#I NEED TO CATCH UP ON YOUR BLOG TOMORROW!!!!

[gomzdrawfr]

GOMZ !!! My life isn't that interesting, so let me tell you about my new job for a bit, hope this distracts you a little !!

So, my CoD obsession has truly rotted my brain, as I refer to the work situation as "operation cold war" now.

My manager is insane, tensions are HIGH, even though there is no outright conflict, just hush hush stuff, so my coworker and I decided to use a "make as many allies as possible" strategy. Basically, be nice to everyone, offer other coworkers to come grab a coffee in our office, get everyone on our sides, especially since no one likes my manager.

The plan is going well, but I can't help thinking that if Price or Nik were forced to work at an office job, this is the kind of place their brain would go.

I'm having a very silly time with all of this VDSVJSIVJ.

Hugs to you Gomz !! <3

Nekros!!! *returns the hug* :3 oof that sounds rough, but that is a solid plan if you ask me

😂we do what we can to cope…honestly despite this COD obsession it has seriously pushed me through the hardest shit I have to deal with in Uni…

I feel like Price very much have that welcoming vibes that offer people coffee and distract them with small chats. Nik would give off the “looks like he hates you but would actually defend you” coworker that takes a while to warm up to 🤣 The kind of guy that would go “that joke was not funny, it was rude, apologize to them”

[grotesquevi]

18+ minors & men dni, fingering, domestic!vi, dirty talk, this is basically sleepy, lazy sex in the middle of the night, kinda sweet dunno.

side note  # if you recognize this, might be because this is a piece from my previous blog vicorices (terminated blog 2025-2025 r.i.p) so this is my new account. i'm trying to get all my writing back up slowly and with my whole heart. this is a celebration since may is finally over and we are now entering june with the right foot. check out my arcane directory to check out the process of re-uploading fics. someday i'll get there.

nighttime is vi’s favorite time of the day. the long summer nights that seem eternal under the barely noticeable stars in the sky, the lonely moon hanging high as her breathing collides with the back of your neck, holding you tightly against the planes of her body as silence finally fills the room.

two in the morning, three, the two of you have fallen in a comfortable routine where you keep on talking until you randomly look at the clock and shit: you have work tomorrow, vi has shit to do as well so the lights are out and she’s holding you beneath the sheets, cuddling as she tries to sleep, concentrated in your breathing, your soft skin and how relaxed everything feels laying right next to you, anything but your ass barely covered by the oversized shirt she can feel without seeing it.

“are you asleep already?” she cannot help to ask after some minutes, and you hum trying to make her shut up. “how do you fall asleep so quickly? it’s not fair.”

vi would love the talent on herself, but there’s always something: the bed’s too comfortable, too silent, too peaceful. her life has always been rough and fast, so she rolls in bed until her eyes close by themselves, hugging you tightly as a reminder you’re on her side, that her lone days are over — a reassurance that the thin duvets she’s sleeping in does not belong not even near stillwater.

“don’t sleep,” she moves you slightly at first, a couple of seconds until she’s downright shaking you. “baby, wake up. don’t leave me, i want some kisses.”

it’s been a long day. vi’s muscles are sore and you’re barely able to keep an eye open, but either way you’re putting an effort on stretching out to reach for a kiss, looking at her from over your shoulder as you purse your lips together for a quick peck vi wastes no time in taking.

and the thing is, it should be a quick kiss. should cause vi’s kissing you again and again until you seem to get the memo, parting your lips slightly to let her tongue push warm and wet against your bucal cavity, playfully touching yours as you are slow to return the kiss, allowing it anyhow. her kisses are so damn nice for a reason, when her hoop ring squishes against your own nose and she’s wishing to kiss you for as long as her breathing allows it to.

“vi,” you say, trying to catch on your breath for a moment as your cheek touches back the pillow again, resting — “i’d like more, but i’m just so tired.”

she’s smiling. even in the darkness of the room you can’t see much but you feel her, and vi does not have much choice here, not when she loves the sound of your voice betraying you cause you do want more, even when it’s impossible for you to move any muscle.

“it’s okay,” she whispers in your ear after a second or two “i know you do. there’s no need to move here, sweetheart.”

you’d call it lazy fucking cause it don’t take much to cum. a quickie even, a forty minute long session that don’t qualify as a quickie really, but it’s close enough for both of you, in your own terms. vi’s urging you to come closer, and as fast as you fall asleep you’re now on your back, laying comfortable as she demands more kisses.

her fingers don’t miss a second to spread your legs open, and suddenly it’s like she’s all over, making you move until she’s pressed on your side, hovering right above you — and usually she’d have you back pressed against her chest on nights like this, kneading on your breasts, breathing in your skin, but she wants to see you. wants to notice your features, your pretty face distorting with the pleasure she brings in plain dark, kiss you when you fall apart engulfing your sinful sounds, whispering sweet words to drive you closer to the edge.

simple as that.

so vi hates it when she gets tired too, cause finger-fuck you? it’s a huge fucking effort. stopping once in a while for a second or two from the sore feeling in her muscles after a long day, making you chuckle lowly between erratic moans as she touches you just right how you want to; she’s fucking burning at that point.

“i’m sorry,” vi whispers against your neck, but she don’t really mean it— “doin’ my best here.”

her digits force themselves at your entrance, coating them with clear arousal as she fills you up, curling as she happens to know your body, those points you enjoy almost too much, the places that make you cum.

she’s doing it on purpose either way, teasing you. even when there’s this sound filling the room each time she sinks down and you’re awake as ever now, moving your hips against the palm of vi’s hand in search for more friction against your sensitive cunt, she’s taking her time cause sleep can wait, your needs? that’s different.

“fuck you’re so tight,” she whispers against your neck before you’re pulling on your shirt upwards, squirming against the wrinkled sheets to rise it above your tits, nipples already aching for her touch. even in the dark, violet notices the soft expanse of your bare skin colliding against her own, the smell of flowers in your skin as you recently switched to a new fragrance. “greedy. greedy whore always asking for more.”

the words slur together when she speaks: can you blame her? it’s impossible not to when her mouth catches up your hard nipple between her lips and tongue, that sweet tongue of her’s, swirls around it, wide licks before her mouth closes around to suck, fucking you deeper with her digits buried in your pussy — and you moan, cause the motherfucker bites on your chest lightly, enough to send shivers down your spine.

she’s good at driving you crazy, every. single. time.

“there you go baby. always s’good for me” vi praises with a smile. “do you hear how wet you are from just a little kiss? gonna make my girl cum.”

there’s something about the dark, cause vi loves to see you, fucking you with all the lights on so she can see every part of you, your very own fiber — but like that? it has so many perks too, a lot when she focus on your moans, the roughness on your voice each time you pant her name, the feeling of your warm cunt evolving her fingers, squeezing them like your own consciousness is trying to draw them deeper, harder. it makes her rely on her senses.

“ngh-m’gonna cum vi,” your voice is so fucking soft, like you’re recovering from being dizzy seconds before saying it, weak as you move faster. you’re leaking on the damn mattress beneath you as your body seems to function on it’s own — and it’s all it takes to make the earth stop spinning on it’s axis, the rippling orgasm pouring like hot fire in your skin as a loud moan leaves your lips, making your brain melt away in your own system.

vi enjoys watching you come undone, the shaking in your legs as you reach out to kiss her, the messy and sloppy kiss you give her in plain ecstasy that’s nothing but teeth and tongue, roughly passing your tongue against her parted lips.

your breathing is heavy and god, vi wishes to turn the lights on just to see that fucked out expression in your face, the way your brows furrow as you’re sensitive when she’s withdrawing her fingers, licking them clean like they’re full of ambrosia and not your clear arousal.

your intentions are clear afterwards when you’re pushing your knee between her parted, inviting legs, leaving an invisible trail of kisses against the column of her exposed skin; that tattoo on her neck you’ve seen many times before now brushing against your lips — your girlfriend is a mess already when you touch her, needy as she grinds desperate for her own release.

it doesn’t take much to make her cum either way, and when she finally falls asleep, you think that’s the fastest way to make her actually rest.

a win is a win after all.

[moonstruckme]

hii!! i love ur blog lol. i saw ur requests were open and i thought maybe id send one in! no pressure at all to do it, thank you for writing what you write (it’s really comforting!) i was wondering if you could do poly!marauders with a reader who is overworking herself for exams/college stuff and is hiding from her boyfriends because she knows they’ll be stern with her and make her take a break? so she tries to evade them but they foil her evil little plan lol. maybe like dom!remus… i’m obsessed w him.. just an idea!!!! have an amazing day 🩷

Thanks for requesting, hope you have an amazing day too!

cw: d/s dynamics to be found if you want them to be, mostly they're just bossy

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 814 words

There are nice voices seeping into your consciousness. Soft, comforting. You snuggle into the gentleness of their familiar hum. 

Something moves from underneath your face. You start to open your eyes, slow and reluctant, and when the something is gone your face lands in a warm palm. It feels safe, easy enough to settle into, but as you’re about to let yourself slip away again it strokes its thumb over your cheek. 

“Angel.” James’ voice sounds almost like he’s trying not to laugh. He thumbs your cheek again. “Angel, hey.” A pause. “She doesn’t seem to want to wake up.” 

“She’s awake,” Sirius says. You feel his hand sweep across your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetness. This is no place to spend the night.” 

You make a disgruntled, whiny sound you’d never allow in full consciousness. Your eyes peel open. 

“There she is.” Sirius rubs your back encouragingly.

You blink blearily in the sickening fluorescent light of the library. James is squatting at face-level in front of you, his expression somewhere between fond and pitying, while Remus stands behind him with your backpack over his shoulder. You can see Sirius peering down at you in your periphery, his hand still moving over your back as though to keep you from falling back asleep. 

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. It must be late. 

“Oh, no,” you groan, forcing yourself up. Your neck and back crackle as you straighten, making James cringe. 

“I agree,” Sirius says smoothly. “I too would be devastated if I traded a warm and cozy bed with my loving boyfriends for a hard, cold desk. But don’t be embarrassed, there’s still time to make things right.” 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to rub wakefulness into them. “I…where’s my laptop?” 

“I have it,” says Remus. 

“I need it.” 

“You’ll get it back tomorrow.” 

A slow, heavy anxiety laces your bloodstream. “But I have to finish…” 

“Dove.” Remus’ voice is stern, though not unkind. “You have to sleep first. At home.”

You blink, your brain still lagging. “But…” 

“Sweetheart, c’mere.” James takes your face in his hand, angling you towards him. He brushes his thumb over the corners of your eyes, then smiles at you. “There. Sorry, you had crusties. Ready to go?” 

“I…” 

“Let’s go, babe.” Sirius winds an arm around your waist, hauling you up with him. “It’s definitely bedtime.” 

James chuckles. “Seems like it. Poor love.” 

“What about my stuff?” 

“I’ve got it,” Remus reminds you. He frowns. “When was the last time you slept?” 

You think back. “Last night.” Was it really only last night? It feels eons ago. 

“But for how long?” 

“Uh…” you wince. “I dunno, a couple hours.” 

James makes a low pitying sound, and Remus’ frown worsens. On some level, you know you’d known they would react like this. Probably, you’d even known they were right. It was why you’d been spending as little time at home as possible, catching twenty-minute power naps in library chairs and avoiding your boyfriends. 

“Sweetheart,” Remus sounds tired himself, and guilt sprouts behind your ribcage, “you can’t run yourself ragged like this. It’s not sustainable. It’s not going to help with your schoolwork, and it’s awful for you besides. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You heave a sigh. “I guess I just like living on the edge,” you grumble sardonically. 

Sirius huffs a laugh. He slots a piece of hair behind your ear. “Hey, recklessness is my thing,” he says, kissing your temple. “You need to get your own thing.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Remus chides. “You’ve tried your way, and it’s clearly not working. Right?” 

You’re silent. Then Sirius pinches your side, and you squeak, “Right.” 

“That’s right.” Remus’ tone warms some with amusement. “So we’re going to go home, and you’re going to sleep at least eight hours. Then, after you eat and drink something, you can have your laptop back. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You want to be more reluctant, but the allure of your boyfriends’ evil scheme is too tempting to resist. You don’t have the energy to fight them on it. “Thanks for coming to get me.” 

Remus holds the door open for you all to exit the library. As you pass, he cups your cheek with a small smile. “You’re welcome, love.” 

“And maybe during this next round of studying, you could take a break from time to time,” James suggests lightly. “I haven’t had a proper cuddle in days.” 

“Oi!” Sirius’ chin nearly smacks the side of your head as he whips around to see James. “What would you call what we did this afternoon?” 

“Not a proper cuddle. Your elbow has probably left a permanent indent in my stomach.” 

“There are people who would pay for a souvenir like that, Jamie.”

[5sospenguinqueen]

You Got Me Tripping | Mick Schumacher x Williams! Reader

Summary: They say you should never meet your heroes - or the offspring of your heroes - and when you make a complete ass out of yourself in front of Mick, you might agree

Warnings: Swearing. Fluff.

Williams development driver. Pinterest pics

I'm not in love with this but I had the idea so it had to be written haha

F1 Masterlist

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f1news just posted

liked by landonorris, lilymhe and others 

f1news accurate reenactment of the moment when williams’ development driver, y/n l/n, met the son of hero michael schumacher… and forgot how to walk 

1,221 comments

user1 i love how they can’t post the actual video footage netflix got because you know she threatened everyone to bury it

user2 not the drivers being summoned to a trashy news blog dedicated to them

→ user3 they too are obsessed with this development

its_yn_ln is this what people call news these days? boring!

