens into something big enough to be called a grin, at least by Zayne standards, and he huffs a laugh through his nose. "While I did say it to make you feel better, it isn't a fabrication. It's the genuine truth."

The two of you--languidly leaned far back in your opposing seats, knees nearly brushing--look at one another for a long, drawn out moment as you weigh his words. And you hate what those words are doing to your insides, the little butterflies that rise in your stomach, the hope their fluttering wings are starting to stir up.

"It just doesn't make sense," you finally level, which seems to amuse him even further.

"Why not?"

As you consider him, still steadfast in your skepticism, he tilts his head at you ever so slightly, maintaining his wisp of a grin, making your heart clench with how effortlessly handsome he is.

"You're too attractive," you offer, both as an answer to his question and as an accusation. He coughs and splutters as if you just threw water in his face, clearly caught off guard by such a blunt declaration, and yet his grin never falls. Before he can recover himself too much, you continue. "And too smart. Too kind and caring."

"Confusing that somehow such high praise is evidence against my candor." With a bemused, breathy chuckle, he rests an elbow on the arm of his chair and leans his head on his knuckles, eyes sharp and glittering.

"It just stands to reason that someone at some point must have made advances towards you." You lean forward, eyes narrowed, elbow planted on your knee as you drop your chin into your hand and study him.

"I was several years younger than everyone in my class, and far too occupied with course work to take notice. Beyond that..." In turn, he sits forward in his chair, forearms coming to lean on his knees as he brings his face close to yours. "... Am I obligated to accept advances from just anyone simply because they were made towards me?" His voice drops, sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

"N-no...I suppose not..." you concede, just a little breathless at the new proximity. You catch a whiff of his cologne and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull.

"You, on the other hand..." He pauses, tracing your features with his gaze, and it feels as though you might combust on the spot under such close attention. You take a long, steadying breath, willing yourself to keep a level head. "If we examine the reasoning you gave earlier, and the fact that you were surrounded by peers primarily within your own age group, to use your words... 'it stands to reason that someone at some point must have made advances towards you.'"

With your brain currently overloaded with equal parts nerves and desire, it takes a minute for his point to hit you. But when it does, you can't stop the cheshire grin that splits your face, finding a blunder in his words. "Dr. Li," you tease. "Are you calling me attractive?"

"Yes." He answers without hesitation, seeming nearly unfazed save for the bit of color that rises to his cheeks, in stark contrast to you who's gone from grinning to slack-jawed with just that one word. Your heart pounds so heavily in your chest you think it might beat its way straight out of your rib cage. "But that doesn't absolve you from the question," he continues, and it takes you even longer this time for your brain to pick up the pieces of the conversation and figure out how to close your gaping mouth.

"Advances..." you start, mostly in an attempt to pull yourself from your daze. "There were some..." With a hard swallow, you will more coherent sentences to find their way to you. "A few dates here and there, but nothing that went anywhere..."

"Hmm," he hums thoughtfully. "Because you didn't want them to? Or because they didn't want them to?"

You blink, feeling suddenly sober as you try to avoid saying the explicit truth on the tip of your tongue: because none of them were you. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you try to find the right thing to say. "A little bit of both, I suppose... I never really felt a spark with any of them, so at the end of the day, I would've cut them off anyway. Some of them just beat me to the punch."

He tilts his head to the side inquisitively. "You've never felt a spark with anyone?"

Your lips turn up in a slow smirk at his question, gaze dropping to the side. "Well, I didn't say that..." Heat returns to your face as you glance back up at him through your lashes, and the way his adams apple bobs elicits a fresh wave of butterflies in your stomach.

"My apologies for putting words in your mouth," he breathes, voice huskier than you've ever heard it. He's so, so close, close enough that his breath tickles your overheated cheeks, and you want nothing more than to close the short gap between you and touch your lips to his, to make sure he actually understands.

"W-what about you?" You try, blinking rapidly, attempting to stay grounded in the conversation and beat back the urge to attach yourself to his face.

