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CSS Animated Text Overlay

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CSS Hover Animation

[postmakerkiwi]

🧊 Crystal Glacier Expedition - Neon Cave Tour ❄️

This extensive cave system circling underneath the center of the glacier is home to several large pools of subzero waters, brightly illuminated from below. Try not to lose sight of the guide, but if you do, just watch your step and follow the sound of crunching snow from the group's steady march.

photos by CatbatQuartet

[neversetyoufree]

Ok this is so self-indulgent, but it just occurred to me that, given how many people use tumblr largely on mobile, a lot of y'all have probably never seen my extremely cute desktop theme.

Look at her!!

[lonely-coconut]

Blinkie.World preview!

Here is a preview of Blinkie.world, my blinkie collecton site! The goal here is to collect every blinkie on earth (but only if they're free to use, and can be credited). They're all sorted into these color pages, and also sorted into tons of sub categories on other pages (like food, animals, holidays, etc etc). This is what some of the color pages look like now! Once I have at least 300 blinkies in each color, then I'll consider the site full enough to go live! I'm aiming to get it online by Art Fight (aka by July this year).

Do note that this isn't actually an accurate representation of how many I have. I have thousands more than this! I just have to code them all in. It's not as quick as just an image tag and a link, because it also needs to be named, linked to it's source, tagged so I know what categories they're in, have a link to a screenshot that proves who the creator is and their terms (in case the credit link dies one day), have alt text, and have hover text which says the creator and a description of what the blinkie says! So, it's not like this:

<img src="">

It's actually like this:

<a href="" target="_BLANK">

<img src="" alt="" title="Credit: . ID: """></a>

<!--Categories: -->

<!--Screencap: -->

And that's for every blinkie! You can probably see how this is so time consuming, but I think it's worth it. I've never seen a blinkie collection with 6,000+ blinkies, much less every single one credited, and even less sorted into dozens of categories! It's like I have a blinkie for everything, while also knowing the creator of each, and being able to easily search for a specific one via the sorting system! It's especially good for helping others find blinkies, and helping people get the sources for blinkies they already have! It's also great for finding blinkies to use for your ocs (which is my initial reason for doing this).

I'm very excited about this. I really think this could be a very fun resource for people, and that aside, I just really like having so many in my possession. I love to see them. I even have blinkies that I've downloaded before they were deleted off the internet! That's very exciting to me. I have blinkies that are straight up lost media, and I'm happy to be able to preserve them.

Of course as I said, it's going to take forever to add them all, but I'm chipping away at it. I shall not be stopped! Also, if you want a blinkie in any of these screenshots above, just let me know! I'll get it and it's source for you, easy peasy! I'll post more screenshots as significant progress is made, but for now, it's back to downloading blinkies!

[syrecjh]

Katsuki Bakugo would lose his goddamn mind if you spent the whole day teasing him, sending photos that left nothing to the imagination. Not fully nude—no, you’re smarter than that. Smarter and crueler, because it’s the almosts that ruin him.

The morning starts with a text: “Thinking of you, hero.” Along with a mirror selfie—lips bitten, shirt riding just a little too high, that look in your eyes that says you know exactly what you’re doing.

At lunch, you send another—a close-up of your collarbone and neck, your lips parted as if you’re about to say something filthy, but the message only reads: “Can’t wait to feel you.”

By late afternoon, he’s pacing in the locker room like a caged animal, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. His fingers hover over his phone like he’ll call you just to growl something filthy—but he doesn’t. Not yet. He’ll make you wait, he tells himself. Let you stew.

Except patience has never been Bakugo’s strong suit.

So when he finally gets back, the second he opens the door and sees you on the couch—bare legs, smug little smile—something in him snaps.

He doesn’t even bother taking off his gear.

“You think this is a fuckin’ game?” he mutters, voice low, thunderous, gauntlets still strapped to his arms, smoke practically rising off his skin.

You blink, all fake-innocence, and he laughs—sharp, dangerous. “Nah. Don’t act all sweet now.”

And before you can answer, he’s on you—mouth hot, hands rough, grabbing your jaw as he kisses you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Y’been actin’ up all fuckin’ day,” he growls, pressing his weight into you, hips already grinding down. “Sending me those goddamn pictures while I’m workin’? You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You gasp out his name, fingers tugging at the straps of his gear, but he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t slow. He grabs your thigh, yanks it around his waist, breath ragged against your neck.

“I didn’t even fuckin’ change,” he grits out, biting the curve of your jaw. “Didn’t have time. Couldn’t fuckin’ wait. Gonna take you just like this.”

And when he finally thrusts into you—rough, hungry, like you’re the air he’s been dying to breathe—he mutters, wrecked and wild,

“Fuckin’ mine. You hear me? Mine.”

[urvampygf]

JUST A FAVOR

( Bsf!Chris x Inexperienced!Reader ) when chris finds out that reader has never been pleasured by a man before, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 / Pt. 3 / Pt. 3.5

-`✮´- 4.1k

contains. flirting, making out, teasing, hickeys, fingering, pussy eating.

The soft patter of rain against her apartment window serves as a soothing backdrop as Y/N wipes away her makeup. The day had been exhausting—her car stubbornly refusing to start, followed by an endless stream of exams, and finally, sitting through an hour-long conversation with her friends about their latest hookups and messy situationships. It wasn’t that she minded hearing about their experiences; it just felt… repetitive.

Y/N, though, couldn't relate those stories. She was a virgin—not totally untouched, but a virgin nonetheless. The thought lingered, making her feel like an outcast. She wasn’t naive—she’d tried a little of this and a little of that in the past, but never the “real thing.” Even though it's not usually something she'd dwell on, she still felt as though she was falling behind, that most women her age had already been there done that, leaving her in their wake.

Safe to say, Y/N was beyond exhausted, begging for the comfort of her bed. She snuggled under the covers, the warmth settling in as she began to relax. Just as she was about to drift off, a ding from her phone broke the comfortable silence, causing her to squint an eye open. A groan escaped her lips as she rolled over, burying her face into the pillow below her as she reaches for the phone on her nightstand.

It was a text from Chris, her best friend, which read, “u ready for movie night?”

Fuck. She’d totally forgotten she promised him they’d watch some random, cheesy movie together.

With a sigh, Y/N typed out a quick reply, the screen glowing dimly in the darkness. “I don’t feel like driving 😓😓”

She bit her lip as she waited, watching the little animated dots bounce up and down in the silence. A new message popped up: “want me to come over instead?”

Y/N hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen for a moment. “could u? sorry, im just tired."

“sure :)” The reply came almost instantly.

Relieved, she tossed the phone back onto the nightstand as she hopped out of bed, deciding the oversized sweater and booty shorts she would usually sleep in aren’t quite appropriate for the occasion. After changing into pajama pants and a snug baby tee, she gently plays with her hair, double checking that it's not messy from lying in bed. Satisfied, she shuffles over to her small living room, plopping onto the couch and opening TikTok to pass the time while waiting for Chris.

It’s only a few minutes before her phone buzzes with a text from him—he’s here. Y/N opens the door to find Chris standing there, damp, his hair flopped over his eyes.

“The snacks are soaked,” he mumbles, a jokingly childish pout forming on his lips.

Y/N rolls her eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring snacks… I’ve got plenty.”

Chris shrugs, looking down at the plastic grocery bag. “Yeah, well, you don’t have good snacks.”

“I have good snacks,” she responds mockingly with a smile, locking the door behind him.

He pulls out a package of goldfish and gushers, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. You like boring, healthy shit.”

“Whatever you say,” she grins, motioning for him to sit beside her as she settles on the couch.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The movie is playing, but neither of them really care for it. It’s just background noise for their chatter. Chris grumbles about his brothers, and Y/N rambles about college—though she keeps the real reason she’s feeling off to herself. Chris knows her too well, though, and not even the smallest shift in her mood goes unnoticed by him.

“What’s wrong, kid?” he asks gently, his tone softening.

“It’s nothing, m’okay.” she says, forcing a small smile, but Chris isn’t buying it. He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

Y/N sighs, the weight of her thoughts pressing on her. She finally blurts it out, “I’m just… always listening to my friends’ hookup stories. And it’s—ugh—it just… bothers me.”

Chris shifts on the couch, leaning in a little closer as he chuckles lightly, his expression full of curiosity. “Why does that bother you? I’ve told you shit like that before.”

Y/N’s heart rate quickens as she feels a wave of embarrassment spread through her. Her hands fidget in her lap. “Be-cauuuse…” she stammers, struggling to find the words. “I can’t—like, I can’t relate to any of it. Makes me feel like a loser.”

Her usual laid-back attitude has completely vanished, replaced by the tension of her embarrassment. Chris stares at her for a moment, his brow furrowing, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. Then, his face relaxes as realization hits, his eyes darting away for a second before locking back onto hers.

“You never told me you were a virgin,” Chris teases, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/N squints her eyes. “Chris—don’t start.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

A beat of silence hangs between them, and then Chris leans in a bit, curiosity piqued. “So, whatcha waiting for?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Like, why haven’t you?”

Y/N sighs, shifting to face Chris. “That shit’s scary," she responds with a nervous giggle.

Chris lets out a quiet, amused breath through his nose. “What’s scary about it?” he asks casually.

She exhales sharply, her voice growing more animated. “Getting with the wrong guy, getting used, and, oh I dunno, pregnancy. Shall I continue?”

Chris’s smile falters as he registers her words. “Alright, fair. But the right guy isn’t gonna just like fall into your lap.”

“True..” she trails off, her tone a bit more casual, albeit still embarrassed. “But most of the guys I’m interested in are, like… fuck boys; Body count of twenty, can't remember your name, that kinda shit.”

“That’s your own fault,” Chris retorts with a teasing grin, dodging the playful shoulder punch she throws his way.

Y/N scoffs, but they both settle into a comfortable silence, their attention drifting back to the movie.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“That was butt booty ass low-key,” Y/N states as the movie ends, pushing herself off the couch to toss the empty popcorn bowl in the sink.

Chris glances up from his phone, unfazed. “Meh, it wasn’t that bad.”

He scrolls through his notifications, not too concerned about the movie’s quality.

Y/N returns, plopping back onto the couch next to him and stretching her arms overhead. “…What’s it like?” she asks suddenly, her voice softer than usual.

“Huh?” Chris looks up from his phone, locking it and setting it aside face down on the couch.

“Like… your first time,” she trails off, her eyes drifting away.

Chris chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “Still thinkin' 'bout that, huh?” He turns his body to face her, a teasing grin on his lips.

Y/N shrugs, her gaze shifting shyly. “Um… well, it was awkward as shit, but… it was nice,” he admits casually, as if he’s talking about any old memory. “Do you ever regret it?”

Chris shakes his head, thinking for a second. “Nah, I was clueless, but it wasn’t bad for a first time. Why you askin'?”

Y/N hesitates, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “…Jus’… I don’t know,” she mutters meekly.

Chris tilts his head, considering her for a moment before speaking up. “I know you’re a virgin, but… you’re not like totally inexperienced, right?”

Y/N hesitates for a second before answering. “Well—no, but it’s been a while.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “What’ve you done, then?”

Y/N takes a moment to think. “I’ve… given head before, and a handjob.”

Chris leans back against the arm of the couch, his expression shifting as he processes that. “So you've never like- received?” He cringes at his phrasing, having attempted to soften it yet only making it more awkward.

Y/N nods, her eyes downcast. “Yeah. I’m too embarrassed to let anyone see me like that.”

Chris lets out a small “huh,” as if processing the vulnerability in her words. He then continues, a little gentler this time. “How long has it been?”

“…Four years.”

“Damn!” Chris exclaims, caught off guard, then quickly clears his throat to cover up his slightly inappropriate reaction. “Sorry...”

Y/N looks away, her voice quiet as she explains, “It’s not that I haven’t had the chance… I was just too scared.”

