#honestly. I was just fucking around with colors and shapes

[ghostbredtt]

fairly different dannys

[merakidoll]

artistic connie ★ ·

other than art, artistic!connie had other hobbies that quickly turned into talents, and photography was a big one. like art, connie found a love for capturing you. mostly the most intimate parts of you that was only saved for him. coco jones played in the background of his large studio. a white backdrop making the room seem much lighter than it was. you sat in the middle, the white making your smooth brown skin pop. you were naked, curves and everything free just how connie enjoyed.

“stand baby, and touch your toes for me” you followed his instructions quickly, the tall stripper heels making you tower over connie just by an inch. but it made you feel even sexier; powerful in a way. he watched you follow instructions but not the way he wanted, walking close his toned muscles looked sexy, with the camera over his neck. he had on light pants that were baggy, purple flower hair fresh and looking so beautiful, but honestly anything looked good on him. “aht aht, other way” he grabbed your hand guiding you to turn around, you back towards the set up.

he could see the question in your eyes, but instead gave a reassuring nod making you bend slowly. “perfect” connie mumbled bitting his lip, “fuckin perfect baby.” connie bent to be on the tip of his toes, his camera in hand as he captured the the spread of your ass cheeks. your cunt fat, and slimy in wetness that made his dick bob in anticipation. you bit your lip feeling the hot flash of the camera light on the most intimate part of you. you could hear the soft click sound at the repeated camera clicks; yet you loved it all.

connie just always knew how to make you feel special, like a queen. a shocked gasp came from your mouth as his thumb rubbed from your hole to your clit spreading your fat brown lips apart and getting his hand wet. “fuck mama” connie now had his camera on recording mode, he allowed the camera to get the beautiful view of his pussy, the pink insides that were begging for pleasure. “c-connie!” you whined as he pressed his thumb into your hole, letting your walls shape around his thumb. you moved your ass back to reel in it needing more. “more baby! please” you weren’t a begger, and connie didn’t like hearing you do it. you were a queen, and he needed to give you what you needed then and there.

so, with two quick moves connie slid his curved longness into your walls groaning at your tightness that sucked him in like a glove. the camera that hung around his neck was angled above you both. the view of your back, and ass smaking aginst his lower stomach while you touched your toes being a picture connie was gonna print and put in his wallet. “s’fucking deep” you cried breathlessly pushing back to meet connie. in the camera view it could see how be fucked your walls, going in and out of you. his hand coming down to slap your cheek giving you a hard pump and nasty groan.

“f- fuck i love you ma” connie’s eyes shut momentarily as you squeezed him hard making his lips part. he could feel his cock become soaked in your cream. his words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, his cock jerking inside of you and letting out his own essence stuffing you full and it going deep. “fuckkk” you both said together, connie from being sucked dry, and you from feeling so full. connie’s hand were shaky that he couldn’t hold the camera anymore. it fell on his neck, its view a mess, but a small corner got a bit of connie pulling out of you and cum leaking from your cunt. while you both moaned.

now cuddled on his couch, you laid on connie’s chest giggling at your new movie that just so happened to be your favorite. he removed the hard drive, and put it in a colorful disk case, and putting it on his display with the rest of the disk that was hard drives of movies you and connie made! but no one had to know, that was you guys secret

[mariasont]

Second Helpings - A.H

it started with second helpings and ended with him pinning you against a dressing room wall in navy slacks.

pairings: dad bod hotch x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, public/semi public sex, unprotected sex (dont do it besties), dad bod hotch!!!!!!!, bad language, hand over mouth, partially clothed sex, AFAB reader, stomach kink lol idk what to call it wc: 2.8k

You’re getting kind of smug about it, honestly. Every morning, you watch as Aaron lets out this heavy, performative sigh while trying to coax his shirt buttons into place.

You don’t even attempt to hide your grin anymore.

Because you know what’s behind it. It’s every late night where you fed him second helpings without asking, every caramelized bite he said was too sweet and then finished anyway.

He grumbles, always. About routine, about needing to run more.

But the truth is, he’s gotten soft in the best possible way, and you’re not just proud, you’re thrilled. You did that. You, and the cream sauce.

You feel it every time your arms slide around him from behind, the way your palms sink into the new plushness.

And it’s getting harder and harder not to whisper prayers of thanks into the space between his shoulder blades, not to smile against his back like he’s something you sculpted by hand and left out to rise — golden, perfect, yours.

Though you’re brash in almost every other way — loud with your praise, greedy with your hands, always quick to flirt or tease — this particular compliment you’ve kept carefully tucked away.

You’ll rave about his hair, his face, the way his hands look on a steering wheel, but openly mentioning your delight in his rounded stomach feels embarrassingly intimate. A bit too direct even for your bold tastes. So, your admiration remains quiet, disguised in playful affection and touches, all while hoping he secretly knows just how much you adore this version of him.

Insecurity has never really been his thing, and thank heavens for that. He’s still Aaron Hotchner, after all, entirely too practical and self-assured to obsess over vanity.

He only contains mild irritation about the way his expensive suits pinch in all the wrong places lately. Even with that irritation, convincing him to step foot in one of those swanky boutiques he usually sidesteps took days of sweet-talk, strategic eye-fluttering, and a frankly heroic amount of praise, even though you both know his wallet wouldn’t even notice the difference.

“What do you think of this one?” Aaron asks casually, stepping out of the dressing room with hands smoothing down the front of the jacket.

For a moment, language ceases to exist. Your brain misfires entirely, every thought in your skull vaporized by the sight of him, morphed into fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

It pulls around his thighs, showcasing their new, fuller shape, and cinches at his waist in a manner that borders on temptation incarnate. You, however, are particularly focused on the way his stomach swells over his belt. Your mouth feels dry.

Heat pulses between your hips, your clit throbbing in time with your heartbeat like it knows what it wants. You shift, subtly, like that’ll help. It doesn’t.

“I think,” you manage weakly, “we should definitely buy that one.”

The words sound steady, but inside, you’re a wildfire on stilts. Your smile stays soft and polite, while your hands drag slowly down the front of his chest and sturdy shoulders.

You pretend to inspect the suit’s fit, fingers trailing lower, thumbs dipping just above his waistband, grazing the edge of where belly becomes something even hungrier.

Stretching onto your toes, you press a kiss to Aaron’s cheek and murmur casually, “I knew navy was your color.”

He fidgets with the jacket, running his hands down the sides like maybe it’ll stretch if he asks nicely.

“Still feels a bit snug,” he says, casually, with that little crooked smile. 

It’s barely even a concern, just commentary. Your eyes drop automatically to his waist. You want to tell him snug is good. Snug is perfect. Snug is making you wet. 

But you just hum in response, noncommittal on the surface. Your hands say otherwise. You slip behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You’ve always been a little clingy, sure, but lately, you couldn’t even stop if you wanted to.

You peek your head out from behind his arm, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Well, I happen to think this is your very best look.”

“You do remember,” he says mildly, “that this shopping trip was your idea.” He pauses, his hand settling over yours with casual intimacy, his thumb rubbing slow over your knuckles. “You said I needed suits that fit better. Not… tighter.” His gaze drags over your reflection. “Though I have a good idea why you seem to enjoy them this way.”

Mortification floods through you and the only survival tactic your body can come up with is to disappear.

You duck forward and press your face into the broad expanse of his back, stifling your laughter into the ridge of his spine. 

“Ugh,” you grumble into the fabric of his jacket, voice muffled, “of course you know. You weren’t supposed to notice. That was private.”

He turns slowly in your embrace, smiling softly as he nudges your chin upward with one finger.

“Believe me, I figured it out the first time you cooked for me and looked ready to cry if I didn’t eat dessert. You didn’t exactly hide your intentions.”

You let out a breath that flutters embarrassingly against his throat, forehead still resting against his shoulder.

“...I didn’t think it was that obvious,” you whisper, half-laughing.

He raises a brow. You bury your face again.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was trying to feed you into submission,” you tease. Then, more seriously, “But… you just look happier, you know? Healthier. Like you’re finally letting yourself enjoy things.” Your voice softens. “You take care of everyone else all the time. I like that you feel safe enough to relax around me. And —” You glance up at him with a grin. “Selfishly, it’s pretty hot.”

Aaron laughs, that rare kind that vibrates low in his chest and through yours. His fingers brush the side of your neck, then tug lightly on your ponytail, just enough to make you tilt your chin.

“You know exactly why I’m happier. You’re the one who’s been determined to spoil me every chance you get.”

You send a silent grateful prayer to whatever benevolent deity governs luxury boutiques, relieved beyond measure that the store is deserted, the salespeople tucked somewhere far out of sight.

Your hand brushes against Aaron’s belt. “You know, it’s taking a lot of self-control not to start spoiling you right here in this dressing room.”

Aaron catches your hand mid-drift and guides it back to the safety of his waist. Still, his eyes spark darker, his voice lowering a shade.

“While I admire your enthusiasm,” he says, “we might need to revisit the rules about public behavior.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re usually willing to negotiate.”

His nostrils flare, subtle, but there, and he leans in a fraction. “Negotiations require proper timing and place.”

You lean in return, close enough for your breath to ghost against his jaw. Your gaze is wide, guileless, the exact look you’ve perfected just for him. He knows it’s a trap. He always knows.

You whisper sweetly, almost pleading, “I’ll be quiet, Aaron. Really quiet.”

His thumb moves slowly over your pulse, and something in his expression stutters, not a full break, but the first, beautiful crack in the glass.

He swallows hard.

“You’re not playing fair.”

You take that as a green light, not a loud one, not even official, but enough.

You grab his hand, pull him into the dressing room, and lock the door. 

Your heart slams into overdrive, giddy and incredulous, because, truthfully, you’d braced yourself for another spectacular defeat.

Getting Aaron to relent in public, even tucked away, feels as hopeless as convincing winter to surrender to spring early. He’s built from impeccable propriety and poise.

Countless times, you’ve prodded at his limits — hotel balconies, late-night drives, even in your own backyard — but with each attempt, you were redirected with affectionate warnings and raised eyebrows.

You glanced upward, immediately snagging on that subtle, guilty amusement taking over his features. It dances at the corners of his lips, a small flame you’ve tirelessly tried to spark into something bigger. 

With the wickedest smile, you keep his gaze locked tight as your fingers tease the edge of your dress, drawing the fabric upward, baring just enough skin to erase any doubt that your intentions are anything of the innocent kind.

“I promise we’ll be quick,” you breathe against his lips, soothing his doubts as you kiss him with a gentle reassurance that still burns brightly in desire. You press into him, heart leaping when you feel the rigid outline pressing insistently against his slacks. “Please, Aaron. I need you now. So, so badly.”

Aaron’s resistance snaps with an almost audible click, his strong hands seizing your thighs as he guides you backward, caging you against the solidity of the wall.

His mouth descends upon your neck in slow kisses, each one melting into your skin like hot wax. His fingers slip underneath your hiked-up dress, grazing across your underwear, now shamefully damp with anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers in stunned approval, “look how soaked you already are.”

Warmth floods your cheeks, even as you laugh quietly against his shoulder. His surprise would be adorable if you weren’t already half-mad with need. 

“Well, whose fault is that?” you tease, fingers gripping his waist tighter, pulling him close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Seriously, have you seen yourself lately? Now please, can you just —” you pause, shivering impatiently as you lift your hips, “— get inside me already?”

He laughs under his breath, hands deftly unfastening his pants just enough, leaving his suit otherwise impossibly pristine, as if even now he can’t bear to sacrifice his composure entirely.

“You always get what you want, don’t you?”

An involuntary, choked sound escapes your throat when Aaron pushes forward, plunging into you with one controlled thrust, filling you so completely that it leaves room for nothing else.

The intensity sends electricity through your body, scattering constellations behind your closed eyelids. You clench around him reflexively, relishing how he stretches you.

A distant thought flickers through your mind, laughing at your own foolishness for ever questioning whether convincing him was worth it when he feels so perfect right here, right now.

“Oh god, Aar —” His palm covers your mouth, silencing the needy cry before it can fully form, your voice reduced to a swathed whine beneath his hand.

His eyes glisten with teasing reproach, even as his hips persist their pitiless pace. “Shh,” he scolds, leaning close enough that his lips graze your ear, “I distinctly remember someone promising she’d behave.”

He underscores his sentence with a thrust that leaves you weak-kneed, clasping helplessly against his chest.

Quiet, right, what an outrageous promise that had been. Still, you fight valiantly, teeth gently sinking into his hand to keep your pleas from slipping out. You briefly congratulate yourself on your restraint, but the shaky pride crumbles wholly when his fingertips slide skillfully over your swollen clit, tearing your discipline into ribbons.

You arch into his touch. 

He leans in, chuckling against your temple then leaving a kiss there. 

“You’re adorable when you pretend at subtlety, but I think we both know it’s never been your talent.” Your hold tightens frantically on his lapels, breath fastening sharply. “Maybe next time,” he whispers huskily, “you could spare us both and just tell me outright how much you want this.”

Aaron uncovers your mouth, and the words rush out between panting breaths, completely beyond your management. Your legs cling tighter, wrinkling his suit jacket carelessly.

“Wasn’t supposed to be so — so obvious,” you stammer, mind spinning from the intensity of his thrusts. “But you’re — Aaron, you’re so good like this.”

He seems to anticipate your reaction before you even feel it yourself, his palm clamping firmly over your lips just as his cock slides forward, nudging the spot that makes your vision blur. Your cry hums against calloused skin, back bowing, pressing your chest flush to his as your hips move on their own, greedily seeking more of the blissful sensation only he can offer.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair, voice roughened by desire but still so delicate. “You’re so incredible, you know that? Always so determined to take care of me, always looking after me. It’s your turn now.”

He thrusts again, bottomless, more purposeful.

“Right now, this is for you.” His voice shakes, strained with sincerity. “My perfect girl. Just let go, this is all yours.”

Your orgasm crashes over you without warning, premature and fierce, igniting every nerve in your body until you’re certain you’ll burn right through his touch.

Aaron’s hand absorbs the worst of your moan, but you’re sure the raw sound somehow echoes off the walls regardless. Your body trembles and grips around him, unwilling to let go as endless shocks of pleasure surge enormously through your core. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers hoarsely, a comforting rasp in your ear, thrusts slowing as he guides you through the aftershocks.

You feel his shudder, his breathing turning uneven, labored, signaling his own approaching release. He presses his face into your hair again, stifling a deep, throaty groan as he surges forward once more, hips snapping sharply, spilling inside you.

Sticky warmth floods your core, leaving you shivering and satisfied. Your thoughts swirl lazily in the aftermath, a dazed smile forming.

You float pleasantly, blissfully aware that all thoughts of propriety, pressed suits, and public decency have completely dissolved, and it feels like perfect freedom.

His hand lifts slowly, freeing your mouth as your breath rushes out in a slightly dizzy laugh, head spinning as you sag back against the wall.

Your smile is dreamy, eyes barely able to focus as you tap lightly at his chest. “Mmm… If anyone asks, it was all your idea.”

“Convenient narrative,” he says dryly, pulling out of you.

The emptiness leaves you instantly unstable, thighs fluttering and a faint, overwhelmed moan tumbling from your lips as you feel his release gradually escaping, trickling down your thighs.

His fingers move, carefully gathering the slick excess dripping down your legs and forcing it back inside you, causing you to gasp sharply. Your thighs spasm uncontrollably.

“Easy,” Aaron says soothingly, pressing kisses against your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot, but you’ll need to hold it until we’re somewhere more private. Think you can manage?”

You nod hazily, pressing your thighs more firmly around his fingers, stabilizing yourself.

“Yeah — yeah, I think,” you say, “but just keep your hand right there, okay?”

He grins, pulling his hand back. 

“Tempting offer,” he says, pressing his slick-coated fingers to your parted lips. “But let’s start by taking care of this little mess you made, hmm?”

With eyes never leaving him, you offer him a smile, taking his digits into your mouth, savoring the intimacy.

When you release him, you tilt your head, eyes still heavy with contentment, and say, “So… are you keeping the suit?”

“At this point, I think purchasing it is my only decent option,” he murmurs wryly, gesturing pointedly at the unmistakable evidence left behind, his own precum mingled with your wetness staining the crotch area of the slacks.

Your smile grows impish, eyes sparkling lazily as you rise to peck his mouth. “Exactly as planned.”

The sudden, polite knock makes you jump, panic briefly flashing across your features as a voice calls out, “Sir? How’s the fit on that suit? Need assistance?”

Aaron moves before you can even blink, stepping protectively in front of you, shoulders squared defensively toward the door. You bury your face into his chest, heart hammering as you struggle to remain perfectly silent.

“Everything’s fine, thank you. Just making some final adjustments.”

The quiet returns as footsteps fade, leaving you pressed safely into Aaron. Slowly, he lifts your chin, meeting your gaze with tender exasperation, mouth curving softly upward.

“We’re going to get banned from this place,” he says dryly, smoothing your hair back from your flushed face.

“Worth it.” You give him a cheeky smile, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. “I really do love this look on you, Aaron.”