"What about me?" With a single knuckle, he traces a feather-light line up the forearm you're leaning on, and it takes everything in you to not fall right out of your chair. You're almost certain he notices the goosebumps he leaves in his wake.

"Any dates? Any attempts?" You breathe, or, maybe more accurately, wheeze.

His only response is a low hum and a slow shake of his head.

"None at all?"

Again, a shake of his head. Somewhere in the back of your mind is a flash of disappointment that he doesn't consider any of your get-togethers to have been dates, but you quickly shoo the thought away; they were always proposed as meetings between friends, never actually dates, even if wait staff, cashiers, and baristas were constantly assuming you two were a couple on a date.

"Zayne, you've never been on one date?" The incredulity creeps back into your tone.

Still shaking his head, he explains, "I never had the time. Or the interest."

"It's still just... hard to believe," you murmur.

"That I didn't have the time for dating while I was finishing med school early, training as a combat medic, or starting my career as a surgeon?" He lifts a brow with a little smirk that's so cute it's painful.

"Yeah, okay, well, when you put it like that..." You roll your eyes and playfully bump his knee with yours. "But still, even with all that... no one's ever caught your eye?"

"Well, I didn't say that," he echoes, grin growing to a size that's surely bigger than you've seen from him before, eyes sparkling with mirth--and, you dare to let yourself think it this time, perhaps, a hint of affection.

All you can do is stare with a matching grin of your own and a stomach full of butterflies threatening to carry you away, desperately hoping that you're not somehow playing tricks on yourself, that this moment of understanding isn't something you managed to twist in to being inside your own head.

Just as you're finding the courage to reach out and make that direct contact, finally voice the scary question, Zayne's desk phone shatters the intimate silence and you have to restrain yourself from throwing it at the wall.

It takes him a moment, but he clears his throat and slides his chair back over to pick it up with a curt greeting.

"Yes, I'm just finishing up with the current patient now." A pause. "Thank you."

As he lays the phone back on the receiver, he meets your waiting gaze again and the fond smile that graces his face makes your heart squeeze for the upteenth time since entering his office.

After a beat, he clears his throat. "Well... I suppose I don't need to ask about a history of STI's..." He clicks through the remaining health screening questions left abandoned on his computer screen and you can't suppress the snorting laughter that bubbles out of you.

That easy, smiling quiet charged with unspoken understanding falls between you again once more, until you reluctantly tell him in a soft voice, "I'll get out of your hair."

It takes another moment, but you both stand and head for the door. As he reaches around you for the handle, you turn before he can pull it open, meaning to add one last thing, only to find yourself caged between his tall frame and the wood at your back. His scent washes over you and makes the room spin as you both process unexpectedly being chest to chest. You decide the pink hue of his ears is your favorite color, before remembering your favorite color has actually always been hazel green.

Attempting to chase that fleeting courage from earlier, you look up at him through your lashes and inhale deeply. "Zayne?"

"Yes?" He breathes, failing to hide his anticipation, if he was even trying in the first place.

"Are you... free for dinner some night this week?"

He gives a single jerky nod in response. "Thursday, I believe."

Your smile widens slowly before you whisper. "Good. It's a date, then."

Surprise flickers across his face before being replaced with his own slow smile. When you lean up on your tip toes to quickly peck his cheek, he inhales sharply, his body going rigid as a board, ears promptly ramping up into a bright crimson.

He's still frozen in place, processing the moment when you lay your hand over his to finally open the door. As you step out into the hall, you turn back one more time, having suddenly remembered something.

"We never discussed the results of my ECG."

Zayne finally thaws and leans through the door frame, capturing your chin between his fingers. "I guess you'll just have to make another appointment," he says in a low voice, just before his warm lips find your cheek in turn and your heart erupts in the halls of Akso Hospital.

