#divider from @cursed-carmine

[humanjarvis]

it's nice to have a friend

big glasses and a bowl cut. 

for the bulk of his short life, that was all anyone saw when they looked at zayne.

no one knew much about him, other than how annoying it was when the teachers praised his intelligence. more than a classmate, he was a goalpost. a standard they couldn’t meet. 

more often than not, his head was buried in a book. he found it much more worthwhile to study people than to speak to them. so he hid in the shade, away from the constant chatter and blistering heat of recess.

that day in september, he’d been too busy absorbing neatly stacked paragraphs to process the muffled voice above him—until you lightly shook his shoulder. 

you’d asked him if he wanted to play. they’d said it was his birthday, after all. but after a long pause and bewildered blush, zayne said no. 

the first three times you asked him, zayne said no.

his answer changed when the leaves did. 

in the brisk november air, pushed forward by a gust of wind, he bumped into a rowdy group of older kids. apparently, his murmured apology hadn’t been good enough. 

first, they threatened to snap his glasses. shatter the lenses so he couldn’t read anymore.

the wicked sneers and guesses that he was special came after. 

through it all, zayne hadn't said a word—he didn't have to. 

because before he could decide whether to tell a teacher or walk away, you were blocking him from view as best you could with your shorter frame, glaring at the boys with molten hatred in your heart. 

and when their leader snorted and took a step toward you both, you unclenched your fist and scratched him right across the face. 

zayne had never been one for violence. his parents told him it never solved anything, and he’d always seen more value in helping people than hurting them. 

but the next time you asked him to play, he nodded his head yes.

he was surprisingly good at make-believe—the doctor to your nurse. and when you invited him back the next day, and the next day, and the day after that, zayne felt he’d made his first friend. 

adult zayne still gets teased, sometimes. 

for the way he speaks like a nonfiction narrator. for the way he retreats from interactions and rejects invitations. for the way he’s hard to read unless you’re fluent in the language of him.

but with you by his side, he’s learned to pay it no mind. 

you like his cadence and his reticence and his rigid kind of softness. you tell him all of it, so he doesn’t have to wonder.

and when the crueler slights wear down the barrier you’ve helped him build, you repeat yourself. 

day after day, you save him. just like you did on the playground. 

so when zayne finds himself in linkon’s finest jewelry store, browsing through shimmering stones he never thought he’d have a need for, he knows one thing for certain: his first friend is his best. 

[briiverse]

some photos i took in my

stranger things dr 𖦹ׂ

﹒ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 © 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 ﹒

[reit0o]

sleeping with caleb (ᴗ˳ᴗ)ᶻ

—hcs about sharing a bed with caleb bc i still haven't finished his bday fic :p

☆ caleb has long accepted that he’s never getting his personal space back (good, he doesn't want it anyway). no matter what position he falls asleep in, he always wakes up at the edge of the bed, ass hanging out, with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala. he doesn't mind really, because he loves that you still gravitate towards him, even in your sleep.

☆ whenever you get into a petty argument, you make a point of building a pillow barrier between you. when he tries to protest, you just shoot him daggers and turn your back. you can't sleep because of his constant shuffling, but eventually, you knock down the barrier bit by bit, letting him roll over beside you and softly whisper an apology in your ear while he pulls you close. you don’t respond because you’re still upset, but you just let him hold you. and that alone is enough for him

☆ winters in skyhaven are brutal because of the high altitude. so on cold winter nights, you find yourself drawn to caleb because he's just so warm—he's basically a human radiator. when you're feeling cheeky, you like to slide your cold hands under his shirt and laugh evily whenever he flinches

☆ whenever you visit him in skyhaven, he insists on sleeping in your room together. It's not that he dislikes his room, he just prefers being in the space you've curated in his home. he loves being surrounded by things that smell like you, breathing you in while he falls asleep

☆ caleb likes to pretend he's still asleep when you think you've woken up before him. he lets you poke his cheek, blow in his face, tickle his chin, play with his hair until he’s had enough and rolls you over, pulling you into a soul-crushing hug you can’t escape

☆ his favourite time of day is the moment you fall asleep at night, and the moment just before you wake up in the morning. there’s something about your face that looks so peaceful and soft, that makes him fall in love with you all over again. he loves that you’re the first and last thing he sees every day

☆ contrary to what people might think, but caleb loves being the little spoon and being held. he doesn't do it often, but after long shifts with the fleet, there's nothing he loves more than lying on your chest, listening to your breathing while you stroke his hair. his worries melt away instantly, and he always falls asleep faster than usual—some of his best sleeps, honestly.

☆ caleb, the self-proclaimed claw machine master, is a prime example of suffering from your own success. not only does he have to share the bed with you, but with the 20+ plushies that he won and proudly bragged about. now he’s got his own personal plushie (you) snuggled up next to him, along with twenty others, silently staring into his soul

☆ caleb’s bed head is horrendous, and don't even get me started on his morning breath. you love counting all his cowlicks and taking pictures of his messy hair, holding your nose like you’re disgusted. but when he catches you laughing too long, he shuts you up by peppering your face with kisses before pulling you in for one long, deep kiss that leaves you breathless

☆ caleb is a light sleeper, so when he hears you tossing and turning, struggling to fall asleep, he gently pulls you into his chest and starts telling stories, just like he used to when you were kids. you call it childish, but the sound of his voice, soft and steady, is all it takes for sleep to quickly wash over you. and once your breathing slows down and your body relaxes, he whispers a quiet list of reasons why he loves you—one after the other, just for you

a/n- blessing you with a lot bc i couldnt stop at one. i cant be the only one that uses he's secret times as a sleep aid, his voice is so soothing i knock out instantly. short blabber bc i haven't finished half my fics i was meant to post last week. this caleb bday fic has been sitting in my drafts for over a month 🚬🚬

[satvrnsearth]

Imagine nanami’s face when he hears “shut up, mommy!” from your childs mouth. feel like he’d be passive aggressive idk. andddd maybeeee, possibly, a girl dad..

nanami was sitting by the couch, reading a book when he happened to overhear a conversation between his wife and his daughter.

“sweetheart, I know you want to play but I told you before that school work comes first.” you gently brush your fingers through your daughter’s hair, sensing her annoyance. You’ve been at it for a few minutes now, going back and forth. “no! I want to play!”

you sigh, crouching down to her level. “no, school work first."

nanami wanted to intervene, but he also wanted to see how you would handle this situation. that is, until—

“shut up, mommy!” she huffs, sniffling.

nanami's attention immediately turned to his daughter with a stern expression, clearly displeased with her words to you—his wife. you—though surprised at your daughter's outburst—held your composure.

nanami kneeled down in front of his daughter, his voice firm but not overly harsh, "you know better than to speak to your mother that way, young lady. It's not appropriate or respectful, and you need to apologize, right now.”

the little girl pouted, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she crossed her arms. nanami could see the defiance mixed with guilt in her eyes, but he remained steadfast, not budging from his position. you stood nearby, trying not to show the slight amusement on your face at your daughter's stubbornness.

nanami reached out, gently taking the little girl's hand in his own. His tone softened, slightly, as he spoke, "I understand you're upset, but there is no excuse for disrespecting your mother like that. I need you to say you're sorry, and mean it."

the little girl looked up at her father, her tough facade crumbling slightly. she squirmed in place, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. after a few seconds of silence–she finally muttered, "I'm...sorry, mommy."

nanami felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, satisfied with her response. he nodded approvingly before turning to you, who gave a small, relieved smile in return.

💭;; might I say this is one of my fav works EVER??? idk i just liked this sm idk why

credits—

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[xprinceling]

────୨ৎ munch riki.

·˚ ༘ 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑌𝑂𝑈.

ׂ╰┈➤ s. 𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑦 wc. 505. w. 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 + ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 (18+ 𝑚𝑑𝑛𝑖!) n.𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦..

munch!riki.. who doesn't just eat pussy; he treats it like a sacred decadent ritual. He'll spend hours between your thighs if you let him, mapping every gasp, every little twitch, every choked-off whimper like he's studying for a choreography he's desperate to ace. His tongue moves lazy and deliberate, savoring the way you clench around nothing, how your hips stutter when he hums against you. He loves when you beg him to hurry up, just so he can give you one of his diabolical smirks and murmur:

’’But I'm not done tasting you yet."

munch!riki.. who the more you unravel, the more feral he becomes. He'll pin your thighs apart with bruising grip, watching your face as you sob from overstimulation, his lips glistening with your arousal. And when you try to squirm away, oversensitive and shaking? That's when he drags you back, growling:

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart. I decide when you're done."

munch!riki.. who brushes his thumb over your bottom lip at dinner. Silent whispers, such as "I can still taste you" while you're trying to focus on things, which require your immediate attention. Lingering eye contact as he slowly licks syrup off his ring-covered fingers at breakfast. He lives for the way your breath hitches, how your cheeks flush - knowing you're replaying every filthy thing he's done to your cunt.

munch!riki.. who fingers you with his chrome hearts rings on, the cold metal contrasting deliciously against the heat of his tongue and the wetness of your pussy. He takes his time, letting your arousal paint the intricate designs of the rings - sharp edges and engraved details - while they drag teasingly over your folds before pressing inside. The weight of the jewelry adds just enough pressure, amplifying every sensation as his fingers curl just right.