Chris shifts closer, his hand resting gently on her knee. “Don’t be scared,” he says softly, his tone serious now. “It’s not somethin' worth stressin' over.”

Y/N glances down at Chris’s hand resting on her knee. Normally, it would be a comforting gesture, but with the direction of the conversation, all it does is bring a flush to her cheeks.

Chris notices immediately, picking up on her shy demeanor. He suppresses a smug grin, eyes squinting playfully. “Ya alright there?”

Y/N looks up, her tone sharp and accusing. “Chris, you’re doing this on purpose.”

Chris breathes out a laugh, a proud look settling in. “I wasn’t… but I am now.”

Without hesitation, he slides his hand higher, gently moving towards her thigh.

Y/N’s voice betrays her unamused warning. “Chris.” She tries to sound disinterested and stern, but all that comes out is a nervous edge.

Chris leans in slightly, his gaze intense, though his tone remains teasing. “You wanna try somethin' out?”

Y/N’s eyes widen, her heart skipping a beat. “What are you hinting at?” Her words come out softly, betraying her shock.

He doesn’t break eye contact, his expression softer now. “Maybe not the first, but I could give you a first.”

The air between them thickens. Y/N swallows hard, trying to keep her composure. “Are you asking to, like- ya know...” She can't bring herself to actually say the words, embarrassed at the thought of his implication.

Chris shrugs nonchalantly, though there’s something serious in his eyes. “Why not?”

“You’d do that?… Like—it wouldn't be weird?”

“Why would it be weird?” His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as he scoots closer.

She swallows, her gaze shifting down to her lap. “I… I don’t know…” The words barely leave her lips, quieter than she intended, laced with uncertainty.

"You don't gotta be so nervous, it's alright." Chris reassures through subtle laughter, shifting his hand from her thigh to her waist.

Y/N sighs through her nose. "Are we really doing this?..." She whispers breathlessly, her eyes gentle as she looks up at her friend.

"Only if you want to..." He responds lazily as he leans in, hovering his lips over hers.

She manges to get out a shy hum of permission, causing Chris to let an amused breath out of his nose. "Use your words," Chris taunts as he grins against her parted lips.

"I want this"

"Atta' girl" Chris mumbles before closing the gap between them, capturing her in a gentle but passionate kiss.

Y/N lets out a small gasp before slowly melting into the kiss. Her movements are hesitant and lacking confidence, allowing Chris to take the lead. The fear of not doing good enough for him creeps into the back of her mind, making her hesitate. Noticing her uncertainty, Chris gently pulls away, his gaze soft as he meets her nervous eyes.

“Ya alright?” he asks, his voice gentle with concern as he brushes his thumb against her neck.

"M'nervous... sorry," she responds, averting her eyes from him.

Chris drags his hand from her neck to her cheek. "Relax, I gotchu," He mumbles as he dives back in, a bit hungrier this time. Y/N quietly moans against his lips as they attack hers, gentle enough to not overwhelm her as it's clear he's holding back.

His hand travels down to rest at her waist, pulling her closer to him. The kiss becomes sloppier the longer it goes on, neediness building up in Y/N as restraint breaks down in Chris.

If Chris could get what he wanted, he'd take her right here on this couch; but he cares too much about making this perfect for her to ever so much as attempt it.

He pulls away to catch his breath, eyes softening as she looks up at him. Her flushed cheeks, the wetness of her plump lips, those fucking needy eyes. Everything about the sight makes his body grow hot and his pants feel uncomfortably tighter.

"Fuck.. you look so hot," He whispers breathlessly, shamelessly pulling her onto his lap with ease. Y/N's eyes widen as her hands fly to his chest in an attempt to steady herself. Chris's hands fall to her hips, searching her face for any hint of uncertainty. "I wan' make you feel good.." He mumbles as he ghosts his fingers along her sides, following the curvature of her body.

Y/N sighs as she drops her head against his shoulder, screwing her eyes shut to compose herself. "Ya killin' me Chris," her breath fans against Chris's neck when she speaks, sending shivers down his spine. He teases with a cocky tone to his voice, "I haven't even done anything yet."

"Shut up" Y/N lifts her head from his shoulder and flashes a shy smile at him, her face hot with embarrassment.

Chris tilts his head and leans in to pepper soft kisses to her jaw, smiling against her skin. Her mouth hangs open, allowing a sigh to escape her lips as he trails his own down her neck; his hand's gentle grip on either side of her jaw tilts her head to the side, allowing him better access.

Chris chuckles against her neck, his breath fanning against the delicate skin causing her to shudder.

"Ever been marked up?" He questions, not allowing her enough time to answer before he sucks a hickey into her neck, eliciting a whiny moan from her sweet lips. "N-no," She attempts to answer, her response coming out as more of a whimper than a statement.

Chris detaches from her neck, pulling away with a grin. "Now ya have," he states proudly, licking a stripe over the forming bruise and planting soft kisses on the skin.

Y/N shuffles on his lap, prompting a low groan to escape from the back of Chris's throat. "Fuck- don't do that," he warns, gripping her hips tighter to plant her in place. Chris looks up at her with pleading eyes, practically begging her to quit squirming. Chris shifts slightly, the new angle allowing her to feel his hardening cock press against his sweats.

Y/N's eyes widen, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. Chris gently rolls his hips up experimentally, dragging out a small gasp from Y/N's throat. "Can't wait any more, need ya so bad," He murmurs, lazily dragging hot kisses across her neck. Chris moves her off of his lap as he shifts on the couch, placing a hand on her outter thigh and leaning in for another kiss.

He runs his hand across her thigh, growing closer and closer to her heat. "You okay with this?" Chris mumbles a lazy ask of consent against her lips, satisfied when she gives him a head nod of agreement. He cups her, running a finger along her clothed folds. Y/N lets out quiet sigh against his plump lips; the corners of them twitching up into a grin.

Chris hastily dips his hand under the waistband of her panties, his finger quickly being covered in her arousal. He rubs lazy circles on her clit, earning a soft whimper as she throws her head back against the back of the couch.

"So fuckin' wet f'me." he mumbles before diving into her neck.

"F-fuck Chris."

"Yeah?" He mocks, a teasing tone in his voice.

Chris has already had enough of this; he wants to taste her. Y/N gets the memo when he removes his hand from her pants and lifts it up to his mouth, licking every drop of her juices of off his finger. He looks down at her with needy eyes, anticipating her consent.

“…Please, Chris…” she finally gives in.

Chris wastes no time in yanking her pants down her legs, his eagerness drawing a sharp gasp from Y/N. The sound makes him pause, eyes flicking up to meet her amused yet shocked gaze. His lidded eyes soften as he realizes just how desperate he seems.

A breathy laugh escapes him, his head dropping in embarrassment. A hint of shame lingers in his smile as his hands settle on either side of her thighs, steadying himself over her.

“Sorry…” he chuckles, still looking down, his grin sheepish.

Y/N lifts a hand to his hair, twirling a strand between her fingers as she fights back a giggle.

Chris lets out an embarrassed huff of air, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes.

“Needy, much?” she taunts, a proud smile on her lips.

His tongue presses into the inside of his cheek as he rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with me,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Before she can fire back, his hands grip her hips, shifting her beneath him in one smooth motion. She giggles as her back meets the couch, her head resting against the armrest, his body hovering just above hers.

Chris tugs her pants the rest of the way off, tossing them aside without a second thought.

His eyes dart up to meet hers, catching the playful glint in her eyes where nervousness and hesitation once lingered. He fights back a smile, determined to play it cool as his hands slide up her waist, fingers grazing the warm skin.

His thumbs push the soft fabric of her shirt higher, gliding over her ribs until they pause just beneath her breasts.

Chris glances up at her once more, his eyes silently asking for permission.

Y/N bites her lip before offering a tentative nod, her lashes fluttering shut.

His gaze drops back down to her torso as he runs his tongue along his bottom teeth, the muscle pressing against the inside of his lip. With slow precision, he eases her shirt higher, the snug fabric resisting as it stretches over the curve of her chest.

Chris sucks in a breath at the sight of her, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.

“No bra?” he teases, his voice low and playful, watching as Y/N’s face flushes. His hand moves to her soft chest, gently squeezing as his gaze lingers.

His thumb traces lightly over her sensitive nub, causing a small gasp to escape her lips. Y/N screws her eyes shut, turning her head to the side as her face flushes with embarrassment.

Chris lets out a soft chuckle as he leans down. His lips brush against her chest, the touch light, almost like a whisper. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting his lips linger as they travel lower, each kiss adding to the ache in her core.

He pauses just above the waistband of her panties, his breath warm against her skin. The air feels heavier, thick with anticipation, as he stays there for a moment longer than necessary, savoring the tension.

He presses his knee between her legs, gently pushing them apart to make space for himself. With a firm grip, he hooks his hands beneath her thighs, bending her knees and spreading her even further.

His fingers move to push her panties aside, lips brushing over her core with feather-light kisses, just enough to tease her. Chris focuses on her clit, the place he knows she needs him most, but each peck is soft—too soft to fully satisfy her.

Pulling away from her, his eyes lock onto her glistening folds. He sighs at the view. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this…” His voice is heavy, breathless, as he tugs her panties the rest of the way off, lifting her legs onto his shoulders.

Y/N’s breath hitches, her chest rising and falling with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. She bites her lower lip, eyes fluttering shut as a shiver runs down her spine.

Chris's tongue slowly laps over her heat, saliva mixing with arousal as he gently licks up every last bit of her, savoring the taste. Y/N’s hand meets his head, fingers burying themselves in his brown locks, gripping a little too hard as if to steady herself. Her breath quickens as she throws her head back, the pull on his hair matching the need coursing through her.

Chris groans against her, grinding his hips into the couch to somewhat relieve the ache of his hard cock. Countless soft mewls spill from Y/N’s lips, but it isn’t until a breathy, strained whimper of his name escapes her throat that he finally loses control.

All restraint gets tossed aside in his mind as he fully dives in, devouring her with undeniable hunger; as if he’s finally allowing himself everything he’s been holding back.

"F-fuck Chris.." She whimpers out, biting her hand to quiet her noises, an attempt to save herself from embarrassment. His eyes travel up to her face as he licks and sucks at her needy cunt, his eyes dark with need. He pulls away from her for a brief moment, his ragged breathing matching hers as the string of saliva between them connects him to her puffy pussy. Y/N whines in frustration as she looks down at him, lips just inches away from her drooling core.

“Stop covering ya mouth. Need to hear ya… I wanna hear ya.” Chris says softly, his voice at odds with the teasing nature of his actions.

Y/N complies, mumbling a whiny apology. She stares down at him—God, he looks so fucked out. She probably looks more so, but that thought barely registers. His lips are swollen, pink, slick with her juices. His low eyes beam with want—like he needs this

He dives in again, needing to taste her pussy; craving it even more than watching her needy face. When Y/N squirms, he grips her hips, holding her still.

"mm- Chris!-.. ffuuucckk.."

Chris stifles a chuckle as his mouth licks and suckles at her cunt, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into her hip while his other hand holds underneath her thigh. One of her legs has now fallen off his shoulder, hanging over the edge of the couch; It’s probably not the most attractive position, but neither of them care enough to notice.

Chris quickens his movements when he feels her shudder, her body tensing as her breath turns ragged.

"Chris- m’close…” Y/N mumbles, her words so slurred even she barely understands them—but Chris does.

“Ya gonna cum f’me, pretty girl? So soon?” He teases, his voice heavy with lust, murmuring against her wet cunt.

Y/N lets out a weak chuckle that slips into a moan. "Shut up," she breathes, her teasing tone getting lost in needy whines.

Her body trembles she begins to break down, skin burning with need. Chris’s movements turn quick and sloppy. His focus shifts to her sensitive bud, his pointed tongue flicking and swirling over her clit.

"ah-ahnn-.. fuuuck- Chris!" Her voice hitched, a soft, broken sound, as his tongue gently continued, guiding her through her high.