→ landonorris speak for yourself, this was hilarious 

→ alex_albon i have it saved as my lockscreen

→ logansargeant i’ve definitely watched it more than 10x

→ its_yn_ln i hate you all 

→ georgerussell63 even me? i can introduce you to the hero of your stumblings

→ landonorris probably not the best idea, mate. you'd need her to stay in one piece 

→ williams so do we, she’s our reserve 

user4 she lost aura points for this 

user5 i get it. i too would trip over thin air if mick schumacher smiled at me like that 

user6 why are we all forgetting the most important part?

→ user7 you mean how red she went when he helped her up

user8 and the way he launched forward to catch her 

→ user9 no wonder she swooned

→ user10 mhm if those arms were wrapped around me 😏

williamsracing just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, mickschumacher and others 

williamsracing following contact earlier today between yn and the concrete, we’re pleased to confirm that the driver sustained little more than a bruised ego

5,335 comments

its_yn_ln watch yourself, i know where you work 

→ jv.f1 stop threatening the admin, please

→ its_yn_ln but they’re bullying me 

logansargeant where’s the post about my suffering? i had to listen to her complain about how embarrassed she was

→ its_yn_ln stop exposing me! 

→ user11 you’ve exposed yourself 

→ its_yn_ln i really hope i didn’t. nobody said my jeans split

→ landonorris trust me, if we'd seen your ass, you'd have seen me retching

its_yn_ln that’s a lie, i suffered a wound to my elbow 

→ alex_albon it’s a scrape, you didn’t even bleed 

→ its_yn_ln i’ve lost a layer of skin! 

→ alex_albon maybe that’ll make you go faster in practice tomorrow 

→ its_yn_ln @/lilymhe leave him 

oscarpiastri the figure chasing yn is actually lando

→ its_yn_ln he tried following me into the bathroom earlier! 

mickschumacher i hope she recovers quickly 

georgerussell63 do you want me to ask him to kiss it better?

→ its_yn_ln do you want me to edge you off the track in practice? 

→ williamsracing you’re not allowed to say these things

→ its_yn_ln i’m gonna have to undergo pr training after this, aren’t i?

→ alex_albon yes

→ logansargeant yes

→ williamsracing yes

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mickschumacher just posted

liked by georgerussell63, its_yn_ln and others 

mickschumacher silverstone 🇬🇧

3,470 comments

pierregasly i have not heard from yn since these were posted

georgerussell63 can we check nearby holes in case yn tripped into one

→ its_yn_ln this is why lewis is my favourite merc member

→ georgerussell63 not mick?

→ its_yn_ln i decline to answer that 

alex_albon somebody check on yn, please

→ landonorris she seemed fine when i passed hospitality. she was enjoying her lunch ;)

→ logansargeant again? interesting. i knew there was a reason she was hiding from williams this weekend

→ charles_leclerc @/pierregasly pay up 

maxverstappen1 why am i reading through mick’s comment section?

→ danielricciardo because we all like seeing yn getting teased

→ its_yn_ln you’re both off my christmas card list

williamsracing please release your hold on our driver

mercedesamgf1 mick, as much as we love you, we have a couple of admins demanding someone back

→ mickschumacher no thanks

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its_yn_ln just posted

liked by mickschumacher, alex_albon and others 

its_yn_ln when you both get a weekend off and he finally takes you on the picnic he’s promising for the past month 

3,666 comments 

alex_albon it’s not funny when you embrace it

→ its_yn_ln it’s not funny anyway?

→ georgerussell63 not true

→ its_yn_ln @/carmenmmundt leave him

→ alex_albon stop telling our girlfriends to leave us

→ its_yn_ln stop being douchebags then

user11 guys hear me out. what if it’s mick?

→ user12 feels like you're taking a joke just a tad too seriously

→ user13 no, no, let her talk 

landonorris another day, another slay

→ its_yn_ln let’s get you back to the home, grandma

→ landonorris only if we take you back to the fracture clinic

→ its_yn_ln i fell one time! 

→ oscarpiastri it was twice

→ mickschumacher when was the second?

danielricciardo who’s car was coolest?

→ its_yn_ln mine, i had a daytona

→ mercedesamgf1 whoa, he’s building a merc so he clearly wins

williamsracing we get palpitations every time we see your name trending on twitter

→ its_yn_ln i read the pr manual, this doesn’t break the rules! 

→ williamsracing that doesn’t mean we trust you! 

→ logansargeant ouch. and i thought it was just my heart they broke 

user11 okay so she mentioned them both getting a weekend off, it’s the first weekend without a race after the triple header so he’s obvi a driver 

→ user11 then they’re building lego cars. what do mick and yn do for a living? drive cars

→ user11 and then she used a warning slippery floor sign for a meme when the whole internet has been teasing her for falling over when she first met him 

→ its_yn_ln the fbi needs to hire some of y’all

lilymhe answer my texts, please!!! and thanks xx

mickschumacher looks like a fun weekend

→ its_yn_ln it was! 

→ user14 this is such a bland interaction

→ user11 it’s obvi deliberate babe. they’re trying to throw us off

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mickschumacher just posted

liked by its_yn_ln, sebastianvettel and others

mickschumacher how could i resist when she literally fell for me 

4,774 comments

its_yn_ln i hate you 

→ mickschumacher that’s not what you were whispering in my ear in that photo 

lilymhe the cutest

→ its_yn_ln whoa, what about us?

→ lilymhe you never fell over for me

→ alex_albon you’re not mick schumacher 

georgerussell63 you can put her down, she’s definitely not going to run away from you 

→ mickschumacher yes but if her feet don’t touch the floor then she can’t fall 

its_yn_ln at least i know you’ll be around to catch me <3

→ landonorris this is gross. go back to publicly humiliating yourself 

→ its_yn_ln just because i have more rizz than you 

→ landonorris not sure how

→ mickschumacher she’s cute. you’re not 

mercedesamgf1 where is your protective gear?

→ its_yn_ln i told you that we'd get in trouble if you posted that 

→ mickschumacher but i wanted everyone to see how good you looked on top of my bike 

→ alex_albon please stop. i can't take anymore giggling

→ logansargeant and i have to listen to her gush about you 

→ williamsracing we are all suffering 

→ its_yn_ln vengeance! this is what happens when you cyberbully me

charles_leclerc this doesn't make her seem very hardcore!

→ its_yn_ln you take that back! i have a reputation to maintain

→ mickschumacher darling, i think you ruined that reputation months ago when we met

f1 and they said being a development driver was only good for getting a seat

→ user16 f1 bringing together true loves

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Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @evie-119

Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)

[no-144444]

when it rains... -a.albon

summary: your week was shit, and you just missed your flight to japan. shit.

pairing: alex albon x fem! reader

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Honestly, your week had been a piece of shit. Extra reports, picking up the slack for your incompetent bosses, and dealing with the insane amount of work that hadn’t been done since the redundancies got announced, it all piled up into one big shit stack, one that you had to deal with. You were just excited to see Alex, and maybe take him up on his offer of being a full-time WAG rather than an accountant. 

And you missed your flight. Of fucking course you did. When it rains, it pours. 

All over you. 

You could feel the pressure building up behind your eyes as you ubered back to your cold, empty apartment. You needed to call Alex, tell him you wouldn’t be there for Japan, but that would mean admitting you wouldn't get to see him, which would break you apart. And you really didn’t want to cry in the back of an uber. Again. 

You held it together until you got home, then you just sobbed into your couch cushions, exhausted and disappointed, with only yourself to blame. 

Ding! 

Fuck off, you thought. You knew it would be your boss, or your friends, or maybe even the devil himself, texting you to make your week worse. You barely read the words until you saw Alex 💙 at the top of them. 

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Love you, night!

Can you call before the plane?

Miss you so much.

When it rains, it pours. And you were sobbing again. 

When the call came in, you didn’t have the heart to decline. 

Alex was extremely concerned to see you sobbing on your couch in your apartment. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft and comforting, like it always is. 

“I missed my flight!” you cried. “And my entire week has been shit! My boss is a fucking moron, my co-workers seriously don’t understand how much work we have to get through, my friends were all made redundant so I’ve been eating my lunch in my fucking car, alone, and I missed my fucking flight because I’m such an idiot!” you groaned, wiping away your tears. 

“It’s alright,” he cooed, a soft smile on his face. “I’ll book you another.” 

You hadn’t exactly thought of that in your stress-induced breakdown, and it just made you cry more. “I’m an idiot!” 

Alex chuckled softly, the hilarity of the situation catching up to him. “Baby, you’re alright. It’s ok. I’m sorry this week has been shit, but it’s ok. Even if you don’t make it to Japan, I’ll get you a flight to Bahrain. I just want to see you, that’s it.”

“I want to see you too,” you sniffled. “I miss you so fucking much.”

He smiled. “I miss you too.” 

“Fuck long distance,” you murmured. “This sucks.”

He nodded. “Fuck long distance. Do you want me to book you a flight for the morning, or do you want to wait until next weekend?” 

You thought about it for a moment. You really wanted to see Alex. You also really needed a weekend to yourself. “Maybe wait until Bahrain.” 

He smiled. His perfect, boyish, Alex, smile. “Great. I think that’s a good idea. You just take this weekend to relax, yeah?” 

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“I love you, alright?” 

“I love you too,” you sniffled, calm now. “Can we stay on call?” 

“I’m yours until I have to leave. I have some interviews with Carlos in a while,” he explained. “You should get some food and sleep. And turn off your work phone for the weekend. Actually take a break.”

“That’s a great idea,” you chuckled. “Thank you for not being mad.”

“Why would I ever be mad?”

“I was stupid and missed my flight,” you shrugged. 

“It wasn’t stupid, it was a mistake,” he shrugged. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

You know what, he was right.

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merc & williams masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[cinnamxns]

the catch

summary: kenji sato really just wants you at his game. you propose a bet instead: you’re going to come to his game but if he loses, he treats you to dinner; if he wins, he can ask you for anything in return—and ken knows exactly what he wants.

⇢ pairing: ken sato x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, friends to lovers au, pining ⇢ word count: 2.0k ⇢ note: idk if people still read for ken sato but i rewatched ultraman: rising & fell in love with him all over again. reposted from my old blog with the title changed.

“It would mean a lot to me if you came.”

Kenji Sato is known for being a lot of things—handsome, talented, the best thing that’s ever happened to the world of Japanese baseball—but being sincere is not one of them. He’s an insufferable, over-confident prat most of the time, as Coach Shimura would willingly attest, and he knows all of this, too. He can’t really help it; the media eats out of the palm of his hand when he showcases his suave, debonair side.

You, on the other hand, snort inelegantly at him, swat at his shoulder, and say, “I’m busy that evening, Kenji.”

The baseball player frowns, lips jutting out petulantly. “With what? You’re usually free on Friday evenings.”

“Yeah, I’m busy,” you inform him, clutching a stack of documents to your chest. A loose sheet of paper flies out of your hold, and Ken bends down and picks it up, holding it out for you. “I need to binge-watch the newest season of Bridgerton.”

“Hey!” Kenji draws his hand back, still holding the paper. “I thought we were gonna watch that together.”

He can’t believe you would betray him like this. Binge-watching stuff together is your thing, and it always has been ever since he moved back to Tokyo. Kenji Sato doesn’t have many friends, but you walked straight into his life just like Emi did—easily and simply, like the universe decreed it. It’s a perk, he thinks, to being the secretary of the manager of the Yomiuri Giants. On one hand, you frequent his practices so often that Kenji was used to seeing you scribble down notes, sitting by the bleachers. 

On the other hand, however, you aren’t forced to attend all the Giants’ matches. You tend to use the time you get off to rest and relax and rejuvenate, coming back to Ken’s next practice session with bright eyes and a happy grin.

You roll your eyes at his antics, reaching out and trying to grab the document. The baseball player merely holds his arm above his head and sticks his tongue out at you when you can’t reach it. 

“Kenji,” you warn. “Give that back right now.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll lose the exclusive invitations our team has for the fundraising gala being held by the KDF next week, and Mr. Nishimura will have your head.”

At the mention of his manager’s name, Kenji blanches. Mr. Nishimura is known for his work ethic—he’s composed, efficient, and level-headed. But he’s also strict and scary when something impairs his meticulously thought out plans. Ken can’t possibly fathom being on his bad side; it puts dealing with Emi’s acid reflux to shame.

But perhaps… he can take advantage of this.

“I’ll give it back,” he says, “but only on one condition.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything. Ken takes that as a sign to continue.

“You come to the game tomorrow.”

A brief flash of irritation crosses over your features. Kenji feels slightly guilty, but he doesn’t take back his words.

He likes you, so God help him, and keeping this confession contained within him is driving him over the edge.

“I’ll do you one better,” you challenge. Kenji is startled; he gulps at the conviction in your tone.

“I’ll come to your game tomorrow, but I have a condition too,” you say. “If you lose the game, you have to take me out to dinner.”

A slow grin spreads on Ken’s face. “Ah, but you see—I never lose.”

“Hasn’t Coach Shimura told you to cut down on that ego of yours?”

“Fine, fine. I accept.” Kenji shrugs. “But what do I get if I win?”

You consider it, brows furrowing and lips pressed together in that way you always do when you’re thinking hard about something. He waits patiently, bringing his hand back down and flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes. 

Finally, you say, “You can ask me for any favour.”

“Any favour?”

“Yes, Ken.” You sigh with mock regret. “Anything.”

Kenji squints at the printed words on the paper he’s holding. “Say, does this event allow us to bring dates?”

You snatch the sheet from him, scowling. “That’s for me to know.”

“And for me to find out?”

“And for you to never find out.”

“Rude.”

The cheer of the spectators in the stadium is deafening, their excited shouts and loud claps making Kenji’s ears ring. It’s a full house tonight—Coach Shimura had informed them that all the tickets were sold out, and then grudgingly pointed at Ken and muttered, “All thanks to this fellow.” Perspiration drips off his forehead and down the sides of his face. His gloves fit his hands snugly, slightly worn out from constant use. It’s a bit humid; the dome protecting the stadium doesn’t allow natural air circulation.

Yet, despite all the noise and clamour surrounding him, all Kenji Sato can do is stare at you.

You’re leaning over the barricade, completely ignoring the relatively more comfortable seats you get in the VIP stand. Your gaze is trained on the ball, hollering obscenities when one of the Giants makes a mistake, and hooting gleefully when his team does well. Even from a distance, your enthusiasm is infectious.

That’s not the only reason Kenji Sato can’t stop looking at you. There’s another—something more devious on your part. He has to lick his lips and force himself to tear his eyes off you.

Out of all things dastardly and cunning in this world, you chose the worst kind of torture imaginable: The shirt you’re wearing, hanging loosely off your shoulders and tucked into your jeans is his jersey.

It’s an old jersey, one he wore back when he still lived in LA. With fraying edges and faded colours, it’s little more than a washed-out t-shirt. Still, it looks fucking gorgeous on you—but as exhilirating as it is, seeing you in his clothes, it’s making it so fucking hard for him to focus.

The ball whizzes just past his shoulder. He swings his bat a second too late and misses it. 

Strike one.

Barely biting back a groan of frustration, Kenji ignores the taunting snicker of the opposing team’s catcher. He chances a glance at you.

You’re glaring at him, eyebrows knit together in a vicious frown and lips pressed together. He can imagine the kind of thoughts you’re having about him right now. He can practically hear your voice in his head, teasing him mercilessly for missing the ball. Ken gulps. You’re a formidable force of nature, and he does not want to get on your bad side.

Taking a deep breath, Kenji Sato reminds himself of the bet. His life depends on it.

Well, not really. Underneath the veneer of calm, composed, gentlemanly cockiness, Kenji Sato has always had a flair for the dramatics. He remembers what he’s going to ask you if he wins.

He absolutely must win. It’s a matter of life and death.

Strengthening his resolve, Kenji turns back to the pitcher and fixes him with a scowl so intent, it would make any bystander quake in their boots. He can’t wait for this match to end, can’t wait to see your brilliant smile at his victory. He also can’t wait to get back home to Emi and her mother, and his father, and tell them that he’s finally accomplished the one thing he’s been aching for ever since he met you.

When he hits the winning shot, it’s as though Kenji gets tunnel vision. He jogs across the field, giving high-fives to his teammates and shaking hands with the losing team. But he’s not concentrating much; all he can think of is you in his periphery.

He makes his way over to the VIP stand—and nearly keels over, right there, on the soft grass of the pitch.

Your smile is so blinding, it feels like something’s been lit up inside Kenji’s body. 

He slows down, returning your smile. He takes off his helmet and drops it somewhere by his feet. Running a hand through his sweaty hair, he winks at you.

“So,” he says. “What do you think?”

Your grin doesn’t waver even as you insult him affectionately. “I think you’re gross and sweaty and need to take a shower, like, right now.”

“I bust my ass out there to win the stupid trophy and this is what I get as a reward?”

“Congratulations, Ken,” you say softly, sincerity evident in your voice. “You were amazing out there.”

Normally, Kenji would reply with some snarky, arrogant comment. But it’s you, so, instead, he says, “Thank you.”

“I guess I owe you something now, huh?”

He smirks, not unkindly. Elation fills his entire being.

This is it. This is what he played for today.

“I want you,” Kenji says slowly, “to go out on a date with me.”

He waits for your reaction. You gape at him as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your eyes are wide open and your mouth parts slightly. The thought that he’s made an irredeemable, irreversible mistake briefly flashes across his mind.

“Yes, oh my God!”

You fling your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you. The barricade digs into his sternum, but Kenji finds he doesn’t really care, lost in your tight embrace as he is. He wraps his arms around you as comfortably as he can and inhales your scent. Both of you stay that way for a moment, simply indulging in each other. The cheers from the crowds over his win turns into static background noise. All that exists is this: You, him, and the undeniable joy that comes from having your confession being accepted.

Kenji is loath to pull away from you, but the posture soon becomes uncomfortable, and he’s more concerned about you straining some muscle because of him. 

He looks at your face, all sunshine and golden. You’re happy because of him, he thinks. He’s made you happy. What more could he possibly want?

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, bringing his hands up to cup the sides of your face. “Even though I’m all gross and sweaty?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Like that’s gonna stop you.”

“You’re right,” Ken agrees, and then he kisses you.

It’s a burst of colours against his closed eyelids. He feels like a bunch of fireworks have gone off inside his chest, painting every part of him in warmth. Your lips are soft; you taste like breath mints and coffee, and Kenji wants more. He swallows all your gasps with his mouth, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. You clutch the front of his shirt with your hands, like you’re pulling him closer and closer, even though there is no distance to traverse.

It’s heaven.

For all the grudges that Kenji Sato holds against the KDF, he has to admit they can throw a pretty mean party.

He wonders, though, if he’s just in a good mood because your hand is wrapped around his arm.

“Have I ever told you,” you lean forward and whisper into his ear conspiratorially, “that you look incredibly delicious in a suit?”

Kenji chokes on air. You pat his back condescendingly while he splutters. 

Once he recovers, he gives you a onceover (you pretend like he hasn’t been checking you out ever since you entered the venue) and tugs you towards him. “I bet you look even more delicious with that dress of yours off.”

You shiver. Kenji smirks. He’s won the battle for now. Looking around, he spots a familiar face in the crowd. “Ami!” he exclaims, waving at her.

“Hello, Kenji,” the journalist greets him, walking over to you both. 

“Ami,” Kenji says, an infectious sort of excitement in his voice. He looks at you and then back at his friend, a soft smile on his lips. “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

She raises a shrewd eyebrow. “Is it something I can publish?”

“I don’t know, babe,” the baseball player says, turning to you. He doesn’t miss the knowing chuckle Ami directs at him. “Is it?”

“Yes,” you confirm, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you, Ami. I’m Kenji Sato’s girlfriend. Whatever this oaf tells you, don’t believe it. He thinks he won the bet, but it’s really me who won the catch of a lifetime.”

[sereia4skz]

Hi, love your works so much! Congrats on 1k!!

For the 1k event could I request poly!ot8 x brat!reader? Fake texts, Drabble, or one shot, your choice. Thank youuuuu!

1k Followers Event | everything comes to an end?

pairing: poly!straykids x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: group sex, oral, deepthroating, DP, spanking, choking, cum play, overstimulation, brat taming, collaring, petplay elements, cumflation, public teasing

event masterlist: #1kShootingStars

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A.N: I had so much fun with this event. I can't believe it's over... But I will defintely have to revisit the hybrid au for other future projects. I will be openning my asks again soon, dw a blog update will come with. Thank you so much for following along.

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You hadn’t even zipped your suitcase when a soft weight pounced into your open bag.

“Felix,” you groaned, watching the kitten hybrid roll in your clothes like they were made of catnip. “I need to pack that.”

“Mmm…” he purred, headbutting your folded shirts, “But I don’t want you to go…”

His tail curled around your wrist as he blinked up at you, all wide eyes and visible pout.

“It’s not goodbye, sunshine. Just ‘see you soon.’”

That’s when Seungmin passed your door, did a double-take, and growled, “You’re still packing?” The puppy hybrid padded in, immediately grabbing your hoodie and gnawing at the sleeve, trying to pull you away from the suitcase. “I told you to stop making it harder.”

Behind him, Jeongin slipped in uninvited, flopping belly-down across your bed with his tail swishing. “We voted. You’re not allowed to leave.”

“…You what?”

“Democracy,” Jeongin said, clearly lying.

You narrowed your eyes. “That's not how that works?”

“Thats how it works here,” Seungmin muttered, 

“Oh my god.”

You tried to be good, you really did. You gave goodbye cuddles. You kissed Hyunjin’s pout away when he tried to shove himself between you and the front door. You let Changbin bounce in your lap like a bunny on a sugar high and left scratches on Minho’s back when he bent you over the counter 'for closure.'

But now… now, you were naked, sore, and gagged, because someone (read: Chan) had declared that your ‘I’m leaving tomorrow’ tantrum meant you 'wanted attention.'

It's not like you have a flight to catch or anything…

Chan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, shirtless and scenting the wall, you should’ve known you wouldn’t be allowed to leave without a proper goodbye.

"You really thought you could just pack your bags and leave?" he asked, tilting his head. His sharp canines peeked out when he grinned. “Did you ask permission?”

Minho was beside him, eyes sharp, tail flicking. “She didn’t even thank us.”

“For what?” you challenged, chin high, even as Seungmin approached from behind, breath warm on your neck.

“Oh, you’re feeling bratty tonight,” he whispered. “Good. That makes this more fun.”

That’s how you ended up here: flat on your back in the center of the den’s massive mattress, wrists pinned over your head by Jeongin and legs spread wide by a surprisingly rough Changbin. Your clothes were long gone, your body already dripping, and your thighs trembled from being teased by soft kitten licks from Felix and fluttering kisses from Hyunjin’s drama-queen mouth.

“You’re drooling,” Jeongin chuckled from above. “What happened to all that attitude, huh?”

“Still there,” you hissed. “Just waiting for someone worth submitting to.”

The room froze. Hyunjin let out a little gasp. Felix pouted. Minho’s brow twitched.

Then… A sharp, possessive bite sank into the inside of your thigh, Changbin. He nipped you like an angry rabbit before lifting his head. “That mean I can fuck you stupid now?”

Felix purred, crawling up your side, his fingers teasing your nipples. “She likes when we get mean.”

“She likes getting used,” Seungmin growled, finally freeing himself from his shorts and straddling your chest. “You should hear how wet she got when I spat in her mouth earlier.”

“You liked it,” you mumbled. “Said I swallow so pretty.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Seungmin fisted your hair, shoved his cock between your lips, and groaned. “Just like that.”

You tried to respond, and failed because he hit the back of your throat instantly, too thick and hot, his hand guiding you like a toy. He wasn’t rough but the sound of him fucking your mouth had Minho groaning low in his throat.

“I’m gonna mark her tits,” the fox hybrid said casually, stroking himself just above your stomach. “Make sure she leaks us on the plane.”

“If we let her on it,” Minho added, stroking himself too as he leaned over your shoulder. “Could just keep her in a collar.”

Felix was already fastening one around your neck, baby blue, with a delicate gold bell. “There,” he murmured, licking your jaw. “Now you’re ours.”

Hyunjin moaned at the sight. “Can I eat her out now? Please?”

Chan finally moved. You hadn’t even realized he’d stayed back, arms crossed, just watching, but now he was stripping off his sweatpants, cock heavy, tip flushed, eyes gleaming with something feral. 

“She’s not gonna remember her name by the time we’re done.”

Hyunjin slid between your legs first, licking a long stripe up your cunt while Binnie leaned over, rutting gently against your thigh as if he couldn’t help himself.

“She’s soaked,” Hyunjin whined. “Sweet like laundry.”

“She always is,” Felix cooed, trailing kisses down your neck.

You moaned around Seungmin’s cock, then gasped when Minho tugged Seungmin away by the hair.

“Let me fuck her throat before you bust,” the cat hissed. “You know how tight she gets when she’s gagging.”

Seungmin grumbled but moved, just in time for Minho to shove his cock past your lips with no warning.

“Open up,” he snapped. “Show me that bratty mouth’s good for something.”

You obeyed, moaning as he started to thrust, slow but deep, letting his balls slap your chin while your hips squirmed from Hyunjin’s tongue flicking your clit.

Felix mewled. “Sweets, you’re dripping all over my fingers…”

“I can’t wait anymore,” Han groaned from behind. “I need to fuck her.”

“Not yet,” Chan growled. “I go first.” Chan kneeled between your legs, grabbed your thighs, and lined up, not at your pussy, but at your ass, slowly pressing in with a breathy groan. “Tight,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

You choked on Minho’s cock, eyes rolling, body twitching under all the stimulation.

“God, she’s gonna pass out,” Han mumbled.

“Not yet,” Minho said, fisting your hair. “I still haven’t come.”

Felix was still curled at your side, sucking on your nipple while Binnie straddled your waist, grinding against your belly for friction.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Changbin whined. “Your tummy’s so soft.”

“Her mouth too,” Minho muttered, then hisses when you gagged around him. “And so is her fucking throat.”

Han slid in next, stretching your already dripping pussy beside Chan’s cock, fucking you full-full, so tight and thick you couldn’t even beg. Chan thrust deep again, and you whimpered, every hole filled, your body shaking, used, loved, ruined.

“Take it,” Han grunted. “Take it all, baby, just like that.”

“Shit,” Seungmin gasped, stroking himself. “I’m gonna cum on her face—”

“Her tits are mine,” Jeongin muttered, and with a choked groan, he spilled across your chest, streaking your collar and stomach in his release.

Minho followed seconds later, coating your jaw while Seungmin tugged you up by the hair to finish across your cheek.

“Look at her,” Felix whispered. “So pretty covered in us…”

Hyunjin was between your legs again, lapping up the mess from where Chan and Han kept fucking you, slow now, deep, possessive.

“You gonna cum?” Chan asked, lips pressed to your ear.

You nodded frantically.

“Say it.”

“I-I wanna cum! Fuck- please, daddy!”

Everything broke after that.

Felix was sobbing as he painted your stomach with his cum. Binnie came from humping your belly, whining and twitching as Minho grabbed him and kissed him hard. Jeongin licked your lips while Seungmin growled and came all over your tits.

Chan grabbed your jaw, kissed your mouth desperately, and buried himself in your ass with a deep, snarling growl as he came. Han followed, his cock twitching inside your cunt as he groaned your name against your ear.

You blacked out.

When you came to, you were warm, wrapped in limbs, cum leaking out of every hole, someone stroking your hair. Felix. Of course.

“Hi, sugar,” he whispered. “You okay?”