His gaze softens even further, thumb brushing tenderly along your jawline.

"I know," he whispers, voice deep with meaning, "and that's exactly why I'm buying it."

You stay there there for a second longer than you should, breathing him in. You’re sweaty, flushed, possibly glowing, and he’s just standing there like a man trying to pretend he didn’t just rearrange your insides next to a garment rack.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. He smooths down your dress like that’ll help. It won’t. But he tries anyway. And in the middle of it, you think, yeah, this is definitely the man I’m gonna make lasagna for tonight.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[scirelistener]

FAIR TREATMENT

sanji x gn! reader

synopsis : you firmly believe sanji’s charms were so threatening that he should be locked up. unexpectedly, sanji also had the same belief concerning you.

things to note! : not beta read! honestly this shit is kinda cringe 😔 i wrote this with zero hours of sleep and the dialogues are very fucked up. sanji is also very cringe, trying to be the next shakespeare and failing greatly

The cook was undeniably handsome. Charming like he always prided himself to be.

You further leaned your face against the palm of your hand, eyeing the way Sanji danced around the galley like a routine. His hands expertly handling the pan, the flick of his wrist controlling the movement of the pan with an ease only a chef like Sanji exuded.

Strands of his golden locks flowed down from its usual position, threatening to cover the eyes that shined with a blue that the ocean couldn’t even rival. His eyes, even when he was busy swooning over women to the point where the shape of his eyes changed, held an endless depth of emotion. Sometimes the blue became a melancholic color that offered sympathy to others, other times the blue rivaled the color of the sky on a bright sunny day that lightened up the environment.

You sighed dreamily, head already several feet deep into your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized the cook had halted his cooking and had walked over to where you were sitting.

“A berry for your thought?”

You flinched out of the daze and came face to face with the cook who had taken the seat besides you. The expression Sanji had on looked painfully fond; his lips curled into a smile that made your heart want to pound out of your chest, his eyes softening with a particular glisten to the blue orb.

“Sanji. You should be jailed.”

The cook blinked, his eyes no longer half-lidded with fondness. His eyes widened, lips parted yet no words were spoken.

He looked good in any expression, you thought and felt a frown form. It wasn’t fair. It was enough that he looked handsome while doing nothing at all, but Sanji also had to look dangerously cute when he looked surprised.

Your lips pursed to an unbidden pout. “You’re too handsome. You’re also too cute, do you know that?”

“… P-Pardon me, dear?”

You let out a huff of bemusement, feeling a wave of frustration wash over. “It’s a little annoying at this point. You already look illegally charming when you’re cooking, especially when you wear that god forbidden pink apron. When you fight? Oh god, I think my heart skipped a beat at some point. You look so hot whenever you kick ass. But then when you’re acting all stupid over women, you look weirdly cute as well? Actually, no. It’s not weird at all. You’re cute, but you’re charming, but you’re also just really-” You flailed around your hands, the frustration restraining your usual vernacular. “You should be locked up. That’s it. It’s the only way I can get inner peace.”

The galley became dead quiet, the only audible sound was you two breathing except Sanji’s breathes started to sound a lot more.. frantic?

You looked over to the cook only to find him in a rather frazzled state.

If you squinted, you swore you could see steam emitting from the cook’s bright red cheeks. The redness was so visible despite the cook’s clumsy attempt at hiding his face by covering the lower half with his hand. The tips of his fingers were covered in blood, making you worry before realizing it was coming from his nostril. Both nostrils to be exact.

“… Sanji?”

“Don’t-” Sanji’s voice cracked, only further deepening the redness of his face. The cook cleared his throat and looked away, unintentionally allowing more view to the tip of his ears that burned in the same color as his cheeks. “Don’t look at me right now, please. I beg of you.”

It was a little concerning how shaky his voice was, each syllable wavering unlike the cook’s usual smooth flatteries. Perhaps you spoke a little too much, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck with a guilty wince.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Sanji. That’s wasn’t my intention at all. I could leave if you need some space-”

You hadn’t even left your seat yet, but Sanji quickly interjected by whipping his head back to you and wrapping his hand around your wrist as if to keep you from leaving.

“No!” The walls of the galley threw back the echoes of the cook’s booming exclamation.

You blinked, the warmth of his grip on your wrist surging throughout your body. His grip didn’t falter even a bit as Sanji burned in embarrassment once more, never leaving your wrist.

“I don’t- You don’t have to-” Sanji grumbled in frustration, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words. You waited patiently as the cook attempted to speak his mind all the while trying to not pay attention to how his hand never let go of your wrist.

With a sigh of exasperation, the cook stood up with a dramatic flair.

The blond kneeled in front of you like a prince, the way his hair fluttered behind him almost imitating a halo. (His nose was no longer bleeding, not a single trace of bleed left behind on his face. How and when he wiped it away was beyond your comprehension.) With a gentleness that tugged your heartstrings, the cook took your hand in his and bowed his head until his lips lightly grazed your knuckle.

Even without touching, you knew your cheeks were hot to the touch as all the blood rushed to your face.

A twinge of relief lessened your embarrassment when Sanji looked up with a persistent red hue across his face. At least you both were burning up like strawberries.

“If I should get jailed for my supposed charms, I must ask you to get the same treatment.”

“… Huh.”

The amused smile that borderline looked like a smirk should’ve been the warning sign.

“My dear, do you have any idea of your own appeals?” Sanji stood up once more, but never let go of your hand. Instead, he beckoned you to place your other hand in his and gently squeezed them both.

Then his mouth opened and words of flattery waxed out endlessly.

“Have you any idea of the jealousy that emanates from the sun when you’re happy? You shine so brightly that celestial bodies above can’t help but envy. Need I mention your smile?” The cook let go of your hand to do a very necessary twirl before grabbing your hands once more, eyes threatening to change into heart shapes. “I struggle to keep my composure when you smile, I hope you know. The way your eyes light up and the way your nose slightly crinkles.”

Was the room deprived of air all the sudden? You found it harder and harder to breathe as the cook went on and on, dealing an even bigger damage than what you did to him.

“When you so sweetly enjoy my food and compliment aspects of the dish, my heart sings! Oh and when you help Chopper treat us after a rough battle, I only pray that my heart does not melt from how hard I swoon! That damn mosshead does not deserve your gentle treatment at all, one should do nothing but cherish your kind actions! Not just huff and gruff, then walk away.”

Before Sanji could let out another syllable, you hurriedly clasped your hand around his mouth in an attempt to shut him up.

“Okay, okay! I get it! Holy shit, Sanji.” You suddenly understood why Sanji always got a nosebleed, suddenly feeling lightheaded all the sudden. You closed your eyes in hopes of you regaining your inner peace, letting out a shaky exhale.

You then opened your eyes to send a glare that had no actual effect on the cook who only saw it as another cute expression of yours, just on the verge of going into another swooning session. “This isn’t how I thought this would go.”

Sanji only replied with an amused chuckle before leaning down to gently but firmly place a kiss on your cheek. The contact was brief yet it lingered like the way cold breezes of wind left a numbing sensation to the touch.

The smile that Sanji had on when he leaned back was full of satisfaction. “I only speak the truth, dear.”

You huffed, suddenly not wanting to lose this weirdly one-sided battle.

Without a shred of hesitation, you tugged on the collar of Sanji’s (probably expensive) button-up shirt and pulled him in. Brushing away Sanji’s confused protests, you placed a hand against the back of his head before leaning in closer.

The moment your lips touched, a spark ignited in both of your hearts.

You leaned away just enough to be able to see his face and sure enough..

“SANJI!? HEY, SANJI!”

The man’s soul was threatening to escape from his agape mouth. His eyes looked dead yet tears streamed down his burning red cheeks. The nosebleeds that had finally halted re-emerged, trickling down his lips.

“I’ll die a happy man..” Sanji barely mumbled before his body fainted against yours, his full body weight falling over your struggling form.

“CHOPPER!!!”

While you desperately called for the doctor, Sanji slowly drifted away into unconsciousness with a lovesick smile plastered on his face.

a/n : i think i like sanji a normal amount. also i’m pretty sure, in all my years of writing my thoughts out, this is the first piece where i wrote an actual kiss scene 😔 listen i love me a good kissing montage but god i do not know how to write kisses. what i do know is yearning.

[sesbianlexicon]

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND NOTHING HURTS (1)

Pairing: Sevika x Alternate Universe!Reader Synopsis: After following a Piltover councillor, the leader of the Firelights, and a furry little man to Hextech's failsafe underground, Sevika finds herself suddenly transported into an alternate universe where Hextech… never existed. In this world, she does not have the burdens of Zaun on her shoulders. Instead, she has you.  Contains: Mature language, mentions of death and violence, moments of intense anxiety and panic, kind of ANGST? Kind of? Honestly it gets kind of comedic at one point I swear Word Count: 6173 Note: As much as I love a good smut fic of Sevika, I require angst because her existence is so unfortunate and beautiful and UGH I just want my wife to be HAPPY. I had this in my drafts for like 2 months and I finally finished it. It's kind of all over the place but IDGAF I had a vision and RAN with it. Enjoy my first Sevika fic!

The world cracks, and Sevika cracks with it. 

She feels her mind splinter, scattering like shards of glass in every direction. It’s followed by an odd, ineffable sensation that mimics pain, one that exists out of time. It’s as if she’s just been hit, is being hit, and has been enduring the same relentless blow for years, all at the same time.

Sevika stifles a groan and presses a hand to her temple, trying to focus on her vision that is flooded with bright, blinding light. Her attempts to open her eyes only make it worse— shapes and colors in front of her seem to flare and split, as the pain sharpens at the back of her head. And then, the tension snaps. The world slams into focus with a flash. As if nothing ever happened. 

Sevika gasps. 

Her body weakly rocks back and forth as she struggles to steady her ragged, uneven breaths. Reality slowly returns to her perception. The sounds of glasses clinking and the hum of human conversation rushes back to her ears, and potent, malty smells fill her nose. 

She realizes she is sitting down, her legs pressed against the edge of a circular table. She doesn’t remember sitting down. Where the fuck is she?

Sevika’s eyes flicker around her surroundings, taking in the lively atmosphere. 

She’s at a bar. No, she is at the bar. She’s at The Last Drop.

Except it’s not The Last Drop, because there’s no way it is. The layout is similar, with the multiple round tables and the stools surrounding it, the familiar red wooden walls, and the underlying scent of alcohol in the air— but that’s where the resemblance ends. The rest is completely different. The bar is alive with warmth and health, filled with people laughing and talking and not shooting shimmer down their veins. Everyone looks… Cheerful. Friendly. Happy. 

Sevika’s eyes travel to the ceiling above, made of sleek glass panels, framed by twisting steel designs in ornate patterns. Sunlight pours through the transparent roof, providing a warm, brilliant light for the bar. The sky is bright. The air is crisp. The people are breathing.

This cannot be The Last Drop. 

Sevika sweeps the room again, confusion overwhelming her. She can’t seem to get her thoughts straight— she searches the bar, grasping for something familiar. She doesn’t understand who these people are— until she lands on a figure standing behind the bar counter, mixing drinks and chatting with a customer. She freezes.

Vander. 

The sight of him is enough to knock the air out of her lungs. It’s him, unmistakably– broad-shouldered and wrinkled, filled with the gentle authority she gave up on years ago. She feels her body pulse as she blinks rapidly, wishing for the vision to disappear. But he’s still there, with his greying hair tied in a man-bun, laughing earnestly as he hands out two fizzing blue drinks to the customer. 

The sight of Vander, standing there, alive and whole, sends Sevika into a spiral— she can’t fucking focus. She can’t breathe, can’t think. 

Her body sinks, and she slams her hands on the table in front of her to ground her, hard enough to rattle the surface. The impact shakes through her, her palms burning with the force of it. 

And she feels it. She feels it. Both sides. Sevika looks down at her body. It’s still her own, she’s certain, and yet— 

Her left arm. 

Flesh. Veins. Fingers. Bones and all. 

For a long moment she just stares at the shape of her limb, her mind coming to a blank. She slowly flexes her fingers experimentally, watching them open and close with shaky precision. She clenches them and feels the crease of her flesh, the pressure on her joints, and her nails digging into the soft curve of her hand. She unfolds it, sunlight reflecting on a gold band circling her ring finger. 

Her heart stutters. 

She turns her hand over, palm to sky, and with her right hand she traces the unbroken, flawless skin where there should have been cold metal. Something catches in her throat. 

“What the fuck,” she chokes. 

What kind of sick joke is this? 

Panicking, she pushes herself up from her seat, the stool scraping loudly against the floor. The sound starts to repeat in her head, ringing loudly as her head spins. She closes her eyes to stabilize herself. 

This is not happening. No, this is not happening. This is—

“Sevika?” 

She snaps towards the voice. 

And she sees you— you’re the customer from the counter, the one that was talking to the very well and alive Vander. 

She looks at you up and down. You’re wearing a fitted, v-necked green vest over a cream blouse. High-waisted trousers tucked into your laced boots, with a belt that has trinkets and whatnots tied to a small metal loop. Brass accents glint at your cuffs, shining along with the two drinks in your hand. Sevika’s eyes linger on the golden band that glints in your ring finger.   

You're younger than her— late-twenties at most, with a soft face and lively eyes that glow in the sunlight. You’re shorter, too, almost comically so compared to her towering frame. You don’t have a fighter’s build, nor the hard edge of someone who’s been through hell. Usually, someone like you would carry at least a small shiv for protection in a place like this, but you lack in defence, staring up at Sevika with such a pretty smile. 

Who are you?

“Are… you okay?” You ask, stepping closer. 

For a long moment, she doesn’t respond. Her jaw tightens as she fights the instinct to start throwing things. She just stares at you—confusion and disbelief battling for a position in her expression. There’s no way she knows you. There’s no way you know her. There’s no way someone who is as pleasing to the eyes as you would beam at her in such a darling way, talking to her as if you’re… concerned. 

Who the fuck are you? 

“I got us two of Vander’s specials,” You say, as if to remind Sevika of your obvious errand. You shake the glasses, making the ice in the colorful liquid clink with each other. “Honestly, he could charge double for these and I’d still call it a bargain.” 

Sevika’s chest beats faster and faster, her breath coming and going in short rapid fires as her gaze flickers from you to Vander, still standing behind the bar. Her head starts to ring again, the pain returning, like aftershocks rattling through her head. She staggers back, holding her head. 

“Sevika?” Your voice echoes into her ears. “You’re scaring me.” 

Sevika shuts her eyes tightly and lets out a shaky sigh. Confusion and aches etch in her mind as she stumbles through her memories. Why is she here? Shouldn’t she be… what was she doing before this? She was… she was following the Piltie motherfuckers and that Firelight, wasn’t she? She remembers getting to the underground base where she saw the Hexcore, and then, and then— 

The last thing Sevika expects is warmth. 

She feels your hand against her shoulder. The drinks have been abandoned on the table, your thumb rubbing the fabric of her leather jacket. There’s softness in your eyes, looking at her with an expression she hasn’t seen in a while. She pauses at the unfamiliarity of the light touch. It’s gentle, almost too gentle, as if it is meant for someone fragile. 

Sevika is the furthest thing from fragile. 

And yet, here you are. 

She jerks away from your touch, and you flinch back at her sudden reaction. Your brows furrow as you retract your hand, studying Sevika’s disoriented, almost horrified expression. You haven’t seen her like this— well, ever. 

Although she doesn’t miss the way her pain has stopped, she feels uncomfortable at your contact, which seems to be a complete shock to you. She watches hurt ripple across your face, your fingers gripping each other, as if to hold yourself back. 

“Sev…” You start, but you keep your hands to yourself. 

Sevika steps back, not enjoying the tenderness in your voice. It’s cautious and slow, as if she’s some delicate thing that might rupture at the wrong word. She’s unsure of what to do, what to say— she’s always so sure. 

Sevika is not someone to walk away from her problems. She’s never been one to shy away from a fight. So she surprises herself by walking away from you. She practically stumbles as her body moves instinctively, carrying her towards the door. She knows exactly where it is and it only confirms the distorted truth— this really is The Last Drop. 

She shoves the door open and steps outside. She hears your voice call out to her, but the heavy panel slams behind her, pushing her onto the street— only to see her world turned upside down. 

And the thing is, Sevika has pictured this before. She’s seen this image through her closed eyes, in dreams that replay over and over at night. The scenery of Zaun’s streets bustling with people and kids— kids running and jumping around. The neon-colored chaos and violence she’s grown accustomed to are nowhere to be found— and in its place are plants, lush and spreading, and fountains bubbling with clear, unsoiled water. The once cracked sidewalks, the filth-stained ground, are now scrubbed and tiled— with flowers that bloom in the corners of the buildings. 

Sevika has lived her whole life for this world. 

She lingers by the door in a haze until a person comes up to ask her, politely, to step aside so others can enter the bar. She barely makes out what he says but moves anyway, slowly stepping forward into the sunlight. It stings against her smooth skin and she goes rigid. The warmth is foreign as she becomes aware of how she is breathing— in, out, in, out— without feeling like her lungs are being stuffed with fumes. 