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a/n: I really didn't expect this to turn out this long, sorry y'all lmao. I miiiight in the future write that date (which I think I could tie into Heart Within Reach? But I'd need to do a full reread to make sure I didn't somehow write myself out of that as an option) which might also get a future continuation of ZayneMC's first time together because that's kind of been rattling around in my brain too lol. Hopefully if you made it this far down, that means you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!

[fernsdelight]

Nasty Simon Ghost Riley x F reader where you get a massage that leads to cunnilingus. That's it, that's the whole post. Enjoy

“You look tense, Love. Lie down and I’ll give you a massage.”

God bless your fiancé, Simon, always so tender and loving with you. It was like he could read your mind sometimes, knowing exactly what you needed after a long day at work.

He lays you down on your shared bed, taking the time to slowly peel off your pajama shirt so your back is exposed to him. He takes the time to set the mood, lighting a candle and turning on the low light of the lamp on the night table. His calloused, warm hands know your body better than his own, finding the tense muscles of your shoulders and squeezing the knots there before digging his thumb into it.

You groan with pleasure, feeling it come loose while Simon leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders and nape. His fingers stroke down the sides of your soft body, tickling the sensitive skin there, his lips trailing a hot path down your spine, lavishing attention on each individual vertebra.

Simon pressed one final kiss to your lower back before hooking his fingers into the band of your pajama shorts and yanking them down. A soft moan escapes your lips as the cool air of the room hits your hot cunt. He slips a pillow under your hips to prop your hips up for him, a satisfied rumble coming from his broad chest as he swipes his fingers through your puffy folds. You’re already wet and sticky for him, coating his fingers with slick that he uses to rub your swollen little clit.

The feeling of the rough pads of his fingers on your clit has you mewling with pleasure. Simon is greedy, nasty, and so fucking filthy as he spits a fat glob of saliva right onto your cunt before slurping it back up, drinking down your sweet nectar.

He nudges his nose against your slit, finally getting his tongue on your clit. He takes it into his mouth and hollows out his cheeks, sucking on the sensitive little button. You’re a moaning mess, pressing your face into the pillows and clawing at the sheets beneath you desperately. Simon eats your wet cunt so fucking dirty, like a desperate, starved man who just found an oasis in the desert, but it only makes you rut your hips back against his face harder.

Simon lets you fuck yourself on his tongue, the muscle hot and thick against your slit, before dipping into you and laving along your clenching walls while you make a mess of his face. There's no doubt that Simon's chin and nose are soaked with your slick as he switches between dragging his tongue back and forth along your sensitive little clit and pushing it back inside your greedy little cunt.

It feels so good, you can’t help but sob. Fat tears running down your cheeks and neck, accompanied by the lewd squelches and shlicks coming from your wet pussy. You cum spontaneously, Simon’s hands spreading your ass cheeks so he can push his tongue deeper into your sweet, creaming cunt.

You twitch and tremble as he works you through it, letting his tongue slip out of your hole to wrap around your clit again, extending your pleasure until you're a boneless and pliant mess underneath him.

What a great massage!

[smokebombsandspotlights]

🏁💿 "Paddock Princess Energy" 💿🏁

Formula 1 Grid x Reader (Platonic) ft. chaotic Gen Z female driver!reader, lots of slang, many confused men Word Count: 794 (this is part 1 of a multi-post fic adding up to 10k+ words!) 🧃 genre: platonic, humor, team bonding, slow build 📎 tags: gen z reader, reader is a driver, chaos, confused F1 drivers, gen z slang, lulu bag supremacy, baggy outfit energy, reader has a mouth on her, no romance, found family vibes 🎧 rec song while reading: "Cool Girl" - Tove Lo

🏎️ CHAPTER 1: “YOLO and Other Racing Strategies”

where Y/N shows up to the paddock dressed like she’s headed to a thrift store run, and the grid realizes they don’t have Google Translate for Gen Z.

"Y/N."