You blinked. Nodded. Barely.

“Think you can leave us now?”

“…No?”

Chan chuckled from somewhere behind you. “Didn’t think so.”

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats

[deprivedshark]

I've been thinking about possible Headcanons (that are probably OOC) For Pure Vanilla Cookie before he got awakened with Reader.

Mentions of: Blowjobs, daddy kink, sub/service top PVC, Amab + Afab reader mention, Mommy kink, Pv likes his tits on Reader. Mentions of Overstimulation, Brief riding mention and facesitting.

Ageless blogs, Minors will be blocked who like and/or Follow.

- I headcanon this dude to be desperate as hell when he's horny. full on grabbing ur hips from behind and looking down to you (If ur shorter) whispering shyly in ur ear.

"M-my flower..could we go to my chambers?..i..i need you..so badly.. It's too hard right now..."

- And if you're taller than him, gosh the view is already arousing itself, watching this innocent looking man staring up at you, while you can visibly see a big dent at his gown (?)

- If you are Amab i can see himself being such a submissive dude. Just laying on the bed like a perfect pillow princess while you're blowing into him like there's no tomorrow.

- No doubt he has some experience with blowjobs, he will go down on u until u can't even produce more cum for the next time he's horny.

"oh my delicious flower...i...i need more..please..your..your cum tastes so good..please can i have more?..~"

- Also no doubt he'll slip out the nickname "Daddy" to you. but honestly who are you to deny him. let him call you that.

- The same if you're Afab, He'll definitely let "mommy" Slide out.

- Speaking of Afabs, He's a tits kinda guy. his favourite thing to do with an Afab reader is to suck on your nipples like a pacifier. he doesn't care what size they are or if ur just straight up flat.

- He'll either lay down on the bed (again) and let u do whatever to him, like riding him, face sitting, Overstimulation, tying him up etcetc.

- If you asked him to dom, i don't think he's gonna go all aggressive (cough unlike burning spice) but rather a slow pace. But if you denied his orgasm for a long time he will be HAMMERING into your pussy.

- No joke this dude will get pussydrunk within the FIRST round y'all are going.

Sharkies note

I kind of was still motivated to write another piece!

Although i want to remind yall AGAIN, if i catch you having no age in your profile you will be blocked and cannot view my content anymore. 💀

[luvsupa]

“PRINCE GOJO?!”

tags: fem!reader x prince! gojo satoru, childhood enemies to lovers (eventually), slow burn, bully!gojo, angst, royalty, lots of tension, smut-ish, kissing, gojos very cocky, there will be multiple parts to this! mdni.

w.c: 2.7k (sorry)

a/n: THANK U ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I had to make a different blog bc my old one @luvsupas was not working :(( so this is my new blog !! (I’ll be reposting the sukuna fics soon)

part 2!

the grand halls of the gojo estate echoed with the quiet elegance of centuries-old tradition. white and blue hues filled the castle, weaving through the curtains and tapestries. each door bore the rich blues of the family crest with gold accents.

this year, the gojos have invited your family to spend the season at the estate—a common occurrence given the close relationship between your families. however, this is the first time they have personally invited you. usually, your parents would spend the warm season at the gojo palace while you remained in your quarters, convincing them each year that you had more important activities to tend to. little did they know of your personal dislike for gojo satoru.

growing up, you and satoru never got along. he always belittled you and excluded you from activities. as you both reached your mid-teens, your bickering became more extreme. he would embarrass you during family dinners and important gatherings. initially, you thought he might have feelings for you until he and his friends humiliated you with a fake confession. just as he leaned in to kiss you, you found yourself pushed into the garden pool, their laughter echoing around you. that day hurt more than any argument you had ever had with him. you felt a sense of freedom when satoru and his family moved estates to a bigger palace, as if the old one wasn’t big enough.

walking behind your parents, you are stopped by the guards who open the double doors to the drawing room. inside, you see satoru’s parents already engaged in conversation, which halts as the doors open. “your majesties,” your parents say as you all bow slightly in respect.

“please, no need for formality!” the queen, satoru’s mother, says, embracing you in a warm hug. her bright blue eyes catch your attention, her royal blue gown making the color pop, similar to satoru’s eyes.

soon, the king, satoru’s father, and your father are deep in their own conversation, while your mother and satoru’s mother catch up, leaving you alone in the gigantic room, observing and listening. you begin to wonder where satoru would be—

“you’ve changed since i last saw you! adulthood suits you well,” satoru’s mother compliments your appearance, interrupting your thoughts. “thank you, your majesty,” you respond, quickly apologizing for the formality at her glare.

“satoru will attend tomorrow’s gala,” she continues, and your ears perk up at his name. “he’s been studying abroad, and it’s perfect timing for his return!” the queen informs you. how did she know you were curious about his whereabouts?

as the conversation winds down, the king informs you all that your rooms are prepared, allowing you to get comfortable in your temporary home.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as night falls and the estate quiets down, you busy yourself unpacking, trying to make your new room feel like your own.

just as you’re almost finished, the grand doors slam, followed by cheers and applause. did i miss the gala? you hurry out of your room, following the noise to the grand staircase. from the top, you see gojo’s parents, guards, and servants clapping—there he is, his tall figure embracing his mother and father, basking in their affection.

quickly and quietly, you retreat, hoping to avoid any interaction with gojo. but on your way back to your room, you bump into your parents. “oh, there you are, darling. we were just looking for you to welcome satoru home!” your mother says, guiding you down the stairs despite your resistance. “i can’t—i’m not dressed in formal attire,” you protest, glancing down at your pajama gown. “nonsense, dear. wear my robe. you must greet him,” your mother insists, wrapping her silk golden robe around you as you descend the steps.

you curse yourself for leaving your room. this cannot be happening. “our little prince, we’ve missed you!” your mother exclaims, nudging you towards satoru. he greets your parents warmly, but when his eyes land on you, his demeanor shifts. he ignores you at first, addressing your parents with practiced charm.

you stand there, awkward and tense, as the one person you despise charms your parents. suddenly, he grabs your hand, his touch both surprising and unwelcome. “it’s been a while, hasn’t it, my lady,” he says with a disingenuous smile, softly kissing your hand. you stand there, slightly pouting, stunned by his audacity. then he leans in, his breath warm against your ear, “did you want me to kiss that pout like before, hmm?” his tone is condescending, followed by a dark chuckle.

you gasp as embarrassment floods your senses, old humiliations resurfacing. you shove him away, and he stumbles back, drawing your mother’s attention. she starts to scold you, but he intervenes smoothly. “don’t worry, it was a playful shove, wasn’t it, my lady?” his blue eyes lock onto yours, and you feel the weight of everyone’s gaze. “i’m sorry, i don’t feel well. goodnight,” you manage to say, rushing up the stairs and into your room, praying for the season to end quickly so you can escape his presence.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as the morning light floods the room, you’re met with bright sun rays directly in your eyes, eliciting a groan of distress. the thought of last night’s events churns your stomach in embarrassment. pushing aside the memories, you get dressed for breakfast to join the mothers calm breakfast outside.

approaching your mother and gojo’s mother, they turn their attention to you, their expressions lighting up with amusement and boosting your ego.

“how beautiful! It’s delightful to have breakfast with you two!” gojo’s mother remarks, her eyes shifting between you and behind your figure. two? your smile fades as you turn to see satoru standing behind you—ego crushed. walking together to the dining table, you take your seats across from each other. how much worse can this morning get?

“we were just discussing the gala happening tonight. this will be good upon arrival, ‘toru,” his mother explains. tou notice his visible annoyance at the nickname. he doesn’t like being called ‘toru—noted. you sit in silence, quietly eating the food prepared by the hardworking chefs. just as you’re enjoying your meal, you hear an obnoxious squeal, “my prince! you’re finally back!” all four of you turn towards the noise. a beautiful tanned skinned woman draped in a lilac gown, runs towards your table as her maid struggles to keep up.

you watch her movements, as she runs straight to satoru, tears filling her eyes. she jumps into his lap, smothering him with kisses. the entire scene makes you wish you had never attended. without any shame, they engage in a heated make-out session in front of everyone. satoru opens his eyes to see your visible shock as he smiles into the kiss, while still maintaining eye contact with you.

the queen coughs, breaking the moment. the unknown woman apologizes to the queen without looking, maintaining her gaze on satoru. “ruru, I missed you so much! we should go up to your quarters soon,” she whispers, but unfortunately, you hear. “ayana, that’s enough. my mother was discussing the gala tonight,” satoru replies, disregarding her request as she pouts. so that’s her name.

“hello, your majesty. I apologize for my behavior; I haven’t seen satoru in so long!” ayana formally apologizes to the queen and everyone who had to witness that display. gojo adjusts her position, propping her up on his lap with her back against his chest. as gojo’s mother looks annoyed from the interruption, but she continues where she left off.

as breakfast continues, you try to focus on the discussion about the ball, but it’s impossible to ignore the tension radiating from across the table. satoru’s voice is low, murmuring something to ayana that makes her giggle. your curiosity piqued, you glance up- and nearly choke on your food.

satorus hand is shamelessly sliding up ayana’s thigh, disappearing beneath her dress. her breath hitches, a soft gasp escaping her lips but her eyes are locked onto you. he’s doing this on purpose, you realize. the sick twist in your stomach intensifying. he continues fingering her under the table as she’s holding back from releasing a loud moan, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches your reaction.

your heart pounds in your chest as he continues his sinful acts publicly. you abrubtly push your chair back, catching the attention from everyone as you quickly excuse yourself, standing up on shaky legs. satorus eyes follow you, a triumphant gleam as ayana clings to him, her giggles haunting you as it echos in your ears.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

you’re getting ready for the long-awaited ball, adorned in a gown that perfectly complements your skin tone. as you make your way to the drawing room, you realize you're ready before anyone else, which allows you to kill time and explore the estate. eventually, you find yourself in the grand library, which is far larger than you anticipated. a beautiful fireplace is placed near a cluster of chairs, offering a cozy spot for reading. browsing the bookshelves, you find yourself drawn to scientific novels that capture your interest.

“library’s not your usual scene, sweetheart. did you get lost on the way to the ballroom, or are you trying to impress me with your newfound scholarly interest?”

you quickly turn around at the voice. great. “trying to impress you? I have better things to do than seek validation from someone like you,” you spit back. he steps closer to you, and you already hate the proximity between you two.

“feisty, aren’t we?” he continues to walk closer, both of you now toe-to-toe as you look up at him, his towering presence looming over you. “you’re still the same girl I used to taunt,” he mocks with a fake pout, his voice dripping in condescension.

he closes the space between you, his warmth radiating off his body as you inhale his rich, masculine scent. “used to follow me around like a lost puppy—always trailing around, desperate for my attention. how pathetic.”

your jaw clenches with frustration, but you refuse to show him how much his words affect you. “maybe I did back then,” you retort, your tone laced with defiance. “but that was long ago. I see you exactly for who you are, satoru—someone who gets off on belittling others.”

his laughter rings out, grating on your nerves. he leans in, your faces dangerously close, your lips almost touching. “am I now?” he smirks, a look you want to slap off his face. “but deep down, you still crave my attention, don’t you? admit it, darling.”

his eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, and you’re betraying yourself- slowly leaning in to kiss someone you so desperately hate—

“ruru! where are you? I hope you’re dressed!”

you’re the first to move back, breaking whatever spell he had you under. you look up at him in fear, while he looks at you with amusement. he has you wrapped around his finger, and you both know it. with a final smirk, he leaves to find ayana, leaving you alone in the library with so much to process.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as you composed yourself and caught a breather, you exited the library and made your way to the ball room. the grand space was adorned with vintage antiques, paintings, a live orchestra, and all the opulence one would expect from a gojo event. the ballroom teemed with more people than you anticipated, their gowns and suits a beautiful contrast against the castle backdrop.

feeling nervous, you scanned the room, seeing your parents conversing with the king and queen. the refreshment bar catches your attention and make your way to the bar as you help yourself to a cool drink. suddenly, you felt a presence too close for comfort behind you. turning, you see ayana.

“you’re ruru’s friend, right?” she said, eyeing you up and down.

“ehh, I wouldn’t really say—" you began, but she cut you off.

“well, he’s told me so much about you! especially before he started his studies!” she informed you, causing your heart to skip a beat. he talks about me? “ahh good things I hope,” you reply with an awkward chuckle at the end.

“good? oh no, honey! he was always telling us how obnoxious you were, driven by your hopeless feelings for him,” she continued with a smirk.

oh.

“I’m very amazed at how you still came to see him despite your little feelings. after all, him and I are together,” she said, trying to flaunt her status. your mood shifted, and the desire to leave resurfaced. she rambled on, recounting embarrassing moments you wished were never brought up, as you zoned out of her relentless gossip. suddenly, your conversation was abruptly interrupted. finally.

“ladies and gentlemen,” one of the guards loudly caught everyone’s attention, silencing the room. “welcome back your prince, gojo satoru.”

as corny as it could get, gojo walked in with full confidence, the center of attention as the room filled with cheers and clapped for his arrival. internally scoffing, you discreetly made your way to the doors leading to one of the gardens, exiting the ballroom to avoid his speech.

taking in the scenery of the fountain and lush greenery, the orchestra continued playing, indicating gojo had finished his welcome speech. “not interested in what I have to say?” an annoying voice pierced through from your peripheral vision. you were so fed up with the past events that you just stared at him in annoyance.

“what troubles you, darling? do you seek my attention now?” his voice dripped with a sly undertone, causing your jaw to clench in frustration.

“I’ll see you inside, prince gojo,” you replied through gritted teeth, your tone dripping with bitterness. with a curt nod, you turned away, walking back to the ballroom, leaving gojo stunned for the first time—not by you leaving him alone, but by addressing him with such formality. it was always satoru.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

part 2!

[ramp-it-up]

Muse: Four

Muse Three | Muse Masterlist | Muse Five

Summary: This is the one. The one where decisions are made. Words are said. The end or the beginning of you and Ari.

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader

Word count: 3 K

A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 . This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. If this drabble makes you angry, let me know! I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Angst. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, Dominant Ari, Missed connections, yearning, the green eyed monster, late night confessions, oral (f recieving), fingering, hint of breeding kink, size kink, nipple obsession, nipple play, protected sex, the 'L' word (finally).

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

Two days later, you were shooting inside one of the most beautiful spaces you’d ever worked in. It was a gallery so beautiful it felt dangerous ot breathe. A curated reverence hung in the air, the kind that made you instinctively speak softer and move slower.

But you were on edge, because you hadn’t known the shoot would be here. 

No one had said Red Sea Gallery. The one owned by Ari Levinson. Just: White walls, natural light. Tribeca-adjacent. Minimal set.

When you put the address your agent sent you into your maps app and the name popped up, you were gobsmacked. You tried to prepare yourself in the two hours notice you had before the shoot, but you weren’t.

There were the standard issue floor-to-ceiling windows, along with the scent of clean wood, old paint, and history. What was unexpected was the way the afternoon light struck a sculpture in the corner, a piece too raw to be just decoration or inventory. 

It was too intimate not to notice.

You stared at it, knowing that he had chosen it, and how much more you understood about Ari because of it. There was something about the shape of the metal, the tension in the curve, the heat in the cold material. It was alive somehow.

It was you come undone.

Your stylist, Misty, snapped her fingers. 

“Hey. Earth to supermodel. Time to get into look number three.”

You nodded, throat dry. “Right. Sorry.”

But as you changed in the makeshift dressing area, pulling silk up over your hips, you couldn’t stop staring at the sculpture.

Couldn’t stop feeling him.

Ari had studied your face in the dark, and he’d whispered, “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Yeah. Well, you fucking knew now.

You posed for the camera like everything was fine. Hip cocked, chin high, face set to neutral.

But inside, everything churned.

And then, you saw a flicker out of the corner of your eye. You turned your head just in time to catch a shadow slipping past the far end of the gallery. The figure was tall and broad with a confident stride. 

Ari.

You didn’t need to see his face.

Your heart rate spiked, your skin prickled, and your body betrayed you all over again. But by the time you crossed the floor barefoot and barely covered, the hallway was empty.

He was gone, just a ghost of cologne in the air.

The photographer called your name.

You turned back slowly, with one last glance at the metal sculpture, gazing at the raw emotion rendered in steel.

You hadn’t spoken to Ari in days.

He hadn’t texted. You hadn’t called.

And still, the city kept folding you into each other’s orbits.

Near.

But not enough.

—----

Ari hadn’t meant to stay, it was going to just be a fifteen-minute walkthrough before tomorrow’s showing, nothing more. But the moment he heard the shutter snap and then heard your laugh, Ari stopped breathing.

He knew that you were here in his gallery and in his world. That world tilted a little bit.

His adrenaline spiked as he ducked into the shadows between exhibits, watching you from there. You were barefoot, bare-shouldered and bathed in golden light, wearing a gown that clung to your body like a second skin.

You were fucking good at your job, and Ari was witnessing first hand the work that went into producing those gorgeous pictures. You were professional and poised, but he knew the passion that lay underneath.

Ari’s fingers became fists at his sides because he had touched that fire, he’d tasted it. And now, all he could do was watch as he starved for you, every nerve stretched thin, every breath hard to take.

It had been days, not weeks or months, but he felt too long deprived of the sight of you. Even though he’d decided not to contact you again after that night that felt like war.

You turned slightly, your hips angled, one hand at your waist, and the light hit you just right. Like you’d been lit by God himself.

Those lips. That jaw. That hourglass silhouette that curved into him like a puzzle piece, you were amazing.

His hands had memorized every inch of that body, but at the moment he couldn’t move to touch you, couldn’t speak to you, couldn’t even fucking blink your image out of his brain.

The photographer said something about “more edge,” and you smirked, dropping your chin just enough to make mischief with your gaze.

It wasn’t meant for Ari. But fuck, he felt it. 

Ari stayed in the shadows just long enough to carve your image into his bloodstream.

Then he turned and left, silently bleeding for you.

—--

You weren’t trying to be on your phone, but it buzzed three drinks deep at some rooftop party, where the music was loud and the faces were blurred by flash and too much champagne. 

The second your screen lit up, you sensed it.

A DM. Then another. You tapped through. And there he was.

Ari Levinson. Black sweater. Cocky smile. Calm, cool, and collected.

A woman with mile-long legs and too much lip gloss draped herself over him, laughing into his shoulder in the boomerang video.

Made so you could watch it over and over again.

Ari didn’t touch her; he barely looked at her. But he didn’t move away either. 

And that was enough.

You locked your phone, shoved it under your thigh, forcing your lips into a smile when your friend slid another drink your way.

“You good?”

You lied. “Peachy.”

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t own him. You didn’t even call him yours.

But all you could see was him, the man who once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name.

The man who made you feel.

And now he was somewhere else and you were losing your mind in an Uber home, crafting and deleting half a dozen texts you’d never send.

you looked good tonight

Delete.

was she worth it?

Delete.

i can't stop thinking about your mouth

Delete. Delete. Delete.

—--

Ari left that rooftop party ten minutes after that girl posted him.

He didn’t even say goodbye because he hadn’t wanted to be there. He hadn’t wanted anyone but you. And when he saw your name light up his notifications, saw that you’d watched, well shit, it made him feel sick.

Because he knew what you’d think, and it wasn’t the truth. The truth was you were already under his skin; you were already it for him.

He didn't know why that was so important to him, but it was.

You were.

—-

The knock came at 1:42 a.m.

You were scared, because you knew it was someone who could hurt you.

You knew it was Ari.

You padded barefoot to the door, one hand trembling against the wood as you peeked through the peephole. Ari was there in a Tribeca Festival hoodie, his hands deep in his pockets and his jaw tight.

You opened the door and didn’t say a word. Neither did he. For a moment, the city noise poured in behind him and then you stepped back.

He walked in like he was home. And you let him.

—--

You didn’t speak.

Just closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t shown up at nearly two am with that whole brooding/penitent thing going on.

You opened the fridge, poured a glass of water and sipped. You should have been an actress.

Ari stayed where he was, near the door, hoodie pushed back, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.

You didn’t spare him a glance.

“Thought you were busy tonight,” you said evenly.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I was,” he said finally.

You set the glass down, still not looking at him.

“Saw the party,” you added. “Looked like fun.”

Nothing in your tone gave you away. Not the way your chest was tight, not the sting behind your eyes, not the taste of jealousy in your mouth.

"Didn’t stay long," he said finally.

The laugh that escaped you was bitter and broken.

"Long enough."

You turned, and there he was, suddenly in front of you, so close you could feel his heat.

"You were watching," he said quietly.

You glared up at him.

"Is that why you’re here? Because I saw?"

"I’m here because the second I saw your name on that story, I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe."

You stared at him and saw that he wasn’t untouched. He wasn’t fine. He was fucking wrecked.

"You think you know what I’m feeling?" you said, voice cracking.

"I know exactly what you’re feeling," he said, "because it’s the same thing I’m feeling."

The words landed because they were true. Because he was the one person who saw through all your practiced detachment and soft cruelty. Even after so little time.

It was lightning in the bottle, finding the one who looked at you, read your bullshit and still wanted more. On a dating app no less.

Fuck your life.

You walked past him toward the couch, brushing too close on purpose. 

“You think you know me,” you said, sitting down and crossing your legs slowly.

“But I don’t own you Ari. You're free to do what you want. And she looked like a good time.”

You shrugged.

“You showing up somewhere with her is none of my business.”

Ari bristled.

“I didn’t show up with her. I went alone. I left alone.”

You blinked as he crouched in front of you, his hands on the edge of the cushion, one knee brushing your thigh.

“And I’m here now. With you. Because all I could think about was you sitting here, alone. Wondering what it meant. Wondering if I was fucking her. Wondering if I’d moved on.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He reached up, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I haven’t. I can’t. You’re in my fucking bloodstream," Ari said.

"And I can’t rip you out."

He bent and pressed his forehead to your knee and just breathed.

Your fingers hovered above his head for one breath. Then two. And then you gave in. They slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and his whole body tensed, like he hadn’t expected you to touch him, like he was braced for a shove instead of tenderness.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when your hand tightened, just slightly, he looked up.

Those eyes. God, those eyes. Those eyes gutted you the way they looked at you like you were the one who might disappear if he blinked.

You leaned in just enough to make him meet you halfway. And when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t greedy.

It was devastating. You couldn't pretend any more.

You broke the kiss only to whisper, “I hated seeing you with her.”

His head dropped, breath ragged against your knee.

“I didn’t touch her,” he rasped. “I haven’t touched anyone.”

You tilted his chin up. “Why?”

His answer came without hesitation. 

“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head. When I look, I can’t see anyone else but you. I don't want anyone else."

That was when you lost it. The dam broke. You grabbed his hair, dragging his mouth to yours. 

The kiss wasn't sweet. It was needy. It was desperate. Your teeth, hands, and mouths were ferocious, and still, it wasn’t enough; it would never be enough.

"Tell me you hate me," he whispered against your mouth.

You kissed him harder.

"Tell me you don’t feel this."

You gasped, "I can’t."

You kissed him again.

"I don’t want to feel anything.” 

“I know.”

“And I still fucking do.”

“I know that too.”

Ari groaned against your lips, the sound low and primal, and it shot straight through you. His hand found the hem of your tank top and found the warm skin underneath.

You shuddered and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him closer and when the kiss broke and you gasped for air, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"You are so fucking stubborn," he whispered.

"I know," you rasped.

His hand slid up your ribcage and weighed your breast, thumb tracing your areola.

"Still want you," he said. "Even when it hurts."

He pinched your nipple to emphasize his point. You grabbed his jaw, palm dragging over his beard.

"Show me," you whispered.

Ari groaned and peeled your top over your head with shaking hands, tossing it somewhere neither of you cared about. You stripped his hoodie and t-shirt off too, tugging him closer by his broad shoulders, breathing him in, burying your face in his throat for one dizzying second.

Ari turned and sat on the couch, lifting you onto his lap. Your knees sunk into the cushions on beside his thighs and your bodies crashed together. He kissed down your throat, stopping at your pounding pulse to bite down gently. And when you felt the huge ridge of his cock through his jeans, you moaned helplessly.

"You drive me insane," he  whispered into your skin.

“Can’t fucking breathe without thinking about you."

You whimpered and arched into his touch while his thumbs circled your nipples until you were gasping in his lap.

"Ari," you moaned.

He kissed every inch of you he could reach.

"I’m here," he said. "I’m right here."

He carried you up to your bedroom, and the way he looked at you when he laid you on your bed made your heart ache. When he slid your panties down your legs, he kissed the inside of your ankle, then your calf, your knee, working his way up your body like he had all the time in the world.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and whimpered when he kissed between your thighs.

"Need to taste you," Ari stated. And then he did.

His tongue licked into you as his hands pinned your hips down when you tried to buck them up into his face, feeling like a desperate slut for him. Ari was an expert at making you feel good; his tongue was perfect on your clit and licking inside your folds, and his fingers fucked you open, lighting you up from the inside out, over and over, until you were a trembling, trembling, moaning mess under him.

You came hard, gasping his name, nails clawing at the sheets, and he didn’t stop tasting you until you came down. Then, he kissed up your body, planting open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, and your throat.

At this point you were beyond feral, and you yanked at his jeans, needing more, needing him. He stripped them off, pushed his boxers down, and there he was, thick, hard, beautiful, aching, and dripping for you.

"Condom," you panted.

"Fuck…. Okay, yeah."

He scrambled for his jeans, hands shaking, and you couldn’t help but smile; wild and wrecked looked good on him. He rolled it on, kissed you again and then he guided the broad tip of his cock to your snug, slippery entrance and eased inside you.

You both gasped. He was so fucking big. Ari destroyed you so good.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything. All the denial. All the want. All the feelings. It all combined to have your cunt slowly pulsing around him already.

Once fully inside you, he stayed still, forehead pressed to yours, giving you, and himself, time.

"You good?" he whispered, his voice wavering as your cunt pulsed around him. He was so close already.

It had never been like this.

The question was strange. He'd never cared this much while he was fucking you. But this time, it wasn’t just fucking.

You nodded, eyes burning.

"Move," you said.

And he rocked into you slowly at first, like he was savoring every second. You clung to him, nails dragging down his back, thighs tightening around his waist, making involuntary whimpers and ragged gasps.

His fingers glided over your clit and the pleasure exploded in a rich, crazy rush.

"Ari," you sobbed.

"I know, Baby," he panted against your neck. "I know. Feels so damn good."

He kissed your jaw, your temple, and your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. You rode his thick cock as his fingers spun your climax higher and higher as you tipped over the precipice again, crying out, your cunt locking down around him.

He groaned and thrust harder, losing control. It was the quickest he would ever come with you.

"Can’t…fuck…can't hold on..." he gasped.

You grabbed his face, made him look at you.

"Come inside me," you whispered. "Please."

This wasn't about the condom. It was the sentiment.

Ari's brain blanked, his whole body shuddered, and he buried his face against your throat and let go, hips jerking, mouth open in a silent cry.

You held him through it. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just stayed pressed against you, still inside you, breathing hard.

"Don’t leave," you whispered into his hair.

He made a broken sound,  half a laugh, half a sob.

"I’m not going anywhere, Muse." he said.

"Not anymore."

—---

You woke tangled in Ari, your cheek pressed to his bare chest, his arm heavy across your waist, his breath steady against your hair. For a second, you just laid there, afraid to move. But then, his fingers moved up and down the curve of your spine.

You swallowed hard and shifted slightly, feeling him stir against you, realizing that he was hard again.

God, you were wrecked for him. Beyond reason. And beyond pride.

You tilted your head back to look at him, and saw that he was already awake, watching you. You opened your mouth to say something, something stupid. Something defensive. 

To make a joke. To make it light. To pretend it didn’t mean everything. But Ari beat you to it. 

His voice was rough with warning.

“Don’t run from me.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command.

Your chest hurt because God, you wanted to run.

It would be safer. Easier. But you couldn’t run from him anymore.

You dragged your hand up his chest, feeling the rough patch of hair and the steady thump of his heart.

“You make it really fucking hard to breathe,” you whispered.

Ari smiled and kissed the corner of your mouth. Your cheekbone. Your eyelid.

And then he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, keeping you locked against him as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, breathing him instead of air.

And then he said it, the words that split the world wide open.

“I’m in love with you.”

Like it was simple. Like you could just say shit like that.

You froze.

But he didn’t flinch, backpedal, or give you a single out. He just held you.

Like what he’d just said wasn’t terrifying.

And now you were crying, hot rivulets of your tears running down his neck.

You pulled back just enough to see his beautiful, stubborn, stupid face, and you gave him the only thing you had left.

You whispered it back, trembling and scared.

“I’m in love with you too.”

-----

oh. my. god. wbu?

Muse Five

[girlyassumes]

Repetitively affirming isn't necessary

I need this reminder, and you might need it, too. A lot of coaches and content creators pitch the idea of repeating affirmations to saturate and help reprogram your mind. I've done it for a couple of manifestations now and it can definitely help, which is why I've talked about it here on my blog. However, when you're doing it so frequently, it can feel tiring, like you're experiencing burnout. I know this because I myself have been experiencing it lately and realized that this is definitely not how I'm supposed to feel.

Think of all the times you've made a decision, only stated it one time, and then it came to fruition. Or how you might've rampaged for only 5 minutes and then you manifested what you wanted. There's already proof that you don't have to repeat your affirmations over and over to get what you want. And, if you're like me and feeling burnt out from ridiculous amounts of repetition, then stop yourself. Whether you're doing it in your mind, scripting a lot, etc, slow down if it's causing you stress and burnout. Because, again, that is not how it's supposed to feel.

Looking at my successes, both big and small, I've noticed it didn't come from affirming over and over again, weeks on end. It came from being in a state of confidence and convincing myself that I already had what I wanted, not worrying and stressing that it's not something I have yet. I am very guilty of stressing myself out with one of my seemingly bigger manifestations, which absolutely sucks but it can happen when it feels like a big leap and you feel it needs to show up in a short period of time. There can also be underlying feelings that you might not be catching onto to, like, doubtfulness, disbelief, unworthiness, etc. These feelings might be subconsciously manifesting themselves into your present state, making it feel harder and more stressful for you. I know damn well because I've put myself through it.

So then, what's the solution? Well, we have to dodge those doubts and what circumstances are being thrown at us, because those doubts and insecurities are what's causing problems in the first place. Affirm when you're experiencing feelings of doubtfulness, disbelief, and stress. You don't have to constantly affirm like there's no tomorrow. Affirming is here to keep you in that positive, wish fulfilled state. It's here to remind you that you already have what you want, no matter what your 3D reality is trying to push. View affirmations as your safety net, not what you constantly need to do in order to get your manifestation. Techniques (like repetitive affirming) are there to assist; they're not requirements for you to get what you want. If repetitively affirming helps, then do it. But, from my own experience, I've done it too much at times and it fried my brain.

I cannot stress enough, LOA works paradoxically when it comes to timing and how it shows up. When we pressure ourselves too much on time, it'll slow down the manifestation from showing up. It's a form of acting as if it's not already ours. Don't say things like, "If I don't get this thing in [x] amount of time, it's not mine." or "Law of assumption doesn't work if I don't get it within the period of time I want it." That is doubt. Time - including timelines like the past and future - is something made up by society. Time is an illusion, as crazy as that sounds. If you take your focus off of it, it'll relieve so much stress and make your manifestation show up quicker. You also don't focus on how you'll get it because, again, there are infinite ways your manifestation can make its way to you. That is not for you to worry about. The action of manifesting is simply putting it out there that it's yours, not repetitively affirming, focusing on time, etc. Manifesting isn't a process - it's a simple action we take.

Something that relieves me - who's a worrywart and overthinker - is reminding myself that manifestation is 100% guaranteed to happen. Think of it like riding a mechanical bull at the bar. It's supposed to be fun and the object of it is to hang onto it without falling off. View the bull as what you're manifesting. You've gotta hold onto that bull and not lose your grip. If you stress about it and lose your grip, it knocks you off of it. But guess what? Even if you do, you can hop right back onto that bull and get a better grip on it. The only way you won't win a mechanical bull ride competition is if you say, "I give up" and don't try again. So, what I'm saying is that wavering is okay - it happens to all of us. But don't think it'll stop you from getting what you want and that you can't pick yourself back up just because you knocked yourself down. You. Cannot. Fail. At. Manifesting.

Also understand that if you tell yourself, "I'll just keep living life like I had been before I knew about law of assumption," things won't change or they won't necessarily improve. You are always manifesting, and when you do things like complain or let insecurities get to you, you'll subconsciously manifest things that are unfavorable. If you feel burnt out or stressed, understand that it's not because the thing you want isn't meant for you or that you're doing something wrong, it's you thinking from the state of "I don't have it" and forcing techniques onto yourself that aren't helping you. Don't put pressure on yourself and do something that brings you to a better state of mind, even if it's as simple as doing a hobby you enjoy.

Also keep in mind that there are times where manifesting change may feel uncomfortable because you're shifting your reality to one that you aren't used to. But realize you want that change because you noticed something in your life that's lacking; something that's making you unhappy. Ask yourself: Do you want to keep living the life you've been living without seeing any change or do you want to improve your life even if you experience feelings of discomfort for a short period of time? You decide. You're the operant power and can change your life for the better just by making a simple decision.

[bookshelf-dust]

kiss it better

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3,176

warnings: swearing, sick fic (sorta), steve not taking care of himself, anxiety, stress, mental breakdown?, best friends to lovers deal (let me know if i missed something)

a/n: hi! it’s been awhile. i’m sorry about that. this has been a very slow process for me. my mental health is shit, and that’s probably obvious. i hope it hasn’t seeped into this too much, but it probably will with the next few things i write. i apologize for taking so long to post, for disappearing, for not really making this the blog it once was. but i’m not the same person i was then. so we’ll see where this goes. i hope you enjoy this one a little. i love you.

————

The shrill sound of a phone ringing scares you awake, eyes flying open, heart pounding so aggressively you fear for a split second that it might burst. 

You sit up quickly, enough so that you make yourself dizzy trying to get your bearings. You roll onto your side, and reach blindly across the edge of your nightstand, grabbing for the green plastic that’s shaking with the force of which it’s ringing. 

You almost fall out of bed, just managing to catch yourself as you bring the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?”

Your voice comes out weak, thick with sleep and the longing for more rest. It startles you and makes you clear your throat. 

“Hey, it’s me.”

The voice on the other line is even weaker than your own. It’s quiet.

“Steve?”

Your eyes find the alarm clock on your dresser, bright red letters telling you it’s just after one in the morning. You might be half-asleep, but you’re conscious enough that your heart rate picks up, registering that this isn’t when your best friend normally calls. 

You hear him breathe, along with some shuffling. He’s nodding his head, but realizes you can’t see. 

“Yeah. Listen,” he drags a shaking hand down his face. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

He goes quiet for a moment, but you wait patiently for him to continue. He must be trying to get something out, and you don’t want to pressure him, or cause him stress in any way. 

Steve huffs, frustrated with himself. 

“I-I’ve got an insane headache, and we’re out of goddamn medicine. My parents were here, and my mom was hungover and I guess she must’ve emptied us out, but it hurts too bad to drive, and…” He trails off, breathing heavily. 

His pause lends you a moment to process, and you decide to speak up. If his head is killing him, you know finding the energy to speak to you, let alone call, has to be draining. You wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already is. 

“Stevie?” you start, happy to hear a small hum that encourages you to go on. He registers what you’ve called him, something you don’t call him often, and his chest aches. “I’ve got some I can bring you. I think all the drugstores nearby are closed.” 

You swing your legs out from under the covers, pushing yourself off the mattress. Pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you pull on the pair of sweats slung over the end of your bed, trying not to bust your ass as you hop into them. 

“Is anything else hurting you?” you ask, gently as can be. 

“Honestly?” he responds. “I think I’m sick. I can’t be sick, can I?”

You stand upright once again, taking the phone firmly in your hand. 

“I think even King Steve can get sick from time to time. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

————

Steve’s not sure you understand him. He can’t be sick. He’s got shit to do. He has a shift tomorrow, and he’s pretty sure Dustin needs a ride one day this week because Claudia is on a “girls trip.” He has to keep working on his college essay, because he’d told you he was almost done, but really he isn’t. 

Steve doesn’t have the time to be sick. And he can’t have you ruining your own schedule to come and babysit him. He’s supposed to be the babysitter. Not the charge. 

He should be able to take care of himself, but of course, the one time his parents come home they clean out his mediocre supply of medicine. Something he’s always stocked up on, given his tendency to get the shit beat out of him, or the nasty string of tension headaches that just won’t quit. 

And his head is killing him. He has his palms pressed to his temples, trying (and failing) to dull the ache. There aren’t any lights on in the kitchen, where he’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the cabinets. 

He’s trying not to move too much either, because he’s dizzy. This probably has to do with the fact that he skipped dinner, feeling too nauseous to eat. Now that Steve is hungry, he fears he won’t be able to get up and fix anything. 

Maybe you’ll be able to help, he thinks. But that voice is quick with a counter argument. No. I need to do it. 

He perks up at the sound of the front door opening. “Steve?” you call out, careful not to slam the door or yell too loud. It’s also why you hadn’t rung the doorbell. 

Steve raps his knuckles softly against the countertop, hoping it’ll be enough to clue you in. He can’t bring himself to shout right now. You follow the sound, taking the few steps toward the kitchen. 

When your eyes lock on his figure, see the way the heels of his hands press into his eyes, you realize how young he looks. He almost looks small, legs pulled up to his chest, big, lanky body compacted as much as possible. He looks vulnerable. You’re sure he hates that. 

“Hi, Steve,” you say, keeping your voice low. 

He looks up at you, and his face splits into a sweet grin. He’s happy that you’re here, even if that voice is screaming at him, wanting to punish him for asking for help. 

“Hey, honey.” You smile back at him, and his heart rate picks up. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful you are, and then you’re standing in front of him, snatching every last breath from his lungs. 

You set your bag down beside him and reach out, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He feels a little warm, but not feverishly so. 

You move away from him, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. You fill it up with water and crouch at his side. Steve takes the glass from you, head resting against the cabinet to watch as you grab him some medicine. You hand him a few pills, and he takes them quickly. If he doesn’t get this headache calmed down soon, he thinks he might just die. 

Steve keeps drinking the water you gave him, and you push his hair back again, watching the way it curls around his ears. 

He drinks about half of the water before he pauses, taking a deep breath. He looks at you then. It’s mostly dark in the kitchen, but the lamp on the table by the front door is on, so you’re a little backlit from it. Not to mention the moonlight seeping in from the window above the sink.

You look gorgeous. And you came over to take care of him. You got up, at one in the morning, and drove to his house, just because he asked you to. Hell, he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t gotten the words out. But you’d known. You’d known exactly what he was trying to ask, and you’d offered your help with no qualms. 

Steve’s nose starts to sting, and that pressure from behind his eyes—it starts to release. Before he knows it, his vision is getting cloudy, and he’s crying. He can’t be crying, can he? 

You carefully remove the glass from his hand and move in between his spread knees. 

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m gonna take top notch care of you.” 

“I know you are,” he says, voice breaking. “But I should be able to do it myself. I always do it myself.” He presses his hands against his face, but you catch his wrists and gently pull them away. 

You hold your arms out, and Steve practically falls into you. He buries his face in your neck. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the cotton of your sleep shirt. You smell like soap, that fancy conditioner you use. 

One of your hands finds the base of his neck, nails scratching gently over his scalp, thumb dragging over the top of his spine. Your other rubs soothingly up and down his back. 

“But the thing is, Stevie, you don’t have to.” 

He’s not a loud crier. But he is sort of panicky, breaths coming quick and short, chest heaving against your own. “I know you’ve always had to do a lot by yourself, but you can ask for help, and you don’t have to punish yourself for it, either.”

You feel him nod against your collarbone. His hands are fisting the back of your shirt. Eventually, he pulls away, but keeps his eyes closed. He tries to keep his head turned from your gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, lashes clumped together and lips parted where he tries to suck in a good deep breath. 

You reach up, fingers gently sweeping away the remainder of the tears on his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his forehead. You’ve never done that before.

Steve recognizes that you’ve never done it before, even if it’s sort of fuzzy. Sure, he’s kissed the back of your hand and you’ve reciprocated, but he’s usually the one to initiate physical affection. You’re too shy most often, even if you ache to do it. 

Fuck, he wishes he were a little more coherent right now. 

“Can you stand for me? It’s late, and I think you need to rest.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Now that he’s thinking about it, getting in bed sounds so nice. 

You stand first, and watch as Steve pushes off the floor, gripping the countertop on the way up to steady himself. 

“Come on. The stairs are gonna be a pain.”

He reaches out for you, and you let him take your arm. He pads out to the staircase, and you watch each precarious step he takes, hoping he won’t get too woozy and trip. 

By the time he finally makes it up there, he’s wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face between your shoulder blades. You soften beneath his hold. 

You walk slowly towards his bedroom, and he waddles behind you. You push the door open. “M’kay, Steve. Wanna change clothes and hop into bed?” 

He pulls off of you and grabs hold of his dresser. “I’m not givin’ you a free show.”

You snort. “I’ll go get some more water and be right back.”

His grin fades. “Please be fast.” He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to leave him. 

“Steve, I’m practically The Flash.”

He laughs, pulling a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the drawer. Usually he’d sleep in less, but with you here he feels he should keep his modesty.

When you return, he takes the water from you, drinking it faster than he probably should. Steve feels like he’s had the shit beat out of him, and for once—he hasn’t. 

You’d sat down on the edge of the bed, not noticing the way he’s staring at you. You look up when he sets the glass down. He drags both hands down his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He exhales. “I want you to stay here with me, but I don’t want you to get sick. The idea of you being on the couch, which is like, miles away, is driving me insane.”

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Can’t I just sleep on the futon?”

His eyes move towards the other side of his room where said piece of furniture is pressed against the wall. He’d bought it when group sleepovers became a thing after all they’d dealt with. Jesus, his brain really isn’t working. 

“Oh. Yeah, honey. Just don’t want you to go far.” 

You lean forward and push his hair back from his forehead. You’ll need to remember to take his temperature come morning.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I promise. Not until you’re all better.”

————

When Steve wakes up, you’re not there. He starts to panic, thinking maybe he’d been too much, maybe he’d shown you a side of himself he shouldn’t have, that maybe you left. 

But you return to his room just as he’s about to start looking for you. There’s a thermometer in your hand. 

“Morning, sleepy boy. Are you coherent enough for me to check your temperature? Or no?”

He yanks the covers off of himself, and his shirt has ridden up. You catch a sliver of tummy before he sits up fully, and you miss it the second it’s gone. 

“Hit me, I can take it.”

You roll your eyes but stick the thermometer under his tongue when he opens his mouth. When you pull it away, you’re happy to see he hasn’t got a fever. He was warm last night when you kissed his forehead, but you’re thinking it was from stress or just overheating. 

“No fever. What’s buggin’ you today, Stevie?”

He flops onto his back, and his shirt rides up again. You mentally slap yourself for being so enamored by it. All your brain can compute is tummy. Steve’s tummy. “My head still, and my stomach. I feel like I haven’t slept in four years.”

His words snap you out of your reverie. “Four years? That’s incredible. When’s the last time you ate something?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, though it looks as if there isn’t a single thought behind his eyes. “Yesterday…morning. I think. Yeah, I had a banana.”

You stare back, rather appalled at his statement. “Steve.”

“Hm?”

“All you’ve had to eat in the past twenty four hours is a banana?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus christ. Get your ass up and come with me.”

Steve doesn’t move. Rather he watches you move, right out the door and towards the top of the stairs. You pause and turn around, crossing your arms. 

He huffs. And then he slides down the side of the bed like a child before crawling up and following you to the kitchen. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you manage to get Steve to eat, shower, and go for a short walk, weather permitting and all. He’s looking astronomically better than he did last night. 

Steve sits opposite you on the couch, his socked feet in your lap. “What do you think my deal is?”

You rub your hand over his calf. “I think you just had a little bug. Or maybe you let yourself get too stressed out and your body couldn’t take it.”

He blinks. “Is that…that's not a thing? Is it?”

“When’s the last time you gave yourself a fuckin’ break, Steve? When you just took a day for yourself rather than worrying about who needs to go where, or if you’ll have to cover a shift? You have to take care of yourself, or this is the kind of shit that happens.”

“Being overwhelmed about your parents, not eating, worrying about that application, all of that is fucking with you. That headache was probably a stress headache. They’re killer. I want you to be healthy and comfortable, Steve.”

You exhale, and close your eyes. When you open them, Steve has sat up, scooting towards you on your end of the couch. 

He might still be tired, but he can’t believe this. He can’t believe you. No one has ever worried for him in this way. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. 

He barely even registers your words, too busy memorizing every line on your face. You look so fucking beautiful. It almost makes him angry. 

“I’m thinkin’ about how bad I want to kiss you.”

Your face starts to burn. You shove his shoulder. He looks at the place where you’d pushed, quirking a brow, but grinning nonetheless.

“What?”

“Steve, you can’t say shit like that.”

“How come?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

“Well yeah, but best friends don’t say that to one another.”

His grin widens. He looks more awake than he has this entire time. 

“Oh, but you haven’t said it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Steve gets his voice up that little bit higher, doing a cheap imitation of you. “‘Best friends don’t say that to one another.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but that implies you want a kiss too, doesn’t it?”

You drag your hands down your face and flop back against the arm of the couch. 

“So you gonna say it, or what?” He’s shifted, and you can feel him hovering over you, but you refuse to move your hands. 

“Of course I’m thinking about kissing you, Steve.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes, locking with his own. “But you’ve got cooties.”

Steve rolls his eyes before he backs up and yanks on your ankle so that you’re flat against the couch. 

“You did not just lecture me about self-care just to tell me I have cooties. I didn’t even have a fever.” 

“I didn’t even have a fever,” you mock, lowering your voice in what is quite possibly the worst impression of him you could do.

He’s quick about it. Almost stealthy, not that you’d ever boost his ego by telling him so. But his fingers are reaching for your sides, the tips dancing over your shirt, that tiny sliver of hip showing where it’s ridden up. 

Steve is practically drunk off of your laugh. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and when he goes for your neck, when you tilt your head and trap his fingers between your cheek and shoulder, he thinks he could die. 

You and your laugh. The fact that you drove over at one in the fucking morning, without even thinking about it, just because you care. That you stayed the night, listened to his pitiful thoughts, took care of him…it’s too much. 

Never in his life did he think he’d find someone like you. Someone who makes him feel like he matters. You’d made him realize how smart he is, how capable. That he could do things for himself and not just to please his dickhead father. 

You have made him whole. 

He lets up when you start breathing extra heavily, only to tickle the underside of your foot before he quits, just to piss you off. You kick him in the side. 

“I think a kiss from my very favorite person might be the best form of self-care there is, honey.”

You sit up. “Wow. King Steve really never died.” He raises his hands like he might tickle you again, but you catch them before he can do any damage. “Okay, sorry!” 

Before he can register it, you’ve leaned in and pressed your lips to his. When he does realize, he lets out a surprised hum, and you can feel that smartass smirk forming on his face. 

When you pull away, he whines. 

“All better?”

Steve falls back against the couch, pulling you with him just to get that laugh out of you again. 

“I’m healed.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[kabr0ztrousers]

Hello, how you doing ?

I've been stalking your blog for a while now, and finally gathered the courage to send a resquest (if you don't like it, feel free to ignore or change it).

So here's my idea: Reader comes from a family that offers their daughters to the creatures of the forest (i was thinking maybe a male harpy ?), but Reader ran away when it was her time to be taken, she moved into a big city and hid there for years.

Now she is back in her old city for some reason (maybe her sister just had a baby and she wants to see if said baby is a girl too) and her mate is looking foward to get what's rightfully his.

Kabr0z Writes episode 59: Sacrifice

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: noncon; dubcon; receiving cunnilingus; tentacles; abduction; hypnosis; mind control; parasites;

A/N: I'm taking a few liberties with the queue again, otherwise we'd have a couple of feral stories in a row. So, hellhound anon, you'll get your story in tomorrow's catch-up double feature!

As always, if you have any requests for scenarios or kinks you'd like me to explore, drop an ask or a DM, anf it'll go in the queue!

########################################

You passed the city gates. You'd not been back for years, for good reason. When your family is a hinge of the local cult, it's less than ideal. As the eldest daughter, your fate was to be given to the so-called gods living under the city. Being a sacrifice to a horror you'd never seen wasn't your speed, so you ran. An ocean away, you hid.

That was a decade ago now. You'd never intended to come back, but you heard the news. Lily had a daughter. You'd made her promise you she'd never have a child, she'd break the line and never subject her own to the beast below. Maybe she never had a choice. Either way, you had a job to do. The plan was simple: you'd been in touch with Lily since you made landfall, first mailing her a sending slab, then using the paired tablets to convey codes messages etched in the wax surface. Tonight was the night. You'd meet her in a cistern under the main square where she'd give you her child, Holly. Baby in tow, you'd get out of the city that night using a Ring of Recall you had tuned to your home. Once you were safe, far across the Sea of Stars, you'd raise your adoptive daughter.

She'd never know the importance of her bloodline, or the terrible fate she'd been spared.

You jumped from the cart you rode in on, the less the people you trusted to get you here knew, the better. Worst case scenario they think you're a thief or something on a heist. In a way, that's precisely what you were. Your first stop was an alms-house you knew about. Old, run down, a den of disease and suffering the gentry and the guards all ignored. Nobody's asking questions about who comes and goes from there, even less in the dead of night. The perfect place to lay low until the right time. You took the opportunity while there to swipe a blanket or two. You weren't worried about disease, potions are cheap enough, and you only needed it to cover you from the grotty lodgings to the network of sewers and drains under the city.

So you sat. In that stinking hovel. Turning the enchanted copper ring that would get you home over and over in your fingers. It was probably worth more than the building you hid in, but only you new that. Lily had advised you to get one made, getting it bound to a spot so far away wasn't cheap, but it was doable and you'd paid for the best you could get.

The appointed hour drew close. Covered in blankets, affecting a hunch, you scurried down an alleyway to a loose grate. Amazing how nothing ever gets fixed in the bad parts of town, even after so long. The pile of blankets muffled you closing the grate behind you before stealing into the dark. You knew these tunnels. They were your favourite haunts as a teen, playing with your little sister, fantasising about getting away and growing old together. You both knew it couldn't ever be. The cistern was your home from home. You hung sheets from the ceiling once upon a time, dividing the upper level into rooms of sorts. The grating making up the floor stayed dry enough and with some blankets and rugs didn't even hurt your feet to walk on.

It was like you'd never left.

The blankets were still vibrantly coloured, if a little rat-gnawed at the bottom edges. Your blankets were gone, so you could see through the grate to the dark water glinting below, but you knew the layout.

Lily waited for you in the centre of the cistern, under the grate in the pavement that led straight down, the moonlight hitting her in a silvery beam as she cradled a swaddled bundle in her arms.

"Lily, it's me" you whispered.

Your sister turned. You could see her robe was open at the front, the infant in her arms latched onto a breast. Your eyes drew down to her belly, round and gravid

"You have another one on the way?" That wasn't part of the plan "I think I can recall with you both, but I'm not sure... Why didn't you tell me?"

Lily stood there. Silent as the grave. She started to chuckle "Put on your ring"

"What? That'll take me home, I need you to pass me Holly so she'll be safe"

Lily didn't meet your gaze as she handed you her baby. The infant fussed in your arms as her mother's milk was taken away

"I'll come back for you. I'll bring another ring." You put on the ring.

The world swam. You saw, for a moment, the morning sun of your home, but when it cleared you were back in the cistern, clutching the child. The ring was on your finger. It nearly worked. Why didn't it work?

Lily took the baby from you and looked into your eyes.

You screamed.

When you were kids, her eyes were hazel. The colour of evening sunlight on dry grass in a heatwave. Now they were a milky blue-white. Pinhole pupils stared into you.

"When you ran, they made sure to protect me. The masters wanted me to be their sacrifice, but I needed to keep the blood. When Holly was born, I became ready, but someone needed to take her place."

A wet hand grabbed you from behind. You tried to spin and hit it, but your head was still light and you stumbled. You fell to your knees, cutting your hands on the floor grating as a hand closed around your throat.

It hauled you up. You looked into the cruel amber eyes, wide glowing orbs set in a twisted face. It didn't have a nose, or brow ridge, its head was pointed like the mantle of a squid or a cuttlefish, but the most striking part was where its mouth would be. Instead of a jaw, there was a mass of squirming, writhing tentacles. It hissed at you as you glared at it, kicking the air, trying to break the iron grip on you.

It waved its other hand. Your clothing unravelled. The sending slab clattered to the ground, the ring still inert on your finger, everything else fell in rags to the grating below you. Being naked wasn't going to deter you. You clawed and scratched at its face and the arm holding you, nails sliding off the slimy skin.

It threw you. You slammed into a sheet and slid to the floor. It fell upon you. You were pinned.

A slick pair of hands prised open your legs. Your ankles were pressed either side of your ears. The tentacled face lowered to your cunt. The tendrils brushed against your sensitive skin as you tried to twist away from it. The first pushed into you, sliding between the lips of your cunt as it tasted you. The rest followed, squirming tentacles filling you, probing your insides. You could feel your body reacting, getting wetter and wetter as the unbidden orgasm built in your belly. You squirmed and whined, bent double by the unbreakable grip, a monster eating your pussy, not caring if you wanted it or not. Fleshy appendages squirming over every inch of your cunt, inside and out. It filled every corner with activity, from the probing at your cervix to the massaging of your clit. Every whimper, every twitch, it made sure to keep up, building your release higher and higher by the moment.

It finally let you cum. You felt yourself squirt into the wall of tentacles assaulting your pussy. More and more liquid sprayed from you as you moaned and cried, your legs shaking and toes curling. The monster didn't stop. It didn't even pause.

Over and over your aching body was forced to cum, each orgasm driving the fight from you as it wore you out. By the time it stopped, you were a gasping, panting pile of limbs. Your squirt dripping from between your legs and down into the city water supply far below you.

The monster reached into its sleeve and withdrew a wriggling leech-like creature. One hand held the lips of your cunt open as it dropped the squirming creature on your soaked pussy. It moved up you. Half-burrowing, half-swimming, it slid between the clenching walls of your cunt even as you tried to force it out. You tried to scream as you felt it pushing up your cervix, but all that came out was a lewd moan as your twitching cunt slammed shut over and over, driving itself closer and closer to another orgasm.

You felt it pressing into the wall of your womb, a stinging pressure as it drilled into the soft flesh. As soon as it stopped digging in to you, you felt a warmth pulsing from it. The pain in your belly turned to a pleasant numbness. The ache in your cunt and your stinging clit became a throbbing buzz. Your head spun again, getting lighter and lighter until it happened.

You clenched on air. Your legs shook harder as your heels planted, driving your hips upwards into a lover that wasn't there.

You couldn't stop it. You wouldn't want to. Over and over you came, the leech's secretions lighting your nerves on fire, flooding you with endorphins. The room defocused and your tongue hung from your mouth as you rolled this way and that. Your cunt leaked a cocktail of blood, girlcum, and the thick secretions of the parasite driving you mad.

A part of you knew what happens now. You'd seen the fate that befell the other women this happened to. The secretions from the leech would fertilise your womb, over and over. Every month you'd spill forth more of the leeches. The strongest would be chosen and either implanted into another woman, or allowed to squirm into a man's ear, turning him into another of the tentacled gods.

You knew your fate. The hated destiny of all of the eldest daughters of your line.

You couldn't be happier.

########################################

Postscript: Yeah, the bonus points for this was a harpy, but I went for the horrifying not-illithid cult instead. Maybe they'll be a thing going forwards, maybe they'll be another one-and-done. I do prefer the awful tadpole queen idea rather than elderbrains just crapping out more tadpoles, though wish I'd come up with something better than just ripping off ceramorphosis for making the drones.

Either way, hope you enjoyed, Anon, and again if anyone had any requests they wanted to send in, my hard limits are in the pinned, beyond that have fun

Post-postscript: I hope the exposition at the tail end didn't kill the mood either, I just couldn't think of a good way to shoehorn that in, and it felt too hot to just miss out entirely.

[no-144444]

alright- o.bearman

summary: ollie wasn't exactly ecstatic after brazil... you change that/

pairing: ollie bearman x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You watched as Ollie left the car, looking dejected and overwhelmed. 

“You did good,” you whispered as he wrapped his arms around you, melting into you. 

“I did-”

“Well. You did well, Ollie. You had no notice, no planning, no training, nothing. You went third fastest in free practice. The only free practice-”

“But Franco-” 

“Franco sent it into the barriers in quali and the race. Were you unlucky with how the weekend ended up? Yeah, but at least you kept it out of the barriers. You are a good driver Ollie, a great driver. You deserve to be here. Your teammate got disqualified, you spun 3 times, and you still kept going. And then you finished p12, right behind Perez, who’s been in the sport for 13 years. You have more points than Bottas, Zhou, Liam, and Franco. You’re fucking amazing Ollie. Don’t try to tell me that you’re not,” you told him, your voice stern, but loving. You had a hand on his cheek, and softly pressed your lips to his. “Alright?”

He nodded, seeming a little bit less upset. “Alright.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

He went through the interviews, he went through the debriefs, he posed for all the pictures. He did it all. All of his duties were fulfilled, and by the time he got back to you, he was exhausted. You thanked for past-self for changing your flights to the next day. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. He was showered, changed, and exhausted, so you just let him lean on you. 

“Ready to head back?” you asked.

“I don’t want to deal with the airport right now-”

“I changed our flights to tomorrow,” you explained. He stared at you for a moment, then a smile broke out on his lips. 

“You always know what I need,” he chuckled. “You really are the best girlfriend ever.”

You laughed. “Probably not, but I thank you anyway.”

He leant down, catching your lips with his, not really caring whether there was a camera on the two of you. He squeezed your waist as you kissed him back softly, and he involuntarily sighed when you pulled away. 

“Come on Ollie, let’s get you some rest, yeah?” you offered your hand, and he took it happily. 

Maybe the race was awful, but you were still there. Your love would never be in question over a race result, and he adored you for that. You celebrated every win just the same, every loss just the same, and every day just the same. He loved you for that.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[iidrk3i]

☆ WALK BACK HOME

hq -- tsukishima x gn!reader

summary: tsukishima kei likes being alone, but he makes an exception for you.

warnings: nothing, just fluff

word count: 554

the sun sets when you walk out of your last class of the day, finally making it to the weekend. all the students are bustling to make it out of the classroom while you took your time packing stuff away. right as you turn to exit the classroom, you’re greeted by a tall figure with his headphones hanging around his neck--that figure being no other than your best friend, tsukishima.

“oi, could you be any slower?” he grumbles, flicking your forehead as you look up at him.

“well you could’ve left, but you chose to stay, didn't you?” you cock your brow teasingly at him, giggling as a light blush covers his cheeks while he mumbles a small whatever and starts walking off.

you sped up a bit, trying to catch up with the tall boy. “where’s tadashi?” you asked.

“he left earlier, said he needed to go to the store.” tsukishima responds, looking straight ahead as he opens the door for the both of you.

this had become a usual routine, tsukishima would meet you after last period everyday, waiting for you no matter how long you took. he would always try to walk you home. sometimes yamaguchi would accompany your walks home as well, but on some days it was just the two of you. if he had practice, he would let you know so you wouldn't end up waiting for him.

there was a comfortable silence while you two walked down the sidewalk, sun still setting along the horizon. you come to a stop, spotting a pretty flower near where the sidewalk and road meet. tsukishima slightly grabs the handle of your backpack as you bend down and pick the flower, showing it to him.

the corners of his lips quirk up into a slight smirk, taking the small flower out of your hands and putting it in his pocket of his school uniform. this makes warmth spread on your cheeks, getting back up quickly to get back home.

while the both of you continue walking to your neighborhood, tsukishima speaks up.

“do you want to come over tomorrow?” he asks, there's no emotion behind it, but as you turn around you see that he’s flustered. cheeks dusted in a light pink like earlier, hand scratching his neck awkwardly.

“huh? the tsukishima kei asking me to come over? why so?” you tease, finding it funny and cute as his blush grows deeper, he looks to the side.

tsukishima tries to come up with something witty, but he can't. “yes, i am. akiteru and my mom are visiting family, so you could come over,” tsukishima hates how awkward he sounds. he hates that only you make him so awkward. he also hates how the sunset just shines perfectly in your direction, making you look breathtaking.

you take a small step closer to him, “i thought you liked being alone?”

“i do, but i guess i could make an exception for you.”

now you’re both blushing, but tsukishima feels himself go red when you accept his invite. as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood, you walked side by side with tsukishima towards home. tomorrow held promises of a different kind of sunset, one shared in the comfort of his company, and perhaps a few shy smiles exchanged too.

a/n: hi!! this blog is just gonna be some random blurbs i come up with and probs be most abt hq :) also probs gonna be on/off bc im bored

[levispersonalslave]

Hi. How are you? I love your Levi's story and your cute blog.

I would like to leave a request.

Ex boyfriend Levi x ex girlfriend reader

In which Levi ended a four-year relationship with the reader. And after two years they meet again.

During these two years, the reader went abroad to study and when she returns to her hometown, she opens a bakery that serves sweets, coffee and tea. A very cute bakery.

Her friend invites her to a company party where her husband works. But destiny plays tricks, and Levi works at the same company. When she sees him, he is 'accompanied' by a woman.

Both, Levi and the reader, still love each other and have very strong feelings for each other.

Ps: Levi wears glasses.

I leave the resolution and development of the story up to you.

Thanks and have a good Sunday and an excellent start to the week.

Don't be in a hurry to write. Take your time.

HI DEARRR this is absolutely ADORABLE and im in LOVE with that header omg,, I HOPE THIS IS TO YOUR LIKING MY LOVE ‹𝟹

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐞~!

𝐸𝑥-𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐿𝑒𝑣𝑖 𝐴𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛 × 𝐸𝑥-𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑀𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝐴𝑢, 𝐸𝑥’𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠, 1.3𝑘 𝑤𝑐

The scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingers in the air, curling around you like a warm embrace. It settles into every corner of the bakery, clinging to the wooden counters, the glass display, the freshly wiped tables. Even as the evening rush fades, leaving behind only a handful of customers, the air remains thick with the sweetness of sugar and nostalgia.

With a slow breath, you wipe your hands over your apron and step back, surveying your work. Trays of golden pastries rest behind the glass, their delicate edges catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. This bakery—your bakery—is everything you once dreamed of. A fresh start; a sanctuary built with your own hands.

And yet, no matter how much sugar and warmth you pour into it, some ghosts refuse to stay buried.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hitch’s voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You turn to see her leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a thin brow arched in mock exasperation.

“Ah, sorry,” you say with a sheepish smile.

She rolls her eyes. “I was inviting you to a party. My friend’s company is hosting it tonight. Fancy food, good music, and a whole room full of pretty corporate guys debating things we’ll pretend to understand.”

You hesitate, already shaking your head. “I don’t know, hun. . . I have an early morning tomorrow.”

Hitch groans, throwing her head back. “You always have an early morning. You work too much. Come on, you need a night out.”

You do work too much. You know that. But the thought of stepping into a crowded room filled with unfamiliar faces—and the possibility of familiar ones—is enough to make you hesitate. Two years abroad gave you distance, but not immunity. There are still some things your heart refuses to forget.

Still, when you meet Hitch’s expectant gaze, something in it makes you waver.

And fate, with its cruel sense of humor, will happily remind you why you spent so long running.

“. . .Fine then,” you relent, untying your apron. “But only for a little while.”

Hitch grins, triumphant. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The venue is the kind of place that whispers elegance in hushed tones—polished floors gleaming under soft golden light, chandeliers dripping with crystal, laughter weaving through the air like silk. The clink of champagne glasses hums in the background, mingling with the gentle murmur of conversation.

You adjust the strap of your dress, exhaling as you follow Hitch inside.

And then you see him.

The world tilts, just for a moment.

He stands near the bar, half-listening to a conversation, his posture effortlessly composed. He hasn’t changed much. The sharp cut of his suit, the quiet intensity in his gaze, the way his fingers curl loosely around the rim of his glass—it’s all painfully familiar.

For a fleeting second, you almost convince yourself he’s just a memory, a ghost conjured by your own mind.

But then your eyes shift, and you notice the woman beside him.

She’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that turns heads without trying—wrapped in a sleek red gown, dark hair tumbling in soft waves. One hand rests lightly on his arm as she leans in to say something.

He responds with a quiet smile, and your heart clenches.

You tear your gaze away, fixing your eyes on anything else—the flickering candlelight, the tray of champagne flutes gliding past—but it’s far too late.

He’s already seen you.

Your breath catches as his gaze finds yours across the room.

For a heartbeat, the party disappears. The chatter, the music, the laughter—it all fades into something distant, unimportant. There’s shock in his expression at first, then something softer—something dangerously close to longing. Hitch is speaking beside you, but her voice barely reaches your ears. You take a step back, pulse thrumming against your ribs.

He hesitates, fingers twitching at his side before he murmurs something to the woman beside him. She nods, stepping away without protest.

And then he’s moving toward you. Your breath wavers.

You turn, reaching blindly for the nearest tray, grasping a glass of champagne with fingers that tremble just slightly. A sip does nothing to steady you.

You turn sharply, needing distance, needing air—anything to steady the erratic rhythm of your pulse. Your gaze flickers toward the nearest tray of champagne flutes, and you reach for one, fingers trembling just slightly. But in your haste, you miscalculate the movement.

The glass tilts, slipping from your grasp.

You lurch forward instinctively, hands reaching out—

And collide with someone.

Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble. A warm, familiar touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” The words die in your throat the second your eyes rise to meet his.

Up close, he’s even more overwhelming. The sharp cut of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten just slightly before he lets go. His scent—clean, crisp, edged with something undeniably familiar—wraps around you like a ghost of the past.

His touch vanishes, but the sensation lingers, branding itself onto your skin.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The party hums on around you, distant and insignificant. The space between you is thick with everything unspoken.

“Hello,” he says at last, his voice warm, careful.

You swallow. “Hi.”

A pause.

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“Been a few months,” you answer softly. “I opened a bakery.”

His lips part slightly, and you can see the memory flicker behind his eyes. You can almost hear his voice from years ago, teasing yet certain: You’ll be amazing at it. He used to say he could already picture it—a place that smelled like sugar and cinnamon, with soft jazz playing in the background.

He had believed in your dreams before you had.

Another waiter passes by, this time with a tray of desserts. Without thinking, you reach for a small lemon tart.

The moment you realize what you’ve done, you almost move to put it back—but when you look up, his gaze is already on the pastry in your hand.

Your eyes meet again, and your fingers tighten around the delicate crust. “This was always your favorite,” you murmur.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy with nostalgia. Something unspoken lingers in the air, something fragile and dangerous all at once.

And then, before you can stop yourself, the question slips from your lips.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He blinks, surprised. His eyes flicker toward the woman in red, then back to you.

“No,” he says simply. “Just a coworker.”

Relief rushes through you, quick and sharp. You barely have time to smother it before it betrays you. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. You don’t belong to him anymore, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo.

“I should—”

“Can we talk?”

Your pulse stumbles. “Levi. . .”

“I know this isn’t the place,” he says quietly. “But—” He exhales, tugging at his cuffs. “Two years, and I still—”

“Please don’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Don’t say it.”

Because if he does, you might break.

And yet, standing here, with the taste of lemon on your tongue and the past so close you could touch it, a truth settles deep in your chest.

You still love him. Maybe you always will.

He takes a slow step closer. “Then let me show you instead.”

The party buzzes on, indifferent to the moment unfolding between you. Two people standing on the edge of something unfinished.

You could walk away.

Or you could let fate take the wheel.

And maybe—just maybe—find your way back to him. Because the best recipes are a little messy, and some things are worth making from scratch.

⊱ 𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⊰ @the-traveling-poet, @pinkberryfox, 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

ᵎ!ᵎ 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 @kodaswrld ᵎ!ᵎ