She passes by dialogues of curiosity and affection— people chatting softly, people responding with laughter— followed by excited clicks of heels and footsteps on the pavement. It’s so lively yet so peaceful, that she can actually hear things through the air— birds chirping from the sky, winds rustling through the leaves, and faint, upbeat strumming of strings.

Sevika turns towards the song, finding the jolly voice somewhat familiar. She follows the sounds of the stringed instrument, finding her way to a small crowd. She peeks through the standing audience to see children seated around to listen to the rustic music, all their attention fixed on the performer. Standing in front of them, singing with unrestrained joy, is a furry little creature. 

And Sevika remembers. 

Without a second thought, she marches right up to him, ignoring the gasps and shouts of the audience. 

“You,” She barks, standing right in front of the startled Yordle. “Where am I?” 

The yellow creature stops playing with a startled jump and clutches his banjo. He lifts his fluffy head and looks up at the heckler in offended confusion. 

“You know what I’m talking about. You were there!” Sevika snatches the banjo from his hand. 

“Mercy me!” The furball shrieks, his green eyes darting between her and the instrument. “I haven’t an ounce of what you’re talking about, young lady!”

Sevika’s grip tightens. “With Hextech. The—” She falters. She doesn’t even know exactly what it was. “The underground. I was there.”

The Yordle’s face changes in an instant at the mention of Hextech. His well-groomed mustache twitches as his eyes widen in horror. A curious horror, though horror nonetheless. He shakes his head as if to make sense of her words. 

“Oh, dear,” He nervously mutters under his breath. “You mean to tell me that you have also crossed timelines?” 

Sevika blinks. “What?” 

The Yordle looks past Sevika, and she glances back with him, remembering that they still have an audience. Usually people scram at the smallest sight of violence— but the people and children have remained in their places, confusion etched on their faces. 

The furball clears his throat, his posture straightening before snatching the banjo back from Sevika with a swipe. “Well, folks, the show is over for today, but I will be back tomorrow with a better performance. Don’t worry!” 

His cheery demeanor seems to ease a couple members of the audience as they shuffle away, their chatter rising with some frowns towards Sevika. Once the last couple children wander off, the furry creature turns to Sevika, lowering his voice.

“You must follow me.” 

“I must say, your presence is rather unorthodox.”

Sevika scoffs, her boots echoing against the metal floor as she follows Heimerdinger through Jinx’s hideout. It’s odd to see the place so… clean. No more scattered blueprints or half-built bombs littering the ground. And the last time she saw it, there were glowing doodles everywhere thanks to Jinx’s newest recruit. 

Though it’s not completely organized— tools scattered across the table, books open and stacked in dangerous, tipping ways, and multiple candles left unattended, letting the wax drip on loose papers. Some things can’t be changed. 

Heimerdinger hops through the workshop towards a familiar figure hunched over a workbench, his concentration on carving something on a small stone-like item. His braided white hair is tied back into a ponytail, which sways as he leans closer to inspect his work. The scratch of the carving tool pauses when he hears Heimerdinger’s presence, turning towards him as he wipes the sweat off of his forehead.

“Professor, I—” The boy pauses, his eyes snapping to Sevika. His initial shock quickly morphs into anger, dropping his work on the table. “What is she doing here?” 

“Well, it turns out Miss Sevika here arrived with us at the Hextech’s failsafe underground.” 

Heimerdinger hops over to the blackboard, grabbing a piece of chalk and scrawling something on the surface. “The anomaly of Hextech has scattered us from our proverbial reality— and since you were in close proximity, you were caught in the ripple effect.”

Heimerdinger turns to see his pupil and Sevika glaring in silence. “...It seems the two of you are familiar with each other.” 

“Oh, we’ve met,” Ekko spits, getting up to stand his ground. “You followed us? Even after Silco’s death, you’re doing his dirty work.” 

“I followed you because if the Piltover council and the Firelights are mixed up in something, Zaun needs to know. You’re not the only one fighting for freedom.” 

“Freedom?” Ekko walks right up to Sevika, his gaze unwavering right in front of her face. “You think what Silco did was freedom? Peddling shimmer, rotting out the Undercity from the inside? Silco’s leadership was control, not liberation. And now that he’s gone, you’re walking around with your leash in your hand.”

“Watch your mouth, boy saviour.” Sevika’s hands clench by her sides. Ekko does not back down. Neither one of them has forgotten the lives they’ve taken from each other. 

Heimerdinger clears his throat. “This tension is… unexpected. But let’s focus on the matter at hand, shall we? I do not condone Miss Sevika’s covert actions, but the fact remains that she is here. She may yet provide insights or skills valuable to understanding the anomaly.”

“I doubt that,” Ekko sneers, heading back to his table. 

Sevika scans the workshop. Bits of inventions and gadgets fill up the space, and while she doesn’t completely understand all the scribbles and equations on the chalkboard, she understands their goal is to get back home. As her gaze drifts across the cluttered space, her eyes land on a shiny flat piece of metal left on the counter. 

She sees herself reflected on the surface and moves closer. Her face catches her off guard— it is undeniably her— although her hair is cut in a bob, shorter than she’s ever had it before. It frames her face which looks a bit younger than she is. Her body is less muscular than before, but it doesn’t seem like she completely skips working out either. Her clothes fit her in a comfortable way that’s far cleaner and more put together than she’s accustomed to. And her left arm. She can’t get used to that at all. 

She stares at the reflective surface, inhaling sharply, before moving on to a notebook spread open on the counter— sketches of the abnormal Hexcore cover the pages. Her mind flashes back to the memory of her mind exploding into bits and pieces. She swallows. 

“I’m afraid this is a timeline where Hextech was never invented.” Heimerdinger says, noticing Sevika’s darting eyes. “And without a creation so prodigious as the Hexgates… no anomaly.” 

“So you’re recreating it.” Sevika closes the notebook. “How long?” 

“A couple weeks, at least.” Ekko begrudgingly answers. 

“Weeks,” Sevika mutters under her breath. She does not have weeks to waste. She needs to go back— Zaun needs her. Jinx needs her. Isha needs her. What is happening to her original body if she is here? “What can I do to get this done faster?” 

“You?” Ekko scoffs. “Unless you know how to punch your way out of this universe, you can wait until we’re done with the machine.” 

There is an edge of sarcasm in his words, almost a playful jab, but Sevika can also sense the venom in his tone. He’s clearly dragged down by the weight of the situation, in contrast to the furball’s worry-free attitude. 

But he’s right— Sevika doesn’t know much about magic or technology. Most she can do is minor adjustments on her prosthetic arm. All the creating and inventing the machinery stuff, that’s… Jinx’s field. But there must be something she can do— she’s not the one to wait for problems to be solved. 

“You think I’m just going to stand here twiddling my thumbs?” Sevika crosses her arms. “I didn’t survive Zaun’s trenches by waiting for miracles.” 

“Well,” Ekko breathes, his expression unreadable. “This isn’t Zaun.” 

And fuck. Yeah. This isn’t Zaun. 

Sevika’s frustration presses heavy on her chest. The usual pulse of urgency thrumming her veins, one that is always telling her to get up, to fight, to survive— seems to fade for a moment, replaced by an unknown stillness. She can’t do anything here. She doesn’t have to. The mere thought of that drives her insane. 

Before she can respond, she hears the sound of the door, followed by hurried footsteps and sounds of metal items rattling. A short figure enters, holding two boxes that obscure their face. 

“Ekko, I found— woah.” She wobbles a bit as the boxes sways to the side, before she manages to drop the boxes on the floor with a thump. Her vibrant blue hair gives her away. 

Jinx. 

Sevika falters at the sight of her— healthier than Sevika remembers— her skin glowing, her cheeks plump, her frame no longer as scraggly as before. The annoyingly long braids are nowhere to be seen, replaced by rather cute space-buns with a streak of pink. There’s an innocence to her expression, the eagerness to prove herself completely gone. Instead she looks untethered—freed— from the usual chaos of her mind. 

She looks at Sevika with a tilt of her head. Sevika pictures a doe. Soft and curious.  

“Sevika?”

“Jinx.” 

The name doesn't even suit her anymore. Jinx looks confused, almost a bit hurt at the name and— oh. She smiles in gentle understanding. 

“Powder, actually.” She offers. “I guess you’re… different, too.” 

Sevika frowns. She turns to Ekko. “She knows?” 

“He wasn’t exactly being secretive about it,” Jinx— No, Powder— chuckles, pushing the boxes filled with metal trinkets and parts to a corner. “And I’m smart enough to figure it out. Plus, I just heard about you terrorizing our professor in front of The Last Drop. I knew something was wrong.” 

Sevila can’t even imagine a world where her fight with a Piltie by the bar could be considered ‘something wrong.’ And she is. In that world. 

“The news has spread already!” Heimerdinger nervously chortles. “I do hope you haven’t scared away my audience for tomorrow’s performance.” 

Sevika ignores him, her attention all on Powder. 

“So, you’re just helping him with all this?” She waves towards the machinery.

“Well, he’s not going to figure it out himself.” Powder grins at Ekko. He returns a small smile and a tender gaze— Sevika almost wants to laugh. The leader of the Firelights and the Jinx? Absurd. This whole situation is absurd. She needs to get back home. 

Ekko notices Sevika’s judgmental stare and his lips curl back to a frown.  

“Just stay out of the way. We’re close to cracking this, and the last thing I need is you throwing off my balance.” 

Sevika’s mouth opens for a sharp retort— but Heimderdinger quickly interjects, sensing the imminent fight. 

"Perhaps, Miss Sevika, it would be wise to allow Ekko to continue his work without further interference. I know this isn’t ideal for you, but for now, patience may be the best course of action."

Her gut twists in frustration. Easy for the Piltover motherfucker who’s lived for hundreds of years to preach about patience. She isn’t built for waiting— waiting never got her anywhere. 

“I’m not going to sit around for a machine that might not work.” 

“It’ll work,” Ekko bites. “And I don’t need your help here.”

Sevika’s eyes flick between the three of them— Ekko, defiant, Heimderinger, a bit skittish, and Powder, sympathetic. Sevika has nothing else to say. She exhales, loosening her fists, letting the tension slip away. 

“You could go home to your wife,” Powder suggests, nodding towards the ring on Sevika’s left hand. 

The tension comes back. The word ‘wife’ should mean nothing to her, and yet, the moment it hits the air she pictures you and your stupid little face, wide eyes and slightly parted lips, staring at Sevika with darling concern. As if the words you’ve wanted to say had been stolen from your throat. 

It sickens her. 

She runs her thumb over the ring on her finger. Its warmth is indistinguishable from her own skin. She remembers the matching ring on you. 

“She is not my wife.” 

Powder shrugs. “She was really worried about you. Especially after she heard you attacked the professor.” 

“I barely touched him,” Sevika huffs. Heimderinger’s mustache twitches. 

“If you don’t act normal, she might figure out what’s going on.” Powder grabs a pen and scribbles something on a piece of paper. 

Normal is the last word to describe this situation. Normal is the last word to describe your relationship with her. How would she ever act normal here, with you? 

“Here.” Powder tosses the paper to Sevika. “That’s your address.” 

Sevika crumples it in her hand.

“I am not going to my house.” 

Sevika finds herself in front of her house. 

She stares at the crumpled piece of paper with her address on it, hesitating by the door. Because it’s not really her house— she almost feels like she’s intruding. But it’s late, and she’s tired, jaded— but she doesn’t want to be at the workshop anymore. And she can’t stand being in the middle of the sanitary, warm version of Zaun. Faces of people she’s buried, people she’s left behind walk around with a smile on their face. It’s nauseating. 

Sevika has nowhere else to go. 

And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to see you again. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t know why. She crushes the piece of paper and jams it into her jacket pocket.

She twists the handle and steps into the house. The sense of wrongness only deepens at the sight of the interior. The floors gleam, the furniture is neatly arranged, and the air smells of— food. Good food. Nothing like the usual scent of dust, blood, and grease of her typical home– she barely calls it a home. More of a hideout. She moves deeper into the living room, trying to place the strange layout. 

She would have moved to this proper place if she had never left Vander, never lost her arm, and never worked under Silco. It’s a house she feels misplaced in. The kind of house someone who had their shit together would own— who cleaned, who cooked, who cared. The kind of life Sevika doesn’t know how to live.

And then she sees you. Laying on the couch in the living room, reading a book in your nightgown by the candlelight. Although she was expecting it, she is startled at the sight of you, so comfortable, so safe in the middle of the house. She catches herself staring.

You look up from your book. "...Hi." 

Sevika blinks. She doesn't reply. 

“I thought maybe you were spending the night somewhere else,” You mumble, setting your book down by the side table. You weren’t expecting her to be home today— you thought she wanted to be left alone after whatever she had gone through at Vander’s bar. You push yourself up from the couch. 

“Um,” Sevika tries as you walk closer to her. “You’re… here.” 

“I mean, I wasn’t going to wait for you in the bar the whole day.” You retort, your tone sharp at first but it soon morphs into regret. You’re confused about her behaviour, and you’re sort of pissed at her for leaving you like that, sure, but you shouldn’t snap at your wife. “Are you… feeling better?” 

“I’m fine.” She says a little too quickly.

You don't look convinced, standing right in front of her with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Vika, you don’t look fine.” 

Sevika stares back at you at the nickname, her stoic expression faltering. She feels nauseous again. She’s unsure how to exist with you in her space— always filled with so much concern, sympathy. It’s… uncomfortable. She feels like a cornered animal, a pathetic prey when she is with you. 

“I said I’m fine.” 

Her voice comes out in her usual harsh way. Your face twists. And for the first time in her life, she regrets it. 

Back in Zaun— the real Zaun— the line between fear and respect had blurred. Everyone feared her, therefore respected her. It was how everyone treated her, how they always acknowledged her presence yet at the same time tried to stay out of her way. The satisfaction of knowing she could control everything that happened in a room was what she was used to. 

Somehow, she doesn’t want that kind of control over you. She doesn’t want to make you cower or fear her. The thought that she might be doing exactly that— making you feel small, making you regret being near her— it’s as if her body rejects it. She doesn’t want you to look at her like that.

But just as soon as your face shows that flicker of distress, it suddenly shifts into a look of disbelief. 

“Are you on drugs?” 

Sevika stares blankly. You have the utmost sincerity in your eyes. 

“What?” 

“If you’re on some kind of street drug, you can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

Sevika holds back her amusement. As if anger, from someone as small and harmless as you, could scare her into hiding something as common as drugs. As if you could intimidate someone like her. She almost wants to laugh at the height difference between the two of you right now. 

“I mean, I heard about the ruckus with Professor Heimerdinger and—” You ramble, your mind trying to justify your wife’s behaviour. “It’s one thing to pick fights after being drunk, maybe, but without a single drop of alcohol? The professor has done so much for Zaun and you respect him a lot. It’s just so unlike you.” 

‘You don’t know me,’ Sevika thinks, but she bites back her tongue. 

“You’re so… so rigid, and every time I look at you, you look like you’re worried I might uncover some sort of secret.” Your eyes narrow as you grasp at clues to come up with a theory. “And you flinch every time I touch you!” 

“I’m not on drugs.” She wishes she were. “I’m just tired.” 

You frown. She’s been tired before, and she’s been stressed before. But she’s never been like this. Avoidant. Blurry. 

But it doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it— or she’s willing to confess anything. Maybe she really is just tired. She certainly looks like a completely different person. She looks… sad. 

You just sigh. “Do you want me to be worried?”

That is the last thing I want. “No.” 

“Okay…” You cross your arms. “Are you hungry?” 

Starving. “No.”

The two of you lock eyes, before you step back with a reluctant nod. 

“...Okay. Go wash up.” 

Sevika buffers at your command, watching you retreat back to your couch. You pick up your book again, although your focus is elsewhere. She knows you’re holding back your questions— and it almost pisses her off. Why are you so careful, so considerate towards her? 

It’s not like she’s ever earned that kind of care. Not from anyone. And definitely not from you. 

The silence stretches between you, and all she can hear is you flapping the pages as you pretend to read. Sevika would prefer your anger— she could handle anger. She understands anger. 

But this patience makes her skin crawl. 

Sevika turns sharply and strides towards the hallway. 

Your eyes remain fixated on the words of the book, but your ears listen to your wife’s footsteps, which pauses a couple of times before finding the bedroom. There’s the creak of the closet doors, the rustling of clothes, before she finds her way to the bathroom. The hesitancy in her steps are enough to embolden your suspicions— and while you don’t want to push her, your curiosity and concern remains.

As soon as you hear the water running, you spring up, tossing the book on the couch, before making your way toward the bedroom. 

Snooping is wrong, you know that— but your worry overwhelms your morality. You see her jacket, carelessly draped over the edge of the table in the room. Sevika never leaves her jacket lying around— she knows you’ll make her hang it up anyways. 

Your fingers twitch at your sides. With a glance toward the hallway, you step closer to the table.

Her jacket is heavy in your hands, the worn leather supple and wrinkled. You unfold and dig into the pockets, finding a few coins, a lighter, and—

A piece of paper. 

You frown at its state, crumpled, as if someone had been squeezing on it continuously. You unfold it, smooth it out, until you can make out the writing scribbled across the surface.

It’s your home address. Confused, you turn the paper around, but there’s nothing else— just the address of the house you and Sevika have lived in for three years— why would she need this? 

You squint at the uneven handwriting— It’s Powder’s. You’d recognize it anywhere. The hurried strokes, the exaggerated loops— you’ve seen her writing many times during the Innovator’s Competition in an index card set beside her wild invention, describing it in great detail. 

Did Sevika meet up with Powder after the meltdown at Vander’s bar? But it must have been after all the fuss with Professor Heimerdinger, and someone told you that the two of them left together. So, Sevika and Professor Heimderdinger went to see Powder, who gave her the address to her own home?

You shove the paper back into her jacket, returning it to its original place on the table. You’re missing a huge part of this weird equation— and your confusion remains. Perhaps you’re even more confused than before. You take a deep breath before heading to bed, crawling on the soft mattress. You’ve had a long, off day. 

When the sound of water finally stops and Sevika steps out of the bathroom, you’re still in deep thought on the bed, fingers idly playing with the hem of your pajamas. She walks into the bedroom in a loose tank top and sweatpants, the fabric hanging comfortably from her form. 

She glances at you, her damp hair clinging to her face, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You expect her to join you under the covers, to settle into the space you’ve shared countless nights before. But instead, she just stays there, her back to you, her shoulders taut. 

“...You okay?” 

She exhales sharply, almost like a scoff. “I just need a minute,” She mumbles. 

Sevika has been through girls before, at Babette’s— she’s no stranger to how a girl feels by her sides at night. But she’s never had someone so determined to comfort her like this. And knowing her relationship with you, knowing that she’s somehow married to someone like you— it’s different. It’s horrifying. 

Somehow you seem to recognize that— and she feels your presence shift towards her from behind, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. She breathes as she feels your hand move to her shoulder, letting the warmth brush against her like you’re testing the air between you. 

Her body stiffens under your touch. You can feel the tension of her defined muscles beneath her skin, as if she’s bracing for something sharp, something brutal— but you keep your hand steady, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on her back. 

You worry she might pull away. But then, so quiet you almost miss it, she exhales. It’s small, broken in half, but it’s enough to soothe the suspense. You keep going, outlining the curve of her spine, watching her shiver— and the tightness of her body begins to fade in pieces, bit by bit. 

She leans back towards you and you draw closer, hand brushing her nape of her beck. You let the moment of stillness, of uncertainty pass, before she finally turns toward you. Soft. Fractured. Unfamiliar.

She stares at you, searching for something, unsteady, as if she’s not sure what she’ll find. It resembles the look from before, the one from the bar— but you don’t look away. You’re searching too. 

When your lips meet, it’s strange— she’s being so gentle. Modest with her ability to love you. Her touch is light, testing— and for a split second, it feels awkward. Almost as if it’s the first time. 

But then she moves her hand and brushes against your arm, fingertips barely grazing your skin, and you liquefy— it’s enough to deepen the kiss, slowly, naturally— as she pulls you closer, and the warmth between you grows. Her breaths are uneven, blending with yours as you feel her tongue slip in— and you’re gone. The world narrows until it’s just this moment, just the two of you. 

And somehow it’s not urgent nor overwhelming— it’s not the usual excitement she brings in her kisses. Instead, it’s like she’s carefully learning the parts of you, afraid to miss a single detail. Her hands slide up your sides, not rushing, not pushing— just anchoring herself to you, grounding both of you into a comfortable position on the mattress. 

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together. Her breaths are hot and close against your cheek, and you share the same air, your chest heaving up and down, shallow and quick. The silence lingers, but then you start to laugh and she smiles too. 

And everything falls back into place. 

She’s yours again. 

You’re a fast sleeper, gone just as soon as you hit your head on your pillow. But Sevika lays awake, listening to the unchanging sound of the clock echoing from the living room. 

Every time she closes her eyes, she feels it— a certain weight pressing against her chest, filled with thoughts she doesn’t want to entertain. She shifts slightly, careful not to disturb you, her gaze fixated on a certain grainy spot on the ceiling.

There’s an emptiness inside of her. She’s lived her whole life for Zaun. For years, she sacrificed everything for a better life. She always believed that the people deserved a better Zaun. That she deserved a better Zaun. And now that she has it—

She’s not sure she deserves it. 

She feels the soft, comfortable blanket around her and grips it tightly. 

This could have been her life. This is supposed to be her life. 

Sevika feels you shuffle beside her, still asleep, turning to sluggishly hug her large frame. She tenses at first, unable to move, but soon feels your chest against her left arm, pressing in and out on her muscles as she hears the mellow sounds of your breaths. You’re warm. You’re beautiful. She lets your touch engulf her, and closes her eyes. 

Sevika does not fall asleep. But as she lies there, with the warmth radiating from your body, she feels herself melting onto the bed, her body relaxing like it has never before. The weight in her chest lightens at the mere presence of you, and the gnawing emptiness inside feels… a little less hollow. 

And for once, nothing hurts.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey ladies thank you for reading my unedited silly convoluted fic filled with my love towards Sevika. Get ready for part 2 which is angstier. Crying. Also I wrote most of this during final season and almost failed my final. But I will never fail the WLW nation. XOXO BIA <3

Likes, reblogs, and comments would be SO SO appreciated!!!

PART 2: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND EVERYTHING HURTS (COMING SOON)

[pagesfromthevoid]

Walk Through Darkness | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of depression and hypomania, panic attacks, depressive episodes, self-loathing behaviors, established relationships

Author's Note: Companion to Honey & Glass but you don't need to read it to understand!

Talk to Me! | AO3

Some days are better than others.

Bob said it himself, when they first met: sometimes he has high highs and then he crashes, and those days are the lowest of lows. 

She knows this, and she understands. Bob doesn’t think she does, and he tries to shield her from it whenever he has bad days. But it’s not the bad days that she worries about; the bad days, she can get through to him a little more. It’s those high days –the days when he suddenly thinks he’s invincible (it does not help that he technically is). When he thinks that he’s cured of his self-loathing, and he’s better than he’s ever been. 

It’s harder to get through to him on those days.

Bob gets happy –touchy, feely, confident –during these days. The first time he has a manic episode, she doesn’t realize it immediately. She thinks –maybe stupidly, maybe selfishly –this is a good sign. He wants to go out on a date; he wants to see a movie and “make out in the back row like a couple of dumb teenagers.” He’s even combed his hair, thrown on something that’s not his favorite sweater and sweats, and tells her to get ready. She’s all for it too –gets dressed up some, puts on makeup and a cute dress –and they go to the movie theatre.

Well, they try. 

On the walk there, he gets distracted by an art exhibit taking over Times Square, tugging her hand to pull her along to look at the screens as they shift images of colors and shapes. He completely forgets they’re supposed to make a seven o’clock movie, caught up in the colors and the people and everything going on around them. He wants to tip every street performer and is wrapping his arm around her shoulders like he’s going to lose her if he lets go. 

Then he refuses to go home. 

He says they should stay out all night; that there’s no reason to go back to the WatchTower because he can protect them from whatever’s out on these streets.

“I’m the Sentry,” he reminds her, and he’s purposely walking towards a not-so-good neighborhood. 

This is when she realizes something is wrong. Maybe she should have noticed it before, but the distractedness isn’t uncommon for Bob, and she was just…really happy he wanted to go out, honestly. 

“Bob,” she warns, pulling him to a stop. He’s beaming down at her, but his eyes are also shifting towards a dive bar that does not look like the kind of place she wants to go to. “I want to go home, Bob,” she insists, tugging on his hand.

“Why?” He asks, and he is –in fact –stronger than she is and doesn’t budge. “It’s fine –I won’t let anything happen. Seriously, it could be fun –,”

“Please take me home,” she says, more firm now, and he makes a face as he feels the pin prick of her powers in his head.

“We can go home if you get out of my head,” he counters, frowning deeply. His eyes are flickering that golden hue and she knows that she’s pushing him too far. 

She nods, slipping away from his thoughts and he sighs. Then he groans, and runs his hands over his face. “You’re mad at me. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“I’m just tired,” she tries again, motioning to her feet. “I wasn’t prepared to walk all over –I would have worn anything but heels, you know?”

This seems to make more sense to him and he nods some. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I could have carried you –,”

“Please do not carry me,” but she’s laughing a little, trying to ease the tension. Then she reaches out to take his hand again. “Let’s just go back to the Tower –we can watch a movie there.”

“I was really looking forward to that back row kiss,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder again, holding her hand still.

“Next time.”

She knows what to look for now though –it’s still hard to bring him down. But it’s not impossible.

The low days are bad too –don’t get her wrong. They’re just harder in a different way. 

The low days, she’s not worried he’s going to try to be all powerful. She’s more worried he’s going to sink into those shadows again. Those are the days that it takes more energy to mask his nightmares; where his thoughts are so loud and so frantic that they scare her. 

But she promises him that she’s not scared of him. She’s scared for him.

The low days always follow the high days, but they last twice as long. He recedes into himself; refuses to talk to her (or anyone for that matter). They give him a day –they watch from afar, they make sure he eats and drinks water –but they give him that day. But after a day, the team picks him up. She picks him up.

Sometimes it’s just all of them sitting together and watching movies. He doesn’t exactly join –he sits in his corner, with his books and his chaise, but he’s in the same room. She sits on the floor next to him, because she knows he doesn’t want to be touched just yet. 

These are the days she lets him decide what he wants from her.

But this episode –it’s worse than the first one. Not as bad as what happened the first time they had met, but still bad enough that the shadows are staining the edges of the Tower before anyone really notices. He’s been coming out and talking to people –short, barely audible interactions, but they’re there. He’s touching her hand, just enough to remind her he’s there. But he’s tired, and they can tell, and Alexei suggests he go lay down. They’d come to check on him in a bit. He just takes a bottle of water and walks away.

She’s one that checks on him. And that’s how she sees the shadows, inching their way into her room.

He’s locked himself in her bedroom, because her bedroom has a lock and his does not, for his own safety.

The code pad has been overridden and she can’t get the door to open.

“Bob,” she pleads through the door but the shadows are moving faster, slithering over her feet as they flood under the crack of the door. “Bob, please open the door.”

When he doesn’t answer, she yells out for someone –anyone, really at this point –to help her get this damn door open. Bucky is who responds the fastest, prying her door open just enough for her to squeeze inside. The shadows scatter, only for a moment, before they swarm again. Then they’re wrapping around her. Bucky is trying to get the door open entirely, but there’s an unseen barrier that’s blocking the rest of them from entering the room. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kneeling into the shadows that are surrounding him. 

He’s shaking, cross legged on her floor, holding a vinyl in his hands that’s melted against his palms. Gently, afraid that she’ll scare him if she moves too fast, she pries the remainder of the vinyl from him. Then she throws it away. The shadows practically hiss at her as she shifts to sit cross legged in front of him, mirroring his position. 

“It’s…he’s so loud,” he murmurs, his voice shaking as he holds back tears. “It won’t stop. I…I can’t get him to stop –,”

She hushes him gently, holding her hands out, palms up. He doesn’t move, and she doesn’t force him. The shadows are pooling in her lap, and she can hear their whispers –whispers of her misdeeds, of his, of darkness. Trying to coax them both into the Void and the shadows. They’re trying to consume her but her mind is easier to shield than his, and she refuses to let the Void win.

The shadows are creeping up his hands now, and she finally moves cautiously to take his hands in hers. The shadows recede, as if fearful of her touch. The reality is that, in his mind, when she touches him like this –letting the shadows slink around her like snakes and brush against her skin –he is reminded of how much he is cared about. And that care, no matter how much he fears it will go away one day –staves off the darkness just enough. Because she’s telling him that she is not afraid of him. 

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

The shadows have stopped spreading but they have not gone away. Bob finally looks up at her –eyes red rimmed, puffy from crying. His entire body is shaking –but he cringes when she presses into his mind. She’s gotten better at smoothing out the thoughts; of softening them. She only does it when he asks, or in moments like this, where there is a danger of him falling again. They both know he needs to learn to handle them himself, but she refuses to let him suffer in these darkest moments.

Her hands slide up his wrists, over his arms, up his biceps. They rest just below his jaw, thumbs running over his cheeks gently as she pushes something softer into his mind. The shadows hiss further, retreating from the light, and she can hear the Void in his mind –cursing, threatening. Reminding Bob that he’s nothing to everyone, including her. How can he be a hero when he can’t even help himself? Why do you waste your breath on a man that’s not whole? He’s nothing, and deserves nothing. You’re going to leave anyway.

“No one is whole,” she reminds him gently, pressing her forehead against his gently. “We’re all made up of broken pieces, and every person who loves you is a stitch that puts you back together.”

Bob closes his eyes, nodding slowly as his breathing evens out. The shadows recede –slowly, reluctantly pulling away and returning to the darkest corner –and the barrier keeping the team out drops. Bucky pries the door open but Yelena stops them from entering. The team doesn’t leave, but they don’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice is sluggish and it's clear that he’s exhausted. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to –,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she promises, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks. His hands reach out to grip her wrists, anchoring himself in the softness that’s spreading across his mind. Letting it wash over him as the Void slowly but surely is washed away for the time being. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nods, though his eyes are shut still. She taps her thumb against his cheek, telling him to look at her. Bob’s eyes open, and the gold glow that takes over is gone, freeing the blue that always reminds her of the sky on a cloudless day. His gaze is unfocused for a moment, glossy, as he blinks away the tears and the darkness before he finally settles on her face.

“What’s the secret?” He asks, voice small as the thoughts she plants slip away and leave him to fend for himself. There’s a flinch, but she doesn’t feel the shadows returning so she lets him handle it himself from here on.

“I love you,” she confesses, though it feels silly to confess something that has been obvious for several weeks now. “Let me safety pin the pieces of you together until we have the right thread.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Yelena shoving everyone away from the door. She’s shushing them, especially Alexei, who is trying to celebrate for the two. But the team disappears and leaves the two be, knowing they would be okay without support now.

“You…you don’t mean that,” Bob tries to argue; tries to pull away from her touch. But she holds him there. “You don’t want to love me –,”

“Robert Reynolds, I walked into the shadows without knowing if I was going to die,” she reminds him, forcing him to look at her. “And I didn’t even know you when I did that. I wasn’t a superhero, I wasn’t an assassin, or a supersoldier. I was an assistant. I did not walk into those shadows because I wanted to save the world, I walked into those shadows to save you. And I will walk into the shadows every single day if it means I get to love you another day.

“I do mean it when I say I love you, because you are easy to love, and you are worthy of it,” she continues, and there’s tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes as she takes a deep breath. “I love you more than…than I think I’ve ever loved anyone, which I know probably sounds insane because we’ve only been dating for like two months, but I can’t help it.

“So do not tell me I don’t mean it, and that I don’t want to love you. Because I do mean it and I do want to love you. And there’s nothing you could do to make me stop loving you.”

He wants to argue, she can see it in his eyes and the way his brows knit together in frustration. But there’s something behind his eyes –something that says he desperately wants to believe her. So he doesn’t argue, and slowly nods.

“I…I love you too,” he finally breathes, blinking away his tears. She smiles at him with watery eyes and shaking hands against his skin still. “I’ve never…I never thought I’d find someone like you. After everything –all the things I’ve done before the superpowers and even after –I just…I know I’m hard to love –,”

“Hey, no,” she interrupts. “It’s not hard to love you. It’s like breathing –,”

“You can’t mean that –,”

“I do –,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally settles on, and she bites her tongue. She’ll bring it up later, when he’s less stuck in his head and remind him. “I just…thank you. For loving me.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank her but she pauses, deciding to just…accept it for now. “You’re welcome, Bob. Thank you for loving me too.”

His hands drop from her wrists, rubbing his eyes. “Can we…can we take a nap?”

“A nap does sound really nice right now,” she admits with a soft laugh. 

She stands up, holding out her hands to pull him up. When he’s up, he doesn’t release her, though, and instead pulls her into a tight hug. His arms wrap around her shoulders, clinging to her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. She curls her arms around his middle, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck, sighing into his skin. 

“I love you,” he repeats into her hair, squeezing her tight.

“I love you too,” she promises.

They stand there like that for a while.

[calypso-apologist]

Uhm..... more than antinous please? Maybe just nsfw a-z? Feel free to ignore

i think you meant more of Antinous, but you know what, i got the point so let's go

Antinous NSFW Alphabet ♡

Template by @/the-coldest-goodbye.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He rarely does aftercare, honestly. Unless you're a bigger, more serious affair, I suppose. In that case... he still doesn't fucking do it, he just lets you cuddle up to him. Might entertain a short conversation, I guess, before falling asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His? Probably his back, with all the scratches you've left on him with the rare times when you're not pinned down.

Yours? Throat and wrists. He likes squeezing them to hold you down. See what I did there?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Very thick. Somewhat creamy in color. He cums a lot for the first orgasm, moderately less for the second, way less for the third. He never makes it a fourth one, but if he did, it would probably just be either dry or just a few last drops.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would love to be dominated, but he would rather fucking die than be dominated.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I mean... he's not a virgin, I guess? He's the kind of guy who fucks a lot but doesn't really get any better past a certain point, if it makes sense.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

The Ballerina. He likes pinning you against a wall, one of your legs around him as he ruts into you. In bed, just anything that leaves you helpless will do.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Neither, I guess? Though between the two, I suppose humorous would be the closer option between the two, though it's not very goofy, it's more just... him mocking you, honestly.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oh, yeah, bushy as hell. Dark, thick, very curly. He rarely bothers any sort of trimming.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

There is not a single fucking romantic cell in this man's body unless it's manipulation. The only time he's somewhat romantic is when he's trying to get something from you. Princess of Ithaca, anyone?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It's not that he won't do it, it's that he prefers it when you do it. Why use his hand when you've got two hands, a mouth and at least one fuckable hole down there, ya know?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Power imbalance.

He thrives on getting to control people, so the more you depend on him, the better.

Choking.

There's just something so special in getting to see you squirm and tear up when he squeezes your throat just a little too hard. This ties in with slight dacryphilia as well.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I don't really know if Ancient Greeks had supply closets but if they did, those. He liked pretty much any small room where you have no choice but to be pressed against him

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you wet, sweaty and/or tired. He likes that worn out look on you. Or rather, he likes the idea that he can make it worse.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Never gonna let you take charge in any way, shape or form. He gets really pissed off if you try.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

You will not convince me this man would give anyone oral. You just can't make me believe he would.

He does love receiving, though. Especially fond of getting to fuck your mouth. Bonus points if you cough a little after he pulls out, it always feeds his ego.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, all the way. It's all about him, baby. You get to cum as a bonus.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He does not last long enough to not call having sex with him anything else than a quickie.

He likes them a lot. Especially while he's in Penelope's palace, pretending to be somewhat virtuous around her. He can't have the affair discovered! So he pulls you around to whatever unoccupied room, has some fun and leaves like nothing happened.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

On one hand, he has no shame or honor. On the other hand, he needs his reputation (or rather, his perception of his reputation) to be perfect.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Solid two rounds, three on a good night, but he probably won't make you cum on the third round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Too arrogant for toys. Best you can get is his tying you up or gagging you if he's frustrated.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Painfully unfair. Honestly, it sometimes feels like he's just trying to bully you while fucking you. This man is nothing but a big bully and he will make sure you don't get to forget about that.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not very loud per se, but he sure feels loud when he's growling and grunting in your ear. He likes it when you're loud, though. Feeds his ego.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's basically what you would get if r/niceguys were a thing in ancient Greece. Well, maybe there were. Not the point.

Basically, he can be incredibly charming, but the moment he's denied, he turns to insults, slutshaming and threats. Or he might even go further, resulting in more than one type of violence.

Despite that, he considers himself the most mature and responsible among the suitors.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Solid six and a half inches, almost seven when hard. Very thick, stretching you out just to the point of a little pain from it. One prominent vein on the side, with heavy balls that are mostly covered by hair.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty much always horny. If he sees a chance to fuck that doesn't affect his precious reputation, he goes for it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I'd give him fifteen to thirty minutes, honestly. He does not care, he got laid, he is getting his beauty sleep.

[mechncheese]

your designs are so peak! dyou think youd be willing to share some of your process for how you develop the looks you make?

Sure thing ! I'll take you on a journey into my mind's eye

Long text post ahead in case anyone's interested in my designing process

I start off with references-- lots of references. I pull inspiration from more than one iteration for a character ! For Brainstorm specifically I took the most inspiration from IDW Brainstorm with aspects from G1 like his darker/greener color.

Red Alert's darker color palette is also based on the TFA design with heavy IDW influence. First Aid's little doctor's coat was inspired by the Bayverse Crosshair's coat. Ratchet's design is based on his Prime, G1, IDW, and Cyberverse iterations but I took the most inspiration from his Prime design (I think Prime Ratchet is also my favorite Ratchet so I might be biased)

Before I begin designing anything, I map out the character's silhouette, it gives me a feel for the shapes I want and how they'd stand out in a lineup. Here's Wheeljack for an example.

Then I start the first draft/sketch. I just draw on top of the silhouette and adjust as I go, I'm mostly going based on what feels right to me.

Since a lot of the bots I was working with had White and Red color palettes I had to use different accent colors to break it up and I wanted to emphasize their shape language. I try to keep things from blurring together too much. I also used various off-white colors (it's very subtle) and different shades of red.

I also pull inspiration from figurines/model kits from gundams specifically-- honestly I do this mostly for the legs, I struggle a lot with making the legs look right so I look at Gundam legs for references on knee articulations and the ankles.

a lot of it is trial and error and it usually takes me more than one attempt before finalizing a design. Let me show you the monster that is my first Brainstorm attempt.

Good fucking god I have no idea what the hell I was thinking, literally the first thing I said to myself as I was finishing this was "Oh my god he is UGLY, I cannot keep him like that" he was not working out so I went back to the drawing board and worked small.

Here was my second draft of Brainstorm, I was thinking about his personality as I was working on him which I think helped a lot. Chaotically natured, I incorporated a lot of sharp shapes and I darkened his color palette to a sea green to let the red and yellow/orange accents stand out. It also emphasizes his more sinister personality while the broad yellow-accented shoulders paired with the extra red accents kind of give him this "show-off" and "full of himself" vibe.

My previous mistake was that the blue was far too bright and the orange and red were just clashing too much. Also his wings being flat against his back just did not fit him. I think I was too afraid to break to mold with Brainstorm-- Like there was this line between "This is not Brainstorm enough" or "This is too far from being Brainstorm" and then I remembered his very wise words

Then I just started to get adventurous and experimental and bam, we have Science AU Brainstorm. The major takeaway from this is don't be afraid to get wild with your designs.

In contrast, Since Prowl and Brainstorm will be seen around each other a lot, I kept Prowl's design less flashy and his palette limited, pulling heavily from IDW Prowl. It also fits his personality, he's much more serious and orderly. So when they're seen in the same drawing, there's this nice design compliment between Brainstorm and Prowl.

Another oopsies I did was initial First Aid attempt where I made his accent color orange for some reason. It looked really bad and I ended up changing it to blue which worked a lot better.

But yeah ! That's my general design process ! Play around, have fun and don't be afraid to get experimental and try some new things for designs !

[mtcloudsworld]

𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙇𝙇𝘼

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | +18, mdni, black!fem reader, chubby!reader, pudgy!reader, curlyafro!reader, Husband!Nanami Kento, cowgirl, edited but if you see any errors ignore, thank you :)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | like, comment, reblog ─ NANAMI KENTO'S MASTERLIST enjoy lovebugs!! 🦠🩷

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Husband!Nanami Kento, settled in the confines of his bed, was leaned back on the headboard, shirtless , in only his silky black pajama pants with a book gripped firmly in his hands and settled into his lap. His glasses were set perched along the bridge of his nose, hair semi wet from the shower he took earlier, smelt like mint and old spice. It was nearly midnight as he awaited for you to join him in bed.

Unsure of what you were doing but wasn't impatient. He knew you liked to take your time in the bathroom, do your self care and what not before climbing into the bed for his warmth. And when he expected to see you with your hair in a bonnet, slow vera facemask only in one of his tshirts.

He was struck with something a little bit different.

Sheer, mesh, yellow lingerie complimented your glowing mocha skin. The scent of jasmine hit him as he examined the tight material clung in all the right places along your voluptuous body, the garter belts snugged along your thighs.

You were...sexy as hell.

Your curly fro surrounded around your beautifully adorned face as it had reached to your shoulders. You looked down at yourself, hands ghosting over your torso as you took a peek at your figure in the body mirror, kitty cornered between the closet and bathroom door.

You were a little nervous of showing Nanami considering you weren't too happy with your body weight lately but... you took the chance to just blatantly do it just for his opinion. With a slow, sweet smooth whistle he has your attention.

Your pedicured, black painted feet carry you towards the end of the bed, one knee propped along the mattress, you continuously gaze over yourself. "Do you like it? Does it look okay on me?"

You asked with such uncertainty in your voice.

It honestly made him scoff.

Licking his lips, he takes a moment to bookmark the book and place it to the side before giving you his attention.

"Words can't even describe how I feel right now, darling." His eyes glowed over the masterpiece before him. His glasses were soon slipped off after into the night stand, when he beckons for you to come closer.

"You don't think I look fat?" You asked with an inquisitive look, shoulders slumped, and he shook his head with a small smile, "no, you look like my wife, my gorgeous, sexy, fine ass wife, the wife I selfishly love and adore and would live and die for. Now, come here."

Your guard instantly falls down and when you approach him slowly, crawling onto the soft cotton mattress. You have a smirk on your face, one that held pride, biting her bottom lip, she goes to straddle him.

"I was nervous to put this on."

"Mm, why baby?" He asks inspecting the skimpy see-through pieces.

"Cause...I've been feeling insecure with my body lately." You confess.

His hands rest at your thick thighs, looking at you with such admiration."It's healthy weight baby, I promise you look beautiful. Always have, always will."

"I really fucking love you in this. Yellow is honestly your color. Your pudge looks so cute too." He states hands coming from around your sides to the small pudge of your stomach, feeling him knead at it like dough.

"And of course, your tits and ass always have to show off, but showing them a little lovin' wouldn't hurt now would it?"

His eyes never waiver when he observes the way your tits sat up perfectly up from the metal band underneath. You looked more busty. Even the thong along your ass made your shape look immaculate.

He thought he was gonna cum just by the sight of it.

He then goes to grope at your ass, pushing all your weight on him so your core was pressed to the hard tent in his pants. He nuzzles his face between your tits, eyes piercing through your gaze as he leaves open mouth kisses to your flesh.

You feel your cheeks heat up, gripping along his shoulders to feel the muscle ripple beneath your fingertips.

And just when you thought this was a simple "show and tell," you found yourself in a disarray.

Your tits were spilled out from over the skin tight mesh bra. Nanami's mouth was preoccupied with your tits and his fingernails were deliberately digging into the jiggly flesh of your ass.

Head tilted back and eyes screwed, your mouth hung low as you bounced up and down relentlessly on his dick.

Skin slapping skin, the sticky gooey sound between your thighs filled your ears as you moaned "oh, Kenny~" shamelessly like a love sick puppy.

He had you in a daze, clawing at his shoulders, tugging at his hair when he guides you to grind against his dick, feeling his swollen pink tip poke your plush cervix to feel you squeeze his shaft.

Suffocating him entirely he suddenly explodes without warning. Consuming you with his love and happiness. Breathlessly, he takes you in like the sunrise, basking in your goodness and charm and soon smiles from ear to ear.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

Girl I have so many questions about your story it’s actually ridiculous!

(I don’t want to overwhelm you though so imma hold back)

is reader becoming a snake person a reference to snakes preying on bats and birds?( and will the snake being joker’s be important?)

Is Tiffany going to have to put effort into pretending she’s the ✨perfect sister✨ now that reader obviously isn’t going to do jack for them anymore? (Because ungrateful families don’t deserve muffins 😒)

Is reader going to be a hero or villain, or maybe something in between?

will we be able to get an idea of why the batfam treats reader like they’re some sort of pest?( you’d think they’d be more careful since reader could easily expose their identities if they thought about it 😒😒)

and finally.

Tim had a very…different…reaction to reader ‘framing’ Tiffany- is that important?

-🚚

yay ok this is my first like real ask! Yall have been making me so so happy with all the love! It really encourages me! And don't worry about overwhelming me! I can take it :) i'm answering this and then signing off to go to bed because I have the worst flu ever.

Ok so yes! Reader becoming a snake-meta-person does have to do with snakes preying on birds, honestly that was a little easter egg for funsies. Im glad you caught it! reader's gonna eat those hoes up !!!!!!! ( and they'll lock her up right after)

Tiffany will for sure try to imitate reader at first but that will eventually lead to her downfall! she can only keep it up for 6 months and then she'll be discovered. she can't imitate the genuine love and care reader puts into these things so they'll always be off no matter how much she tries. the batfam will end up realizing what they lost and do whatever it takes to get it back.

And yes, the snake being the Joker's will be important bc he's the joker and is so fucking insane that even his snake has to be special! all powers have consequences and these will be heavy. it will put reader through it, but will really shape them as a person.

Im leaning more toward reader being a hero??? but with the snake being literally radioactive it might be a kinda venom dynamic. im still not too sure tbh. with all the angst and neglect and the troubles of being a teen, she might be a bit of an anti-hero! she might pull a jason (ironic, i know) and go around killing all the villians!

the thing about the batfam, is that they don't even realize what they're doing to the reader. they literally see her as irrelevant so they don't notice their neglect or how much it affects reader. she's not even on their minds enough to be perceived as a threat. the only ones purposefully being mean are Damian and Jason, Damian because he sees reader as less than/ a threat and Jason because he is trying to push the reader out his life and not 'taint' her innocence.

Tim's reaction is different because he's suspicious. he thinks he would've noticed if reader was capable of doing something so sneaky and underhanded. he's the only one who is suspicious because he simply doesn't think she's smart enough to do this. he's gonna be the first to see Tiff's true colors.

Goodnight yall!!! i'll be back tmrw morning! keep sending more asks! I take requests so if you have any ideas you want me to write just send them in! I'll yandere platonic or romanitc. SEND THEM IN!!!!!!!!

[sk1ndx0]

Love me not (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 3

Chishiya x fem!reader

TW: cursing, smut (took a lotta courage but… yes smut), NIRAGI (ew but also 💗)

A/N: SOMEONE GIVE ME TIPS ON WRITING SMUT BC LIKE UGH IDK HOW-?

Chishiya exhaled in irritation.

Chishiya just got back from a game, but you were nowhere to be found. It was irritating. He wanted to see you.

To touch you.

To just feel an ounce of you in his mind.

Where were you?

Were you with someone else?

The fuck were you doing without him around?

His fists clenched and unclenched in his pockets as he scanned the beach from your bedroom window. He came here first. It was where you usually waited for him. It smelled like flowers and sunshine in there. He didn’t want to leave, but it just made him need you more.

He gave another look over the pool area before turning on his heel and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Chishiya walked down the hallway, ignoring the various sounds coming from the hotel rooms that were beside yours.

He turned the corner just to run into you. His jaw clenched slightly as you softly landed on his chest, bumping into him.

“Oh hey. I was looking for you.” You smiled up at him with your beautiful but oh-so-stupid eyes. He let out a breath, almost like a sigh, through his nose.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He mutters, looking down at you.

“Oh! What’re the odds-?” You chirp, wrapping your arm around his, making him tense up.

“Sooo whatcha looking for me for?” You suddenly questioned.

“..Does that matter?” Chishiya thought aloud.

“Well, yeah. Sure it does. I was just talking to Hatter and the other executives. They were just informing me on more meeting times.”

Chishiya let out a hum. He was listening, watching, taking you in like a dehydrated man finally taking a sip of water.

You didn’t realize as you kept talking ranting about some random things. The shape of the clouds, the way you saw someone earlier have weird colored hair, and the executives….

It was interesting.

No matter what the situation was, you always had something to talk about. You talked a lot, but it wasn’t annoying. It was just...

It was just so stupidly fucking cute.

Chishiya swallowed slightly, his usual unfazed expression plastered on his face.

You walked down the hallway with him, your arm wrapped in his. He didn’t move, didn’t tell you to let go, he just let you.

“No because like I was talking to Ann earlier, and she’s really intimidating, but also really nice and cool-”

Chishiya just nodded, not saying much as they walked. You skipped slightly, balancing on your tip-toes then going back down to skip.

“And Aguni is just the worst, he really needs an attitude readjustment sometimes!”

Your hand shifted to Chishiya’s in his pocket, holding it softly. You didn’t put much thought into the action, but you laced your fingers with his as you talked.

“Oh but honestly I think that I wanna see if Hatter will let me be an executive, you know?”

Chishiya slightly tensed, letting out a shaky breath through his nose. “Really?” He mumbled, sparing you a glance before he goes back to looking forward.

“Hm? Well yeah! You guys get all this cool stuff! And I’m a ‘really good option’ based on what Hatter told me!”

Chishiya’s thumb grazed over your fingers, and he gripped you a bit tighter.

“If that’s what you want, I can put in a good word.” He reluctantly mumbled, sighing through his nose deeply.

You gasped softly, “Really? Thank you thank you thank you!! I knew you had a soft spot for me!” You jumped up and down happily and kissing his cheek.

Chishiya tensed again, the tips of his ears turning red. “Dont push your luck.”

———

Pulsing music and people that were way too drunk to be out here surrounded you.

You sat beside the pool with Chishiya, playing with a small keychain you found on the floor next to the bar. It was literally just the chain, nothing else. Chishiya told you to put it back down, but you liked swinging it, and when you got mad hitting him with it. It never affected him though.

“I don’t understand why you keep things like that.” He quickly grumbled, staring into the distance of the crowd with his usual piercing stare.

“I could totally fix it! Maybe make it into a necklace. Oh! Or maybe I could make it a really cute bracelet! If only I had charms.. ugh charms would look so pretty-”

Chishiya looked at you through his lashes, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Go on.”

You crumbled under his stare.

“Uhm.. I.. uh..” You began, opening and closing your mouth a few times before breaking eye contact and looking back at the chain in your hands. You let out a soft nervous giggle before continuing.

“Well, I could also make a pretty good weapon with this.. maybe you could help with that, since you’re such a crafty guy.”

Chishiya followed you with his eyes, inhaling deeply before shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back in the chair.

“Depends.” He tilted his head.

At least he wasn’t staring anymore..

You let out a soft but shaky breath of relief.

Ugh.. you were folding over a stare..

But it was his stare.

You glanced up, looking at Chishiya. You were about to open your mouth to say something when someone walked up.

“Oh shit! Look at the fuckin’ lovebirds.” Niragi chuckled, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he stalked toward the two of you like a predator.

Chishiya sat up. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and huffed shortly.

“Lovebirds? Huh?” You suddenly questioned, your eyes now bright and open.

Chishiya’s jaw clenched. His face wasn’t the usual neutral it was anymore. It was laced with something.. not anger, no not that. It was something along the lines of bitterness mixed with a sour expression. It was almost like he was appalled by the sight of Niragi in front of him.

In front of you.

You didn’t notice of course, you were looking up at Niragi as he continued.

“Hey hey sweet cheeks how you been? I didn’t hurt you did I?” Niragi smirked, his gaze dropping down to your lips before slowly dragging his way up your face, licking his bottom lip with his tongue, showing off his piercing.

By now, Chishiya was seething.

You, on the other hand, was disgusted.

“Ew. don’t look at me like that.” You snapped, crossing your arms over your body and holding yourself to cover your chest.

“Oh come on. You are so sensitive!” Niragi cackles, the sound nearly silencing the beach as he pokes your head.

Chishiya immediately bolted up to his feet, grabbing Niragi’s wrist, his other hand clenching and unclenching in his pocket. Niragi glared at Chishiya with his sick half-smile.

“Oh? Look who’s protecting his girl. Damn. You are so fucking wrapped around her, eh?” He tried to get his wrist free, but Chishiya just tightened his grip.

“What did we agree upon?” Chishiya asked calmly, despite his mind drowning out almost everything.

“Tch. We didn’t agree on anything, dipshit.”

You just sat there, completely confused. “Agree upon….? What…… huh-?”

Chishiya let go of Niragi before looking down at you. “Nothing.” He dragged his gaze back to Niragi.

“Leave.”

Niragi huffed, rolling his eyes and turning to go back to his little militant group in the corner of the bar.

Chishiya sat back down, like nothing had just went down. He looked at you, his expression completely neutral again.

“What was that about?” You turned to him, looking at him with big open eyes.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” He quickly answered, standing again.

You let out a huff of defeat, knowing that he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“Can I come with?”

“Can you walk?”

You beamed and stood, walking behind him with a spring in your step, like you usually did.

———

You walked into his room, and you heard the door shut behind you, then hands on your waist.

“Chishiya-”

Your words were quickly hushed when he ran his lips against the nape of your neck. You softly sighing against it before he starts peppering it with kisses and slight licks.

You both move to the wall, Chishiya turning you around before kissing you deeply. Not roughly, not filled with hunger, just.. sweet and deep. A sharp contrast to what he usually did.

One of his hands landed on the wall beside you head, the other on your waist as he continued to kiss you. Your mouth opened, a silent invitation to let him explore you.

He pressed you against the wall, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before delving into your mouth, making you softly moan against his lips.

He pulled back only to look into your eyes, and he reached down to make your legs wrap around his waist as he effortlessly pick you up and placed you on the bed. He crawled on top of you, your hands pulling down his jacket zipper.

He threw his white jacket somewhere else in the room. His mouth roamed, leaving marks and hickeys everywhere it went.

Your hands reached up to grab and play with his hair, running your hands through it. You felt him softly and quietly groan against your neck.

His fingers worked to undo the strings on your bikini, his mouth never leaving your neck.

He eventually got it off, looking up at you.. as if he was asking for permission. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were half-lidded.

You nodded.

He immediately began licking and kissing your nipples softly, making your back arch slightly. He relished in your noises, smirking.

Chishiya looked up at you again, eyes locked on you and mouth slightly parted as he reached down, hooking two fingers in your bikini bottoms as he pulled them down. He softly ran a finger up and down your inner thigh, teasing you slightly before running it along your clit.

You softly moaned, throwing your head back as he hit that good spot, making your thighs slightly tremble. You felt him push one.. then two fingers inside of you.

He let you get used to the feeling of it before curling his fingers, letting a moan rip from your throat.

“Chishiya..” You softly moaned, one hand still tangled in his hair.

He watched as his fingers glided in and out of you perfectly, like you were made for him. He leaned down, planting kisses on your inner thighs. He pulled his fingers out, and you whined slightly.

Chishiya got of the bed and went to the edge, “Cmere pretty girl..” He said as he got on his knees. He watched and waited as you sat on the edge of the bed.

He lifted your legs so they were on his shoulders. He gripped your thighs softly, feeling the skin under his fingers. He looked up at you before running his tongue up your clit.

He was calculated and deliberate with his tongue at first, licking all the right places with figure 8s, and softly groaning when you shoved his face further by his hair, but eventually, he was like a starved man eating you out.

His tongue got faster, and more desperate. Needy. You felt that similar knot in your stomach building up fast as he fucked you with his tongue.

You moaned softly as you pushed him further into your cunt with your hands in his hair.

“Chishiya- Oh..- I’m close..” You managed to breathe out, your eyes rolling back. You couldn’t see it, but you felt him smirk against you.

Your thighs trembled and shook with each lick. You groaned, orgasming on his face.

He licked up everything he could before pulling back and wiping his face on the sheets. His gaze drifted back up to you, and he crawled onto you again, your legs still on his shoulders.

You gazed up at him, and he gazed down at you. This wasn’t just lust anymore. There was something in it.

And Chishiya didn’t know if he loved it or absolutely hated it.

———

Clothes were back on, and the air in the room smelled like sexual tension finally being released.

You started to walk out of Chishiya’s room before you felt his hands on your waist.

“Wait.” He spoke, his expression back to its normal neutral. He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Hm? What?” You glanced at him, raising a hand to play with his hair again.

“Stay.” He simply stated.

Like it wasn’t something that made you immediately fold and want to never leave.

“Okay, only for a bit?” You questioned, moving to sit back down with him.

“Mm..” Chishiya hummed, not really caring if you stayed the entire night or only stayed for a minute more. He just needed your warmth.

Fuck you were killing him.

You were going to get him killed.

You didn’t even know what you did to him. You just stayed around with your beautiful smile and pretty voice. You didn’t treat him like the trash he was, you treated him like an actual person, not just some random hook-up.

Fuck.

He wouldn’t go as far to say that he loved you, but it was definitely something like that.

Maybe a possessiveness mix. Just the sight of Niragi even looking at you made him want to rip him in half, but he didn’t. He wasn’t like Niragi at all.

He softly sighed as you laid down with him, and he just sighed through his nose. He felt you playing with his fingers, and he tensed slightly. You don’t belong in here, with him, in his bed.

But you wanted to be here.

With him.

Chishiya almost cracked a genuine smile at the thought. He closed his eyes and relished in your presence.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” You suddenly questioned, your eyes open and looking straight at Chishiya without any falter.

He cracked one eye open to look down at you, and you tilted your head.

“..Nothing.” Chishiya hummed.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “That’s your answer to everything.” You huffed, pulling on his sleeve slightly. He smirked slightly.

You softened your gaze. You could never be mad at him for long. You leaned against his shoulder.

Yeah.

Maybe it was just nothing.

But you both were in love. You just didn’t want to admit it.

Neither of you.

A/N: YALL?? Hay wassup. Uhm idk how to write smut I think I did it right???? Maybe??? Idk give me advice 💔💔

TAGS——— 🏷️

@ankababy @adanfore @chishiyaswigglue @audiiix @mocchii-writes @unhinged-sorcerer @sanriwoozzz @potato-vagina @douazz

-Love Sk1n

[m3mento-m0rii]

Could you possibly write the saja boys with a jolyne cujoh reader if not you don't have to it just that romance reminds me of anasui and I wondered what the boys would be like with someone like her with a family that has most of the male population twice the size and muscle mass of them and she's fresh out of jail with a "ghost" her that looks like string cheese :3

Stone Free—

0.8k words; Saja Boys x Jolyne Cujoh! Reader Masterlist | Requests open!

Honestly? You're just trying to catch a break. When is the world ever that kind to a Joestar, though?

A/N: AAAAA OMG A JOJO REQUEST?? I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS CROSSOVER!! I literally love JoJo so much 🥹 thank you for requesting this. Unfortunately . . . I only know watched parts 1-5. AAA I KNOW IT'S BAD but I hope you can't tell and I still hope you can enjoy it based on what I know about part 6?? That's why I did it headcanon style lmaooo. Happy reading!!

Don’t you deserve a vacation after everything your bloodline has put you through??

Being a JoJo was hard, man. So you decided to skip town (and you father) to go visit some random new place. You shot a dart at your map . . .

South Korea.

You know what, you’ll take it. Hey, what could go wrong?? It’s far away from Dolphin Street, good enough for you.

You’re fresh out of the airport (courtesy of the Speedwagon Foundation), and even just dragging yourself down the crazy, noisy street, you can tell something’s off.

Your eyes flicker around. Normal looking people, normal looking people . . . they settle on a group of unsavory-looking individuals. 

Dressed kind of weird. Number one sign. The hair colors, the outfits . . . the one with the long, pink hair. Please. You just need a break from him once, you swear you see him everywhere. “What kind of Anasui variant . . .”

WAR FLASHBACKS.

They don’t look very intimidating. Looks can be deceiving. So you RELUCTANTLY decide to investigate because . . . the world is always in your family’s hands, anyway.

They just have weird vibes. Not normal. Why is their skin doing that?? You decided to test them—only stand users can see other stands, after all. So you allow Stone Free to materialize in front of them

“What the fu—”

“AN ENEMY STAND USER?!” You accused, Stone Free immediately taking a fighting stance

“”GHOST??”

“FUCK THE GHOST. SCARY PRETTY LADY!!”

The boys scatter and try to fight you in an alley, but . . . you realize there’s no other stands. Just Stone Free trying to tangle them up.

“WHY ARE YOU ABLE TO UNRAVEL YOURSELF??” The only natural looking one shouted, dodging a punch from your unraveling arm with a horrified scream. Body horror.

“This is a new kind of fight,” one shook his head, trying to cut the string from around himself

Just claws, just fists. No stands.

“If you’re not . . . the why are you dressed like that?”

“Have you seen yourself, woman?!”

Finally, you let up on them, standing a ways away. “You’re not stand users, but . . . you're not vampires, either??”

“Demons.”

“Yare yare dawa . . .”

So you end up in a restaurant as an apology for trying to jump them. Out of the kindness of your heart, or something. You learned their names.

Jinu is apprehensive, Romance is holding back his flirtations (he says he doesn’t know anyone named Anasui, but he’s not beating the allegations). Abby is more curious than anything. Mystery is making a ball out of unravelling stone free and Baby is mildly interested

“Are you made out of yarn?” Mystery asked, you only sighed

You explained that Stone Free is something called a stand. Stands have powers. Kind of like a ghost, but a spirit. You supposed it made sense that spirits could see other spirits . . . huh.

“That’s your soul? The ghost?” Jinu clarified.

“Eh . . . kind of. It’s my fighting spirit.”

“That’s cool and all, but why were you trying to jump us?” (If not stand user, why stand user shaped??)

“My family is cursed. Trouble finds us.”

“???”

“Last week I got out of jail after fighting an evil priest who worshiped a bi vampire elf—a vampire who not only made it his life goal to end my entire bloodline but also is using my great-great-great grandfather’s body.”

“?!?” “What the hell??”

“A . . . vampire,” Abby said slowly, still trying to grasp the idea. Romance and Jinu were doing mental hoops trying to understand what you just said, while Baby was trying to go with the flow. Mystery paused at the previous revelation.

All you could do was pull out your phone, showing a picture of your beefed up family members.

“See? That’s my old man, my grandfather, my uncles . . . we’ve all been on bizarre adventures.”

Abby is starstruck. “How does one obtain such a build? Bro.”

Romance on the other hand is mildly terrified. “You mean that if it wasn’t you we’d be fighting one of them??”

“Don’t worry, they’re pretty unserious.”

“Unserious and DOUBLE my side. Double it and give to the next person, thanks!”

Baby, though, is more curious with the questionable hairstyles. “What’s with the donuts? The steak hair?”

“You literally can’t talk, you’re one mess up from a bowl cut, boyscout,” Romance snipped. 

“No one can tell what the hell’s on YOUR head, Romance!”

The boys you’d met were . . . out of ordinary, sure. A nice break from what you were used to, though. As you watched them bicker and try to understand your existence, you couldn’t help but think about what else in the world your family didn’t know. Demon K-Pop Boy band? You’d never have guessed that one

What a bizarre day.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: That was actually a really fun little crossover! Because the demons are spirits and so are stands (essentially), I think it's an interesting idea that they're able to see each other. Okay, that's it for this post. I hope you enjoyed, and see you soon!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof

[nijigasakilove]

Holy fuck this episode went from 0-100 REAL QUICK. Shaping up to be another incredible Kusuriya arc.

First of all it’s really dope to see both Maomao’s fathers getting some shine in this one. Luomen returning to the rear palace and getting the respect he deserves. At first I thought he was just being a Good Samaritan trying to help the servants and staff learn to read, but I never would’ve guessed it would’ve all tied back to the abortion medicine plotline from earlier in the season! Servants could be used to pass along abortion medicine recipes and if they can’t read they’d never even know! Lady Shin, the caravan, it all makes sense now.

I honestly understand why Shenlü and the other clinic ladies would be so bitter towards the world. Most of them were brought to the palace as little kids, raped by the emperor and then tossed aside and prevented from leaving just because he’d touched them. We already knew the pedo went for underage concubines, but knowing he was taking advantage of even non concubines just makes me feel even LESS sympathy for what Anshi did to em 🤷🏾‍♂️

But wtf was that twist!! Suirei is still around?!! And again where tf does Shisui keep spawning from 😭 normally it’s funny for comedic relief, but I swear she showed up out of nowhere in that clinic and this time it got her in some real danger!! Couldn’t help but laugh when Suirei bribed Maomao with learning the resurrection medicine recipe to get her to come quietly lmao

Laken back on my screen finally! So he’s totally onto Shishou being in on the Jinshi assassination plot and it seems like he knows Shishou is color blind as well. Does that mean Shishou is related to the founder’s family since they had that color blind trait we learned about during the puzzle game? 🤔 at any rate, can’t wait to see what comes of that and congrats to he and Maomao’s mother on their wedding!! They deserve it sm

Can’t wait to see how Jinshi comes to save Maomao next ep. You better get your girl!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S behind the cut; “project sidekick”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Wally stares blankly at him. Dick also stares blankly at him. Kaldur . . . tilts his head. 

“. . . yes,” he replies after a moment. Which, like–he’s the leader. They picked him for it. They all picked him for it, even though the rest of the team is never even gonna look at any of them again and– 

Then Artemis immediately shoves her way into the room past Red Tornado and glares at them–well, glares at Wally, mostly, since he’s the closest one to the door–and he realizes: oh, okay, it’s worse than that. They’re gonna look at them and be pissed about it. 

Which–bullshit, but fair, but also bullshit. 

“We–” he starts to say as M’gann peeks into the room behind Artemis with a worried little frown on, but he doesn’t get anywhere near the end of the sentence before Artemis is very literally lunging at him, which alright, fine, she’s going to deck him and knock him on his ass and that is totally unsurprising behavior for Artemis and he should probably let her even though it is so hard to be slow enough to let her when he can see it coming, just maybe it’ll make her feel better and–

She does not, in fact, deck him. 

She definitely does knock him on his ass, though. 

“Mmph!” Wally manages, because he is getting his face kissed off by a girl for the first time in his life and is too friggin’ confused to even, like, enjoy it. 

Also she did actually knock him on his ass, and she is very literally in his lap now. Which he is also too confused to be enjoying, because–what? What is she–? 

Artemis leans back from kissing him; keeps her arms around his neck where she threw them while she was tackling him and glares at him a lot harder. Wally isn’t actually sure if she’s gonna kill him or not? Because like, she might be about to kill him? Maybe? 

“Sorry,” M’gann says apologetically, looking awkward and embarrassed and pained and wringing her hands together hard enough for the shape of them to warp and twist. Her coloring’s a little washed-out. Like–all-over, skin and clothes and hair and all. Though Wally’s, like–a little distracted from that, right now? Like–just a little bit? “It took a little while before the League would, um, let us come see you? Superboy wanted to come with us, but, um, he felt like he should go apologize to, um–you know. First, I mean. But Uncle J’onn finally said it was okay for us to come, so we just–um–is it okay that we did come, is that–?” 

“You’re our teammates,” Artemis cuts M’gann’s nervous rambling off with, her eyes narrowed and teeth bared, and still glaring straight at Wally, who is still kind of expecting an arrow to the eye at this point. Or gut. Or like, somewhere worse. It’s Artemis, she could definitely think of worse places. Like, a whole lot of ‘em. “You’re the ones who’ve had our backs. And we’re the ones who have yours.” 

Oh, Wally thinks stupidly, just sitting there on the training room floor with a girl he’s literally never gotten along with while in his right mind sitting in his lap and said girl’s weird and weirdly sticky almond-flavored chapstick smeared across his mouth and just staring at her . . . probably even more stupidly than that, honestly. 

Then he maybe kinda sorta bursts into tears, buries his face in her shoulder, and just fucking clings to her. 

He doesn’t really know what else to do right now anyway. 

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

So With Spider-Punk: Arms Race #2 right around the corner: .......I'm gonna say it

Hobie's New Design is Bad.

Incredibly bad. Like 'leave it in the drafts homie' bad. Fuck it, I'm about to start using words I ain't even know I knew - this shit is EGREGIOUS.

It ain't cute.

It's bad. It's ugly, bro. His hair is serving Coral Reef And I'm tired of pretending it's not.

And it feels SO subtly anti-black.

[A very SHORT essay where I basically say: Oh hell naw]

For one I feel like they're stripping Hobie's black features. Or toning them down a LOT.

Even if we aren't counting the blue eyes they gave in him in Issue One.

Now, over time Hobie's looked many different ways - but throughout his runs his features were 100% supposed to be interpreted as black.

And while his newer comic runs tone that down a bit, it still looks natural.

And his hair has ALWAYS been natural. So much so that it's one of the defining features of movie Hobie as well.

This.... Isn't that. Not only has his natural hair been shaved and died, but it was done into a style made to DIRECTLY ripoff an already popular WHITE character - Gwen Stacy.

And once again, BLUE EYES???

And it's so bizarre!!!! Cause his design hasn't changed, but it REALLY HAS!! LIKE LOOK-

This is supposed to be the same guy, making the same expression. This is not the same fucking guy.

They have the same brow shape and lip shape and nose, but that's not the same fucking guy and I can't articulate why.

Looking at his profile highlights this way more, especially when putting him next to Movie Hobie.

Notice how ALL of Comic!Hobie's features are RAZOR sharp?

Whereas, Movie!Hobie's features, his features are actually fairly soft.

His nose and lips are curved and soft - even his pronounced brow bone is still curved, DESPITE him having a sharper face shape than Comic!Hobie.

That's because Movie Hobie has Black People Features.

Comic Hobie DOESN'T.

I wish I was joking when I say -

I feel like they're genuinely using Johnny Storms model and coloring it brown.

It's just... too bad not too be.

This redesign is atrocious. It's worse than the Attack on Titan manga.

And from what we can tell - this is a HOBIE SPECIFIC problem. Riri Williams - IronHeart - looks FINE.

Not to be dramatic, but this is very much a disappointment. It's honestly impressive how they managed to fumble the design bag SO EASILY.

Marvel Comics only leases Hobie Brown character to Sony. Hobie is still their IP - they can plunder his SONY design as much as they like, so long as it looks reasonably Not Identical.

And still they decided to do a 180, tone down his black features, unnatural his hair, and give him blue eyes.

Marvel. Pack it up. You're chopped.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Easy Money

Derek Danforth x AFAB!Reader

Summery: Minimum wage is a joke these days and we've all gotta make rent somehow. And who knew blonds could be so fun?

Tags: AFAB/Female pronouns reader, no use of y/n, voyeurism, sex worker!Reader, drug use (marijuana), sex while high, drinking, cursing, bisexual Reader, fetish party, reader plays with several people, tempature play/improper use of ice cubes, sex toys, possessive!Derek, dick piercing (I will not debate this,) face fucking, breast play, oral sex (male recieving), thigh riding, cock warming, cowgirl and doggy position, praising, pet names, edging, rough sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, degradation, dumbification if you squint, dacrophillia. There is no plot. This is just porn. Straight up.

Notes: Y'all begged to me, now y'all begging to your man. You're welcome. Also, please consume substances responsibly. Do NOT assume an edible ain't shit. They ALWAYS are.

                       •°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

The gig is simple. Stand there and look pretty.

The woman who had hired all of us was very clear on the rules; serve drinks, talk to the men, don't have a brain, and if Derek Danforth gives you an ounce of attention, you return it. Sex was optional, but they pay less if you do not engage.

I was just there for the check. Times are hard, but this dress is easy to fit into... if I don't breathe. Jesus, it's tight.

The architecture of the mansion is beautiful. Really, if I wasn't working this party I'd be studying every room for an hour each. High ceilings, detailed woodwork. It's a shame it's all bathed in purple blacklights with everyone wearing neon glowsticks.

The people in attendance are in various states of undress. Some wear their clothes fully, some wear nothing at all. Most are in various states of undress, including the waitresses.

All of our dresses are the same- tight, black, and an easily detachable top with nipple pasties underneath in the shape of blacklight activated glow stars. It's tacky, but the girls who have removed their tops are getting way more tips. And with the debt I'm in, plus the security making absolute sure no camera are recording anything, what's the harm in if I join them? It's more money for me.

The various trays contain different things. Some drinks or shots, others different foods. Then there's the drugs. Oh yes. Cocaine, pills, capped needles on at least one tray I noticed. On mine are several marijuana joints, blunts and even edibles. Our employer had told us we were allowed to indulge, but any damages caused due to our inebriation would come out of our check.

Edibles usually aren't shit for me, so I feel quite safe.

A strawberry cube is tucked safely under my tongue, taking a long while to melt. I can feel my muscles relaxing, making me smile more to the guests as I work my way through the crowd. The beginning gentle buzz helps me to forget the way these people leer at me, some even reaching over to touch me before retracting their hands quickly.

"These guests are quite used to casual sex," the woman had informed us. "There's a code here. You'll each have a pendant around your neck. Depending on the color you choose it will inform them of your preference. Red is for looking only, green means you're okay with sexual touch. It's up to your verbal communication if that touch leads to penetration."

The party was tacky, but at least consent was key.

My color currently is red. It will take more of this edible for anything to change. And currently I see no one making the trouble worth it, anyways.

Right now, anyways.

A man with bright, blond tipped hair and a loud outfit works his way through the crowd. Laughing and speaking with some, taking in the different women serving different items. There's a confident swagger in his walk, one that normally I would scoff at when sober. But with the melting cube quickly joining my bloodstream, I simply stare curiously. It's unintentional, honestly. But he takes notice, narrowing his eyes in reciprocated curiosity before making his way over.

"You're new," he says. I offer him the tray.

"I don't know what you mean," I say politely. He picks up a large blunt, taking out his own lighter instead of using one of the complementary ones on the tray. He takes a long pull, shoving the item back into his snakeskin jacket pocket that doesn't match his zebra print, silk looking button up with black leather pants.

"The other girls have been working here for awhile. Who brought you here?" He asks after taking a long pull, holding it.

"Riley," I answer. He nods, exhaling.

"She's worked here a couple years. You two close?" He asks.

Not particularly. "We're friends," I answer. He smiles a bit, taking another hit.

"You like the party?" He asks.

"I like the lighting," I answer. "And I can't say no to free edibles."

"You take some?" He asks. In answer I scoop the edible onto my tongue and stick it out for him to see. "Good girl, that shit will make you relaxed."

"How much is it?" I ask curiously. Can't be too much, surely.

"Told my guys to pick up 1000mgs," he answers, taking another hit.

... what?

My confusion must be obvious.

"You not used to that?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

"I induldge regularly, just... lower amounts," I answer. He exhales, laughing.

"You'll have fun then. Especially if you change your color to green, but that's completely up to you," he says. There's a moment of silence between us before I speak up.

"Nice outfit," I say. He raises a brow at me.

"Yeah?" He asks, scanning me up and down. "I think I prefer yours."

"It matches better, that's for sure," I say. He laughs, then sticks out his hand, his smile confident.

"I'm Derek, by the way."

"Ah," I say. Derek.

Derek!

"Nice to meet you, Mister Danforth," I say, accepting his hand. It's warm and large, strong against mine.

"I don't want to hear Mister out of you unless you change colors, pretty girl," he says, squeezing my hand. I feel myself smiling, heart fluttering a little.

"And what would happen if I did change it, Mister?" I ask politely. His grin widens.

"Well, with the way you look already I'd say people would have a fun time with you," he says, stepping closer. "I wouldn't mind a taste myself. I like my girls warmed up, though."

"Warmed up?" I ask, raising my brow.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "You're welcome to leave your tray anywhere, as I'm sure they've told you. You can change your color to green, enjoy your edible and just let the crowd guide you to me. I promise they will." His eyes roam over me, taking me in with a hungry gaze, his mind distracted by obvious thoughts. I wonder how well his shoulders would hold me.

Shit. He's right, this is strong. The herbal smell on his breath is inviting, and I'm already leaning in. Plus, his outfit is beginning to make visually stimulating sense.

"Isn't it polite for a host to show his guest around?" I ask, batting my lashes. I can feel my eyes drying out, my cheeks buzzing and my body beginning to feel the bass of the music just a little bit more than I was a second ago.

"It is, pretty girl," Derek says, taking another hit. "But you're not a guest, are you?"

No, I'm not. I begin to pull away when his hand catches my pendant.

"You want me to get that for you?" He asks, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes sir," I answer with a smile, placing my tray carefully on the table beside me.

"Good girl," he praises, changing the color with a quick flick of his thumb. "You'll fit in just fine."

Before I can respond, his lips attach to my neck, sucking earnestly and harshly. I can't help the small cry that escapes me, my hand finding his hair and burying itself in it as he pins me against the wall.

His hand cups my breast, kneeding it carefully as he creates patterns across my skin with his mouth, licking at the newly bruised flesh before moving on to a new, unmarked area. He holds his blunt up for me, trying to keep it still enough to allow me to take a hit. I accept, holding his hand steady by the wrist, inhaling as much as I can.

His lips detach from my throat, his eyes red and glazed over as his lips graze mine.

"Care to share?" He asks lowly, his fingers still tweaking at my nipple. I'm vaguely aware that my pasties have been removed, where they've gone to I've no clue.

Obediently, I blow the smoke into Derek's mouth, his hand leaving my breast to cup my jaw, holding my mouth open with his large thumb. Once I'm done he takes his own hit, holding it for a moment before pressing his lips against mine, sealing them together before blowing the smoke into my mouth as well. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of whiskey and smoke. I don't hate the way it blends with the sweet, surgery strawberry cube still melting under my tongue.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavily.

"You taste sweet," he says. "Mind if I try some?"

"Go ahead," I answer. I expect him to take an edible from the tray, but instead he leans in again, his tongue searching for the half melted candy. He finds it under my tongue, slipping it onto his and then pulling away, smiling in satisfaction.

"Oh," I breathe, batting my lashes in surprise.

"I'll trade you," he says, pressing a small kiss to my cheek as he passes the blunt to me. "Just let the crowd lead you, sweet girl. I'll see you in a bit."

Before I can even think of a response, he slips amongst the crowd, gone in the blink of a hazy eye.

Alright. This is fine. Great, actually. I take a hit of the sour tasting blunt and begin walking amongst the crowd.

Derek was right, I am an eye catcher. Or maybe these people aren't particularly picky. But it doesn't take long at all before people are touching me, sliding their hands over my hips as I pass by, stopping me for a moment to press me against their bodies, leaving a mark or three on my skin. The attention makes my mind blank, smiles on my lips as I whisper 'thank you's, the patrons slipping tips into the tight pockets of my skirt as they release me, letting me blend into the crowd once more until someone else catches me.

I should be revolted, I know this. But the people aren't hard to look at, and with as much as I have flowing through my system all I can really think about is how amazing I feel. My joints feel like air is passing straight through them, my head feels light and free of racing thoughts. The lights entrance me, making me easily distractable until a woman guides me gently towards her group, placing me on her lap as she talks with what I'm guessing are work colleagues. Or something. Fuck if I care.

Her hand strokes my back carefully, not speaking to me as I continue hitting my almost burnt out blunt. She glances at me from time to time, smiling sweetly as she watches me.

"Can I have some?" The older woman asks gently. Her lips are painted a dark black, revealing white teeth underneath. Her features are sharp, contoured by heavy makeup. Her hair is shaggy and black, and God, she's... broad. Muscular and looking like she could eat me alive. I wouldn't mind if she tried.

I hand her the last little bit, letting her have what remains as I begin to focus on her hair. It's soft, feeling amazing between my fingers.

"You have anywhere you need to be for the rest of the night?" She asks, her voice deep.

"Derek," I breathe, barely focusing. She and the other women amongst her let out a noise of recognition, some even laughing a little.

"He likes his girls pent up," Another says, nodding. "Says he likes them used, but we all know that's not true."

"Derek likes to go for hours," warns a woman with blue hair that glows in the blacklight. "Hope you have a lot of energy saved up. If he likes you, you won't go home for days."

The woman with black hair is finishing the blunt, flicking away the last little bit and letting it land wherever.

"You mind if we help you?" She asks.

"No," I answer, my hands running over her broad, leather covered shoulders. "I don't mind."

The women aw over me, moving closer and touching different parts of me.

"Focus on my thigh, good girl," says the dark haired one. "Just rock yourself against it and let me know when you're close." She turns to the second woman, nodding her head towards me. "You want to taste her?"

The second woman nods, joining me on her lap and grinding herself against the first woman's other thigh before bending over to wrap her lips around my nipple, moaning as she does.

The third woman, the one with blue hair, simply watches, continuing to talk to the dark haired woman, stroking my back as she does. The first woman seems engaged in the conversation, occasionally sucking on my other breast before responding to the blue haired woman. The second woman is fully engrossed in tasting me, sucking and nipping at my breast eagerly, moaning as she does.

The stimulation feels amazing, my head tilted back as I rock on the dark haired woman's thigh, my body feeling things it never has before. The feeling of two women sliding their tongues across my sensitive nipples, sucking on them at the same time at different paces is almost enough on its own to make me cum. I can feel how wet I am even through my underwear, surely staining the first woman's clothes.

"Shit, Ava. She may not make it to Derek at this point," laughs the blue haired woman. The first woman, Ava, simply smiles, admiring me.

"Should we let you cum, good girl? Or do you want Derek?" She asks, bouncing her leg as she does.

I moan loudly, my mind unable to form a response. This is lovely, just absolutely wonderful. But something tells me that if I waited, if I edged myself like Derek seemed to prefer, then I would be well rewarded.

"Wait," I pant, still rocking my hips against her thigh. The three women groan, laughing a little more as they begin to give me space.

"You think she's good enough for him?" Ava asks the second woman.

"If she's not, he's out of his mind," she says, tearing herself away from my breast and standing to move onto the blue haired woman's lap instead.

Ava guides me off of her before standing tall and admittedly terrifying. She pulls me up gently, taking my hand and leading me through the room. "Follow me, sweet girl," she says. "I'll take you to the main event."

The other two women wave at me, smiling wickedly before turning their focus onto each other. As the drugs begin to hit harder, just a little ways from my peak, I begin to wonder what it is I've really gotten myself into.

A pair of double doors reveal the same dyed blond man on a plush couch, lounging lazily as he speaks to a small group of people in the private lounge. Upon seeing me guided into the room, he smiles eagerly, quickly sitting up.

"I told you you'd find me," he says, setting his whiskey glass in front of him on the small, glass table.

I smile warmly at him, trying to keep my balance as I walk around to him.

"You get her all ready for me, Ava?" He asks, gently placing his hands on my hips and guiding me to sit on his lap, my back pressed against his chest.

"I did," the woman says, joining us. "She's pretty pent up."

"Did she get you pent up, pretty girl?" Derek asks, laughing softly. I can feel the blush in my cheeks, my eyes barely able to stay open as I lean my head back onto his shoulder.

"Feel her if you don't believe me," Ava offers. Derek obliges, dipping his hand between my thighs, pushing my thin panties to the side.

"Fuck," he groans. "You weren't kidding."

Derek guides my legs to spread open, one hand keeping me open for everyone to watch as his other hand explores my vulva.

"Don't worry about everyone else," he whispers in my ear. "We're all just here for a good time. Right, pretty girl?"

I nod, moaning as his finger swirls around my clit. He continues speaking to his friends, drinking casually as his hand toys with me.

"You want some?" He asks, offering me the glass. I shake my head. I'm fucked up enough.

"Water?" He asks. At that I nod, and with the quick snap of his fingers it only takes a blink before he's holding a water in front of me, complete with ice cubes inside.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take a drink."

I obediently lean forward, placing my bottom lip on the edge as Derek tips the water into my mouth. It's soothing at first, my body relishing the cold rush it gives me. Derek's hand glides up and down my folds, teasing my entrance.

"You like the cold?" Derek asks. I try to respond, forgetting the glass in front of me. The water spills down onto my body, freezing and making me cry out in shock at the sudden sensation.

Derek and his friends laugh, his lips pressing soothing kisses along my shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry, were you not ready for that?" He asks sweetly, smiling at me. I shake my head. He places the glass on the table in front of us, collecting a couple of ice cubes before leaning back and adjusting me to face him.

"Let's get you prepped then, yeah?" He asks, popping one into his mouth and chewing.

My eyes widen, mouth opening in question just before Derek wraps his own lips around my nipples, sucking gently and swirling the quickly chewed cube around the hard bud.

"Fuck!" I cry, leaning backwards. Ava catches me, stroking my hair as she watches.

"I knew he'd like you," Ava says in my ear. "He likes breaking in the new girls personally."

Derek's fingers tease my entrance, threatening to dip in while he sucks on my breast, moaning around the cold flesh. He swirls his spit around, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"You taste amazing," he moans, his breath cold. "Love to taste more."

I moan happily, spreading my legs more and bucking against his hand.

"Take me," I moan. "Do whatever you want."

"Jesus, she's excited," he laughs. "How long has it been, sweet girl?"

Too long. Much too long.

It must be obvious based on the way he trails lower, kissing and sucking on my skin as he begins to slip my skirt and underwear off of my lower body.

"Is this okay?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly. I nod eagerly, rolling my hips towards him impatiently.

"I don't think she likes teasing, Derek," Ava comments.

"No?" He laughs. "Do you like teasing, sweet girl?"

I shake my head slightly, whining. He and Ava laugh, Derek placing a kiss on my stomach.

"Well, I don't want to go too fast, new girl," he says. "Could break you, you know."

"No you won't," I whine. Derek sucks sharply on the spot, leaving a dark mark.

"Gonna have to teach her a thing or two, aren't I, Ava?" He asks. "You know where that toy is?"

"What toy?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about a thing, pretty girl," Derek instructs. "I'm gonna take care of everything for you now. Just relax."

Ava removes herself from the couch, disappearing to look for something. As I'm distracted, Derek slips an ice cube into my warm cunt.

"Ah!" I cry out sharply, arching my back as my hips roll automatically, unsure what to do to relieve myself. "It's cold."

Derek simply laughs, sitting up straight and dragging me onto his thick thigh.

"It's supposed to be," he says mockingly. "That'll work in the meantime while we wait for Ava to come back."

I start to grind against his thigh, my cunt clenching around the cold cube rapidly as I feel the melting water begin to drip out of me. Derek pulls my hair, tutting his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Stay still, that's an order," he says sharply. Someone offers him a cigarette, which he takes with no hesitation. When someone offers me one as well, he waves them away.

"She's had enough," he says. He keeps his hand in my hair, keeping a close eye on me to make sure I don't move.

"You enjoying the party?" He asks me.

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" He asks, taking a drag.

"Yes, sir?" I say. He smiles.

"Good. You're smart." He turns his attention to a man asking about some account, rambling something about bitcoin and such. Ugh. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I keep my hands clasped behind my back, pressing my chest forward to allow him easy access. This pleases him, his smile growing genuine whenever he glances my way. Once he bounces his leg, making me squirm for more. At that, he pulls my hair, shaming me for breaking the rule.

"Behave," he commands sharply. A few minutes later, however, he bounces his leg again. This time he doesn't stop.

The jolting motion sends shockwaves through my system, the drugs making me weak and stupid. He's not watching me, seeming involved in the conversation, and this ice cube is nearly melted inside of my cunt, dripping more and more. I can't handle this.

I shift my hips subtly, testing the waters. He doesn't notice, and if he does he doesn't care. I do it again, slightly harder against his thigh. Derek is talking about some party in Havana, laughing about a different conquest. I work slowly, making sure he won't turn his eye onto me. Finally, after a few minutes of grinding against him, I feel confident enough to begin a slow, steady rhythm against his thigh, his leg still bouncing against me.

My body feels amazing. Light, stimulation pounding throughout me, it only takes a few minutes before I'm on edge again, my pussy making his thigh slick and easy to grind against as I ride him. My cheeks burn with heat, my eyes eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the rhythm, fully focused on how hard his leg is bouncing. The vibrations go right to my clit, making my pussy seize around nothing now as my pulsing heat had caused the cube to disappear. I begin to grind faster and faster, desperate to cum. I don't realize I've begun panting, moaning as I ride him, and the attention in the room has turned towards me in full with Derek rubbing his hand up and down my back slowly, grazing his nails across the skin of my back as he watches with a look that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary.

"You close, sweet girl?" He asks me. My blush deepens, my eyes fluttering open in realization. Derek simply quirks a brow at me, exhaling his smoke into my face as he waits for my answer. My hips stutter, hesitating to continue.

"Don't get shy," Derek scolds. "You were just fine fucking yourself a moment ago. What's a few dozen people watching you?" He asks.

People are chuckling now, making small comments of encouragement.

"You looked so pretty, baby. Fucking yourself stupid on my thigh," he says as his lips tease my tits. "Didn't she look pretty, everyone?" He asks the room, glancing around at the people who respond with affirmations.

I lean forward, trying to hide my face in the crook of his neck. What had I been doing? In front of this entire room? I'd just needed a few quick bucks, that's all this was supposed to be. This was exponentially further than I'd ever planned.

Derek tuts, pulling me away from my hiding place. "Oh no, you wanted to cum. I'm going to make sure you cum," he chides. "I wonder how you'd feel on my cock. Would you like that? You'd feel better if you were on my cock, wouldn't you?"

I nod shyly, my eyes avoiding everyone but Derek. He glances around the room once more, noises of encouragement growing louder.

"You wanna get me ready, baby?" He asks encouragingly, taking one of my hands from behind my back and guiding it to his stiff, clothed cock.

I gasp lightly, squeezing it and grazing my thumb up and down his dick covered by the tight, leather material.

"You look big," I mutter.

"Feel big too," he chuckles. "Go on, try it out. I think you'll like it."

I think I will.

It's hard to see in the odd lighting, so my hands struggle with the hidden zipper.

"Try getting closer," Derek teases, his breath warm against my ear. "It doesn't bite like I do." To emphasize his point, he sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh and quick before releasing me, leaning back in his chair. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, my mind reeling as I automatically sink to my knees in front of the plush, velvet sofa.

Once his pants are opened, he springs out, no underwear confining him. Jesus. He's mostly average, leaning towards the larger side. It's mostly the piercing that surprises me.

"Like it?" He asks. I glance up at him, his grin cocky as he takes a drag from his new cigarette. Hey, man. What happens if I swallow this?

I stammer, opening my mouth and trying to say something.

"You need help?" He asks, wrapping his hand decorated with several rings around his shaft. "Open your mouth again," he commands. I do so without hesitation. His other hand guides my head down, forcing me to swallow it halfway down. I moan in satisfaction, my eyes slowly shutting as I take in the taste of his skin.

"Atta girl. Take a minute if you need to," he says casually. I can smell the thick smoke near my head, his hand stroking my hair gently. Ava must have returned because he's telling someone how warm my mouth is.

"You ready, sweetheart?" He asks. "Wanna show you off for my friends."

Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes once more, I lower myself slowly to his base. He's just long enough that when his piercing collides with my uvula I cough, nearly choking on him. More gentle laughter escapes the crowd, Derek praising me as he begins to thrust into my mouth.

"Just stay there, sweetheart," he says. "I'll do the work."

True to his word, Derek begins pumping his dick in and out of my mouth, whispering something in Ava's ear. I begin taking in the other people around the room, most of them watching us eagerly.

"Watch me, sweetheart," he commands, snapping his fingers and pointing at himself. "You don't have anywhere to look but here."

I obey, keeping my eyes trained on him as he smokes his cigarette which rests between his lips, his jaw gritted as he rolls his hips into my throat, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and who knows what else.

Without warning, someone begins fingering my cunt. A startled moan escapes me, vibrating around Derek's throbbing cock and making him moan, his face confident.

"Don't worry baby, it's just Ava," he says, stroking my hair. "You like Ava, right?"

I moan again, Ava's fingers quick and shallow in my tight pussy.

"Ava certainly likes you. Almost stole you from me, isn't that right?" He asks her, tapping his cherry carelessly onto the floor behind him.

"That's right," her deep voice purrs in my ear. I moan again, my eyes almost fluttering shut from pleasure until Derek grabs my hair, fucking my face roughly to bring my attention back to him.

"Hey now, don't get too happy," he scolds, but he's smiling. "You still like me more, right baby?"

I moan, pressing my tongue to his underside as he slides in and out. He tastes sweet, his jewelry creating an interesting feeling in the back of my throat. Ava withdraws her fingers, quickly replacing them with a vibrating bullet instead.

"Mmph!" I moan, my eyes nearly fluttering shut again. The speed increases, making me drip and writhe my hips against nothing.

"God, she's fun," Derek moans. "Ava, book her for Cabo," he says.

Cabo??

"You like her that much?" Ava laughs. Derek simply glares at her. Is this a thing? Trading girls, fighting over them? What is this?

"Just fucking talk to whoever about it," he spits, his dick quickening in my throat. I'm gagging around him, barely able to catch my breath as I press my hands desperately against his thighs. "Anyone else fuck her tonight?"

"Don't know," Ava shrugs. She brings her face close to mine, her breath hot in my ear. "Did they?"

I moan, trying to shake my head. Derek nods, smiling.

"Perfect," he drawls. The bullet inside of me is driving me insane, enough to keep me on the edge of pleasure but not enough to tip me over. My eyes look up at him, wide and begging, tears beginning to spill from my waterline and streaming down my face.

"You're killing her," Ava scolds him. "Is he being mean?" She asks me. Yes.

"She can take it," Derek says. "You like it a little mean, don't you baby?" He asks, smiling. Yes.

"See?" Derek says. "She's just fine."

Actually, I'm about to hit my peak drug wise, and I can't fucking breathe. But all it does is make me want more, my throat taking him as deep as I can as I moan around him, my tongue moving desperately, eager to swallow his load.

"Think I should cum down her throat?" He asks Ava, his head tilted back in pleasure, cigarette nearly burnt out between his lips.

"Would you like that?" Ava asks, setting the speed of the bullet to max. I scream around Derek's cock, overstimulated and stupid. "I think that's a yes."

"God, you're amazing," he praises. "Such a perfect fucking slut."

Right before he reaches his edge, he pulls me away, admiring the long, thick string of spit that still connects my swollen lips to his cock.

"Look at that," he says. "Should take a picture of that someday."

His hand drags me up by my hair, guiding me to return to his lap. Once I'm straddled across his lap, his fingers delve into my cunt, fucking me quickly as he presses the bullet against my g-spot.

"You like my cock, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Yes," I moan, my voice and throat raw.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

His fingers remove the bullet, and he quickly replaces his hand and bullet with his pulsing cock, both of us moaning at the feeling.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans. "You are fucking tight. I can feel everything."

My cunt spasms around him, eager for whatever friction he'll grant me. He stays still, something that's clearly a challenge for him.

"Gonna stay there for awhile," he says. "Wanna make sure you're ready, baby."

My spit on his dick makes for excellent lube, his piercing comfortable against my cervix. His hands run up and down my thighs, squeezing here and there, eventually moving to massage my ass.

"The crowd loves you," he praises, pulling me close to his chest. "Think I love you too."

I'm very high. I'm very horny. I will do whatever this fried hair, cocky ass motherfucker tells me to do.

A waitress walks behind the couch, offering us a tray of joints. Isn't that my job?

"Go ahead, take one," Derek instructs me. I do so, reaching for the lighter on the tray.

"Don't bother, I have one in my pocket. Thank you," he says to the waitress, dismissing her. He reaches into his coat, taking out the lighter before discarding the jacket, leaving him in his zebra printed button up that shows off his chest hair along with a white gold sparkling chain.

He holds the lighter for me, lighting up the joint as I hold it between my lips.

"You're gonna smoke me out, okay angel?" He says, leaning back against the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. I rest one hand against his chest, taking a hit and holding it for a second before leaning forward and blowing it into his mouth.

One of his hands find my hair, pressing my lips against his, his cock twitching inside of me as his tongue slips into my mouth, establishing dominance before allowing me to pull away for another hit. Then another. Then another.

As he inhales the last hit, his hips begin rolling into mine, his voice low as he groans.

"Go on and start riding me, angel," he moans, completely lost in the pleasure. "Show me how you want me."

My hands grasp his shoulders, clinging desperately as I begin to glide up and down his length, his cock twitching against my most sensitive spots with each glide.

"You ever fuck a pussy as good as this?" I ask, watching his jaw shift subtly from side to side as he focuses on my tightness.

"Oh, she speaks now?" He asks, smirking. "Grow a fucken brain, princess?"

His tip slams into my cervix, making me gasp and press my tits into his face. His mouth works quickly, biting and sucking at the tender mounds as I ride him.

"I'm just making conversation," I say. I'm high enough my filter is gone, my brain rotted to the point I'm only focused on my pleasure. He moans against my tit, looking up at me while he buries himself in my body.

"I can't say I have," he says, grinning. "Why, that turn you on?"

Immensely. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Say it," he dares, his cock slamming into me. "Don't hold out on me."

"Maybe I will," I tease, tugging his hair. My hips speed up, riding him hard enough I can feel the couch rocking ever so slightly.

"You're fun," he chuckles. "Say it."

"No," I say, slamming my wet cunt against his base, making him groan loudly.

His teeth sink into my skin, pulling on my nipple to the point I'm on the razors edge of pain and pleasure.

"I don't mind waiting," he says, his tongue flicking against my nipples. "I like causing pain."

His teeth sink in deeper, his fingernails dragging down my back slowly as he slams into me, making me bounce hard enough I can feel it in my stomach.

This is a hell of a paycheck.

"I like it," I say. He chuckles.

"That's not enough," he says.

"I wanna be the best girl you've fucked," I add.

"Mm, need more details." His teeth release my nipple, leaning forward and quickly catching it once more, sucking on the almost raw flesh hard enough it feels like I won't be able to wear a shirt for the next day or two. One of his hands return to my hair, gripping it and pulling it hard enough I can see the people behind us, some of them still watching, some focused on each other, most people switching between the two as they fuck each other.

"Come on, you were just so confident," he laughs against me before returning to his task. My chest burns with want and embarrassment, my eyes glazing over as I give in.

"I wanna make you pussy whipped," I moan. "I wanna glance at something and get it from how desperate you are to get the chance to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly. "I think we'll get along for a while," he says in a satisfied tone, finally releasing my tits from his torture.

"Gonna get me on payroll?" I ask, smiling as I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me.

"Play your cards right and I'll get my surname on you, pretty girl."

It's an evening of drugs and sex, come morning I'm sure he won't even remember my eye color. But for tonight, can't a bitch dream?

"Go ahead and laugh," he dares. "I get what I want."

"And you want me?"

"Fuck yeah."

He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders.

"Jesus!" I cry, feeling his cock bury into me from behind, slamming straight into an overwhelming spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

"Too much," I cry. "Fuck, too much!"

"And that's a problem?" He laughs, abusing me as he smacks my ass, admiring the way my skin reddens.

"Yeah, you're not getting another dick ever again," he decides, his hips chasing after a high that tears screams from my throat. I'm so overstimulated I don't even know if I can cum, my eyes crossed and ass feeling his palm bearing down on the sensitive flesh time and time again, growing more rapid in succession, forcing me to clench his length harder with each new hit.

"Come on, pretty girl," he growls, pressing his chest against my back, his hands keeping my hips pressed against him with no chance to escape. His balls smack against my clit, making me moan in stupidity. "I know you want to."

I cry out, tears streaming down my face, hair stuck to my wet skin as I feel my cunt begin to throb in warning, my stomach clenching as the knot inside me begins to snap, my mind growing fuzzy and static as I pant eagerly.

"Fuck, she's close," Derek moans to someone, small whimpers escaping him as he pumps into me, his teeth digging into my shoulder, sending me over the edge.

Someone's screaming, and I have the vague idea it may be me. I can feel Derek's front soaked in my cum, his dick slamming into me in a way that I just know I'll have a migraine in a few minutes.

"Good girl," he praises. "Fuck. Amazing girl. Taking good dick like a fucking pro."

His cock throbs in me as he cums, deep and right next to my cervix, keeping himself buried as his seed pumps into me, hot and thick.

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he mutters in my ear, his voice exhausted. "You and I are going to become good, good friends."

I groan as I feel him slip out, his fingers pushing any cum that drips from my folds back into me, then placing a plug into my aching cunt. His hand grips my hair, pulling me back up to sit on his lap as he accepts a new drink, his cheeks flushed as he tries to regain his breath.

"Let's get something to get your energy back up, hmm?" He asks, pressing a firm kiss on my sweaty forehead.

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

Cabo doesn't sound all that bad, Danforth. Not bad at all.

Masterlist

I wrote this instead of sleeping. Anyways, see you next time for Mike Schmidt. Stay safe pookies <3