You don’t look up from your phone, thumbs moving way too fast for a normal human. TikTok brain had fully rotted your attention span, and you weren’t mad about it. You were chilling on a bean bag in your team’s hospitality tent — baggy cargos, massive graphic tee that said “SLAY MODE: ACTIVATED,” and your trusty black Lululemon crossbody slung across your chest like a seatbelt. Even your headphones were shaped like little cat ears.

Carlos Sainz blinks at you. “Are you listening?”

“Bro. I am listening. I’m literally absorbing your vibes through osmosis,” you reply, taking a sip of your iced matcha. “You just gotta trust the process.”

Carlos gives you the most Spanish™ look possible. "That means nothing."

“Okay boomer,” you mutter.

“…I’m literally 30.”

—

Your F1 debut was one for the books.

You were the first female full-time driver on the grid in years, a prodigy snatched out of F2 after doing one (1) illegal double overtake that made the entire internet scream. The media called you "electric." Fans called you “iconic.” Your engineers called you “a walking headache but somehow effective.”

The other drivers? Still trying to figure you out.

—

🧃 paddock fit check:

Baggy light-wash jeans that hang off your hips like you're from a 2003 Avril Lavigne music video

Huge tee that says “Hot Girl Lap Times”

Lulu bag. Always.

Headphones on. Music: Doja Cat or a random sped-up TikTok edit of a 2000s emo song

Lip gloss poppin’

Phone charged. Posts like “me n my intrusive thoughts 💅”

And your signature: three tiny silver rings and nails painted black with sparkles

—

"Y/N, please tell me you’ve done your track walk," Lando says, eyebrows drawn tight as he stares at your legs — which are definitely crisscrossed on the floor like you’re at a sleepover, not a GP.

You blink. “Oh babes, I touched grass. I just didn’t, like, study the grass. Y’know?”

“I don’t,” Lando replies honestly.

“You don’t need to memorize the turns,” you shrug. “Just manifest the apex. Visualize the drip. Slay the lap.”

Pierre chimes in from behind his phone: “I feel like I need subtitles.”

“Facts,” Logan mutters.

“Wait wait wait,” you say, standing up and adjusting your Lulu bag like it’s holding state secrets. “Are y’all telling me you don’t drive by vibes?”

They all stare at you.

Kimi Antonelli looks terrified.

—

📱Live Stream Highlight: “Y/N Explains the Grid”

user: @slaymodey/n caption: “u ever look at a group of men and realize ur the only one with a braincell”

“You guys, I’m gonna say it. Charles is the main character, but he’s also an NPC. It’s the duality.”

Charles (off-camera): “What does that mean!?”

“Oscar is giving ✨youngest child who got ignored✨ energy. Like someone hug him.”

Oscar (somewhere behind you): “I don’t need a hug??”

“George is definitely the kind of guy who answers emails with ‘per my last message.’”

George: “Oi!”

“Max is just...a cat. Like he would knock over your water glass and then say it was your fault.”

Max, deadpan: “That’s because it was your fault.”

—

🏁 Pre-Race: Grid Walk

Martin Brundle approached you with a mic and a raised brow.

"Y/N, how’s it feel being the youngest and most unbothered person out here?"

You grin. "Martin, I’m just here so I don’t get fined."

"Right. So, how’s the car handling this weekend?"

"It’s giving… banana peel on Mario Kart. But like, we move."

Martin stares at you.

You stare back, biting your lip to hold in a laugh.

"Anyway shoutout to my fans, my iced matcha, and to the people in my DMs pretending to know about tire strategy. Love y’all."

—

🛠️ Post-Race Debrief

"Y/N," your race engineer sighs. "We really need to work on your radio comms."

“What do you mean ‘too casual’?” you reply. “I was just describing the understeer as ‘a lil bit sketchy, not gonna lie.’ That’s descriptive!”

“You also said the car felt like ‘a sad shopping cart at Target.’”

“I stand by that,” you say, crossing your arms. “It did.”