Sometimes, he’ll twist a ring slightly, letting the band catch on you in the most maddening way, just to hear you whimper his name. And when he pulls out, the glint of silver against slick fingers is a filthy reminder of how thoroughly he’s marked you - even without leaving bruises.

munch!riki.. who adores turning you into a needy, pleading wreck. He’ll lay you out, spread you wide, and then just… watch. The man will trail his fingers along your inner thighs, kiss everywhere but where you want him, until you're arching off the bed, whining his name. And when you finally break, he'll reward you with a filthy grin and a slow, open-mouthed lick that has you seeing whole galaxies.

munch!riki..who will bury his desperate face in your panties just to inhale deeply, groaning like an addict. If you've been out all day, he'll push you against the door the second you get home, rutting against your thigh, while he mouths at your neck, muttering:

"Fuck, you smell so good - need to get my mouth on you, now."

And if you tease him? If you shift just right so your scent hits him? He'll snap, flipping you onto your backside with a snarl.

-

divider credits: cursed-carmine

[chromehoney]

plug!smoke x nerdy!black!fem!reader

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose for the fifth time, heart jackhammering like it always did when he came through the door. Elijah “Smoke” Moore — with the thick chains, the matching attitude, the scent of tobacco and Dior — moved through her tidy little apartment like he owned the place.

Hell, he probably did — rent was always mysteriously “taken care of” before the first.

She sat cross-legged on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, highlighter-pink fuzzy socks peeking out. A textbook lay open in her lap, filled with notes so neat they could be printed. She looked like the embodiment of academic anxiety and innocent routines.

And he… didn’t.

Gold teeth flashed when he smirked at her, shutting the door behind him with his usual casual weight. Gun still tucked in his waistband, designer jacket draped off one shoulder, cigar pressed between his lips. She didn’t understand it — him. Not really.

“I just… I mean, I don’t get it,” she blurted, looking up at him from behind thick glasses. Her voice came out small, nervous. “Why are you even here, Smoke? You could be with— I don’t know, someone cooler. I’m just… me.”

He raised a brow, pulling the cigar from his mouth and letting the smoke curl lazy through the air. “What, ‘cause you like comic books and color-code your flashcards?” he said, voice a low drawl as he moved to stand over her. “That’s why I’m here, mama.”

She blinked, confused.

“‘Cause you soft. You sweet. You mine.”

He kneeled down, bringing his rough, ring-clad fingers to her calf, brushing those pink socks like they were silk. “All them girls out there wanna be seen. Loud. All that extra. But you? You don’t even know how pretty you are. That shit drive me crazy.”

Her face burned.

“You come in here smellin’ like books and vanilla lotion, mouth runnin’ ‘bout your midterms—meanwhile I just came from movin’ weight, and all I can think about is gettin’ back to you.” He tapped her textbook, voice softer now. “You don’t gotta understand it. Just let it happen.”

And she did. She soaked it in like sunlight on skin — the way he kissed her temple before kissing her mouth, the way he picked her up like nothing and sat her in his lap even when she squirmed shyly. The way he called her his princess when he tucked a stack of bills into her pencil case without a word.

She was still soft-spoken. Still unsure. Still didn’t feel like she fit in his world.

But when he curled his arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her throat, whispering “my lil genius,”

She didn’t question it anymore.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers.

[smiteswrites]

A Different Kind of Pain

Part One

Description: After losing a gem of a next door neighbor, Jack worries what the new resident will be like. Instead of a young obnoxious college kid, he meets you. Instantly struck by your warm nature (and good looks but he won't admit to that), Jack finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn't experienced in years.

Tags: reader is a chemistry grad student bc i say so, shameless self insert, fem!reader, trying to avoid too many specific descriptors on readers appearance but i am new to this, reader is shorter than jack, widower!Jack, Jack talks ab therapy, trying to do justice to the fact that Jack is an amputee, but again I am not an expert, just some fluff and feelings, eventual smut, and so mdni 18+

A/N: Thank you all for the encouragement on the first version of this! It has been really really amazing to know people enjoy my ideas and writing and absolutely wild that y'all want more. I really love this idea and have many many plans for these two. I hope to get part two written and out this week. I am thinking around 3-4 parts total, but we shall see. This is starts similar to this post, but I made some changes and expanded quite a bit. I hope you enjoy and please send me asks/dms if you have any suggestions/comments/feedback on anything! I am always open to improving and learning.

gif credit - @iluvseb | divider credit - @cursed-carmine

Part One - 3k

Jack has been living in the left half of a red brick duplex, unit 101A, long enough to see a handful of tenants come and go on the right side, 102A. There was a college kid whose prefrontal cortex was just underdeveloped enough for him to be nothing but a pain in Jack’s ass. Needless to say, not his favorite neighbor. Then there was a young couple who were perfectly lovely until they had to move somewhere with two bedrooms to accommodate an incoming little one (Jack had been sure to give them his number in case they ever needed a friend in the ED). Most recently an older woman, Mrs. McAlister, who had regularly brought Jack all manner of baked goods and leftovers, had moved out and into her daughter's house. 

The unfortunate loss of Mrs. McAlister’s cooking meant that the right half of his duplex (and yes he thought of it as his by this point) was empty. Jack couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creep in as he watched the last of Mrs. McAlister’s things be packed into a UHaul on Saturday afternoon. Would his new neighbor be another sweet elderly woman? Or would he get stuck with some obnoxious twenty something with no common courtesy? 

Fortunately for Jack, he didn’t have to wait long to find out. Housing got snatched up fast in a city like Pittsburgh, especially housing that was halfway decent and affordable, so it was no surprise that 102A was empty for under 48 hours. 

His first glimpse of the new tenant comes when Jack is arriving back home from a shift, just before 8 am on a Monday. He isn’t surprised to see a moving truck out front, nor is he surprised to see you directing the two movers on where to put furniture and boxes. He can tell you're young, in your twenties is his guess, which immediately sets his nerves on edge. Jack doesn’t think he can handle anymore house parties or loud hookups or trash left out. But you have a quiet, competent air about you that seems to indicate you aren't going to cause a ruckus. You appear to be alone, aside from the movers. He finds himself looking for evidence of a partner, husband, wife, without really meaning to. Forcing himself to not be overly nosy, Jack moves past the two men, now carrying part of a bed frame, and lets himself into 101. 

After a shower and the last of Mrs. McAlister’s roast (bless that woman), Jack is dressed in grey sweats and a black t-shirt, ready for bed. Despite the sleep threatening to overcome him, he finds himself looking out his window to check in on the status of your move. Apparently you had gotten here early, because he can see you handing the movers a wad of cash and sending them on their way. Before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed his prosthetic and is hurrying to get the damn thing back on so he can step back outside. He may as well catch you as you’re heading back inside, introduce himself, make sure he doesn’t need to be concerned about having another pain in his ass next door. It is the neighborly thing to do after all, he reasons. 

Another moment finds him a couple steps outside his door, clearing his throat to catch your attention from where you’re examining the front facing window of 102. 

“I’m Jack. Abbot. I’m in 101. Figured I should introduce myself, welcome you to the neighborhood and all.” He outstretches his hand, wondering if a handshake is still what people do these days.

Smiling, you shake his hand firmly and give him your name, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. It is at this moment Jack finally takes you in fully. He was right, he thinks, you must be in your mid twenties, no ring on your finger, and certainly not a pain in his ass. You stand a handful of inches shorter than him, just enough that you have to look up to make eye contact. The smile you are giving him is radiant in a way that makes his stomach feel tight. He can see you’re flushed from the exertion of carrying boxes and helping to move furniture, and your hair has begun to fall from where you had it back. 

But even though you aren’t at your most put together, Jack is left feeling off balance, as he can only see you as the most raw and real kind of beautiful. The kind of beauty that comes with a bright smile, dewy skin, and pink chinks. The kind that has as much to do with physical appearance as it does a person’s character. The kind of beauty that reminds him of his late wife when they first met. Even though he is just meeting you, Jack likes to think his gut is usually right about people, and his gut is telling him that you are exactly the type of kind, caring, intelligent person that spells nothing but trouble for him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jack! I hope the movers weren’t too much of a disturbance, it seems like a quiet little haven around here.” 

“About as close to a haven as you can get in the city,” he agrees with a small smile. “And don’t mention it, you weren’t a disturbance at all.” 

In the few minutes the two of you spend chatting he finds out you’re a fourth year graduate student, “A PhD in chemistry? You might just be a bigger masochist than me.” You somehow work nearly as many hours as he does, and he finds your work ethic dizzyingly attractive. You moved to the area in the hope of finding somewhere a little quieter, some place where you didn’t feel like people were packed in like sardines. You aren’t from PA, but you have a couple close friends in town and your family tries to visit often. You confirm his suspicions when you tell him you’re single and don’t have any kids or pets so there shouldn’t be any noise waking him up through the night.

“Actually, I’m an attending in the ED, usually on night shift. Sounds like you aren't home much during the day, but-” 

“Don’t worry Jack, I’ll keep it down during the day too. You can always bang on the wall if I’m being to loud,” 

He feels the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Thanks, sweetheart.” It slips before he can catch up to his mouth. Even though he knows he shouldn’t be giving you nicknames, and definitely not that kind, the pink that dusts your cheeks at the term of endearment is enough to make him want to call you nothing else. 

“Uh- listen I’ve gotta get to bed, but let me give you my number in case you need anything.  Neighbor or doctor wise,” he says, shooting you a wink. 

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you doctor.” 

And god, he knows you mean it in a teasing way, but it does nothing to help the steadily growing attraction he feels towards you. He knows he is at least 15 years too old, and far too emotionally unavailable to even entertain the idea of being with you. He knows. But when you smile at him like he’s just offered to hang the moon and stars for you, he really doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

It’s just his number, no harm in you having it, and certainly no reason it has to have any underlying intention behind it. That’s what he tells himself anyway. 

He puts his number in your phone when you hand it to him, putting “Jack Abbot” as the name and “the guy in 101A and doctor at PTMC” in the notes for good measure. You thank him again, giving his hand a squeeze as he returns the phone. You say your goodbyes, and he retreats into his black out curtain and noise machine generated paradise. The last thing he sees before shutting his eyes is a text from an unknown number with your name, just so he can save your number too. 

You are going to be a pain in his ass alright, a kind he didn’t even think to be worried about. 

After your initial introduction, Jack assumes (worries) the two of you won't see much of each other. During your initial meeting, in an effort to reassure him you wouldn’t make too much noise during the day, you had inadvertently given him your schedule: 6:45 am leave for work, 7-5 ish suffer, 5:30 pm arrive home from work. With anyone else he would be glad to know that there would be no one next door to disturb his sleep, but instead he could only focus on the fact that he would rarely, if ever, run into you. 

His assumption proved to be correct for the first two weeks of your time in 102A, only seeing you on occasion as he left for work. But, about halfway through week three, Jack wakes up earlier than normal. By the time 5:30 pm rolls around and he’s supposed to be on call for another 13.5  hours, he feels himself starting to get restless. It’s a nice day outside with a high of 75 and a low of 52, the sun has set enough to cast an orange glow on the city, but not enough that it’s going to be dark soon, and Jack has a rare burst of energy. His therapist has been telling him some sunshine goes a long way, and he didn’t spend all that money on the fucking sports prosethic to not use it. 

By 5:42 pm Jack is in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, sports prosthetic on. He makes it about two steps out his front door, still adjusting the stupid prosthetic, when he senses he isn't alone. Straightening up, he realizes you’ve just come out of your front door as well. His gaze travels upwards from your feet as he makes his way to his full height. You’re dressed similar to himself in athletic shorts with a matching jacket, and he has to force himself to not linger on the exposed skin of your legs. When he does meet your eyes, he finds you smiling at him in a way that suggests you caught his little slip up, but are too polite to mention it. 

“Hey Jack! Are you heading out for an evening run? Well- I guess it would technically be morning for you, sorry,” You laugh at yourself lightly, cheeks coloring only the slightest bit. Whether it’s from embarrassment at the slip up or something else he can’t be sure. 

Either way, he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I still consider this to be evening. I am a proud night lurker, there is no part of me that wants to be waking up before 3 pm.” A small fit of giggles overtakes you, and he feels his smile turn into something more genuine. 

“But no, not much of a runner,” he gestures to his right leg where the prosthetic is on display. “I’m on call tonight and can’t do much besides hang out here, figured a walk might do me some good.” 

To your credit, your expression only falters slightly when you take in his leg, quickly recovering to match his eye contact as you listen. You nod, humming warmly in agreement, still keeping your eyes locked on his. “I have to agree. I’m also not much of a runner but I try to walk after lab most days. I think it’s a great way to reset after a long day.” 

“Sounds like you’re the evening walk expert then?” 

“Something like that,” you joke back. 

Jack knows that the conversation is winding down, it’s time for him to wish you a good walk and find a reason to hang back until you go on your way. Wait to see which direction you turn before beginning to walk in the opposite way. But Jack also knows that you’ve been looking at him with an attentiveness that, while he gives freely, is rarely if ever matched. If there were ever a sign of not wanting a conversation to end, he thinks the way you’re looking at him is surely it. 

Fuck it. 

“Well, I’m new to this whole walking for fun thing, maybe you could show me the best route to take?” 

Your eyes brighten, “Of course! I mean, obviously I’m new to the area, but I think I’ve found a good path. It’s about 30 minutes, if that’s good with you?” 

“Of course, lead the way,” he gestures forward with his hand, indicating for you to lead the way, leaning forward slightly as he does so. If you notice the way he stumbles forward slightly as his weight shifts on an unfamiliar right foot, you don’t say anything. But Jack swears he you’re biting the inside of your cheek to fight off a grin as you walk down the steps. 

Fucking sports prosthetic. 

The walk is… nice. Nicer than Jack expected. He can hear the birds chirping in the trees that are awkwardly implanted in the sidewalk. He can hear the sounds of the city too (sirens, honking, a plane overhead) but they’re less pronounced than normal. The two of you walk side by side as you lead him through parts of his neighborhood he’s never really taken the time to look at. You point out a café that apparently ‘makes a mean oat milk latte.’ 

“I hate to fulfill the old white guy stereotype, but I only drink my coffee black.” Self-deprecation as a form of self-defence, the oldest trick in the book. 

“As horrifying as that information is,” you begin, closing your eyes and placing a hand on your chest, “I also can get behind a black coffee, so if you’re calling yourself old you’re gonna have to call me old too.” You smile at him and make eye contact for only a moment before breaking looking at the pavement a few feet ahead of you.

“Besides, you have got to be the sexiest ‘old guy’ I’ve ever seen so I’d be wearing that badge proudly if I were you.” You put your hands up in mock defensiveness and accentuate your point with air quotes. 

He really isn’t sure what to do with himself besides laugh. Looking at you now, he could tell that even if you were uncertain, you were not the type of woman to let him get away with putting himself down. Nothing to do but admit defeat. 

“I think I’ll be quite happy with that title.” 

By the time the duplex is coming back into view Jack has learned that you’ve been walking everyday for years after a suggestion from a therapist. He’s learned that you “actually thought about going to medical school, but turns out biology and me don’t get along.” He’s also relearned more about chemistry than he ever hoped he would have to after asking the simple question “What does your lab research?” 

He had told you his own therapist had suggested he ‘get his ass outside’ more often, and that maybe the shrink was right more often than he wanted to give the guy credit for. He also shared one of his gorrier work stories and had been impressed when you were hanging on to his every word rather than going green. More importantly, he had only let himself spend about 3 minutes total looking at the way the sunlight caught your hair, or the way it framed your face as it fell from the loose bun you had it in, or at your lips as you spoke rather than your face, or at the necklace laying against the soft place where your neck met your collar bones. Just 3 minutes, not bad at all, practically a record. 

As you approach the front steps you hesitate, and he feels it too, he thinks. The uncertainty of where the two of you stand with one another. Jack knows where he stands, and he has a feeling he knows where you do too, he hadn’t been the only one with a staring problem. But even if Jack thinks he knows, he doesn’t really know. 

“Thank you for sharing your route with me, I think I was right to call you the walk expert.” He shoots you a trademark Abbot smirk, trying to put a lid on whatever feelings may or may not have been simmering during the past 30 minutes. 

“Anytime Jack, it was nice to have some company.” The smile you give him in return is softer, warmer than his own. For not the first time, and certainly not the last, he feels torn about how to approach you. He knows this feeling, he’s felt it before and it landed him in a world of heartbreak and pain. It was a place he’s worked hard to move on from, and thank god he can see now that while yes feelings, raw and vulnerable, can end in pain they are also what make life worth living. 

He isn’t sure where the two of you stand, after all you’ve barely started to get to know each other. However, he is sure that he wants to at least give himself the chance to find out, no matter how scary or stupid a choice it might be.  

“Well… maybe we could do this again sometime? I know my therapist would throw a fucking party if he got word of me not only being out in daylight but also socializing outside of work.” 

“I’d love that,” you smile wider now, staring at your feet briefly and rocking back on your heels slightly before looking back up at him. “I’ll be here a little after 5:30 pretty much everyday, join me whenever you like. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he feels his own expression melt into something so sickly sweet his cheeks hurt. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight, Jack.”

[killishin]

— ♡ my pretty neighbour.

PART 01.

PAIRING: jason todd x witch! reader

CONTENT WARNING: afab reader, blood, violence, alcohol, mention of assaults, more to be added.

CATEGORY: shit ton of fluff and sfw, maybe angst?

SUMMARY: a witch trying her best to lay low and live her life, while being out of every gothams vigilante's radar. turns out red hood had been her neighbour all along. also they have cute little pets.

WC: 4k

A/N: another jason fic yep. i didn't really have a solid idea but i just really wanted to write something so.... enjoy!

fic masterlist. next.

dividers by @cursed-carmine

gotham is filled with all kinds of criminals, masterminds, lunatics, druglords— you name it. each has done such horrible deeds that it has scarred hearts and souls of every innocent, each has a certain level of craziness in them that requires insane amount of intellect to even catch them. and despite the vigilantes giving their utmost best, everyday having to push themselves to think better, be faster... criminals still hide in those dark alleys, unbound and free.

so you can't really blame the protectors of the city, as they like to call themselves, to be cautious of every activity that goes on in the city. they are understandably hostile to superheroes who try to help, a bit too hostile sometimes in your opinion, but maybe the massive workload makes them snippy.

being a witch and living in gotham is a bit tough therefore, you not only have to hide your powers from the normal people but also from the vigilantes. you do not want to be evicted out of the only city where you can afford the rent, that too without any dignity since witches are sort of still discriminated by the myths and fake stories. still, its understandable, mankind has always been afraid of what they can't control or understand.

you had been ridiculously meticulous in your choice of residence, not like you had much choice to begin with. but you had scouted out the area as best as you could to your needs, and upon confirming that there wasn't much vigilante sighting in the neighborhood, you had finally settled.

a barista's salary didn't really help much, but you didn't really have much needs. your only goal was to live a drama free, quiet life where you could experiment with your little spells (harmless ones.. of course) and, the most important, provide for your little gentleman, alfred, a cute little doberman (he's huge). that was your goal, the ideal life you chased— should chase. but often a heart's desire overwhelm the logic of mind.

you have a penchant for getting into trouble. having promised to never get involved in anything that might shed light upon your existence, you strayed from that promise more often than not. all for good deeds, mostly.

"this is the third time this month. i have got to practice some self control." you sigh as you nudge the body of the man on the ground, groaning and coughing up blood. your brows furrow in mild annoyance as you kick his thigh this time.

"i didn't even use a strong spell! come on you wuss!" you softly groaned to yourself before sighing as you looked away for a moment, scratching your brow with your nail. the blood wasn't a problem, to be honest you wouldn't give a crap if he died. he was assaulting a sweet old man, punching him to death— you just had to step in.

...maybe you stepped in too much. now his arm is twisting at an odd angle, you were supposed to teach him a simple lesson. just give him some scare that'll scar him for life. now he got a bonus broken arm.

you've left one too many mens like that lying and crying, and it'll only be a matter of time before they lead those pesky vigilantes to your doorstep.

you put on a spell that altered his memory of your face, in case he saw it, before turning around to be on your merry way. but cue gotham weather's shitty timing, it starts pouring hard.

"mother nature you're really teasing me today..." you murmured sarcastically to yourself, yet sauntering off unbothered, rain never bothered you much anyway. you just hate how the clothes get all damp and clingy, weighing down your body.

by the time you reach your place you're visibly drenched to the bone, humming some tune under your breath, totally not seeing the man walking ahead of you. and so consequently you bump into his back, eyes widening for a moment as you stepped back with an apology right on your tongue.

but they die on your lips when you see the most brilliant bluish green eyes glance back at you, bitter and hostile. but you've always had a weak spot for pretty things, and when the man turns fully, you note he is the most prettiest man you've ever laid your eyes on.

you're far too lost in admiring him that you fail to notice the slight shift in his demeanor. after all, jason was already in a wretched mood and the next second he turns around to see an absolutely drenched women staring back at him. he isn't that easily fazed, your skin glistens, the damp and dripping hair clinging to the side of your face, that makes you look gorgeous but he's seen gorgeous. your eyes though— they seem unreal. feel unreal. there's just something otherworldly about it— ethereal even. and he's not among those to be poetic.

you realise you've been staring for a second too long and the silence becomes awkward real quick, you blink and step back with a polite smile. "sorry. i uh— wasn't looking where i was going." his brow raised slightly at your politeness, seemingly even more sweet due to your low and honeyed voice.

"no problem." he murmured casually, his voice even more grumpy and rougher than usual, a tough night and patrol hasn't even started. he then turned around and ascended the stairs, and so did you, lagging behind by two steps. you couldn't make the pretty man uncomfortable after all.

but he noticed you following him floor after floor, stopping right when he did at his floor before your steps softly followed behind him again. when he reached his door he turned around, and found you looking back at him with the same confusion.

"...hi neighbour?" you jokingly whispered with a hesitant smile but he didn't.

"how long have you been living here?" that came out more as an interrogative question than a confused one and it made your brows raise in amusement. this one's got a feisty side.

"a few months. wasn't aware anyone lived there." you replied back coolly with a smile that bordered serene yet sultry. his eyes dropped down to it for a small second, narrowing slightly as if the smile irritated him. it indeed irritated him because of the shiver that ran down his spine at the sight of it.

"I've lived here for more than a year. never seen you before." he retorted like he's insinuating an accusation and your lips pull to a slow grin.

"you're awfully stingy for a pretty neighbour." you remark, your nose scrunching up in fake disappointment as you unlock your door.

stingy?

"pretty? " he didn't know what of those words baffled him more, yet that was the one that had to come out of his mouth.

"and interrogative. are you in the gcpd or something?" you asked as you leaned your weight against your door which was slightly ajar.

"no. you're the one interrogating now." he scoffed quietly as he turned around, fetching his key out his pocket.

"seems like you don't know the difference between making conversation and interrogation." you lightly chuckle and thats when he realised its your voice thats the root of the irritation being caused in his already irritated mind. its irritatingly sweet and honeyed— addictive may be the right word.

"that's your version of making conversation?" he scowls as he opened his door and stepped inside while your grin widened, he finds your amusement at his expense really insulting.

"only with pretty, grumpy neighbours."

"and is that your way of flirting? cus its not effective."

"slow down, pretty boy. if you think this is flirting then clearly you haven't been properly flirted with before. how sad." if he can't handle your teasing, he'd be a downright mess when you actually flirt then. and those reddened embarrassed cheeks simply intensify the want to flirt with him.

he gives you one last scathing glare before shutting the door on your face. a chuckle quietly escapes your lips as you call out a loud "goodnight!" which you're probably sure he heard and frowned even more.

you step in your apartment and close the door, flicking on the candles with a swish of your hand. you could just switch on the lights but you secretly love the theatrics. a quick spell could dry you but a warm shower would probably help you more.

and it does help you, you're more relaxed and less tense. your muscles feels like mush just like your head. and yet, as you lay on your bed, your eyes are open wide and awake. you're a bit of an insomniac. its a bother and inconvenience but just like ever other nuisance in your life, you've gotten used to it.

just like always you get up, grab a grimoire and your reading glasses, learning a spell or two. it usually takes you more than an hour to understand and practice and most nights it ends up with something getting on fire or your own self. you suppose that's the fun part.

and again, like always, you get bored and lay back on your bed. this time the pretty neighbour occupies your mind, beauty aside, it is a question that you met him just today when he claims to have been living for a year. why didn't you bump into him before?

you hoped for no trouble, yet something tells you he'll make you be neck deep in one.

"again? " jason frowned as he dropped to the ground with a muted thump of his boots, not a noise at his landing, its like second nature to him.

"third this month." oracle spoke through the comms and jason crouched infront of the little blood that was splattered across the gritty pavement, the rain had washed off most of it yet some stayed, seeped into the earth like a taint.

"some random person reported it almost an hour ago and he was taken to get treated." oracle continued and jason scoffed sarcastically, "you're telling me the cops beat me to it? that's a first."

she simply rolled her eyes at that, "i checked his background. a typical small time thief, arrested quiet a few times for mugging and burglary."

he grunted as a response and looked around but nothing else was amiss. with a sigh he got up, "someone's doing our work here. unfortunately for us they're pretty good at it."

"not for long." Jason's brows furrowed a bit on reflex as bruce's voice came in, "they're bound to slip."

"they haven't for the last two month. maybe they might never." course he agreed with bruce, but where's the fun in agreeing?

"they will. and we have to catch them. they're a threat to the city—"

"times like these, wish i was deaf."

"what was that?"

Jason's not that worried about the mysterious person on the loose beating up criminals, he's sure they were probably in the act of committing a crime to deserve this. but bruce's worry has a point, they need to know who it is. not everyone's a protector. they may be saving right now, but is that all they're doing?

jason knows first-hand how times change, how fast people change. how deceiving time could be, how deceiving humans can be.

his mind is immediately pulled to you at that thought, someone who looks pretty harmless, eyes that are both innocent yet alluring like a siren's. you looked even more helpless and naive in your drenched form. yet all it took was for you to smile and that image shattered.

that smile was a warning in itself, an omen as if. innocence might be something of a past to you, your eyes held no fear, no apprehension. your smile was steady and dangerous, he's a man who has fought back death, rendered men almost lifeless with just his fist— and still his gut told him you were not to be taken lightly. harmless you might be, for now, but not innocent.

he returned back at his place at dawn, grunting and groaning at the sore muscles that ached here and there.

"at this point im gonna age faster than alfred." he murmured to himself with an almost pout. a quick shower and some television were supposed to really tire him out, but sleep escaped him. insomnia the trouble of yet another person.

and he doesn't really leave his place much, but today he felt like it. maybe a walk might help him. its still early so he doubts the streets to be that busy.

he really should have thought this through.

"hey pretty neighbour." he gave a deadpanned stare to that same amusing smile of yours.

"ooh you don't seem like a morning person." you pretend to frown, still locking your door before turning around with a wink, "i know you for less than twelve hours and we already have something in common. is this destiny's sign for something more? " you said dramatically, taking huge delight at his annoyance.

"no, but my headache's a perfect sign for nothing ever." he quietly snapped as he slammed his door shut a little too hard tugging on his hood over a bit before walking away.

"so you do have sarcasm." came your voice not too far behind him, but he knows you're not following him. he saw your clothes when he stepped out, formal and perfectly ironed for work. maybe it really was the rain that gave him the innocent illusion last night.

he sighed as he started descending the stairs, shaking his head as he immediately regretted his decision for this walk.

"you talk a lot." he called out and heard your quiet chuckle in response, "you talk too less." his steps became hurried and your grin simply widened.

"would you tell me your name if i ask you?" you asked him, your smile barely contained and he rolled his eyes, "think you already know the answer."

soon both of you stepped out on the pavement and you turned to face him with a teasing smile, "guess I'll just call you pretty neighbour then."

you waved at him goodbye before he could turn the other way, and yelled "bye pretty neighbour!" as loud as you could, making sure it'll turn heads.

his eyes widened for a moment before he glared at you in disbelief, then swiftly turned around to walk away from imminent embarrassment. maybe it was better if he never knew he had a neighbour next door, no matter how beautiful you are. he sighed to himself as your smile flashed in his mind, unfortunately you really were beautiful. damn you.

you loved your barista job, after all it involved brewing and you were, not to brag, quite the master at it. you kept your conversations with the customers at a minimal, there's no need to involve in idle chatter with them. your coworkers though are a bunch of sweethearts, mostly, so its never a headache working there.

but sometimes some assholes walk in, harassing the workers, some be rude to you about the order even when its made just like they want— but you do what you gotta do to survive.

when you're returning on your way back home, your mood's sour than usual. you don't have it in you to even smile. all anyone would want after a shitty day at job, is the damn bed. even if you can't sleep.

but, the world always tests you on your worst days.

you stop dead in your tracks just a few steps away from your unit, whose door is wide open by the way. your senses heightened and every spell on the tip of your tongue. you didn't have to worry about all your witchy things being stolen or affected since they're all safely locked in a cupboard bound by a spell, unseen by anyone other than you. your important things are also spell bound to your home so no thief can take them out of your apartment.

no, what you're worried about is alfred.

you peaked inside in your own home, the lights were on. you slowly pushed the door without making a sound, a little proud at the creaky door to not give you away today.

suddenly your eyes caught the top of someone's head peaking from behind your dining table— alfred's there too! your eyes widened and your brows furrowed into an angry glare.

"step the fuck away from alfred!" you extended your hand, about to cripple the hell out of whoever that is— but then you see your pretty neighbour straighten up fast and alfred perk up before rushing to you, all smiles and happy.

"woah woah chill— wait who??? " his initial shock subsided to one of pure confusion as he stood there with his hands raised.

ignoring him you crouched down to alfred's height, checking him for any injury because heaven knows if there is one, then that pretty neighbour might not leave the world very pretty—

"he's fine." he said as he slowly rounded the table before stopping short at the sight of your glare. it was... a change, different. he had the impression of you being as much of a nuisance as dick is, if not more. but right now all your eyes hold is hostility and distrust.

"i'll be the judge of that." you snapped at him before plastering a helpless smile for alfred who, suddenly, very surprising of him, trotted back to your neighbour. and you just stayed rooted to your position as your mind errored because what the fuck????

alfred barely ever lets anyone touch him. he had a difficult time when he was just a puppy in an abusive household. he only trusted two people, one is you and your best friend.

you look up at the neighbour with the same dumbfounded expression and for the first time he found it in himself to smile, it was a bit cocky but a smile nonetheless.

"you... what.. what did you do to him? and why the hell did you break into my apartment?" you questioned as you rose to your full height, regarding him suspiciously.

he gave you an unimpressed look at your immediate assumptions before sighing, "i was in my apartment when i heard him growling. loudly. then he started barking. turns out someone was lurking outside of your apartment."

"what?"

"yeah. he had already picked the lock actually, acted like he was opening the door and claimed that he lived there. if i hadn't met you last night, i might have been given him the benefit of doubt. when i confronted he said he was dating you. but i knew that was bullshit." he shrugged like it was no trouble.

you were a bit stunned. yes you thought of him pretty, maybe a nice man but you never expected him to be nice, you never expect anyone to be nice. the world had taught you time and time again that humanity is scarce and kindness is a luxury.

"oh." you murmured before lightly shaking your head, "oh that's— thank you. i- where's that man now?"

his lips slightly tugged up in amusement at your stunned look, feeling maybe a teensy bit of pride to wrong whatever misconception you had of him. "he lives two floors up actually. don't worry i made sure he will be kicked out."

"....thanks." you mumbled out before rubbing the side of your face, you hated being in the wrong, and awkward and embarrassing situations like this. how the hell did you miss an asshole like that? you thought you knew everyone from the apartment as a safety measure.

"i- um sorry i assumed and accused you." you took his words as final because alfred was literally sat near his feet. alfred's a great judge of character.

but this time he didn't scoff or smirk, instead there was a soft smile on his face. he understood your anger after all. "s alright. i understand i also have—"

you froze when you felt something brush by your feet, something very soft and— "meow."

you looked down and there it is, a very adorable, very extra soft siamese cat, who is now staring down alfred like he wronged all her ancestors.

you look up at him with raised brows and with a tired sigh he points at himself, confirming your assumption.

"sorry-"

"can i pet?" you asked softly, looking up at him with such hopeful eyes that all he could do was nod. you crouched down and approached the cat carefully, extending your hand. the cat inspected a little before rubbing against your hand.

"who's this beautiful little baby?" you mused, grinning wide as you scratched the cat.

"... miss pearl." he mumbled too quietly but you have good ears, and unlike how he expected you to laugh at that, you simply smiled in great approval.

upon remembering something his brows furrowed again, "um sorry what did you say his name was?" he pointed at alfred and you looked up at him with most proud smile. "alfred."

"huh." that's a really funny coincidence and a small laugh started spilling out his lips slowly. you looked up at him with furrowed brows, "what?"

"no. nothing. great name."

"are you making fun of him?"

"you really think i would?"

"...hm."

you got up finally and smiled at him, it didn't have that sultry undertone— just a smile.

"again, thank you." you said and he nodded suddenly finding his cat more interesting to look at, his ears reddening.

"uh your place. great aesthetic huh." he said, diverting the topic and you looked around. it didn't look that much like a typical witch's home, but there were too many candles everywhere that normally, normal people don't really have.

his eyes narrowed a bit as he smiled amusingly, he did find that... eccentric.

there was a beat of silence as you looked at candles at literally every flat surfaces.

"i just really like candles. they're scented." you said with the most convincing smile you could conjure up. he didn't buy it, but didn't question it either. gotham is filled with every sort of weird after all.

slave to your habit you still ran your eyes around your apartment, while he picked up miss pearl, but everything was at its place. you really gotta put a spell on the damn door now, the lock had already been weak.

he was almost in his unit before you called out behind him, "all this help and you still won't give me a proper introduction?" that teasing tone was back in your voice.

he sighed in exasperation as he turned around, but weirdly enough, to reasons unknown to him, his ears felt warm again.

"jason."

"jason.." you grinned wide and replied back with your name before winking at him. he simply gave a deadpanned stare before shutting his door.

he let pearl go from his arms, while staring off at a distance, his eyes a little hazy as his mind repeated the way you said his name. shaking his head he scoffed, you were nothing more than just a weird little neighbour.

come next morning he's about to head to bed when he heard a knock. his brows furrowed as he wondered who the hell is bothering him this early. but there was no one when he opened the door, nothing but a small little tin box on the floor with designs engraved on it.

he picked it up suspiciously before taking off the lid, in there were some... tea bags? there was also a note, in there was a little message written in neat words.

this helps with insomnia. its my personal favorite too. hope you do know how to brew some tea.

your pretty neighbour ;)

now he realises what exactly feels weird when he sees you, its his silly little heart.

reblogs are appreciated! :))

taglist: @deadbeatphobos @lettucel0ver @fixated29

[suigenerisisadiva]

Crazy Shit Y/N Wayne Has Done: PART 2!!!!

a definitive but not exhaustive list

Pairings: Batfam x Batsis!reader batsis!reader centred fic!

Content: Swearing, crack yet again

A/N: Lots of people wanted part 2 to this! I'm so glad so many divas like my work omfg!! Link to Part 1: Crazy Shit Y/N Wayne Has Done

Fine Shyt I need to tag: @inejinn , @softieekayy & @ilona2nerrie

1 - Took the BatMobile into a StarBucks drive thru with Damian and Titus in the passenger and backseat.

(Claimed it was an "eco-friendly carpool" was supported by Cass & Steph)

2 - Created a fake cult around Juice Cleanses to see which Gotham Moms would join in.

(Called it "Blessed and Pressed")

3 - Tried to crowd-surf at a Gotham Charity Event

(Key Word: Tried Nobody caught her and Tim made a TikTok out of it)

4 - Replaced every official Wayne Family Portrait with her face photoshopped into them, then made it her LinkedIn banner.

(Including ones prior to her birth, confused Damian for a looong time)

5 - Got kicked out of Gotham Prep School for starting a betting pool on which teacher would snap first (She won the pool, making Jason very proud) ("Mr. Callahan German suplexed a lit student, even though he teaches French.")

6 - Changed the BatComputer's voice to say "Slay Queens" every time a case gets solved. (Drove Bruce up the wall)

7 - Made fake love letters “from Nightwing” and left them in the manor to make Dick paranoid.

(They were written in glitter pen). (“Your arms are so strong. So emotionally unavailable. Marry me?”) (Dick started sleeping with his door locked.)

8 - Made a bingo board titled “Things Bruce Wayne Ignores” and crossed off squares in the middle of a press conference.

(Squares included: “Personal boundaries”, “Any child under 25” &“The concept of rest”)

9 - Ran a lemonade stand in front of Wayne Enterprises and charged $50 a cup.

(People paid for it.) (“I called it ‘Traumaade™ – tastes like spite and unresolved issues”)

And finally

10 - Texted the family group chat “He’s gone 😔” and went offline for like 5 hours.

(Came back with: “Turns out Alfred just went to Costco.”)(Everyone cried a little.)

LMFAO I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THISSSS!!!! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources! -

Header - Pinterest

Bat dividers - @sister-lucifer

Grey dividers - @cursed-carmine

Bow Divider - @dollywons

This post is property of suigenerisisadiva

[everythingspokenfor]

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

"So, you don't love me anymore?" You mumbled, hands in your lap, shoulders hunched, the defeated look in your eyes, as if you are genuinely questioning his love for you.

"You are seriously asking me that." Bakugou groans, impatiently taping his foot on the ground as he waits for the driver to be here, "I have your full name tattooed on my rib."

"Love can fade, you know." You sigh dramatically, laying down on the carpet as you stare at the ceiling, "There are thousand others with my name." You close your eyes, turning away from him, "You are slipping through my fingers, Bakugou."

He watches, as you pretend to die from heart ache in your dressing room, amused smile painting his lips, "All this because I didn't let you mess up my face."

"You refused my kiss!" You sit up abruptly, hunching forward as you kneel infront of him, "Be honest, Bakugou, you didn't want your other girlfriend to see my lipstick on you-"

He steps forward, cutting your words, pressing his lips messily against yours, when he pulls away, there is a thick, glossy, cherry pink gloss smeared around his lips.

"Done throwing a tantrum?" He rasps, baritone voice deep, sending tingles down your core, you shake your head, "Wanna mark me up more?" He huffs a laugh, as you hazily nod your head.

He leans over, grabbing the tube of gloss, applying it carefully over your lips, before capping it, he watches you shuffle closer. "Be patient, brat." He rasps, squeezing your cheeks together to pucker your lips.

You lean in clumsily, intending to press your lips against his, but reaching his chin, you sit up straighter, arms wrapping around his shoulders, as you plant kisses all across his face. Laying back down, to admire his stained skin with love sick eyes.

"Done?" He hums, parting your legs and laying in between them, one hand slipping under your head, to cushion it against the carpeted floor. "Have to be a menace every damn day."

"A lady can't even love her man now." You huff, pushing a his chest in faux annoyance, trying to get his weight of yourself.

"Oi," He rasps against the column of your throat, free hand rubbing against your sides, he leans in further, putting more weight on you, "I let you love me just fine." Dipping down to suckle against your pulse.

Your breath hitches, warmth spreading in your belly, fingers scratching his undercut, as you pull him closer, toes curling.

He groans, hand fisting the hem of your shirt, silently asking for your permission, you hummed against him, letting him tuck it under your chin, lips wrapping around your bare nipple, suckling gently.

"Ah Suki-" You let out a breath, hips rutting weakly against his jeans clad thigh, hoping for friction against your needy little clit.

And suddenly he gets off you, large frame hulking over you as he stands up, "Have a meeting, babe, the one you were marking me up for."

He snorts at you dumbfounded expression, brows furrowed as you looked at him in confusion and annoyance, "I'll return all that loving when I get back." He struts out of the room, before you could drag him back down.

"YOU AREN'T GETTING ANY LOVE, ASSHOLE!!"

Dividers by: @cursed-carmine 💖✨

[martian-astro10]

Career....stuff- part 1 (whole signs)

Note: the career observations will contain a mix of vedic and tropical, do not apply the persona chart observations to the divisional charts and vice versa.

Saturn in Libra, Taurus, Aquarius, or Capricorn in either d9 or d10 indicates being extremely successful in your chosen career. If this Saturn is in the first house then the success might be delayed or it could also be that you don't get much support from the people around you so whatever you end up doing, has to be done from the ground up and therefore takes much more time and effort.

Jupiter in 2nd or 8th house in either the Saturn or MC persona chart means you'll earn A LOT of money through your career. I was going through celebrities' charts and was genuinely surprised to see how many had this, like 60/75.

Another thing I observed was, celebrities who faced many scandals and still managed to deal with them and come out unscathed had Jupiter in 1st, 4th, or 10th in their Saturn or MC persona chart. This is like a "self made person" placement, so people who are more privileged than you might try to drag you down.

10th lord of d1 being exalted or in its own sign in d10= 💲💰🤑💸, like for real. This placement is like a blessing from God. I actually lost count of how many "beloved" people have this. You could be bad at your job, get into scandals, have a shit personality, doesn't matter, this placement will protect you. Especially if exalted.

Jupiter in 5th in d10 is another placement that makes you well liked by others. They're not as scrutinized by the public as others, and can get away with a lot of stuff. It's actually a very lucky placement to have, especially for someone who wants to pursue something where they'll have to interact with a lot of people.

Stelliums in MC and Saturn persona chart are SO IMPORTANT, I cannot emphasize this enough. If you have a stellium then the sign is literally how people will perceive you in your career and how you'll be remembered, it doesn't even matter if it's true or not, and that actually sucks. (Martha Stewart has a stellium in Gemini, the woman is literally called a media mogul. Beyonce has a libra and scorpio stellium, some people think she's the sweetest, very charming and one of the best singers in the world and the other half thinks that she's in a cult and plans murders of those she's in a competition with so....yeah)

Moon in 6th in d10 is such a "hardworking perfectionist" placement, and you'll be known as such. These people are the type to do everything alone in a group project because they don't like the way other people do things. Working under others does not yield good results for them. I'm gonna be honest, I rarely see these people achieving the same level of success as they actually deserve. People end up stealing their ideas and taking credit for their work, so I would suggest you all to keep everything that you're doing a secret.

10th lord of d1 or d10 in 3rd house of d10 is a good actor placement, almost all the highly acclaimed actors have this. If not acting, then any other career related to mass communication would be good for you and bring success and praise.

Jupiter in Capricorn in d10 can indicate a lot of obstacles in your career, people may constantly try to sabotage you. This placement also makes it very hard to save money. Expenditure will always be more than income.

Moon mars conjunction in Aries, leo, Pisces or Sagittarius in d9 is a GREAT placement, and one that has the ability to make you very rich and successful. It can bring benefits related to marriage as well. A spouse that will respect you and make you happy and a career that will help you achieve all your dreams and desires. The conjunction should not be in the 7th house though. Moon mars conjunction in other signs is still good for career but can bring negative effects in regards to marriage.

Divider by @cursed-carmine

© martian-astro10 All rights reserved, 2025

[lveegsoi]

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡BITE ME

vampire!ni-ki who lived through centuries of loneliness and silence. Ni-ki has made a habit of feeling your pulse. When he’s holding your hand he likes to press his fingers slightly at your wrist. The slow rhythm of your pulse brings him comfort he hasn’t felt for so many years. He never said anything, he didn’t have to, but you’ve felt how he holds you just a little longer than necessary, how his thumb lingers, pressing gently against your pulse point, as if counting each beat. As if memorizing it. Because it reassures him. That you’re there, that you’re alive and that there’s still something human close enough to touch, to remind him he’s not entirely a monster.

vampire!ni-ki who pierce your bottom lip when he kisses you. At first he’d just peck your lips, quick and soft, but it’s never just a quick kiss with him, especially if he’s hungry for you. It would start slowly with one quick peck, that’s what you say to yourself every time he comes to kiss you, then he’d place a second kiss on your soft lips, one that went on slightly longer than the first. Then would come the third kiss, then the fourth, then the fifth. And just like that, one quick kiss would lead to a full make-out session. And then he’d bite. Not hard, not deep. The bite would be just sharp enough for his fang to pierce the soft flesh of your bottom lip. A single sting, so quick you wouldn’t have time to flinch. His tongue would slowly slide along your lip, tasting the small amount of blood on it. A low moan would leave his mouth as he loses himself in your taste.

“Sorry.” he’d murmur. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Then his thumb would brush your swollen lip, collecting the remaining blood , and after that he’d kiss you again, but this time softer, like he’s trying to say thank you without using words.

vampire!ni-ki who likes to fuck you in missionary or from behind, with your back pressed against his toned chest and one arm around your neck and the other between your legs. What Ni-ki loves the most is marking you up. Most of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s biting your neck while thrusting inside you, not until he hears soft whimpers leaving your mouth from the slight pain of the bite. Marking you is like a second nature to him- the possessiveness, the need to show the world who you belong to.

Aside from your neck, the inside of your thighs is his favorite place to leave his markings. How couldn’t he bite the soft skin of your legs when he goes to eat you out? It’s like placing a cup of blood in front of him and to expect him not to drink it.

vampire!ni-ki who also likes to be marked by you. He finds it cute when you try to imitate him by pressing your canines deeper into his skin, trying to make deep marks just like the ones on your body. Despite the effort you put into every bite, they would fade quicker than the marks he’d leave on your body. But rest assured, Ni-ki would definitely tattoo your bite mark on himself if it meant having a piece of you with him when you're no longer around.

divider by cursed-carmine

[dissolved-g1rl]

𐙚⋆°｡⋆ his hair gets in the way

It started at work, Bucky hadn’t really noticed it that much. Only when he had to look down at paperwork and his hair would loom forward, flopping over his peripheral. Then at the gym, any running or anything particularly that has to do with working out became him having to brush his hair behind his ear every two seconds. At home you notice it a little, every so often you’ll see him brush it back or run his fingers through it. You like it long, more to run your fingers through, not to say you don’t understand his grievances.

He looks at you from the bed, seeing you with a hairband as you lean over the sink, rinsing off your face wash. Bucky doesn’t think he could wear a fuzzy headband with a bow to punch bad guys in the face. “I think ‘m gonna cut my hair.” He murmurs when you lay down in bed, turning off the overhead light, opting for the lamp on your nightstand. “What? Why would you do that? I thought you wanted to grow it out.” You ask shifting to face him, cozying up next to him. “It’s…annoying. I always have to adjust it.” He murmurs. “It’s just in an awkward stage still, once ‘s a little longer you can start tying it back.” You say resting your head on his chest, he rubs your back and hums at your suggestion. “Or…I have some clips, bobby pins too, just till it’s ponytail length.” You add on, rubbing his side, over his ribs.

You end up on his lap, sectioning the parts of his hair that flop forward but aren’t long enough to tie back. “Look how cute, I have Hello Kitty ones ‘n I have plain ones too.” You say excitedly showing him the barrettes. He doesnt know who Hello Kitty is, he likes saying hello to your kitty, and to Alpine, beyond that he’s clueless. “Ummm let’s just go for plain baby.” He says patting your back, closing his eyes when he feels your fingers drag through his hair. You have a brown barrette that is a little darker than his actual hair color, clipping it into place behind his ear. Doing the same to the other side, “Wow, look at this pretty face, all on display!” You croon warmly, cupping his cheeks, he rolls his eyes at your fuss accepting your kisses on his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “So handsome, so—” Another kiss, “So handsome, like an angel.” You squeal squeezing him tightly. “Woah.” He smiles, looping his arm around your middle. “Damn, okay, the clips are a yes then.” He croons enjoying the feeling of getting smothered. He doesn’t know how he lived without your love for so long, sometimes he thinks you’ll make him sick with your sweetness, it can’t be good for his heart.

The morning after you tie his tie like any day, pour his coffee, and hand him his arm from the drying rack. You send him off with two exact kisses and a pat on the chest. The press has a lovely time getting picture after picture of the pastel barrette behind congressmen Barnes’ ear wondering who could’ve possibly gotten the usually aloof man into something as cute as Hello Kitty…

strawberry divider by @kodaswrld

line divider by @cursed-carmine

a/n: based on thunderbolts buck :3 (i need him.)

[lowrisemiller]

Heyy!! You are a PHENOMENAL writer!! I love your fics - I read them every night before bed as one does. I feel like you capture Joel’s character amazingly and I adore your work.

Could you maybe write something about where Joel meets reader’s parents, specifically her dad? I would really enjoy to see how that dynamic plays out. 💛💛

ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴ’ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏʟᴋꜱ

old man!joel miller x younger!fem!reader

srry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

masterlist | 1k words | age gap, protective!Joel, nervous reader, dad-meets-boyfriend tension, eventually soft smut in reader’s childhood bedroom, praise kink, creampie

divider by @cursed-carmine

Joel stands next to you on the porch, smoothing a hand down the front of his button-up. You can feel the tension rolling off him, subtle but steady—like he’s facing a job site inspection instead of your parents’ Sunday dinner.

“I look alright?” he murmurs under his breath.

You glance up at him. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his forearms, that salt-and-pepper hair still damp from a fresh shower. He looks stupidly good. And nervous. You nod, giving his hand a squeeze.

“You look perfect. Just… maybe don’t mention the age difference right away.”

He huffs, mouth twitching. “You think they won’t notice?”

Before you can answer, the front door opens.

Your mom smiles politely, but your dad lingers behind her, eyes narrowing at the man holding your hand.

“This must be Joel,” your mom says, stepping aside.

Joel releases your hand to offer hers a firm shake. “Ma’am.”

Then, your dad.

“Sir.”

There’s a long moment where your dad just stares at him. Then he clasps Joel’s hand a little too tightly. You feel the silent “this is my daughter” vibrating in the air.

You don’t breathe until everyone sits at the dinner table.

The meal starts… tense.

Your mom makes small talk. Joel is polite, respectful—uses “yes ma’am” and “no sir” like he was born to it. But your dad? He watches him like a hawk. Like he’s trying to do the math in his head: How did my twenty-something daughter end up with a man pushing sixty?

Joel doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny.

When your dad asks, “So what do you do, Joel?” he answers calmly.

“Contractin’. Been in construction most of my life. Own a little business now, just me and a couple of guys.”

Your dad grunts. “Honest work.”

“Yes, sir.”

You squeeze Joel’s knee under the table, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

Later, when your mom mentions your baking, Joel lights up. “Her banana bread’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You blink. “Joel—”

“I mean it,” he says, eyes warm on yours. “That and the cherry pie she made last weekend—tasted like home.”

Your mom softens. Your dad finally cracks a smile.

Joel doesn’t boast. He just is—quiet, solid, kind. You can see it landing slowly, like rain soaking into dry earth. By the time dessert hits the table, your dad is asking Joel about tools he uses and telling him how he redid the garage back in ’05.

When your mom begins gathering plates, Joel stands. “Let me help.”

You barely stifle a grin when your mom pats his arm. “A gentleman. I see why she likes you.”

It’s almost surreal, how well it ends. The front porch is warm under your bare feet as you sit on a rocking chair sharing wine with your mom.

“Joel,” your dad says, voice lower now, “She’s… important to us.”

Joel nods. “She’s important to me too.”

And just like that, the heavy cloud lifts.

You’re breathless by the time your bedroom door shuts behind you. Joel’s hands are already on your waist, mouth pressed hot against your throat.

“You were so good in there,” you whisper. “You won them over.”

His voice is rough, low against your skin. “That what you wanted? Wanted me to charm your daddy so he’d let me come up to your little pink bedroom and fuck his daughter?”

Your knees go weak.

You whimper, and he walks you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the twin bed. The comforter is still the one you had in high school—sun-faded and soft. Joel kneels in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress up.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he murmurs. “Me in your old room?”

You nod. “Since before I brought you here.”

He groans softly. “Goddamn.”

He presses open-mouth kisses up your thighs, tongue teasing until you’re trembling. His beard scratches just right, and when his mouth finally settles between your legs, it’s slow and deep and filthy.

You arch, fingers in his hair.

“Joel—please.”

He looks up, lips slick, eyes burning. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“You. I want your cock. Now.”

He stands and undoes his belt with one hand, the other caressing your cheek. “You want me to fuck you in this bed, sweetheart?”

You nod fast. “Please.”

He pushes inside you in one deep thrust, both of you gasping. The way he stretches you always steals your breath, but tonight it feels different. Your old bed creaks under the weight of him, and the air is thick with the scent of sex and nostalgia.

“You’re mine,” he growls in your ear. “Doesn’t matter if they know how old I am, long as they know I treat you right. Long as you know.”

“I know,” you gasp, clutching his back. “Joel, I love you—”

His rhythm stutters for a second. He cups your face, kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “I love you too, baby.”

You come around him with a cry muffled into his neck, and he follows with a deep groan, hips stuttering as he fills you.

The room is quiet after, save for your panting breaths.

He lays beside you, one arm under your head, the other hand resting on your stomach. His thumb brushes gently back and forth.

“Think your dad’d still like me if he knew what I just did to you?”

You giggle. “Probably not.”

Joel smirks. “Worth it.”

🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @millersdoll @littlemillersbaby @amyispxnk

[allthatjazz416]

Hiii do you write for kenma from haikyuu? 👀

OMG HII! I was did write for him in my drafts cause I know Kenma girlies love to send request 🫶. Yes! I do take request right now but he's not really a character I usually write for. But here it is!💗

Kenma NSFW🎮

"Stream's over, baby" Kenma TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Post-streamSex! SoftDom!Kenma! LazyDom!Kenma! Fingering! Edging! OrgasmDenial! CryingfromPleasure! SlightDegration! DesperationKink! Workcount:1.8k Note: My first time writing about him! Hope you like it divider crdts:@/cursed-carmine

Kenma barely glances over his shoulder when you open the door.

The room’s dim, lit by nothing but the glow of his monitors and the faint RGB ripple under his keyboard. He’s still in his hoodie, headphones around his neck, hair messy from where he’s been tugging it during ranked. You can hear the faint ending jingle of his stream—the soft “thanks for watching” overlay flashing across the screen.

“Done?” you ask, leaning against the doorway in one of his shirts and nothing else. You know what you’re doing. You always do.

He hums. Doesn't even look away from the monitor. “Mhm. Got raided last second, had to say thanks.”

You cross the room slowly. No bra. No panties. His oversized shirt barely covers the tops of your thighs. And when you crawl right into his lap, straddling him backwards on the gaming chair, then he looks.

“...You’re not wearing anything under that,” he says flatly, hands sliding under the fabric like it’s just an observation. His fingers are already brushing the crease where your thighs meet your heat. “Trying to distract me?”

You grind down slowly in his lap, just enough to press against the bulge you already feel forming under his sweats. “Stream’s over, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your clit like it’s nothing. “Camera’s off. Mic’s muted. Nobody’s watching.”

Except him.

And he’s watching now—eyes half-lidded, lashes casting shadows over flushed cheeks. He leans back in the chair, lazy and loose-limbed like he’s done this a hundred times, but his fingers are so deliberate. Slow, unhurried circles over your clit then he drags that finger down and curls  it inside you, testing how wet you already are.

“You really waited until I logged off just to do this?” he asks, quiet, like he’s teasing. “Could’ve just asked.”

You let out a soft gasp when he adds a second finger, pace unchanging, dragging them in and out like he’s scrolling idly through patch notes.

“You were busy,” you whisper, breath hitching.

He hums again, low and unimpressed. “I’m still busy.”

But his free hand settles on your hip, anchoring you down against his lap while his fingers work you open like he’s got all night. And when your head drops back against his shoulder, whining soft, he presses a kiss just under your ear and says—

“Messy already,” voice low, almost bored. “You really just needed me to touch you, huh?”

You whimper something—affirmation, apology, maybe just his name—and he keeps going like he didn’t even hear it. His fingers curl just right, brushing that spot inside you over and over until your thighs start to twitch. Slow and steady, lazy and precise. His cock throbs against you beneath the fabric of his sweats—subtle, but unmistakable. You feel it twitch when your pussy squeezes around his fingers, like he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

“Bet you were wet while I was still streaming,” he adds, tone unchanging. “Sitting out there, waiting, thinking about this. Should’ve let you crawl under the desk and suck me off mid-match.”

“Kenma—” you gasp, grinding down hard on his lap, chasing friction, but his grip on your hip tightens.

“No,” he says, so soft it’s almost a sigh. “You’re gonna sit still and take it.”

His free hand presses down on your lower stomach, holding you flush to him while his fingers work faster now—just a little. Just enough to make your breath catch. He hasn’t even pulled his dick out. Hasn’t kissed you again. Just fingering you open in the dark, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, face calm and blank while your body starts to shake.

“Don’t cum yet,” he murmurs—not a command this time. A warning. A promise.

Because he’s not even close to done.

His fingers never speed up—not really. They just stay steady. Intentional. He curls them just right, drags them slow, over and over, until your whole body’s buzzing with heat and your hips won’t stop twitching in his lap.

He doesn't; say anything. Doesn’t need to. Just keeps watching your face, eyelids heavy, mouth slack, pupils barely focused. Every breath you take is shaky now. Every shift of your hips pulls a little whimper out of you, desperate for something faster, deeper, anything.

But Kenma doesn’t give it to you.

Not yet.

Your moans start climbing, soft at first, breathy little exhales that grow higher, faster—until your walls start to clench, heartbeat thudding in your throat, right there, the edge curling warm and tight in your gut—

And then he stops.

Just stops.

Pulls out like he forgot he was even inside you. Lets your slick coat his fingers, trails them lazily down your thigh like he’s playing with spilled syrup. Then he lifts one hand, squints at the mess between your legs like he’s reading patch notes or checking a loading screen.

Nothing but silence for a beat.

And then?

Back in.

Two fingers, again. Slower this time. Crueler. The same maddening rhythm, like he’s clocking every twitch, every clench, every shaky little breath.

You can’t help it—you bury your face against his neck, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie like that’ll keep you grounded. His hoodie smells like clean cotton and energy drinks. His voice hums low near your ear, flat and unconcerned as he circles your clit with the heel of his palm.

“You’re already shaking,” he says, like it’s mildly interesting. “Didn’t even cum once yet.”

You choke on a moan, breath catching when he presses deeper inside. “K-Kenma—please…”

“You’re so loud,” he murmurs, like he’s just noticing it. “Just from this?”

You nod quickly, breathless and ruined. You’re right on the edge again, and he knows. Your hips start to buck against his palm without meaning to, your thighs tense and trembling, right there again—

And then?

He pulls out.

Again.

No warning. No softness.

He slips his fingers out and drags them across your inner thigh, leaving a slick trail of your arousal like it’s nothing. You feel the air hit your swollen, aching pussy and almost whine from the sudden loss. But Kenma just wipes his fingers off on your skin like you’re his napkin. His hand settles on your hip again, like maybe he’s done. Like that was enough.

But it’s not.

You’re throbbing—empty and soaking and dizzy with need.

And he just sits there, the glow of his monitors painting faint lines across his tired eyes as he watches you struggle.

You’re throbbing—empty and soaking and dizzy with need

And he just sits there, the glow of his monitors painting faint lines across his tired eyes as he watches you struggle.

“You’ll live,” Kenma says softly, almost to himself. “You just hate waiting.”

You let out a pitiful sound in response, more of a whine than a word. Your hips keep trying to move—little twitches, half-thrusts against the front of his sweats—but he holds you still with one hand, fingers digging into your hip like a leash.

He brushes his hand back between your legs, lazy, like he’s not even thinking about it—and when he drags his fingers through your folds again, they slip in without resistance.

Hot. Wet. Clenching around nothing.

Two fingers again. Deep. Slow. And your walls pulse around him—gripping, squeezing, leaking down the backs of your thighs. Every thrust is a sloppy slide now, your cunt so desperate to be filled that it pulls at his fingers, greedy and aching.

Your moan comes out broken. High. Like you’re already close again and he knows it.

You cry out—soft and strangled—just from the stretch. Like your body doesn’t know how to take it anymore. Everything inside you pulses around him, slick and sore from being teased for so long.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he mutters, almost impressed.

And still, he doesn’t give you what you want. He curls his fingers just a little—presses into that spot deep inside you—and then pulls back. Again. And again. Slow enough that you feel everything. The squelch of your slick. The drag against your inner walls. The brush of his palm over your clit that you swear he’s doing on purpose.

You whine—frantic, wrecked—and bury your face in his hoodie, humping his palm now without thinking, breath hot against his collarbone.

“Kenma—please,” you gasp. “Please, I need it—I need to cum—”

“I should make you do this every night,” he says, tone unreadable. “Keep you warm and wet while I play.”

You moan into his hoddie, half-crying, nails scratching at the fabric of his hoodie. “Kenma, I—please, I can’t…”

“You can,” he says, calmly. “You will.”

He keeps going. Same pace. Same cruel rhythm. Brings you right up again, your whole body clenched, teetering on the edge—

And then stops.

Again.

You sob.

You don’t even mean to—it just slips out, a broken, desperate sound that makes him pause for real. His fingers rest against your inner thigh, still slick with your arousal, while he tilts his head and finally looks you in the face.

“You’re crying?” he says, quiet now. Still calm. But curious.

You nod frantically, trembling in his lap, thighs sticky and sore and clenching on nothing.

His gaze softens—barely. A blink slower than usual. He presses a kiss to your cheek, almost lazy.

“Alright,” he says, like he’s doing you a favor. Like he’s bored. “You can cum now.”

And this time?

He doesn't stop.

Fingers sink back inside you, his thumb pressed right there, rubbing messy circles over your clit as his other hand wraps around your waist and pulls you tight against him. No more teasing. No more pauses.

Just heat. Pressure. Wet, dragging friction right where you need it.

“Go on,” he mutters, breath warm against your neck. “Let go.”

And when your orgasm finally hits—hard, blinding, long overdue—he doesn’t say a word. Just watches. Watches your whole body jerk and spasm in his lap, hands trembling against his chest, mouth open and breathless while you fall apart for him.

Your whole body locks up—back arching, walls pulsing hard around his fingers while your orgasm crashes through you like a wave. Wet. Deep. Unrelenting. You’re crying out his name into his hoodie, hips twitching through the aftershocks, pussy clenching so hard he has to work his fingers just to ride it out.

You’re dripping—absolutely soaking his hand, his hoodie, the cushion of the chair. Still fluttering even after he’s pulled out. Even after he’s licked your release off his fingers, slow and lazy, like it’s nothing.

He presses a kiss to your temple, quiet now. Soft.

“Can feel you twitching still,” he mumbles, thumb brushing your inner thigh. “Didn’t even fuck you yet.”

His other hand slides down between your thighs again, fingers slipping through the mess he made. “Still fluttering,” he murmurs, watching your hole clench around nothing. “Think you’re ready to take me now?”

Part 2? ❤

[chromehoney]

criminal/stickyfingers!smoke x bimbo!black!fem!reader.

The first thing you smell is cash. Not cologne, not motor oil, not even the cigarette he’s always pinching between his fingers—but cash. Raw, bitter leather and metallic ink. Money. And it trails in behind him like smoke itself, slinking through the wide halls of the home he bought you, echoing off marble and soft light.

You’re bent over the marble kitchen counter, syrupy hips poking out from a pink satin robe, the one he got monogrammed with Mrs. Moore stitched over the heart. Bare legs glisten. Anklets jingling. Lipgloss always fresh.

His voice glides in slow. “Why you always bakin’ somethin’ with ya ass out like that, baby?”

You don’t answer at first. Just stir the sugar into the sweet tea with two fingers, lazy, wet swirls. You feel his eyes all over you—thick and hot like honey down your spine. So you tilt your head and smile, glossy lips parting just enough.

“Because you like it, Pa.”

Smoke chuckles low in his throat. Gravel. The kind of sound that makes your thighs brush together. He drops the duffel bag on the floor with a thud—money, of course—and strolls toward you, slow and greedy.

He wears all black, shirt halfway unbuttoned, gold chains dancing on his chest. You know he didn’t come home through the front. You know the duffel’s not from any bank that would shake hands with a man like him. His knuckles are still red. His ring’s still bloody.

But he pays all the bills.

You ain’t even know what a light bill looked like since you met him. His hand finds your ass before his mouth finds your cheek. A kiss, soft, reverent. Fingers sinking into the dough of you, making you gasp.

“You make my whole fuckin’ house smell like sugar,” he murmurs, brushing his nose down your jaw. “My sweet girl.”

You giggle like it’s innocent, though your knees are going soft and your robe’s slipping open. Your lashes flutter, thick and heavy. “M’just makin’ cake,” you hum, eyes glossy, dumb, pink. “Thought you’d be hungry.”

“i am hungry.”

You feel him growing against the back of your thigh. You let out a little coo, one of those bimboish gasps he lives for. His big hand wraps around your middle, just under your tits, pulling you close like he owns you. (He does.)

“Cake can wait,” he murmurs in your ear. “But I can’t.” And neither can you.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers .