#React Learning Curve

[gagande]

PureCode company | React Learning Curve

React’s learning curve is moderate compared to Angular. React’s component-based architecture encourages developers to start with simple components and gradually progress to more advanced topics. JSX, while initially challenging to learn, uses a familiar HTML-like syntax that can ease the transition for newcomers.

[pierrotpriest]

a cybertruck parked next to me today and I had to like fucking squeeze into the driver's seat ,, why are they so wide they take up the whole entire parking spot like right on the edge of the line who allowed them to roam around freely in every day life like this

[gossamyrrh]

okay…… can we please talk about alien boyfriend!choso and intimacy….

he doesn’t quite understand the way humans interact—finds it a bit peculiar, to be specific—since on his planet all communication, whether physical or verbal, is through frequencies.

hence, why the first time you hug him he’s…appalled. lets out a shocked “hmm?” as you wrap your arms around him, his own stiff at his sides as you meet him chest to chest.

you have to explain to him that humans do this to show fondness. affection. he, of course, lets out a confused trill.

“it means i love you, choso.”

that, he understands, and it makes him hum softly. something like a purr, as he wraps you in his arms and mirrors your previous action (albeit with much more force than necessary. but he’s learning.)

and he grows from there.

from then on out, alien boyfriend!choso begins to experiment with intimacy and touch. sometimes, he’ll run his fingers down the slope of your neck and shoulders, along the curve of your cheek, before he hesitantly follows it with a trail of kisses. some quick, others long and wet—with teeth.

he spends most his time touching you. gaining the courage and deftness to venture the rest of your body (the soft swell of your breasts, the planes of your stomach), which he quickly learns are far more sensitive than he would’ve thought. pulls little gasps from the depth of you.

so, imagine his surprise when he slips a little further.

he’s grazing along your skin per usual—the soft flesh of your inner thigh—but this time his fingers venture a little too far. the intention wasn’t sexual, you know. he’s just curious! but your body writhes all the same, legs clamping shut around his hand, hips lifting into his touch, cunt throbbing.

and he lets out a little warble. head tilting as he does it again, watches as your breath hitches and you let out a strangled moan.

“cho—”

he chitters, and you know he’s curious as to what’s wrong. “d-don’t do that. it—”

but you cut off when he does it again, just to test.

and oh.

his eyes widen, fascinated, and he stills for half a second, absorbing the way your thighs jerk—the way your chest rises and falls so quickly. his ears twitch, registering the shift in your breathing—the frequency of it. the way your heartbeat pounds against your ribs.

you’re warm, he notices. warmer than before.

choso lets out another soft chitter, tilting his head as his fingers move again—this time with purpose.

it’s still careful—experimental—tracing slow, aimless patterns across your folds, dragging through the slickness that he doesn’t quite understand but is so intrigued by. his brows furrow as he spreads you apart with just the lightest press of his fingers, feeling the soft give of you, the heat, the way your body reacts before you can even stop it.

your hips twitch up, seeking.

and that makes something in his chest rumble.

“hrrrggmmm.”

with narrow eyes, his other hand finds your hip and presses down, pinning you in place as he continues. you make a strangled noise this time, something between a gasp and a whimper, and that—

that makes him shudder.

a low, rattling sound vibrates from deep in his chest, and his shoulders tremble—arms lock. his fingers work faster now, sliding through your slick with more confidence, curiosity morphing into something more intentional. primal.

“cho’!”

you claw at his forearm, nails digging in, your lips parting in something breathless, something desperate. but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even hesitate.

because he wants to understand.

he needs to.

his fingers slip lower, and when they find your entrance—when they push just the slightest bit inside—your back arches.

a sharp inhale. a high, keening sound that makes his eyes darken.

his ears twitch at the shift in your voice, pleasure laced into every breath. and he thinks—he knows—he’s doing something right.

choso chitters again, pleased, head tilting as he slowly sinks his fingers in. your walls flutter around him, your thighs threatening to snap shut, but he doesn’t let you. his grip is firm, controlling, holding you open so he can keep watching—keep feeling.

because this is new.

this is good.

he moves his finger in and out, and the sounds you make are sharper now, gasping moans that make a familiar heat in his belly coil tighter. his fingers move instinctively, mimicking the rhythm of your hips, learning the way you react—what makes you squirm, tremble, break.

and then he finds it.

that one spot inside you that makes your entire body tremble.

he freezes, stunned, absorbing the way your breath shatters, the way your nails dig into his skin so desperately.

then, slowly, deliberately—he presses there again.

and you cry out.

and his grip tightens.

his fingers curl just right, his pace steady but firm, pressing, circling, exploring. he chitters low in his throat, fascinated by the way your legs shake, your breath hiccupping into something uneven, something wild.

you’re close—he doesn’t know what that means, not in words, but he feels it.

feels the way your body tightens, the way your slick coats his fingers, the way your heartbeat pounds against his palm when he presses against your stomach to hold you down.

you writhe. you beg—though he doesn’t understand the words, only the need in them.

and then, suddenly—

it happens.

your body locks up. a strangled moan rips from your throat, your thighs clamping around his hand as the heat inside you shatters. he feels you pulse around his fingers, slick gushing as your body trembles violently beneath him.

choso freezes.

eyes wide. breath heavy. completely stunned.

for the first time since he started, he hesitates.

because what—what was that?

you’re panting, wrecked, head lolling to the side as aftershocks pulse through you. he feels it. feels the way your body twitches, the way you sigh, the way your entire frequency shifts into something slow, sated.

and then he realizes.

…he did this.

a slow, deep hum rolls from his chest. his fingers slide from you, slick coating them, still warm. he studies them, the way they shine, how they tremble just slightly from what he’s done to you.

then, experimentally, he brings them to his lips.

his tongue flicks out, curious.

and the sound he makes when he tastes you is deep. dark. possessive.

because now—now—he understands.

and he wants more.

part two here !

[odoraful]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬)

it's date night and the boys react to you wearing a new dress

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel/caleb x gn!reader; established relationship; complete & utter fluff; compliments & showers of affection; dresses are described (i had dress references that i thought would suit the boys' vibes hehe, but feel free to picture whatever dress you want!); ~0.5k words per scene

⟡ a/n: my first time writing for caleb GASP! it was very fun to write him but, admittedly, i don't own all of his cards (the struggles of f2p 😞), nor have i done all of his memoria/other content, so i hope i was still able to do him justice! 🥺

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𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ⟡

Subconsciously, Zayne rose from his seat as soon as he saw you. His body somehow told him that appreciating you whilst sitting down was a horrible injustice. It was true, though. Standing gave him the proper vantage point to admire your outfit. The way the smooth white material draped around your curves and flowed down to your ankles, the fabric turning sheer near the hem. Blue watercolor-like flowers were scattered across the dress—the softness of it all made it seem like you were a walking dream. A silvery necklace rested against your collarbones, matching the teardrop gemstones that dangled from your ears.

You were still in the middle of adjusting your earrings when you walked out, not paying any mind to the effects your entrance had on your enamored partner.

Zayne’s lips parted, the air seemingly sucked from him. He blinked multiple times as if he were trying to see whether you were an illusion.

It was no trick conjured by his mind. You were real, you were his, and you were stunning.

Finished with your earrings, you looked up at him with a smile. It took every ounce of will for Zayne’s knees not to buckle and fall back onto the chair.

“I’m ready to go now,” you said, walking over to him, your heels giving a dull click against the hard floors.

“It’ll be a bit colder tonight,” was all Zayne could muster saying with most of his thoughts entangled by your appearance.

Your face immediately fell into a pout. With a disappointed sigh, you hung your head.

“Alright, I’ll go get something to cover up…”

Before your feet could even move to walk away, Zayne’s hands snaked around your waist. A short gasp fell out of you.

Beneath the thin fabric of your dress, you could feel the press of his cool fingertips. He held you in place with a firm grip, his body flush with yours. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his closeness leaving shivers up your spine.

“T-to bring something to wear on top of my dress? You just said that it would be cold.”

His brows lifted, realizing the misunderstanding he caused. “I apologize. What I meant was I’ll bring my jacket for you to wear if it gets too chilly.”

Your stomach fluttered, though you didn’t know if it was due to the proximity of his body, his low voice, or his offer to keep you warm during the night out. You turned around in his grasp, meeting his gaze.

“There is no need for you to hide it beneath extra clothing if you want to show it off. You look beautiful in that new dress, my love.”

Now you knew exactly what caused those tingles in your stomach.

The direct compliments Zayne tended to give always affected you deeply. Combined with the nickname that rolled so effortlessly off his tongue, you were the one left entangled now. And he would admire you a thousand times more just to see that expression on your face.

”Perhaps I should change the color of my tie to match.”

“Dr Zayne wanting to do couple matching?” You feigned a gasp of shock, bracing a hand against his chest. “How unheard of!”

Zayne breathed a fond and quiet laugh. “Yes, I’ve been learning a lot of new things when I’m with you.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 ⟡

“My, my, my,” Sylus sounded out as you walked into the kitchen. He chuckled in astonishment, the resonant sound warming your senses. “Don’t you look absolutely divine this evening?”

Sylus washed his hands at the sink and dried them off with a towel. He was in the middle of preparing dinner for the two of you when you made your grand reveal. Naturally, he had to stop everything to give you the attention you deserved.

“Do you notice anything different?” you asked innocently, hands tucked behind your back.

Sylus smirked. He rested his chin on his hand, indulging your theatrics.

“Hmm, let me guess… is it your hair?” he began, reaching out to tuck a strand behind your ear.

You tempered your expression, trying to remain neutral despite the corners of your lips curving upwards.

“Or… maybe your makeup?” he trailed his hand down to your cheek, lightly brushing against your skin with his thumb.

Sylus’ hand moved to rest at your back, guiding you closer to him. His gaze travelled from your head to your toes. 

“Ah, I know what it is.”

You were wearing an elegant black dress that reached your ankles—certainly fit to be in attendance at a high class function. The bodice resembled a corset, with faux boning running from the square neckline down towards the waist before disappearing before the skirt. Thin black straps tied off in ribbons at your shoulders. A necklace of silver and ruby dazzled under the warm lights of the kitchen. Contrasting with the rest of your outfit, rather than wear a matching pair of shoes, on your feet were your prized fuzzy slippers that you wore around the Onichynus base. Sylus could help but break into a smile.

Tonight’s date was a night-in after all, so comfort would be given number one priority.

“It’s this lovely new dress.” 

His compliment seemed to be amplified by the husk in his voice. You clasped your hands around his neck, pulling him nearer. 

“Correct!” you grinned. “It’s the one you helped me pick out, remember?”

He nodded. Two weeks ago you had gone clothes shopping together and stumbled upon this simple black dress. Sylus saw the way your eyes lingered on it, even after being alarmed by the price tag. You were prepared to say goodbye to it on the clothing rack. Little did you know, Sylus had already signalled to the shop assistant to have it wrapped up and sent to his home. 

“I do,” he answered, drawing small circles at the small of your back with his finger. “It seems we both have good taste.”

Your eyes darted away from his gaze. “I know you’re just making dinner for us, but I wanted to dress up a little.”

There was very little that could make the leader of Onichynus lose his composure, but the shyness on your face was enough to make him weak.

Sylus kissed your forehead. “Trust me when I say this, my dear, the gesture is greatly appreciated.”

He tilted your face upwards. Sincerity brimmed in his crimson gaze as he spoke, 

“You know you can wear whatever you want around me. Whether you dress up or dress down, you always look stunning.”

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ⟡

Eyes growing wide as porcelain plates, Xavier watched with awe when you exited the bedroom. He’d never seen you wear this dress. He didn’t even know where to look first.

The white fabric ruffled in two tiers around your thighs, with loose frills lining the neckline, accentuating your decolletage. It was shoulderless, with long sheer white sleeves that extended from the dress. To complement its shorter length, you wore white lace socks that ended below your knees.

It was the embodiment of flirty and sweet, only made more so by the twirl you gave him.

“You got a new dress,” Xavier observed.

He walked over to meet you, a smile blooming across his face as you toyed with the ruffles at your neckline.

“Mhm, I did! How do I look?”

Xavier ran his fingers down the sleeve, feeling the material. He trailed the length of your arm, the light touch leaving goosebumps in its wake, until he reached your hand.

“The color is just like starlight.”

Lifting your hand up to his lips, he gave your knuckles a tender kiss. It was almost a scene from a storybook—a prince boldly showcasing his affection for his lover. Though, rather than a castle, you were standing in his apartment on his blue striped rug. It didn’t matter. For you, it was a fairytale nonetheless.

“You look radiant,” he said, looking up at you with admiration and… something else.

Xavier straightened himself and inhaled. Unexpectedly, he leaned over and began unlacing his shoes, taking them off his feet. Your face contorted with confusion. Whatever he was doing now was a stark difference in tone from the previous moment you just shared.

“Xavier… what are you doing?”

He neatly lined his shoes up on the edge of the rug on the wooden floorboards.

“Can we change the date to just staying in?” he asked.

“Huh? Why?”

His answer came in the form of pulling you into a hug and collapsing on the sofa with you. You gasped in surprise. Cupping your face in both his hands, Xavier began to kiss you. Starting from your forehead down to your cheeks. In that fraction of a second each time he pulled away, he eyed you—your expression a mixture of surprise and delight, the way your chest rose and fell in that ruffled dress. He continued his affectionate ambush, his gentle lips leaving your skin warm and rose-colored.

“Xavier!” you cried out, bursting into giggles.

Though you had your hands on his shoulders, you didn’t give much resistance, letting your partner shower you with kisses.

“We’re going to be late for our reservation—mmph!”

He finally reached your lips, slowing his movements, letting himself savor the faint sweetness from the gloss you applied. You too almost got lost, brain clouded by the familiar and tempting sensation. Xavier felt your hands tap his shoulders and he pulled back to find your lips in a pout.

“You know we’re never going to leave if we stay like this.”

Xavier sighed resignedly. “Okay, okay, we’ll go.”

Nodding his head he rested his forehead on your shoulder, as if it took all his strength to move away. “I just couldn’t help it. It’s hard to resist kissing you when you look like that.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ⟡

Being a denizen of an underwater kingdom meant Rafayel had seen many pretty sights in his life. But, none would compare to when he was looking at you. Especially now when you walked into his studio wearing a new dress. His lips curved into a smile, unable to contain the wonder on his face.

The dress was made of a taupe-coloured chiffon with red flowers and olive leaves patterning the fabric. From the open window of his studio, the light breeze made the flowy material flutter around your legs. The waistline ended just below the bust, with a heart-shaped neckline that gave the perfect space for your shell necklace (given as a present from Rafayel himself). Your white sandals tapped against the floorboards, ready for your evening by the beach. 

“Is there a special anniversary I’m forgetting?” Rafayel asked, placing his hands on his hips. “Why am I receiving such a lovely gift?” 

You chuckled, speaking with a playful lilt, “Sometimes there’s no reason for nice things to happen. I just thought I’d try on something new.”

He approached, holding your hands in his. The swirl of violet and pink in his eyes gleamed with splendour. “You look beautiful, like you just stepped out of a painting.”

“You can thank Aunt Talia,” you said. “She helped choose it for me when she visited Linkon.”

Rafayel shrugged, though, there was pride in his voice as he spoke. “It’s easy to pick when you have a perfect muse like yourself.” 

With his hand still in yours, Rafayel stretched his arm outward, creating distance between you two before leading you towards his chest. You twirled into his arms like a ballroom dancer, the skirt of your dress dancing along with you.

He wished he had something to record your laugh in that moment—the pure delight in your voice. Perhaps he could keep it in a seashell for him to hold to his ear whenever he missed you. More of your giggles erupted when he swung you out from him once again. This time, when he pulled you in, he braced an arm around your back, dipping you. 

His face was inches away from yours. He looked at the pink dusting your cheeks, the sparkle on your eyelids, and the giddiness in your smile. The statement remained true. No other sight could compare to you.

Lifting you back to standing position, he kept his arms encircled at your waist.

“The fabric of the dress flows just like water,” he commented. “And the colour compliments you so nicely.”

Rafayel appeared entranced, as if he was staring at a rare artwork sitting in an illustrious gallery. Studying your features with that same painter’s eye. 

“You’re giving me that look again.” You lightly poked the tip of his nose with your index finger. “Am I to be the inspiration for your next piece now?”

He shook his head in amusement. “Cutie, you should see the margins of all my sketchbooks.”

“You’re always an inspiration to me, every second of every day.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ⟡

Waiting for you to come out of your room made Caleb’s stomach flutter in anticipation. It wasn’t dissimilar to the very first time he tried flying. The sudden change in speed and altitude. That momentary weightlessness before everything dropped. He didn’t realise being at your apartment in Linkon City, waiting to see what you were going to wear for the night, would provoke the same feelings as being in a fighter jet. He covered his face with his hand in an act of controlling himself–conscious of the effect you had on him. 

The moment ended when he heard your door click shut. Caleb turned around from staring at the photographs on the wall to finally see you.

At a first glance, the dress was simple–made of a silky material with no embellishments, and two thin straps at the shoulders. However, in the light, your green dress shimmered with iridescence. The gold that shone through the fabric shifted with every step you took towards him, ever changing depending on where the light was hitting you. 

Caleb folded his arms, his eyes shamelessly wandering up and down. A slow and intentional gaze that ensured he could memorize the image he saw before him.

You were practically beaming at him, and his own heart leapt from his chest.

“I don’t recognize this from your wardrobe. Is it new?” His question came out almost breathless. 

“It is, how observant of you,” you chirped. “What do you think?” 

You took one more step closer until he could reach out and feel the material for himself. It was smooth and delicate under his touch. He let it slip off his fingers before looking back at you, completely transfixed. 

“You look gorgeous,” he breathed. The earnesty in his voice made your pulse skip. 

“You know,” Caleb circled around you, hands at his back. It seemed as though he wanted to admire the dress from every angle, “any person in their right mind would want to get close after seeing someone as cute as you.”

Without you realising, he had actually cornered you against your wall of photographs.

He placed his left hand against the wall beside your head, satisfaction plain on his face. You puffed out your cheeks in mock annoyance at Caleb’s sneaky position switching. Only you got to witness this mischievous, boyish side to him. 

“I guess I’ll have to keep a lookout tonight,” he whispered in your ear before kissing you on the cheek.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay right by your side,” you reassured, patting his head. 

“Mmm, that’s good to hear.” He leaned into your touch, lips curved into a soft, nostalgic smile.

“I remember you weren’t too fond of wearing dresses when you were younger.”

“That was a long time ago,” you commented, brushing your fingers through his dark hair to tidy it up. “Things can change.”

He caught your hand in his, interlocking his fingers with yours. Warmth radiated through your palms. 

“Then, I want to see you in more pretty clothes like this,” he said. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow, I’ll get you anything you want.”

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[mahgyu]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 ──── 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

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

Nanami is meticulous, and that extends to post-sex care. He always makes sure you're comfortable, clean, and relaxed before anything else. If it was an intense night, he prepares a warm bath for both of you, cleaning you with patience and dedication. If it was something more spontaneous, he keeps you nestled against his chest, stroking your skin until your breathing steadies. His touch is firm but full of care.

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

On his own body, he appreciates his hands. Firm, large, experienced—capable of gripping your waist with ease, pressing against your throat just right, and tracing safe paths over your skin. On you, he has a fixation on your neck and the curve of your hips. He loves holding, biting, and marking those spots, watching how your skin reacts to his touch.

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

Nanami is organized and rational, but when it comes to coming on you, he transforms. His desire to see your skin smeared with his cum is almost possessive. If it’s inside, he makes sure to keep you filled for a while, pressing his fingers against your entrance just to ensure nothing spills. If it’s outside, he loves seeing your face messy, your breasts covered—he doesn’t talk much about it, but his intense gaze says it all.

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

He has touched himself countless times in his office thinking about you. On the most stressful days, when the routine wears him down and his mind drifts to the last moment you had together, he locks himself in the bathroom or leans back in his chair, loosening his tie as he gets off remembering how you moaned his name.

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

Before you, Nanami didn’t have many relationships to build his own experience, but there was nothing he couldn’t learn from you. And so, he memorized every weak spot of yours, every response your body gives to the slightest stimulus. He likes to learn in the process, absorbing your responses and adjusting his approach to maximize pleasure. When he fucks, he fucks with precision.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary is a classic for him—because it allows control, eye contact, and depth. But he also loves having you on your stomach, his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants. He enjoys when you ride him, but only if he can guide your movements with his firm hands on your waist.

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

Nanami doesn’t laugh much during sex. He takes the moment seriously, focused on every sensation and response. But sometimes, when you tease him or when something unexpected happens, he lets out a low, murmured chuckle against your skin. The most fun he allows is dry sarcasm when you try to challenge him.

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

Nanami exudes intimacy without needing excessive declarations. The way he holds your face as he moves inside you, the way he whispers your name against your mouth between deep kisses—everything about him screams connection. He doesn’t just fuck for the sake of fucking; he owns you in every thrust.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He prefers to hold back for you, but when he's away or extremely frustrated, he jerks off in the most methodical way possible. He leans against a wall, eyes closed, his hand slow and firm around his cock, imagining how it would feel to have your mouth on him at that moment.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Control. Nanami likes being in charge, dictating the pace and making you submit to him. Subtle restraints, silent dominance, and dirty praise are part of his repertoire. He also has a slight fetish for lace and sheer lingerie.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed is the basic choice, but Nanami isn’t limited to that. His office has been the scene of a few transgressions, as well as the shower, where he can fuck you against the tiles with water running down your bodies.

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

You, pure and simple. Your scent, your voice, the way your gaze gets heavy when you desire him. If you ask, if you tease, if you surrender—he can’t resist.

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

He would never do anything that could truly hurt you. Severe humiliation, harsh words, or extreme violence are not part of the game. He dominates you with precision.

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

Nanami prefers giving rather than receiving. He treats oral sex like an art—precise, dedicated, endless. He sucks your clit with expertise, pushes his tongue deep inside you until your legs tremble.

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

Firm and calculated. He likes to maintain control, keeping a rhythm that builds tension to the limit. But if he’s particularly desperate, he can be brutal.

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

He isn’t a fan of rushing, but when necessary, he makes every second count. A hurried encounter in the car, in a bathroom at an event, in the middle of the night when he needs you now.

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

He’s discreet but loves subtle danger. Doing something where you might get caught, but in a calculated way. A bold touch under the restaurant table, a hand sliding between your thighs at the movies.

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

He can last through long rounds without losing breath. Nanami isn’t the type to be satisfied quickly—he wants to make sure you’re wrecked with pleasure before he is.

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

He doesn’t use them on himself, but he has no problem using them on you. Vibrators are his favorite, especially when he holds them while fucking you, just to see you lose your mind.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be cruel with teasing. He loves keeping you on the edge, denying orgasms just to hear you beg. Pleasure only comes when he decides.

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

He isn’t overly loud, but he groans low and rough in your ear. Every ragged breath of his is pure gold.

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

He loves morning sex, in the laziest and most delicious way possible. No rush, just you riding him while he savors every inch of you, his hands sliding over your body as if he’s discovering you for the first time.

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

He pretends to have control, but his need for you is raw. He desires you all the time and knows exactly how to hide it until the right moment.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes a while to sleep. He spends time watching you, feeling your scent on his skin, the weight of your body against his. And only then, with one last kiss on your forehead, does he close his eyes.

After a long time of leaving this blog inactive, I decided to come back.

I'm a bit rusty in writing, so please ignore any possible mistakes. Kisses babes <3

©mahgyu | I do not allow adaptations, translations, or copies of my work.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Omegaverse poly 141 x designationless reader)

You learned sometime on that, while your team may not think much about your lack of a designation, they still react to things on instinct.

And those instincts? They’re ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Take Ghost, for example. Big, intimidating Alpha. Stoic, unreadable, all sharp angles and careful control. But bump into him just right- tilt your head like you’re subconsciously presenting your throat, slow blinking at him- and suddenly he’s there, steadying you, holding you in place with a grip that lingers just a little too long.

Or Gaz who can’t stand the sight of someone looking even remotely cold. It takes nothing- nothing- to get him to bundle you up in blankets, to press close for warmth without a second thought.

Johnny is the easiest of them all, though. He’s naturally affectionate, eager to touch, to tug you into his space. All you have to do is sigh, maybe rub at your temples like you’re exhausted, and he’s pulling you into a hug before you can blink.

And then there’s John. Your captain, your steady anchor. He pretends he’s immune to your antics, but you know better. Let your shoulders slump, let yourself look just a little too small (irrelevant of your height), and suddenly he’s standing closer, touching the back of your neck, rubbing slow circles against your skin like he’s scenting you even though there’s nothing there to mark.

They can’t help it. It’s instinct.

So, really, is it your fault if you use that to your advantage?

It’s been a long mission.

Your muscles ache, your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and all you want is warmth and comfort.

So you get to work.

You start with Johnny, because he’s the easiest mark. You drop onto the nest beside him with a heavy sigh, letting yourself slump dramatically against his shoulder, against the warmth of his bulk.

“Johnny,” you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion. A little whine, barely there. “I’m so tired.”

It takes less than a second for him to react.

“Aw, c’mere then, hen.” He says immediately, already shifting, pulling you into his side with an arm slung around your waist until you are comfy and cozy against him.

You don’t even try to hide your grin.

Kyle is next. He sees you curled up against Johnny, eyes drooping, a little shiver flowing up your spine, and immediately starts fussing.

“You’re cold.” He says, already grabbing a soft, thick blanket. He drapes it over you before you can protest, tucking it around your shoulders with a soft tsk and then kissing your forehead.

Perfect.

Simon is a little harder, but you know what works.

You shift, stretching just enough that your neck is exposed, turning toward him when he enters the room slightly as if expecting him to slot into place beside you.

And oh, he does.

He doesn’t say anything, just moves, settling on your other side with a quiet sigh, his presence solid and warm. One big hand lands on your thigh, not gripping, just holding, like he needs to feel you there. You can feel his satisfied grumble when you relax further more than you can actually hear it.

Last is John.

You crack one eye open, watching him linger near the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

You sigh again, softer this time, and let your eyes flutter closed, tilting your head just enough to bare the curve of your throat to him, as well.

There’s a beat of hesitation.

Then-

The nest dips as Price joins the pile, one large hand cupping the back of your head, his chest broad and solid as you nuzzle against him, all of the other three making space for him yet sticking close regardless.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs.

You smile against his shoulder. “And yet, here you are.” Sleepily, you mumble.

Price just chuffs, low and warm, and you smile stretches wider in return, eyes fluttering shut while your body turns fully pliant under their care.

You’ve won.

Omegaverse Masterlist

[sab0dssey]

NewlyDad!Simon who is completely lost in panic and joy. When he first found out you were pregnant, right after he returned from a mission, it hit him like a wave. He was over the moon, but also overwhelmed. Simon had never been a man with many words; he was always terse, practical, and to the point. But this news? It was different. The moment he learned, his entire world shifted. His usually steady hands trembled as he looked at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and awe.

For a moment, he just stared, not knowing what to say, his mind racing. Then, before either of you could react, he pulled you into him—his arms wrapping around you so tightly, it was as if he never wanted to let go. His head buried itself in your neck, as though it was the only place he could find any grounding. It was so quiet between you both, just the sound of his breaths and the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

He stayed like that for what felt like eternity, unwilling to move. You could feel the warmth of his tears against your skin, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound. He knew you could feel the silent sobs, the emotion he didn’t want to let out in front of you, but he also knew you understood. He didn’t want you to see him like this—vulnerable and unsure. Not yet. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to let go, not even for a second.

NewlyDad!Simon never lets you do anything on your own. Never. You’re reaching for the remote, and it’s just a foot away? Don’t bother standing up—he’s already got it. You’re thinking about cooking? Forget it. He won’t let you. He’ll either cook for you himself or order your favorite meal—just so you don’t have to lift a finger.

NewlyDad!Simon is like a clingy little puppy—he just can’t keep his hands to himself. At home, he’s glued to you, constantly cuddling, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. Outside, his hands always find their way to you—resting on your baby bump, the small of your back, or your waist. He just can’t help it.

Even when you’re relaxing in the tub, basking in the candlelit warmth, Simon refuses to let you have a moment alone. He pulls up a chair beside the tub, work files in hand, pretending to focus—but his hands betray him. One moment, they’re on your bump, the next, tracing lazy circles over your shoulder. He’s not letting go anytime soon. Not now, not ever

NewlyDad!Simon who loves to talk with his baby. His hands, large and gentle, find their way to your growing belly with a tenderness that surprises even him.

Every chance he gets, whether it’s in the quiet moments of the day or just before sleep, his hand rests there, as if the touch itself is a promise. He caresses your belly, his fingers lightly tracing the curve, his palm pressed against you like he’s trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside. It’s almost as though he can feel every tiny movement, even when it’s just a flutter.

He talks to the baby—quiet, low words that are almost a whisper, but they carry so much weight. His voice softens every time he speaks, and it’s a tone you’ve never heard before, one filled with a raw love that only a father could express. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his fingers rubbing slow circles against your skin, “can’t wait to see you, to hold you in my arms.” His eyes never leave your belly, his expression a mixture of awe and tenderness.

When he thinks you’re not looking, his lips brush against the top of your stomach, a soft kiss meant only for the baby. “I’ll protect you,” he says quietly, the words meant for both of you but carrying an unspoken promise to the child. “Daddy’s gonna make sure you’re safe, always.”

His hand stays there, lingering, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels through the simple act of touching. Sometimes, he talks to the baby about what he hopes for their future—what he dreams they’ll be, but more often, it’s about how much he already loves them. How proud he is.

No matter where you are, he finds the time to remind you both of that, as if the baby can hear every word, every heartbeat, every promise. And each time he touches your belly, he’s not just caressing you—he’s speaking directly to the child, forming a bond that’s already so deep.

NewlyDad!Simon who had never been one for big gatherings or being the center of attention, but tonight, he was doing it—for you, and for the baby.

His teammates had insisted, as had your friends, that you both needed to get out. A little normalcy, they said. A dinner with the people who supported him through everything. But Simon? He was already on high alert the moment you stepped out the door. His hand was constantly on your back, gently guiding you, his eyes scanning the room, always aware of your every movement.

The restaurant was bustling, a little louder than usual, but Simon barely seemed to notice the chatter around him. His attention was split between you and the people he trusted—his team. His arm would sometimes drift to your waist, his fingers brushing against your bump, as if to reassure himself that everything was okay. He didn’t let you stray far, always within arm’s reach, his protective nature wrapped around you like a shield.

At the table, he was engaged, nodding along to conversations, but his focus was never fully on the group. When someone leaned in a little too close, his eyes would flicker to them, silently warning them to keep their distance. When Soap tried to crack a joke about fatherhood, Simon’s lips twitched upward in a brief smile, but the moment the laughter died down, his hand found its way to your stomach, his thumb brushing over it lightly.

He’d occasionally glance over at you, catching your eye, as if asking silently if you were okay, if you needed anything. He knew you could take care of yourself, but tonight? Tonight, he wasn’t letting his guard down for a second.

When dinner came, Simon was the first to help you with your plate, carefully cutting your food or offering you bites from his own. He made sure you were comfortable, always attentive, his eyes never straying too far from you. He wasn’t one to show weakness, but with you? And with the baby? His vulnerability showed in the way he constantly checked in, in the way he’d rather have his hand on your bump than anywhere else.

His teammates had known him as a man of few words, but tonight, they were learning a different side of Simon—one who would move mountains to keep his family safe and happy, even in a simple dinner setting. They could see it in the way he watched over you, in the little touches he gave you when he thought no one was looking. He may have been the strong, silent type to everyone else, but to you and the baby? He was all heart.

As the night wound down, Simon was already thinking about how soon he could get you home, make sure you were settled and safe. He never stopped being the protective husband, never stopped being the father-to-be, and he certainly never stopped being the man who would give up everything to keep you both safe.

[robolvrr]

f-r-e-a-k !‿⁠✷｡✧

lost light members react to human porn (and develop some preferences of their own.)

ft. skids! megatron! rodimus! swerve! ultra magnus!

nsfw under the cut.

rodimus prime - top-five ranked

when he first heard actual, genuine human content had reached aboard his ship, he had quickly formed a half-assed meeting to announce that he, of course, being captain and all should review with ultra magnus.. and perhaps rewind too, before dispersing it out to the crew.

of course when ultra magnus expressed his surprise at this new leaf turned, eager to scour through intergalactic protocol he simply let one word out the other audial and made some grave, grammatical errors to distract the mech and let the captain do his own decision making.

he spends a lot of time nitpicking. he doesn't like movies as much so he reserves those to swerve nor does he care too much about books.

a functioning computer however....

he's bored. and curious. two demons that never dwell well together in the same room.

clearing browser history? never heard of that!

good thing the previous owner has lots of bookmarks, because he finds it infinitely easier to sift through links there than carefully type.

"porn...hub? what's that? must be some kinda uh.. uhhh... uh."

cue the fan whirring. he's hunched over and slack jawed, staring at the frankly color-clashing archive and almost pushing himself away when the cursor hovers over a video - and the humans in it start moving.

clicked the first video with a bold "#1 ranked". he really shouldn't. he really, really should just toss this tempting contraband out the nearest garbage disposal.

"unhh! harder! haaarder! ♡"

he's focused hard on the spike - cock, he learns, or dick, humans got lots of funny terms - ruts rough into you, forcing you to melt forward and squeak through sheets.

the loud, exaggerated moans make him pitifully decide otherwise. imagine him, all weak in the knees, sliding down to sit as he watches transfixed.

flesh on flesh hitting sounds a lot better when it's this and not fighting.

sooner or later, he's huffing into his servo, jacking off his spike and squeezing the tip so rough he's almost jealous seeing you bouncing away. you'd be so, so fragging soft. he can imagine squeezing your limbs and twisting you around to his liking.

overloads fast. he's almost ashamed enough to be embarrassed.

now? can't reach his climaxes unless there's some raunchy, wet-coated squeals in his memory banks. doesn't bother searching up anything because he doesn't have the patience to cultivate. you just happen to be at the top so he gladly sticks watching your holes get sticky any cycle.

skids - playboy bunny

"oh for prime's sake, chromedome don't make me feel like i'm trading for somethin' illegal."

won a "mystery stash" from a late night gamble. of course, not all of rodimus's finds stayed quiet.

he isn't sure why it's such a big deal. the cardboard box which spills open easily under a digit's care isn't filled with weaponry or bombs.

it's almost funny, this giant picking up a magazine in a pinch, helm tilted and keeping it an arm's distance away like the pages might bite.

he looks at the front cover for a long, long time.

his processor isn't catching up. then he squints. gets reaaaaal close.

there's you! all dolled up, as the humans would say. except you're really not, because half of your squishy aft is out, and your servos are covering up your chest but aren't doing a good job.

neither is the bright, blue bow christened at your pelvic area, where he realizes with a jolt is lacking any modesty panels of any kind.

flips a page. oh, it's you again. curved over a lounge. cheekily spreading yourself with a... gathering of lace twisted around your frame.

another one. you got something round in your mouth. he looks carefully at your lips.

and then he's flipping through all of it, and digging into the box and oh, he's found a jackpot because it's all you.

now he understands why it's got the markered "collectors items" on the side. he doesn't question too much when he spits lubricant down onto his spike. dedicated some of that cotton candy gossamer all over your february edition of playboy in approval.

megatron - classic erotica

a true mech of literature. now, unlike many of the lost light, he's had his run in with humanity before. not that he particularly got or wanted to enjoy their culture back then.

though when he did find his way back onto a possible path of redemption, he did indulge once upon a time.

at his spark, he's a poet. a linguist. enjoyer of golden age, art and craftsmanship.

earthen literature has its.. moments. he reads novellas and lost to the history manuscripts, plays, all of which have almost all been uploaded to more convenient means as upkeep for the paper is a pain.

however, he has found one book. a funny looking book, with a funny looking cover.

he observes, rigidly, the scandalous embrace of what he assumed to be the characters, how clothing lacked in areas it shouldn't and skin was almost.. glistening. "seven nights of passion." a chuff left his dermas.

ah, to pit with it. why not?

megatron finds himself slowly involved with the chapters despite the comedy of its advertisement. the writer, you, no doubt under a penname, push development shockingly far.. for a human.

and the intimacy? interfacing? so descriptive. while he has not seen what he is reviewing, he can imagine it. images of sweaty bodies, grinding and yearning and crying.

cybertronians have no reason or function to. the thought of a human, pushed to the brink overloaded with stimulation is... stimulating.

it is a shame when it comes to an end but he might in his free-time peruse for more. leaves his plating warm and intake dry.

the authors note suggests that your inspiration drives from personal experience.

his ... array fizzles at that. fascinating.

swerve - r-rated movie night

"wowza. that's hh. haha. woah! they all do that.. ?"

first movie he flipped onto the projector was supposed to be an "action and feel-good film with hints of romance, angst and sci-fi elements."

not even halfway through, you, the imaginary captain of the imaginary "roman's ravager" have your uniform shimmied down to your ankles, mouth mashing against your supposed rival, who everyone has been heckling for the past forty-five minutes.

some of the mechs cheer, other grumble and argue to skip, others squirm and grimace. swerve watched you push the other down, head tilting back as the camera zooms to your face.

"it's just acting, ya' degenerates, stop acting like protoforms!"

it isn't until he feels a servo smack upside his helm that he starts fumbling for the remote. too much noise but now he's getting a comm from mags asking about what the rackets for so! fast forward he goes.

at 1x.

while the chaos starts to settle, he peeks between digits. catches glimpses of your open mouth. the goosebumps down your chest. how you shake at the insinuation that someone is between your legs, servicing.

slag. when's the last time he's even played with his valve?

movie night was a hit regardless of the commotion. he has to clean up after, which thankfully didn't result in any expelled energon or skid-marks.

that also means he's alone. alone, in his bar. all by himself, staring at the rest of the discs with your pictures on the front, credits humming in the background.

it'll be good for the economy. (all of it is pirated.)

maybe it's for the best. because now, he's realizing you really are a great actor, in lots of different genres, able to adapt and really grab his attention.

it's not as if his spark pulses seeing you in costumes, or using that soft voice you do in all your roles when you make a point.

not like he's riding his digits and crunching into a fist when you're running on the beach, sand dappled and leaving little to imagination.

ends up on his back, charged up and shaking. hurts to speak, to move or to dab up the puddle of transfluid, laughing deliriously when his panels are even too much effort to close.

ultra magnus - audio praise

"you're doing such a good job. you're perfect. you know that, right? yes you do, so good for me."

when he first heard you, he damn near crushes the auditory device and full-blown shudders in the confines of his hab. he's sputtering, optics wide and there's a million reasons he should report this to rodimus and question just what he's given him.

"to help ya uh... research? take the edge off pal."

half-contemplates storming back to the bridge himself if it weren't for your sugar-coated mumbles still coming through the unpaused recording.

you'd think he was dealing with a ticking blast with how he warily handles the device, gruffly spitting out curses that he'd otherwise never allow in crew vicinity.

"i want you to reward yourself. you earned it, honey. can you do that for me? here, listen."

to his horror - and crumbling interest - a slick cacophony of sound rattles in his helm. there's panting, a shift of material that he assumes is tangled around you and frag, he's able to think up you and a thousand faces.

what's worse? is he's hypnotized. you don't demand. you coo to him, just loud enough to let him know you'd be broken too. if he let himself let down that wall, just for the twenty minutes you sing in his audials, he'll know it's done with you just as weak.

"g—gooood job ahhhh!" that does it. ultra magnus groans, shutting off his optics entirely. his large servo feels up along his frame as you suggest.

"i wish you were here. hah.. mmn! could see me. see me fucking myself to you. let you kiss me. you deserve it, sweetie. deserve me on you."

magnus and the sobbed growl to his motors reminds him just how lonely he's felt. always monitoring. always stressed. hearing the spit collect at your throat as your commands grow hoarse makes you feel real.

would you... would you kiss him? would you let him pick you up, rest you flat on his servo and have his glossa lap up your want?

he towers over nearly all. having a partner so much smaller, tinier than even an minibot, shouldn't run up a charge but it does.

he overloads when he's sticking digits near the casing of his spark, ignoring the spurts of pre sizzling down his thighs.

"w-was that as fun.. for you as it was for me?"

dazedly falls onto his berth. this isn't leaving his dermas unless he's had a drink.

a/n : a little haha funny idea i had. there's just something so funny thinking of these giant old robots realizing just how much porn is out there.

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 4 — BODY WORSHIP

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — xiao, heizou

— warnings. — fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), they're obsessed with you, praising and pussy drunk men

⚝ — XIAO

xiao was never one for indulgence—yet, there he was, on top of you with his lips ghosting over your skin, murmuring ancient mantras underneath his breath.

you gasp, each kiss he pressed upon you was meant to "cleanse", that's what he told you, to purge the lingering traces of darkness that dared to cling to your beautiful being— although as his mouth traveled from your shoulder to the curve of your collarbone, his actions became more than just protective— they became slightly possessive.

xiao could feel your pulse quicken beneath his lips, especially when he lapped all the way down to your warmth but stopped right above your clit and fuck, it only spurred him on to do the next following, as much as sinful notion.

his hands, usually so disciplined, traced the delicate lines of your body with a searing touch as they settle on your thighs so he could leisurely place his head between your thighs.

every inch of you called to him, like a magnet for his affection, and he couldn’t stop, fuck he couldn't— just couldn't stop and seeing your cunt all sopping and wet of your own liquids made it hard to process all of this.

"i need to rid you of this," he whispered and you could swear you saw a slight smirk, in fact, it sounded like an excuse, his lips brushing over your folds as if he was addicted to the feeling, "you deserve to be free from harm."

before you could even moan at the way his words are impacting you, your arousal drips at his tongue and cheeks and leaves a mess for him to clean up. his mouth rotates between kissing your clit before his lips eagerly curve around the sensitive pearl as he sucks and nudges his tongue along the twitching spot.

you were the embodiment of purity in xiao's eyes and he couldn’t help but worship you for it.

it’s divine— your taste, and he licks at you, laps and slurps every droplet of your messy slick until your fingers relentlessly grabbed at his roots as your folds quiver, your hole clenching and fluttering around air.

xiao couldn’t stop. he didn’t want to. you were his sanctuary, and every caress, every kiss, every lick and taste only anchored him further to you.

⚝ — HEIZOU

heizou had always been a playful soul and you loved that about him— next to that, you were his favorite puzzle to solve.

leisurely, his fingers danced over your skin with the kind of dexterity that only a detective could have, exploring every inch with the curiosity of someone eager to learn and most importantly, please.

but it wasn’t an investigation driving him tonight— it was sheer delight.

"mm, what’s this?" he teases and furrows his brows, his lips quirking into a smile as he pressed his leaky tip against your slit, watching you squirm effortlessly under his sensual touch.

for some reason— which was actually pretty obvious as though why he was so good at it, heizou had an unparalleled knack for finding every sensitive spot, every place that made you gasp or sigh, most definitely cry out his name.

the detective adored seeing the way you reacted to him, to his cock nestling in your pussy and pulsing through your walls, wrecking havoc when he moves it in and out, slow at first, then rocks it harder and messier until you couldn’t help but arch your body and grind your hips back into him.

you were his to explore, and oh, he took his time, don't you worry about that one— heizou had no need to rush, he could tease you for hours because you see, you were his canvas, and he would paint you with every stroke of his movements and cum.

"you’re far too fun to resist," he smirks, lips ghosting along your collarbones before he buries his face into your neck, groaning like a mad man when he slowly pulls himself into your warmth so your walls could stroke him, welcome and squeeze at his shaft, twist around him until your liquids collide.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[sunshinesfreckless]

Soft Kisses

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Felix x fem!reader

Summary: Just a quick make-out session with Mr. Lee.

A/N: I feel like no one appreciates Felix’s lips enough. This man has the most kissable lips ever. Just a quick thought I put in my notes app… Thinking about expanding on this… Not sure yet…

Warnings: Felix’s pretty lips.

──── ୨୧ ────

Y/N had always been obsessed with Felix’s lips. She didn’t even try to hide it.

Soft, plush, perfectly pink, every time she looked at them, she wanted to devour him. The way they curled when he smiled, the way they pouted when he was sleepy, the way they felt warm against her skin when he kissed her anywhere, anytime, she was obsessed.

And Felix knew.

He always knew.

That’s why he teased her mercilessly. He’d deliberately lick his lips slowly when he caught her staring, biting the bottom one just enough to make her squirm. Or he’d just smirk, lean in close, and whisper, “Want a taste?”

God yes.

There were times when Y/N needed to kiss him properly. Deeply. Like now—when he was leaning against the headboard, scrolling through his phone, utterly unaware of the way she was eyeing him like he was her next meal. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Felix barely had time to react before she cupped his face, tilting it up to hers.

“Babe- ?”

His words melted into a sigh as she kissed him.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Her lips pressed softly against his before she tilted her head, deepening it, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips until he parted them with a shuddering inhale. She kissed him like she had all the time in the world - like she was learning every inch of his mouth, tasting him, savoring the way he melted under her touch. Her nails dragged through his hair, keeping him close as she sucked lightly on his bottom lip before releasing it with a wet pop.

Felix’s grip on her waist tightened.

“Y/N-” His voice was breathless, his pupils blown. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then the other. Then, slow as honey, she brushed her lips down the curve of his jaw, back up to his lips, hovering. “What?” she murmured, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. Felix swallowed hard, his fingers flexing on her hips.

“You know what,” he rasped.

She only grinned before leaning in again, capturing his lips once more, kissing him senseless.

[sai-int]

thinking about how excited rts!simon is to discover all the kinks you have and things you like in bed 🤭

omg yes he LIVES for it!!!!

obviously, you were a virgin before rts!simon, so there’s a whole other layer of exploration that comes with being with each other, and the idea that you even let him be your first knocks the wind right out of him to this day—and every time he thinks about it

—sure, he broke in and all that…. but you did invite him after all, no?

regardless, he’s just obsessed with learning your body, because he doesn’t just want to fuck you—

he wants to educate you !

he wants to be the one show you everything—the way your body reacts when he touches you just right, the exact tone of voice that makes your thighs press together.

he whispers things in your ear like “that feel good, sweet’art? y’like that? tell me what y’need pretty thing.”

he asks for feedback constantly—not because he’s unsure, but because this is a learning curve for him too—learning how to love; how to be soft.

he wants you to feel like you can take up space. like this is yours, too.

he’s also the kind of man who catalogues every reaction you give him—mental file folders and red strings connecting each gasp, whimper, and arch of your back until he’s got you mapped out better than any route.

he genuinely freezes (which he never does) when he finds something new that makes you squirm. completely locked in, like he’s stumbled on information he wasn’t meant to have.

tug his hair a little too hard when he’s between your thighs? noted (—and he’s whining like a bitch into your folds because he secretly likes the pain)

you gasp when he pins your wrists above your head? filed.

you whimper when he mutters something filthy in your ear? he’ll definitely be saying that again

he’s fucking thrilled by your curiosity. excited when you explore. when you let go a little more each time, open up more than you thought you could.

but the real thrill? it’s when you tell him what you want. shy, breathless confessions in the dark, half-hiding your face in the pillow as you mumble something like “i think i might wanna try… y’know… being tied up.”

and he lights up.

“that right?” voice thick with heat, he’s already imagining how he’ll do it. rope or handcuffs? silk or leather? he wants to try em all, wants to find out which one has you sobbing prettiest.

he’s so fucking eager about it, too— not just because it turns him on (and oh girl it does), but because it’s a glimpse of that deeper, secret part of you he gets to keep for himself. a new corner of your body and mind he gets to excavate. he’ll tease, sure—“knew there was a little brat in ya somewhere, didn’t i?”—but he’s careful with it. learned to always check in, always asking, “this okay, sweet’art?” even as he’s got you crumbling in on yourself from how good his cock feels.

and the moment he finds a kink you didn’t even know you had? when he does something on instinct and you moan for it, eyes glassy, thighs shaking while you clench around him?

he just grins—

“look at that,” he drags his knuckles down the line of your jaw. “gonna have so much fun with you.”

and he does—again and again, until he’s learned every dirty little thing that makes you fall apart

—and then finds new ones just to watch you unravel

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

𓂃𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 . PLEASURE AND PAIN ?!

⊹₊⟡⋆ paring : incubus Phainon x witch fem!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ synopsis : As a powerful witch, you’ve always been in control—until Phainon, an incubus with a devilish charm, crosses your path. He’s the temptation you never saw coming, a force that leaves you powerless in the face of desire. With every encounter, magic and lust intertwine, pushing the boundaries of pleasure and control. You may be a master of spells, but Phainon has a magic of his own, one that makes you crave the very thing you swore you’d never surrender to.

⊹₊⟡⋆ warnings : nsfw/smut, vaginal, creampie, daddy kink, leash play, power dynamics, dominance/submission, rough s*x, hand job, explicit language, c*m play, chocking, manipulation, dark content/themes, fingering, rituals/blood rituals, objectification, p*ssy teasing, size kink, consent boundaries pushed, dubcon, humiliation and degradation, also a bit of fluff/aftercare. :>

⊹₊⟡⋆ note : dunno if this is ooc for Phainon.

⊹₊⟡⋆ edit : A LOTTT OF TYPOS. (I edited them) Thanks for anon for telling me.

The moonlight filtered through the thick forest, casting shadows that seemed to dance and pulse with an energy of their own. The air smelled of earth and something darker, something more intoxicating. You stood in the clearing, hands raised, whispering incantations with practiced ease. The power flowed through you, a familiar, heady rush that you had come to crave.

Tonight was supposed to be like any other ritual—a simple offering to the ancient forces you had learned to wield so expertly. But as you uttered the final words, a cold chill swept through the air, and the ground beneath you trembled.

Before you could even react, he appeared.

Phainon.

The incubus was a living manifestation of temptation. His fiery eyes locked onto yours with a predatory gleam, and his lips curled into a grin that made your pulse quicken. The darkness that surrounded him seemed to press in, pulling at you, urging you to give in.

"Did you think you could call for power, witch?" His voice was low, dripping with dark amusement. "You might be able to summon it, but you can’t control it—not when I’m here."

You knew the danger, felt it in your bones, but there was something in his gaze, something in the air, that made you hunger for it. Hunger for him.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his fingers trailing over your skin like fire. His touch was a command, not a request, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding, your body betraying your mind.

"Strip," Phainon ordered, his voice like silk wrapped in a command. You obeyed before you even realized it, your clothes falling away until you stood bare beneath the cool night sky, vulnerable yet burning with desire.

The incubus’s eyes raked over you, his gaze possessive, hungry. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the curve of your throat before he snapped a leash into your hand, the leather cold against your skin.

“Tonight, you belong to me,” he whispered, pulling the leash gently, dragging you into a world where you no longer had the power, but where pleasure and submission were all you needed.

The leash felt oddly heavy in your hands, its cool, smooth leather both a promise and a warning. Phainon’s eyes locked onto you, his grin widening as he saw how easily you obeyed, his words already weaving through your body like a spell.

"You think you can summon power, witch?" he taunted, voice thick with dark amusement. "But what good is power if you don’t know how to use it?"

His fingers traced down your neck, leaving trails of fire behind. You shivered at his touch, not out of fear, but something darker, something you couldn’t deny. He pulled the leash, just enough to make you move closer. Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep from reacting too loudly.

“I didn't summon you,” you managed to whisper, voice shaking with a mix of defiance and need. “You came on your own.”

Phainon chuckled, low and dangerous, his face inches from yours. “You can say that, but I know exactly what you crave.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the teasing was gone from his eyes. His grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Strip,” he commanded, tone brokering no argument.

You hesitated, but only for a second. You knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him. Slowly, deliberately, you shed your clothes until you stood bare before him, the air cold against your heated skin. His gaze slid over every inch of you, the intensity making your legs wobble.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, his hands now roaming over your body, touching, teasing. It made you ache for more, the power shift between you only adding to the need building inside.

You tried to fight it, tried to push back the overwhelming desire, but Phainon wasn’t having it. His hand snapped the leash, pulling you toward him. "On your knees."

It wasn’t a question. His voice was dark, demanding, and all you could do was obey, dropping to your knees, your eyes never leaving his.

“Good,” he murmured, and you could hear the approval in his voice, like it pleased him that you knew your place. He tilted your head back, the grip on your chin bruising, his thumb brushing your lips. “You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat, but you forced them out. “I’m not some... toy, Phainon. I’m not just going to let you—”

“Not some toy?” His lips curled into a grin. “Then why are you already on your knees, witch?”

You couldn’t answer. The truth was written all over your face, your body betraying you in the most delicious ways. Phainon leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You will beg for it soon enough. I’ll make sure of that.”

Phainon’s smirk deepened, his gaze never wavering from yours as if he were enjoying every moment of your struggle. “Still pretending you’re in control?” he mused, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw, the touch almost mocking. “How amusing.”

He was right. Every inch of your body betrayed the resolve you tried so hard to maintain. Even though your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight back, your body was already responding to him—aching, yearning, desperate.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you shot back, the words barely a whisper as your chest rose and fell in rapid succession. “You’re just... not what I expected.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, low and rich, the sound a smooth caress against your senses. “And what did you expect, hmm? A soft touch? Maybe some gentle seduction?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m an incubus, sweetheart. I don’t do gentle.”

His hand tightened around the leash again, pulling you toward him with a sudden jerk. “You’re mine for tonight. Don’t try to fool yourself into thinking otherwise.”

The words were harsh, but there was an undeniable pull to them, a darkness in his voice that sent a shiver straight down your spine. You found yourself unable to look away, your pulse racing in sync with his every command.

Phainon’s gaze softened just slightly—just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something more than just hunger. “You could’ve resisted,” he said, his voice quieter now, though still dripping with that same commanding tone. “But you didn’t. You knew exactly what you wanted the moment you summoned me, didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, to find any words to protest, but they were lost in the heat of the moment. There was no denying it. You could feel it—the need, the craving, the desperate want to give in to him completely.

“I—” You started, but Phainon silenced you with a firm tug on the leash, pulling you closer until your faces were inches apart. His eyes were intense, the kind of intensity that dared you to challenge him.

“Don’t speak,” he commanded, his voice low and deadly serious. “Just feel.”

And with that, his lips crashed onto yours, hot, demanding, and all-consuming. Every ounce of defiance you had left melted under the force of his kiss, your body aching, desperate for him to claim you fully.

Phainon pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze dark and unyielding, like he was seeing straight through you. "I thought witches were supposed to be strong," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "You seem... a little weak for that title."

You clenched your fists, your body trembling with a mix of anger and desire. “Don’t push me, Phainon. I’m not some—”

“Not some what?” He cut you off with another tug of the leash, pulling you forward until you were almost flush against him. “Not some helpless little thing?” He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “Because you sure as hell look like one right now.”

You hissed through your teeth, anger flaring up, but his hand was on your throat again, not enough to choke, but just enough to remind you who was in charge. His fingers were light, almost teasing, but it made your breath catch, your mind dizzy from the power he was holding over you.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning down, lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make sure you remember your place. But you’re going to enjoy every second of it.”

His words were a challenge, a promise, and somehow that only made your pulse quicken even more. You didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of giving in to him, to letting go completely, made your body ache in ways you couldn’t control.

"Stop fighting it," he urged, his grip tightening, a soft, commanding growl in his chest. "I’ll make this worth it, I promise you. But only if you let go."

Your lips parted to retort, but no words came out. Instead, you found yourself nodding, just a little, the slightest admission that you wanted—no, needed—this. Needed him.

“Good,” Phainon purred, the approval in his voice like a drug you couldn’t quit. “I knew you were smarter than that.”

He stepped back, tugging at the leash again, pulling you closer until your knees buckled under the force of his pull. “On your back,” he ordered, his voice unshaken, leaving no room for hesitation. "Now."

You obeyed, settling on the cold ground, your body laid out before him, vulnerable and bare. Every nerve in your body screamed for more, for him to touch, to claim you, to make you his in the only way he knew how.

Phainon crouched down, his hands gripping your thighs, parting them with ease, his eyes glowing with that hungry fire. “You’ll beg me for it soon enough. Don’t try to deny it.”

You swallowed hard, the words heavy in the air between you. But in that moment, you realized you didn’t want to deny it.

His fingers traced over your inner thighs, slowly gliding upward, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He paused just short of your core, teasing, his touch whisper-soft and maddeningly light. "So responsive to me," he murmured, as if pleased with himself.Then, as quick as a flicker of smoke, his hand made contact.

Two long, slender digits delved into your folds with ease, coaxing out your arousal with a mere stroke. Your body betrayed you, arching into the sensation, a needy moan slipping past your parted lips."So wet," Phainon commented, his thumb circling your clit in a tantalizing rhythm. "It's a good thing you surrendered willingly. I'd hate to force it out of you."

He pumped a steady beat, his fingers curled just so to hit all the right spots, driving you insane while somehow keeping you from reaching climax. It was a balancing act, and one you suspected he'd mastered over centuries of seduding countless human victims.

His thumb danced, a merciless tease, over your throbbing pearl, and you found yourself thrashing beneath his touch, desperate for more, any more he cared to give.Phainon's other hand came into play, joining in the torture.

Phainon’s fingers wrapped around one of your tits, squeezing just hard enough to elicit a whimper from your lips. He'd know every response, every subtle twitch and quake, and it would be agonizing.

A thrill ran through him at the prospect of stripping the last vestige of control from you. He pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth, while his other hand never wavered from your sensitive flesh. Two fingers pumped steadily in time with his thumb, maintaining that maddening pace against your clit.

The other hand continued its exploration of your tits, fingers sweeping over the swell, tracing the contours until he gripped the other nipple. It was a cruel delight, playing both sources of pleasure against each other, keeping you on the razor's edge with nothing but the promise of more. Phainon’s thumb danced harder against your clit, increasing the tempo just enough to heighten the friction, the pressure.

The wetness was overwhelming now, soaking through his fingers with a slick heat."You'll come for me," Phainon breathed, his lips grazing your ear. "It's only a matter of when, not if. Your body wants this, craves it, needs it."

"Ngh—daddy! I’m going to cum!" you cried out loud, your pussy clenching around his fingers.

The desperate, pleasured cry that tore from your throat only spurred him on. Your core was squeezing around his fingers, a rhythmic pulsing that threatened to undo him, but he held steady.

No, he'd make you come like this, at his command, before he allowed you any relief. "You'd better," Phainon ground out, his thumb rubbing merciless circles over your swollen clit. "Because I'm nowhere near finished with you."

He quickened the pace of his fingers, pumping in and out as the pressure mounted. Your body was tightening, coiling, the tension building to unbearable heights.

"Now!" Phainon barked, his fingers plunging deep as he pinched your nipple with unyielding force. The dual assault pushed you over the brink. Your sex spasmed wildly around his plunging digits, milking them as ecstasy ripped through your core. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in white-hot bliss as you came undone in his grip.

Phainon's lips curved in triumph as he felt your inner walls clench and flutter around him. "Yes," he murmured, savoring the moment. "That's it. Take it, witch."

The pulsing of your sex, now hypersensitive following the intensity of your climax, continued to milk his fingers. Your climax was still rippling through you, and your back arched as if begging for more. But he wasn't done with you yet.Withdrawing his touch from your trembling flesh, Phainon stood, slowly stripping off his weapons and armor piece by piece.

The cool air of the dungeon washed over his skin, making him shiver slightly as he revealed his muscular physique, the white marks of his tattoos standing out against his pale flesh.He towered over you, his imposing figure almost intimidating after the intimate scene they'd just shared.

Despite the differences in their natural abilities, there was a power about him that drew you in, an aura of dominance that was impossible to resist. Your gaze was drawn to his hardening cock, already sporting impressive length and girth, a clear sign that he, too, was aroused.

His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see into your very soul, gleamed with dark desire and sinister intent. Lowering himself onto the bed of furs, Phainon spread his legs invitingly, as if presenting himself for your exploration and pleasure.

A devilish grin curled his lips, and his voice took on a sensual, seductive timbre. "Well, witch? Doesn't it seem time to return the favor?" His hands reached for the hem of his pants, sliding them down over powerful thighs, hips that shifted fluidly with every subtle movement.

Muscles rippled under fair, unblemished skin as he kicked the fabric aside, fully exposing himself. As if entranced, your eyes drifted over the expanse of his torso, down to the thick, substantial evidence of his arousal, cock jutting proudly from a thatch of pale white hair. "Don't tell me I've got you weak in the knees already," Phainon teased with a smirk as he reclined back on his elbows, watching you with predatory interest, awaiting your next move with bated breath.

You took in a sharp breath, your body still trembling, but your voice remained steady, filled with defiance and the hunger you couldn’t deny. Your eyes met his, unblinking, as you slowly crawled closer, each movement deliberate and confident.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Phainon," you said, your voice low and dangerous, a smirk curling at the edges of your lips. "You think you’ve got me? Think again. I’m not some helpless toy you can just control."

Your hands moved to his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath your fingers. "You may be an incubus, but I know exactly how to handle power. The question is... can you handle me?"

A low, indulgent chuckle rumbled in Phainon's chest as your dainty fingers danced over his skin, tracing the contours of his muscles with a familiarity that spoke volumes of the intimate encounter they'd just shared. "Oh, witch," he drawled, reaching up to wrap his strong arms around you, holding you pressed against his warm, enticing body.

"I think it's quite transparent what you crave. And yes, I most certainly can handle you."His hands ghosted down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass as he pulled you impossibly closer, their sexes now aligned, the heat of his desire brushing against your still-sensitive folds. "You forget yourself," Phainon murmured, his lips skimming the nape of your neck in a soft, teasing caress.

"I am not a novice. I know exactly what I want, and I'll take it however I please."

Leaning in, he inhaled your scent, his nostrils flaring with arousal as he savored the heady aroma of your desire. With deliberate, unhurried movements, he guided your hand to wrap around his thick erection, the contrast between your soft skin and his hard length a delight for both of you.

"I want you to worship my cock," Phainon hissed with pleasure as your hand enclosed around his hard length, fingers just barely meeting to encircle him. "I want you to feel every throbbing inch as you take turns showing just how skilled you really are. "His voice was laced with dark promise, eyes gleaming with an unholy hunger.

A gentle but firm press urged you to begin exploring his member's contours. As you started to stroke him slowly, he angled his hips to drive himself further into your hand. Each smooth, sleek glide ignited fresh sparks of pleasure that coursed through his body, building his anticipation and arousal. "You're incredibly good at this," Phainon purred, leaning to nibble along your shoulder. "Almost as if you were designed to serve and pleasure me." The thought seemed to stir him even more, his cock throbbing harder against your palm. "Go on, witch...let's see what else you can do."

You grumbled softly as you stroked his length faster, pressing your thumb against the tip of his cock. Phainon groaned softly, as he tugged on the leash that was around your neck harder.

A sudden, sharp tug on the leash made you gasp, your eyes widening as Phainon's fingers dug just a little deeper into your throat.

Despite the hint of choking, the sensation elicited no alarm from him. Your breath caught in your lungs, your pulse quickening at the unfamiliar sting.Now, with your attention momentarily diverted, Phainon seized the opportunity to slip that first finger inside you, curling it upwards to make contact with a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

He knew well its effects, and he reveled in the knowledge that the sensation would only heighten your pleasure, even as you struggled just a little against the leash's restraints. "Yes," Phainon purred into your ear, the finger inside you still, "like that. Perfect," he praised. His hand loosened from your throat, then closed again to grip the leash, once more tugging the slender chain around your neck to draw your face closer to his erection.

The pleasure building to a fever pitch within him demanded release, and with a guttural growl, Phainon seized control, his hand closing over yours to guide the pace of your strokes. "That's it, witch...just a little more..." With his own fingers intertwined with yours, he set a relentless rhythm, each thrust of his hips meeting your touch perfectly, until finally, with a burst of ecstatic cry, he reached his peak.

Arch of his back, hips jerking, and spurt after spurt of hot, velvet essence pulsing out to coat that expert hand still wrapped around him—every sensation reached a crescendo before slowly subsiding, Phainon spent but sated in the aftermath of his climax.

"Excellent," he sighed, finally releasing your hand. He turned his head to languidly lick his lips, tasting your essence on them. "You learn quickly when faced with...motivation." With a gentle pat on your cheek, he slipped out from beneath you, and rising in stages, finally stood, his spent cock now flaccid against his thigh. However, the gleam in his eye betrayed his ongoing, insatiable appetite for more from you.

You felt something hard between your legs making you gasp. From his leisurely stroll crossing the room back to the bed, Phainon paused to let your gaze devour every muscle and sinew on full display. A sly, knowing smile curled his kissable lips even as his rigid length began to harden once more, a traitorous cock seemingly possessed by a will of its own.

Giving in to instinct, he shifted back closer to you, hands sliding down to palm his renewed erection as he stood between open legs, fully on display. "It seems I'm not thoroughly sated," Phainon murmured, his voice a deep, seductive rumble.

He leaned down, allowing his hot breath to fan over your skin as he whispered against your ear, "The devil in me isn't quite done with you yet, witch...and I doubt you'll mind."With a slow, deliberate stroke against your inner thigh, he was once again in full control, his body primed for an onslaught of your passion and his unending appetite for more of your exquisite surrender.

As if sensing your anticipation, Phainon began inching closer, eyes locked onto yours as if trying to see into the deepest, darkest recesses of your soul.

The air grew heavier with tension, each ragged breath stirring the musky scent of arousal thicker than the mist—shrouded moors in the gathering dusk. Without warning, he lunged forward, pinning you beneath his weight as he settled on top of you. "Witch," he hissed against your throat, hot, rough lips skimming over your pulse point in a reverential worship, "you'll pay for all the times you tormented me with your lovely form and refused to succumb to a taste."

His hands were everywhere at once—gripping your hips, trailing up your sides, kneading the delicate skin of your tits. Each touch sent shockwaves straight to your core as your nervous system tingled with expectation.

Phainon's rigid cock throbbed urgently against your skin, his arousal unabashedly apparent even through the thin sheet of magic that usually protected those who bore your mark. Yet there was no time for reflection, not with his lips continuing their relentless assault on your skin, and the heady, primal heat that emanated from his form threatening to consume you all.

You moaned softly, one of your hands grabbed his dick. Rubbing the head of his cock on your entrance. "Fuck me. Now."

With an animalistic growl, Phainon positioned himself over you, his impressive length nudging insistently against your inviting warmth. "Patience, witch," he purred, his fingers tangling into your hair to yank your head back, exposing the elegant column of your throat. "I've waited far too long for this sweet release."

He dragged his tongue up the sensitive skin in slow, deliberate drags before latching onto your pulse point, suckling gently as his hips pressed forward, the bulbous head of his cock breaching you incrementally.

The velvety texture glided against your inner walls, the slight stretch almost unbearably pleasurable as inch by inch, he sank deeper into your welcoming heat."Oh, yes," Phainon moaned, breath gusting against your skin, "just like that...so soft...warm...perfect." His tempo quickened, each deliberate thrust driving him in deeper, the force pushing you to meet him, to crave more of that exquisite friction. "You take me so well, witch," he praised, voice thick with desire, "so utterly, wickedly perfect."

The pace of his plunges intensified, each deep stroke sending the head of his cock stroking across that elusive sweet spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Phainon growled with pleasure, his own arousal growing more insistent as the witch's inner muscles clenched and rippled around his plunging length. "Not stopping," he snarled, "until you can't remember a life without me buried deep within you like this." With renewed hunger, he redoubled his efforts, hips snapping relentlessly as he drove into your welcoming heat.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mixed with your gasps and moans, a symphony of lustful abandon in the darkness of your private sanctum.

As if sensing he was about to reach the precipice, Phainon clutched your hips hard enough to bruise, every muscle taut, his rhythm chaotic as he fought for control against the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume him whole. "Mine," he rasped, breaking the carnal soundtrack just enough to rasp the word against your ear, "you're mine now, witch, utterly and completely...in body and soul."

"Phainon!" you cried out, his cock thrusting into all of the right places.

The last vestiges of Phainon's control shattered, his climax building to an almost unbearable peak. "Take it, witch," he commanded through gritted teeth, his hips moving in powerful, frenzied thrusts as he pursued the heights of ecstasy. "Let me fill you up with my essence," he grunted, the head of his cock battering against that tender spot inside you with every plunge.

"Feel me...claim you...mark you as mine," his voice ragged with lust, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within him.

The moment of surrender loomed close, and with one final, ragged grunt, Phainon buried himself to the hilt inside you, his throbbing cock pulsing and twitching as he exploded in a flurry of intense, raw release.

Waves of hot, potent seed washed over your trembling walls, each contraction milking him of every last drop as your body instinctively rode the aftershocks of his climax together.

Hours later...In the soft, intimate afterglow of their passionate encounter, Phainon stirred, his strong arms encircling you as he lazily drew comforting circles on the small of your back. "Will I meet you again?" You asked him, teasing your eyebrow. You didn’t want him to go. Yet.

Phainon chuckled, the vibrations resonating through his chest and against your ear. "Oh, I'm quite certain we have unfinished business to attend to." He turned his head, kissing the crown of yours softly. "In fact, my dear witch, I've grown quite...fond of you." There was an edge to his voice, a hint of mischief that made him sound almost...playful?

"Unlikely," Phainon said at last with a nonchalant shrug, releasing you from the embrace as he rose from the bed. "Still, do enjoy whatever peace this sanctuary grants you, witch. I promise you won't be kept waiting for long. "With an easy grin and a wink, he sauntered out of the room, leaving behind the lingering scent of his presence and the ghost of pleasure's sweet taste.

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[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS React to a Reader with a Skin Condition

Request: Anon- Would you be comfortable writing headcanons about how the boys would react to you having skin problems? Like acne and eczema. I get really self conscious about my skin and I just feel like they’d know just what to say.Whether or not you choose to write this thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate all you do, you’re an incredibly talented writer and you’re such a wonderful part of this community. 💕

AN: Hi anon, thanks for requesting! As someone with psoriasis this is close to home. I hope you like this >< evil laughter because I changed the OG reaction order

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% sulking

My Fav: None. I felt writer's block writing this :(

Caleb:

He’d seen you grow up with psoriasis.

He remembers the way you never let go of your long sleeves. The way your friends’ eyes lingered in the summer, glancing at your covered arms with quiet curiosity. The way your smile would dim when someone’s gaze lingered too long.

Hell, he was the one who held you when you sobbed, terrified before every new school year. The one who sat with you in silence while you rubbed at your sleeves until the fabric thinned.

But he had also seen you change. Watched as long sleeves were traded for shorter ones. Saw how you learned to love your skin through the endless cycle of steroids, topicals, and shots.

Flare-up or not, you were strong. You became more than the spots on your skin. And he was proud.

The person he once comforted no longer needed saving. You had learned to love yourself.

But even now, if you stumbled, if you slipped, he’d still be there. Not because you needed him. But because he never stopped wanting to stand beside you.

And when you catch him watching you, when you raise an eyebrow and say “What?” he just smiles.

"Nothing." He wraps his arms around you, his hands mapping your arms with utmost focus. He watches the way you don’t flinch anymore. The way you let him touch you without hesitation.

"You’re just beautiful."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush. He sees the quiet pleasure in the smile on your lips.

"I mean it." His pulls you closer, against his chest, burying his face in your shoulder.

Zayne:

He held your hands, applying the topical carefully. His fingers moved slowly, brushing over the irritated skin with quiet precision. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, skin red and peeling. It looked painful.

Just a night out had done this. The restaurant soap had reacted poorly.

And now here you both were.

"I'm sorry, Zayne. I was stupid." You whisper, trying to pull your hands back. "I ruined our plans."

His grip tightens slightly, keeping you from slipping away. His breath steadies as he rests his forehead against yours. Warm. Soft. Familiar.

"You have nothing to apologize for." His arms circle around you, pulling you carefully into his lap. His hand slides to your wrist, thumb brushing over the curve of your pulse.

He blows gently over the drying cream on your skin. His breath ghosts over your fingers, the warmth easing the sting.

"I prefer this." His lips brush your temple. "How else do I get to hold you like this?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth curves faintly against your cheek.

"And kiss you however much I want?"

You laugh weakly. "You’re ridiculous."

"Probably." His lips trail down the side of your face, soft and deliberate. His touch light and careful as he smooths over the cream.

"But you think too much." His forehead presses against yours. "You didn’t ruin anything."

"Zayne, it was your time off in so long, and we-"

His fingers lace between yours. His thumb strokes along your palm, calm, steady. "I’d rather be here with you, holding you, than anywhere else."

You close your eyes, breath slowing beneath the weight of him.

"So stop apologizing." His voice drops to a whisper. His mouth hovers over yours. "You’re already giving me exactly what I want."

Rafayel:

He finds you crouched in the closet. Crying. Clothes scattered around you in every direction.

"I look awful." You look at him tearfully. "Everything looks terrible with the breakout. I can't go to your exhibition, Rafayel."

Your face crumples, eyes red and swollen. Your period isn’t helping, it makes you even more susceptible to unwarranted emotional breakdowns every passing hour. You bury your face in a dress and sob like a kicked puppy.

Rafayel stands there for a second, his brow furrowing. Then he sighs and sinks down beside you, his knees brushing against yours.

His hands rise to your face, caressing your cheek with care. "My bodyguard always looks the most beautiful." He tilts your chin to kiss the tears away.

"Don't kiss me, I feel gross." You try to pull away. "And look at all this acne. How can you even...?"

"I'm not kissing the acne." Rafayel smiles faintly. His eyes soften as he takes in the sight in front of him. "I'm kissing you, you dummy."

"And right now?" His grin sharpens as he leans back slightly. "You look adorable."

"I can’t go to the exhibit, Rafayel." You whine annoyed by the sound of your own voice as overstimulation crowed your senses.

"Good." His voice is lazy, his arms sliding beneath your legs. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, adjusting you against his chest like you weigh nothing.

"Rafayel this is ridiculous." You bury your face in his chest.

"Shhh." He silences your protests with a peck to your lips. His arms tighten around you, carrying you toward the bed.

"You know how much I hate those things." His tone is light, but his hand slips beneath the curve of your knee, holding you securely. His mouth skims the side of your temple. "Honestly, you just gave me the best excuse to skip."

"But..."

"Nope." He sets you down on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face. "We’re staying in."

He slides in beside you, one arm looping beneath your shoulders. His hand splays low across your back, pulling you closer.

"If you feel awful, the least you can do is suffer with me." His mouth tilts against your temple. "And if you think this breakout makes you less beautiful, I guess I’m going to have to kiss you until you figure out how wrong you are."

"Starting now." He pulls you into an onslaught of kisses.

Sylus:

You drag another air purifier into the room, sneezing hard enough to make your head spin.

"God, this sucks." You flop onto the floor between the circle of purifiers, rubbing at the irritated skin of your neck. "How did natural selection fail this badly?"

Your breath hitches, throat burning. You close your eyes. Maybe if you just stay here, the purifiers will summon clean air or a new respiratory system.

That’s when you feel him.

"Did I interrupt your ritual, darling?"

You crack an eye open. Sylus stands above you, arms crossed, looking thoroughly amused.

"This is serious." You sniff, voice wrecked.

"Sure it is." He crouches down, invading your circle of air purifiers. "Should I sacrifice a goat or something?"

"You could bring me a tissue."

Sylus grins. "Or…" His hands slip beneath your arms, lifting you effortlessly. "I could just kidnap you and nurse you back to health myself."

"Sylus, what are you...?"

Without a word, he drops you onto the couch, pressing his hand against your forehead. His eyes narrow. "Hm. You might not survive the night."

"Stop it,"

"I’ll have to keep you in bed." His mouth curves wickedly. "For observation."

"Sylus!" You protest, trying to get up.

"No talking. Doctor’s orders."

His lips press against your burning cheek. His hand slides through your hair, nuzzling into you. His smile softens at the sound of your stuffy breath.

"Just relax." His voice lowers. "I’ve got you."

Xavier:

"You don’t have to stay." You reason trying to get your boyfriend out of your misery cave. "You’re tired. You’ve been running around all day."

"So?" His voice is quiet.

You glance at him through swollen eyes. Your skin is blotchy from the allergic reaction, red patches climbing up your neck and across your cheeks. You feel gross.

"So you don’t have to deal with this."

Xavier sinks down onto the floor beside you, resting his head on the bed where you lay draped. His gaze drops to the irritated skin on your throat.

"I’m not here because I have to." His hand lifts, hesitates, then curls gently around your hand. His thumb traces the tender skin of your palm.

"You look uncomfortable." You wince, voice thin.

"Yeah. I am." His smile is faint, almost fragile. "Because I hate seeing you like this."

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off.

"Not because of how you look." His hand rises to your neck, cupping it carefully. His thumb brushes over a reddened patch of skin. His eyes darken. "Because I hate not knowing how to make it better."

"It’s just allergies."

"I know." His breath steadies. His eyes soften. "But I still wish I could fix it."

"You’re not going to scare me off." His voice drops lower. "You don’t have to look perfect for me to stay."

"But I feel—"

"I know." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. His breath catches as your gaze meets his. "Stay with me anyway."

[cherie-doll]

how do you think the cod men would react to you hiding an injury (from a mission) from them?

(annoyed i had a draft of this ready but my laptop decided to act up and i lost it, so i had to rewrite it again)

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Hiding An Injury From Them

ઇଓ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

it wasn't until after the mission that he noticed you clutching your side, your hand curved protectively over the wound that was surely getting worse by the minute or so he feared

he insisted on taking you to the medic right away, and as you were being examined he stayed right outside the room, he really wished you had told him, he was captain so he had to know if one of his had been injured

you were left to rest but the next day he came back, when you awoke he was there by your bedside, "why didn't you tell me?"

he just wants you to know that you need to trust him, he's more worried than anything on why you didn't come to him, did you not trust him?

Ghost

while you were seeking shelter he noticed the way you limped, you hadn't said anything but anyone who looked at you could see how terribly you tried to hide your pain

he sighs and trudges towards you, as if annoyed he has to do this, but he takes you aside and has you show him the injury, it wasn't as bad as he thought it was which is why he's a little relieved

as he bandages you up he's mostly silent, he wanted to scold you, to say something to get this feeling off his chest but when you gasp in pain when his fingers apply too much pressure he can't bring himself to be annoyed at you

you're left feeling the phantom touch of his fingers and how he gentled when he saw you wince in pain

Soap

you two were almost always assigned together or ended up finding one another and watching each other's back, so you were always in his subconscious; he just couldn't let anything happen to you

yet, in the blink of an eye it had happened, you brushed it off as being just fine, that it was only the debris and nothing more, nothing vital had been hit

but when you went back to base and he didn't see you around for a couple of days and found out you had been sent to recovery he rushed to find you, "you told me you were fine!", and he's upset you weren't honest when he asked

you two were a team...always working together so he definitely gets cross about the matter for a little while afterwards but not for long because he's still checking up and asking how you're holding up

Gaz

when you were a rookie you went to him for almost everything, he was the one you felt safest with and he had treated you with the most respect even if you were still learning and made mistakes

so he couldn't help but feel forgotten or sidelined when you didn't tell him about your injury, in fact, you weren't planning on telling anyone because you didn't want to make a 'big deal' out of it, you had been doing so well and you didn't want anyone to know you had messed up

yet, he found you taking painkillers and stuffing rags of blood down to the bottom of the trashcan, "how long have you been covering this?!" as he rushed to take care of it for you

he was stunned to find out you had been trying to take care of it yourself, still he remained patient as he somewhat understand why you did it

Roach

he went into panic thinking something worse would happen if you didn't tell someone right away, but you tried to tell him it wasn't that bad as a knife was sticking out of your leg

neither of you knew what to do other than informing someone, as help was on the way he shushed you and was 'calming' you down when you weren't even showing distress

he loves being helpful when he can so he stuck around to see if there was anything you needed whether that be emotional support or medicine; he was ready to help

Alejandro

he'd mutter a few curses before ordering some soldiers around to get an emergency kit, you try to move into a more comfortable position but he scolds you to hold it, you're making it worse

"this is serious you idiot, stuff like this can't be held off until later" and he might go off into a long rant but really he's trying to distract his mind as he cleans your wound and wraps it

he implements a new rule; everyone must report what they're doing or what has happened to them at all times during a mission, doesn't matter if they're taking a dump or if they got a papercut they gotta report that too

really he's just worried you'll get hurt and he won't be there in time to aid you

Rudy

he's all over you, anxious and troubled that one, you were injured and second, you were intentionally hiding it from him! he's more disappointed than anything

"i'm so sorry, you'll be fine.. i promise" he comforts as you're being patched up and treated, it probably hurt him more than you but you swear he's being a little over the top

back at base, there is not a day that goes by without him coming by to see you and bringing something for you, he doesn't even get mad at you for trying to hide the injury from him, he most likely forgot

Phillip Graves

"no, no- fuck, why?!" he focused in on solely you when a soldier told him about the injury you were trying to hide, but he cares too much, and you've seen how he is with his Shadows, of course he wouldn't let something like this slip by him

doesn't matter if you can walk yourself but you're not doing anything without assistance anymore until you're completely healed, it's sort of heartwarming in a way

he makes it very clear that this doesn't happen again, and you think he's talking about the injury but no he's referring to you hiding that you're hurt, he doesn't mind offering help he just doesn't want you suffering in silence

Makarov

he can't help but feel guilty, he should've known the risk for sending you out there and now the result is you needing emergency care, thankfully you weren't in too much pain

still, to him this is very serious, "this is serious! tell me what happened, who did it?", he's ready to go out there and find the bastard who had the audacity to do this, but you tell him it was kind of your own fault because everything had gone well it was actually due to your clumsiness that you had stumbled and hurt yourself on the way back

he doesn't know if that's another lie but since you seem better now he'll take it

Keegan

you've seen how much he yells during missions, so you know you're in for a reprimand the moment he figures out you're hurt, it's just a matter of time until he notices

strangely, when he does notice the blood through your clothes his eyes only widen as he points out the stained cloth and then gets to work silently as he uncovers the wound

you nervously try to tell him it's not that bad and he shouldn't be fussing over it but he just rolls his eyes, "not that bad you say? are you even looking at it?"

yeah it was pretty bad

König

he gets nervous the moment you show the slightest sign of discomfort so it's no strange that you'd hide an injury he's surely freak out over, you just don't want to cause him to lose focus

little do you know, the other soldiers are his eyes and ears as they report to him your injuries, he comes and says it's best you go back to base a little earlier, you protest thinking it's not fair that the others have sustained worse injuries yet they still have to keep going forward with the mission

but he just wants to prevent you from getting hurt worse and being so far away from a medic who could treat you end up with terrible health complications

Horangi

you and him tended to play around during missions, as if not taking them seriously, until it resulted in you getting hurt, he went serious after that even though to tried brushing it off

he could see you tense up a bit, your body sensitive to the throbbing pain that was begging to be taken care of, you needed rest and you weren't going to give it what it needed, he really wished he could be more caring and nurturing in this moment

he can only tell you to breathe slowly, to focus on the stars above you right now and hope you got to a medic soon, he wants you to realize you're not fine and that this could have been prevented, if only he had been more on guard

Nikto

he's seen people get their arm blown off, maybe even lose a leg and he barely bats an eye at it, so why is he constantly looking over at you who seems to be suppressing pain?

to him if blood isn't noticeable then it's no reason for alarm, and even then a little blood never hurt anyone, but your throbbing pain only gets stronger and he can see it in your eyes, the desperation and how you wish you had painkillers right now

while everyone else is asleep he orders you to tell him what's hurting and he tries his best to take care of it, he's built a high pain tolerance over the years but will feel disquieted when you appear worn out

[cyberyam]

stalker. - pt. two

pt. one | pt. two | pt. three

Pairing: Gangster!Toji x BabySitterFem!Reader

cw: sex; violence; mxrder; stalker; obsession; blowjobs; course language; gangs

Summary: Gangster!Toji doesn’t just get curious—he obsesses. After a single encounter, you take root in his mind, creeping into his thoughts no matter how hard he tries to push you out.

Gangster!Toji; finally, after a painstakingly long five-day wait, knew everything there was to know about you. And Toji hated waiting.

Since your encounter in the park, you’d been an unshakable presence in the back of his mind—slowly creeping forward, refusing to be ignored. No matter the situation, his thoughts would drift to you, to the curve of your smile, the way it lingered like a ghost in his memory. He tried to fight it, tried to take back control of his own damn mind, but it was useless.

Gangster!Toji; had a gun pressed to a man’s head, his finger resting lightly on the trigger—yet all he could think about was you. The subtle scent of honey and sweat that clung to your skin, how he would rather be buried in that warmth than suffocating in the thick, metallic stench of the bastard’s blood.

Gangster!Toji; would be benching weights in his home gym, jaw clenched as he readjusted his grip on the bar. But as his fingers flexed over the cold metal, he found himself wondering instead—how would they look wrapped around your throat?

Gangster!Toji; would take some nameless woman at whatever high-roller party he was forced to attend, letting her throw herself at him, letting her grind and whimper like it meant something. But he had to have her bent over—he couldn't stomach looking at her face. Not when all he could see was yours. With every thrust, his mind betrayed him, filling in the gaps—your expression beneath him, the way your eyes would darken, the way your breath would hitch. He thought about the melody of your laughter and wondered what sweeter sounds he could pull from you if it were you beneath him instead.

Gangster!Toji; he was already enraged by day two—unable to stomach the suspense of you still being unknown. Even now, with another woman on her knees before him, her lips wrapped around him, all he could think about was you. Every time she looked up, eager to please, his veins burned with frustration. Not because she was bad—hell, she was great—but because she wasn’t you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stay in the mood.

Gangster!Toji; exhaled sharply before yanking her off by her hair, shoving her aside without a second glance.

"Go. I'm done," he muttered, already reaching for his phone.

The girl blinked up at him, stunned.

"But you didn’t cum—"

"What part of 'go' did you not fucking understand?"

She swallowed her protest and scrambled to her feet, gathering the clothing they’d carelessly tossed aside in their drunken haze before slipping out without another word.

Gangster!Toji; tapped his phone screen impatiently, waiting as the line rang once—twice—three times.

Finally, the call connected.

"Boss?"

"A name," Toji growled, his free hand flexing as he glared down at his still-hard problem.

"A name? What are you—"

"Are you fucking stupid?" His voice dropped to something lethal. "Do you have her fucking name yet?"

A pause. Then, finally—

"Ah. Yeah, boss."

Gangster!Toji; took care of his own hard-on that night the moment he learned your name. Just speaking it out loud left an intoxicating taste on his tongue, something rich and lingering, something that made him crave more. He wanted to know what face you’d make when he moaned it into your ear, how your body would react when he growled it again and again—each time rougher, each time more desperate—until it became a plea, a demand, as he fucked you harder, chasing his release.

Even after he came, your name refused to leave him. It played on loop in his mind, an obsessive, absentminded mantra—one he couldn’t stop, one he didn’t want to.

Gangster!Toji; had everything memorised by day seven—every turn, every stop, every moment you lingered. He knew exactly where to find you and when. He knew you were a babysitter, knew your routine down to the minute. Every weekday during the school holidays, you gathered your client’s kids, escorting them to carefully chosen activities. He watched. He logged every detail.

He knew your schedule better than you did. He knew which days were for the museum, which days for the park, which afternoons ended with a stop at the ice cream shop. He knew your favorite flavor. He knew the shortcuts you took when you were running late. He knew what time you got home, how long you took to wind down, the flicker of your bedroom light before it finally went dark. He knew the rhythm of your life, the pattern of your existence.

He knew what you spent at the grocery store, the exact days you stocked up. He knew your habits, the little routines you never thought twice about but followed religiously. He knew your past—your childhood home, your old schools, your ex-lovers, the heartbreaks you tried to forget.

He finally, finally, knew it all.

He watched as your light flickered out at the end of the night, knowing it meant you were finally going to bed.

Tomorrow, though—tomorrow, you would be at the park. He would wait until then.

© cyberyam

[choochooboss]

Sketch dump! Vol. 5

September 2022 (Part 1/2)

The first piece on top summarised my cosplay rush for Tracon 2022! The second is an old idea for a charm.

"SURPRISE!!"

Back in 2022 I hosted an art raffle for reaching 777 followers on Twitter! The winner would get their submas themed idea realised (which was their friends throwing a surprise party for the twins!). I wanted to make a little comic and have the bosses walk in their office where depot agents, Elesa, Drayden, Skyla, Clay etc. would be waiting with decorations and treats and games.

Emmet is all smiles of course while Ingo gets so emotional he could only whisper a "super bravo".

Not really headcanons anymore but still funny ideas.

1. Emmet gets clumsy when off-rhythm! He starts walking in curves if there is nobody else around to match his rhythm with.

2. Emmet spaces out/forgets to say things aloud when someone speaks too long or when things go off-script! His thinking gets interrupted easily.

3. Ingo sometimes bumps into doors because he is too used to automatic doors!

4. When things go off-script Ingo speaks too much and rushes in straight lines"

Also my little inexpensive sketchbook & my trusty tools! Mechanical pencil and eraser pen are life when scribbling my skrimblos smaller than a postage stamp!

More Ingo~ I utilise a wide range of sources for references, including CSP's poseable 3D models, they can come really handy with perspectives and proportions!

The second piece is my very first attempt at cosplay in Tracon 2022: Blingo! I walked in with a sequin hat, leather jacket, leather pants and high heel patent leather boots.

The hardest part of cosplaying Ingo is remembering NOT to smile ahaha!

Some hairstyle tests

I drew these for a huge submas art collaboration over Twitter hosted by @/mimizukeii!! It was technically my first art collab before I started arranging them myself with Aggie/Magma.

While looking for train related songs I found this cute nursery rhyme to go with the marching:

"Over the mountains,

Over the plains,

Over the rivers,

Here come the trains.

Carrying passengers,

Carrying mail,

Bringing their precious loads In without fail"

I wanted to compare these silly twins, planning to do something more silly with them later. Also a sketch of @/fukurow's butler designs I never finished.. The capes compliment them so well, I love them!!

Prequel to this piece! Emmet is so confident in himself he thinks Pierce wants to learn from him but is invited for a duet on the stage instead!!

Emmet has really great voice actors in Pokemas! I especially love how his english VA gives him that bri'ish/posh/sophisticated vibe while also soft and melodic! I know for SURE this VA/Emmet can sing, I can show you later!

One of my favourite sketches!! I wanted to add a bunch of characters in the BG reacting to this sonic blast of emotion over a performance!

Heyyy it's the smile buddies comic!! I really hope Ingo gets to interact with Marnie in Pokemas one day!!

I feel Ingo's eyes in the mirror panel is a little off in the final comic, I meant to keep it softer like in the sketch!

It's Nimbasa trio!! Idea inspired by submas EX uniform colors. Might continue this later!

Some BG tests for this piece! Compositing is hard but absolutely worth the effort, it can make a huge difference in the appeal of your piece!!

Practise piece drawing over a photo I thought was cool! I want to get more experimental with lighting and perspective!

'How's it hanging bro?' Who hung him up there anyway??

Sketch for this arguing scene! Something REALLY BAD needs to happen for them to end up that tense! Even if I want to present them close to the canon material I still want to put them in really challenging situations to see how far I can push their emotions!

Thank you so much for coming all the way down here!! This set was pretty loaded, I hope you enjoyed scrolling through all this ahah!

Previous posts:

Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 4: July 2022 Part 2