—

📩 Team Group Chat: “y/n’s 2 fast 2 slay”

Fernando: Y/N, why did you just send a pic of your helmet on a cat Y/N: aesthetic. Carlos: please focus Y/N: I am focused on the ✨vibe✨ George: I’m begging you to speak English Y/N: ok mr. per-my-last-email Charles: I am scared but also impressed Y/N: thanks bbg 😌 Logan: i’m deleting WhatsApp Max: good. do it. Yuki: wait i like the cat pic Y/N: SEE?? yuki gets it 😤

—

to be continued…

[cod-dump]

Thought experiment: How do the CoD MW characters react to bug bites??

Who swells up like a balloon? Who barely notices? Who is the tastiest? Much to consider...

I think Graves is the tastiest... and I think Soap gets big welts, poor guy

Price: Wild man. Made to live in the wilderness. What bug bites? Probably tastes like straight malic acid. Does not have issues unless there's venom involved.

Ghost: Has red bites here and there. Scratches until they bleed. Doesn't really notice them after awhile but he's suffering after getting them. Tastes like mild queso (needs seasoning), they keep coming back.

Gaz: Pretty good at keeping himself bite free. Wears a type of lotion in the field that bugs hate. Definitely mildly inconvenienced by bites. Tastes like fruit (heh), they will bite him again and again.

Soap: Definitely bug magnet. He's so tasty his bites get bites. But he takes it like a champ and just pushes on like a madman. Needs medicine on hand at all times.

Nik: Gets bites, a lot of them, but does not notice them or care. The weirdo that let's mosquitoes drink from him because "they're mothers who need to feed their babies". He is mildly tasty like potato crisps (addictive).

Graves: Keeps bug spray on him like a holstered gun. He's always putting something on to keep the bugs at bay, he hates getting bites. Will complain for days over a single bite (needs to be gagged).

Laswell: Mild reaction to getting bit, unbothered. She is not worth biting, bugs leave her be. Tastes like bland corn chips (in the best way).

Farah: Bug bites? Don't know her. Tastes like pure lava, nothing wants to bite her. She's at home with the outdoors, she doesn't use bug spray or lotion, she's truly free.

Alex: He's dying, he won't admit it but he is. He swears he's fine (he's allergic). Looks like someone painted red dots on him. Tastes like honey (poor thing).

Alejandro: Little no reaction, he's perfectly fine. Bugs are so uninterested. Yet he's applying bug spray every thirty seconds because he refuses to get bit.

Rudy: Bugs die if they bite him.

[bistrocatxx]

toji loves making his girl cry ✮⋆˙ 18+ mdni

you're not sure how you got here. fingernails digging into the counter top, holding on like your life depends on it, because truly, you think it might. toji has a hand wrapped snug around your throat, pulling back, forcing you into an almost painful arch as he pounds into your poor pussy from behind. his other hand has a bruising grip on your waist and each snap of his hips is fucking brutal, like he's trying to permanently mold the shape of himself into your walls so he can ruin you for anyone else. they'd never be able to fill the space left behind if he did.

stars cloud your vision and you're sputtering pathetically when he tightens the grip on your neck. a strangled cry escapes you, something between a broken sob and the first half of his name.

"what's that?" he mocks, flexing his fingers against you, forcing another gag, another haggard gasp for air as saliva begins to pool in your mouth before trickling out the sides.

the sounds that fill the kitchen and echo off the tiles are completely and utterly obscene. you're sloshing around toji's cock as he splits you open, your arousal coating the insides of your thighs, and more slick just gets pushed out of you each time he shoves his length back into your tight cunt. the way you squeeze him, god, it’s addictive. it always feels like your walls are practically strangling him, unable to let go, and it never matters how much he preps you. your broken moans and his rugged grunts blend together, but above all, there's the lewd sound of skin on skin. each time his hips slam back into you it makes the fat of your ass jiggle, your skin rippling in the way that drives him absolutely insane. fucking you from behind has always been his favorite.

you try and fail again to get a word out, his hold on you unrelenting like his thrusts. you don't even know what you're trying to say — if you're trying to beg him to slow down, beg for more, beg to cum.