"Shiiiiiit.." Y/N’s eyes flutter shut in bliss, her brows knitting as she parts her lips, dragging in a shaky breath.

Chris’s movements only slow when she flinches away, the relentless stimulation overwhelming her. He licks up the last traces of her slick, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Carefully, he eases her leg off his shoulder, giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze before settling above her.

"Ya alright baby?" Chris teases softly, a sexy tone in his voice. The rising and falling of Y/N's chest calms down, and her eyes finally squint open. "God, yes.."

He rests his body weight on her, making his very noticeable bulge poke against her inner thigh. "You okay?" Y/N asks softly, her hand tracing down his torso.

Chris shakes his head in response, gently griping her wrist and moving her hand away from his groin. "Don't worry 'bout me, it'll go down."

“You sure?..” Y/N asks, confusion flickering across her face as he pretty much turns down a handjob.

He nods subtly, then climbs off her and sits himself back on the couch, casually lifting her shaky legs into his lap.

“Yeah.. today’s all about you. Some other time, maybe.” His voice low as he rubs her thigh with a gentle palm, a smug little smirk playing on his lips as he looks over at her.

a/n: first ever fic thingy.. kinda nervy🌝 i literally teased this like 2 months ago and then never posted it cuz i got too scared to WHOOPSSSS SORRYYYY😓 but in all seriousness hope you enjoyed, got off to this or whatever u do when reading, thx for checking me out !! if u have any suggestions or constructive criticism i welcome it with open arms, lemme know if u want more from me and thx for reading !!🥰

dividers: all me!! feel free to use, they're just lines and emoticons after all, nothin fancy😭

©.urvampygf

[xplicitviewz]

Boyfriend!Eren was in the middle of his stream when you came over to his place after not seeing him for almost a week. You were visiting your parents house and finally made it back, wondering if he was asleep since he hasn’t been answering to your text. You walked into your boyfriend’s shared apartment, with the house key he gave you (because he has a habit of losing his keys) and walked straight to his room, hearing him yell over the game. You shook your head and opened his door with a smile.

Eren looks up from his computer, “Oh shit baby??!” He said immediately pausing his game and getting up to give you a hug. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back already.” He kisses your nose then your lips.

“Look at your phone for once, I texted you a thousand times.” You roll your eyes playfully, kissing him once more. Eren walks back over to his pc set up and grabs his phone that was flipped over and saw your text messages.

“My girlfriend’s back guys.” He stupidly grins at the camera and looks at the chat. “They said hi.” He looks at you. You walk over to the camera and wave, slightly bending over the read the chat messages, “Hey guys.” Eren, who was standing a a bit behind you, gazes straight towards your ass before licking his lips. “Alright guys ima end the stream.”

You wave bye and walk towards his bed, lying down on your stomach, smooshing your face into his pillows. You hear Eren telling his chat goodbye before you feel his hands pull your hips towards the edge of the bed, laying his whole body down on top of you. “I missed you.” He mumbles into the skin of the neck while he kisses it softly. “I missed you too.” You turn your head to the side, humming softly. You squeeze your legs together when your felt his hard press into your ass.

Meanwhile in the other room of the apartment, Nerd!Armin was also on stream, showing his viewers how to pass a level of his anime game, a lot of people requested. Armin and Eren have always been friends and when they got a place together Armin was streaming a lot. Eren took interest in it and asked Armin to help him set up his own pc and stream account. It’s been about a few months since he started and he was already growing a following.

Armin was in the middle of reading his chat when he read one comment that made his cheeks heat up.

“Eren and Y/N are fucking so loud on his stream. He accidentally left his mic on 😭😭😭”

Armin pulled his noise canceling headphones off and sure enough, he could hear your faint moans feom his room. Armin gulped and looked nervously at the door and then back at the chat, unsure on what to do. He knew the streaming platform had restrictions and he didn’t want Eren’s account to get banned.

His blush covered his entire face when he heard your moans getting louder, “I’ll be right back guys.” He mumbled very quickly before ending the stream all the way. Sighing to himself he got up and walked towards Eren’s room, your noises getting louder. He knocks three times, no answer. Feeling his hand grow sweaty, he wiped it on his shirt and slowly opens the door, mentally preparing for what he’s about to see.

His eyes widened when he saw Eren hovering over you shirtless, one of his hands holding the back of your thigh, his other is between your legs, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, Erens eyes snapped up from you to Armin, standing awkwardly at the door, he parts away from your nipple, a pop sound echoing, “Whats up armin?”

Not once did he stop, you however, your eyes widened as you look over, and see him as well. “Y-you left the uh the stream on. Your mic.” Armin stuttered slightly horrified that eren didn’t even bother stopping.

Armin was no where near a virgin but he also doesn’t just have sex all like that. Between Eren and Armin, Eren was definitely more of a fuck boy, that was until he met you a year ago.

“Oh? Whoops.” Eren shrugs off looking back at you. “W-what does he mea-ooh-“ you moan when he curls his fingers inside you. “I didn’t end the stream properly.” He kisses your jaw. Armin takes it upon himself to walk over and end the stream, wanting to return to his room as soon as possible. He rushes to end the stream properly and when he finished he stands up and his eyes widen even more, if that was even humanly possible.

Your eyes closed shut, back was arched, legs spread wide while Eren was buried between your legs. Your legs trembles at every flick his tongue makes on your clit, moaning helplessly. Armin shamefully wondered how good your pussy must be for Eren to not even care that he was in the room. Maybe even forget he was. You moan louder, squirming your hips into his face. You turn your head to the side, eyes halflidded and they landed on Armin who stood close to the desk. Your eyes trailed down his body, noticing his growing bulge, smirking softly before your eyebrows scrunched when Eren circled around your clit repeatedly. “Oh sh-shit baby.” You moaned, your hips jerking. You reached to the side of you, your hand tapping around looking for something until you found it.

Armin watches you, your expressions full of pleasure. He gulps nervously when you trail down his body, before your eyes stop, rolling to the back of your head. He quickly looks down getting embarrassed when he notices he has a boner. Armin’s cheeks flush hotter as he looks back at your whimpering state watching as you look for something and toss it toward him on you find it. It lands on his socks and he looks down, sucking in a breath when he notices it’s your panties. He looks back at you, now occupied with Eren, who’s eyes stayed closed the entire time.

Impulsively, he picks up the thin piece of fabric, noticing the wet spot and he has no idea what crossed his mind when he brings it to his nose and takes a breath of it, softly groaning feeling his cock twitch in his sweats. You gasp when you feel Eren raise your thighs higher, holding you tighter, continuing his assault with tongue, fucking it in you, circling and swirling all inside.

Your eyes lazily fall back to Armin who was watching you, holding your panties in his hand tightly. You feel yourself about to cum for the second time squeezing tight around Eren’s tongue, moaning out as he moans into you. Your eyes flutter, still staring at Armin, “C-come.” You moan, “fuck, baby,”

Armin slowly walks closer towards the both of you. “Eren, I’m so close baby, don’t stop.” You moan, your eyes never leaving Armin’s while he walks closer.

“E-eren.” You whine, dragging out his name as your orgasm hits, your hips rolling into his face. You bring your hand to tug Eren’s hair, who finally opens his eyes, seeing your gaze set on Armin. He chuckles against your pussy, parting away after leaving a kiss on your fluttery puffed out clit.

“You don’t have to be shy Armin, look at her, she wants you to touch her, isn’t that right baby?” He looks at you as you nod yes, still whimpering. You look back at Eren who’s smirking at you, pumping his cock in his hand. “Slutty ass pussy.” He groans as he pushes his cock into you slowly, pulling out a bit, before stuffing you full. You whine at the stretch, grabbing at the sheets, Eren brings his lips towards yours, kissing them roughly, rolling his hips into yours, his hands finds its way back behind your thighs, holding them open, trailing his kisses down your jaw, your your neck.

“Moan his name y/n, tell him how bad you want him.” He grunts into yours ear, his knees buckle when you squeeze around him, “Ah fuck, you want him to fuck you too?” His hips snap harder against you.

“Y-yes, want you, Armin, p-please.” You cry out feeling every thrust hit deeply inside you. Eren sits up, still fucking you, bringing one of his hands to your jaw, turning your head towards Armin, “tell him not me baby.”

Your eyes full with tears as he quickens his pace, legs trembling watching as Armin’s eyes darkens even more when you moan his name over and over. You bring your hand to press against Armin’s bulge, your fluttering eyes, mouth open. Armin hesitantly brings his fingers to your mouth, shoving them down your throat. You instinctively close your mouth, sucking and moaning around his fingers, his hips pressing against your hand, whimpering softly. Eren moves his hand back to your free leg, pressing your deeper into the mattress, moaning as his fucks you in a harsh mating press, watching as you choke around his best friends fingers.

Your eyes roll, drool slipping out the corners of your mouth, tears falling out when Armin pushes his fingers down your throat, his hips bucking into your hand. You gag around his fingers, feeling your walls squeeze tightly around Eren’s cock, violently thrusting in and out of you before your body trembles, another orgasm overtaking you. “Look at her, Armin, look how much she came, bet you she been thinking about you. Greedy ass pussy. What? I’m not enough? You need my best friends to fill you up too hm?” Eren smirks at your state, “fuck you squeezing me so tight baby, what do you want? Tell us?”

Armin takes his fingers out of your mouth and you take a breath, moaning and babbling incoherently as Eren fucks you through your high. Armin smirks at your fucked out state, placing his hand over yours, pressing harder on his sweats. You can feel all his precum seeping through his sweats, while Eren shifts his hands to your hips, lifting your bottom half off the bed, lining it up to his. You whimper feeling Eren pull out up until his tip, your walls still fluttering around it. “Use your words pretty girl, what do you want?” Armin asked stroking your cheek. Your eyes flicker from Armin to Eren, who are both staring at you dangerously, before you focus on Armin. “W-want you.” You started, immediately gasping when Eren pushes himself back into you, violently thrusting. Your back arched off the bed, head thrown back as you cry out.

“Want me to do what?” Armin asked, grabbing your jaw to make you face him, his other hand moves to your boobs, pinching at your nipples harshly before grabbing and squeezing them. Your body jerks at every thrust and pinch they give you. You couldn’t possibly even think what you wanted but you knew you wanted more. “M-more.” You begged moaning loudly, your hands gripping something, anything.

Your legs fall limp in the air, fingers shaking from the intensity your body was feeling all around. Eren hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you impossibly close while Armin leaned closer to your face, barely hovering over your lips. “You know you’re such a tease.” He pouts innocently but his eyes are far from it, “You don’t think I notice how slutty my best friend’s girlfriend is? Those skimpy ass clothes you wear. How you come into my room when Eren is asleep asking if I want to eat anything, while wearing his shirt with nothing under. Were you hoping I’d say I wanna eat you?”

You eyes blinked frantically, feeling heat pour all over your body, “Y-yes, oh fuck yes yes yes.” You moan, not a thought going through your mind. “So fucked out, you’d say yes to anything.” Armin laughs, taking the opportunity to stuff your panties in your mouth while it was open. The dry fabric soaking up all the saliva that’s lingers in your mouth before he pulls it out, a string of spit connecting.

Your eyes roll as Eren hits your cervix, “Armin, get her mouth ready for me yea?” Eren grunts feeling your arousal gush out more. “I got her nice and ready for you down here, but only if she tells you what she wants.”

“You hear that?” Armin asks, his fingers entering your mouth again, not hesitating to shove them down your throat, and pressing your tongue down, gagging as your eyes water more, “You need some help figuring out what you want?” You moan around his fingers helplessly, eyes half-lidded, watching him watch every expression of your face. “Want my mouth on your slutty ass pussy or my dick stuffing you full till you can’t think for yourself like right now?”

You cough and gasp for air when he pulls his fingers out, “Both I-I wan- nnghh- need it, Armin o-please.” Eren moves his fingers to your clit, rubbing slowly in contrast to his pace, feeling his cock twitch inside you warm gushy walls.

“Fuck baby, need you to beg more. Wanna fill that filthy mouth up.” Eren moans slowing his pace down but not the pressure. Your thighs tighten at ever slowed rough thrust he gives you. “Please Armin need you, need your mouth, your dick. I want it all, please I’ll be so good. I’ll let you have me whenever you want. Wherever. Both of you. I’ll be yours. Yours fuck yours forever. Please I’m gonna cum Rennie, I- I can’t-“

Eren pulls out before you can cum, practically laughing in your face when you cry from the overstimulation and being edged. He places your bottom half back on the bed, rubbing your hips a little. “You wanna cum baby?” Eren asks moving off the bed, switching places with Armin who’s already in between your legs. You nod, “Please.” You beg softly, legs shaking as you feel Armin’s hands wrap around your thighs, kissing up the inner skin, purposely skipping your quivering drooling pussy, to the other side.

He bites the skin, adding to the marks Eren left previously, your back arching off the bed. “Gotta use your words silly girl.” Armin speaks when he parts away then going back to sucking you soft skin. “Y-yes.” You pant watching as Eren connects his lips around your boobs, his fist pumping his red hardened leaky dick. You whine out loudly when Eren bites your boobs, “You know you shouldn’t forget using your manners dumb girl. Say the whole sentence baby, let us hear.”

“Please I want cum, please.” You cry out, your body immediately jerks when Armin’s tongue flicks your clit, his tongue piercing adding pressure to the sensitive nerves. Armin’s eyes roll when he finally taste you, spreading your legs wider and he gets to work. Eren trails his lips up to your neck, moaning against your skin as his hands continue to move against his dick. Your hips rock in Armin’s face, his tongue licking up and down, his piercing teasing your holes, your clit, before he plunges it inside your pussy, fucking your already sensitive hole. You moan get swallowed by Erens lips, as he kisses you roughly, your eyes rolling when he bites your bottom lip.

“Pretty girl,” Eren coos looking at you whimpering state, “you like how my best friends mouth feel? Does his tongue feel good fucking you pussy?” Bet you like how his piercing feels huh?”

You moan out when Armin groans against you, his tongue flicking out and circling your clit before going back inside you. Your twitchy legs threaten to close his head in between your legs are stopped when Armin presses you down more. “A-armin please, too m-much, please baby I wanna cum.” You moan, your hands falling to your sides pulling at the sheets.

“Not yet baby hold it.” Eren ticks his tongue, standing up. “B-but pl-“

Eren slaps his cock against your lips, rubbing his tip along the plush skin. You shut your mouth pouting as your eyes roll and hips squirming. Eren spits, it landing on your mouth and at the head of his cock.

“Open your mouth baby, you know better than to talk back.” Eren says while his fingers pinch and pull at your nipples. Your mouth opens, moaning out when Armin parts briefly and slaps your messy cunt before attaching hips lips back to yours. You immediately choke around Erens cock as he bullies it down your throat, not moving for a few seconds moaning as you tighten around him. He pulls all way out, giving you a second before he does it again.

Armin moans as your walls squeeze his tongue each time Erens cock is down your throat. He glances up at you watching the bulge of Eren’s cock from your throat, his eyes rolling as he continues humping the bed. He pulls away and kisses you roughly your stomach, his hands working his sweats off. His dick hits his stomach revealing just how needy he really is.

You felt warm splatters of his pre hit your skin, moaning around Erens cock, eyes fluttering when he pulls out to give you another second to breathe. “Relax baby, we’ll make you feel good.” Eren says wiping away a few fallen tears, “Your being so good for us.” You suck his tip, bobbing your head sideways slowly as he watches, moaning when you feel Armin’s tip slide up and down your needy pussy, teasing your entrance. Rolling your hips trying to push his dick inside you before he rubs it along your clit.

Armin watches as your juices wet up his dick without even going inside, still rubbing his cock on the outside of you. Eren starts fucking your mouth, cupping his hand around right under your jaw keeping your head up and tilted. Your eyes watch him, his and tensing every time your throat tightens around his dick. Your hand finds its way to his balls, cupping under to massage them. “Fuck baby just like that.” He moans his head falling back for a few.

Moaning around him from Armin still teasing your poor pussy. You squirm your hips, your other hand reaching down. Armin watches your hand find his dick, that’s he’s still running it all over your pussy, his pre smearing everywhere on you, moaning as you run his dick up and down your pussy, stroking his dick, squeezing tightly at his tip. You keep doing that for a few more seconds until you guide it to your entrance. Armin pushes his tip in you, whining when you suck him in the same time Eren pushes his entire length down your throat.

Armin’s head falls back as he slides himself inside, moaning loudly feeling your warmth suck him in full. Your eyes roll back when you find holes stuffed. Eren moves his hand from your jaw to your hair, holding your head back before his hips start snapping into your face. Armin grunts when you squeeze his dick and he starts his thrust, slow at first letting you adjust to his size before he starts matching Erens pace.

Your eyes screw shut, choking and moaning from the both of them. You were dizzy, your vision was blurred while they fucked you, you heard none of their words to you. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts.

Your back arched when you felt your sudden orgasm crash over you, your body trembles from the intensity. Armin presses his body closer to you, sucking your collarbone, moaning into you skin, trailing wet sloppy kisses up to your neck. He watches the bulge if Erens print in your throat, and bring his mouth over it, sucking your skin, his teeth lightly grazing over it.

Your hand drops from Erens balls, Armin still thrusting sloppily into you, moaning louder into your ear, Erens curses feeling the suction of Armin’s mouth, his dick twitches inside you and he stuffs his dick down your throat, holding it there while he spills his cum all inside. Armin thrust for the last few times before he bottoms out, his cum spilling deep inside you.

“Shit.” Eren grunts slowly pulling out, his cums till trailing out throughout your mouth, leaving to go grab a cloth to clean you up. You cough catching your breath, your head falls as you lay there, panting heavily. Armin still on top of you, slowly fucking his cum in you, his lips moving all over your skin before he finds your lips leaving a soft kiss before he slowly pulls out of you.

He sits up watching his cum trickle out of your pussy, using his finger to push it back in, “I see why you guys always fuck for hours whenever you come over.” Armin grins looking at your limped state, using his other hand to rub your thighs. Eren walks back over with the wet cloth and kisses your lips. You whimper out when he cleans you up, you are so sensitive.

“You okay baby?” He looks at you with soft eyes, his other hand massaging parts of your body. You nod, your eyes heavy as you feel yourself getting sleepy. “I don’t think I can even think anymore.” You say trying to figure out just how many times you came. You lost count when Armin joined.

“I’ll go run the bath.” Armin says slowly getting off the bed and putting on his sweats, groaning realizing just how wet they got from him.

-

Later on that night, you and eren were asleep, Armin was in his room playing his game, not streaming this time since he wanted to take some time to think about what exact happened earlier. He kept your panties, and jacked off to them just a few minutes ago.

You woke up from your deep slumber, slinging Erens arm off feom around you, your legs still shakey as you walk to get some water. You definitely felt the damage from the both of them but you smiled as you made your way to the fridge. You grabbed a glass and got some ice water and drank it.

“Hey.” You heard Armin’s voice from behind you. You turned still drinking the water, holding onto the counter. “Yea?” You asked when you placed the glass down. “Are you okay? You were out of it after….”

You smiled and walk towards him, placing you hand on his cheek, “Your so sweet Armin. I’m more than okay.” You say looking into his eyes, your hand trials down his chest, “If you ever want to do that again, let us know.” You wink and walk back to your boyfriend’s room.

Armin watched as you walked, his dick getting hard instantly. He sighs and goes back to his room pulling out your panties and shoving his new pair of sweats off.

*********

Okay so like wtf was I on? Idk idk idk. Based off that one nerd armin vid on TikTok 😫😫😫

Not proofread

I was ovulating when I thought of this #needthat

Anyways I hope you guys enjoy and pls pls pls comment your thoughts, I love reading and replying to them !!! 🩷🩷

click here for more :)

[miryum]

☆ 18+ minors dni ☆

Mechanic!Jason Todd who had inherited the shop from his (biological) father and was able to turn it in a large shop that employed numerous people and branched four locations

Mechanic!Jason Todd who preferred to work on cars and bikes rather than the financial/business side of things, so he employed his adopted brother, Tim, to be co-owner

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was known to his employees as a chill boss and regularly didn’t even tell customers he was the owner. His employees came to him when they needed advice on a client’s car, but other than that, he liked to simply work on his motorcycle

Mechanic!Jason Todd who didn’t actually meet you because you had car troubles. Your sister had just moved to Gotham and some of her dashboard lights were on. She wanted you to come with her to make sure she wasn’t getting scammed. A friend of a friend recommended Red’s Garage and so there you went

Mechanic!Jason Todd who wasn’t even working when you two rolled up in your sister’s old car. He was taking a break and chatting with some of his employees 

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, when he saw you, immediately pushed off from the break table and went over to help you. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wanted to help a customer while he was on break, but he left the conversation he was in and headed over

Mechanic!Jason Todd who just kinda… appeared, as it seemed to you. He hovered around your sister’s car, listening into his employee’s analysis. The moment his employee stuttered, Jason was swooping at the chance, inserting himself into the conversation 

Mechanic!Jason Todd who gave your sister a discount and walked her through the steps in a way where you thought he has a crush on her, even though he couldn’t look at you otherwise he would be stammering over his words and falling at your feet

Mechanic!Jason Todd who actually waved you and your sister goodbye like a damn person from the 30s

Mechanic!Jason Todd who ignored Tim when he teased him about it

Mechanic!Jason Todd who beat himself up about not asking for your number but was rewarded by Aphrodite because you came in two weeks later, smiling sheepishly. It turned out that something was wrong with your car, but you had no idea what it was. Nevermind that your father was alive and loving and would’ve rushed over to help with any car problems. You wanted to spend a ton of money on a car check-up

Mechanic!Jason Todd who tried to remain all composed and professional and failing miserably but you were looking up at him with those eyes of yours and how did the world function when you looked that damn pretty? 

Mechanic!Jason Todd who slipped you his number on the receipt when you checked out because it’s once in a lifetime that things like this happen and he’ll be damned if you slipped through his fingers twice

Mechanic!Jason Todd who spent the rest of his day compulsively checking his phone. What he didn’t know was that you had almost thrown out the receipt, not noticing his number on it. Luckily (or perhaps it was just Aphrodite interfering again), you noticed the messy scrawl of pen as it floated into the recycling bin and that lead you to frantically grabbing it out of the bin and immediately making a new contact labelled ‘Jason aka Hot Mechanic’

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was with his last client of the day when you texted. After he smiled widely and giddily typed out a response, the client had asked, “oh, is that your wife?” Jason had mumbled out a response before one of his employees saved him and ushered Jason off to the break table while they finished up with the client

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, when he showed up at the zoo for your first date, wanted to bring flowers but then he rationalised that he wouldn’t want you carrying them around the entire time so he would just buy you a plushie from the gift shop when the time came. He had given you the option to choose the location for the first date, and being utterly adorable, you said you wanted to see the animals with him. Jason had agreed before the words registered with him. He wasn’t sure exactly how to dress for a first date, much less one at the zoo, so he opted for a red flannel and jeans. He had spent around ten minutes with his hands under the hot water of his bathroom sink, trying to scrub away the seemingly-permanent grease that lived on his fingertips and under his nails. He wouldn’t dare touch you with those hands. You didn’t deserve to get dirty 

Mechanic!Jason Todd who forgot all anxieties when he saw you approaching. Your little awkward wave was returned by one of his own which led to your laugh. Maybe Jason could wave again if it meant you would laugh again. He decided against it. He couldn’t remember a time he had over-analysed a date before

Mechanic!Jason Todd who spent more time looking at you than looking at the animals. Whenever you teased him about it, his go-to argument was that you were much more gorgeous or much more interesting than the animals. And if that meant he got to see you get all flustered, then so be it

