#kernel-broken

[kernelbroken]

[mywritersmind]

fic idea: movie night w/ kimi ? it can be just kimi & reader, or have other rookies/drivers, whatever u want ! fluff and then whether it’s suggestive or not is up to u too !

CHAOS WITH A SIDE OF POPCORN - KA12

listen up : kimi antonelli x reader. includes date crashers, isack, liam, jack, gabriel, ollie, and franco! i honestly love this mess of a fic!

words : 1987

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“What’s up, sluts!?” Is the first thing that tells me, the rookies have arrived. It’s Franco who says it, grinning big with Lawson by his side. The blonde is holding a bowl which he slides onto the counter.

Kimi gives me a look, his hand sliding into my back pocket as the rest file in. “Are we late!?” Gabi asks which earns him a slap on the back from Jack.

“Hey guys!” Jack kisses Kimi on the cheek, making me laugh and making Kimi wipe his cheek with his sleeve.

“Some douche almost just ran over me in the parking lot-” Isack announces, Ollie laughing and closing the door behind him.

“I think that was me.” Gabi makes a face then winks, making me laugh and lean back into Kimi.

“Thanks for hosting, Y/n!” Franco smiles at me.

“Not like you invited yourself and then every rookie on the grid!” I gasp dramatically, Jack nudging my arm so get me to move because he’s looking in my cabinets?

Liam supposedly finds what they’re looking for, “Found it!” It’s a bag of popcorn kernels.

I look at Kimi who’s looking around like a man who just got snaked out of his date night (because he is). “Hey Y/n, brought you this.” Ollie smiles, dapping up Kimi and handing me a plant… Yeah. I don’t know either.

“Kimi!” Gabriel yells, “Where’s the remote?”

I look at my boyfriend, pushing my face into his chest and laughing. “Gab, this is my apartment!”

“Doesn’t mean Antonelli doesn’t watch more TV than you.” Kimi shakes his head, kissing my cheek and leaving my side with Ollie.

I turn around to see Franco and Jack frozen and staring at me like I'm evil, “Gross.” Jack says while Franco says something in Spanish under his breath.

The two are an unexpected pair but I think they get along purely because F1 is weird as fuck. “You have a girlfriend, Doohan!” I pat his chest.

“Yeah and I miss her so I'm choosing to be bitter.”

“What’s your excuse?” I ask Franco who shakes his head. “Mr. PDA.”

“My heart is broken, Y/n! Have some empathy.” I laugh at the argentinian purely because ‘his broken heart’ is because a celebrity didn’t respond to his DM.

“Sorry my boyfriend loves me and none of you freaks brought a girl for me to hang out with!” I grab a soda, going to help Liam and Isack with the popcorn.

Gabi and Kimi are in the living room, screaming at the TV while it plays some game. “Please don’t burn my apartment down.” I say to Isack and Liam who are fighting over how to use the machine that isn’t on, “Well- you can’t burn anything down when it’s not plugged in.” I plug it in, the teammates blinking then breaking into laughter.

“Y/n we love you.” Isack grins, pouring the kernels while Liam picks up the ones he’s spilling.

“What are we watching tonight?” Jack asks, biting into a strawberry.

“Don’t get into my fruit!” I yell.

“Let’s watch Moana!” Franco offers.

Liam groans, “Why the fuck would we watch moana when cars is-”

“We watched cars last time!” Jack mentions.

“There was a last time!?” Franco scoffs and hands a bowl to Isack.

I shake my head and leave the room, Jack following me out to see Gabi and Kimi arguing in italian, while Ollie tries to keep up as if it’s a tennis match. “Mamma mia!” I mimic them, flopping onto the couch and resting my head on Kimi’s leg.

“Are they making a mess?” Kimi’s hand finds my hair, the familiar touch making me smile.

“Not one they won’t clean up.” I thank god that Kimis friends, everyone under 25 on the grid, is genuinely nice.

Jack hands Gabi a coke, “Kimi, pick what we’re watching or else we will never settle on a movie.”

“Ca-”

“Anything but cars!” I say, Kimi frowning down at me. “How about ten things I hate about you- oh! Or the wedding planner!” They all groan.

“If it’s a chick flick, make it a good one.” Ollie says.

“Are you implying those aren’t good? Get out of my house Bearman.” He goes to stand and is pulled back down by Jack, not even trying to hide his smile.

“I stand by my words.”

I scoff dramatically and sit up, smelling popcorn when Franco, Liam, and Isack join us.

I take the corner of the couch with Kimi next to me, his arm locking me into place as I scroll on our options. Jack, Gabi, and Isack take up the rest of the couch while Liam, Franco, and Ollie all giggling on the floor.

We’re all surrounded by blankets and popcorn crumbs.

“The notebook!” I offer, earning mumbled disdain from the group. “Franco don’t even- I know you cried.”

He throws a piece of popcorn at me. “Oh my god!” I scream, making Kimi, who was comfortably snuggled into my side, jump. “She’s the man! You guys will love this.”

Gabi laughs, “I’ve seen it, she’s right.”

“Me too!” Ollie claps his hands together, “I’m pretty sure Y/n made me watch it, actually.”

“Wow I can’t believe we actually chose a movie!” I grin, pressing rent as Kimi drops a piece of popcorn into my mouth.

“We as in you?” Liam teases.

I roll my eyes and press play, “If I hear-” Isack imitates slopping kissing noises, “I will pour ice water on you! But not today. You will not expect it.”

Kimi laughs, turning into my neck and mimicking the noises with his mouth. I squeal and push him away, everyone laughing until his curls brush my cheek and he sits towards the TV again, “Fuck off.”

I rest my arm on Kimi’s chest, the group quieting down as the movie starts. That quiet does not last long.

“Who’s that?”

“He’s annoying!”

“She’s hot.”

“He’s hot!”

“How is she supposed to shower with tits?”

Kimi rubs his hand over my arm soothingly, extra touchy today even when I'm yelling at friends to shut up. They don’t shut up. At least the person they objectify the most is Channing Tatum.

“I need water.” I whisper, rolling off Kimi and stepping over Liam and Franco who yell at me for getting in the way.

“Get more popcorn!” Gabi hands the bucket to me, getting a slap on the head from Kimi, “Please?”

I grab the bucket and head into the kitchen just when Amanda starts training harder, the boys fighting on who would be the best at ‘soccer’ (Kimi won’t stop saying it in an American accent).

I flip the popcorn machine on, filling up my glass and texting my friend back. “Amoreeee…” The sweet voice of my sleepy boyfriend fills my ears, Kimi setting down his phone on the counter and slumping towards me.

“Bored of the movie?” I smile as his hands grip the counter around me, his head falling to my shoulder.

“Bored without you.”

“Oh god, you have separation anxiety.”

Kimi grins at this, lifting his head and kissing me softly, “God forbid a man wants to be with his girlfriend.”

I laugh harder now, “You need to get off tik tok. I’ve created a monster.”

He grins, god I love his stupid smile. I love his face. His hand slips to my hip, looking at me as if I'm the only person in the world. “You’re so pretty.” I say, tugging at a loose curl.

He scrunches up his nose, leaning in, “Thank you very much. Tiktok told me men get prettier the longer they’re with their drop dead gorgeous girlfriend.” I roll my eyes and he cuts off my laugh with a kiss.

He kisses me slowly, softly. My hand goes to the hem of his hoodie, resting on his side and letting my fingers touch his skin. He’s taller than me so while I'm looking up, his hair is falling in both of our faces.

He smells like peppermint and popcorn. Kimi kisses me every day we’re together, yet each one is so different that I think it’s impossible for me to ever get bored.

I tug at his hoodie and he leans closer, letting me feel the smile against his lips.

“Ew!” We’re interrupted, “Gross!” It’s Gabi. He’s standing in the doorway with his hands over his eyes.

Kimi sighs, “You’ve got me to kidding me-”

“What happened!?” Isack yells from the other room.

“They were having sex on the counter!” Everyone screams as Kimi flips off Gabriel.

“We were not!” I groan, grabbing the now filled bowl of popcorn and heading back in.

“What position?” Franco laughs, my foot ‘accidentally’ colliding with his side.

“If you can’t handle one kiss then I feel sorry for your girlfriend.” Kimi eyes Gabi who suddenly doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Ollie does though, “You’re lucky they were only kissing! I’ve seen so much worse-”

“Okay, Ol! Have some popcorn!” I take a handful and shove it in his mouth before looking around at the rest of them.

“No way- I don’t want that popcorn.” Jack declines my offer.

“I’ll take some!” Isack grabs a handful, “Maybe it’ll make me have more game.”

“Speaking of-” I'm mildly annoyed that they’re all talking over the best movie of all time, but I let it slide when Liam yells over the rest, “How’d you pull her, Antonelli?”

He blushes, sitting on the arm of the couch and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh- Well…”

“I actually set them up!” Ollie grins like a proud mum.

“You did not!” Kimi groans, “You always say this but you didn’t know Y/n before I did-”

“No, but I forced your stupid ass to get in line and ask her out like a man instead of a boy who was drooling over her from across the paddock!” The brit argues, making us all laugh and me lean into Kimi.

“Well it was either you asked me out or I was gonna storm over to Mercedes garage and put in a complaint!” I pat Kimi’s arm.

“Then he choked on the first date.” Ollie mentions.

“Choked on what-” Franco tries to joke but gets met with a glare from me and quickly shuts up.

“It was pasta!” He sighs, “And I hate reliving the moment I almost died, thanks!”

Isack smiles mischievously, “Y/n give you CPR?”

“Some old Italian man picked him up and shot it right out of him.” I can’t help but tease him just a little bit, “But I did comfort him very well for the rest of the evening.”

“Yeah!” Kimi laughs, scooting onto the couch fully and pulling a blanket over us, “By texting Ollie pictures of me pre and post choke!”

After they force me to show them the photos (I did offer them up quite easily) we get back to the movie.

By the time it’s over, Kimi is asleep on my shoulder, Liam is dragging Isack off the couch to leave, and Ollie has already crashed in my guest room.

“Thanks Y/n!” Gabi waves quietly at me.

“Bye!” Jack joins him, making sure to snap a photo of Kimi before he leaves.

“Thank you very much.” Franco smiles, “Tell Kimi we’ll see him on track. See ya!”

I wave to all of them, watching them walk out quietly and get a few minutes of pure silence before Kimi rolls over.

He mumbles something, half asleep and his eyes blinking open, “Done?” He says, repositioning himself so his arms are around me.

“They all left.” I cuddle closer to him, “Movie night, successful.”

He smiles, his eyes closed as he kisses my shoulder, “Love ya.” and then he falls asleep.

“I love you too.” I’m soon to go after him, a peaceful night on a messy couch- until Ollie’s snoring wakes us both up.

[goyardgoyangi]

movie night with best friend! ino takuma

mdni (18+), read with discretion

You and best friend! ino takuma are sprawled on the couch, legs tangled beneath a shared blanket, bowls of popcorn and snacks scattered across the coffee table. The soft blue glow of the TV washes over you both as the credits for Fifty Shades of Grey roll, ending what was supposed to be an unserious pick for movie night.

It really did start as a joke— a dumb movie playing in the background while you talked shit and vented about your CS lab. Neither of you thought you’d actually watch it. But somehow, you did. And somehow, it was… weirdly entertaining?

Not because it was good. But because it was so bad.

“Can you believe some divorced middle-aged women are really into this shit?” Ino snorts, tossing popcorn into his mouth, nearly choking on a laugh. “Shit lighting and cold-ass metal handcuffs? That’s the fantasy?”

“You know,” you mutter, flicking a kernel of popcorn at him, “if divorced middle-aged women are really into this, they’re freakier than I thought.”

“Don’t forget the damn ice cube. Man acted like he invented temperature.”

You laugh, leaning your head back. “This whole movie is just two hours of annoyingly soft BDSM. Honestly, the pacing was worse than our lecture slides.”

That gets him going. “Oh my god, not the 48-slide presentation on recursion.”

You groan. “No, worse. That one time we spent four hours trying to debug a group project just for the TA to say ‘did you try running it in the terminal again?’ Like yeah, that would totally fix a segmentation fault.”

Ino barks a laugh, nudging your leg with his knee. “You’re still mad about that, huh?”

“Bro. He said we had a logic error, then gave us a 2.1 like it was a favor.”

You both dissolve into giggles. But then, somewhere between the laughter and the low hum of the TV, there’s a shift.

A glance. A silence.

“That ice cube scene had me questioning my entire existence,” you say, voice low, teasing. “You actually believe it’s that good?”

Ino tilts his head at you. “You tryna test it?”

You lift a shoulder, casual. “I mean… the takeout’s not coming for another 40 minutes. We could… experiment. In the name of science.”

He stares at you for a beat, a smirk playing on his lips. “What kind of science? ‘Cause our track record’s mostly just us suffering through broken code and pretending we don’t want to drop the class.”

You lean in slightly, your smile edged with something a little more daring now. “Exactly. We deserve to test a hypothesis that doesn’t end in existential dread.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “So you wanna see if an ice cube can actually make someone— what? Cum?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just curious if divorced middle-aged women are full of shit or not.”

Ino pauses, his eyes flicking from your face to your mouth, then back. “Strictly for academic purposes?”

You nod solemnly. “Peer-reviewed results.”

He laughs under his breath, standing up and stretching. “Alright. One ice cube.”

You both agree, giggling like kids daring each other to jump off a high dive.

Ino grabs an ice cube from the freezer, holding it loosely between his fingers as water drips down his wrist. He raises an eyebrow at you, that familiar grin quirking at the corner of his mouth.

You lean back against the couch cushions, heart fluttering with a strange cocktail of nerves and excitement. “Okay,” you say, your voice a little breathy, “just… run it over my neck or something.”

He nods, stepping closer, kneeling on the couch beside you. The first touch is tentative— a glinting cube of ice brushing the curve of your collarbone. The cold shocks you, and you flinch, a laugh bubbling up from your chest.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, “that’s colder than I thought—”

But you don’t tell him to stop.

Ino’s touch is slow, deliberate. The ice trails over your skin in lazy lines, tracing along the dip of your neck, across the slope of your shoulder, and down toward your chest. The air shifts, charged with something unspoken.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs, watching closely.

“I-It’s cold, idiot,” you stammer, laughing— though the sound catches in your throat when the ice drifts over the swell of your breast.

Your nipples stiffen under the chill, and you feel heat spark embarrassingly low in your belly. You’re not supposed to be reacting like this. This was a joke. A bit.

But Ino notices.

He doesn’t say anything right away— just watches you, his hand pausing for a moment as a single drop of melted ice rolls down your skin, disappearing beneath your top.

“Feels good?” he asks, voice quieter now, teasing— but not mocking.

You swallow. “It’s... weird.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, lips twitching. “Weird like debugging for six hours and finding out it was a missing semicolon, or weird like ‘we probably shouldn’t be enjoying this’ kind of weird?”

You shoot him a look, but you can’t bring yourself to deny it. Your body is betraying you. The tension in your thighs. The goosebumps..

He presses the cube just beneath your breast, not quite touching, just letting the cold proximity taunt your skin. You jolt a little and let out an unintentional noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and immediately slap your hand over your mouth, mortified.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, cheeks blazing. “It just— happened.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then: “That’s... kinda hot.”

You want to sink into the couch. “Don’t say it like that!”

“What? I’m serious,” he laughs, voice a little rough around the edges now. “I didn’t think that was even real. I thought that kind of reaction was like, a porn-only thing.”

“Well, it’s not!” you say quickly, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, Ino.”

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking. You peek through your fingers and see the way he’s looking at you, not with judgment. With curiosity. Like he’s just discovered something entirely new.

You're so embarrassed you squeeze your eyes shut, as if that could dull the sensation— but it only heightens everything. Every glide, every flicker of cold across your heated skin feels sharper, more intimate in the dark behind your eyelids.

“Too cold?” Ino’s voice is low and smug, the sound brushing your ear.

“No,” you whisper, shaky. “Just... surprised.”

The ice moves again, circling lazily, spreading cold in soft arcs over your breast. Every motion makes your stomach clench, warmth pooling lower. You squirm under the touch, overwhelmed by how good it feels— how stupidly good.

“Your reactions are way too cute,” Ino murmurs, his grin is audible in the silence that follows.

You peek at him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and breathless.

He just laughs under his breath, fingers still steady, eyes focused entirely on you.

The ice has melted down to a smaller sliver now, slick between his fingers. He trails it over the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your top, and you shiver again, a soft sound escaping your lips despite yourself.

Your thighs shift. You’re hyperaware of everything— his breathing, your heartbeat, the dampness between your legs that has nothing to do with the melting ice.

“I can grab another one,” he offers, voice husky but careful, waiting for your reaction.

You nod again, unable to find your voice. Your skin’s already tingling, every nerve buzzing like you’re standing too close to a speaker. You’ve never felt like this from something so… simple. So stupid. A cube of ice.

Ino returns with a fresh one, crouching between your legs now as he leans forward. “Just tell me if it gets weird, okay?”

You nod a third time, cheeks burning, your breath shaky. “Okay.”

This time, he drags it lower— down your sternum, over your stomach, circling your navel. His eyes flick up to yours, reading your face the whole time, and when you don’t stop him, he tugs the hem of your shirt up, exposing more skin.

“You’re really warm,” he mutters.

“Thanks?” you squeak, trying to joke, but it comes out too breathy to land right.

The ice cube slips lower, tracing the waistband of your shorts. He hesitates, eyes searching yours again. “Still good?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

His free hand steadies you, fingers splayed warm against your waist. The contrast is insane. Your body tenses, hips twitching the closer he gets to where you really want him.

It’s not even supposed to be serious, this whole thing started as a joke, an experiment. But the way you’re breathing? The heat pooling between your thighs? There’s nothing funny about it anymore.

When he pushes your waistband down just enough to reach the crease of your inner thigh, you tense. It’s instinct, your body coiling with anticipation as cold hits heat again. The contrast makes your toes curl. You suck in a breath and arch just slightly, chasing sensation before you can stop yourself.

The cube dips lower, and your breath stutters.

“Ino,” you whine, voice embarrassingly thin.

The ice finally presses lower, catching against your inner thigh before sliding up to your center.

The second it grazes over your clit, your body jerks, thighs instinctively trying to snap shut— but Ino’s hand is there, steady and careful, holding you open.

You gasp, back arching. It’s too much. Too cold. Too perfect.

And then it happens.

It’s not something you meant to do. It builds too fast, hitting harder than you expect. A rush of warmth floods out of you in a sudden, helpless pulse— and your eyes fly open in shock.

You squirt.

Your body trembles, caught in the aftershocks of this new pleasure, and the world around you blurs as the sensation pulses deep within your core. Each wave reverberates through your fingertips, sending tiny sparks up your arms and into your chest.

The chill of the ice fades, giving way to a warmth that pulls your back into a natural arch— spine curving, chest rising. Your nipples, flushed and tender from the ice, ache with sensitivity, and every subtle motion sends dizzying jolts of pleasure through you.

Your head tips back without thought, throat bare, your whole body aching forward into Ino.

Another moan escapes, soft and trembling, a lot more whinier this time, laced with the neediness building inside you.

Your body shudders, overwhelmed by a rush of sensation pulsing through every nerve ending. Instinctively, your fingers clench tightly beneath you, knuckles whitening as you reach out for something, anything, to ground you.

Sensing your need, Ino’s hand moves without hesitation, slipping gently into yours. His fingers entwine with yours like a lifeline, grounding you, anchoring you back from the overwhelming sense of pleasure.

His eyes flick down, then widen, completely captivated by your body.

The softness of your skin, the heat radiating from your flushed breasts, it’s impossible for him not to get hard. He tries to commit the moment to memory.

You look so damn irresistible, he thinks, heart pounding.

Your breathing comes in shallow pulls, your chest rising and falling as you reel from the intensity. But the high is short-lived. Shame creeps in slow, then crashes over you all at once— your skin burning, your throat tight, your face impossibly hot.

You slap your hand over your face, mortified.

“Oh my God— Ino— I didn’t mean to—”

“No way—” he whispers, pausing. “you just…?”

“Shut up,” you groan, curling into yourself, face burning. “We are never speaking of this again.”

“No, wait, hold on—” He sounds breathless now, stunned. “You—actually—? That’s —holy shit.”

You groan again, rolling onto your side to hide your face in the pillow. “It was an accident! I swear!”

“I’m not— judging,” he rushes to say, placing a hand gently on your hip. “I just… didn’t know it could happen like that. That really fast.”

You nod, cheeks flaming as you laugh nervously, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, right. You’re just saying that to make me feel better. I— I basically just peed in front of you. I want to die.”

But instead of teasing you, Ino’s smile softens into something almost shy. “Honestly? I really didn’t think that could happen… but, uh, it’s kinda hot. Promise.”

You wring your hands, cheeks burning as your eyes dart away, wanting to hide but also craving to hear him say it’s okay, to reassure you.

Ino reaches out and gently brushes his fingers against yours. “Well,” he says, voice teasing but warm, “some guys are into that kind of thing. You’re definitely not weird. So stop looking so miserable.”

You swallow hard, cheeks still blazing, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest— part mortified, part something else you can’t quite name.

There’s a beat of silence. You peek up at him— he looks flustered, pink creeping up his cheeks, eyes glued to where your shorts are still bunched low on your hips.

Then, quietly:

“Can I try again?”

[sixeyesonathiel]

WHEREVER YOU WANT IT, BABY, I’M TAKING YOU THERE!

↳ being married to geto suguru means never running late. or dry.

cw: light degradation, praise kink, possessive language, mild dacryphilia, food play, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, mild exhibitionism ,marking mild overstimulation, raw sex, creampie, 5.4k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : for my bbg lyra heh😼🌹 first time writing for suguru bear w/ me, satoru ver. how did this reach this much word count i feel like i cheated on my cutie😔

ON THE COUCH.ᐟ

sunday night, the living room’s a disaster, like it always is when you two decide to “relax.” popcorn kernels litter the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass teeters on the edge, and your fuzzy blanket’s tangled on the floor, one corner still draped over the couch. the tv’s blaring some action flick—explosions, car chases, dialogue you’ve both stopped caring about.

suguru’s sprawled out beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, his gray sweatpants slung so low you can see the sharp cut of his v-line, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. he’s pretending to watch the screen, but you feel his eyes, heavy and warm, sliding to you every few seconds, catching the way you shift closer, your thigh brushing his.

“you’re squirming again, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, that smug charm dripping like honey. he tilts his head, dark hair falling over one shoulder, catching the dim glow of the tv. “what’s got you so worked up? the shitty plot or just me?”

you roll your eyes, nudging his ribs with your elbow, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it. “don’t flatter yourself, suguru. this movie’s boring as hell, that’s all.”

“mm. bored, are we?” his voice is low, brushing the shell of your ear like velvet. his arm drapes tighter around your waist, fingers slipping just beneath the collar of his shirt—soft cotton and cedar clinging to your skin. “funny,” he murmurs, thumb grazing the curve of your throat, “your pulse says otherwise.”

you open your mouth to scoff, to throw some snark back, but his hand moves, sliding down your arm, across your waist, and under the hem of the shirt. his fingers are warm, calloused from years of sparring and cooking and touching you like he’s memorizing every inch. they graze your hip, slow, deliberate, and your breath catches, betraying you.

“suguru,” you warn, but it’s weak, more plea than protest, and the smirk curling his lips says he hears it too.

“what?” he’s all innocence, but his hand dips lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties, finding you slick and warm. “oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, fingers stroking you so slowly it’s torture, “this wet already? i haven’t even done anything.” his voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a hunger that makes your thighs clench.

“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning, but you’re already melting, legs parting just enough for him to work. he chuckles, low and filthy, and shifts closer, his chest pressing against your side, his lips brushing that sensitive spot behind your ear. “you’re so full of shit,” you add, trying to keep the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast, especially when his thumb finds your clit, drawing tight, lazy circles that make your hips twitch.

“full of shit, huh?” he nips your earlobe, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you gasp. “says the woman who’s practically begging for my fingers.” he slides one inside you, slow, curling it just right, and you moan, soft and broken, your head falling back against the couch. “that’s what i thought,” he whispers, kissing down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point. “you missed me today, didn’t you? all that running around, and you’re still this needy for your husband.”

you want to argue, to say you weren’t that needy, but he adds a second finger, pumping them steadily, and your comeback dissolves into a whimper. “suguru—fuck,” you manage, hands clutching his biceps, nails digging into the firm muscle. he groans, like your touch is his undoing, and shifts you closer, pulling you half onto his lap so you’re straddling one of his thighs. the pressure of his leg against you, combined with his fingers, is too much, and your hips start moving, grinding against him, chasing the heat pooling in your belly.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick with something darker, something worshipful. his eyes stay locked on yours, half-lidded and burning. “take what you need.”

your hips grind down without shame, chasing the curl of his fingers as slick sounds fill the room—louder than the gunfire on screen, louder than your own breath. his free hand cups the back of your neck, steadying you like you’re precious. and when he kisses you, it’s slow, deep—tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s claiming the noise you make. like he owns it.

“so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the shirt. “fuck, you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.” his words hit harder than they should, sinking into your chest, making you clench around his fingers. he feels it, groans low, and speeds up, thumb pressing harder on your clit, fingers curling deeper. “c’mon, sweetheart, let go. wanna feel you make a mess on my hand before i even fuck you.”

you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it—reads it in the way your breaths turn ragged, the way your nails bite into his skin. “suguru,” you gasp, half-warning, half-plea, and he just kisses you again, softer this time, like he’s anchoring you through it. “i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—”

““there you go,” he breathes, low and steady, like he’s guiding you home. and you fall apart just like that—shuddering, clinging, crying out against his mouth as your thighs tremble around his hand. he doesn’t rush you. just keeps his fingers moving slow, deliberate, coaxing every last wave from you with the patience of a man who knows he’s got you.

when you finally sag into his chest, boneless and dazed, he eases his hand free, wet and glistening. then—eyes never leaving yours—he slips his fingers between his lips and hums, thoughtful.“mm. sweeter tonight,” he says softly, almost to himself. “must’ve missed me.”

you’re still catching your breath, head spinning, but he’s not done. he shifts you fully onto his lap, tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—hard, leaking, and so thick it makes your mouth water. “c’mere, baby,” he says, guiding you over him, hands steady on your hips. “wanna feel you ride me now.”

you sink down slow, inch by inch, the stretch making you whimper. he’s big, always has been, but the way he fills you feels like home, like nothing else could ever compare. “fuck,” he groans, head tipping back, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying not to lose it. “you take me so well, sweetheart. every damn time.”

you start moving, slow at first, savoring the way he feels, the way his hands guide your rhythm. “you’re—ngh—so annoying,” you pant, trying to keep up the banter, but it’s hard when he’s hitting every spot that makes you see stars. “can’t even watch a movie without you—fuck—doing this.”

he laughs, low and rough, thrusting up to meet you, making you gasp. “annoying? baby, you’re the one who stole my shirt and pranced around in it. you wanted this.” his hands slide up your sides, tugging the shirt higher, exposing your breasts. he leans in, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking just right, and you arch into him, moaning louder than you mean to.

“suguru—shit,” you whine, bouncing faster, the couch creaking under you. his hands are everywhere—your hips, your breasts, your face—pulling you closer, kissing you sloppy and desperate. “you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, “all mine. this pussy, this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”

the words push you over the edge again, faster than you expect, and you come with a cry, clenching around him so tight he curses, loud and filthy. “fuck, baby,” he groans, thrusting up hard, chasing his own release. “gonna—shit, gonna fill you up.” he does, spilling deep inside, his grip on your hips bruising as he rides out the aftershocks, kissing you through it, soft and messy.

you’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together on the couch. he doesn’t pull out, just holds you close, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling. “you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, thumb brushing your cheek. you nod, still dazed, and he chuckles, kissing your nose. “good.”

he doesn’t ask for more. doesn’t need to. instead, he reaches for the blanket with one arm, pulling it over the both of you as he shifts to settle you against his chest. one hand drifts into your hair, slow and soothing, thumb brushing your scalp like he’s grounding himself with you.

“movie’s still running,” he murmurs, voice casual, steady—like he didn’t just unravel you. “don’t move. you’re mine tonight.”

his fingers trace soft shapes along your spine, and when he presses a kiss to your temple, you feel him smile. not smug. not teasing. just content. like this—sweat-slicked, quiet, yours—is exactly where he belongs.

IN THE BED.ᐟ

it’s late, past midnight, the kind of quiet where the world shrinks to just you two. the bedroom’s soft and warm, lit by the faint glow of a lavender candle flickering on the nightstand, its scent mingling with the familiar musk of suguru’s skin. the sheets are a mess, half-tucked, still carrying the faint tang of last night’s sweat.

you’re sprawled on your back, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, the hem bunched at your hips from tossing and turning. suguru’s beside you, propped on one elbow, watching you with those dark, heavy eyes, hair loose and spilling over his shoulders like ink. he’s shirtless, sweatpants slung low, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your skin prickle.

“can’t sleep, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, a little rough from the late hour. his fingers brush your thigh, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make you shift, thighs pressing together. “or you just waiting for me to do something about it?”

you roll your eyes, swatting his hand, but there’s no heat in it. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mutter, turning your head to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “maybe i’m just hot. this room’s stuffy.”

“stuffy, huh?” he chuckles, shifting closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. “that why you’re blushing? or is it cause you’re thinking about me?” his hand slides up your thigh again, firmer this time, fingers splaying possessively over your skin. “don’t lie, baby. i know that look.”

you open your mouth to retort, something snarky about his ego, but he’s already leaning in, lips brushing your jaw, soft and deliberate. “you’re so cute when you’re stubborn,” he whispers, kissing along your jawline, slow, like he’s savoring every inch. “makes me wanna ruin you even more.”

“suguru,” you breathe, half-laughing, half-warning, but your hands betray you, sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle. he’s warm, solid, and the way he hums against your skin—like he’s tasting something divine—makes your head fuzzy. his kisses trail down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point, and you arch into him, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes glinting with something fierce, something tender. he tugs the t-shirt up, exposing your stomach, your breasts, and tosses it to the floor with a lazy flick. “fuck, look at you,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “you know this is my favorite part of the day, right? just you, like this, all mine.”

he kisses you everywhere—lips, collarbone, the soft curve of your belly, the inside of your thighs—like he’s worshipping you, like he’s making up for every second he wasn’t touching you today. his hands are gentle but possessive, guiding your legs apart, settling between them like he belongs there.

“i don’t think you get it,” he says, voice softer now, almost raw, as he kisses the sensitive skin just above your hip. “this—you—it’s everything i ever wanted.”

you’re trembling, heart pounding, and he notices, because of course he does. he always does. he slides up, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and it’s so earnest, so suguru, that you nod, pulling him down to kiss him. it’s slow, deep, tongues sliding together, and you taste the mint from his toothpaste, the faint bitterness of the wine from earlier. his other hand slips between your legs, fingers finding you slick, and he groans into your mouth, low and filthy. “fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”

“your fault,” you mumble against his lips, and he laughs, the sound vibrating through you.

“yeah? good,” he says, sliding one finger inside you, slow, curling it just right. you gasp, hips bucking, and he adds another, pumping them steadily, his thumb circling your clit. “look at you, taking me so well already. always so fucking perfect.”

you’re moaning now, shameless, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him thrust his fingers harder, watching your face with those dark, hungry eyes. “suguru—please,” you whine, not even sure what you’re begging for, but he knows. he always knows.

“please what, baby?” he teases, kissing your nose, your chin, your throat. “use your words. tell your husband what you want.” his fingers slow, just enough to drive you crazy, and you glare at him, half-desperate, half-annoyed.

“you’re such a dick,” you pant, but your hips keep moving, chasing his hand. “just—fuck me, okay? stop teasing.”

he grins, all teeth and mischief, but there’s something soft in it, something that makes your chest ache. “anything for my wife,” he says, and then he’s pulling his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your core clench. he shoves his sweatpants down, freeing his cock—hard, thick, already leaking—and lines himself up, teasing your entrance with the tip. “ready, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, checking in.

you nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “always,” you whisper, and he slides in slow, so slow it steals your breath, stretching you in that perfect, aching way.

“fuck,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, “you feel like heaven. every damn time.”

he starts moving, deep, steady thrusts that hit every spot, his hands framing your face, holding you like you’re something precious. “open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough with need, thumb brushing your lower lip as you moan beneath him. “let me see you when you fall apart on my cock.”

you do, blinking up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re his whole world—makes you clench around him, hard. he feels it, curses, and thrusts deeper, harder, but still so controlled, like he’s savoring every second.

“you’re mine,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, your jaw, your collarbone, each word punctuated by a thrust. “this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”

you’re sobbing his name now, nails raking his back, leaving red lines you know he’ll wear like badges tomorrow. the pleasure’s building, coiling tight, and he knows it, angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

“suguru—i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—” you gasp, and he kisses you, deep and messy, swallowing your cries.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, voice low and impossibly calm for a man buried deep in you. “give it to me.”

his thumb circles slow, firm—no rush, just precision—and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. pleasure coils, breaks, crashes, and you come with a cry that sounds more like surrender than climax, clinging to him as your muscles lock and tremble.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t falter. just keeps moving through the rhythm of your release, hips deep and steady, chasing the heat with quiet, focused groans.

when he follows, it’s with a choked breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, holding you like he’s never letting go.

he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried in you, panting against your neck. “so good for me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your cheek. “my perfect wife. fuck, you’re everything.”

you’re both sweaty, boneless, but he rolls you over so you’re draped across his chest, his cock still softening inside you. “stay here,” he mumbles, voice sleepy but firm, one hand cupping the back of your head. “wanna wake up like this, you on me, all warm and soft.”

you hum, too tired to argue, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “love you, sweetheart,” he whispers, so quiet it’s almost a secret, but you feel it, deep in your bones, the way he holds you like he’ll never let go.

ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER.ᐟ

it’s saturday afternoon, the kitchen a chaotic testament to your shared domesticity. flour dusts the counter like snow, a mixing bowl of half-whisked cookie dough sits abandoned, and the air smells of vanilla and burnt sugar from the batch you almost forgot in the oven.

your pop playlist hums through the bluetooth speaker, some upbeat tune you’re half-singing, half-mumbling, hips swaying as you stir the dough. you’re wearing suguru’s old band tee, the black fabric soft and worn, barely covering your thighs, paired with tiny shorts that ride up every time you move. your hair’s a mess, pinned up with a chopstick, and there’s a smudge of flour on your cheek you haven’t noticed.

suguru’s supposed to be grabbing milk from the fridge for the recipe, but he’s taking his sweet time, leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, predatory grin that makes your stomach flip.

“you’re gonna burn the next batch too, sweetheart,” he teases, voice smooth and teasing, crossing his arms so his biceps flex under his fitted black shirt. “focus. or you trying to set the house on fire?”

you shoot him a glare, brandishing the wooden spoon like a weapon. “you focus, suguru. where’s the milk? or you just here to stare?” you turn back to the bowl, stirring harder, but your hips keep swaying, the music too catchy to ignore. you know he’s watching, feel the weight of his gaze on your ass, and maybe you lean into it a little, just to mess with him.

“milk’s right here,” he says, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring, and when you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are dark, glinting with something that’s definitely not about baking. “but i’m more interested in this,” he adds, stepping closer, voice dropping low. “you, dancing around in my shirt, looking like that. you know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

you snort, trying to play it cool, but your cheeks heat up. “i’m just making cookies, you perv. help or get out.” you flick a bit of flour at him, and it dusts his chest, white against black. he raises an eyebrow, brushing it off, and suddenly he’s behind you, so close you feel the warmth of him before his hands find your hips, tugging you back against him.

“perv, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and tickling. his fingers dig into your hips, possessive but playful, and you feel him, hard already, pressing against your ass through his jeans. “says the woman who’s been teasing me all day, prancing around in these little shorts.” one hand slides up, under the hem of the shirt, fingers splaying over your stomach, cold from the milk carton he was holding earlier. you yelp, squirming, but he holds you firm, chuckling low.

“suguru, the oven’s on,” you protest, but it’s weak, half-laughing, because his other hand’s already slipping under your shorts, tugging them down just enough to expose you. “we’re supposed to—fuck—finish baking.”

you try to swat him again with the spoon, but he catches your wrist easily, plucks it from your hand, and lets it clatter against the counter.

“mm-mm,” he hums, sinking to his knees like it’s routine, like it’s right. “try this instead.” before you can blink, he’s tugging your shorts and panties down in one fluid motion, spreading your thighs like they belong open for him—and maybe they do. his mouth finds you without hesitation, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line that steals the air from your lungs.

“to hell with the cookies,” he mutters against your skin, warmth blooming where his lips graze your thigh. then he stands, smooth and sure, spinning you around like you weigh nothing and setting you on the counter. the cold edge bites into your thighs; flour sticks to your skin. he just smiles, gaze heavy-lidded and hungry.

“messy suits you,” he says, nudging your knees wider with his hips. “bet you’ll taste even sweeter.”

“suguru—shit,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging the dark strands loose from his bun. he groans against you, the vibration shooting through your core, and his tongue’s relentless, deep and intentional, lapping at you like he’s starving. one arm hooks around your thigh, keeping you open, pinned to the counter, while his other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in like he knows you’ll try to squirm away—or collapse.

“fuck, i’ll never get tired of this,” he mumbles, voice muffled, lips slick with you. he sucks your clit, slow and hard, then flicks his tongue, and your moans are bouncing off the cabinets, louder than the music. the counter’s cold under you, flour sticking to your sweaty skin, but all you can feel is him, his mouth, his hands, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you.

“so sweet, baby,” he says, pulling back just enough to look up at you, eyes glinting, lips glistening. “all mine.”

you’re a mess, thighs shaking, gripping his hair so tight he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him dive back in, tongue fucking you deep until you’re seeing stars. “suguru—gonna—fuck,” you pant, and he hums, encouraging, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through the shirt, making you arch.

“come on my tongue, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough, needy. “let me taste how much you want me.” you do, hard, a broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you, your body trembling against his mouth. he doesn’t stop, licking you through it, slow and greedy, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, tugging his hair to pull him away.

he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins like he’s won the lottery. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, and then he’s kissing you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you’re still catching your breath when he flips you around, bending you over the counter, hiking the shirt up to expose your back. “look at this,” he groans, hands gripping your hips, spreading you open. “this pussy’s so fucking pretty, baby. always so perfect for me.”

you hear his zipper, the rustle of his jeans, and then he’s sliding in, hard and fast, filling you so completely you gasp, hands scrabbling at the counter. flour smears under your palms, the mixing bowl tips over with a clatter, and he laughs, low and filthy, thrusting deep. “fuck, you take me so well,” he says, voice rough, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you down. “made for me, weren’t you?”

“suguru—shit,” you moan, the counter digging into your hips, his thrusts shaking the whole damn kitchen. the fridge hums, the oven beeps, ignored, and your nails scrape against the surface, leaving trails in the flour. “too—fuck—too much,” you whimper, but you’re pushing back against him, chasing the heat, and he knows it.

“too much?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, teeth grazing. “nah, baby, you can take it. you always do.” his other hand finds your clit, rubbing hard, and you’re gone, moaning so loud you’re sure the neighbors hear. “that’s it,” he growls, “come for me again. let me feel this pussy squeeze me.”

you do, harder than before, legs shaking, vision blurring as pleasure rips through you. he’s right behind you, thrusting deep, groaning your name as he spills inside, hot and thick, his grip on your hips bruising. “fuck, baby,” he pants, still moving, slower now, riding out the aftershocks. “you’re mine. always mine.”

you’re both panting, sweaty, flour everywhere—on your thighs, your hands, his shirt. you wobble when he pulls out, and he catches you, laughing softly as he lifts you back onto the counter.

“sit there, messy girl,” he says, kissing your temple, your nose, with ridiculous gentleness for someone who just fucked you senseless. “i’ll clean this up. you just look cute and stay out of trouble, yeah?”

he grabs a towel, wiping the flour off your thighs, your arms, then starts picking up the spilled dough, all while stealing kisses like he can’t help himself. “we’re never baking again,” you mutter, still breathless, and he laughs, full and warm, pulling you into his chest.

“oh, we’re baking tomorrow,” he says, smirking. “but only if i get to eat you first.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re laughing too, because this—messy, filthy, and so fucking in love—is just how you like it.

ON THE STAIRS.ᐟ

it’s well past midnight, the house wrapped in that heavy, hushed stillness that makes every creak feel louder. you’re tiptoeing down the stairs, barefoot, the wood cool under your feet, trying not to wake suguru. you’re only wearing his old black t-shirt, the one with the faded band logo, the hem barely brushing your thighs, no panties because it’s too warm and you’re just grabbing water.

the kitchen’s dark below, the fridge’s hum the only sound, but you’re barely halfway down when you feel it—his presence, like a shadow moving before you hear him. your heart skips, not from fear but from that familiar thrill, the way he always finds you, like you’re his prey and his home all at once.

“where you sneaking off to, baby?” his voice cuts through the dark, rough and low, tinged with that teasing lilt that makes your skin prickle. he’s at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair loose and messy from sleep.

the dim moonlight through the window catches the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint in his eyes, and you pause, one hand on the railing, caught.

“just thirsty,” you mutter, trying to sound casual, but your voice wavers, and the way you’re gripping the railing gives you away. you take another step, slow, like you’re not already burning under his gaze. “go back to bed, suguru. you look like you need it.”

he chuckles, soft and dangerous, stepping up to meet you, his movements lazy but deliberate, like a panther stalking. “thirsty, huh? funny, cause you’re killing me, prancing around in my shirt, no panties, ass out like you don’t know what it does to me.” he’s closer now, one step below you, close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint cedar of his skin. his hands find your hips, fingers slipping under the shirt, grazing your bare skin, and you suck in a breath, trying to hold your ground.

“you’re so dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes, but it’s weak, and the way you lean into his touch betrays you. you swat at his chest, playful, but he catches your wrist, pinning it against the wall with one hand, the other sliding up your thigh, teasing the edge of the shirt.

“suguru, it’s late,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-pleading, but your legs part just enough, and he notices, because he always does.

“late, huh?” he murmurs, stepping up so he’s level with you, his body pressing you back against the wall, the stair’s edge digging into your spine. “too late to stop now, sweetheart.” his lips brush your neck, soft at first, then he bites, not hard but enough to make you gasp, your free hand clutching his shoulder.

“fuck, you look so good like this,” he says, voice rougher now, his hand sliding higher, finding you bare and slick. “youtrying to ruin me?”

“maybe,” you manage, smirking despite the heat pooling in your belly, and you tug at his hair, just to mess with him. he groans, low and filthy, and suddenly he’s feral, all that teasing charm turning sharp, hungry. he releases your wrist, grabs your thigh, and lifts your leg, hooking it over the step above, spreading you open.

“suguru—fuck,” you gasp, but he’s already there, fingers stroking you, slow and deliberate, spreading your wetness like it’s his to play with.

“look at you,” he growls, eyes dark, glinting in the moonlight. “so fucking wet, just from this. you want your husband that bad, huh?” he slides two fingers inside you, curling them deep, and you moan, loud enough to echo in the quiet house. his other hand covers your mouth, gentle but firm, muffling you.

“shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, “neighbors don’t need to know how good i’m fucking you.”

you bite his palm, half-defiant, half-desperate, and he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him grind against you, his cock hard and straining through his sweatpants.

“brat,” he mutters, but there’s a smile in it, and he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your knees weak. “taste so fucking good,” he says, and then he’s tugging his sweatpants down, just enough to free himself, thick and leaking, pressing against you.

“suguru—here?” you whisper, but you’re already arching into him, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. the stair’s hard against your back, the railing creaking as you lean into it, but you don’t care, not when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re his whole damn world.

“right here,” he says, and he slides in raw, no prep, just pure, desperate need, filling you so completely you cry out, muffled by his hand. “shit,” he groans, biting your neck to stifle himself, “you take me so well.” his thrusts are hard, fast, shaking the stairs, the wood creaking under you, and you’re clawing at his back, trying not to collapse, your leg trembling where it’s hooked over the step.

every move is frantic, his hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your bodies louder than your muffled moans. “keep it quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, but his hand’s slipping, and you’re not quiet, not really, your whimpers spilling out as he fucks you into the drywall.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, free hand sliding down to rub your clit, fast and rough, making you sob his name behind his palm.

you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it, feels it in the way you clench around him.

“come for me,” he demands, voice low, urgent, his thumb circling your clit harder. “let me feel this pussy squeeze me, baby.”

you do, hard, a muffled cry breaking free as pleasure crashes through you, your body shaking, legs giving out. he holds you up, thrusting through your aftershocks, groaning your name as he spills deep, hot and thick, still moving like he can’t stop.

you’re both panting, sweaty, trembling, the stairs creaking like they’re about to give up. your legs are jelly, but he catches you, pulling out slow, his arms wrapping around you like you’re something precious. “can’t have my wife crawling upstairs, can i?” he teases, voice soft now, kissing your hair as he lifts you, carrying you up the last few steps like it’s nothing. he’s still hard, still inside you, and you feel him twitch, making you laugh, breathless.

“you’re insatiable,” you mutter, head lolling against his chest, and he grins, smug and warm, nuzzling your temple.

“only for you, sweetheart,” he says, setting you on the landing, but he doesn’t let go, just holds you there, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “round two in bed, yeah? gotta take care of my girl.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re smiling, because this—feral, messy, and so fucking in love—is everything you both are.

[kernelbroken]

m00d

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, fantasy au

gn reader

Thinking about hunter Gojo and the pretty little nymph that gets themselves snared in one of his traps.

You can’t get your poor leg loose, having twisted your ankle in your fall to the ground – something’s wrong with your wing too, you can feel it – the thin network’s been folded, almost broken – so even if you did manage getting loose, you wouldn’t be able to fly away.

Branches snap around you along the crunch of old leaves – and your heart’s beating out of your chest in fear of it – knowing something large and dangerous is not far behind, that whoever set the trap is not something that wishes you well.

“You’re not a rabbit.” The man says, having crept in close before you’d even heard him approach – crouching in front of you with a hunter's grace. Hawk-eyes ice-blue and piercing, hair as white as pure snow.

He’s got three daggers sleaved in his belt – a fillet knife, a gutting knife, and a larger one you imagine is meant to slice throats. He doesn’t carry a sword like most men but has a bow and sack of arrows slung on his back. Otherwise, dressed lightly – brown leather boots, brown slacks, and a blue cotton shirt. You could have mistaken him for a woodland elf if it weren’t for the thick stench of man.

“Eating creatures from the holy forest is forbidden.” You snip, despite your wide eyes and the wobble of fear evident on your lip.

He only smiles at the quip, a grin like a predator humored by prey. “You wouldn’t tell a wolf not to hunt.”

He stalks you, leaning in closer, and you try shuffling away – but the movement only makes you wince.

“I’m just another hungry animal…”

Rope gnaws into your fine skin while his breath puffs hot and dewy on your face.

“And tonight… seems lady luck has favored me once again.”

He gags you and ties you further up before redoing his snare for the next unlucky creature – then carries you over his shoulder until he’s dropping you down on a bed of furs.

Your skin flushes with goosebumps at the thought of being skinned the same way – mouthing a little prayer around the cloth he’s split your teeth and lips with. He’s cut trees down as well; you hear their pitiful screams when he lights a fire with their bodies. You mourn them, too.

At his full height, the man must be two heads taller than any male nymph you’ve ever seen and at least three heads taller than you. You hope you’re enough to satisfy him tonight, to spare the forest of further bloodshed.

You shiver and sniffle when he starts prepping you – removing your clothes and groping your tender, fleshy places with a strength you’re not used to – hands large and crass – kneading you like dough – probably to assess the quality of your meat. He has a smile on his face while at it. 

Humans make you sick – to think he’s planning on roasting then eating you despite the soul fueling your spirit and the beating heart in your chest. But you’ve long known that all death but their own matters little to them – they don’t feel the same way nymphs do – they don’t regard life with the same respect they’ve donned themselves. It must be a sad and lonely existence, you think. It even makes you feel a little sorry for him.

You yelp when his gritty fingers brush the area between your legs – shimmying when he lowers his mouth down to the same place. Oh God – does he plan on eating you raw? While your body’s still hot and pumping blood?

But the bite never comes – not yet eating but tasting it would seem – licking and slurping and sucking on you.

He takes his shirt off. Probably to avoid spilling on it, you think.

You don’t really understand what’s going on until he’s got his fat manhood pointed toward your kernel-sized hole. Eyes wide as he splits you apart slowly and unabashedly – as though it isn't as deviant as a dog mating a cat – sinking in inch after meaty inch.

You whimper at the stretch – wincing when the plush mushroom-shaped head grinds against that special place inside you. 

It doesn’t fit more than halfway, but that doesn’t seem to bother him – rolling his head back with a rusty groan, even with just the tip gaining purchase within you – pounding into you like a beast in his rut.

“What's the matter, pretty nymph? Did you think I was gonna eat you?” He laughs, bearing over you – his hands steadying your hips to meet his sharp thrust – each hit deeper than the last. “I’m the only hunter in this forest; I can eat what I want when I want – but eating you?” He scoffed and snickered. “That would just be a waste.”

The blood on his breath makes you wrinkle your nose – squeezing your eyes shut as his tongue sweeps up the tear streaks on your cheek.

“My stomach’s already full. Time to empty my balls.”

[kernelbroken]

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Buffs and Blessings Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion for the purposes of augmentation or blessing, here are some recipes I’ve created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Blessing Oil For blessing, purification, and consecration.

Lavender

Sweet Basil

Bay Leaf

Patchouli Note: Use Olive Oil for the base.

Brim With Vim Vitality Oil To restore flagging magical energy and clear post-spell haze.

Tangerine (Satsuma) Peel

Cinnamon Stick

Ginger Root

Vervain

Cauldronkeeper Wisdom Oil To enhance intuition and wisdom.

Hazel (leaves or bark)

Elder (berries or bark)

Sage (any color)

Peach Pit (in master bottle) Note: Peach pits contain a small amount of cyanide, which may be released if the pit is broken down. Exercise caution with the finished oil.

Clear the Way Obstacle Remover Oil For overcoming difficulty and attracting new opportunities.

Dried Sumac Berries

Ginger Root

Sweet Basil

Full Moon Lunar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the lunar cycle.

Willow Bark

Jasmine Flowers

Fennel

Mugwort** Note: Use With Caution.

High Noon Solar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the solar cycle.

Calendula Petals

Chamomile

Bay Leaf

Eyebright Note: Use With Caution.

Golden Fields Prosperity Oil For abundance, good fortune, and general well-being.

Sesame or Pumpkin Seeds

Wheat or Barley Kernels

Orange Peel

Honeysuckle

Get Me Through the Day Endurance Oil For a tiny extra boost on those low-energy days.

Lemon Verbena

White Oak Bark

Rosemary

Echinacea**

Hearthside Home Blessing Oil For a comfortable and harmonious home.

Sweet Basil

Vervain

Pine Needles

Willow Bark

Jack-of-all-Trades Work Enhancement Oil For augmentation of workplace abilities.

Sweet Basil

Meadowsweet**

Borage Flowers

Vanilla Bean

Magical Me Power Boost Oil For augmentation of spellcasting.

Ginger Root

Rosemary

Bergamot

Cedar Tips

Steel Backbone Fortitude Oil For bravery and endurance.

Blue Vervain

Pine Needles

Cedar Tips

Yarrow**

Truthteller Divination Oil For augmentation of divinatory practices.

Evening Primrose**

Hibiscus Flowers

Celery Seeds

Tea Leaves

Watchful Eye Viewing Oil To enhance powers of observation.

Grape Leaf

Lemon Balm

Rosemary

Celery Seed (or dried leaf from stalks) Note: Do not apply to skin around eyes. Do not apply directly to eyeballs either.

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - VeraPetruk

All recipes are © 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[short-honey-badger]

This isn't over 3

Pairings! Shanks x Female Reader , Figarland Shamrock x Female Reader

Part 1 -> HERE Part 2 -> HERE

Masterlist for Shamrock and Shanks-> HERE

The days with Shanks pass in peace. You have all the freedom in the world on his ship, and his crew welcomes you with open arms and strong drinks. You get blistering drunk for the first time in your life with them, singing raunchy sea shanties at the top of your lungs and dancing with Bonk Punch and Limejuice. Shanks watched on with a lovestruck look, his burgundy eyes soft and full of affection. It's been weeks since he had stolen you away from his twin, and he still couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Was there a tiny kernel of guilt deep in his chest for stealing you away? There absolutely was, but Shanks knew that you weren't meant to be holed up in the big house, surrounded by people who only meant to use you for your name and your station. He had saved you from that, and now you were as free as the albatross that led them to land.

But he also knew his brother and knew that Shamrock had cared for you in his own, weird, roundabout way. His twin had come to him more than once, confused and annoyed about these feelings he had for you, and Shanks had helped where he could, telling his big brother that the best way to your heart was to be kind and let her know that he was interested. Shanks hadn't meant for his brother to go and speak to their gods-forsaken father about it.

There was only one person that Shamrock listened to, and that was Saint Figarland Garling, and that man had taken his eldest son’s chance with you and ground it into the floor with his boot. So, after seeing the tentative relationship you shared with Shamrock literally blow up after his brother continued to berate and scold you, Shanks had had enough.

At first, he only meant to step in to be someone you could talk to that you could rely on when his twin became too overbearing. But then he realized just how sweet and funny you could be when you weren't ducking your head trying to be the perfect betrothed for Shamrock. Eventually, you had stolen his heart, and Shanks knew that he couldn't leave you in Mariejois to become a shell of who you are.

With a quiet sigh, Shanks shifts on the bed, rolling so that he can face you, his lips pulling into a small smile at the sight of you curled up beside him. You are beautiful even in your sleep, your brow smoothed out, and your face relaxed in rest. He leans over you, lips brushing against your brow, and you shift at the touch, a soft sound of protest leaving you. He grins when you crack your eyes open.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” He rumbles, voice rough from just waking up. You smile, eyes bleary and reach for him, arms coming up to curl around his neck and pull him down for a sweet kiss. He happily meets your lips, eyes sliding closed as he falls into you, his weight a delightful pressure that pushes you into the mattress.

He shifts, pulling his knees up so that he can balance on them, one leg sliding over your hips to bracket you between his thighs. His hand wonders, nails dragging along your exposed waist and sneaking up and under the baggy shirt you wear. You sigh into the kiss when he cups your breast, his thumb flicking across your nipple before Shanks gently pinches the bud between thumb and forefinger, rolling it between his fingertips and making you whine against his mouth.

Only for the moment to be broken by the sound of cannon fire.

The Red Force jerks as it is struck in the bow, wood exploding and splinters raining down around the crew outside. Shanks jerks up and away from you, eyes going wide as he falls to the side and out of the bed, jerking his pants on as quickly as he can and foregoing any other clothes as he books it out the door of his cabin.

Terror grips your heart when another volley strikes the ship, sending it careening dangerously to the side. You follow your lover's lead, ripping the sheets off of you and dressing as quickly as you can before running after him. Once outside, your heart gets stuck in your throat when you see just who had attacked the ship.

There, a couple of hundred feet away, is a ship that could only have come from Mariejois. A massive galleon, at least three rows of cannons on each side, and forward chain shots mounted on the front. If you squint hard enough, you can see a figure standing at the front of the bow, just behind the figurehead, with long red hair whipping in the harsh winds.

“Brace for impact!” Benn snarls and then you are grabbed around the waist and pulled against the first mate's side when the last volley sings its way toward the Red Force, smashing into the port side and blowing chunks of wood into the ocean.

Your heart pounds in fear and guilt, knowing that Shanks and his crew were being attacked because of you. Shamrock had sworn to find you, and it seems like he had made good on his promise to do so. You rip yourself from Benn and sprint towards where you can see Shanks at the helm, a look of annoyance etched deep in his face.

“You should be down below, sweetheart. It's not safe up here for you,” Shanks snaps the moment he sees you. He had hoped that you would have stayed inside his cabin. Shanks grits his teeth, his haki lashing in rage. He can't believe his brother would fire upon them like this.

“Man, the cannons! Get us turned around, Snake!” He orders, and his crew jumps to action, men climbing the rigging and stuffing cannonballs into cannons. You cling to the railing when half the sails snap shut, the Red Force turning on a dime to present the starboard side towards the ship from Mariejois. Your teeth rattle in your skull when cannons fly from the ship, sailing through the hair and striking the other vessel with dangerous precision.

The ships begin to circle one another, cannons and chain shots flying slamming into each other. However, the longer the battle rages, the more damage the Red Force begins to take. The galleon that Shamrock captains are much larger than the fast frigate that his twin has, and for every volley of cannon fire the Red Force throws their way, Shamrock sends three times as many right back.

“Shanks, Shanks, you know why he is here,” you yell over the sounds of battle. You stumble your way over to him, feet aching from stepping on splinters and broken wood. You grab him by the arm to steady yourself and get his attention.

Shanks pulls away just so that he can curl his arm around your waist and hold you closer. He knows exactly why his twin is here, but like hell would he be giving you up without a fight.

“I know it, baby. Don't you worry though. He isn't taking you anywhere,” Shanks swears, but jerks in shock when you push at his chest, your voice a desperate plea.

“Shanks, your ship is seconds away from sinking! I know that you and your crew are strong, but so is your brother. I don't want any of you to get hurt!”

He rounds on you, his eyes wide and manic, hand grabbing you by the shoulder, “What are you saying then? I should just let him have you?”

You grasp his wrist, chest aching with fear and grief for a love you'd only just gotten to know. Tears well up, and as much as you don't want to do this, it was the best way to keep Shanks and his crew safe.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying,” you cry. You want to throw yourself at him, want Shanks to hold you close, and tell you that you didn't have to do this, but you can't.

“Please, Shanks.”

The redhead stares down at this brave, brave woman who has stolen his heart and swears loudly. He knows that you are right. His ship has taken on more water than it has in decades, making it list to the side and shake ominously with every strike it takes. Shanks steps forward, hand curling into your hair and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, one that you would remember for the rest of your life.

“I promise, love. I promise that I will save you,” Shanks swears against your lips, and you whine and kiss him back, wanting with everything in your being for his promise to be true, “Nothing will ever keep me from you.”

When he pulls away, you take him by the cheeks, meeting his eyes with your own teary ones, “I love you.”

With that, you tear yourself away, fearing that if you hear him say it back, you will end up staying right by his side. You run to one of the rowboats and throw yourself into one, cutting the rope with a jagged piece of metal that slices into your palms when you grasp it. You brace yourself as you fall, the boat hitting the water hard enough that you have to catch yourself anyway.

You can hear Shanks shouting your name, but your ears are ringing too much and stuffed with terror that you can't make out anything he says. With shaky arms, you begin to row toward Shamrock, the air growing still and silent within seconds. Curious, you look up to see that the Red Force is waving the white flag and has turned around, the wind catching the mainsail and hurting the frigate further and further away from you.

You stop rowing, knowing that Shamrock would be here soon enough to scoop you out of the ocean. It is too soon that the galleon reaches you, the massive ship sliding up to your rowboat. You refuse to move from where you sit, and seconds later, a pair of tall, black boots land in front of you.

Shamrock's chest feels thick in heady victory. It had taken a bit, but he had finally caught up with his brother. He crouches down, gloved hands snapping out to cup your cheeks and pull your face up to look at him. He takes in your expression, your eyes full of terror that make arousal burn hot in his stomach. Adrenaline running high, he bends and presses his lips to yours, drinking in the gasp you make and taking his chance to push his tongue past your lips.

The kiss is harsh and sloppy, a far cry from the one that you had shared with Shanks, but you don't fight against it. You have accepted what you've done, and it is time to face the consequences of your actions.

To your surprise, the kiss changes, his lips turning into a gentle caress and his tongue curious instead of demanding. Still, you do not kiss back, but it doesn't seem to matter to Shamrock. He sighs as he pulls away, his brow resting against your own as he opens his eyes to meet your own glassy ones.

“I have been waiting weeks to do that,” Shamrock murmurs, and his hold on you turns possessive, fingers curling around your jaw as he holds you closer, pressing his face against your own, his nose sliding across yours, “And now you are here, and I can have you whenever I desire.”

@mfreedomstuff @sanjisleggy @nocturnalrorobin @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings

[fuctacles]

<< twelve | 😺 | fourteen >>

"I'm gonna grab another." Steph shakes the empty bottle in her hand. "You want one too?"

Why isn't she kicking him out?

"I'll do it," Eddie offers quickly, jumping off the couch. "I know where everything is."

She's a bit surprised by the offer, but lets him take away the bottle without protest.

The kitchen isn't exactly hidden away in the layout of the apartment, but it shields him enough to have a silent freak out. He's not sure what's the end goal here. If she knows he's into her but isn't interested in anything herself, why let him stay? Are they supposed to sit in the acknowledged attraction as friends? It just might cost Eddie the last shreds of his sanity. 

He presses the cold beers to his cheeks before uncapping them and heading back to the couch. 

"Thank you." Steph takes the offered bottle. There's a remote in her other hand. "You wanna watch something? Family Feud should be starting soon."

A tactical change of topic, but what else could there be to talk about?

"Sure," he nods. When he sits back down, it feels like they've gotten closer, but it might be his mind simply playing trick on him.

They exchange small commentary, drinking and snacking on popcorn, a relaxing evening not dissimilar to what he could have with Wayne. But then, his hand scrapes against the bottom of the bowl. After they pick a couple of edible strays from between unpopped kernels, Steph leans forward to put the empty bowl on the table. When she falls back against the couch, she's definitely closer than before. 

Eddie jumps when she pats his knee.

"Relax, I don't bite," she says, eyes glued to the screen. Only then does he realize how tense he's gotten and forces his muscles to loosen up. He sits more comfortably, their shoulders brushing when one of them raises the beer to their lips. 

That distance also seems to be shortening, until Steph is leaning against him.

"Hey," he ducks his head down to take a look at her face. "You falling asleep on me?"

"No," she protests weakly. "'m watchin'."

Her eyes are indeed stubbornly half-open. He chuckles. 

"Okay, but if you need me to go, just tell me. I'll even tuck you in," he offers.

She giggles, pressing herself firmer against his side, and it takes all of his willpower not to wrap his arm around her. It would be a step too far. 

"What's so funny?" he asks instead, gently nudging her shoulder. 

"Nothing," she says innocently. "Just, Robin gives me a good night's kiss when she tucks me in."

Eddie twists his head again to look at her face. She's biting at her bottom lip and her eyes are glued to the screen.

"Well, whatever you need for a good night's sleep," he reassures her. And, realizing some hearts might end up broken no matter what he does, he raises his arm to rest it on the couch. He doesn't dare wrap it around Steph's shoulders, but at least it's not stuck uncomfortably between their bodies. 

With the show on screen slowly coming to an end, and the beer running through his system, he could happily fall asleep where he's sitting. But the overhead lights are still on, and he knows, deep in his gut, that it was a precaution to keep their hang out friendly. Gods only know what would happen if they were covered in the intimacy of a movie night's semi-darkness. 

When the TV host says his goodbyes, Steph blinks her heavy eyelids unhappily.

"I have work tomorrow," she grumbles with disdain, like the mere thought leaves a nasty taste in her mouth. 

Eddie huffs out a laugh.

"You do." He pats her shoulder sympathetically. "But you're also the boss, and you're not gonna fire yourself for being late, are you?" He cocks his head. 

Steph hums thoughtfully, before turning her head towards him, eyes narrowed. 

'You're a bad influence, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he grins, before disentangling himself from her warmth, because they've gotten way too close, and her mouth was right there for him to do something enormously stupid. "Let's clean up and I'll tuck you to bed like I've promised."

"I have to close up behind you," she reminds him with a twist of her mouth.

He looks up at her, empty bottles in hands. 

"You really should invest in a spare key, you know?"

"Very thoughtful, thanks," she looks at him flatly, before swatting at him playfully. 

"I mean, what if something happens?" he continues, gathering everything before she can grab it herself, and ignoring her protests. "Like, there's a fire and we have to save your cats?"

"Then, by all means, you're welcome to axe my door."

"I don't own an axe!" he points out with wide eyes. 

"I'm pretty sure Wayne does."

Eddie huffs, dumping the greasy bowl from their popcorn in the sink. 

"Yeah, probably."

He insists on cleaning the bowl, swatting away Steph's hands when she tries to take it away from him. But eventually, he's drying his hands and it's time to leave. 

"Well, thank you for having me, I had a great time," he smiles, stalling. 

"Me too." Steph smiles back. "Come over any time."

"Same time tomorrow?" he picks up the offer immediately, grinning as he slowly backs up towards the door.

"Sure, why not," Stephanie shrugs, and he didn't expect her to agree so easily. But then, she crosses her arms. "You know, just so I won't go insane talking to my cats."

"Not my words!" he reminds her with his hands raised placatingly. He stumbles into his discarded shoes, and it's probably high time to stop pushing his luck anyway. With less grace than he'd like while the woman of his dreams is watching, he steps into them, and springs back up, ready to say goodbye. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Wait, wait wait!" 

He cocks his head curiously, and is a bit disappointed when Steph presses conditioner into his hands. 

"Ah, right. I totally forgot." He laughs awkwardly. But then, she's not letting go, so he looks up at her with a questioning sound. 

Her eyes are glued to his mouth.

"You want your good night kiss?" he asks without thinking.

Thankfully, neither of them might be doing it right now.

"How else am I supposed to fall asleep?" Steph counters with a slight pout, briefly raising her gaze to meet his eyes. 

This time, they lean in together. 

It's soft and hesitant like they are each a delicate, porcelain statue. Like it is a good night kiss, one of many, closing the day with tenderness and care, with no plans to start anything more. It still leaves Eddie short on oxygen, too focused on the woman in front of him to think about something as trivial as breathing. 

"Goodnight." Steph breaks away first with a soft smile.

Eddie nods stupidly, hands still clutching the bottle in his grasp. 

"Goodnight."

tags:

@wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94

@tartarusknight  @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman

@madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system @hiei-harringtonmunson

@hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @dreamercec @manliest-of-muppets @bookbinderbitch @marklee-blackmore 

@icecat @rootbeerandmusic

[lovebugism]

steve finds out reader hasn’t slow danced with a guy before… like maybe she never went to prom with a date and he makes it really sweet for her

when steve finds out you've never slow danced with anybody, he takes it as a challenge (fluff, established relationship, 0.8k)

Languishing on Steve Harrington’s couch, you rest your full weight against his shoulder like you’re trying to melt with him there. You vaguely hear him shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth while you stare unblinking at the black-and-white film playing ahead of you.

“Slow dancing is, like… really weird,” you observe in a quiet murmur, features all twisted in confusion.

“Whaddaya mean?” the boy beside you wonders through his mouthful.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a lazy shrug. “It’s just, like… swaying in place… really awkwardly.”

“It doesn’t have to be awkward.”

You wave your hand at the television across the room, where a couple of Old Hollywood actors dance like both of them’s caught the plague. “Look at that and tell me that’s not awkward!” you argue and turn your chin to look at him. 

Your faces are much closer than you thought. The tip of your nose threatens to brush the chiseled bridge of his. The proximity leaves you wishing it had.

Steve scoffs with a boyish scrunch to his features. “Well, those two have, like, zero chemistry! You gotta slow dance with someone you like, you know? Like, really like,” he explains, gesturing wildly with his hand and jostling you slightly in the process. “Then you got yourself a good time, alright? You’re pressed all close, holding each other’s hands, dancing through the sexual tension—”

“It’s weird,” you insist with a scrunched nose.

“It’s nice!”

“Let’s just agree to disagree,” you shrug.

Steve shakes his wild head and shoves another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Yeah, I can’t do that,” he says, muffled through the food in his cheek.

You snort a quiet laugh in return.

“So you’re saying you’ve never slow danced with someone before?” he wonders with his mouthful, then swallows. “Like, ever?”

Your face scrunches like it’s obvious. “No.”

“Not even at prom?”

“I didn’t have a date at prom!”

“I didn’t either!” he tells you, which you think is only half a lie. Nancy had just broken up with him then — whether he was too heartbroken or too lazy to find another date is still up in the air, really.

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “The entire female class of 1985 was your prom date.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he insists, laughing quietly to himself. “You’re missin’ out here, babe.”

You scoff and reach for the bowl in his lap, stealing a handful of room-temperature popcorn for yourself. “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

—————

The sound of vintage violins swells distantly in the otherwise quiet house as the film credits roll. Lit only by the amber stove light, you dump uneaten and unpopped kernels into the trashcan in the kitchen. A record crackles in the room over. A song floats gently on the midnight air.

Everybody loves somebody sometime…

Everybody falls in love somehow…

Your brows furrow when Steve appears in the doorway, rocking his hips back and forth and snapping his fingers to the languid beat. He sings the words quietly to himself, hardly trying but still sounding sort of decent anyway. “Something in your kiss just told me... My sometime… Is now…”

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, biting back a chuckle.

“Dancing,” the boy answers.

Your brows furrow as he approaches you — hips still swaying, fingers still snapping. “…By yourself?” you question slowly.

He cages his plush bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head. With wide, warm palms, he smooths his hands over your sides. “Mm-mm,” he hums and squeezes your hips. “With you.”

His touch urges you to sway alongside him, but you tense almost immediately — a virtually immovable force. “No, Steve!” you scold through giggles, shoving him away with a halfhearted hand. “Steve, don’t!”

“C’mon!” he shouts over your protests as his chuckles entwine with your own. “Just dance with me! It’s not gonna kill ya!”

You make a faint grumbly noise of disapproval but don’t fight about it any further. With your face still scrunched in a childlike pout, you let him take one of your hands into his larger one and rest your other against his chest. With a palpable hesitance, you follow his subtle side-to-side movements.

Something in my heart keeps saying…

My someplace is here…

“This is so cheesy,” you giggle to yourself.

“But it’s nice, right?” Steve presses with raised brows. 

Rogue chestnut hairs fall over his forehead, and you fight the urge to push them back. Your nose scrunches in a silent answer, and he laughs. You can feel the golden sound rumble in his chest. 

“You don’t have to say anything… I know you like it.”

You roll your eyes at his smug grin. “Only ‘cause you’re such a good dance partner,” you tease with a knowing squint in your eyes.

His gaze swims with honey as his rosy lips quirk in a lopsided smile. “Don’t make me blush,” he jokes in a quiet murmur, already leaning down to kiss you. 

Steve swallows your laughter with a pink, petaled mouth pressed against your lips — tasting faintly of popcorn, cheap beer, and adoration.

The song crackles quietly through it all.

—And although my dream was overdue…

Your love made it well worth waiting…

For someone like you…

[pretzel-box]

Sebastian saving the reader from the Puddles of Void-Mass during a solo run male reader please🙏

Suffocated

Words: 1,2k

Status: Proof-read

Tags: Mention of pain (near death experience), male reader faintly crushing on sebastian at the end

It was probably your fifth run at this point, rushing through door after door while carrying the heavy diving gear on your back, which significantly slowed you down. The weight of the gear felt almost unbearable, each step a reminder of the immense pressure bearing down on you from the depths of the ocean you were stuck in. This time, they sent you down on your own, making the job infinitely more difficult since it was just you and your senses inside the creepy underwater facility, a place that had been on an almost everlasting lockdown for reasons you were too afraid to fully explore.

The silence down here was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional creak of the facility's aging structure. The corridors seemed to stretch on forever, each one more labyrinthine and foreboding than the last. And you could swear, if an angler didn't get you somewhere in between, then a wall dweller might just tackle you from behind, leading to a painful death. You'd heard stories about them from secret intel, but it was hard to believe at first. Yet, in the eerie quiet of the underwater base, even the wildest stories and rumors seemed to hold a kernel of truth.

It was around floor 48 when the lights in the minimalist office hallway started to flicker for a moment. It was the signal you dreaded, the one that meant you needed to find the nearest locker and hide without risking another stressful panic attack in the dark. Your heartbeat quickened, a frantic drum in your chest, and you could already feel the familiar cold sweat on your palms as you scanned the hallway for a hiding spot.

Then, from somewhere close, too close, you could already hear the ear-piercing scream from the other room. It was a sound unlike any other, unnatural and filled with a kind of agony that made your blood run cold. It sent a shiver straight down your spine, freezing you in place for a split second, before survival instincts kicked in. You hurriedly squeezed your large body into a nearby locker, the cold metal walls pressing in on you as you pulled the door shut with trembling hands.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to steady yourself, only to notice, too late, that something was already inside. Black tentacles, slick and cold, had wrapped themselves around your limbs and torso. They pinned you painfully against themself and the steel interior, the tight space making it impossible to struggle or even scream. The tentacles were strong, far stronger than you, and they pulled you deeper into the locker, squeezing your chest until it was hard to breathe.

The realization hit you like a punch to the guts. This wasn't just some malfunctioning piece of equipment. The locker wasn't safe. The puddle of void mass inside had been waiting for you, and now it had you exactly where it wanted. The scream from the other room echoed in your ears, but now it was distant. The real terror was here, in the dark, cramped confines of the locker, with those cold, unyielding tendrils slowly crushing the life out of you.

You thrashed against the tentacles, but each movement only seemed to make them tighten their grip. Pain shot through your body as they dug into your skin, and the locker seemed to grow even smaller, the walls closing in as your vision began to blur. Panic clawed at your mind, the darkness pressing in from all sides, but there was no escape, no hope of breaking free.

Your last thought, as the world around you faded to black, was that you should never have come down here alone.

Then, through the suffocating grip of the tentacles and the haze of near-unconsciousness, you heard the faint sound of locker doors being smashed open. The noise echoed in the small, confined space, jarring you back to a sharp awareness of your surroundings. Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, two large, claw-like hands grabbed you forcefully by the shoulders. The tentacles loosened their grip just enough for you to be yanked free from their constricting hold.

You were pulled into a weirdly cold yet oddly comfortable chest, the frigid surface somehow soothing the aching, bruised skin beneath your diving suit. Your lungs, starved for air, filled themselves again with precious oxygen, the sudden rush of it making your head spin.

As your vision cleared and your heart slowed its frantic pace, you found yourself standing face to face with your rescuer: the sly sea-serpent merchant himself. His eyes, slitted and glowing with the familiar fluorescent eerie light, bore into yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. His scales, dark and shimmering like the depths of the ocean, reflected the dim light of the hallway, casting strange patterns on the walls around you.

He was massive, his presence filling the space with an overwhelming sense of power and control. The coldness of his chest, where you were still pressed against, seeped into your bones, yet it was not an uncomfortable cold.

"You're lucky I found you in time, my friend" he murmured, his voice a low, resonant hiss that reverberated through your entire being. His breath, cool and tinged with the scent of brine, brushed against your face as he leaned closer, his sharp, serpent-like features coming into clearer view. "That thing would've crushed you like a clam if I'd been just a moment later."

You managed a shaky nod, still too stunned to speak. The shock of being pulled from the brink of death left you weak and disoriented, but the merchants presence, as fearsome as it was, also brought a strange sense of relief. You were alive, and for now, safe though you couldn't shake the feeling that safety was a relative term when it came to Sebastian standing before you.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your expression. There was a knowing gleam in his gaze, as if he could read every thought running through your mind. "Don't look so surprised," he said with a sly grin, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth. "You didn't think you'd make it through this place on your own, did you? Not without a little... assistance."

His words, laced with a mix of amusement and something darker, sent another shiver down your spine. You knew of him, of course it was clear that he would demand a fitting payment.

And now, standing in his grasp, you couldn't help but wonder: What price would you have to pay for your life?

Your Adam's apple bobbed as you swallowed hard, the motion a clear sign of your anxiety. Yet, despite the fear that still gripped you, a strange sense of calm began to settle in your chest. Sebastians cold, calculating eyes watched your every move, but something deep within you, said, against all logic, you would be safe with him, payment or not.

It was an inexplicable feeling, this sudden trust. His presence didn't carry the malice you feared from the usual monsters in this place. Instead, there was a peculiar sense of assurance, as if the danger you felt moments before had been snuffed out simply by his arrival. The way his hands, though clawed and fearsome, held you now with a surprising gentleness only reinforced that instinct.

You relaxed slightly, your tense muscles beginning to loosen as you drew in a slow, steadying breath. Maybe it was the way he had saved you, with such effortless strength, or the quiet confidence in his demeanor that made you believe against all reason that you were in good hands.

[mlembug]

Firefox started crashing very frequently on my laptop from 2016 and finally discovered why: RAM is broken

too bad, this is one of those "portable" laptops and has the RAM soldered in so I can't replace it

thankfully Linux comes in to the rescue - using memtest86+ I got info on which memory areas are broken and used this information to tell Linux to not use that memory (the "badram" kernel parameter).

I also added the "memtest" kernel parameter so when the computer is turned on it will do a test on its own and mark the RAM areas which are broken and avoid using these. This is to detect potential increase of damaged areas.

Hopefully this will prolong the lifetime of this laptop by at least a year or so.

[utterlyotterlyx]

My Tears Are Becoming a Sea

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Azriel wished that you’d wake up in time for Starfall, that you’d be home to see the souls cross the sky. The war against Hybern had wrecked you, and he couldn’t bear to be away from you for another moment.

Warnings - angst, sad boy Azriel, mentions of death and blood, some self loathing, but a beautiful happy ending for our Shadowsinger 🤍

They'd won.

But none of it meant anything if you weren't there with them.

Hybern had been defeated, they had won the impossible battle thanks to you, thanks to your skill, your power, and that shattering determination to find the upper hand your family so desperately needed.

You had disappeared without a word just after the High Lords meeting, after realising that the forces you needed lay beyond the capabilities of armies and blind hope. Azriel knew better than to stop you, he traced the line of your jaw as he kissed you for what could have been the last time. He savoured the taste of your lips, your scent, that smile that had the power to command the attention of anyone or anything.

There were no words that any of them could say the moment they saw you on the battlefield, you stood above them clad in your leathers wearing a sadistic grin as Bryaxis and the Weaver stalked from behind you whilst they all waited to meet their fate.

Azriel puffed his chest out with pride, glancing to Cassian with a smirk. That's my girl.

You were a formidable force, bending the elements around you like it was your mother tongue, sending spears of fire and ice through the chests of whoever opposed you, allowing the ground to swallow whole groups of soldiers as you passed by. Your sword was an extension of your soul, a cunningly beautiful thing, curved and sharp, and coated in the blood of your enemies which had also splashed across your cheeks.

His shadows were in awe of you, a horribly fierce awe as they watched you cut down man after man, paying little mind to anything else other than making sure that Feyre and Amren reached the cauldron.

That wretched thing.

The cauldron had broken. Feyre needed to put it back together. Feyre needed the power to put it back together.

Azriel watched as you tackled Rhys to the ground, as you threw up a shield around yourself and Feyre so that she had no choice but to use you. To take everything you had to stop the world from crumbling into dust.

Feyre had wept and screamed as she held you in her arms, her fingers pushing the hair from your face as she rocked back and forth, begging your soul to return to your body. Azriel fell to your side and pulled you from Feyre's gasp, his shadows flittered anxiously over your face and body whilst their master pressed his lips to your eyes, pleading the High Lords around him to do what they did for Feyre, to bring you back to him.

Each High Lord offered a kernel of their power, even Feyre had thrown in her own in hope it would made a difference.

Rhys had held him tightly as your soul returned to your body, his sobs wracked his chest when your own began to rise and fall in a healthy rhythm. You didn't wake though.

After days of Madja fussing over you, she had exhausted all of her options. You were warm, your heartbeat was strong and your lungs were functioning as they should be, there was no reason why you shouldn't have been awake and telling Azriel how much you loved him.

He had refused to leave you, his shadows less willing to do so, they loved you so dearly to the point you often found a couple of rogue shadows perching on your own shoulder instead of your mates. Deep circles clung to his hazel eyes that were dark and dreary, he hadn't eaten, he just sat beside your cot and held your hand, noting how peaceful you looked in your eternal slumber.

Much to his rage, it had been decided that Helion would transport you to the Day Court with the promise that his army of healers and researchers would find a way to bring you back. Rhys had agreed, willing to try anything to bring you back to your family, and had to order Azriel to stay away from you whilst Helion gave it his best shot. They couldn't have a grief stricken Illyrian forbidding anyone to touch you.

Velaris felt empty without you. The bakeries were far too full and the children too quiet. The Sidra begged for your fingers to run through her ripples, to caress her with that power that complimented her own so perfectly.

The world just felt darker without you annoying them, prodding Cassian with stupid jokes or dragging Mor dress shopping, even Amren was missing your feet propped on her lap whilst she tried to research, and Nesta yearned for your intelligent observations on the plot holes and desires for the books you shared.

Feyre had become a shell, busying herself with preparations for Starfall so that she would forget how guilty she felt for a moment.

Starfall was your favourite thing in the world, nothing bar Azriel could bring so much joy to you. The music, beautiful outfits and food were just minor aspects in comparison to the main event, when those stars would hurtle across the sky and illuminate it with that hot white glow.

Azriel had always found himself stood behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist and chin resting atop your head as you both watched in awe. It never ceased to amaze either of you.

This year was different. No amount of flowers or pastries could distract anyone from the fact that you weren't there. He should have stopped you, gotten to you quicker before you could attack Rhys and take his place; you should have just let Rhys give his power, he would have recovered quicker, everything would have been fine.

Mor had tried to get Azriel to dance, but he didn't want to dance with anyone who wasn't you. All he wanted to do was go back to your shared room and wrap himself in your scent so he could dream of you, the only place you were alive and chatting idly about some random fact you'd found in a book that sent your mind spiralling into balanced wonder.

"She wouldn't want you to stand on the side lines, Az," Cassian clapped his shoulder, trying to coax his brother to partake in something this Starfall, for you.

Gasps echoed about the room, a sign that the main event had begun. Usually, you'd be jumping up and down in your spot with excitement, clutching to his fingers as you dragged him from the room and out to the private balcony you had both made yours.

Males and females floated out of the arched doorways, but Azriel stayed behind, not being able to think of witnessing a single Starfall without you.

Burying his hands deep into the pockets of his black pants, Azriel moved in the opposite direction to the enthralled crowd, not being able to stomach even pretending to be happy. With no particular place in mind, Azriel walked, down winding hallways and up a set of steps, along the arched walls until he fell into place in front of a set of familiar doors.

Doors that you had practically torn the handles from one year from the sheer uncontrollable excitement to get outside before either of you missed it.

Azriel sighed, wiping the corners of his eyes, he sniffled softly as he took the handle in his scarred fingers, feeling electricity pouring through it, so intense that he had to pull away with a frown. He stood there for a moment, unsure and bewildered by the sensation.

Then he felt it.

He felt the familiar scent flood where he stood, the shadows reacted quickly, darting to the handle and dancing over the door, fighting for it to be opened.

It couldn't be. Helion would have told them if you had awoken.

It couldn't be.

Azriel flung the doors open and his shadows surged forward, there you stood, your back to him, dressed in Day Court gold with a solid gold halo encasing a full braided bun. The shadows reached you first and you giggled as they kissed every inch of your face, and gods, did that sound have him melting into a blubbering mess.

You turned to him, your mate, and opened your arms to him, ones that he gladly stepped in to. Azriel wrapped his arms around your waist, he ran his fingers over your skin, he left lingering kisses in the nape of your neck and along your shoulder.

"You're home," he strained, sobs of pure happiness tugging at his throat as he pulled away from you, looking down into those eyes he adored too much.

You moved a piece of his hair away from those pools of brown and green, closing the gap between you as the sky came to life, allowing your love to explode around you whilst the world above and below held a calm breath.

"I couldn't full well miss my favourite night of the year, could I?"

Azriel pressed his forehead to yours, stared into your eyes and drank in every single part of you, his fingers not once moving from your body, "You came back to me."

"I'll always come back to you, Az. Always."

Authors Note

I needed something fluffy after my gut wrenching Eris post before.

I'm halfway healed.

[andacherrycoke]

Digging through my drafts and found a lil chunk of a bucktommy bodyguard au. No idea where particularly this was going lmao this was definitely one of those times where I just wrote some shit aimlessly 😂

Two weeks into being Evan Buckley’s bodyguard, Tommy had thought, this ends with my heart broken.

It had been on the heels of what could best be described as the most tender, most ill-advised kiss of his life. And even though he’d had that thought, it hadn’t stopped him from leaning back in for another.

A little over six months later, he wishes his prediction had had time to come true.

The gunshots are so ceaseless they’re just a steady roar in his ears. Closer, he can hear the sound of the bullets impacting with the bar he’s crouched behind. Some skew higher, shattering expensive liquors to rain stinging glass shards down on him.

He gets his mag switched out for a fresh one, and takes stock of the situation. He’d hit several of the goon squad sent after Evan, but it was hard to say for sure how many had been shots that kept them down. He chances a peek around the corner, and fires off a quick shot at the first guy he sees. The guy goes down without much noise, a kill shot he thinks, but he has to duck back behind the bar to avoid a fresh volley of shots in his direction before he’s sure.

There’s a dozen guys out there, minimum. He doesn’t have a chance in hell of taking them all out, but that was never his plan.

He just hopes Evan didn’t see through him, or Eddie’s going to have a hell of a fight on his hands getting him to safety.

He just has to keep these guys busy long enough to give them a headstart.

He can’t stay behind the bar much longer. The men have been steadily creeping closer, and cover can easily become a cage if you’re not keeping on your toes.

So he steels himself, and then re-enters the fray.

Tommy’s always felt a fucked up sense of peace in the middle of a fight. The moment the adrenaline kicks in his brain turns off, and he knows nothing but the instinctual ebb and flow, the give and take of sweat and blood.

He lines up shots and takes them as he ducks and moves from cover to cover. Men fall, and men take their places.

They’re getting in their licks as well. He’s covered in scrapes and cuts, not to mention the bullet lodged in his thigh. His adrenaline is pumping so much he barely feels it, even as he knows that every movement is causing more damage. It doesn’t really matter when he knows he’s only leaving this bar in a body bag.

Except, there’s a tiny, annoying kernel of hope.

[kernelbroken]