"speak up, doll, can’t hear ya."

you're going to kill him, is what you would have thought if you could form a coherent one. instead, your mind is a jumbled mess, an inward reflection of the fucking state you're in. shorts around your ankles, shirt pulled up just enough for your breasts to spill out, making them bounce whenever toji sheathes himself inside you. the tears that were sitting pretty in your waterline start to fall, forming delicate rivers along your cheeks. everything was just so wet. your sweat-slicked skin, your drooling mouth, your crying eyes, your crying cunt.

and when black begins to creep into your periphery, he loosens his grip, finally allowing a sweet, sweet, rush of air to flood your lungs, bringing a wave of ecstasy with it that's unlike anything else. it makes your legs shake, a pornographic moan ripped from your now open throat. toji knows your body, your limits, better than you do at this point, and it’s almost unfair.

"a-ah, toji! p-please, more— i can't-hah-" the words that tumble from your lips are strung together haphazardly but you're too much of a mess to care or even notice.

"so pretty when you're dumb on my cock.” he’s leaning over you, chest pressed into your back, voice low and husky as he talks in your ear, “you gonna cum?"

toji gives your throat one last squeeze, cutting off the ‘yes’ you were rasping out. his hand moves to grip your jaw, forcing your head to the side so he can get a good look at you, and fuck, if he could get any harder… you look just pitiful. red rimmed eyes, mascara running as you sob out his name, over and over, because it's the only thing left that you know how to say as he keeps abusing your overstimulated cunt.

"fuuuck, love it when you cry f'me, baby doll.”

likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡

a/n: stargirl interlude played while i wrote this ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ tags: @j3llyc4kes, @besidesjustmyamour, @satorupi, @ha1lstorm, @lisafrankgojo

[sinsxo]

sulking season. ☆ tsukishima kei ── ★ ˙🍒 ̟ !!

read more: masterlist — my collection.

two petty people dating was the perfect recipe for disaster — and that was exactly the case with you and tsukishima kei. you both had sharp tongues, short tempers, and always had something to say about everything. so when you bickered? it would always end with one of you sulking.

mostly you, though.

because tsukishima kei would always one-up you in every argument, whether it was a serious one or just playful banter. and it drove you insane that you could never come up with a proper comeback to counter that smart mouth of his.

“come on, are you sulking?” he asked, half-concerned, half trying not to laugh. “you can’t do this every time you lose an argument.”

oh, but you could — and you would.

“really? you’re pulling this again?” he asked, watching you lie at the edge of the bed, your back turned to him. “babe, come on.”

he reached out and touched your arm, trying to get your attention, but you immediately pulled away.

“fine, i’m sorry, alright? forgive me,” he said, trying to turn you over to face him. “look at me, please?”

you did, with a scowl on your face. a clear sign you were still angry.

“i’ll let you win next time, okay?”

“that’s not how you comfort someone.”

“well, you’re cute when you’re mad.”

“stop it,” you huffed. “flattering me won’t get you anywhere. you can’t get away with this.”

“but i can,” he said, clearly far too pleased with himself. “why doesn’t my beautiful, gorgeous future-wife believe me?”

“kei, i’m not buying that.”

he leaned in, nose brushing yours, clearly enjoying this far too much. “you say that, but your ears are bright red.”

“it’s because i’m angry,” you shoved his face away. “get out of my face.”

“come on, don’t be like that. i know you love it,” he muttered, laughing under his breath.

you turned away again, but not before he caught the twitch of your lips — the one that meant your anger was slipping.

“truce?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back against him.

“only because i’m tired.”

“sure,” he said, grin pressed to your shoulder. “we’ll go with that.”

© sinsxo . dividers by @uzmacchiato.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

that looks like dad bucky getting mad at the babysitter (us)

First Response

Referring to this

No major warnings. Not intending but open to more!

Please leave some feedback if you like and hit reblog! Take care and do something nice for yourself! ❤️

"Becca, you okay back there?" You ask through as yawn, streetlights passing over in yellow slats.

She coughs. You take that as an answer. The coarse rattle is enough to make your heart rent. You've been hearing it all night. It had you so on edge, that you finally broke.

Only six hours since you left the house. The wait at emerge was too much. You're exhausted. She must be too.

"You remember what the doctor said right? Drink lots of water." You gird as you slow.

You idle outside the Barnes' house. You hesitate to pull in as you see her father's car. He won't be happy. He rarely is.

You roll up behind him and shut off the engine. You undo your seat belt and make yourself open your eyes as wide as you can. You check the time on your phone. 3am. Shoot.

You get out and open the back door. Before you can get Becca out of her car seat, the front door swings open. Mr. Barnes storms out, yelling.

"Becca!" He booming timbre is thunder in the early hours. "Becca." He appears on the other side of the car door. "Where the hell did you take her?"

He grips the metal and you sweat you hear it bend. You stand with Becca hugging you. She coughs again and whimpers.

"We went to see a doctor. She has a fever." You explain. "They got her antibiotics and some rehydration."

"A doctor? Why didn't you call me? I'm her father." He snarls.

You're happy you can't see his face. You can just feel the anger roiling from him. He reaches for Becca and you gently hand her over.

"I did. Several times, sir. I know you're busy--"

He grumbles and pets his daughter's head as she rests against his shoulder. She sniffles.

"Daddy, she helped," she croaks in her small voice. "Please."

He sighs. "My phone died."

You nod. You know it must be terrifying coming home to an empty house when you don't expect it.

"I left a note on the door." You mumble and look away. "Here, let me get the meds and I'll just leave you alone."

You cautiously shut the back door and open the front one. You reach into the center console and pull out the pill bottle. You turn back to Mr. Barnes and Becca.

"This is enough until tomorrow night. There's the script too. You can get it filled at the pharmacy." You hold it out. "They recommended Pedialyte. They gave me a few bottles. I'll bring those in." You offer.

He stares at you. "Fine."

He turns and marches up the walk. You exhale and retrieve the bottles of grape electrolytes from the passenger seat. You drag your soles up the pavement.

You step just inside the front door. You put the bottles on the table against the wall with the round mirror hung from it. You quickly retreat. You peel the note off the door as you shut it.

You go back to the car and unstrap the booster seat. You can't forget that. You carry it up to the house and set it on the wooden bench. The door opens.

"I didn't know she was that bad." Barnes' voice makes you recoil.

"She got worse through the day. Usually how it goes, right?"

"Hm, suppose," he stands on the threshold. "She's laying down. She told me to tell you thank you."

"Oh, it was nothing." You assure him. You swallow a yawn. "I should go."

He's silent. You spin and cross the porch. He clears his throat.

"It's not nothing. She is sick. Very sick." He rasps. "So the next time it happened if it does, you call the number on the fridge. Like I told you."

"I..." You forgot about that. "Sorry, Mr. Barnes."

"If there is a next time, it's the last," he warns.

You turn your head and nod over your shoulder. "Then I hope there isn't."

You go down the steps and shuffle up to your car. You sit in the front seat and rub your eyes. You are so tired.

It isn't just the late hours, it's all that waiting, all that anxiety. You were scared. You didn't even think about losing this job. About how bad you need it. You just wanted Becca to be okay.

You twist the ignition and the headlights flash on. They illuminate Mr. Barnes as he stands on the porch, arms crossed. The lights catch the metallic sheen of his left arm. Even from there, he looks pissed.

You back out and roll the wheel straight. Maybe it's time to start looking for another gig. Maybe not babysitting. Maybe something legit.

At home, sleep doesn't come easy. You're drained and yet you can't seem to settle. Each time you drift off, you hear Becca coughing or feel Mr. Barnes glaring.

You wake to the buzzing of your phone. It's not even seven. It's been barely two hours since you got home.

You answer, eyes so bleary you can't read the ID.

"She's asking for you," Mr. Barnes says evenly.

"Wha--uh? Pardon?" You garble.

"Becca." He says and you hear her on background, moaning your name. He's quiet. All you hear is his long exhale. "Come back. She's sick."

"Mr. Barnes--" you begin but he hangs up before you can finish.

You pull your phone away and look at it. It isn't about him, it's Becca. You just want her to feel better. He must want the same if he called you.

[hoodiepandaninja16]

😭😭😭 I LOVE HIM!!!!❤❤❤❤ I DON'T CARE IF HE DOESN'T FUCK ME INTO NEXT WEEK. I NEED HIM NOW!!!!! I NEED MY SOFT BOY!!!!😭😭😭

Alien Boyfriend with a monster fucker Reader, except he's pathetically mundane and ridiculously human-like in everything but appearance.

Oh, you were thrilled when he first approached you, asking you to be his partner. The tall frame, additional limbs and downright horrific features had you shivering in anticipation. You could already picture yourself pounded into the nearest wall.

"Is this your experimenting lab," you asked with a knowing grin, dragging your hand across the foreign tools. Was he going to tie you up and use you as his pet?

"You could call it that if you'd like," he answered with mild confusion, "but I'm sure you're already familiar with the concept."

There was a ding, and he pulled a tray out of the nearest machinery.

"It's my kitchen. Care for some muffins?"

You made the tragic discovery that your alien suitor was a soft-hearted, friendly neighbor living the quiet suburb life. Where was the fear? The danger? Alas, the extraterrestrial being would do his best to give you what you wanted.

"Remember how you said I should become the leader of the masses with my terrifying powers?"

He stands before you proudly, the many rows of sharp teeth glistening in the light.

"Yeah?" you squirm in your seat, cheeks turning red.

"Well, you're looking at the new HOA president! I metaphorically destroyed them with my speech. Everyone voted for me."

[wetpussyju1ce]

clark kent x gn!reader | 420 words

I watched the movie Sahara (2005) and one of the main characters, tall guy, strong as hell, doesn't help the female lead up by her hand or arm or back like a normal person when she falls. Nooo. He grabs her below the arms and lifts her on her feet like a little doll, every time, without fail, and it's so sexy to me.

Anyway, imagine Clark Kent and journalist!reader doing some reporting in this site where some spaceship was discovered or something. And they're walking around carefully, following the scientists/archaeologists who will be studying the new discovery, and the floor is unsteady and there's so many rocks and holes and it's a little dangerous.

Reader is so busy with listening and recording the scientists words on their phone while Clark follows, making sure reader doesn't fall in a ditch like a Looney Tunes character. And reader almost does, multiple times. Luckily Clark is there to grab them by the back of their coat and drop them on the ground safely.

They climb a little steep hill and Clark goes first and just lifts reader like it's nothing and puts them back on the floor at the top of the hill and dusts them off with big warm hands, patting them down while reader tries to get their voice recorder as close to the scientist's face as possible as to not miss anything.

And the whole time that the scientist is rambling excitedly, reader sometimes looks at Clark and thanks him, and maybe something goes wrong and the earth shakes and collapses from under their feet. It's nothing serious. Just a metre or so. Luckily, Clark sensed it before it could happen and pushed the scientist back so they won't fall and wrapped his arm around reader's waist, lifting them like a freaking purse, to make sure they won't slip from under their own feet. And reader squeals, obviously scared, holding onto Clark's shoulders with wide eyes, "Oh my days, Clark!"

"You're alright, sweets," Clark reassures, patting their lower back and reader's staring at the big hole with wide eyes and squeezes their hold on him before the ground caves in even more and the hole gets BIGGER.

Reader gasps, horrified, when a big machine falls in the hole, and that could've been them getting squished under it if it wasn't for Clark's good sense of danger and awareness.

"Clark, I'm a little scared, can we go back to the Daily?"

"Yeah, we can come back here tomorrow,"