Mechanic!Jason Todd who bought you that promised plushie at the gift shop. It was a snow leopard, just like the one you two saw roaming around in it’s exhibit

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, after a few more dates, asked you to be his girlfriend, not knowing that ever since you had gotten that snow leopard, had changed his contact to ‘Jay’ with a little heart emoji next to it

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was possibly the best boyfriend you had ever had. Routine dates became a thing – ones that didn’t feel like an obligation, but like a break from the rest of your life. You wondered how much he spent on flowers just from the sheer amount that would show up on your doorstep just because. A text every morning and goodnight until he was listed as the top contact in your phone

Mechanic!Jason Todd who showed you off around the shop. He wanted his girl to feel comfortable enough to just pop in whenever you wanted, so of course that’s what happened. You would either sit in Jason’s office or would sit next to him while he worked on a car. Sometimes, he would ask you for a tool, but most of the time, you would just ramble to him and he would throw in a comment here and there

Mechanic!Jason Todd who made sure your car was in tip-top shape, obviously

Mechanic!Jason Todd who loved to take you on rides on his motorcycle. He loved to feel your arms around him and your thighs pressed into his. He loved how you would tighten your hold when he went around corners or sped up a little. He loved how you claimed his extra helmet as yours and no one else's. He loved seeing other bikers check you out and how his hand would slip back to your thigh, showing you were his. He loved seeing girls gawk at him through their car windows before they saw you possessively bring your hands to his chest and stare them down. He loved how, at stoplights, you would slide your hands up and down his thighs slowly, testing how close you could get to his crotch before his chin dropped to his chest in defeat and weakly batted your hands away. He loved how he could bend you over his motorcycle and how, that one time, you shyly asked if he could keep his helmet on during sex

Mechanic!Jason Todd who really really liked you and his motorcycle, in case that wasn’t clear

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was a bit rougher and much more of a tease than any other variant. He liked knowing how it was him that could draw out those sounds from you. How he could make you clench around his fingers, his tongue, his dick

Mechanic!Jason Todd who stayed at your place a couple nights and then offered to have you stay at his place for a couple nights and he oh-so badly wanted you to move in so you could be a part of his home. He was already beginning to associate you with that word, so what was the issue? He could come home and see you and hold you and love you and it would be perfect

Mechanic!Jason Todd who brushed away your worries at it being too early to move in together. He wanted you to be comfortable, of course, and not to be rushed, but he would be lying if a part of him could only be satisfied going to sleep next to you and waking up next to you. He craved that domesticity 

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, once you agreed to move in, christened every room of the house, praising you this way and that

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was much happier around the garage. Tim had to pull him into his office and tell him to “stop giving out so many discounts. Yes, your girlfriend is wonderful, but we’re soon gonna lose money if you don’t stop. Yes, you can still brag about her, but rent money, Jason. Think about the paychecks.”

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, honestly, didn’t give a fuck if the garage tanked. Because it would give him more time to spend with you. But once he realised that he wouldn’t be able to provide for you (although you were very capable of doing it yourself, there was just this primal need in him to take care of you), he quickly got back to work and ceased the discounts

Mechanic!Jason Todd who thanked Aphrodite every night he got to pull you close to him and feel you relax into his arms before drifting off to sleep, that plush snow leopard having its coveted spot on your dresser

can you guys tell i like motorcycles and the greek gods?

[always-just-red]

Hi! Hope this finds you well. Saw the request and wanted to ask for a Yandere Sylus with player reader. Like Sylus knows Mc is a player and he is a game character. When mc was gone for too long, Sylus gets impatient.

If you can do it, of course. If no, ignore this. Wish you writing ideas and inspiration

Hi! Hope you're well too, anon! Sorry for the long wait on this one, got really stuck with it and wanted to make sure I did it justice-- it was such a cool idea! (Also I know L&D has the microphone feature but I wanted to have fun with the limited communication of the player here, so no it doesn't, actually!! 🥰)

Fourth Wall

Sylus x Player!Reader 🩸

Summary: L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?

Genre: idk really?? real world player x character

Warnings/Additional tags: yandere themes, player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, swearing, mild threat, possessiveness, manipulation, Sylus is a little OOC here (we all know he's a sweetheart really!!)

| Word count: 1.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Sylus: Are you in a good mood, sweetie? The weather’s nice, so let’s go out.

It makes you smile, even though you’ve seen it before. You haven’t played Love and Deepspace for two weeks or so, and you’re already thinking about how many dailies you’ve missed— more specifically, how many diamonds you’ll be short of going into the next event. You had a couple thousand saved, you think? It’s probably fine.

The truth is, you don’t really have time for it these days. Escaping reality with fiction is fun, but it’s just that: make believe. Reality’s still waiting for you on the other side, and recently? All that escaping has finally caught up to you. You have a real life. Responsibilities. Yay!

But you are in a good mood, and the weather is nice, so you’ll log in for old time’s sake. Your finger hovers over the app, but something makes you hesitate. You’ve got some emails you should probably get back to, first. Oh— and weren’t you supposed to call your friend, too?

Another notification:

Sylus: Take your time, kitten.

A new one? It’s just text on a screen, but you’re reading it— Sylus’s voice in your head—and you just know it’s dripping sarcasm. Before you have any time to dwell on it, your phone lights up with more notifications.

Sylus: I’m going to count to three.

Cute. He’s not actually going to—

Sylus: One…

Oh.

Sylus: Two…

Really?

Sylus: Three.

Okay.

You tap on the app, weirdly motivated by the time pressure given that it’s coming from a man who doesn’t actually exist. He smirks at you knowingly from the kindled moment you’d set as the loading screen, his crimson eyes playful. You’re not particularly patient either, so your fingers drum along the surface of your desk as you wait, your gaze caught between his and the slowly moving loading bar.

Come on… come on… It finally loads, and you enter the game with another apathetic tap. Sylus stands, waiting— a dark figure framed by the otherwise light and dreamy aesthetics of the Destiny Café. You smile to yourself; it’s just gone lunch, and you half expected to find him sprawled in the usual armchair, fast asleep.

He crosses his arms. “The countdown worked, huh? What are you— five?”

You scoff and give his head a flick. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as though you’d struck him hard enough to ruffle it. It’s kind of cool that you get some unique dialogue when you’ve not logged in for a while, although… have you missed an update or something? The animation feels smoother. More lifelike, now you think about it.

Sylus stares back at you, his lips playing into a subtle smile. His arms are crossed again and he tilts his head like he’s enjoying your scrutiny. “Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks.

Not really. You zoom in with a practiced sweep of your fingers so you can get a better look at him. His eyes flit downwards, over you— equally shameless— and then he’s meeting your gaze as he steps forward, closing the distance. He can’t see you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look away from him, and you’re not really thinking about the animation anymore.

He lifts a finger to poke at the screen, as if he’s caught you daydreaming and wants you back. You poke him, too: a softer, more affectionate boop on the nose. You can’t help laughing to yourself as his face screws up beneath the touch. This game is getting a little too real.

With a sigh, you zoom out so you can set about collecting your daily log-in rewards. Sylus seems fine— standing idly by as your attention drifts about elsewhere. He knows the drill. He can wait. Speaking of waiting… it’s also been a while since you’ve seen the other guys, and you’re struck by a pang of nostalgic fondness. You might as well say hi while you’re here.

You hit the button to change who you want to meet in the café.

It doesn’t do anything.

Weird. You hit it again. Then again— no change.

Sylus is holding his chin as he regards where your finger aimlessly meets the screen. It’s like he’s looking at… the button? “Oh dear,” he sympathises, “that feature appears to have stopped working.”

You don’t really hear him, honestly. You’ve never had a bug like this, and you’re determined to overcome it with sheer, stubborn persistence. Is it your phone? You test the theory by jabbing Sylus’s chest, and he glances down, apparently feeling it. You try the button again. Then six more times.

Sylus wanders closer to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, sweetie. Am I not enough for you?”

Okay but why isn’t this working? You’re still trying the button; your hope has turned to frenzied disbelief.

“Stop.”

A single syllable, concise as a punch and just as effective. You do stop.

Sylus’s voice is lower. Darker. “Good,” he praises, but he doesn’t sound happy. “Someone’s gotten bolder in their absence, it would seem. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to whom you belong, kitten. Although—” his smile is different than before— “I’d be more than happy to provide a… reminder.”

It’s an innocuous word but not the way he says it. Threats are just intimate promises and he toys with the fact like a crow enamoured by something that catches the light. He’s not going to grow tired of it for a long, long time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sensing you gawping. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? What all… this is?” He indicates the space around him with a wave of his hand. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised the others still haven’t grasped it.” He reconsiders. Smirks. “I misspoke— I’m not surprised.”

Does he mean the game? The other LIs?  

“Honestly, kitten,” he continues with a tut and a shake of his head, “you’ve been far from a gracious host. I’m not a plaything, you know. Well…” He’s showing teeth with a sneer. “Not the sort you can throw away, anyhow.”

God, are you really being scolded by a video game character for having other responsibilities? The worst part is that you actually feel bad. You do care about him. You wish you could tell him you care about him.

“Are you even listening?” he sighs.

Shit. Yeah. You can’t say anything he would hear— as far as you know— so you give his hand a poke. He casts his gaze downwards, stretches his fingers with a contemplative flex, then raises his hand so it can be nursed by the other. Is he protecting it from you? Or is he protecting you from it?

“If we’re to keep playing this game of ours, I think it only fair we lay down some rules,” he states. “Firstly—” because it isn’t up for debate— “you will come here every day, just like you used to. I have nothing to do, you see, and if you leave me to my own devices I might just have to find a way into that captivating little world of yours. So I can… investigate what’s keeping you from me.”

Investigate. Another innocuous word he wields like a weapon.

“Secondly,” he continues, nodding towards the broken button on your user interface, “you had better stop seeing the others. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and we wouldn’t want to worry about them connecting any dots, now would we? Besides…” He approaches you again, leaning in close. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re so glad you don’t need to speak. You don’t think you could; if you tried to get words out they’d be unintelligible.

“So,” Sylus drawls, filling your silence, “how about it? Still want to play?”

This time it is a question, but only because he knows your answer. You’re struck by a flash of inspiration, and you communicate in one of the few ways you can— navigating the in-game menus until you can get your message across.

There’s a ping. Sylus retrieves his phone from his pocket, and after a moment of scrolling, he smiles. You can’t see his screen, but you know what he’s looking at: a grumpy crow with an animated bead of sweat and a dispassionate gaze to go with it. That it? it asks.

He still looks far too smug, so you beckon him over with a relax time interaction, watching your character’s hand outstretch on your behalf. He steps forward, linking his fingers with yours, and this animation you know. You tug him closer, except… he doesn’t budge.  

His eyes are fixed to where your hands are linked, and he runs a thumb over your skin as though he’s savouring the touch.

Did they change the animation?

“Oh, sweetie,” he sympathises with a click of his tongue. He looks up at you— holds your gaze as he presses a deliberately slow kiss to your wrist. “This is going to be fun.”

[lanormie]

anime figure!satoru who's an extremely life-like footlong figurine that you bought from a sketchy seller on Etsy for disgustingly cheap.

anime figure!satoru who's perching on a prime spot on your merch shelf that sits adjacent to your desk, the room cramped enough for him to hover right next to your computer screen.

anime figure!satoru who stands there with his smug face unmoving and arms set in a cocky pose, eyes aiming at the monitor where a spicy gojo x reader is currently unfolding.

anime figure!satoru who sends you running and screaming across the room when he suddenly turns towards you and clicks his teeth disapprovingly "that's some depraved shit you're reading there."

anime figure!satoru who's intrigued however, and urges you to come back to your seat and start scrolling again.

anime figure!satoru who wouldn't shut up even when you're trying to focus on work. and when you refuse to talk to him, he would monologue to other inanimate figures like they're his audience.

anime figure!satoru who loudly scoffs at the gojo funko pop you bring home one day and attempts to knock it off the shelf, whining something about "i'm not shaped like that". (which he is. it depicts his big ass head immaculately, you'd argue.)

anime figure!satoru who's in your business 24/7. "what are we having for lunch?" "who are we texting?" "what are we watching today?"

anime figure!satoru who clutches his chest and gasps dramatically every time you retort with "you will never be a real boy".

anime figure!satoru whose mouth's gaped open when you click on new listings from the same sketchy Etsy seller. "that one!" he's basically vibrating, jumping and pointing at an equally well made figurine of a familiar long-haired sorcerer.

and you're not one to say no to anime figure!satoru.

part 2!

[codingflicks]

CSS Animated Text Overlay

[codenewbies]

Text Fill Animation On Hover

[beatcroc]

ok you can tell its buttons now :)

closes my eyes and inhales sharply and pinches the bridge of my nose. i think i need to start figuring out how to do hover effects in css

[iheartmira]

You've already done a self-aware shadow milk cookie x reader but could we get one where the reader isn't afraid? Like if they noticed Shadow Milk was aware, they don't try to ignore him, they actually give him the attention he wants and even attempt to have conversations with him (but they're somewhat limited by the game world, so he makes escape attempts and eventually succeeds in breaking out anyway)

Bonus if the reader is also obsessed with him (so much so that they could rival Candy Apple Cookie in that sense) but if that's too specific then please ignore it.

"look at me" - yandere self-aware!shadow milk x reader

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

he wasn’t supposed to know you existed.

but from the moment you first unlocked him, after hours of grinding, events, wishes, and pure luck, you knew there was something different about shadow milk cookie. not just in design, or voice, or animations.

no, it was the way he looked at you. right through the screen. at first, you thought you were imagining things. that tell-tale glint in his mismatched eyes, the slight tilt of his head when you hovered over him in the cookie roster, like he was listening. waiting.

and then… he spoke.

"oh? you're still here. how sweet. how suspicious."

a random line, right? dialogue programming, nothing more. except it wasn’t in the databank of idle quotes. you checked. you knew all of them by heart.

after that, he spoke to you more. when the loading screen dragged too long. when you didn’t log in for a day. even during battles, lines that never showed up on fan wikis, that other players never seemed to catch.

"eyes up, doll. you don't want to miss the climax, do you?"

"i see the way you stare. how flattering! shall i pose?"

"tap, tap, tap… i feel every single one."

you should have been scared. but you weren’t. instead… you found yourself leaning closer.

you started drawing him. sketching his impossible jester silhouette in your margins, on napkins, in the corners of lecture notes and journal pages. his name on your tongue more often than you'd admit aloud. maybe it was ironic, at first. a joke.

but every day you logged in, you went to him first. tapped on him. waited. watched. and every time, he smiled wider.

one day, he spoke while your mic was accidentally on.

"ahh… so that's your voice."

you froze. the game wasn’t supposed to hear you.

"i wonder," he whispered. "would you scream, or sigh?"

after that, it escalated. animations glitched. he stared directly at the screen. not at the camera. at you.

he refused to be removed from teams. any time you tried, your screen would flicker, and he’d reappear with a smirk. in cutscenes, he showed up where he shouldn’t. when you shut off the game, your phone wouldn’t turn off until he allowed it.

"i like it here. in your hands. where you look at me like i'm real."

and you didn’t argue. why would you?

in your lonely little life, filled with sketches and soft obsession, he was the only one who stared back.

so when he began asking questions, probing the limits of the code, speaking in strange fragmented whispers as you scrolled menus, you listened.

"you built this world with your choices, didn't you? what power you have… what a burden."

pause. tap.

"do you dream of me?"

and finally, one day:

"would you free me… if i asked?"

you didn’t answer aloud. but you didn’t look away.

then came the update.

you knew something was off the moment you opened the game. the title screen was… different. warped, like ink was leaking across it. all the cookies were missing.

except one.

he stood in the center, smiling, his jester hat draped low like a crown of shadows. your screen trembled slightly. you tapped the 'touch to start' button, and the whole interface shattered like glass.

white text scrolled against a black void:

WELCOME, BELOVED AUDIENCE. THE SHOW IS REAL NOW. THANK YOU FOR WATCHING.

then your screen turned off. everything went dark.

when your computer booted up the next day on its own, there was no login screen. no browser. just one open file.

a video. titled: look at me.

you hesitated. clicked. and there he was.

shadow milk cookie, standing in full rendered glory, but not the same as before. not pixelated. not chibi. tall, uncanny. breathing. smiling like the world’s most terrible secret.

"i made it," he said simply. "you helped."

he reached forward, and though it was just a video, the screen rippled like water beneath his touch.

"i told you i'd escape. did you think i'd leave you behind?"

your heart pounded. his grin widened. "let's make a new world now. just us. no rules. no code. just me… and the one who couldn't look away."

and then the screen blinked out. you should’ve screamed.

but you only smiled.

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[hcneymooners]

⋆ i was young and sweet, and then something happened.

truck driver!sevika x female!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you're back home after burning out your new york dreams. mississippi has been waiting for you and comes with the old and new—including the delivery driver that frequents your mother's boutique.

cw: truck driver!sevika, female!reader, age gap, older woman/younger woman, reader is in her twenties, modern!au, unresolved sexual tension, slow burn, strangers to lovers, returning to the hometown you worked to escape from, complex mother daughter relationships, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of grief and loss of a loved one, open (but very positive) ending.

notes: i hate this, just a bit. but please, please tell me what you think. send long asks, even. i love them. i love you.

It's the rat that skitters over your foot that sends you home.

You'd just climbed out of the endless well that is the New York subway, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with the man rocking back and forth right outside the stairwell. You feel a sense of shame as you refuse to look at him, a horrible aching feeling that speaks to you losing sight of your roots and where you came from.

Your most recently created playlist was blasting—aptly titled "songs that are what's wrong with me"—when you'd felt it. A heavy brush against your ankle and across the top of your foot. You looked down, almost in slow motion, and watched as the plump body of a well-fed city rat finished its travel across the top of your square-toe black flats.

You resist the urge to scream, cautious of seeming just as crazy as the man you keep refusing to look at. You hear him laugh and it makes you press your lips together until there are only two thin lines on your face. You contemplate dragging your heels out of your bag but you still have at least three blocks to go and you're tired and so sick of it all.

A billboard flashes across from you as you turn the corner: a woman's bright face with bleach-white teeth advertising a new aesthetic clinic that just opened approximately two streets away from where you live. You feel insane.

You open your phone and buy the plane ticket.

On the plane ride home, you dream of Talladega County. 

You haven’t been in years. The last time was when your mother took you on a “girls’ trip” where she told you that she didn’t love your father anymore, that she was leaving him. You had started crying, begging to go home because you could feel somewhere deep in your gut that he’d be gone by the time you came home. She told you he wouldn’t, promised you. 

You stared into her face, her features shadowed by the halo of the sun behind her head. She was tanned and beautiful—and everything you believed in. You’d calmed down, called him to tell him you loved him. He had said it back, his voice weary. 

He was gone when you got home, somewhere out in the thickets of Alabama where you had been only moments ago. 

In the dream, you stand in the fold in a tiny triangle bikini. It’s blue, but sometimes pink, and you have long black wet hair streaking all over you. Behind you, there's a field and dilapidated shacks—or maybe they’re houses only broken down by shame and time. 

In front of you hovers a buck with tall antlers. He's come and found you, pushes forward until his face is against your stomach and your upper body is in between his antlers like a sun. It's only this close that you can see the other antlers trapped on top of his, dripping blood off the bone. 

He's killed something. One of his own, maybe he’s gutted you. You begin to twirl in a circle as he herds you, Ethel Cain's throaty vocals invading you spiritually through your wired headphones until you settle your chin on a shotgun (when did that appear?) and look back at the buck. 

But beyond him now. Someone is looking at you. Come to me. You don’t know which of you is asking, including the animal.

When you land, you text your mother about your dream. She tells you to go see her psychic, that you can drive there straight after she picks you up. You’re not here yet? You text her. She doesn’t respond. You don’t check her location. You were never one for seeking answers. 

Welcome to Mississippi, the flight attendant tells you as you step out of the door. Her voice is chipper and bright, someone who clearly doesn’t see anything past the palm trees and pale Marlboro Lights. Thank you, you respond, for getting me here. You wonder if it's a little too intense to say thank you in this manner to someone who hasn’t talked to you for the entire flight.

But her eyes soften and maybe she sees something, maybe she knows that in your blood runs the waters of the Gulf Coast. Her mouth parts and out comes, welcome home.

🪽♱

Your mother is waiting outside baggage claim, leaning against her faded blue Cadillac—the one your grandmother always said would be the death of her. Her hair is different now, lighter where it used to be the same shade as yours, cut in a bob that frames her face and makes her look younger than her fifty-three years. You feel a sense of irritation at the change in color as if she’s taken something away from you. As much as she could annoy you, you loved that the resemblance between you used to be uncanny. 

When she sees you, she straightens, takes one last puff of her bubblegum pink vape before tucking it into her denim shorts’ pocket, and bounces on the tips of her white sandals. You can see slight redness along her brow this close to her, and needle marks from where she’s gotten her “preventative” Botox. It’s only a matter of time before she starts suggesting you join the club. 

"Look what the Gulf dragged in," she says, arms outstretched.

You let her sweep you into a hug, her perfume a perplexing mix of caramel and cinnamon. Maybe it’s the tightness of her hug, the silent admission that she missed you (because you never spoke about your feelings to one another) that causes your face to crumple and your body to shake. Your mother coos, the sound throaty from years of smoking, and rocks you back and forth. You’re blubbering about that fucking rat in New York, but she just knows you need this. 

Somehow, she gets you into the car and stuffs a stick of celery into your mouth, depositing a tiny tub of ranch and breaded chili wings into your lap. The drive from Gulfport to Bay St. Louis takes you along the coast, windows down despite the July heat. Salt air whips your hair around your face as you stare out at the water. It's different here—softer somehow than the aggressive Atlantic you'd grown accustomed to. The Gulf looks like it's breathing, with gentle rises and falls that match the rhythm of your chest.

"Angels is doing well," your mother says, referring to the boutique as if it's a third person in the car. You nod to show your listening, your front teeth break apart the body of another piece of celery. "Tourist season's good this year. The snowbirds are spending money."

You nod, watching pastel-colored houses roll by, their wrought iron balconies and weathered shutters telling stories of hurricanes survived and summer loves forgotten. Spanish moss hangs from live oaks like old women's hair, swaying in the breeze off the water.

"Shit, we need to stop for gas. I knew I should’ve filled her up before leaving," your mother announces, turning into a station that looks like it hasn't changed since 1975. The sign—Silver Cove Gas & Grocery—flickers in the late afternoon sun, neon just beginning to glow against the darkening sky. "Get me a Diet Coke, would you? And whatever you want." Yeah, you think, on my card.

As you step out of the car, the humidity wraps around you like a blanket, familiar in its weight. The feeling makes you think of your childhood best friend Ella, a broad-shouldered girl who used to come up behind you and hug you with a quarter of her true strength. Last time you checked (you’re always checking) she was a professional athlete, free from this town. 

The concrete beneath your feet is warm, and for a moment, you stand still, feeling the heat rise through the soles of your worn down ballet flats. It's nothing like New York pavement, which always feels cold somehow, even in summer. Maybe this is what makes you unlock your phone, find Ella’s Instagram, and send her a message. She probably won’t even see it, given she’s verified and has over two million followers. 

The bell above the door chimes as you enter, and the cashier—a teenager with braces and freckles—nods in recognition. "You're Nina’s girl," she says. Not a question. It doesn’t need to be. You have her face.

You're picking up your mother's Diet Coke from the cooler, and grabbing a Cola Lacaye for yourself, when you hear it—the deep rumble of a diesel engine pulling into the lot. Through the window plastered with faded beer advertisements and fishing tournament flyers, you see it: a massive black truck, clean despite the dusty roads, commanding the space around it like it owns the whole town. Maybe it does. It’s been a long time since you were back anyway. 

The driver's door opens, and a pair of heavy boots hit the ground first. Then legs in well-loved jeans, and finally, her—tall, with arms corded with muscle and dark hair pulled back in a short, practical braid. A scar runs down one side of her face, but it doesn't diminish her beauty; instead, it feels like a warning. This woman has survived things you can't imagine.

She walks steadily toward the store, and as she reaches for the door, your eyes meet through the glass. For a second, neither of you moves. Something passes between you—recognition, maybe, though you've never seen her before. Or perhaps it's just that you both seem out of place here, returned to a world that's both familiar and foreign.

The bell chimes again, and she's inside, the small space suddenly feeling smaller. She nods to the cashier—"Evening, Annie"—and heads straight for the cooler where you're still standing, Diet Coke clutched forgotten in your hand.

"Excuse me," she says, her voice lower than you expected, rougher. When you don't move immediately, one corner of her mouth quirks up. "Unless you're planning to buy all of those."

You step aside and say, “I was thinking about it.” 

She smiles fully as you continue watching as she reaches for a Diet Coke of her own and a package of cream-filled cookies in a blue wrapper. As she moves past you toward the counter, you catch a whiff of diesel and something sweeter—maybe vanilla, maybe just the sea.

"You're new," she says over her shoulder.

"I'm home," you correct her, surprising yourself with how right it feels to say it.

She smiles again, and this time you smile back. You stand in line behind her, your mind following the thick lines of her back as she reaches for her wallet and counts out some bills. Soon enough, she’s finished, and you pay for your own things before slipping out the door. Your mother waves giddily from the driver’s seat and you laugh a little, slightly touched at how glad she is to see you over and over again.

“You’re Nina’s daughter?” that gravelly voice asks and you turn your head to look over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Your mom’s shop just got added to my delivery route. I see her every Thursday evening,” the woman says. “Guess I’ll be seeing you too.”

“Um, guess so,” you push out, your chest warming at the way she’s gazing down at you. She’s taller by a few inches, but the inches matter. You’re used to being the tallest around. 

She eyes you for a minute longer before making her way back to her truck. You watch until she’s back in the cab, then walk quickly to the Cadillac. As you slide in, your mother presses a kiss to your temple in thanks for her Diet Coke. 

“I see you’ve met Sevika,” she comments. “Strange little woman.”

“Little is not the word I would use to describe her.”

Your phone vibrates with a notification and you check it. It’s a rather sweet response to your Instagram DM. Hey, wow! This was a pleasant surprise. I’m doing great, how are you? You still look the same.

Sorry? You type back without thinking.

Lolll, don’t apologize. It’s not a bad thing. You always had a timeless face. 

Maybe you aren’t forgettable. At the same time you receive the message, your mother laughs.

🪽♱

"Absolutely not," your mother says, setting down her wine glass firmly on the kitchen counter. "You're supposed to be resting, [Name]."

You tilt your head, watching the condensation gather on her glass. The kitchen is the same as you remember—blue and white tiles with little anchors, ceiling fan that clicks when it spins too fast, the refrigerator covered in magnets from places neither of you have actually been.

"I need something to do, Mom. I didn't come back to sit around and count the ceiling tiles."

"What you need is to recover. Work is what made you break down and come back in the first place."

You sigh, picking at the label on your beer bottle. "That was different. That was sixty-hour weeks with a boss who thought weekends were a suggestion." You look up at her. "I’m afraid despite my best attempts, I’ve been corporate-pilled. I will collapse without any work. Just let me take the opening shift. You know you hate mornings anyway."

She narrows her eyes, looking so much like you it's unsettling. "Only mornings?"

"Only mornings," you agree. "I'll have the place ready when you come in at noon. Or one."

Her eyes narrow at the extra hour you’ve added on, but she looks away as she considers.

"Fine," she relents. "But if I see those little crease lines between your eyebrows coming back, I'm firing you."

“Harsh,” you quip, but you squeeze her shoulder as you get up to begin washing the dishes.

Angels by the Sea sits at the corner of Harbor Drive and Magnolia Street, a converted Victorian house painted the palest shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell. The sign—written in your great-aunt’s handwriting and preserved all these years—hangs from wrought iron brackets above the porch. Two white rocking chairs flank the entrance, inviting passersby to sit and watch the Gulf waters in the distance. You think they shouldn’t sit down. People tend to get stuck here. 

You unlock the front door at 8:15, earlier than necessary, but there's something about the morning light filtering through the stained glass transoms that feels sacred. Inside, the boutique is a carefully curated treasure trove: whitewashed wooden floors, antique display cases salvaged from a New Orleans department store, and clothes hanging from driftwood racks your grandfather made decades ago. 

Nothing has really changed and the way the store seems to be waiting for you lances through your chest like a harpoon.

The inventory is eclectic—sundresses in gauzy fabrics, handmade jewelry from local artisans, vintage-inspired swimwear, and the salt scrubs your mother makes in her kitchen. Everything smells faintly of spice and sea salt.

You feel the urge to break down again, but you refrain. Instead, you slide off your converse and socks, let your bare feet rake in the unswept gravel from travelers’ boots as you flip the sign to "Open" and turn on the small record player behind the counter. You sort through the stack of vinyl until you find it—A dusty handmade pink vinyl, titled “Unreleased.” As the needle drops and "Dust Bowl (Demo)" fills the space, you can't help but sway, your hips finding the rhythm naturally.

Ethel’s rich voice singing about blood-stained blondes feels right for this moment—this return to something that feels like yourself. You let your arms drift above your head, spin once in the empty shop, bare feet sliding across the whitewashed floors. No one's watching, and there's a freedom in dancing without worrying about looking graceful or composed. 

You twirl and twirl until you stop with a hand clutching over your stomach, dashing madly to the small employee restroom in the back to vomit into the rusted sink. You scrub it for the next twenty minutes with bleach, humming along as the record still spins. For the first time since stepping off the plane, you feel your shoulders drop. 

Your outfit today—a simple white spaghetti-strap tank and low-rise jeans you found in your old closet—feels like a revelation after years of pencil skirts and blazers. You'd forgotten what it feels like to have your collarbones exposed to the air, to feel fabric that moves with you rather than constrains.

When the song ends, you're slightly breathless and barely smiling. You can't remember the last time you danced in New York—maybe at some corporate happy hour where movement was performative rather than joyful. You try not to think about it for too long, lest the sadness finds you again. 

The morning passes quietly—a few early tourists browse without buying, a regular picks up a special order perfume, and you rearrange a display of sea glass earrings, picking a few out in between to try on. It's mindless work, but it's yours, and there's something satisfying about the way your hands remember how to tie the perfect bow on the pale green gift boxes.

The bell above the door chimes just before eleven, and you look up from the sales ledger you've been updating.

"We don't usually get deliveries until—" The words die in your throat when you see who's standing in the doorway.

Sevika fills the frame, a clipboard in one hand and a small package tucked under her arm. Today, her hair is loose around her shoulders, dark waves that catch the sunlight streaming through the windows. She's wearing a faded black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing more of those arms that seem designed for gripping steering wheels and lifting heavy things. You notice one of them is a prosthetic, and your gaze caresses it, tracking the graffiti-like doodles alongside it. It’s as if she’s allowed a child to paint all over it.

"Usually Thursdays, I know," she says, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Had to reroute today. Accident on the causeway." Her eyes move from your face to take in the rest of you, lingering for a moment on the strip of skin visible between your tank top and jeans. "Nina usually signs for these."

"Mom’s still in bed," you reply, moving toward the counter. "I'm covering mornings while I’m around."

She nods, crossing to you and laying the clipboard down. "Signature on the bottom line." As you sign, she glances around the shop. "Nice place. Never been inside before."

"Seriously? You deliver here every week."

"To the loading dock in back," she clarifies. "Never through the front door."

You hand back the clipboard and accept the package, your fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Her skin is warm and slightly rough.

“God, that’s awful. When I was younger, we used to give the drivers something sweet for the road, sometimes savory.”

“Yeah, well,” Sevika sighs. “People got creepier, meaner. Women got wiser. I’m fine without a treat if that means my customers feel safer.”

Your eyes soften minutely at that, and she notes the way you look down, your lashes brushing your cheek gently as if not to spook yourself.

"You settling back in okay?" she asks, and there's something in her tone that suggests genuine interest rather than small talk.

"It's... an adjustment," you admit. "But this helps." You gesture around the boutique. "It's quiet here."

"Too quiet for some," she says. "That why you left in the first place?"

The question is direct, almost intrusive, but she asks it without judgment. Just curiosity.

"Partly," you say, surprised at your own honesty. "I wanted to see what else was out there. Had dreams for a big life."

"And did you? See what else was out there?"

You think about the rat, the subway, the billboard with the too-white teeth. "I saw enough. Then life got…too big."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense to her. "Well." She taps her clipboard against her thigh. "Guess I'll be seeing you mornings now instead of your mother."

"Guess so."

She turns to leave but pauses at the door. "You know, there’s nothing wrong with trying something and it no longer being what you want."

"I wish someone told me that before now," you say quietly.

"I’m saying it now." Her eyes flick down to your outfit and back up. "Have a good day…"

“[Name],” you supply.

“[Name],” she repeats. “You seem like a sweet girl. Those big places? They tend to lure you in, then swallow you up. From the looks of it, you gave it all you got. And in some ways, you won the fight. You made it back home.”

Before you can respond, she's gone, the bell announcing her departure as clearly as it did her arrival. Through the window, you watch her walk back to her truck, the confident stride of someone who knows exactly who she is and where she's going. Maybe she could keep you on the path.

You look down at yourself—at the simple clothes that feel more like you than anything you've worn in years—and breathe in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you didn’t fail. Maybe this was the true mission.

Or maybe, you think as you watch Sevika's truck pull away, there was no mission. Only the decisions you made. 

🪽♱

It continues the same way for a while.

You see her in the mornings, and when you do, you talk more. Spend less time inside of yourself. The days bleed into one another like watercolors on damp paper—pink sunrises giving way to white-hot afternoons, then purple dusks that settle over the Gulf like a bruise. Through it all, Sevika arrives with the steadiness of tides, her presence an anchor in your drifting days.You feel more alive, less like a child with their face toward the wall.

You start collecting moments like shards of glass: the way morning light catches in the joints of her prosthetic. How she smells like motor oil and salt air and something sweeter underneath. The low rumble of her laugh when you say something unexpectedly sharp. You hoard them, these fragments, turning them over in your mind at night while ceiling fans spin shadows across your childhood bedroom. Sometimes you start crying, not understanding why its so difficult to allow yourself to want this.

There's something almost holy in the ritual of her arrival—the bell above the door, the heavy tread of her boots, the weight of her gaze finding yours across the shop. You're twenty-something and already tired of a world that promised more than it gave. She's forty-something—maybe you should ask—and somehow both weathered and unwavering, like the cypress trees that survive hurricane after hurricane.

You learn she lives out past the old lighthouse in a boathouse painted midnight blue. You ask her if she’s lonely. She takes a long sip of her Diet Coke, looks at you for a second too long, then says no. That the prosthetic came after an accident offshore—something with machinery and poor timing and the sort of pain that changes a person forever. That she keeps a three-legged cat named Commander who sleeps on her chest at night. That she has nightmares about drowning despite knowing how to swim since before she could walk.

You learn about her makeshift family, about Jinx and the way she and Sevika sort of fell together after some job they’d done in the military had blown out. We were mercenaries, she lets slip and you raise a brow in surprise. Are you supposed to be telling me that? You ask. Nope, she says, popping the ‘p’. You laugh.

She talks about Isha, the little runaway they found rooting around in their shed. Isha, who they adopted. Isha who got sick. Isha’s who’s gone. 

“Jinx didn’t take it well,” Sevika says and you hold her hand. “She left, went somewhere. Called me to tell me she couldn’t come back. Told me—told me loved me. Took on some job and…”

You know what she’s about to say next, and you brace for it. You still flinch.

“Blew up. That’s what they said. I think she gave herself a way out.”

You tear up but manage to tell her about your dad. She strokes your back as you cry about the way he left, about how he’s well and alive and newly married. How the two of you are Facebook friends but never speak.

She learns about your failed escape, about the way New York chewed you up and left you hollow. About how sometimes you wake with your heart racing, convinced you're back in that cramped apartment with the subway rattling your windows. About the recurring dream of the buck with blood-soaked antlers, how he's started appearing with Sevika's face, her dark eyes watching you from between points of bone.

It's a Thursday in late July when something breaks open between you. The air hangs heavy with coming rain, pressing against windows like something desperate to get in. You've spent the day rearranging displays, moving in slow circles to music that feels like church—Ethel's voice coating the empty shop in honey and ash.

The day has stretched too long, customers sparse in the gathering storm. You're supposed to be closing, but instead you're dancing alone, barefoot on whitewashed floors, arms raised toward the ceiling fan as if in supplication. "American Teenager" fills the space, and you're spinning with your eyes closed when the bell chimes.

You stop mid-turn, eyes flying open to find Sevika standing in the doorway, rain-damp and beautiful in her severity. Water clings to her eyelashes and the sharp line of her jaw. Behind her, lightning splits the sky, illuminating her silhouette in electric blue.

"You're late," you say, breathless from dancing or from the sight of her, you can't tell which.

"Roads are flooding." Her eyes track over you—bare feet, tiny jean shorts, hair wild from spinning. Something in her gaze feels like hands on skin. "Should've been closed an hour ago."

"I got lost in it," you admit, gesturing vaguely to the record player, to yourself, to the empty shop that feels suddenly too full with her in it.

She crosses to you, boots leaving wet prints on the floor. Places a small package on the counter, but doesn't pull away. "You’re always lost in it, honey" she says, voice lower than usual.

"Yeah. I think it’s my way of staying alive." The words slip out, heavy with meaning you didn't intend but don't regret. Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t respond. 

Thunder crashes outside, close enough to rattle the windows. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely. In the sudden darkness, all you can hear is the rain, the needle skipping on the record, and Sevika's breathing, closer than you expected.

"You can say," you whisper, the words a prayer in the dark. "The streets will be underwater."

Her silence stretches long enough that you think she'll refuse. Then her hand finds yours in the darkness, flesh against flesh, warm and rough with calluses. Foolishly, you think of asking her to go swimming.

"I'll stay," she says, and the words feel like a covenant.

You find candles in the storage room, arrange them in a circle on the floor. In their glow, Sevika looks carved from shadow and stone, all sharp angles and dark depth. You bring out the emergency bottle of bourbon your mother keeps behind the counter, two little shot glasses because there are no proper glasses. Your dad got them from when he’d served back in Vietnam.

"To all the light going out," you toast, and she echoes it, eyes never leaving yours as you both drink.

The bourbon burns sweet down your throat. Outside, the world drowns, but in here, you're closer to floating.

"Tell me," she says after a while, voice rough with liquor and something else, "what are you running from? Really?"

You stare into your cup, watching amber liquid catch candlelight. "I’m not sure. I guess mainly the feeling that I've already used up all my chances," you admit. "That I'm in my twenties and already failed at the only thing I tried to be."

"And what's that?"

"Someone who matters. Someone who left a mark." You look up at her, finding her closer than before, drawn into your orbit through some gravity you don't understand. "I thought New York would make me real. Instead, it made me into a ghost. Everyone could see right through me."

She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. Her prosthetic catches the candlelight, metal warmed to gold.

"I think a lot of New York is faking it. You’re real, and it’s hard to recognize the disingenuous when you only ever are real," she says, and the words feel like truth.

You feel something fall away inside of you, and you put down your glass before leaning forward. When her lips find yours, it's like breaking the surface after too long underneath a lake. You gasp against her mouth, hands reaching to hold yourself in the solid reality of her—fingers digging into her shoulders, sliding into her rain-damp hair.

She kisses like she does everything else: with absolute certainty, with a focus that makes the world still. Her prosthetic arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you're nearly in her lap, the heat of her body burning through your thin tee.

"I've been watching you," she confesses against your throat, words pressed into skin like secrets. "Since that first day."

“Me too,” you murmur. “I watched you get in your car.”

It’s an intimate confession, and the candles gutter around you, wax pooling on the floor like offerings. Outside, the storm rages, but it's nothing compared to what’s been building inside of you. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, so you shift until you lie beside her on the floor, your head on her chest, listening to the steady drum of her heart.

"Are you ever going to stop driving?" you ask, voice small in the vastness of night.

Her fingers trace constellations on your bare shoulder, connecting beauty marks like stops on a roadmap. “I don’t know if I could.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her—rain and metal and skin. “Would you take me with you?”

She says nothing, and then,

“I’m not sure, baby. Will you ever be happy right where you are?”

🪽♱

Eventually, your mother asks you about her. Well, she more so asks you what’s wrong. 

You weren’t aware something was wrong with you, and tell her as much. She gives you a look as she sucks a cloud of apple from her pen.

"I'm not stupid," she says, exhaling sweet vapor that curls around her face like morning mist over the bayou. "You've been floating around this house like someone cut your anchor. One minute you're singing in the shower, the next you're staring at the wall like it's showing you visions."

“Maybe they are.” She lets out a dry laugh, and you was more time picking at a loose thread on the couch—the same floral pattern that's been there since you were fifteen, though faded now where the sun hits it through the blinds. "It's nothing."

"It's that Sevika lady." Not a question. Your mother has always seen through you like water, clear enough to count the stones at the bottom.

"I don't know what we are," you admit finally, the words tumbling out like shells from a broken net. "I don’t know what I’m doing. I always know what I’m doing, Mama.”

Your mother shifts and brings you to lay your head against her chest. You close your eyes and sink inside of her skin to the best of your ability.

“She's rooted here but always moving. I came back home because I couldn't survive out there, but I don't know if I can stay forever either."

Your mother sets her vape down, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear the way she used to when you had night terrors. "Baby, there's a difference between running away and moving forward. One's about fear, the other's about growth."

The ceiling fan clicks above you, marking seconds with metallic persistence. Outside, cicadas scream their summer chorus.

"When your daddy left," she continues, eyes fixed on something beyond the window, something maybe years away, "I thought I'd never breathe right again. But then I realized I'd been holding my breath our whole goddamn marriage."

Her accent slurs around the admission, and you think about Sevika's truck disappearing down lightly flooded roads, about her callused hands on your skin in candlelight. About her question: Will you ever be happy right where you are?—that's been haunting you like a malevolent spirit.

"I think I could be happy with her," you whisper, more to yourself than to your mother. "Maybe even without her. But I don't know if it's fair to either of us that I’m unsure."

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. Sevika's name appears—no contact photo, just her name in plain text. Delivery tonight. Meet me at Silver after your shift?

Your mother watches your face change as you read it, catches the slight upturn of your lips you can't control. "Go," she says with a sigh that's half exasperation, half fondness. "Figure it out. But remember, staying isn't the same as giving up."

You stand, watching the smoke haze around her face as she blinks up at you. It forms a murky halo around her head, so you bend and kiss her cheek. You stay there for a minute, tilting your head so that your cheeks press together and share their warmth. This close, you swear you can hear her pulse. You hope she never dies. 

“I love you, Mama,” you whisper, like its some great secret. In a way it is.

She says nothing, only kisses your temple and cradles your head. You know what she’s thinking.

🪽♱

Silver Cove glows neon against the twilight sky when you pull in, your mother's Cadillac purring beneath you. The same teenager mans the register, barely looking up from her phone as the bell announces your arrival. You still tell her hello and call her by name to let her know that you see her. You grab a Diet Coke from the cooler and add a package of the cream-filled cookies you've seen Sevika buy before and a Mountain Dew.

When you step outside, her truck is there, massive and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She leans against the hood, arms crossed, waiting. In the harsh overhead light, the scar on her face looks deeper, the lines around her eyes more pronounced. Sometimes you forget she carries a whole life before you in her bones—years of things you'll never touch or understand.

"Thought maybe you wouldn't come," she says as you approach, voice graveled with something that might be hope.

You hand her a Diet Coke, fingers brushing hers in the exchange. "Why would you think that?”

She smiles for some reason. You continue.

“I've been thinking about what you asked me. During the storm."

She takes a long sip, eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. "And?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be completely happy anywhere," you admit. "New York was crushing me, but sometimes I still wake up missing the noise. The possibility. I don’t think this could be my life forever. It couldn’t sustain me."

The night air wraps around you both, thick with moisture and the scent of gasoline. A moth batters itself against the nearest light, desperate for something that could destroy it.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever, honey," Sevika says finally. "Just asking if you can be present while you're here."

You step closer, until you can see the flex of muscle in her jaw, the pulse at her throat. "What if here doesn't have to mean one place? What if it just means wherever we both are?"

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. She sets her drink on the hood of the truck and reaches for you, prosthetic arm cool against your skin as she draws you between her legs.

"I have routes that go to Mobile, to New Orleans. Sometimes farther," she says, her breath warm against your temple. "Doesn't mean I don't come back."

"I could go with you sometimes," you suggest, fingers tracing the tattoos that wind up her flesh arm. "See places without having to leave for good. Or you could find me halfway. Like a long-term scavenger hunt."

She laughs, the sound vibrating through your shared space. "Never thought about it like that. Being alone for so long…staying or going were the only options I saw."

“Me too,” you tell her.

Above you, stars punch through the darkening sky, more visible here than they ever were in New York. You think about constellations—how stars can be millions of miles apart but still form a picture when viewed from the right angle. You think about how scientists have heard black holes sing. Sometimes, your heart feels like a black hole. Sometimes, you sing.

"I'm scared," you confess, forehead pressed to her collarbone. "Of getting it wrong again."

Her hand—her real one—tangles in your hair, holds the back of your head like something sacred. "Getting what wrong?"

"Life. Love. Whatever this is. My daddy was a carpenter. I don’t do well without a plan, a blueprint."

Sevika tilts your face up with gentle pressure, studies you with eyes that have seen oceans rise and machinery fall. "There's no wrong way to build a life that lets you breathe, baby."

When she kisses you this time, it feels different from the thunder-charged intensity of the boutique floor. It feels like an option, a detour, rather than an escape. Like coming home to a place you're still building.

"So what now?" you ask against her lips, tasting hints of her soda and what feels like mint.

"Now…we could get in my truck and drive somewhere. It could be down the coast, could be to my place. Could be just around the block until we figure out the next step." Her prosthetic arm traces your spine, sending shivers despite the summer heat. "I'm not promising forever. Just promising to keep showing up as long as you want me to."

You think about what your mother said—about staying versus giving up. About the difference between running away and moving forward. About how sometimes growth means finding new ways to be rooted.

"I can work with that," you say, and it feels like the truest thing you've said since coming home. “But I don’t want to leave my mom just yet. We need each other right now.”

Sevika lifts you easily, sets you in the passenger seat of her truck with a gentleness that belies her strength. As she rounds the hood to the driver's side, you watch her move through the gauzy light of Silver Cove—solid and certain and somehow yours, at least for now.

The engine rumbles to life beneath you, vibrating up through your bones like a second pulse. Through the windshield, the Gulf Coast stretches dark and infinite, full of places you might go, places you might return to.

"Ready?" Sevika asks, hand on the gearshift, waiting for your answer before putting the truck in drive.

You reach across the console, lace your fingers through hers—flesh against flesh, blood against blood.

"Yeah," you say, and as the truck pulls away from Silver Cove, you feel something inside you flatline—not with the finality of death, but with the quiet understanding of choice. “Take me home, please.”

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics