#very dressed down version of both of them in this

[vaxmore]

With J'mon and Shaun in the same room in the show it's making me feel nostalgic for the classic, if rare, J'mon/Gilmore <3

[abbotjack]

Um i have a request that can go either dr jack or dr robby, its up to you and the people🙌

Him figuring out you're pregnant before you even notice? Like he's so in tune with your body that when he's in you or when he feels you up he notices the subtlest change 👀 and when you wonder why your period is late its the final 1% for him 🤭 now he's 100% sure before you even suspect it

Absolutely, here’s the Jack Abbot version—grounded, intimate, and very Jack-coded.

content/warning : pregnancy symptoms, emotional overwhelm, soft marriage vibes, denial, reader in her "i’m fine" era, jack in his "no you're not" era, smut (married, emotionally grounded), pregnancy, food/scent aversion, mild mention of nausea

words : 3,144

You’ve been married to Jack Abbot for thirteen months and a week—but the two of you have been together for four years.

And somehow, you’re still learning him.

Still adjusting to the way he folds his t-shirts into perfect thirds. Still moving his boots away from the front door, even though he always leaves them there. Still catching the way he’ll wait until the lights are off, the blankets pulled up, and then remember one more thing he has to tell you.

You know his rhythms. His moods. The way he kisses you a little differently when he’s worried but won’t say it out loud.

What you sometimes forget is that Jack’s job never really ends—he never really clocks out.

He’s an ER doctor. Which means he’s always watching. Always reading. Always two steps ahead of a problem you haven’t realized is there.

MONDAY – The Morning Slips

The light’s already different when you open your eyes.

Softer. Higher.

You blink at the ceiling, then at the clock.

7:08.

Your breath catches. “Jack?”

You sit up in a rush—sweats and a worn old shirt clinging from sleep—and nearly trip getting out of bed. He’s not next to you. Your alarm isn’t ringing. Your phone is somehow still on Do Not Disturb.

“Jack?”

“Kitchen,” he calls back, voice calm.

You shuffle into the hallway, hair barely brushed, already calculating how fast you can get dressed and be out the door. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Jack looks up from the coffee pot. He’s already dressed—scrubs on, ID clipped, stethoscope tucked in his jacket pocket.

“You didn’t even flinch when your alarm went off. I turned it off after the third round.”

You stare at him. “You let me oversleep?”

“You never sleep through your alarm,” he says, stepping toward you with a travel mug in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. “So I figured something was up.”

You groan. “I’ve got Q1 projections due today.”

“I emailed Rhonda. Told her you were running late.”

You blink. “You emailed my boss?”

“She sent back a thumbs up emoji.’”

Your laugh comes out surprised. “She would do that.”

“I made your coffee. It’s in the mug with the chip you like.” He hands it to you. “No cream. You’ve been skipping it lately.”

You frown. “Have I?”

Jack just nods. “You said it tasted too sweet last week.”

You take a sip. Still feels off—but you smile at him anyway.

“Thanks.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Go shower. I laid out your dark gray sweater—the one you like for presentation days. Pants are on the chair.”

You freeze. “You picked out my clothes?”

“Only because I figured you’d be half-asleep and half-angry. I’m avoiding both.”

“You’re a menace,” you say, but it’s soft.

“You married me anyway.”

He brushes your hair back, fingers lingering a second too long at your temple.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Me? I’m great.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

He shrugs. “I think I’m just impressed.”

“With what?”

“How well I know you.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re smug before 8 a.m.”

“I’ve earned it,” he says, nudging you toward the bedroom. “Go get ready. Your spreadsheet empire awaits.”

Thirty minutes later, as you’re rushing out the door with your laptop bag and still-wet hair, you find a granola bar tucked into your coat pocket.

The one you always forget you like until you’re starving at 10 a.m.

You don’t remember saying anything about needing one.

But Jack knows.

Of course he knows.

TUESDAY – Heels and Sore Feet

When you come through the door, Jack’s already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, dish towel slung over his shoulder like he’s been home a little while—but not long enough to fully settle.

You kick off your work shoes in the entryway, wincing slightly as you press your toes into the hardwood. “Remind me again why I thought real leather heels were a good investment.”

Jack leans back from the sink and tilts his head toward you. “Because they were on clearance and you were feeling powerful.”

“Right.” You flex your feet. “Power comes at a cost.”

“Come here.”

You shuffle toward him, dropping your tote bag by the counter. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just takes your hand and guides you to sit at one of the stools. Then he crouches, gently lifting your foot into his lap.

“Jack,” you laugh, “you do not need to—”

He starts massaging your arch with his thumb, firm and slow. “You’ve been on these all day. Let me.”

You lean back with a sigh. “This is how you trap me. You pretend to do the dishes, then you pamper me into silence.”

He smiles but doesn’t look up. “Worked yesterday.”

You wiggle your toes and close your eyes. “Feels so good it’s kind of criminal.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

He glances up just once—and clocks the light puffiness in your ankles.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just moves to your other foot.

After dinner—simple roasted veggies and couscous, eaten off the same two mismatched plates you’ve had since your first apartment—he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your waist while you’re rinsing your glass.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says into your shoulder.

“Just thinking about that ridiculous Excel model I have to finish.”

He kisses your hair. “Take tomorrow slow if you can.”

You nod, but your hand rests gently over his where it sits across your middle.

You don’t notice it.

Jack does.

He says nothing.

WEDNESDAY – The Bloat Debate

You’re standing in front of the hallway mirror, poking at your stomach with the kind of exaggerated annoyance only someone married can safely get away with.

Jack walks by on his way to the bedroom, dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, pausing when he sees your face in the reflection.

“You good?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You sigh dramatically. “I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

Jack walks up behind you, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “A small one, maybe. Like a decorative beach ball.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Jack.”

He holds up both hands. “Hey. You brought it up.”

“I said I feel bloated. I didn’t ask for live commentary.”

He smiles and wraps his arms loosely around your waist, hands resting over the area you were just inspecting. “You’re the one poking yourself like a Pillsbury commercial.”

You snort. “I’m serious. None of my pants fit right this week. I sat down today and my waistband tried to fight me.”

“You’ve been eating the same stuff. Drinking water?”

“Barely. Work’s been insane.”

He kisses your temple. “Could be stress. Could be timing. Or maybe your body’s still sorting through Monday night’s gourmet masterpiece.”

You squint at him. “What masterpiece?”

“The one where you ate dill pickles, white cheddar popcorn, and two spoonfuls of peanut butter. In that order.”

You pause. “…It hit the spot.”

Jack grins. “Sure it did. My stomach was scared just watching.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I was afraid to interfere.”

You smirk. “You should be.”

He grins. “Noted.”

You shake your head, laughing, then rest your hands over his. “You sure it doesn’t look like anything?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

Because it does.

Not in a dramatic way. But he knows your shape. Your weight. The way your body settles against his at night. And lately, something’s… shifted.

Still, he kisses your shoulder and says simply, “You’re still the best thing I’ve ever looked at.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back into him. “Suck-up.”

He hugs you tighter. “Only for you.”

THURSDAY – The Blanket Negotiation

You’re on the couch by the time Jack gets home—already in pajamas, legs tucked under you, remote in hand, a bag of sour candy opened beside a half-finished cup of tea.

He walks in, shrugs out of his coat, and takes in the scene like a man walking into a painting he’s seen every day for four years and still isn’t over.

“You started without me,” he says.

“You’re twenty minutes late. Statute of limitations has passed.”

Jack walks over, leans down to kiss you, and pauses.

He looks at the bag of sour candy. Then the tea. Then back at you.

“That combo feels… bold.”

You shrug. “It’s balance. My body wanted chaos and comfort.”

He slides onto the couch beside you. “Didn’t you say your grilled cheese was ‘too much’ at lunch?

You sigh. “It was aggressive. The cheese had opinions.”

Jack laughs softly. “And now you're chasing it with citrus acid and sleepytime tea.”

You offer him a sour gummy. “Don’t question the system. Just participate.”

He takes one. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jack tries to nudge the blanket to him. You hold your edge tighter. “I got cold first.”

“I just walked in from outside.”

“You’ve got more body heat.”

He squints. “You’re hoarding it.”

“You’re late and you didn’t text. I get blanket privileges and first pick on snacks.”

He laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

You smirk and finally shift, letting him under the blanket.

Once settled, he rests his hand on your leg—his thumb absently drawing circles near your knee while your attention returns to the screen.

You’re focused on the show.

Jack’s focused on you.

The blanket drapes across your midsection, and he notices the slight pressure you’ve been keeping there all week—how your hand keeps resting just under your ribs like your body’s trying to say something your brain hasn’t caught yet.

He doesn’t bring it up.

Instead, he leans a little closer.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble. “Just tired. I’ve been tired all week.”

He nods. “You’ve been going hard.”

“I haven’t touched laundry all week. I’m down to mismatched socks and silent prayers.”

Jack smiles softly. “Want me to run a load?”

“You did the last one.”

“I’m on a streak.”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “I married well.”

“You did.”

FRIDAY – The Way You Feel Tonight

It starts when you straddle his hips.

Jack’s back is against the headboard, pillows kicked aside, and you’re already skin-on-skin—his t-shirt discarded on the floor, yours halfway up your ribs. You’re in nothing but underwear, palms on his chest, nails dragging lightly across the sparse hair there.

He watches you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory.

“You sure you’re not too sore from the gym yesterday?” you tease, rolling your hips just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Positive,” he says. “Although if I die right now, I want it on record this was worth it.”

You grin. “Noted.”

His hands slide up your thighs slowly, thumbs pressing into the backs like he’s reading your muscles through the skin. Then his touch goes gentle. Palming. Bracing.

But when they move up to your waist, they stop.

His fingers settle across your lower belly, just under your navel. Familiar territory. But it doesn’t feel quite the same.

The curve is a little firmer. Rounder. Not bloated—different.

You keep moving over him, unaware. His eyes never leave your face.

“You okay?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Jack refocuses. “Yeah. Just... distracted.”

“You can stare later,” you say, lifting your hips to tug your underwear down. “Hands now. Mouth soon.”

“God, I love you,” he mutters.

“Then prove it.”

He flips you onto your back, mouth already at your collarbone, breath warm, kisses slow. He trails one hand between your legs and groans when he finds you wet and ready, slicker than usual.

You pull him down with a hand behind his neck. “Come on.”

But he’s still slow.

Like he’s measuring.

Like he’s trying to feel every millimeter of you, confirm what he already suspects.

You’re tighter. Not tense. Just changed.

You gasp as he eases inside. “Jesus—”

It’s good. So good. His hips rock into you slow, steady, deep. One of your legs hooks over his back, heel pressed to his side, chasing friction.

Every time he hits just right, your hand fists in the sheets. Your moans are breathless, open-mouthed, involuntary.

Jack watches your face like it holds answers. His pace stays smooth, even as you start to beg.

“Jack,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “Harder.”

He gives you what you want. A little more pressure. A little less space between his body and yours.

You feel full. Stretched. But not uncomfortable.

You feel held.

And when you come—hard, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulder—he follows seconds after, groaning your name into your skin like he’s never said anything truer.

He brushes your hair back, fingertips trailing your temple.

“You’ve been looking at me weird all night,” you murmur.

Jack smiles. “No, I haven’t.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You were studying me.”

“I was watching you.”

“Same thing.”

He doesn’t respond.

He just presses his hand to your stomach again—light, thoughtful, like he’s grounding himself more than anything.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

Jack just smiles.

“I’m already in deep,” he says quietly.

You kiss him once, quick. “Weirdo.”

SATURDAY – The Vendor You Walked Away From

It’s just after noon when you stop by the market. Something normal. Familiar. Something you and Jack do when there’s nowhere else you need to be.

You loop through the vendors casually, fingers brushing the edge of a produce crate, checking for ripeness. Jack keeps pace beside you, a canvas tote slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. He’s just watching the way you move.

You’ve always been precise. Sharp, even in small motions.

But today, there’s hesitation.

You reach for a bunch of mint, fingers brushing the stems—then pause.

Jack notices before you say anything.

You pull your hand back, subtle, and move on to the next table without a word.

At the bakery stall, you order for both of you. Jack takes a bite of the rosemary bread. You don’t touch yours.

He watches you stare at it for a few seconds too long.

“I’ll eat it later,” you say finally, tucking the paper bag into the tote. “Not in the mood right now.”

He doesn’t press. Just nods, and walks with you.

Fifteen minutes later, you pass a vendor handing out samples of honey and cheese—something you’d normally stop for. Your eyes flick over the setup, then move away quickly. Not forced. But intentional.

You keep walking.

Jack stays silent until you’re halfway to the car.

“Did that smell bother you?”

You glance at him. “What?”

“The cheese. You looked at it like it turned your stomach.”

You shake your head. “No. I just didn’t want it.”

He nods once. Doesn’t push.

You unlock the car. He loads the bag in the backseat. You slide into the passenger side and adjust the seatbelt low.

He notices that too.

On the way home, the radio’s low. You’re watching traffic, thumb tapping absently against the console.

Jack glances at your profile once. Then again.

“You’ve been different this week,” he says.

You don’t look at him. “So have you.”

There’s no bite in it. Just quiet truth.

He exhales through his nose. “That’s fair.”

You turn your head finally. “Is there something you’re not saying?”

Jack watches the road. His hands stay steady on the wheel.

“No,” he says after a pause. “You’ll say it first.”

SUNDAY – Three Weeks Late

It’s just after 11. The laundry’s done. The dishwasher’s running. You’ve wiped down the counters twice.

You’re standing at the fridge, pinning up a receipt, when your eyes catch the calendar.

Your stomach dips.

You count the days with your finger—slowly, carefully, like you don’t quite trust yourself.

One. Two. Three—

Three weeks late.

Not five days. Not “I think I skipped one.” Three.

You turn your head toward the living room. Jack’s on the couch, half-sunken into the cushions, phone in hand, scrolling through the news without really reading it. His coffee sits untouched on the table. One leg stretched out, the other—his prosthetic—resting beside him like it always is when he’s home and grounded, the kind of settled comfort only the two of you know by feel.

You don’t mean to say it yet.

But it’s out before you can take it back.

“Jack?”

He looks up instantly. “Yeah?”

You stay by the fridge, fingertips grazing the door like it’s anchoring you.

“I’m... three weeks late.”

There’s a long pause.

Jack doesn’t move right away. Just watches you—quiet, focused, already reading every inch of your face.

Then, calmly, he leans forward.

His movements are familiar: practiced, unfussy. He shifts to the edge of the couch, pulls the prosthetic toward him, and straps it on like he’s done a thousand times—smooth, sure, muscle memory in every motion.

You don’t speak. Just watch him move through it with the same quiet purpose he’s carried through every hard season of your life together.

When he stands, it’s quiet—just the familiar click of the prosthetic locking in and the muted slide of his socked foot across the hardwood.

He crosses to you without hurry.

When he stops in front of you, his voice is low. Certain.

“Do you want to take a test?”

You nod.

“I don’t have one.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”

You blink.

“Top drawer,” he says simply. “I bought one Monday.”

You stare at him. “You—what?”

Jack shrugs. “I figured you’d see it when you were ready.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re not even a little surprised?”

He steps closer, voice low, steady. “You’ve been different. Not in a bad way—just… off your rhythm. You’ve been switching between hoodies in the middle of the day like none of them fit right. You keep standing at the fridge and forgetting what you opened it for. And your leftover curry—the one you swore was better the second day? You didn’t even take a bite.”

You stare at him. “You kept track of all of that?”

“I love you. I notice you.”

You go quiet.

Then reach for his hand.

“Come with me?”

“Of course.”

You sit on the bathroom counter while the test processes. Jack stands beside you, leaning against the sink. Neither of you talk. There’s nothing left to say.

You both look down at the result at the same time.

Positive.

You exhale like it’s the first full breath you’ve taken all week.

Jack rests his hand gently on the counter behind you—not pushing, just there.

Your voice breaks the silence.

“We’re really doing this.”

Jack nods. “We already are.”

You smile—small, but it stays.

And Jack leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

[wolviensabes]

NSFW Alphabet: Wolverine

a/n: I was excited to write a nsfw version of this because his character was surprisingly fun and easy to write for this. I like Logan because you can really be flexible with how he is in bed. It all depends on preference and writer ofc, but still it was fun to write. Wrote mostly gender neutral, on parts where body is described, I wrote for afab and amab. Not edited please ignore mistakes ty <3

18+ under the cut. MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Aftercare king.

He knows just what to do, especially since sex with him is normally pretty rough and crazy. He leaves you a mess under him and you're barely able to walk. "Atta girl/boy, princess/prince, up you come." he grabs hold of you and lifts you up, carrying you to the bathroom to get you all clean.

He's a messy partner so you need a shower to get all the sex off you. He leaves you alone to do anything you need privately, but otherwise he's helping you maintain your balance in the shower and drying off.

You're in such a dazed state, you feel dizzy and lightheaded, still a little loopy. He will get you back to bed and lay you down, feeling pride and satisfaction within himself at how he could bring you to such a state. Only he could do that to you.

He will hold you close to him, you feel cold now, his body will warm you up. He likes skin to skin, so unless you want a shirt, he won't dress you so he can feel your softer skin against his own.

The praise he gives you makes you feel so special and worth so much, it helps when you come down from your high, knowing he was satisfied and loved every moment of the act.

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

I don't think he really has a favorite part of his partner, but I will die on the hill that he likes his partners a little chunky. He loves to grab onto you, he likes how he can manhandle you without worry of hurting you.

Those plush hips and belly drive him insane. If you are afab, your ass draws his hand in every single time and he loves to smack and grab it. If you are amab, he will grab onto your thighs or soft, relaxed chest muscles and squeeze them. Both afab and amab, his hands come around from behind and gently knead your belly.

Logan is a dude so on himself...he holds his manhood very high, and for good reason.

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

Filthy.

He gets that shit all over the place and he loves it.

He loves marking you inside and out. He loves shooting his spunk on your body just as much but something about releasing inside you makes him somehow cum harder and with more.

He's not that bad taste wise, I mean cum doesn't taste great, but he's not bad. Not too bitter, not too salty, but his cum is thick. And when he does climax, he cums a LOT.

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

Logan, being a primal mutant, loves scents. It's one of the things that he relies on a lot, and your scent is intoxicating. He steals some of your clothes and smells them, or sometimes he will dive into your crotch and inhale you.

Not exactly dirty, but Logan secretly likes when you scratch his head or mess with his hair after sex. He likes to keep himself up as a tough guy most of the time but when you wind down, even if he's the one holding you, he sometimes scoots down enough to let you play with his hair.

He will move his head where he wants your hand to scratch and leans into it when you reach that sweet spot.

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

He's over 200 years old, he's got experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Literally anything where he can watch you mewl and moan for him.

He also likes from behind or positions where he can watch his cock sink into you with each thrust.

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

Logan isn't goofy but he also isn't serious. He's open to messing around and with tossing, turning, all sorts of play, it's not going to be serious 100% of the time.

He will chuckle and tease, sometimes funny noises are made, that's just how it is, and you both will laugh a little...but then you get back to it because who can resist?

Sometimes he will play fight you, wrestle you down to the bed and hold you there, with ease, and he smirks down at you trying to overpower him. It's a fun way to rile him up for sex and he enjoys it quite a bit.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Logan is hairy, but not insanely so. I think below he is pretty crazy but he trims it down enough once you two get more intimate. Though he thought it was funny watching you spit out his pubes.

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

He can be romantic but he is more passionate than anything. He likes to make sure you feel good, and he loves doing it. Once he gets you feeling good, he gets a little more rough and tells you what he likes without shame.

He's very forward, and his communication in the bedroom is immaculate. You wished he were like that outside of the bedroom sometimes, because there's no hesitation, no secrets, he's fully confident and tells you exactly what he wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Sometimes he masturbates, sometimes he doesn't. It all depends on how horny he is in the moment.

He'll fist his cock to the thought of you, or since he likes your scent a lot, he will practically inhale your underwear and jerk himself until he cums all over his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Logan...he's kinky as hell.

Dom/sub dynamics drive him up the wall. He loves being in control, manhandling you, having you listen to what he says without fail.

Slight primal play would be up his alley. The playful wrestling and fighting gets him going and he likes to bite and mark you up during sex. Almost looking like an animal attacked you, but no, it was just Logan marking you as his.

Dirty talk king. He is so brazen with his language, whispering it into your ear as he pounds your poor, swollen hole full of another load.

Praise, praise, praise! He loves to praise you and how good you take his thick cock inside you.

Overstimulation/denial, he loves the control. He often makes you cum multiple times before even penetrating you just to hear you cry and whimper for him.

Maybe a slight breeding kink, since he loves the idea of filling you up to the brim with his thick cum, (this goes regardless of afab or amab), he's going to fill you up regardless if it's biologically possible to impregnate you or not. It's just for fantasy anyway.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

He will do it anywhere he feels like. He doesn't care who sees. You're his and he likes everyone around you to know it.

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

I love that most everyone agrees that wearing his clothes makes him fucking feral. He would lose it seeing you in a shirt of his...or maybe even naked and only wearing a flannel. Slowly unclasping each button to make him growl and almost rip the damn thing off you.

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

He'd never want to hurt you. There are things he likes that might harm you but he doesn't actually want to cause you harm.

He can be rough and he doesn't want to actually hurt you. A spank or choking just enough to get you dizzy is about as far as he would go. Logan would never intentionally try to harm you, especially during something as intimate as sex.

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

He has a hard time picking what he likes better. He loves diving between your legs and lapping you. But he also loves to see you choke around his thick cock.

Logan loves the dirtiness of it, his dick in your throat and watching you try your best to please him. He loves seeing you choke and gag on him, your face gets so sloppy with spit and cum, it makes him more crazy in bed when he's fucking you.

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

With Logan it can be 50/50. He can be rough and hard, or slower and passionate. Most of the time he is ensuring you cum multiple times, and then he fucks you into the bed while you cry around his cock. Then, he gives you another orgasm, he cums, and the cycle repeats until you literally can't take it anymore.

Then he cleans you up and makes sure you know how good you were for him. You'll have trouble walking for a few days.

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

He's down for a quickie, he can make you cum fast when he wants to. However he does prefer to make you whine and beg instead of giving you a solid, quick orgasm unless you really need it.

Sometimes he needs a quick one too, so a fast blowjob helps. But again, he likes to take his time rather than rush it.

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

He takes plenty of risks. He loves to test the waters with you and experiment with all sorts of things. He's down to try almost anything.

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

His mutation allows him to have enhanced stamina so be prepared for that.

He can go for literal hours and not be tired at all. His mutation also allows his refectory period to be very short. So...you will be filled to the brim.

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

I don't think he would have any for himself, but he would start to grow a collection if you had any or showed interest in some. He'd keep them under his bed in his room whenever you wanted to spice things up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Logan is the king of teasing you. He loves to tease until you can't take it and tears are rolling down your cheeks.

He always gives you what you want in the end, but not without that asshole making you beg.

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

He doesn't give two shits who hears him, or you, he is loud. He grunts, groans, snarls. Not to mention the insane level of dirty talk he does, and he loves to make you scream out his name.

By the time you're done, you swear half the mansion heard you.

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

He dirty talks like crazy.

Sometimes he will fuck you when you're wearing his clothes, or when he comes back from a mission, he doesn't bother cleaning up before he storms up to your shared room and he fucks you.

Angry sexxx

He lets out his frustrations from missions as he pounds into you.

"Goddamn slim, stupid fuckin' self-designated leader thinks he can boss me around like I'm nothin' but a loyal scout to 'em." he grunts and snarls with each plap of his hips into you, his cock driving against you. You have no idea what happened on the mission but can you complain? No.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Logan's dick is huge let's get that out of the way.

He's thick, it feels like he rips you open each time he penetrates you and it feels fucking incredible. That also means lots of foreplay~

He's veiny, his cock throbs as he stands erect, and his balls are heavy.

He's a good 8 to 8.5 inches fully erect, the damn thing leaks precum constantly when he's horny.

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

Insanely high. He will fuck you every single day if he could.

He is down to fuck all the time, anytime. You just have to say the word and he's on top of you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Logan makes sure you're comfortable before he even attempts to sleep. He stays awake, letting you curl into him and he watches you, making sure nothing he did was too much or causing pain.

Once you seem okay and have fallen asleep, he will allow himself to relax and fall asleep beside you.

Thanks for reading.

*SNIKT*

Tag list: @strawberryshortcake20

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by leaving a 🧡.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[ultimate-marysue]

I feel like Alfred keeps count of every time the kids have made him and Bruce update the house rules. Everyone expects Damian to not be in the list, since he's so uptight but just because he's very strict on his moral code doesn't mean he respects a random set of rules. He's made it a few times to the list including "no murder/maiming attempts at Tim the family" and "a limit of two pets per family member". He gets around the limit by making his siblings "adopt" his pets.

Both Damian and Cass are the reason behind a lot of the addendums to the "politeness" section of the rules. Or, as Jason puts it, the "normal human behavior rules". Problem is: Cass pretends to not know how to read even years down the line, so Bruce ends up giving her an audiobook version.

Now everyone assumes top of the list has to go to Jason or Dick. And to be fair, they do rack up quite a few rules to their name. The infamous "no hanging from the chandeliers" and "No C4 No explosive materials in the manor" are theirs. Dick got most of his as a kid and Jason as an adult.

But no, the top two spots for "most changes made to the rules" are Duke and Tim. They just can't help themselves. These aren't new big rules like the others, but a never ending barrage of addendums to preexisting rules. Like, the book looks like this at this point:

Everyone must participate in household chores

Everyone must do their chores for the day

Everyone must do their chores between 1:00 to 4:00 pm (and never at six am on Sunday)

Everyone must do only their chores at the specified times. It's forbidden to do a siblings chores and argue they should be punished for not doing them.

You can't do chores dressed in an inflatable trex costume

Etc etc

It's gotten so bad Bruce is thinking about making an online list just so he can stop reprinting it. Those two read the book of rules as if it's their life's mission to find loopholes. They follow the rules in the most obnoxious way possible. Stephanie helps them brainstorm from the comfort of her own house, knowing she doesn't have to deal with the consequences.

[levanterhaze]

gameboy ― bangchan

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] fratboy!bangchan x f!reader . unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, graphic sex details, if you don't feel comfortable, don't read! fingering (f. receiving), just pure smut.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[ 5.7k words ]♡― i wrote this in one night, i think i was inspired or something. it's been a while since i've written, but i found this one interesting. i'm still thinking about doing a second part!

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡―[part 2]

The music was a bit too loud, but that's just the vibe, right?

Eunji was super focused on her school skirt she had borrowed from Sohee, working hard to recreate Britney Spears' iconic style. The theme was Y2K, and the fraternity was buzzing with Cher Horowitz, Paris Hilton, and Beyoncé energy.

You took a refreshing sip of your drink while your friends spread out to mingle. Sohee was caught up in the moment, and she and Minho, her boyfriend, shared a lovey-dovey moment. Eunji was telling someone how tired college was making her, that she barely had time to go to a spa, which, for Eunji, was total nonsense.

You were sharing a room with the two of them, which was very fortunate as they were both top-notch people. You scanned the place, looking for something or someone. It was a bad habit, you knew. Going to frat parties meant sharing the same square metre as your nemesis – or nearly so.

Your friends were aware of your mutual dislike of each other, but as you couldn't seem to avoid going to parties or socializing with your friends, you made a conscious effort to be the bigger person and not let his presence upset you. That said, it wasn't always easy.

Bangchan got what he wanted most of the time. He was arrogant and overbearing, which drove you crazy. As a woman who fought hard against all kinds of ignorance, it was gross to see him bragging around campus as if he were the last man in the world.

What was even more annoying was that all the girls fell for his bullshit.

Sohee, who was the most blunt of the three, said this was "suppressed horniness" and that the moment you and Bangchan were alone, all this animosity would turn into libido and it would all be sorted in one good fuck. But that was far from happening if it was up to you. "Now we're talking," Hyunjin appeared in your line of sight. With his long black hair slicked back, he looked like a slightly slutty version of Patrick Bateman, with fake blood on his jaw and chest. "You look good.

With your hands on your waist, you turned around to show how much effort you'd put into your costume. 

As someone deeply involved in theatre, you are always fully committed to any challenge. Whether it's a play or a fraternity party, you commit wholeheartedly. After much thought, you decided that you would be Suki. The lilac blouse was small and suited your upper body perfectly. The pink leather pants were almost identical, ending just below your bottom and with garters that went down to your thighs, exposing your skin by just a few inches. Suki is a sexy and iconic character, which is a perfect fit for you.

"You know it's not Halloween, right?" you shouted over loud music. Hyunjin gave a casual shrug and smiled, showing his teeth.

"There's always an excuse to dress up as Patrick Bateman."

There was a DJ at the party, apparently Minho's friend Jisung. He cranked up the music, and everyone gravitated towards the centre of the room, where most people were dancing. It was reggaeton and all the girls were rolling around and gettin down on the floor. Sohee was dancing with her boyfriend, whose hands were on her waist and whose face was close to hers, looking very pleased.

Eunji put her back to yours, glass in hand, and you danced together. As the alcohol took over your bodies, it was hard to hold back.

The beat was infectious and the energy was almost impossible to control. You danced together for three more songs until the alcohol had worn off and you desperately needed to find a toilet.

"Wait for me!" you shouted as you climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor access. It wasn't your first time in this dorm, but the drink had clouded your mind and all the doors simply looked the same.

You played a quick round of eenie, meenie, miney, mo, your finger landing on one of the many identical doors. Without hesitation, you turned the handle and pushed it open, expecting to find a bathroom. What you found instead stopped you dead in your tracks.

It wasn’t the bathroom. Not even close.

A girl was kneeling in the corner of the room, her blonde hair held by thick hands and enlarged veins. Your first impulse was to close the door, but for some odd reason you didn't. Standing there, eyes downcast and lips hanging open, was Bangchan.

You would never have believed it if you'd seen it.

The girl was working really hard, loudly moaning as she put it in her mouth. You stood there watching and thinking about what you saw. Bangchan had his dark hair covering his face, but then he lifted his head and you could see the thick veins on his neck.

Maybe the alcohol was having an effect. You tripped over yourself, making him look at you.

Your eyes went wide and you spun on your heels, running in the opposite direction.

"Oh no, oh shit."

At that moment, a girl came out of the bathroom, and you thanked God for finally finding a place where you could lock yourself in. Your cheeks were flushed and your skin prickled. Oh my god. That was too embarrassing. It wasn't something you should have seen, and even worse, it wasn't something you should have enjoyed witnessing.

After using the bathroom and washing your face with cold water, you went back into the living room and pretended that nothing had happened. If you drank enough, the sight of Bangchan groaning would quickly fade from your mind.

"You won't believe this," Eunji shouted, laughter spilling out with every word. "Some guy just stripped down to nothing but a cowboy hat and is now giving everyone his best Magic Mike impression."

Sure enough, there he was—a member of the basketball team, stark naked save for the cowboy hat perched jauntily on his head, gyrating in the middle of the dance floor like he was auditioning for Vegas.

"That's... dedication," you muttered, unable to tear your eyes away from the chaotic spectacle.

"That's fucking insane," Felix chimed in, suddenly materializing beside Hyunjin. He was dressed as a somewhat disheveled Romeo, complete with a feathered cap that looked suspiciously askew. His grin was as bright as the party lights.

"Is it?" Hyunjin asked dryly, eyeing the cowboy dancer like he was trying to calculate how much alcohol it would take to get someone to that point. "Seems on-brand for him."

"You know that guy?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hyunjin shrugged. "Not well enough to explain this."

Felix laughed, holding up a drink. "I don't know, kind of feels like art to me. Pure, unfiltered expression."

"Expression, my ass," Eunji snorted. "I give him five more minutes before campus security steps in."

Something caught your eye from across the room. Like a moth lured by a flame, your eyes found him. Bangchan was coming down the stairs with a girl in a Christina Aguilera costume. Her breasts barely tucked into her low-cut top, while he was now shirtless, wearing only an open sweatshirt over his abs.

Fucking ridiculous.

"Hyunjin!" you shouted, needing to get away from there as quickly as possible so that he wouldn't see you. You could picture the teasing or judgy looks he would give you. "Do you want to go with me to get a drink?" your voice came out sounding a bit desperate.

He was making his way through the crowd.

"The table's just over there, go get yourself," Hyunjin grumbled, but you rolled your eyes and took him by the hand.

"I'm asking you to come with me. Shut up and move."

The boy couldn't avoid it because you were pulling him through the crowd.

When you got to the table, you filled a cup with beer and drank it all in one go. Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, shocked at how determined you were. The second time, you were about to put the beer straight to your lips, but your friend was quicker and took it out of your hands.

"Okay. I think you've had enough."

You looked at your friends, and saw that Bangchan was looking at you and Hyunjin. There was something unusual in his gaze, something you couldn't and didn't want to understand. But something was causing you to feel uneasy. Especially in your panties.

You noticed the strange movement because in a second he was nowhere to be found. In the crowd, you saw Bangchan coming towards you.

“Hyun. Kiss me.”

Hyunjin froze, his brow arching high enough to vanish beneath his dark fringe. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“I need you to kiss me,” you repeated, your voice steady but your eyes darting toward the crowd. “Like, now.”

His hand stalled mid-motion, the glass he’d been holding clinking softly as he set it on the table. “What’s going on with you today?” he asked, studying you like you’d just sprouted another head. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Hyunjin, seriously,” you hissed, stepping closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Just act. I need you to do this for me. Now. Please.”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback, before his gaze narrowed slightly. “This better not be a setup for something ridiculous,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching. “But fine. If it’s that important...”

The boy shrugged. He was surprised by the situation, but he would never refuse a demand for a kiss, even if it was a fake one. Hyunjin grabbed your face and pulled you into a solid kiss. There was no tongue, and there wasn't much feeling either. There was no excitement or the usual growing heat between you. But that didn't mean your friend wasn't a good kisser.

You kept going for a few seconds, until you needed to catch your breath and pushed him away by squeezing his shoulder a little. Hyunjin raised his eyebrows and shrugged. A girl walked past you, looking surprised. One of Hyunjin's friends called out to him, and then he left.

You hadn't a clue what you were doing. The idea after executing it seemed like a disaster. Kissing your friend to throw Bangchan off sounded better in your head.

"You sure love being the center of attention, don’t you?"

The voice that followed caught you off guard, smooth and laced with confidence. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you quickly shrugged it off.

"Funny, coming from you," you shot back, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. He couldn’t see your face, but the eye-roll in your voice was impossible to miss.

And to be honest with himself, he could imagine a bunch of other things, too.

Receiving a blowjob from a student in his room was nice, but what made him come was having you watching. All this mutual hate made him more excited. It was like a competition, and every day he got closer to scoring.

He couldn't ignore your figure as you walked by, the way your pants clung to the curves of your body. Seeing you there, watching, made him think about doing all sorts of things, but none of them involved those pants.

"Kissing my friends in front of me? Bold move." He laughed at the look of disgust on your face. “If you wanted to join in, sweetheart, you could’ve just said so." His voice dropped, low and smooth, as he leaned closer. You could feel the dampness of his plump lips on your skin.

Frustrated by the interaction, you spun around and averted his gaze.

"You’re so full of yourself, it’s gross" But it didn't matter. The more you talked, the more he enjoyed himself. "And you're a disgusting, perverted..."

"If I'm all that, then why didn't you close the door, hmm?" He shot back, his smirk widening.

You were at a loss for words, your mind scrambling to form a coherent thought. Bold didn’t even begin to describe him. Bangchan wiped his lips with an infuriating nonchalance, stepping closer until the air between you was practically charged.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously smooth. “You wanted to be her, didn’t you?” Your eyes widened. "I know you did. Yeah. You watched 'cause you liked what you saw. You wanted it to be your lips wrapped around my cock.”

"You're..."

“Save it,” he interrupted with a cocky smirk, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t waste your breath. If you really want to find out, meet me there.”

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your pulse pounding in your ears. The sight of his broad shoulders and that silver chain resting against his toned abdomen only made things worse.

This was insane. Your head spun, and it wasn’t from the booze. His words, his presence, everything about him was too much—and yet, your body betrayed you.

Did you want to find out?

The whispers from theater rehearsals echoed in your mind. The girls who couldn’t stop talking about him, the things he supposedly did, the way he made them feel. Was he really that good? Was he as intoxicating as he seemed when you caught that glimpse earlier?

If none of that made sense, then why did your body tell you otherwise?

So you walked among a crowd of people. The noise of your thoughts overwhelmed the music. With each step, you found a reason to quit. Your friends were having fun, and they probably wouldn't miss you for a few minutes, right? What was wrong with you?

How could you even think about having sex with Bangchan?

Three doors were closed, but the same one was open. You closed your eyes, believing you had time to give up. But your body didn't cooperate. You had to feed the heat coursing through your body, otherwise you'd burn up — and you couldn't let that happen.

The room was dark when you pushed open the door. Your eyes scanned the darkness until you found him sitting on the edge of the bed. Bangchan's gaze conveyed surprise. It was a shot in the dark. He didn't think you would come.

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a charged silence that seemed louder than words. The dim light made everything sharper—the way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyes darkened as they lingered on you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, indecision clawing at you. Turning on your heel, you made a move to leave, but before you could take a full step, Bangchan’s hand wrapped around your wrist, firm yet electrifying.

“This is a dumb decision.”

"But here you are." Bangchan hesitated. The sight of your soft, cherry-painted lips looked so tempting that he could think of only one thing: devouring you. "Fuck it."

He reached back and clicked the door shut, the sound echoing in the heavy silence. You noticed the way his forearm flexed but quickly looked away, catching something else in his eyes instead—something raw, something dangerous.

“So,” he murmured, stepping closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “You know what?”

You swallowed hard, retreating step by step until your back hit the desk, the cool surface grounding you against the heat of his presence.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely steady. Holding his gaze felt impossible, especially when every nerve in your body screamed at you to close the gap.

But you didn’t move—not yet. Even though all you wanted was to tear down the distance and let the fire between you consume everything.

Bangchan’s hand found your stomach, his thumb brushing over the bare skin with maddening precision, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. The touch was light, fleeting, but it sent a ripple of heat through your body that settled low in your core.

Before you knew it, you were perched on the edge of the table, legs parted just enough to let him step between them. His presence filled the space around you, his confidence suffocating in the most infuriating way.

He took his time, gently touching your skin with his knuckles, brushing them over your arms, until he leaned forward and placed his lips on your jaw. The tingling sensation of his lips on your skin was like taking an opiate. You felt nothing and everything at the same time.

His breath fanned your skin as he kissed the spot just below your ear, drawing a soft gasp from you. He paused, his lips trailing to your jawline, and his voice, low and rough, broke the silence. "I wished it was you. With your pretty little mouth around me. Thinking about you made me come. So fucking hard."

A sob escaped your lips. The words were painful for your sore body. His tongue crawled over your chin. Bangchan held your face with one hand, making you stare into his eyes. Naked and raw. "You like that, hmm? D’ya like knowing that I think ‘bout you?” You wanted to fight back. You didn't want to let him dominate you.

“You're fucking ridiculous.”

Bangchan’s lips curled into that infuriatingly cocky smile, the one that set your nerves on fire.

 That's his girl. With a clever mouth.

“Yeah, is that so?” He sucked on your lip, pulling you to him in painstaking haste.

“Yes.” You moaned copiously. You hissed, though the conviction in your voice wavered as his hand slid up your thigh, slow and measured. His knuckles brushed the soft skin there, and the ache he left in your wake was unbearable. With his other hand, he circled your inner thigh, climbing achingly up to your cunt.

“I want you to say that again when I make you cum. Mmm, what ya say?” He murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his other hand settled firmly on your hip. A low laugh rumbled in his chest as a shaky moan slipped from yours, unbidden but impossible to hold back. 

His hand inched higher, and you fought to keep your composure, though the heat pooling low in your stomach made it a losing battle.

“I fuckin' hate you.” you spat, though your breathless tone robbed it of any real venom.

“We'll see about that.”

His words were a promise, cocky and assured, and without leaving room for an answer, he devoured your mouth with devotion. Both bodies undulated against each other, desperate for friction, for warmth. Bangchan spread your thighs, pushing you backwards. It was so intense that your back was arching over, the two of you battling for control.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim. His hands moved with purpose, gripping your thigh and pulling you closer as his body pressed into yours, the heat between you like a live wire. The table groaned beneath you as he guided you back, his palm sliding up to part your legs further, making room for him to settle between them.

Your back arched against the cool surface, the contrast of heat and cold heightening every sensation. His lips left yours only to trail down your jaw, his breath hot and uneven as it ghosted over your skin. The tension in the air was suffocating, an unspoken challenge lingering between each frantic touch.

It was a fight neither of you was willing to lose, and yet, the way his hands moved, the way his lips devoured, it was clear he wasn’t about to let you win.

Your hands reached for the sweatshirt on his broad, muscular shoulders and tossed it to the floor. The gap between kisses was long enough for you to lift your own top and rip it off eagerly. You could have sworn you heard an almost beastly growl emanating from Bangchan, something completely charged with lust.

A large, calloused hand grabbed your throat, making you choke. His finger pressed against your lip, which you licked religiously, giving him a taste of what was coming. Bangchan pressed your body until you collided with the wall and your hands clung to the rim of the table. And in due time he nibbled your tit, snaking his tongue around it, savoring the tenderness of your skin.

You bit your lip down and held back a moan. Your gut rippled like the ocean waves as the intoxicating rush grew in your belly, down your legs, and scorched your toes.

You felt his hand come close to your wet core and your whole body went on alert. Bangchan bit your nipple and looked at you only to see the girl with her lips wide open, eyes bright and flushed cheeks.

This sight could kill him.

Just as he was about to come to your lips again, a knock sounded at the door. You instinctively ducked behind him, your heart hammering in your chest "Oops, sorry man!" The boy's voice echoed through the room, and with a snap, the door slammed shut.

A rush of adrenaline surged through you—not from what was happening, but the brief panic of being caught. It was ridiculous, but the sensation gripped you harder than you’d like to admit.

"Shit, I’ll lock it."

Biting your lip at the image of the man walking to the door and then to you. His lips swollen from kissing your body, the marks of nails on his chest, his messy hair, it was a perfect match.

"You know what, I'm rethinking the whole pant thing. Maybe I'll fuck you in 'em." Before he could finish, you cupped his face in both hands, stopping him in his tracks. His eyebrow quirked in interest, a silent question hanging in the air.

“I just remembered,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “A few minutes ago, you were, well... y'know. Right there.”

You both glanced toward the corner of the room, the absurdity of the situation hitting you at the same time. And, with a shared moment of clarity, laughter bubbled out of you, the tension briefly breaking.

"Right.'" He captured your mouth. Bangchan said, that familiar cocky smirk now full force. “I can fuck you anywhere,” he kissed you again, and then you lost your breath. "the backseat of my car," Again a kiss. "Any fucking place. But we can start here."

In a daze, you clung to each other like two animals. Every second you begged for air, he devoured your mouth more and more. His nimble hands fought against your pants. He wanted to touch you, to feel you.

Growling, he added. "Lift your hips for me."

You, overtaken by lust, quickly bent down on the table so that he could unbutton your pants and pull them all the way down, past your boots, which also reached down to the other side of the bedroom.

Bangchan held the back of your knees and marveled at the sight of your bare body. It was like a damn mirage. The skimpy pink panties were nothing, showing all your dampness. There was no trace of embarrassment on your face, just an unbridled urge to be taken by him.

Absorbed to your body, Bangchan held your neck with both of his hands, this time tilting your body backwards. With his own body, he splayed your legs with his free hand. Your intimacies were bare, your body bathed in the dim light streaming through the nearby window.

He captured your mouth and ran his fingers over the cloth. He squeezed his fingertips against your clit, making your clenched teeth grind together. Feeling his hand around your nape of the neck, the lack of oxygen in your lungs and the short circuit from the friction of his hand down there was electrical.

Bangchan wriggled over the fabric in slow, painful circular motions. He was excruciatingly hard inside the sweatpants. He wanted to take off and make a mess of you, but first he wanted to relish every second and push you to the limit.

"My God." Words slipped from your lips, preaching to the divine, as you felt yourself being ravished.

Bangchan stretched the fabric and stroked the core with his fingers, wetting them without caring. How he looked at you, how he looked at your tight pussy was erotic. The noises you made when he slid his fingers through your labia and then threatened to push in two fingers at the one time. It was the sensation near death. You could feel an orgasm coming gradually, in heavy, lusty waves.

If he didn't stop teasing you, you'd come too fast.

"Hang in there, baby." He brushed a finger across your lips, sliding them into your warm, wet mouth. Everything was intensified by the endearing pet name. You got proof that the rumors were true. "Spread for me... Like that." You raised your legs and placed your feet on the table, giving him a full view of your body.

You could feel the wetness everywhere. Bangchan took two fingers in your mouth and let you suck them like a piece of candy. Without taking your eyes off him for a second, you went along with it.

"Good girl."

And with the same fingers, he delved into you. His fingers in the precise curl, in the precise place that made you cry out. And if the music hadn't been deafening, everyone at the party would have heard you moaning under his fingers.

By sucking on your lower lip, he began a unique rhythm. According to the rhythm of your body snaking around him, Chan went harder and faster. Your lips opened impulsively, flowing under his. Wide-eyed, your face froze into an ethereal feature, fogged with bliss.

You took hold of his wrist, the hand in which he was thrusting into you, and forced him to go faster. You desperately wanted - needed - to reach the body-rattling orgasm. It was already becoming impossible to hide the screams that tore from your throat. He was just very skilled at doing it and left you craving more.

“Bangchan...” A pitying look on your face made him break out into a maniacal smirk. To hear his own name coming from your mouth was like a narcotic being shot into his veins. He wanted better, he wanted you to realize what you had done to him.

Letting go of your throat, which until then had been under his grasp, Bangchan got down on his knees and dived into your pussy. You groped your hand to stop yourself from bawling. Your raw nerves were on edge and any more stimulation would make you burst. But he was relentless. With his savvy tongue, he outlined movements on your clit, leaving your moistness to rub through his lips and all over your core.

“Shit, shit, shit...” You purred. Suddenly, holding onto the dark strands of the boy in front of you, bringing your body closer, provoking more friction. Bangchan took advantage of every second, kissing and suckling your vulnerable flesh, swirling around your core and tongue teasing your insides.

You were rolling on his face. Sweat trickled down your spine and temples. Incoherent utterances came from your lips as muffled moans tore from Bangchan's deep throat. That pain was building, growing in your stomach. Your body was moving in an illogical way and Bangchan had to place his palm on your lower stomach to keep you from moving.

And that's when, with his mouth still on your cunt, he pinched your clit, making you seize up. The orgasm struck you hard, spewing electric waves throughout your body, leaving you sluggish and weak. Bangchan kept hold of your body as you fell apart, an disembodied vision.

You cried out his name as you came and he made you swallow every single moan.

“Mmm, you're so fucking hot when you cum for me.”

You sat on the edge again, spreading Chan's arm muscles. Looking down, you caught yourself wondering at the sight of his hard cock framing the edge of his pants like a carving, too beautiful to just look at.

Your hands went down to the edge of the white sweatpants he was still wearing - quite unfair, given that you were only wearing a pair of panties that were now barely fit for anything. A cocky smile hung on the man's lips. He enjoyed it with his hands on the table as you took it off, gawping at the size of it. The girth. The form. It was surreal.

Bangchan was holding back. He'd dreamt of having your hands and mouth around his cock for a very long time. And now, you were there, stroking him back and forth, in a slow, excruciating rhythm. He could let you have a taste and get on your knees to him. He'd fuck your mouth so relentlessly that you'd never have another smart-ass word for him. You'd always remember that one moment.

But he was overwhelmed by the mirage of your body and the sounds it caused in you.

“Oh, fuck.” A guttural moan broke from his lips. With his mouth open, he looked at where you were fucking him, your soft hand stroking his length. It was too much. He wasn't going to last. “I need you to stop.”

“Why?”

Chan squeezed your thighs together, hating himself for not feeling your touch where he needed it most.

“As much as I want you on your knees for me, I really need to fuck you.”

You chewed your lip, sensing the heat coming back to your face and your core. "Save that pretty little mouth for next time. Yeah?"

Next time. The phrase lingered in your head, leaving you with a queasy feeling in your gut.

With one hand, he spread your legs and held your leg up high enough for him to have the reach he needed to make you come a second time. That was his trick. He knew what he was doing too well, and you loathed him for it.

“Chan...” You whimpered. He grunted and brought your bodies together. He held the shaft of his own cock and stroked it for a few seconds before brushing the tip against your slit. You gasped for air at the feeling. "Please. Chan." You pleaded, searching his eyes. It was too much of a torture and you wouldn't be able to bear it if he wasn't fast.

“Fuck, don't do it like that...” He whined, still thrusting into your hole with his own cock. “Fucking Christ.” Your wetness made him slide between the clit and the slit. Your eyes went wide, collapsing. Meanwhile, Chan was glued to the point where you connected.

Slowly, he slipped in. A moan in unison reverberated almost in praise.

He knew it wouldn't last long. Being deep inside you was driving him insane. You were making him slip, making the movements clumsy but so delicious. Bangchan pressed down on your calf, pinning it to his chest. You leaned over, holding onto his shoulder. The sight was like a fucking movie scene.

You entwined as one.

Bangchan took his time to lengthen his movements, first because he could feel every inch of your pussy swallow him up. It was so fucking good. He nibbled his lip tightly, gliding in a little more, causing you to whimper.

“Faster.” Pleas burst from your ruined lips.

“Fuuuuck.” Bangchan upped the pace, a frantic and luscious back and forth. “You're fuckin' surreal.”

He could have been saying anything, but your brain was thawing, your body morphing. Being stuffed until his balls hit your skin was opulent. Their bodies met halfway, each moving as fast as possible to get themselves there. Bangchan had to hold onto the table to avoid a hole in the wall. The furniture kept bouncing in line with your bodies.

The rapturous feeling fills you and takes you to the edge. What was left of the room was a mess of panting and skin on skin. Your hips rode the width of him. He was falling to pieces little by little, feeling his body combust.

From the way his veins seemed more prominent and thicker, his neck stiff, his sweat accentuating his smooth skin, you could tell. You rocked your body vigorously back and forth, giving him deep, dry thrusts. Bangchan then reached a point set aside to take you to heaven.

When the groans dared escape your lips, he devoured them, one by one, eating up the pleas, his name coming out of your mouth like a holy prayer that only he would hear. That was enough time for your body to succumb to the fierce orgasm and for Bangchan to pull out, thrusting with his own hand and letting go on your sweat-damp stomach.

You were still hanging on to his shoulder, trying to find your feet. Both panting and with your eyes closed, you seemed to recover some consciousness. His eyes were still clouded with desire, in a hue you had never yet witnessed.

“Well,” you said between chuckles. “I think you've just proved your point.”

Bangchan laughed and then helped you up from the desk. Your clothes were scattered around the room, your boots under a stranger's bed. You cleaned up and dressed. Make-up was intact, but your hair was a tangled mess. He watched from the corner of his eye as he put on his own underwear.

After a brief fix in the mirror, you turned around a little awkwardly, as if he hadn't just given you the best sex of your entire life.

“So, I'm going out first... Just in case... You know, anyone sees me.”

In fairness, he was quite taken aback. He hadn’t expected what had just happened to mean anything to you, but there was a part of him—just a sliver—that hoped it might shift your perspective. The realization stung his pride, but he masked it, keeping the quiet frustration buried deep inside.

"Yeah. Whatever."

You shot him a glance, your expression unreadable. "All right. Well, I guess... that’s it. I’ll see you around."

Your smile was soft, but there was an undertone of something more—a knot in your chest that wouldn’t let go. He nodded, his face as impassive as ever, his eyes giving nothing away.

With a soft exhale, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, eyes squeezed shut.

What the fuck had you just done?

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT LOKI'S SHOES (ACTUALLY, HIS WHOLE WARDROBE)

Production costs aside, clothes tell the audience about how characters think of themselves.

Loki's shoes in the S2 finale raised a lot eyebrows, but I find them quite fitting: they are comfortable, practical, and most importantly, they are humble. The camera brings this to our attention to communicate his evolution in character.

Loki has always dressed well, often times ostentatiously. Whether he is at war, passing as a Midgardian, or held captive as an Asgardian prisoner, Loki communicates his social class and sense of superiority through clothing. For him, clothing armors his fragile sense of self and against others' opinions of him. He intends to be perceived as deadly charming but ultimately unapproachable.

His attire in the first Thor movie is roughly equal parts green and gold, signifying his royal status. His style is dressed down for his brother's misadventures in Jotenheim, yet overall both silhouettes are lofty, princely, but not hardened or threatening.

In Avengers, Loki's look has more black and leather, with exaggerated emphasis on his shoulders meant to intimidate as he assumes the role of villain. The silhouette is very hard, heavy, and edgy. Gold detailing is prevalent as well. Combined with the goat's helm, this is Loki's most pretentious outfit, which speaks to an undercurrent of low self-esteem and a compulsive need to impress. There's no mistaking he is the main antagonist of the story.

In Thor 2, Loki's attire is similar to Avengers but the overcoat is exchanged for a less bulky version (perhaps conveying he is less guarded now that the effects of the Mind Stone are no longer influencing him). Loki's role likewise pivots from the harsh lines of a villain to the more flexible edges of a reluctant villain-turned-ally. This aligns with his character arc when he protects both Jane and Thor, seemingly sacrificing himself.

In Thor 3, Loki's silhouette is streamlined even further. The overcoat is done away with in favor of what appears to be a leather doublet, pauldrons, and vambraces. Gold accents are minimal. While stylish, Loki's attire is more practical than showy, and his helm serves the dual purpose of protection as well as weaponry. At this point in his arc, Loki has become a full antihero, joining his brother's side in rescuing as many Asgardians as possible, and eventually dying in a vain bid to protect Thor from Thanos.

The TVA does something very fun and interesting in taking away Loki's ability to dress himself. Since Loki cannot use his magic in the TVA, he is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor/advocate, who eventually becomes his best friend and peer.

Perhaps, on a subconscious level, this helped Loki to feel included. We know by his pwn admission that Loki fears being alone and desperately craves a sense of belonging. At the same time, he intentionally dresses to put people at a distance, thereby protecting himself from potential rejection at the cost of isolating himself further.

When Mobius gives him that TVA jacket for the first time, Loki seems uncharacteristically pleased. It is not an attractive jacket by any means, yet he neither scoffs at it nor refuses to wear it. Instead, Loki puts it on and is content when Mobius says it looks "smart" on him. He continues to dress like Mobius and, indeed, mimic some of his mannerisms such as placing his hands on his hips. Without clothing meant to push people away, Loki opens up, has more fun, and makes friends.

Loki's choice of attire as he assumes the mantle of God of Stories (and time) is fascinating. Setting aside the clear design inspiration from the comics, Loki's silhouette is soft, remarkably so. His colors are earthy hues of green, and the only bit of flare are the light gold trimming and crown. The look brings to mind the garb of sages and wise wizards rather than royalty or warriors. He's powerful yet approachable because there is humility in his bearing. And that humility springs from a well of healthy self-worth, self-love, and a deep love for others.

The shoes are not meant to be attractive. They are meant to help him ascend the throne, nothing more.

[tonycries]

Dream A Little Dream - G.S.

Synopsis. For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. fem! reader, established relationship, implied sex, fluff, soft and sleepy Satoru, very slight manga spoilers, just Satoru loving on you and your future together.

Word count. 0.8k

A/N. Probably gonna delete. Art by @_3aem on X.

It’s times like this - when the quiet morning sun is just peeking in through your window, in the still haze of your naked body peacefully intertwined with his that Satoru allows himself to dream.

He dreams of everything - from the strawberry lollipops he snuck into the Gojo Estate as a kid to the time when he forgot Megumi at the mall. 

But mostly, he dreams of you.

Eyes still veiled with sleep, wandering the expanse of your face, a hand tenderly running along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Thumb softly catching on the corner of your mouth, slightly quirked up, he wonders what you’re dreaming of. 

Do you dream of him too?

Because Satoru’s favorite dream will always be the one with you. 

Your laughter in the morning light as he smothers you in kisses, how it rings in his ears and carries through his day. If there’s one thing Satoru knows, it’s that he would burn this entire godforsaken world down to keep it there. Even in the face of violence, his favorite song.

Reaching out to softly kiss your fingers, the hands which hold his heart and his future. 

Unhurriedly, he caresses that empty spot on your ring finger. Soon. 

Little black box burning a hole into that hidden corner of his dresser, Satoru absentmindedly wonders whether you would go for a flowing gown or more of a sleek design? He dreams of the delicate lace under his fingers, the gentle sway of the fabric and the blue bouquet to match his eyes. 

A huff of laughter, followed by a melancholic twinge of his heart, finds its way into the still morning air as he imagines the way Nanamin would have been crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Long fingers deftly run along the expanse of your body, drawing patterns on the marks he’s left to remember him by, resting on your stomach. He dreams of a world where he is there to see you run around with a few white-haired bundles of joy. All of them with your personality of course - he couldn’t handle having to fight with some mini versions of himself over you.

And they may be closed for now, but he dreams of the twinkle in your eyes as they meet his, the promise of a beautiful day ahead. 

He can only pray that they always look at him that way. Even when the shine of your eyes dim with age, the chapters of your story showing on your face. The dream where you two complain about your first gray hairs - him cackling about you finally joining the club. 

It might not seem like it, but in the blood and merciless gore of jujutsu, a part of the strongest always thinks back to the heaven he’s found in you. 

The heaven where you both cry over your kids leaving the nest, and later he’d fervently deny his teary eyes - secretly wiping the tears off his glasses. 

Where you spend quiet evenings on the porch, wrapped in blankets and reminiscing about the adventures of your youth. Did he ever tell you that story where he lost the tickets to a movie and had to sneak into the theater with Shoko and Suguru? Boy, did he get an earful from Yaga that day.

The dream where he’s surrounded by you and all your warmth. In the cold pain that comes with being the strongest, he can only hope that a day will come where his strength - rather than being used to kill - holds your future with ready arms. 

Ripping his eyes off of your face, they wander the room bathed in the soft morning glow. Mapping the empty spaces which you two would fill with pictures. The walls which would echo with laughter and whisper tales of serenity.

First days at school, graduations, all the friends and foes lost along the years - and one big picture of you in that beautiful white dress, right in the middle. All beauty and grace. His beautiful bride. A dream where his last name is a melody not a death sentence.

He dreams he’s there to fetch your walking cane to stroll through your little garden with a cup of his famous morning tea. He’d hold your hand as he always does, both trembling and frail with age. He dreams he would kiss the beautiful wrinkles on the corners of your eyes, only for you to push him away bashfully complaining about the grandkids seeing.

Blue eyes faded and the joy of the years showing on his face, not as strong or as vibrant as he once was, limitless nothing more but a trick to make his grandkids smile. Not a weapon, but just your Satoru. He hopes you’ll still be there to love him.

And he dreams he’s there.

He wants to be there. 

“Satoru?”

Satoru’s heart lurches as those beautiful eyes crack open, still foggy with sleep. A glimpse of that smile he found heaven in, and you pull him closer. Understanding. Skin heated against his, no one but you two in this quiet world.

All is well in your little heaven.

Today, the strongest will face Ryomen Sukuna, the fate of the world burdened upon his shoulders. But for now, Satoru is held fragilely in your arms.

For now, he is yours. 

He only dreams he can be forevermore. 

A/N. Tony writing something that isn’t smut??? The world is coming to an end.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mellosdrawings]

The Princes

Ten years later. When marrying a Prince turns a Queen and a Servant into actual Royalties.

Because Vil deserves a real crown and Jamil deserves to be treated better.

NOW I'M GONNA RANT ABOUT MY CHARA DESIGNS CHOICES AND ALL THE DISCOVERIES I MADE WHILE LOOKING FOR REFS! If you only care about art and funny doodles, you can scroll down for a handful of slices of life.

(Don't worry if you can't read my notes, I'm repeating myself better right under this)

Leona

-Lion: As you may know, one of my grievances with Leona is how his hair doesn't look like an actual mane despite being a lion. While I don't want to stray too far from the canon design with the usual drawings, that's the occasion for me to have some fun with a future version. Give that lion a beard and voluminous hair!

-Hair: First, get those bangs out of his face. Despite Leona being very confident, he still has bangs covering his scarred eye. I wanted him to finally own the aspects of him that may be scary to others (his UM, his scar, etc). I actually went with bangs framing his face similar to the ones he had during his Overblot. I wasn't sure whether to give him dreadlocks or curly hair, but I ended up choosing the free curls decorated with some atebas and braids so that Vil could have more fun styling them.

-Eye: Thanks @aria-faye for the idea, I decided to have his eye gradually lose its capacities with time. From a headcanon that, while the eye wasn't directly touched by whatever attack scarred him, the process of healing still had an impact on it and he gradually lost sight in his left eye years after years.

-Body: Not giving him a dad bod (yet, maybe in another ten years), but definitely giving him more voluminous yet casual muscles. Practical muscles with a healthy dose of fat and tissues. Also giving him two full sleeves of tattoos because I decided he should have much more than just his lion tattoo.

-Clothes: Went full Maasai dressing and Kenyan fabrics and beadworks. If you're not familiar with it, please go check it out, it's GORGEOUS!! Crown is beadwork too. He also has one Arabic styled foot jewellery.

Jamil

-Hair: My first order was to remove his double-faced hairstyle and also remove his bangs from his eye. Make him confident enough to show his whole face. Unlike Leona and Vil, he doesn't really want a crown though (he still feels weird about becoming royalty) so instead he uses a braid as crown. Also gave him a little goatee because I like facial hair and Jafar has a beard too.

-Body: He grew up! While he didn't quite catch up with Leona and Vil, he is now closer to their sizes than before, sitting at around 180cm. He kept his breakdancer/martial artist lean muscles but developed a bit of shoulders.

-Clothes: Went full Arabic dressing and fabrics (once more, go check the fabrics, they are pieces of arts). I gave him floral motifs instead of his usual fire/snake motifs (though he does have a snake earring and a fangs necklace) to symbolise his rebirth/blooming. Like Leona, he has one piece of jewellery that is beadwork.

Vil

-Hair: Here it was a bit tricky. Considering Vil's work, he likely changes hairstyles a lot, going from long to short for his roles instead of his wants. So I leaned into the little things he could add to his hair despite their constant changes, mostly jewelleries, beadworks and wool decorations he stole from his husbands. He also cares a bit less about them looking perfect and is allowing himself to be more natural. He doesn't have any facial hair (yet), keeping a youthful appearance for as long as he can. In another ten years though, he might start looking more and more like his father, beard included.

-Clothes: For Leona and Jamil's mental states, the three of them most likely started living in Sunset Savanna so they wouldn't freeze to death. Vil is well traveled so he can handle most temperatures without trouble, and he is used to dressing up in the local get ups. Here I decided to give him both African dress and Arabic fabric, and likewise both beadwork and golden jewellery. I gave him crown and heart motifs so he can keep being himself despite borrowing a lot from his husbands.

There, I'm done rambling. Here's some doodles, followed by some random headcanons.

-Vil does his husbands hair every morning and keeps giving them more and more intricate hairstyles. He developed a whole haircare and beard-care products set for them.

-When Vil is away for a movie, Jamil keeps his hair mostly down save for a few accessories.

-Jamil and Falena get along surprisingly well (to Leona's despair). Vil gets along very well with Falena's wife.

-Jamil acts as a Scalding Sands ambassador and still is the one to care for Kalim when he comes to visit, though this time he's doing it because he wants to and not because he has to.

-Vil got used to his new title immediately but Jamil struggles with it a lot. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he is no longer a servant.

-The servants at the palace love Jamil because he always makes their job easier.

-Leona finally decided to put his wits to good use and became Falena's advisor. He still fights a lot with Kifaji about the direction to take with the country, but he managed to make some of his ideas heard to help with the staggering inequalities in the country.

That's all for now!

[bunny-jpeg]

show-off (simon's version)

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, dirty talk, filthy, missionary, rough sex, mask kink, clothed sex, crying kink

price's version | johnny's version | kyle's version

simon loved his precious girl. he had been calling your "the missus" for months now. the task force was honestly surprised that simon managed to find someone. especially someone so.... cute? innocent? sweet?

the boys remembered one time you went all the way to base with a container full of homemade cookies because simon would be on base during his birthday. you somehow made your way onto base with no proper identification that would allow you on base. somehow you figured it out and ended up surprising simon with it.

so to get a video message in the group chat on a sunny afternoon was a bit of a surprise to price, johnny and kyle. simon never sent videos, he barely sent messages that were more than a word long.

so a lengthy video made the rest of the task force very interested.

"there's the pretty bird." simon cooed. you were all giggles as you tried to shield your face from the camera.

"si, stop it!" you giggled as you felt your cheeks grow hot under the lens of the camera. you were both outside in the backyard.

the task force knew about the high fence that protected the property you called home. even if someone could hear the both of you, it would take a lot for them to see it. the camera panned down to the sight of the skirt of your sundress pushed up to your waist and your panties were around your left ankle.

wasn't simon a gentleman letting you lie out on a checkered blanket. you had a smile on your face as the camera was pointed to you. the sound of simon undoing his belt, it was dropped by your head soon after.

your expression made it clear that simon had taken his cock out, your eyes went wide and the movement of your throat as you swallowed.

"tell the boys what you're lookin' at right now, birdie?" he asked, he let out a soft groan as he started to stroke his lengthy cock. he was situated at about seven and a half inches, almost eight if he was painfully hard.

you replied, "um.. hi, captain price, sergeants mactavish and garrick! i hope you're liking this video!" god you sounded so painfully cute. (by this point johnny had always came once, but he was working himself for a second round). you looked at simon, "it's embarrassing!"

"c'mon. it's nothing they haven't seen before." simon chuckled.

you made a face, "what are you doing when i'm not around?"

simon reached for you with his free hand and rubbed your soft cheek, "i mean in the showers, lovie. no one is takin' me from you."

you pouted, "good."

"now tell the boys what you see. give them a nice visual before i fuck you." simon's voice was soft. soft in a way that the rest of the team didn't even know if it was possible.

you looked up at the camera and held onto the bottom of your dress skirt that was bunched up around your waist. you looked embarrassed as you said, "si is wearing a green t-shirt and camo pants, he has his gloves with the bones on them, and his mask."

"do i look good, lovie?"

you nodded meekly, "you look very good, si!" you blushed more and smiled up at him. he used his free hand to put around your neck delicately, he wasn't choking you, just holding you. you leaned into his touch lovingly.

"but you're prettier, lovin' a dog like me." he laughed as he grabbed you by one hip and shifted your hips up. your cunt rested in his lap up against his cock. he tilted the camera down to get a good look at your glossy pussy.

he rubbed his impressive cock up against your pussy. how could something so big fit inside something so small. it was nothing short of a miracle.

"like that, lovie? like when i film ya for the boys?" simon chuckled as he stroked his cock and tapped it against the top of your pussy, "make ya open up for me."

you whined, "simon!!"

he chuckled lowly before he pressed his cock into your waiting hole. you made a low groaning noise as you clutched into the blanket under you. the wet noises sounded like a dream as you whimpered loudly.

simon kept the camera on your face and bouncing tits as he thrusted against you. the sounds of sex rang through the video as simon pleasured you. of course you looked like a sex goddess, your rightful throne on his cock.

you rolled your hips as he filmed you, his free hand on your bent knee as he moved against you. your cheeks looked warm as you panted heavily. the pleasure coursed through you.

"like what you see, boys?" he asked as he got a close up of your face as it was twisted with pleasure, "pretty little thing." he chuckled.

"si! please!' you whimpered, as you met his thrusts. they weren't extremely fast but they carried power that made your breath get caught in your throat. like he was moving your organs up with each thrust.

simon looked down at you, you couldn't read his expression due to the mask. you hated to admit but the thing was very attractive. it left him so mysterious as he rubbed your knee and held the camera in your face. he watched you with a knowing gaze, he knew what his teammates were thinking right now.

price was probably watching this with his morning coffee, johnny was stroking his cock like it was a lifeline, and kyle was casually watching it, monitoring your every facial expression. regardless the video would be in steady rotation in the task force 141's spank bank.

simon felt a surge of pride in his gut as he continued to fuck your sweet pussy, earning more sweet noises from you. it was adorable, you sounded like a dream to him. you were just the cutest thing ever, he couldn't even put into words how adorable he thought you were.

"pretty girl." his tongue was filthy, "everyone thinks you're the sweetest thing since sugar. but i've seen the damage you can do.' you love how big i am. you always said the bigger the better, even when it stretches your little cunny." you covered your face once more and he chuckled, "show me your face, lovie."

you slowly pulled your hands away and looked at the camera. he made a pleased noise as he continued to fuck you. you felt amazing wrapped around his cock. like a sexual fantasy come to life, it was arousing.

sometimes the arousal in you was so intense that you ended up tearing up. your bottom lip wobbled as he buried his cock into you, his balls gazed your ass as you took every last inch. you wiped your tears but simon only put the camera further in your face to get the best view of his crying little angel.

"poor girl, poor mrs. riley." he purred, "gettin' bullied by her hubby's fat cock."

you whimpered, "please, si." you felt your back arch as your heart thumped in your chest. the back of your sundress stuck to your sweaty back.

simon was a hungry man, a greedy, hungry man. he loved that his teammates are going to get off to the sounds of him fucking you. it wasn't long before the video's stabilization became a little off because simon was nearing his orgasm.

your clothed breasts bounced with each thrust, them almost tumbling out of the front of your sundress, and your tongue peeked out from your mouth as you panted heavily. it was arousing to the point where simon could feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"most beautiful thing ya ever seen." he said as his pace staggered and with a few thrusts, he pushed his cock all the way inside of you.

simon afterwards too his cock out, it was growing soft as he pulled out, a dribble of leftover cum came out.the camera for a brief moment showed your used cunt.

then the video ended. and there was an additional message from simon that read, "this isn't me sharing. i was just showin' off."

[makis-eyebrows]

Little Polesitters

After Y/n meets George Russell's daughter, a new version of her sparked out of her, making Alex question how and when it all happened.

Race Weekend – Silverstone Grand Prix

The paddock buzzed with energy and anticipation—drivers preparing, fans cheering, cameras flashing. But amidst all the grown-up chaos, two little girls were the center of a different kind of attention.

Seven-year-old Y/n Albon, daughter of Alex Albon and his girlfriend Lily Muni He, had always been the quiet type. She’d cling to her mum’s leg during press days and would hide behind her dad’s arms when new people tried to talk to her. Soft-spoken, shy, and gentle—Y/n was the polar opposite of the roar of Formula 1.

That was, until she met Amelia Russell.

Amelia, George Russell’s equally seven-year-old daughter, was a ball of sunshine and endless energy, much like her mother, Carmen Montero Mundt. Curious, bold, and unapologetically chatty, she had no trouble striking up conversations with anyone—even if they were triple her age or size. When the Russells and Albons first met up for a playdate during the Spanish Grand Prix a year ago, nobody expected a spark like the one that happened between the girls.

“Hi. I like your shoes,” Amelia had said with a wide smile, bouncing in her pink Crocs.

Y/n had blinked, unsure of what to say. She glanced down at her own Crocs—yellow, with tiny panda pins clipped into the holes.

“They match mine! See?” Amelia pointed. “Wanna play?”

From that moment on, something shifted. Y/n nodded. And just like that, they were inseparable.

Fast Forward to Silverstone

Lily adjusted the little denim jacket on Y/n’s shoulders while the girl impatiently wriggled. “She’s here! I saw her car!”

“Okay, okay, hold still for one second—” Lily laughed, trying to fix the heart-shaped hair clip that was moments from falling off her daughter’s head.

Just then, Amelia came racing through the hospitality gates in a pastel purple dress, holding her dad George’s hand and nearly dragging him along.

“Y/N!!!”

“AMELIA!!!”

The paddock turned at the loud, unfiltered joy coming from two tiny humans. Y/n bolted from her mother’s side and collided into her best friend in a whirlwind of giggles and matching glitter sneakers.

“LOOK! We matched again without even trying!” Amelia squealed.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled. “And your hair clip is the same as mine!”

George and Alex stood side-by-side, shaking their heads with amused smiles as their daughters began to dance in circles together.

“Did they text each other again?” Alex asked.

“Mate,” George chuckled, “they don’t even have phones. Amelia made me call Lily just so she could describe the outfit she wanted to wear today. In detail.”

Carmen walked over with Lily, both laughing as they watched the chaos unfold.

“They’re like two little fireworks,” Carmen smiled. “It's hard to believe Y/n used to be so quiet.”

“She still is,” Lily said fondly. “Except around Amelia.”

Later That Day – Inside the Williams Motorhome

Between interviews and race strategy meetings, Alex popped into the hospitality lounge. The girls were huddled in a corner with crayons and markers, drawing what appeared to be a giant heart-shaped racetrack, complete with little stick figures of themselves holding trophies.

“We’re gonna be racers too,” Amelia declared.

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded confidently, her shyness nowhere to be seen. “We’ll be team... Al-Rus.”

Alex burst out laughing. “Al-Rus, huh? That sounds terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly fast,” Amelia grinned, throwing a wink at George, who had just entered.

George knelt down beside them. “You two better be nice to your pit crews.”

“We are the pit crews,” Y/n replied, looking very serious.

The entire room melted.

Back on the Grid

As the race weekend unfolded, the two girls remained joined at the hip—matching hats, shared snacks, and even coordinated cheers for both their dads.

Y/n still wasn’t much of a talker with most people. But Amelia? She had flipped a switch inside her.

Whenever someone asked about her best friend, Y/n would always answer the same thing, with a small but certain smile:

“She makes me feel brave.”

And that's number 2 for me. I actually quite like doing this, honestly.

I was told I should turn my previous story into a series, but I'm not too sure cuz I'm scared I'll lose the plot, then I'll look slow.😭

But other than that, yall are still open to send requests and stuff.

That's Gang Gang out!!!♡

[certaimromance]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. Love or seal?

Dean Winchester x Hunter!reader

main masterlist

Summary: An avenging spirit is killing married couples, so the Winchesters think it's a good idea to use you to pretend to be one and take down the ghost. But the act becomes all too real before you know it.

Words: 1,8k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of murder, death, violence. so much teasing. a little of angst with happy ending. dean from the early seasons but soft and chaotic (a bit simp). sam being cupid and forgotten lol. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I've always been a Dean girl and I'm so excited about this. I love the concept of "Frenemies to Lovers" with its more playful and cutie version from the earlier seasons, I hope I described it well.

This is my second time ever writing here, i'm still new.

You took another look in the mirror and walked a few laps around the dingy motel room, trying to swallow the act. It seemed ironic to wear such a fancy dress and high heels in a place like this, but it was all so you could solve the case and prevent more deaths. After all, it was your job to catch the ghosts and put them to rest.

It had been a long time since you'd been out on a date or worn anything other than your usual jeans and leather jacket. Buying yourself a cute dress and wedding rings with one of your fake cards had been entertaining, the closest thing to a normal life you'd had in years.

“Come in, I need help with the zipper on my dress.” You said after hearing a couple of knocks on your door.

You were still standing in front of the bathroom mirror, waiting for Sam to show up to help you so the two of you could leave soon for the restaurant where you both had reserved a table. The strange thing was that the cold hands you felt running down your back and zipping you up were not his, but those of his older brother.

“What are you doing here? Where is Sam?” You turned around to look at Dean once your dress was closed. It was then that you noticed he was wearing a suit and the ring.

“In the room.” He replied, moving closer to you so he could look at himself in the mirror and adjusting his tie with difficulty, he was not used to wearing one at all and felt suffocated.

“Why are you dressed like that?” You asked him after looking him over from head to toe and inevitably biting your lower lip. He looked good, all dressed up and dapper, you could even smell the scent of cologne wafting off him.

“I'll be your husband for tonight.” Dean smiled at you.

You frowned when you heard that the younger Winchester would no longer be your fake husband, because that was not what you had all agreed upon. Sam had always been more husband material, and you trusted him enough to have some physical contact if necessary. On the other hand, you saw Dean as someone who was far from the prototypical perfect partner, and you could barely talk to him without arguing about your differences, never having touched him except for sparring practice or taking away the gun he kept stealing from you. You couldn't deny that both brothers were attractive, but they were almost equally far from meaning anything romantic to you.

“We flipped a coin and I got the job.” He added to the explanation, noticing the confusion on your face.

Finally you nodded, realizing that once again they had not been able to reach an agreement and had had to put luck in the middle for the choice of roles. You didn't mind going with Dean, you had already been on several hunts with him and trusted his skills, but having to impersonate his wife was weird.

“Can you...?” He tried to ask you, pointing at his tie and all the trouble it caused him.

You let out a small laugh at seeing him so confused over a simple tie and went over to him to take it off. You had to tie it all over again because of how badly he had done it before.

“This looks very wife.” He commented as he saw the delicacy with which you were trying to fix his mess.

“I hope the spirit feels the same and is looking forward to slaughtering us.” You replied, taking a step away from him as you finished.

You two said a quick goodbye to Sam and then hopped into the Impala, which took you to a shiny restaurant near the road where the ghost appeared.

“Don't embarrass me, please.” You said to him as soon as you both sat down at the table and placed your order.

“How could I, darling?” He smiled innocently at you and took your hand on the table, caressing the ring on your finger.

You didn't say anything, just smiled back and kept your thoughts to yourself. You couldn't believe he actually called you that, sounding almost like a husband, even though you knew it was because of the acting, it gave you a funny feeling in your stomach. The most you'd gotten from Dean Winchester in all the years you'd known him was a "good job" and a strange smile, followed by a lot of questions about your careless decisions. You alone were far enough away from marriage, let alone someone like him.

“You look very handsome tonight.” You told him as you saw he was drinking water, causing him to almost spit it out in surprise.

Usually you never complimented him, barely looked him in the eye, talked about anything other than hunting, or even laughed at his jokes. It seemed that his presence didn't matter much to you because your interests were more aligned with Sam's and you got along better with him. That bothered Dean a lot, he hated being so invisible in your eyes.

Now, however, you didn't take your eyes off him and even gave him compliments that left him speechless to continue the performance.

“At least the food is good.” You said absentmindedly as the waiter brought the plates.

“And the company?”

You looked into his eyes, trying to understand if he was playing with you or if he was really hurt by your lack of emotion. The strange thing was that you didn't know if it was one or the other, his greenish gaze was a mystery.

“The best company, of course.” You gave him a smile and picked up your glass of wine to make a small toast.

“How affectionate you are now.”

“Yes, I feel almost as if today is the last day of my life.” You said with irony.

Dinner went off without a hitch in a quiet and strangely pleasant atmosphere. You couldn't help but be surprised by Dean's friendliness, it was the first time you had a civilized conversation with him. The first time he held your hand and you noticed how green his eyes were.

Suddenly, everything he said, silly or not, made you smile. The only rational thing to do was to attribute it to the glass of wine he had decided to drink. In general, you didn't allow yourself to drink alcohol, let alone in the middle of a hunt. But now, for some reason, you thought it would help your nerves and relax you a bit.

“Where did you leave the car?” You asked once they left the site and the time to travel the road of death was approaching.

“In the corner over there...I hope.” He answered without really being sure. For him, it had all happened so fast when you two arrived.

“My feet hurt. Don't play with me now.” You said, hating the high heels you were wearing.

At that moment, the hunter stopped and motioned for you to sit on the bench by the exit. Unsure, you obeyed and frowned as he knelt down to gently remove your shoes.

“Happy now?” He asked he asked, holding your heels in his hands.

“I can't walk barefoot.” You claimed, putting on a fake sad face and lowering your gaze to his arms.

Dean shook his head instantly.

“No, don't even think that I'll carry you.” He warned confidently, folding his arms.

A few minutes later, he was silently leading you to the car, snorting at every opportunity to give in so easily to your wishes.

“This looks very husband.” You pointed out with a smile and a teasing tone.

“I would offer you to the spirit right now.” He replied, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“How lovely you are, my dear.”

The two finally got into the car and headed for the exit. Dean had received a message from his brother telling him that he had found the name of the ghost woman and her grave with her husband, who was the cause of all his resentment against happily married couples, and to top it off, he was buried on top of her.

“Sam is going to burn the grave and everything will be fine.” He said trying to comfort you as he saw the concern on your face. “Maybe the woman doesn't want to kill anyone today.”

“You have too much faith in a murderous spirit.” You sighed and tried to remove the ring from your finger, but it stuck. “And you should take the ring off.”

“Are we getting divorced so soon?” He replied in a joking tone, with his eyes on the road.

You looked at him seriously, this was no time for jokes because everything was going wrong. If Sam didn't dig up those bones soon, they were probably going to kill you both and the plan was going to fail completely. It was supposed to be easy and you were terrified that it wasn't anymore.

“Come on, don't be like that. You were laughing so hard with me.” He smiled at you.

Before you could respond, a pale woman in a blood-stained wedding dress appeared in the back seat. You could barely say Dean's name when the ghost's hand came around your neck and began to choke you. After a few moments, you couldn't even breathe and everything became a blur.

You didn't want to die, at least not at that moment. Not without having lived a life as good as the night before everything went to hell. You still had too many things to do to go like that, let alone in front of him, you couldn't let that happen.

“Don't move.” The hunter said to you before drawing his gun and disputing you to the back seat.

The ghost disappeared for a few seconds and then reappeared just ahead of the road. A braking maneuver as the woman was beginning to burn in front of the two of you almost made you jump out of your seat.

Sam had succeeded.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, looking at you with concern.

“Yeah.” You said, still trying to catch your breath and process everything that had happened.

“And my thanks for saving you and not letting death part us?”

At any other time, you would have simply made a sarcastic comment and emphasized that it was all thanks to her brother. However, the recent experience had changed something in you and made you kiss his cheek.

Before you could completely pull your face away from his, he put his hand on your cheek and pulled you close. You felt his lips move over yours and responded without hesitation. A big part of you had been thinking about this moment all night and was more than happy it was happening. It was like the perfect ending to a fake marriage date, minus the killer ghost part, and it made you smile in the middle of it.

“You didn't flip any coin, did you?” You asked as you broke away from the kiss for a second.

“No, I didn't.” He admitted, leaving a kiss on your head and making you smile even more.

[dismalflo]

how did it begin again?

Remus lupin x fem!reader who have their first date after their reconciliation ✩ 1.3k words

this is technically a part two to this story but can be read as a stand-alone.

cw: exes to lovers, fluff, reader is overwhelmed, Remus is a sweetheart

an: wrote this purely because I love a happy ending.

The past few weeks have been the warmest you’ve felt in a long time. You’ve got your friends back, an effervescent group of the loveliest people you’ve ever known, and the world no longer feels as lonely as it did just a month ago.

And, of course, there’s Remus. Slowly, both of you have been chipping away at the lingering frost that still clung to your relationship, even after agreeing to give things another shot. You’re at a point now where being together in a group feels completely natural again—where the two of you no longer feel like a delicate subject that everyone else has to tiptoe around.

It’s strange, getting to know someone all over again, especially someone you used to know like the back of your hand. But it also feels like coming home—like the valleys and pathways are familiar, even though they’ve shifted slightly in your time apart. He’s still the Remus you remember—kind, caring, fiercely loyal—but now there’s something new about him. Fresh mannerisms, unexpected interests that intrigue you in ways you didn’t expect. And as you notice these changes, a quiet thought lingers in your mind, a hope that he’s just as captivated by the new version of you as you are by him.

You’re brought out of your thoughts with a knock on the door. You’ve no doubt that it's Remus, punctual as ever for your date. The first since your reconciliation. You give yourself a once over in the mirror, to check everything is in its place, before giving a nod to your own reflection. 

The walk to the door of your small flat feels immeasurably long, and your nerves seem to peak just as your hand touches the door hand. A deep breath, and you pull the door open. 

There he is. Remus, standing there with one arm folded behind his back, dressed in a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, paired with a simple pair of slacks. You can’t help but admire him. His smile widens when he sees you, eyes lighting up as if you're the only person in the world.

"Hello, gorgeous," he says, stepping forward and leaning down to place a soft, respectful kiss on your cheek. "You look stunning, dove."

You flush, a smile tugging at your lips as you respond, "Thank you, and you look very lovely yourself."

His arm shifts from behind his back, and with a subtle flourish, he presents a bouquet of flowers. You don’t even look at them right away, too absorbed in the warmth of his gaze. Instead, you simply meet his eyes, your face breaking into a wide smile full of affection as you take the flowers from him.

"Would you like to come in while I put these in water?" you ask, moving to avoid his gaze, already turning toward the kitchen, pulling a vase from under the sink.

Remus doesn’t answer right away. He simply follows you, leaning casually against the counter, a soft smile still dancing on his lips as he watches you. His eyes never leave you, and that smile never fades.

It’s then that you finally allow yourself to look at the flowers properly—not just a blur of color in your peripheral vision, but the delicate petals in full view. They stop you in your tracks. They’re your favorite. He remembered. After all this time.

A sudden, embarrassing pressure rises in your sinuses, a sting behind your eyes, and you feel his gaze searing into the side of your face.

“You remembered?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling just a bit as you fight to keep the tears from spilling over.

“Of course I did,” he replies, his voice steady and simple, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like knowing you, learning about you, and holding onto those little details is the easiest and most treasured privilege he’s ever known.

A sob tears through you then, and you flush with shame. It’s not sadness that overwhelms you, but the enormity of Remus—the weight of him, of how much he means, of how much you’ve truly missed him, beyond all the hurt.

Remus looks visibly panicked now, moving toward you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to reach out to you. Unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you now, as the foundations of your relationship are being slowly rebuilt.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he rushes, his words tumbling out so fast it’s as though he can’t apologize quickly enough. “I never would’ve gotten them if I knew they’d make you cry.”

You shake your head, quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breath. "No, Remus, it’s not... I’m not upset, it’s just... it's just that you remembered. It’s—" You swallow hard, trying to find the words. “It's a lot, y’know.”

You step closer to him then, taking the initiative to wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm embrace. He follows suit immediately, arms wrapping around you. 

The softness of his touch grounds you, and the scent of him—something familiar, comforting, like the gentle blend of books and rain—soothes the overwhelming rush of emotions. You hold him tighter, allowing the tension in your body to melt into the safety of his presence. He lets you take the lead, his hands resting gently on your back, his thumb stroking soothing circles.

“Thank you, for the flowers, Rem.” you murmur.

“Anytime, lovely girl.” 

You pull back just slightly, looking up at him. For a moment, you both stand there, silent in the quiet of the kitchen, until Remus can’t stand it any longer.

“Please... can I kiss you?” His voice is thick with need, desperate, like a man starving, asking for the one thing he craves more than anything.

You swallow, the question hanging in the air between you, thick and heavy. It feels like both an invitation and a promise.

Your breath hitches as you meet his gaze, the warmth in his eyes both comforting and thrilling. You want this—want him. You don’t have to think twice about it.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

And then his lips are on yours. It’s slow at first, tentative, as if he’s giving you the space to decide whether you really want this, whether you want him again. His hand rests on your cheek, thumb brushing over the skin there, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss deepens, though, slowly, as both of you realize the other isn’t pulling away, that this isn’t a mistake. It’s exactly what you both need.

The kiss is everything you’ve missed and more—familiar and new, soft yet demanding, as though he’s kissing away the distance between you, erasing the gaps of time that once felt so painful.

When he pulls back, just a fraction, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing a little uneven, a contented smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand lingers on your cheek, brushing the stray hairs away.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as though he’s afraid to disturb the delicate moment between you.

You nod, unable to speak just yet, still caught in the softness of the kiss, the warmth of his presence. The world outside seems to fade into nothing, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel truly, completely at home.

“I’ve missed this,” you finally murmur, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Me too,” Remus replies, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3 i appreciate all feedback

[karikarasuno]

part nine | part ten | part eleven

law is currently having a hard time. literally. he's straining against his jeans and he's conflicted by the feeling. all you're doing is snooping around his childhood bedroom. excitedly and unabashedly curious. one of his favorite versions of you. right beside bratty and teasing.

when he brought up attending a bbq at his parents this weekend you were all for it. you even bought a dress. a very pretty one. one that's hem is inching up the back of your thighs as you bend over to inspect a lego pirate ship he made when he was twelve.

"i don't think i've ever met both a delinquent and a nerd," you say, spinning on the balls of your feet to face him.

"what? i can't have hobbies," he shrugs from his seat on the edge of his bed. he doesn't remember it being so small.

"if you call drug dealing and building lego sets normal preteen hobbies, then yes, of course you can," you say with a sneaky little smile. you turn away from him again and your dress twirls around your thighs. the fabric brushes the back of them in a way that his fingertips usually do. so yeah, law is having a rather hard time.

"but i think this is my favorite." your palms are pressed against his dresser as you look over a blossoming bonsai tree he built for his mom for mother's day when he was fifteen.

"those flowers actually come off and you can replace it with the leaves," he explains. you lean over further. one more inch and he'll be able to see your ass. which he wouldn't necessarily mind except you're at his parents' house.

you cross your ankles, the heels you chose to wear making your legs seem longer as you rub one foot down your calf. well now he thinks you're trying to seduce him. hell, you'll just have to be quiet then.

"so what else-" he doesn't give you the chance to finish. he slides his hands onto your hips and squeezes.

"what are you doing?" you whisper, clearly he caught you by surprise.

"what do you think?" he bends forward sticking his nose in your hair, just behind your ear. law inhales the scent of your perfume. which is a bad idea if he had any hopes of restraining himself. your sigh makes it even more difficult to stop.

"law," you whine and his grip tightens. "your parents are downstairs."

"yeah outside. on the patio," he clarifies, starting to kiss your neck. you push your ass against him to try and wiggle away, but he uses his hips to pin you in place. "and you can be quiet, can't you?"

his hand slips between your thighs. gently at first. with enough tentativeness to make sure you don't want him to stop. and you don't because your legs inch apart, giving his fingers more room to explore. he smiles into your shoulder. that was easier than he thought it would be.

"ok," you nod and he feels you raise your head. when he meets your gaze through the mirror above his dresser he can tell how riled up you already are. your cheeks are clearly burning. your eyes are half-lidded. and you can only seem to breathe through your mouth. "but we have to be quick."

"i can do that." his fingers press against you over your panties and your thighs rub together from that brief touch. there's really no time to waste and you prove that when your fingers wrap around his wrist and push him further between your legs.

he's not surprised to find that you're wet already. he's learned which buttons of yours are easiest to push. which ones to turn on. and you make that exceptionally simple when you take his fingers and use them to slip your underwear to the side.

"i didn't expect you to be so eager," he says, a breathy chuckle following his words as he slips two fingers between your folds. there's no doubt in his mind now that you were definitely trying to seduce him in some way. not when you're so ready for him. he wonders what he did to rile you up this much. wonders how he can do it again for next time.

your head falls back onto his shoulder as you meet his eyes through the mirror. you're struggling to come up with something to say when he slides those two fingers inside of you and curves them. just the way you like. but he can see how your mind is working. your lips part, "you-"

he cuts you off when he pulls his fingers out and pushes them back inside. a little more forceful this time. with enough strength that has you dripping into his palm. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, biting down on it to keep the moan from escaping your chest. he stares as your lip blossoms red. refraining from grinding his erection into your ass when you squeeze around his fingers.

"we shouldn't," you gasp, your eyes blinking closed when he rubs a tight circle against your g-spot.

"but you're so close," he counters. his lips find the shell of your ear and as his exhale breezes down your skin you shudder in his arms.

"that's the problem," you say through rough vocal cords. "you're making it hard to be quiet."

he removes his fingers and you sigh as your knees buckle slightly and you sag onto his dresser. but he doesn't give you much time to relax. he undoes his jeans, shoving them down enough to free himself. he gathers your dress and shoves it out of the way. he's not even really thinking straight anymore. he's leaking, red, and his dick is damn near painful from how hard he is.

maybe later, after he comes, he'll revisit why exactly he's so turned on right now. but you're whimpering when he slips between your thighs. sighing when his head nudges your entrance.

law's hand rises to cup your throat. he drags it over your chin until his palm is covering your mouth. you squirm the entire time. your own hands balling into fists on the surface of the dresser.

"is this better?" he whispers. but obviously you can't reply. you don't really need to say anything, anyway. your hips push against him and it forces him inside. his head drops and he bites your shoulder. a whine squeaks up your throat but is muffled by his hand. he needs to make this fast. not that that'll be an issue for him. he just needs to make sure you get off first.

his fingers are on your clit as soon as he's flush against you. he's methodical with the way he circles your clit, gathering as much of your slick as he can to make it easier.

your nails scrape at wood and you start meeting his thrusts with small movements of your own. his dresser thumps against the wall lightly. the mirror jostles in place as he fucks you into the edge of the furniture. he can't take his eyes off of you. it's impossible. your eyes water and your mascara smudges across your water line.

small, short noises escape your mouth between the gaps in his fingers. and his gut twists and tightens as you pulse erratically around him. sweat drips down the curve of his spine. inadvertently, his grip on your face tightens. a groan vibrates from your chest and into his palm. his thrusts harshen and something drops low and molten in his stomach.

it's sudden. you clamp around him violently and your back bows away from him. your hand slips across the surface of the dresser and accidentally knocks over the bonsai tree. and in some strange stroke of luck and with reflexes he forgets he possesses he catches the set before it can fall off the dresser and break apart against the hardwood floor. he barely manages to place it back down before his muscles tighten and he pulls out. your thighs squeeze around his cock when he no longer fills you. and he's coming all over the plush, moist skin.

he tries to swallow down the grunt that threatens to spill from his lips, but he's not sure if he can really contain it as his head grows fuzzy and all he can think about is the mess he just made. the mess you helped him make.

you grab his wrist and push his hand away from your mouth. the heaviest exhale falls from your lips as you both try to regain composure.

"i can't believe we just did that," you chuckle and shake your head. your thighs tremble slightly when you shift on your heels and he has to plant his hands on your hips to keep you from toppling over.

"that was your doing." he flinches when he pulls his sensitive cock from between your legs. the cool air that meets his skin makes him hiss.

"you are not blaming me for this," you say, glaring at him through the mirror. "you pounced."

"i don't pounce," law argues, tucking himself gingerly into his pants.

"well there's a first time for everything," you respond, cringing when your legs smear together when you attempt to move your panties back into place.

"let me grab you something to clean up." he smiles to himself at the sight. some weird sort of satisfaction festers in his chest. like a reclamation.

"that would be nice."

****

after he successfully cleans you up, you and law head back downstairs. you’re giddy. there’s a spring in your step. and he can’t help but notice the way your eyes continue glancing his way. with something knowing in them. something roguish. almost makes him wanna take you back upstairs.

“hi!” you say cheerily as you stroll into the kitchen. his sister is standing by the island with a tray of veggies in front of her. it takes her a second to meet your eyes. and then it takes her another to greet you in return.

“hey,” lami says, and she shuffles a little in place before averting her gaze back to the tray in front of her.

“come try this,” his mom says to you, sticking her head inside to grab your attention. you spin on your heels to face her. excitement again rushes through you. there’s something just so endearing about it. he really is in such a mood and he needs to calm down. he just had his way with you not even twenty minutes ago and he’s already starting up again. surely something is wrong with him today.

“i’ll meet you outside,” you grin up at him, tilting your head up and pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before you skip over to where his parents are waiting for you outside. he watches you go. that might just be his favorite dress now. because every time he registers you in it, he thinks of how good you were for him pressed against that dresser. his mind wanders to whatever positions he can sneak you into when something small and hard bounces off his temple.

"ow," he emphasizes, glaring at lami when he looks down at his feet to see a baby carrot rolling away.

"you're gross," she says, lips frowning in disgust.

"what did i do?" he's offended.

"you know, dad almost went up there to get you," she starts, placing her hand on her hip as her frown deepens.

"oh," law nods, biting down on his tongue to keep his laugh at bay. it's not funny.

"yeah, so you're welcome." she grips the tray and yanks it off the counter, but not before grabbing a celery stick and launching it at him. "gross."

"stop wasting food," he chastises, bending down to pick up the celery rolling away from his shoe.

"and you don't have sex with your freakin' girlfriend within earshot of your entire family," she scolds him, stomping away from him loudly.

he chuckles. he can't even bring himself to feel bad. "it wasn't technically within earshot," he mutters.

she whips around when she has one foot out the door, "gross!"

part twelve

[bugixxxbunny]

You're Superhero!

Description: just jammed backed full of anime men and how they show their heroism 😁 (Ranpo Edogawa, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Rin Itoshi, Nagi Seishiro, Bachira Meguru, Manjiro Sano (Mikey), and Ryomen Sukuna!)

Content Warning: (very basic smut) Impact play, thigh fucking, lazy sex, Cock warming, shower/bath sex, dry humping slight angst (if you squint) toxic relation (Fyodor) drug use, fingering etc.

Word count: 32,352

Bungo Stray Dogs

Ranpo Edogawa can't stand crime shows, but you love 'em every night after you both finish work, eat a full dinner, and bathe. You both settle into the queen bed; the soft black sheets envelop you two like a cozy hug. Ranpo grunts as it's Wednesday, meaning it's your turn to pick the channel. You always put on a cheesy crime documentary before you could even get a quarter of the way through. Ranpo would be whining, pointing out who did it.

You always praised him. The reason you loved putting these on was because you liked being amazed by your boyfriend. He never failed to impress you with how smart and keen the childish boy really is. Most people dream about superheroes like Superman and Spider-Man, but you always thought of Ranpo, how he warned you once not to walk in a certain direction or else your brand-new white dress would be ruined. Certainly enough, you had no speck of anything on your dress because of the route Ranpo encouraged you to take. How he automatically knows when you had a bad day and stops being so stubborn and becomes sweet and angelic He'd tuck you in and take the train to whatever takeout you wanted. Be patient he will might get lost.

Or how he knows exactly what makes you tick, what overstimulates you, or your version of right and wrong. So, three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday, when you get to pick what you both watch, you'd pick a crime show because you loved to show your superhero praise for all his magnificent deeds and hard work. You put on the crime show to rile up Ranpo. All the praise he receives goes straight to his heads,

"Whoa, Ranpo, you finished that one even faster!" You said, wide-eyed, you slowly moved closer each time he got it right. Your warm hand squeezed his right thigh; your hand basically felt like fire to the detective. His painfully hard cock strains against his boxers, making you giggle. "I hate when you do this. Can we just skip to the part where you give me an orgasm?" Ranpo whines, already knowing how your little game will end. "Such a good boy, Ranpo!" "Smartest boy," you snicker at the nonstop teasing that you couldn't help but let fall from your lips, pulling down his brown flannel boxers, letting his cock bounce free. It slaps his stomach softly before your lips suction cup onto his achy tip. "No, you always do this. I want more; he whines.

Ranpo shoves your head off. Tears of wanting and need, an insatiable desire, pool in his green eyes. "Mhm! Let me do what I want. I deserve it, m'yeah?" You sigh and press your plush thighs together, lifting your legs and giving your needy boyfriend permission. Ranpo smiles wide like a child in a candy store. He grabs your thighs with greed, pushing them to meet your chest, taking away your breath as he spits on the fat, sticking his stiffy right in-between where they meet. His hips snap immediately; his pace is sloppy and quick as he fucks your thighs. Ranpo's head snaps back as the underside of his cock brushes against your soaked panty-clawed pussy. "Fuck, it feels so good. I should let you pick what we watch every day," he moans out before painting your stomach and thighs in white. Maybe Ranpo didn't mind crime shows as much as he led on, but that's why he's your superhero; he wouldn't be afraid to pretend to not comprehend your little games only for you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky was the superhero in disguise. He reminded you that you weren't truly filthy and worthless because of your ability. He made use of you and understood you. Neither of you put a label on your relationship, leading him to refer to you as a subordinate. It was much more than that. Whenever Fyodor was cold, he looked to you, sucking your warmth like a vampire; he'd steal kisses from you like it was a prayer. At night, during the day, every moment of his life involved you. Even the more violent parts. You had already seen Fyodor as your knight in shining armor for saving you from a life of dread and self-hatred, saving you from yourself and the destruction of the harmful ability you wield. "Ангел, you look so darling in the dress," his voice purrs, making you snap out of your daze and bringing your attention to the present moment.

Fyodor claimed he had a job for you to do. He had bought you a new dress just for the occasion. It was white and had a pretty fluff. "It's real sheep's wool. You like it, Ангел?" "I love it, Fyodor. Now we match." His hand reached out, his fingers cold and clammy. They ran down your forearm before he linked his hands with your warm ones. Nothing was out of the ordinary except a feeling in your gut called doubt. You pushed the uneasy feeling down and smiled up at him. "Oh, little Ангел, I'm not done just yet." His left hand pushed your hair from your cheeks, clipping in a small hair charm. It was fragile and dainty, made from glass in the shape of a star.

"Beautiful," he said. His face wasn't full of emotion; it never was. His face had that simple smile, but that was Fyodor, your genius man. You tried to rationalize the conflicting thoughts and emotions you had as you both walked to the car.

The silence was comfortable. Had you been overthinking you and Fyodor's relationship? Maybe he was just your boss, and he didn't forgive you and the horrible sin of your ability. He wouldn't save you from the hell we call life. "Something is wrong," he spoke up. Fyodor always knew what you were thinking, but instead of lying, you remained silent. "Are we doubtful again, darling Ангел?" The silence emanating from you spoke volumes. "В свое время, мой ангел, твое желание будет исполнено, и я избавлю тебя от греха, который мы называем Способности."

You didn't understand, but you just turned your head to stare outside. You felt his cold hand lurk onto your thigh. "You may not understand now, but you will in time, my Ангел."

You finished the job smoothly, like normal. Fyodor didn't expect anything else from his favorite subordinate. "I'm tired," you mumble. You let your head fall into Fyodor's lap. "Let yourself rest; you won't be useful unless you're rested, darling Ангел." His thick accent lulled you to sleep to the sound of the rain tapping against the car window. His cold palm rubbing the scratches, that littler your skin from the assignment, the driver revving the engine, and the sway of the moving vehicle.

Once you both returned to the 'safe house,' as Fyodor called it, you continued to lie still. He picked you up and carried you inside to your room, placing you on the cushioned couch and sitting beside you again in comforting silence.

Once your eyelids fluttered open, that simple smile appeared on his pale face. "Did you have delightful dreams, Ангел?" Sitting up, he grasped your face. "Yes, Fyodor," you said, the doubt still evident in your features.

"Do you wish to know what was said on our trip to your assignment?" Your eyes widen before you could think clearly. You begin nodding, so eager for the knowledge. Whenever Fyodor spoke in Russian, it was to conceal something from you; you became so desperate to understand him you couldn't help but nod like it had become an instinct. It was. "В свое время, ангел мой, твое желание исполнится, и я освобожу тебя от греха, который мы называем Способностями means in time, my angel, your desire will be fulfilled, and I will free you from the sin that we call abilities.'" He purrs, stroking your face.

that's all you needed. Your only reason for Fyodor being your superhero, your savior, your reason to live, is in those few words you kiss him feverishly, unable to help yourself his hand adjusts you onto his lap, and the kiss was calculated and thought out on his part, yours were sloppy and messy, tugging at his coat and shirt. To feel his soft and delicate pale skin under the tips of your avidity fingers, he complies with your needs and lets you have at him. Your hands tug his clothes to the ground. before you can take off your own; his hands do it for you skillfully and quickly. "Won't you keep me warm, Ангел?" His cock was veining and somehow always cold no matter how hard and horny he was. You took your seat snugly on his cock while your fingers tug at his rosy nipples. Cock warming was his favorite. You couldn't help but indulge your superhero savior in disguise.

Nikolai Gogol makes you laugh That's his superpower. When you two are out and about, he tends to do an impersonation of the shopkeeper that kicked you both out of the store for being too 'rowdy,' or if you two are on a date, he won't stop repeating a phrase you thought was funny.

That smile. your smile is the only reason he allows himself to stay in his cage. Nikolai's superpowers don't stop at just jokes he will portal you flowers once a week all different types of roses, snowdrops and you couldn't even name them all they began to become bigger and bigger until you had to tell Nikolai to calm down on the flowers

his afternoons spent laying in-between your thighs these times are when he allows himself to be trapped like a bird in these wonderful emotions, he'd hum whatever song you had playing in the background while you both wasted the day playing games

today was different it was a sunny afternoon and you both sat on the beach the rays of suns tanning your skin and burning Nikolais you both were sandy along with being partially wet you had begun to pack up the beach bag wrapping up the towel and fitting them snuggly inside as Nikolai continued to run around and kick little kids sand castles down something you had already reprimanded him for "oh dove this was so fun!" Nikolai cheers, jumping on to your back and pulling you down with him into the dusty sand, causing a fit of giggles between the both of you. You roll on top of him. "Come on, wrap it up. I'm starving!" you say, catching your breath. "Where we eating, my lady?" he says, picking you and himself up from the sand. You wrap your arms around his neck as he swings you around in his arms. "Mhm, no clue. What are you in the mood for?" His eyes sparked with that mischievous look in them either he was going to quiz you or say something horny. "You're thinking dirty, aren't you!?" You bang on his chest, and he drops you onto the sand. "Pfft, you're no fun," Nikolai whines. His actions makes you roll your eyes.

once you both finally got home you pull Nikolai to the shower immediately sure the beach was fun but sitting with a sandy crotch wasn't. Nothing was perfectly easy with Nikolai around he whines and tried to pull away stating this was a way to free himself or some bullshit you shove him into the bath "strip" you groan exhaustion finally hitting as you peel off your clothing and mushy bathing suit from beneath Nikolai does the same not fighting much anymore you step into the heated shower and your body relaxes "come in its nice and warm" you let a soft sight as you let the water douse your scalp and run down your breasts he hoped in the shower a bit faster after getting to see this new expression of yours it was fascinating after a few minutes of feeling his gaze you open your eyes.

"Hi, honey you're staring" you teased wrapping your arms around his neck, the heat of the water and Nikolai makes you have that same expression from a few minutes ago. It wasn't a smile, or a laugh faces he had normally caused you to have this one was different more than different, it was special. A soft gasp leaves you lips as Nikolai hostess you up from your thighs "huh what are you doing Nikolai?" "relax my dove I want to make you feel good" he whispers into the shell of your ear. pushing your head to fall onto his shoulder his spongy tip smacks against your clit before he dives right in bottoming out quickly making drool seep from your puffy lips and ooze onto his shoulder. His thrusts are deep and considerate making you cream on his cock rather quickly he makes sure to keep that expression on your face for a while. You're hero enjoyed fits of laughter, but his secret power is relaxation.

Blue Lock

Rin Itoshi was the quiet superhero He was stoic with the meanest resting bitchface. He tried to be nonchalant, but once in a while he'd let the facade slip, like right now you sat in your shared bed teary-eyed. Rin had stayed out much later than he had planned training. You felt inferior because of his love of soccer/football, a race you weren't even trying to compete in. You wanted Rin too to continue the sport and be the best at it, but it came to a point where you questioned breaking up with him. Your weekends would be spent in the empty apartment alone, date nights like tonight forgotten. You broke down because this wasn't the Rin you fell in love with. The Rin you had fallen in love with was quiet. Snotty listened and never forgot a date; he was usually early.

A soft hand interrupted your thoughts. "m'sorry." His voice was quiet, and he stared in the opposite direction, his bangs brushing into his long lashes, concealing his eyes from your gaze. "Then stop doing it! The only time I see you is when you're sleeping!" "You know soccer/football is everything to me; I'm going to be the best striker." "I'm not asking you to forget soccer/football for me; I just want you to make time for me." The fat globs of tears continue to roll down your puffed out cheeks; they weren't tears of sadness anymore; they were of frustration. How could Rin not understand you just want him to be present? Rin sits down after taking a moment of silence to assess the situation. "Please don't cry; just talk to me. I'm listening."

That's what made Rin your superhero. He sat like that listening to your frustration of being alone, how you fought to keep his attention, and how you even considered ending things between the both of you. This info broke his heart. He had remembered everything about your likes and dislikes. He spent 5 minutes picking out the food you hated most from a dish, your favorite color—hell, he had even picked his cleats to be the same color. Anything you'd name, he knew it, the way you liked his hair he took in consideration your opinion for every aspect in his life. Rin loved you deeply; so how did he let himself become so stupid, that what ran in his head the whole time you vented about your frustrations, you were rooted into him even deeper than soccer/football, and it took you crying for him to realize this. He had felt so stupid all those times he turned on y'all's song, (Oh My Love by John Lennon). He could have been with you once you had quieted down, and the tears were all dried up.

He spoke, "Forgive me; I'm not good with speaking about emotions." This was his way of letting you know it was your time to listen. "I've never been good at doing stuff like this. I won't make an excuse because I don't want you to leave. I can only show in results, but you won't see them if you end it now." You watch as his eyes shut, his long lashes casting a shadow over his face. "What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry and give me a second chance to be better and let me make it up to you...please." You couldn't help but giggle; it made you feel good to know he was human too. Your hand brushes his bangs from his eyes. "Even if I really wanted to, I couldn't leave you not like this. I'd hate myself for it, When I leave, we will be old and gray." "Don't be ridiculous," Rin spoke, but the tips of his ears were a fiery red, and his eyes were shut tightly.

"Does our date have to be over now, or can I make it up to you?" You remain silent, but the look on your face Rin remembered that one too well. His body shifted to sit in front of you, his large hands groping your breasts in a familiar way. How you like it mostly how he likes it. His strong, lean frame towers over you. Rin didn't tend to apologize in words; when he did, they weren't as heroic as his actions. He lifted you onto his lap; his hips found their spot nestled between your thighs. His groping continued with hot, thick kisses smeared down your neck; his hands couldn't help but use your waist to smush your drenched panties against his rock-hard tent. Rin may not be a hero of many words, but his actions will always shine through.

Nagi Seishiro was a superhero to save everyone else from your bratty attitude. Most people would think Nagi would find you a bother, but he enjoys your snotty comebacks, pouty lips, and stubborn huffs. You were classified as not a bother to him; he didn't mind having you boss him around. Instead, he preferred it, meaning he wouldn't have to think. You'd end up yelling at him for not completing a task you hadn't even asked him to do and just expected of him.

Whenever you got like this, Nagi had to pull out the 3-method strategy. Method one: he'd have to practically smother you into calming down. "Nagi, off!" You flailed around trying to get the large man off you. Nagi just sighs and holds you tighter, making you whine impossibly louder. Your resistance has Nagi realizes he has to pull out,

method two: He begins to apply soft kisses all over your face. "Please don't be such a pain. I'm sleepy," he mumbles, giving you those grey puppy dog eyes. Usually it worked, but his efforts were futile. "Ugh, Nagi, I swear if you don't let me up and do the dishes right now!" "I have to get ready; we are going out with Reo tonight!" You try shoving him off, pushing on his chest, but he is too large. "Eh, can't we reschedule?" "No, we did that the last time!" Nagi continued his soft pecks all over your face. "I don't wanna," he groaned.

Nagi was starting to become frustrated. Your stubbornness made him pull out the big guns. Method three: you could never say no to this one.

"I'll consider getting a cat." Nagi was sure this would work; it had never failed him in the past before. "You say that all the time, and you never actually consider it!" You puff out your cheeks. "You're being so difficult. How do you know I've never considered it?" "Because every time I show you cats, I want to adopt, you always say that pets are a bother and too much work!" Nagi couldn't believe his 3-method plan didn't work; it had never failed him in the past before. "Fine, we can get a cat if you agree to do nothing with me till the rest of time." "Nagi, we both still have to work!" Nagi lets out a defeated sigh and has to pull out his secret weapon, plan N (plan N stands for something Nagi wants nothing to do with). In this case, it was doing the dishes and leaving the warm bed that he desperately wanted you to stay inside of. He sits up.

"I'm becoming real annoyed with the attitude," he says, still aloof as always. He pushes your legs up an into the matting press position with ease and speed, pulling up his t-shirt that you wore as a sleep dress letting your tits bounce free and lazily moving your panties to the side. "Nagi, we don't have time for this!" "Hush," he said, smacking his puffy mushroom tip against your slick folds to silence you. He thrust into your mushy cunt lazily. He was deep and unambitious; he didn't care if it felt good; he just wanted to sedate you and his poor cock, which was your fault for getting it all worked up with that smart mouth of yours, so it was fair to say Nagi was a superhero of his own interest. He didn't use his powers for the overall good; he used them to support his lethargic needs.

Bachira Meguru and you had just gotten home from a rave night around 2:44 am Raves were something you both loved doing and had fond memories of since you two had met at Portola Festival a few years ago when Bachira had a soccer/football tournament in the US. Since you were both too high to function, you ushered Bachira inside the apartment, making you guys end up crawling onto the couch giggling and laughing. Moments like this were special, tangled within one another, being your goofy-Selfs exhaustion is heavy on both of your features, but Bachira always looks at you with those eyes. After a night spent with you, they express a deep satisfaction within him, like this is what he wanted;

He wasn't alone anymore. His warm palm plants itself to your thigh, rubbing and softly squeezing the skin beneath it. Bachira used the element of surprise when mastering his superpowers to draw you in like a predator. He was sickly sweet; he always was, and touchy like a clingy puppy crying for attention. few words were said in moments like this just your hands running through his short bob tangling deep within the brown and gold locks

"M'gotta let me dye your hair soon" you slurred burying your face into his neck his free hand glides against you back "whenever you want bumblebee" voice deep and compassionate his voice was always adaptable perfect for every type of event this is exactly why he was your superhero he knew your mood like it was his own his left hand lazily glide from your back onto your thigh on the opposite one from his right hands they both kneed the flesh "you looked so pretty tonight I couldn't take my eyes from you" you get lost staring at his hands maybe it was the shrooms you both have ingested but sparks ignited in you tummy "Bachira.." you whisper, whined "aww I know" he said his voice dripping with his usual teasing nature "let me just make sure, I do have the right away to play with you?" He gives you that infectious smile, "Yes, now stop being stupid!" You find yourself tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

You let his long fingers wander up your skirt till they reach the waistband of your panties, snapping the waistband. You can't help but squirm. "You play too much," you whine, hips jerking. Bachira just laughs; the sound does not help the dull ache in your panties. He hikes your skirt up, and his other hand moves your panties to the side. His knuckles brush your reactive clit, making you suck in a breath of cold air through your teeth. "So sensitive, bumblebee, mhm as spongy and soaked as ever" he thumbs at your prodding clit as his fingers push into your pussy. He lets you rock against his hand, enjoying the view.

Euphoria overtakes you, the sensual pleasure and the dopamine of the shrooms pumping through you, and Bachira was the master of these feelings, pulling these out of you. He was your superhero, a shoulder to cry on, to understand why you feel a certain way, to change anything into a smile—one he loved and adored so much. He manipulated emotions, mastered them, and cherished them, making you the perfect one for him. You were so full of emotions, a superpower. He always made you feel good, no matter what feelings were conflicting in your brain.

Tokyo Revengers

Manjiro Sano (Mikey) is everyone's superhero His presence is calming and assertive. He brought comfort using his protectiveness, making anyone feel as if he were invincible Mikey and he wouldn't drop this act around anyone other than a select few that includes the original members of the Tokyo Manji Gang and you.

You had seen the real Mikey doused in the deepest of blacks when he succumbed to the darkness; his eyes were the reflection of what pooled inside and leaked out. But even Mikey had his limits. He had lost friends and all of his siblings, the ones he knew about and didn't know that wandered the earth. He had such big things impact him at a young age; still, many years later, they loom over his shoulders, maybe helping lead up to the incident that happened this afternoon.

You gave Manjiro a bracelet; it was diamond-woven with the color's gold, black, and red, with a dainty charm of your initial. It dangled from the cheesy friendship bracelet. You had given that thing to him years ago, and he had lost it. This afternoon it was given; it probably had broken with it being so old, and the factor that he never took it off.

"I lost it..." Mikey mumbled to himself, digging through a pile of clean clothes, "Manjiro Sano! I just washed those." Your voice was stern, and your eyebrows couldn't help but furrow. You hadn't understood why he was acting so strangely. "Not important," he said. Once you had gotten closer you could hear his voice it was shaky, something you hadn't heard in a while. "Fine," you said softly and sat beside him. "What did you lose, pretty?" Mikey shook something you had never seen; you couldn't decipher it. Could it have been from you calling him pretty? You know he wasn't fond of the nickname, but he let it slide because you were you,

"Something extremely important." He was brief to keep his voice from cracking. "You're trembling, Manjiro...?" And for the first time in years, Manjiro Sano, the invincible Mikey broke down and cried. He tried to choke down the first sob that bubbled up, but like a child, he let himself wail, and his fist tried to wipe away the river that went downstream on his features. "Oh, Manjiro..." you said with sympathy Your eyes had noticed the missing bracelet, the sliver of pale skin on his left wrist, and the absence of the black and red colors, letting the skin beneath finally hit the light. You knew words wouldn't help him catch the air that continued to slip and leave his poor lungs.

Instead, you watched him, a hand snaking from his back to his platinum hair to get lost in the locks. "Do not waste your tears on something so meager; I'll make you a new one." Manjiro finally musters the courage to speak tears still slip from his dark Eyerses "that's not the point I loved that bracelet..." He was always subdued but at that moment his cheeks were puffed out and his tear ducts were stained red, but it made your heart race just like the first time you met Mikey.

Manjiro had always been sentimental and far from a crybaby. You giggle, "I know, Jiro, that was just a friendship bracelet. Let me buy you a ring this time," and he looked up at you with that closed-eyed smile. your word had struck him with a realization he couldn't hide his emotions from you like Toman "I'd prefer if you made me another bracelet out of love not friendship. Leave the ring to me. Shinichiro taught me that's a man's job." He lets his head fall into your left thigh, your hands tread through his blond hair, you let your body run from your mind, and it ends right on Manjiro's lips.

Mikey was a hero to a lot of people, but Manjiro was your hero because of his sentiments. His tears and his sobs were yours to take care of, to make the cloudy skies go away and let the sunshine called Manjiro Sano twinkle for another day. His lips saunter lower, and you drift your head back to let him have his way. his calloused hands trace down your skin they felt alarmed worried you wouldn't let him touch the same because he felt you wouldn't see him the same after his little outburst over the bracelet. your hands pressed his into your waist more "don't tell me the invincible Mikey is getting cold feet" you teased a cheeky smile decorated your cheeks "never." he gave you his own smile again the one you adored oh so much his kisses traveled lower he tugged at your waist band his wet kisses stop at your tummy making the butterfly's inside worse "let me show you an incentive for the new bracelet I will receive" his eyes bore into yours you lift your hips up and he slides them down your thighs before lapping at your already waterlogged panties nibbling at you clit through them he persisted to stimulate you through the thin fabric Manjiro was your superhero in his dark moments, and when he was a beacon of light, but most of all Manjiro reminded you how sincerely fragile the things you possess truly are and to cherish them because one day they will be gone.

Jujutsu Kaisen

Ryomen Sukuna is more villain-like; anyone who didn't know him would think he is a monster. He had four arms, a strong build, and a fitting but oddly terrifying face. From afar All the other servants thought you were trouble, always provoking Sukuna. They believed the hatred was equal between the both of you.

"Lord Ryomen! I told you to stop leaving your clothing inside out. My ladies shouldn't have to deal with extra work?" Being a seneschal did give you higher power over other servants, but you were far from noble enough to yell at the dictator Ryomen Sukuna, everyone was astonished he hadn't discarded you just yet. "Get off my back, woman, before I make you!" "You should know such hollow threats have no effect on me Ryomen Sukuna!" Just as you begin to chew out Sukuna for his lazy act, you hear soft padding hit the floor as the toddler wakes up. "Tsk, and the brat saves you." Sukuna remarks You swiftly pick up Yuji. "Why hello, beautiful boy," he babbles and wraps his tiny arms around your neck.

"Hm, well, it seems I have more important matters I must attend to, your heir. I'll reprimand you later." Your eyes soften at Sukuna before you shift your focus on the young heir. "Wouldn't you like a bath?" you coo while bouncing Yuji on your hip, his giggles infectious. "I'd like for you to attend to me after the brat, woman." Sukuna's large hand pats Yuji's head, ruffling his matching pink hair; his hand then shoo's you both away to get along with your journey to the bath but thaty sadden look stayed in his four eyes.

Sukuna had Azoospermia, the condition meant he wouldn't be able to give a woman a child. The image had made him sick on many nights, but your bickering had soothed the idea of no heir. His twin brother passed on recently, leaving his son onto the great Sukuna after he finally had forgotten the idea of an heir. plenty had worried sukuna the idea of entrusting his teachings to someone who wasn't their own frightened him, but your own soothing words rid him of such stupid ideologies. "He looks just like you, my lord, doesn't he?" "Yuji will have a wonderful technique, don't you think, Lord Sukuna?" Even in grief, Sukuna had your smiley face and your embracive arguments. Truly, one could say you were his superhero, but that wasn't true...

"My lord, I finished with Yuji. What was it you needed? "I demand you accompany me to the hot spring." "Any reason?" you read the firey dictator well you could tell something was on the front of his mind. "No reasons rid yourself of that nonsense," you just laugh to yourself. "I'd be happy to, my lord." Once you both reach the hot spring, you remove your kimono, folding it and hanging it on a rack and Sukunas close by.

You watch as Sukuna steps into the warm spring. You follow shortly behind. "Be real with me. Sukuna, what do you truly desire, my lord?" Sukuna looks down in thought. "I wish to rid you of your duties as Seneschal and make you, my wife." You couldn't help but laugh; no one close was stranger to you and Sukuna's relations. You had both had plenty of nights in his chambers. He only allowed you to care for Yuji's needs. You both bickered like an old couple, picking and teasing one another like it couldn't be helped, and the way he stared at you, the only person he let all four eyes gaze at. "Don't tell me you've gone all soft, Kuna." Your hands rub his cheek and trail to his chest. "I want you to carry my child. Lets try again." His eyes were hopeful, but you sensed the doubt all over him. "We have Yuji. There's no need for an heir anymore." "It's not about an heir. I want you to be with child, my child, our blood." "Oh, Kuna" you whisper. Sukuna had appeared as a villain to everyone else alike, but you saw the man who wanted a child with the servant girl he fell deeply in love with. A mere human who wanted something fleeting and precious, but with the cards dealt to him, he couldn't have that dream. Sukuna was your superhero with his inner strength, his stubborn refusal to give up. "You can be so hardheaded."

You allow your lips trail his strong neck with fleeting kisses. He hums at the affection. "As you wish, my lord." You swing a leg over to sit in his stirring lap, cock hard against your tummy. You struggle to sit on his Substantial size, it had always felt like a train trying to ram into the station, but once stuffed snugly inside, you felt the warmth of the love between you both, Sukuna's slippery but rough grip on your hips to bounce you the water ripples with each movement, the heat from the steam, and Sukuna was overwhelming in the best ways.. Your muscles ached in reminder of recent nights; all you wanted was to give your willful lord his only wish, a family with you, a sibling for Yuji, and to make him yours. You couldn't bear to see your superhero without his cape.

And that's it. I'm so sorry, guys. I know I was supposed to have more characters, and I'm getting so burnt-out writing for this. I've been working on it for so long, and my ADHD is NOT wanting me to work on this any longer, so I am posting this with the characters I have, but I really hope you all enjoy! (Also, I think my writing has improved a lot with this, but I'd still love more tips.)

-love Bunny!

[runningthroughthegarden]

meeting you at the wrong right time

summary: youve encountered benny a few times. but never at midnight, while you were crying and stranded

warning: sucky guy (not benny) word count: 1.8k

the vandals were the type of guys your mother had always warned you about. yet you couldn't seem to pull your eyes away from them whenever they were near. you were absolutely not the type of girls they would want; you were the type of girl they would want to corrupt. which honestly scared you, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't intrigue you.

you were a secretary. you loved to wear light pink dresses. you loved the way gold jewelry looked on your tan skin. you loved curling your hair to frame your face. you loved to spray your skin with decadent perfumes. you loved painting your nails while listening to your records.

you were the complete opposite of them. yet a part of you wanted so badly to even get a sneak peek into their lives.

when you first saw benny, you were completely entranced. you were enjoying your saturday walking around town, when you saw him leaning up against his bike smoking a cigarette. you were shocked to see him without the usual crowd of rowdy men. hoping to finally sneak a long glance, you watch as you continue walking. but when he looks up its like your world stops. quickly snapping out of your haze, your cheeks immediately tint to a bright red.

you knew you were in for it when he took one last drag before flicking his cigarette to the ground. leaning off his bike he took just a few long strides to reach you.

"y'know mothers say it's not nice to stare" he smirks while looking down at you

"mothers also say it's dangerous to talk to mysterious bikers" you bite back, wondering where your sudden confidence came from

"i wouldn't say we're mysterious anymore. ive seen you before. seen you looking, but you run always run off"

it was so hard to read him. you couldn't tell if he was flirting with you or trying to scare you off. maybe it was both.

you look down letting out a little giggle so he can't see the very apparent blush on your face.

"i'll see you around doll" he says, the roughness of his voice sending shivers down your spine

walking back over to his bike he shoots you one last look before he races off

you were left standing there in a complete daze. just as you had worried, you were already craving more.

it had been a few days since your interaction with benny and it was all that could fill your head. you did your absolute best to avoid the vandals common areas. because you knew you would walk right into the palm of his hand if you spoke to him again. this plan ultimately failed. it was like the universe was pulling you together. but as always, you would see them and scurry away. sometimes you would catch bennys face in the crowd, and he always had that stupid smirk.

deciding enough was enough, you decided to put your emotions elsewhere. it was no secret boys around town had hoped for a chance to be with you. so in order to stop thinking of benny, you decided to take a chance with one of them.

although a part of you wanted benny, you knew your parents would kill you. you needed someone practical, someone that could take care of you. even if that person didn't make you half as excited as you were when you saw benny.

curling your lashes and putting on your favorite lipstick, you started to have doubts in your mind. you knew it was best for you to step away from benny, even though nothing has happened. you've formed this version of him in your head. the boy you were going out with had his whole life planned. sometimes security was more important than what you really wanted.

the sound of a car horn pulled you away from your thoughts as you took one last look in the mirror. racing down the stairs and kissing your parent's goodbye, you braced yourself for the night ahead of you. sure, this boy was handsome, but the fear of him being a typical college boy scared you. he would probably spend the night talking about himself and hoping to get lucky.

and god did you hate that you were right.

the second you got into the car; you knew this was someone you would not want to see again. he bragged and bragged about the school he went to, the job that was practically already laid out for him, the money he was going to make. did this really impress other girls? you found yourself drifting off while he kept talking.

on the way to the diner, you passed by the vandals club. and for the first time ever, you wished you could be in there. even if it was filled with loud and stinky bikers.

the dinner carried on the same way. no questions were asked about you. and you found yourself only being able to hum in agreement with his statements. not even sharing a full sentence.

dinner was finally over, and you couldn't be more excited to get home and sleep or daydream or hell even stare at a wall. anything would be more interesting than this.

"so do you want to come over to my place?" he asks, pulling out of the parking lot.

"actually, i was thinking of calling it a night" you reply, playing with the hem of your dress.

"are you serious?"

"yeah, i mean its getting pretty late" you whisper, trying not to make him angry

"i sat through an entire meal, paid for the damn thing?! and what i cant even get a kiss" he slightly yells

"well no, i thought that was all this was, a dinner to get to know each other" you reply, starting to grow weary

"of course it wasn't. you're all the same. just wanting a free dinner and nothing else. i bet you're a whore anyway" he scoffs

"hm no i think you're the whore actually. taking girls to dinner, talking about your boring life the entire time, and hoping you can get them in the back of your car after" you scoff, feeling your anger bubble up

he quickly pulls over on the empty street and grabs your arm with such a force you know it's going to leave a mark

"get the hell out of my car" he seethes

pulling your arm away, you can feel tears threatening to spill. quickly grabbing your purse you climb out, slamming the door. he doesn't even wait a second before he is racing away.

feeling utterly hopeless and stranded you sit on the curb. in your nicest dress, you feel like a fool. a fool for ever thinking a man boy like him would ever have good intentions. bracing yourself for the walk home, you try to calm your breathing. but you're all worked up and you can already feel your arm beginning to bruise.

the sound of engines starting quickly catches your attention, and you begin to realize you were just down the street from the vandals club. not even wanting to deal with any of them, you find the willpower to start walking back home.

feeling a presence behind you, you're ready to tell a guy off. but when a hand comes up to your bruised arm you suck in a sharp breath. turning to find the man that lived in your daydreams. you must've looked a mess, because his face was instantly washed with concern.

this only made your feelings come back ten times stronger and before you knew it, you were crying all over again. it might have been a dumb idea, but you were so scared, and you needed someone. your face hit his chest, and your hands clung onto his jacket. scared he might disappear.

his arms immediately came up to surround you, pulling you tightly against him. making soft shushes to try and calm you down.

"hey doll, its alright, just look at me for a second" he whispers, pulling your face away from his chest to cup it in his hands

"what happened, are you okay?" he quickly asked, eyes flickering trying to find any injuries

"i went out with this guy, and he got mad that i didnt want to go home with him. he grabbed my arm and called me a whore. he kicked me out of his car and left me on the street" you explained between sniffles and hiccups

bennys face changed in an instant. bringing his hands to your arm, slightly brushing over the bruises that were forming. you suck in a sharp breath, and he knows it hurts. but he begins to slowly pepper kisses along your arm. he's holding you so delicately, like he's scared you'll break at any second.

"whats his name?" he asks, it felt like he was holding back anger

"benny its okay i promise" you reply, not wanting to cause trouble

"no its not okay, no one hurts my girl"

you couldve melted when you heard him say my girl.

"andy clark" you whisper

"c'mon, wait by my bike for a second and i"ll be right back i promise okay" he says, holding your face in his hands one more time

slowly nodding you walk over to his bike. looking around you feel so out of place, but you also feel safe. it must've been a sight. you in your light pink dress, standing next to benny's bike, with the rest of the club standing around.

benny must've explained what happened, because the next second a few of the guys you recognized were walking behind him. he looked the angriest you've ever seen him, but as soon as he saw you his face softened.

"i'll take you home alright doll? the other guys are gonna take care of it" he whispers, going to hold your waist

slowly nodding, benny begins to climb on the bike. helping you on after.

the drive home was almost peaceful. the other guys left in the other direction, you just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble. you were sad when benny pulled into your neighborhood. you didn't know how you would be able to stay away from him after this.

"thank you benny, for everything"

"i'll be here for you, okay? wont let anything like that ever happen to you again" he replies

you nod, slowly walking up the stairs to your house. pausing, you say something you might regret, but it felt right.

"do you think you could stay over? think i would feel safer" it came out almost like a whisper, scared that you were reading benny wrong

"of course, doll"

you never would have imagined that you'd be tucked into your bed with benny by your side. but the way his arms curled around you, shielding you from the world. you knew you would never be able to stay away.

[meanbossart]

When you described the fashion that Drow dislikes it made me think about Bhaalist AU. Becasue Astarion on that one piece (the one with a mirror) looks exactly like your description. It's a bit ironic and I love it. Drow appreciates practicality. But Bhaalist Drow doesn't think Astarion needs to dress practical, Astarion is there to look pretty and Bhaalist Drow is there to make sure he is safe :) Do you have any more thoughts on how their (Drow vs Bhaalist Drow) perspective differ when it comes to clothing?

VERY WELL OBSERVED!

I would say, though, that it's more of a mixture of the things DU drow genuinely and consistently finds "tasteful" and the ostentatious garishness that he appalls in his redeemed path - and that is very much the character in a nutshell, a slightly more honed version of the person he used to be pre-tadpole, but who still requires that status and approval. He's more in control now - both of himself and of the world around him - but he's by no means "better".

By dressing Astarion up in a way that could be understated but then loading him with gold, silver and gems, he's making him a symbol of status as well. Astarion isn't supposed to look impressive, he's supposed to make him look impressive. And of course the fact that he's bound and weighted down in riches speaks for itself.

What's funny about Bhaalist DU drow AND "canon" drow, is that they both believe to be a new and improved person when compared to who they were prior to losing their memories. They would both mock him for his obsession with Orin, his weaknesses, his obnoxiousness, his appearance, his obsession with gold and jewels and intricate outfits - and they're both hypocritical for it in their own ways.

A Bhaal-Embracing DU drow would forego of a lot of the glitz and the murder-glamor that his past-self valued so much, especially in fashion, and treat his body itself far more like the statement piece it's supposed to be. Astarion, on the other hand would be showered with those kinds of gifts - because as mentioned earlier, he gets to be the expensive purse that DU drow carries around with him everywhere. He can care about looking nice and pretty, because he doesn't have much more of a purpose than that.

Canon DU drow, on the other hand, values things much more based on comfort, both in the practical and emotional sense. He doesn't value the individual rings he loots around, but having them on makes him feel nice even if they're cheap, scuffed, or just out of place with the rest of his look. Stealing pretty valuables is more of a fun past-time with his significant-other than a genuine lust for gold. Nice clothes are a treat, but not necessary, and regardless of his personal preferences he doesn't truly care about what his partner has on at all, as long as they seem happy about it. This is the biggest difference between the two versions of this character - they both want to make their better-halves happy, but only one of them cares whether or not it's a genuine kind of happiness.