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#you guys are fucking insane thanks for the notes
theemporium · 10 hours
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Ahhh can I order a violet fluff with jack and #7?? 💜
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
7. “I can hardly wait to put a ring on that finger.”
.
“I’m in love with you.”
You snorted, but smiled anyway. “I’m in love with you, too.”
“No, like, I’m in love with you.”
You blinked, pausing your movements as you turned to look at your boyfriend. Neither of you had said anything in the last thirty or so minutes, both lost in your own tasks. Music had been playing from the speaker Jack set up in the middle of the room, accompanying you two in the semi-empty apartment. 
It wasn’t the first apartment you two shared together. Your lease had ended and the decision to move in together had always been there, but neither of your apartments felt right. But with Jack’s place locked in for a few more months, it had been an easy decision for you to move in with him until you found a place together. 
But life got in the way, as it did. The move happened at the end of the summer and then the season started, and you got a promotion, and none of the places you viewed felt right. It felt like the universe was working against you two until you found this apartment in downtown Jersey City. 
It was cute and perfect, and needed a little work done before it was fully yours to enjoy together. So, when the boys finished up for the season and the two of you had more free time on your hands, you thought working on the apartment yourselves as much as you could would help make your first apartment a little more special. 
“Jack, babe,” your voice was a little softer than usual as you slowly placed the paint roller down on the tray. “You feeling good?” 
He frowned, like you were the one acting odd here. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 
“Because we’ve been dating for almost four years and I’m pretty sure we did the ‘I love you’s ages ago,” you said to him as you stepped over the stray tools scattered across the floor until you reached him. You raised your hand, pressing the back of your palm against his forehead. “Did you hit your head? Is this a memory loss thing?” 
“I’m fine,” Jack huffed, but leaned into your touch nonetheless. His hands dropped to your waist, pulling you that bit closer before you could try to step away. “I’m just saying, it’s kinda hit me.”
“Four years to realise you’re in love with me?” You asked, your eyes narrowing slightly.
“Yes,” he answered instantly before frowning. “No, like…I know I love you. I know I’m in love with you. But it's just hit me that I am in love with you.”
You blinked. “You lost me, babe.”
“Like, look at us. Look at this,” he emphasised as he waved at the room around you both. “This is our real lives. I get to live with you. I get to kiss you. This is all real life. This is our reality! Isn’t that just crazy?” 
Your face softened a little. “We’re lucky.” 
“I’m lucky,” he corrected as he wound his arms around your waist to close the little remaining distance between you. “Most guys don’t even know what love is and I get you. I get us. I get Saturdays spent painting our apartment that we bought together. That’s fucking insane.”
“You’re feeling awfully sappy today,” you noted, though your chest tightened at his words as you placed your hands on either side of his face. “I’m glad it’s all with you.”
“I don’t want it with anyone else but you,” Jack confessed, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper even if it was only the two of you in the apartment. “All of it. Like, even the future stuff.” 
You bit back your smile. “The future stuff?” 
“Yeah, the proper serious adult shit,” Jack nodded with a completely straight face. “Like marriage and kids. And adopting a dog.” 
“Adopting a dog is more serious than marriage?” You laughed, trying to pretend like your whole face wasn’t heating up at the idea that he wanted to marry you, that Jack imagined that future with you too. 
“I mean, we can change the rules. I’m down for a dog after we get engaged,” he bargained, a boyish grin taking over his face as the two of you softly swayed on the spot.
“Depends on the proposal,” you joked.
“Hm,” Jack hummed before he turned his face to press a kiss to your left hand. “I can hardly wait to put a ring on that finger.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “For the dog?”
“For you,” Jack corrected. “For us to be forever, baby.” 
“I like the sound of that.” 
“Good,” Jack grinned. “Cause it’s gonna happen and it’s gonna be the best goddamn proposal you have ever seen. And then we are gonna get our dog to make the day perfect.”
You snorted. “Deal.”
.
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jewish-vents · 2 days
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first - i just want to say thank you for making this blog. it’s so important to know that we aren’t alone in the many things we’re experiencing and feeling right now, especially when so many of us have become painfully isolated as of late.
i apologize for how long this one is going to be.
i’ve been feeling so, so alone recently. my tumblr dash has been cut down to just a handful of jewish blogs that i can trust to be kind and understanding and nuanced, but it means that the majority of the content i see is about antisemitism and the war. after a while, it becomes draining to scroll through what feels like endless sadness. i turned to looking at fandom tags instead of following fandom blogs, but it makes me feel equally as insane to click on a blog about race cars and immediately see a post with 60k notes calling what’s happening in gaza “the new holocaust”. i started going back on twitter, but fan accounts on there too are only safe for a day or so before the account owner shares some awful antisemitic tweet from an account known to be an anti-jewish extremist. i went back on instagram briefly, but i was soon afraid to look at people’s stories for fear i’d see something terrible and lose yet another trusted person from my life.
in person, i have to walk by signs saying “zionism = genocide” and hastily scribbled palestinian flags with the colors in the wrong spot on my way to class every day. a wall across from my apartment says “BDS” in giant letters. i haven’t opened my curtains in months because of it. a “protest” of about 25 people stood in the center of campus and yelled and waved their fists in passing students’ faces, so jewish students didn’t go to class on any of the days they gathered. i only have one non jewish friend left at school - the rest abandoned me because i either called them out on antisemitic rhetoric or refused to go along with the idea that anyone, palestinian or israeli, muslim or jewish, is less than human. i had taken several of them along to our hillel’s seder in the past. i don’t know who i can safely go with this year. i have a few jewish friends, of course, but i love bringing goyische friends with little connection to judaism along to experience how joyful and loving jewish holidays can be.
it feels like there is no escape from this fucking war. it sickens me that it’s the only thing people pretend to care about - where is the attention for sudan, ukraine, armenia, uyghurs in china, syria, guyana? how is putting an emoji in your twitter bio or putting a translucent overlay of the palestinian flag on your tumblr icon any sort of real activism? how have we gone from “antisemitism is wrong” to “(((zionists))) control the world media”? it seems like the war is a fandom to these people. it seems like nobody cares enough to fully read and think critically about what they share, let alone do real research beyond looking at an infographic somebody shared on their instagram story. they’ll add on “don’t forget your click today!” to an unrelated twitter thread that went viral, flip the bird at the local starbucks, and put “won’t you free my palestine” on their instagram stories. they’ll anonymously tell a jew online to commit suicide. they’ll feel secure in the knowledge that they’re the perfect leftist, that this is somehow “good trouble”. all this praxis, and nothing to show for it but massive surges in hate crimes against jews. good job, guys! you singlehandedly saved every innocent person in gaza!
it’s isolating. it’s scary. jews can’t mourn. jews can’t be angry. jews can’t disagree. jews can’t suffer. jews can’t be whole, complex people with diverse beliefs and experiences. suffering is a game, and the goal is to hurt the most, scream the most, die the most, all to appease western leftists whose closest connection to war and violence was reading the hunger games in middle school.
i’m tired of it all. i want a peaceful and just resolution to the war. i want the mindless hatred everywhere to stop. i want to be able to scroll through social media and see nothing but fandom. i want to walk through campus with my magen david showing and all the friends i lost by my side on the way to the hillel seder. i want to open my curtains again. i know the experience of one diaspora jew is nothing compared to what people living in israel and palestine are currently going through, yet i still need this all to end. i don’t think any of us can go on like this, but we must, because we have. for thousands of years, we’ve gone on. that still doesn’t mean it has to be this hard all the time.
all i can think is “now we are slaves. next year may we be free.” now we are slaves to hatred and violence and suffering. next year may we all be free. next year may we all be in jerusalem.
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They're having a play date!
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poscariastri · 5 months
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oscar piastri as silly cats. here u go
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bonus checo and max :3
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1eoness · 10 months
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Could you make a Dom!Leon x trans ftm reader NSFW fic with some fluff thrown into there?
୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ author rambling; HI i am eating pineapple rn and i never forgot this request. just to clarify and for some context, i dont have experience of writing !reader anything out of sub afab so im sorry if this is super inaccurate or inapplicable or unsatisfying and im open to criticism on this :( :) idk im so sorry aghdfhdsfhdj i really need to work on this. oh and i read some ftm smut for this so ty to those writers :> pls criticize anything off (with reason ofc). [btw i feel like this is super bad im sorry im not feeling creative rn i have writers block :((( ]
anyway 'DOM!LEON KENNEDY X TRANS FTM READER NSFW WITH SOME FLUFF THROWN IN THERE' COMING UP. i'm sorry this took so long for such short content too :(
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cw: fluffy dom!leon kennedy, trans ftm!reader (w/ bottom surgery) [i can always redo this if you don't like me mentioning top/bottom surgery]. praise, oral (reader receiving)
synopsis : re4r leon and he loves u and ur worried little face and he's gonna kiss it better (and fuck it better, maybe).
‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -♡- ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵
leon loves you. he knows you're constantly worried over him being troubled over his trauma but he wants you to know, between every crevice of his clouded thoughts, that he loves you and it's the surest thing he knows. it's hard to admit but even when he loses himself, it will always, and forever be clear to him that you have his heart and there's a reason why.
you were about to get under the covers to go to sleep (after a day that felt longer than it should be.). though, you lowered your headphones to the lower end of the volume once you saw leon through the bedroom doorway.
"baby, i wanna tell you something." leon said, his quiet and soft voice only going a decibel higher as he crawls to you on your bed. he hated seeing you about to sleep with such a worried look on your handsome face.
you thought he didn't notice? even if you're his neutral-faced boy, he knows when the air around you feels more somber than usual. "do you ever feel.."
"like a plastic bag?" you quipped quickly. (i'm sorry if you don't get it)
"no, damn it." leon's mutter-reply followed with a quiet chuckle that you echoed. he likes that about you, your incessant annoying humor (but you'll never beat him in that). he sighs, and tries again. "you know, like... you're kind of.. stressed over someone else's troubles?"
to be honest, he doesn't really know how to go about it. he doesn't want you to think you're burdening him—though, you could never ever make him feel like that. leon nears you, hovering above you and adoring your face wherever his mind runs. for some reason, before you guys go to sleep he just does this. he also likes talking to you before you both go to sleep ♡.
you hum, just a little bit sleepy. "what do you meann?" you ask quaintly, and leon's heart melts at the tone of your slightly languid voice. you sounded so cute. a rather random yet soft laugh escapes before he dips down to give you a small kiss on your cheek.
"...y/n, i'll just be straight—i don't want you going to bed looking so.. upset." leon mutters softly, rubbing over the skin of your cheekbone with his thumb. maybe he shouldn't have gone into detail how heavy his mission felt. because when he was done talking, you gave him some short comfort and impulsively stood up and said that you needed to wash the dishes (and the dishwasher was literally running when you said that).
at first he thought he did something wrong and upset you, and the guilt immediately seeped in. naturally, he didn't want it to go undiscussed, that would murder him! so he went to find you ASAP. but when he went to check on you in that dim kitchen, he saw you with your back turned and trying to silence your tears. apparently, you felt so bad for him it was enough to hurt you, too. you were just too sweet—leon also felt bad. he gave you some space for a bit, though he's sorry because he really wants to be there for you and he can't afford to leave you by yourself sometimes :(
you looked a little to the side from his forward words. you didn't really know what to say in response, you were just.. tired, and also worried. leon understands this, picking up on it and showing it by giving you a reassuring, subtle smile. he wants to see you smiling, too, and he knows just how to do it. it's his favorite thing about his little boy ♡.
"..come, baby." he coos quietly as he began to take a hold on either sides of your face, knowing you don't need discussion right now. maybe loving is enough. and loving you is a way of reassuring himself, you just need to accept that :( so you be good for him and let him give you the praise you deserve (and so much more).
he kisses you on the forehead first. he loves cradling your handsome little face, placing safe pecks all over it. especially on that spot a little adjacent from under your eyes. leon hums when his lips reach your jaw, peppering it with innocent love. but will it really only go that far? "because you're the most perfect boy ever." he reasons hushedly, his left hand holding the side of your neck and caressing it gently.
oh, it's going to be one of those nights where he kisses you all over and doesn't leave you alone.. but you know better than to complain.
"y're so clingy..." you decided to joke, though you both knew you loved it. while you giggled at his antics, you can feel him smiling into the skin of your neck. he's so ready to spoil you rotten.. and you had no idea:( ♡
he moves his broad hands under your shirt, handling your being with tutelage. the fuss of the sheets make hush noise as he moves downwards, worshipping your body along the way by placing kisses over your clothed stomach. "...so?" he laughs softly against the skin of your lower inner thigh, the fluttery feeling of his lips planting a kiss on it making you shudder. he sees you, and how you turn so bashful all of a sudden.
"..tickles?" leon mumbles amusedly.
"yeah-" you mutter in response before he abruptly did it again on your stomach this time, which made you giggle. you were just too precious to him!
he holds your thighs in his hands for a minute, resting his head against your left thigh. you see the muscles on his arm flex subtly while he does so, your stomach tumbling at witnessing his strength at such a mild moment. for a minute he just gazes at you fondly, a hinting coyness hiding beneath his expression.
you were making it so tough for him. he just wants to kiss you all over . hell, he might even want to merge corporealities with you.
he doesn't speak, his eyes trailing down to your pelvic area while unnoticeably smirking to himself. you were so cute to him, so what else can he do but lift your thighs over his broad shoulders?
but he looks up at you, immediately. his fingertips are teasing at the hem of your bottom clothing, insinuating what he wants to do for you as he lightly taps at your skin. "baby, may i?" he asks with a sudden comforting tone. he'll never make you do something you don't wanna do. but like said, if you accepted, there's no promise that he's going soft on you.. but that's because he just wants you to be all nice and happy! a very innocent motive ♡
"mhm.." you hummed lowly, willingly giving him your greenlight. and has leon said he loves you?
"thank you, love.." he mutters shortly in reply before pulling your pajama bottoms just a little down. down enough for him to free your pretty shaft. he sees you blushing, covering the bottom half of your face with your sleepy hands.
and this man.. was so hard to predict!
the soft hunk of a man wants to wrap his right arm around your abdomen, pull your hips up to his face. "leon!-" you gasp abruptly with that same low voice.
"shhh, baby." leon mumbled while his left hand snaked around to cage your right thigh firmly to his shoulder. his knees dip on the comforters, pulling his boy's lower body up like he was challenged to lift a feather.
you quickly brought your hands up to take your headphones off, but leon suddenly spoke when you pried the muffs off your ears.
"keep them on." he cuts your actions off. the subtle demand of his tone says you're going to keep them on. he, somehow, reaches to turn the volume up on your headphones. you were puzzled, not knowing what he was aiming to do with such-
"a-aah!-" you yelped in utter surprise. a dribble of spit threads from his pretty lips and down onto your length..
he's hunched over as he takes your tip, then more in his mouth. he glances at your dumbfounded eyes, and you swear you could see him smirking to himself. but before you could think further, he was suddenly suckling onto your cock so firmly you started to squirm.
but that's why leon's holding you so tightly, so you can take it the way he needs you to~
you felt restricted. leon wants to steal your senses, inject pleasure in your veins like he were trying to fucking save you. he's beginning to get so hard that it makes him whine against your shaft, and he's so hard that you're making it difficult for him to think rationally.
"l-leonn! slow down!~" you cried without sense, which only urged his fingers pressing into your skin as he held you in place. he takes an inch further, his mouth working eagerly, making sure you can understand his carnal urge of making you cum with his mouth. "uh-uhh!-.... nghhh-hh..."
"mhmm..mmmm..." he hummed roughly, following with a soft growl as he slurped you up stupid. you kept moving. why were you moving so much? you were so sleepy just a minute ago.. oh, well; leon thinks. but is this man really oblivious to the fact that he can make you feel so, so good?
of course he wasn't. your erotic whines got louder and louder by the minute as your headphones disabled you from being conscious of your tone at all. your voice fell muffled upon your ears but leon was devouring it, using your moans and sobs as a motive to eat you up until you're heart-eyed. you couldn't even make sense of the music anymore as leon's mouth clouded your empty mind.
i'm gonna drown you in pleasure, baby.. leon thinks to himself while he's busy adoring you and the way your cock twitches onto his tongue :(
you were flailing slightly while leon went down on you, seeing you and your eyes struggling to keep open. he trails his left hand up and down your thigh, the sensation feeling a little ticklish. your chest rose and fell warmly, trying to reach out to stop him with a weak hand but he wouldn't let you and he feels (mildly) sorry. but it doesn't make him halt— he looks at you with sweet eyes that say 'please cum for me~'
you whined weakly at this, voice going raspy as you full on started to cry. you felt so vulnerable and so good at the same time and you trusted leon so much. you could feel it, could feel him about to siphon your orgasm out of you. just the way he wanted it..
the faucet began to spill and you were crying, the tears trickling down your cheeks messily and around your headphones, too. leon looked at you with mostly with affection, but also with a bit of sympathy. you must've had such a hard time, huh? he's so happy he can make you feel better..
"u-uhh, f-fuck, leon!! n-nno- nggh..a-ahh!-" you didn't even know what you were blabbering or retorting for anymore, but your hips twitched in his grip as you began to tremble within the fuzzy feeling of your orgasm. you were being such a pretty boy for him like this, all sensitive and crying after one minor blowjob. how were you going to handle the rest of the night like this?
it was hard to ignore his boner at this point. "mm..mhh, fuck- such a good boy f'me, huh?" he groans while he sucks on you at a slower pace, trying not to overwhelm you too hard (but still overwhelming you :( he's sorry, he swears.). "god, you're so cute.. but you have him so horny and frustrated now, what did you just do to this boy? he isn't frustrated at you.. but..
he isn't letting go of your thighs any time soon.
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sieglinde-freud · 6 months
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but what if the entire lucina gang were sent to fates instead of just 3??
ANON IM SORRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE FIVE YEARS TO GET TO i got the ask and i was like “omg i literally have something in my notes about this i’ll pull it up when i have time” and then i just fucking forgot. sorry. and then i remembered again. and then life started like rapid fire punching me in the face. but im here now im answering it now im so sorry anyways its probably gonna be long and unorganized so cut
okay anyways so i think there’s a lot of different ways you can implement the second gen into fates and firstly my favorite and also the most stupid way to do so and also what i have in my notes is to split em all up between the four nohrian royals. they all get three new retainers from bumfuck nowhere and it makes no sense and it creates the worst dynamics ever. i assigned them like this:
xander: inigo, kjelle, laurent
camilla: severa, noire, yarne
leo: owain, cynthia, nah
elise: gerome, brady, lucina
and then morgans not there bc they throw off the even split but i think in that case, maybe corrin gets both of them? i think thatd be cute. anyways i’d be willing to move any of them like im not that attached to these placements, but i quite like the potential lord retainer dynamics that happen here. kjelle and laurent might seem a bit too similar to xander in terms of stoicism but hear me out. i think raging feminist man hating lesbian kjelle being tossed to work under xander would be fucking hilarious. you know how inigo almost beat xander in that match? guess who’d wipe the floor with him. and then i think laurents like. like laurent is normal passing. but you see he also has the pent up rage of an bullied 13 year old soon to be if not corrected incel and i think having that be explored with xander would be actually fucking hilarious. imagine one day xander is just like “hey laurent can you do something for me?” and laurent, whos been dealing with reeling back in inigo and kjelle (and uh. maybe peri if shes still here i havent thought that part through) and is absolutely sick of everyones bullshit just snaps and goes “NO! NO I FUCKING CANT!” and everyone in nohr just has this feeling of unease. something in the universe just broke.
and then with camilla i was like “well who would she dote on the most” and i picked noire and yarne. i can understand why yarne might be controversial because he is not a cute girl HOWEVER consider that he IS a cute rabbit. very cute. and hes terrified of everything all the time. i think camilla would find that charming and i think he would be terrified of her but also like. extremely devoted?? like i think he’d respect and look up to her a lot. just. just let me do that twenty feet away from you. please (lonqu!yarne????) but also i think theres very motherlike aspect to camilla that i think could eventually break through yarnes anxiety if she just started approaching him a little differently. and also the fact that shes one of nohrs best warriors and would murder anyone who comes close to harming him would probably help feel a little more secure in not dying. like it wouldnt fix him but it might help. and then noire is similar except she IS a cute girl and also i think camilla would be insanely into her talisman persona. make of that what you will i dont know but also going back to camilla as a motherish figure so obviously all of the future kids moms kicked the bucket meaning they all lacked proper mother figures for a good chunk of their lives, but noire never really had a proper mother figure… at all? bc bad timeline tharja was fucking abusive! so i think if she could find some of what she was missing in camilla, whether of not its particularly healthy i dont know but i think if she could that’d set up something interesting between them. theres also the fact that camilla and tharja are slightly similar in their callousness, only that camillas isnt aimed at her allies like tharjas sometimes is. i think that could actually end up being really comforting for noire in an oddly familiar way. healthy? debatable. but… interesting. DO YOU GUYS SEE MY VISION AM I INSANE
and then leo. ok im iffy on these guys like i could move them. but i think cynthia would be a nice retainer for leo to have bc i think they could have a fun “woah youre so cool! like a real hero” “im not the hero you think i am or want me to be” conversation and that wouldnt require cynthia to be his retainer to have but i think it would be nice. im not sure he’d send her on the same missions he sent odin on because shes not cosplaying as the worlds greatest mage (… or is she… no i dont think she’d abandon her pegasus) so theyd get on a lot easier at first. nah is here because i wanted to give leo a break and also i think leo being curious about a manakete thats similar but also not too much similar to corrin would be interesting. idk tho this is my least favorite placement. would be willing to switch.
and then for elise’s new retainers its interesting because shes the only nohr royal who didnt get an awakening kid so. ive given her three new ones. ger bear is here bc i think itd be fucking hilarious. yes, maybe itd make more sense to put him with xander or leo. i dont care though. i want him to bow down to the littlest princess of nohr, nohrs absolute sunshine, blah blah blah. also i think it’d be good for him. dude needs some sunshine. brady i was a little iffy on. i almost placed him with leo and im not sure where i prefer him actually, but i stuck him with elise because i think in some way, elise might, at first glance, remind him a bit of his mother. and kinda like with noire im not sure if its the healthiest way to go about his grief because elise is evidently not maribelle, but i think it could be a fun little arc for him to go through to try and break that image and learn to not project everything he wished maribelle couldve done for him onto elise. bradys a real funky guy i want him to go through some turmoil. and then lucina is here because i love their warriors support conversation and i think lucina being around elise could be so incredibly healing to the part of her that never got a chance to be a kid. and elise is a really fucking smart character yk i think she’d catch on really easily to how much lucina represses and try to bring it out of her. actually this goes for gerome and brady too i think she’d see a lot of her siblings in them and try to bring out as much of their childishness as she can because FUCK!!! these bitches are SAD!!! send help!!
this au is incredibly unrealistic and jambled but i just like thinking about it. i have no idea how this would affect the plot of fates. nohr’s army just gets a huge fucking power boost i guess???? they could probably kill anankos on their own. i believe it. but im quite honestly not all that interested in the giant plot i just like thinking about how the characters might interact and change. the nohrian royals and the awakening gen are just. so insane. and i didnt even bring up the rest of the fates cast (this post is fucking LONG ENOUGH) but i will be thinking. oh yes i will be thinking.
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averlym · 6 months
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a word to the wise sometimes the only true rest is looking beyond what you thought was success
so true! adamandi is full of wise advice such as this, including: "and you'll never feel better if you - fucking die- you stupid ass!"
#these are all very good reminders. especially during exam season (i am suffering. but at least i'm working on art coursework so it's#suffering i love.) guys i have maybe a bit too many thoughts on ambrose. sculpture. and ceramics. and studio. in my art student 3d era rn#tmr it's black and white 2d so it's vincent vibes instead... anyways. in my breaks i ended up brainstorming more doodles again so..#anywaysndhfnfjfhf sorry to detract! but like these two quotes are holding my sanity intact i think.#at this point even without listening to the live soundtrack it sounds in my head so. lasting impressions i guess. every time i get anxious#' you'll never get better if you fucking die'' sounds in my head and i go ''ah yes there's a whole life outside''#continuing this ramble you ever think how vincent went from you'll never get better if you fucking die to '' first i chose my friend#ambrose for my debut :DD'' realll quick. or also how this principle worked for when he was talking to ambrose about it and then. for himself#he didn't want to get better. he wanted quincy to get better and so '' you'll never get better if you die'' held through to the end#it just wasn't a mentality that saved him... god that screws me up. so many thoughts.#anyways anon!!!! thank you for sending this :3 made my day <33 very vibes#going to put the soundtrack on and power through studio again.. :3 adamandi asks are welcomed ngl teehee#ask me stuff???#on another note sometimes it's so surreal that actors are real people... i guess the magic of theatre is that it makes the characters come#to life.. like i believe actors are real. and deserve to be treated like people. for the record. but also when consuming media and it's the#suspension of disbelief? these are Real Characters i can't believe that someone who isn't them is making these sounds and doing these things#it's so insane. incredible. idk i just have very high admiration for the cast and idk how i got here even... akshdjdhdf#<blinks> they did such a good job akdhdnfhfbgfhff ok bye#first time i swear in the actual post on this blog and not in the tags... of course
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pebblezone · 1 year
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Idk how welcome home has overrun literally all of my social media but I guess I welcome it
#talkingcore#I love puppets it’s all on me I’m engaging this actually isn’t a complaint more like a I Didn’t Know This Existed 24 hours ago#and now it’s literally all I’m seeing like 80% of the videos I’ve seen today have been welcome home which like honestly is super impressive#hell yeah to those creators they’ve got some insane drive#album adventure update: finally rolled good ol honorary Beach boy Glen Campbell maybe I’ll give you guys ram ranch#pip would’ve loved ram ranch 💔 rip king fly high 🕊️🧍‍♂️ 18 naked cowboys 😭 at the ram ranch 😰#I’ve been fucking around with lip syncing shit and it’s tedious as hell but heeehee it’s fun woooah the mouth moves wooooahaaahhhhhh#also this dude keeps leaving his Apple Watch in the practice room in my dorm and like thankfully I’m such an amazing and perfect person#that I didn’t take it the first time but the second time (like 2 weeks later) I said fuck it and just used it while it was still in there#(I’d checked at 2. saw it was there. didn’t use it. came back at 5 it was still there so like a reasonable amount of time to get it)#so I fucked around as normal but like I started getting freaked by the possibility of it listening (it probs wasn’t)#so I left but like bro how do you forget it twice why are you taking it off#I gave it to the help desk people which I think was the right thing to do but also Dude think how easily I could’ve stolen it please keep it#no longer dying of the plague but I need to hang onto my t boy swag pleasepleaseplease let me keep at least some lower notes#I will accept not hitting a G2 again but like. a C3? even just a D3 like regularly? please? please? please? hello? you’re nothing#anyway I’m avoiding my work you guys should look up The Beach Boys and Charles Manson have a gander at that for fun#thanks to my lovely institution having a strike going on by mid Thursday I’m done for the week which means I get to indulge and boy shall I#love you 🫶 go slay 🫶 have great vagina 🫶 byeeee
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valeriianz · 1 year
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I posted 494 times in 2022
That's 339 more posts than 2021!
28 posts created (6%)
466 posts reblogged (94%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@asingularcanadian
@landwriter
@be-they-do-crimes
@teejaystumbles
@alibonbonn
I tagged 490 of my posts in 2022
Only 1% of my posts had no tags
#fanart - 152 posts
#the sandman - 62 posts
#dreamling - 58 posts
#hades game - 56 posts
#patrochilles - 41 posts
#tsoa - 39 posts
#movies - 27 posts
#morpheus - 27 posts
#hob gadling - 26 posts
#achilles - 21 posts
Longest Tag: 134 characters
#and after he leaves (cheeks tinged pink and 'forgetting' the box there) hob's coworkers tell him how dream had been coming in for days
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
“You’ve grown old, Hob Gadling.” 
Hob tensed at the all too familiar voice. A voice he’d never forget, despite the years that had passed since he’d last heard it. The melodic, rich voice that transfixed many, Hob being no exception. He swallowed as he turned, knowing the voice could hear it, could hear his heartbeat suddenly in his ears.
“Tends to happen to mortals, you know?” Hob regarded him in the darkness. He was a shadow on the wall, peeling away and floating towards him now.
Morpheus glides until he meets Hob at the window he’s stationed at. The night is cold and bitter, snow has begun to gently fall, like ash after a bonfire. After a public execution.
“Have you come back to me, my one?” 
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254 notes - Posted November 8, 2022
#4
Robert Gadling is a character just BRIMMING with possibility. The lives he’s lived, the cultures he’s been a part of. The turning points in history that he’s witnessed! He’s into printing in 1489, imagine he was in Germany when Gutenberg invented the printing press? Why not! (He probably still owns a copy of Gutenberg’s Bible). Hob goes through an art phase and is there for the unveiling of Michelangelo’s David (imagine how fucking immaculate that statue looked in 1501). And then, Hob stays in Italy, obsessed with the renaissance and maybe befriending Michelangelo, gifted with the privilege to witness him working for 5 years on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Hob’s life is rife with history, with experience. He’s traveled the world, I bet he joined Ferdinand Magellan’s expedition to circumnavigate the globe (because Hob would, HE WOULD). He lived on that ship and drank piss ale and rum and stepped on land he never dreamed of exploring. 
Hob’s there for the steam engine. Can you imagine him ranting and raving to Dream about how they managed to remove water from flooded mines and convert it into energy? “The power of steam!” Hob raves, gesticulating at Dream with a huge grin on. The birth of rail transport, the invention of the telegraph, the suffrage movement “women are finally fighting back!” I’d love to read something where Hob gets smacked with an appreciation for women, because you know he must’ve been some kind of problematic womanizer, back in the day (century). On and on and on it goes!
He's lived dozens and dozens of lives, different names, shifting personalities. Everything you can think of, Hob’s done it. I love when fic writers just let their imaginations run wild with Hob, the deeper the introspection the better.
He strikes me as a man of adventure and consequence. He’s smart, so fucking smart. Imagine the schooling this man has had, imagine the life experience. Imagine the people he’s taken to his bed too. This man is a literal definition of “fuck around and find out.”
Imagine the loneliness at times, knowing each relationship never develops. He makes friends, lovers, and has to break their hearts. Hob probably starts accidentally falling in love with Dream because he’s his only constant in life. He probably bites his tongue every time they meet, wanting to beg for more than one visit a century. By the 1600s Hob’s desperate for companionship. He loves the gift of immortality freely given to him, he treasures every second on this green earth, but god damn can it get lonely. 
I want to read Hob speaking foreign languages, communicating effortlessly and fluently with anyone. Striking up a conversation because someone catches him reading a worn copy of The Odyssey in its original ancient Greek or something like that. Can you imagine the tracks he has to switch in his brain when he has to converse in Yiddish? Turkish? Japanese? It probably takes him a full minute to rifle through his metaphorical filing cabinet, like a slow Internet connection because you have too many tabs open.
Imagine all the work he’s done, the jobs he’s taken up, good and bad. Morally gray or just immoral, so bad Hob can’t bear to remember. (He’s been in the mob, he’s been in a gang, he's been a marksman, he’s been a private investigator, he's been a doctor and an archeologist, on and on and ON). I can see him loving a position as a museum curator.
Oh man, this got long. 
TL;DR: I go absolutely insane for a Hob character analysis that explores his time through history and how it has changed him as a person.
319 notes - Posted November 13, 2022
#3
Hob hums along to the music quietly playing through his phone speaker, the knife in his hand coming down swiftly over the thinly sliced peppers, dicing them for his latest meal endeavor. He’d never really been much of a cook, but after living on his own for so many years, Hob came to the realization that living off takeout and boxed pasta wasn’t very sustainable (or healthy) and had strived to make at least one homemade meal a day. And today it was breakfast.
He scraped the bell pepper into a small bowl and reached for the red onion. Hob was on a mission this morning to get an omelet correct– redemption round– he called it. Preparing the vegetables was easy enough, it was cooking them with the egg mixture while keeping its integrity that was the challenge. 
With the knife poised to make the first cut into the onion, Hob suddenly feels two arms snake around his waist, followed by a cold nose pushing its way through his hair at the back of his neck.
Hob huffs a startled, but pleased laugh, as Dream nuzzles his way around, pressing feather soft kisses on his neck and up to his ear. He didn’t even hear Dream approach; he never hears Dream, like the man weighed nothing or just glided along the squeaky floorboards. Hob unconsciously tilts his head, stretching his neck out for Dream to have more access.
“You weren’t there when I awoke,” Dream rumbles, his voice impossibly low and rough from sleep.
Hob smiles. He still has the knife in his hand, but he’s lowered it to the cutting board, blade safely out of the way.
“I wanted to get started on breakfast,” he answers simply, trying desperately to not turn his head and meet Dream’s wandering lips. “And I made coffee.”
Dream presses his body along Hob’s, crowding him against the counter and ripping a surprised gasp from Hob, which turns into a soft groan as Dream nips his ear before dragging an open mouth down his neck. One of his hands is slipping underneath the hem of Hob’s shirt, rucking it up and fingers dancing across his stomach.
Hob’s eyes slip closed and he swallows hard.
“I’m holding a knife, love.”
He feels one of Dream’s hands move from his hip to lightly grip his elbow, fingers caressing down Hob’s arm and gently dislodging the knife from his hand. Hob chuckles softly, accepting his fate and allowing Dream to tie their fingers together, resting their hands on the countertop as he pushes himself forward again, so Dream’s front is flush against Hob’s backside.
Hob’s breath catches in his throat, feeling the distinct, hard outline of Dream’s arousal nudge against his ass as he shamelessly rolls his hips, pulling Hob impossibly closer as he does so. Hob brings his free hand around, winding it back and touching Dream’s middle, feeling skin. He tilts his head back against Dream’s shoulder, splaying his fingers and exploring down past Dream’s ribs to his hips, and lower…
Hob is almost breathless as he speaks, almost stammers as Dream bites his exposed neck.
“Why are you naked?”
“Why aren’t you?” Dream counters before getting both hands on Hob’s hips and spinning him around, shoving a gloriously firm, pale leg against Hob’s crotch and crushing Hob against the counter with renewed vigor.
Hob can only meet Dream’s mouth as it descends onto his, moaning as Dream’s tongue slides along his, hot and insistent. Hob crumbles at once, wrapping his arms around Dream’s shoulders and pulling so there’s no more space between them, no more air.
Hob cries out at a particularly hard thrust, causing his lower back to dig into the counter’s edge. Dream is kissing down his neck again and Hob can only hold on, getting a handful of silky soft hair and pulling.
“Dream–”
“Come back to bed,” Dream demands, licking the shell of Hob’s ear and making him shudder pleasantly.
Hob relents, abandoning his mission that was breakfast, it had been a lost cause from the start.
331 notes - Posted October 18, 2022
#2
had thoughts about Dream being able to sleep, how soft and human he would look. for your consideration:
Hob announced his arrival from work with a long sigh, heavy with exhaustion, and leaned into the door as he opened it and stepped into his flat. He dropped his keys in the little bowl and toed off his shoes. He had just shrugged off his messenger bag when he noticed a pair of large black boots in the living room, stark against his off-white rug. They were about a meter apart, like they’d been kicked off or tossed aside without a second thought.
With one brow raised, eyes scrupulous, Hob deposited his bag on the couch and bent down to pick up first one boot, then the other, tucking them together and neatly placing them on the wooden floor next to a bookshelf.
“Dream?” Hob called out, straightening up and casting his gaze upon the room. It wasn’t like Dream, when he paid surprise visits, to not immediately be within eyesight of the door, let alone leave his shoes haphazardly on the carpet.
Hob’s eyes landed on the entryway of the hall, spotting Dream’s thick, long coat in a heap on the center of the floor. Worry began to creep in as Hob slowly stepped up to Dream’s mystical coat, his pulse thrumming under his skin. He stooped down, grabbing it by the collar and brushing it off with his other hand. The material felt luxurious in Hob’s hands, soft like cashmere or shahtoosh, but also durable– something akin to wool or even canvas. Hob’s fingers caressed the fabric, feeling the lip of the tall collar between his thumb and fingers. 
Gently folding the coat over one arm, Hob continued down the hall, stepping softly, carefully. 
Hob’s bedroom door was open, the rays of the setting sun streamed in through the window and lit up the entryway, revealing more dark clothes in a jumble leading into the room.
Swallowing, lips parting, Hob bent down once more to collect Dream’s t-shirt, his pants and, following the line of mayhem, his socks, taking them all into his arms. Hob wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he finally straightened up and turned, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Hob almost dropped all the clothes he had spent carefully collecting, his mouth going dry. 
There was a considerable, person-sized lump in Hob’s bed, buried under his thick gray comforter. The only indication that it was indeed Dream laying in Hob’s bed, was the mane of wild dark hair poking out from the mass of linens.
Hob took a step forward, then another, crushing the pile of clothes to his chest as he walked around the bed, his gaze transfixed to the top of Dream’s head– a smattering of black ink spilled on his white pillow. He held his breath as he finally came to face Dream, the only part of him sticking out was his nose and eyes, Dream’s impossibly long lashes draped down, threatening to brush the tops of his cheeks.
Hob felt his jaw drop, lips parting in wonder at this ethereal creature in his bed.
Dream was sleeping.
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565 notes - Posted October 28, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
You are an obsession, you're my obsession Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
“Hello, Hob,” a low, sultry, and achingly familiar voice speaks behind him, cutting through the heavy bass reverberating off the walls and straight through Hob’s chest, lighting him up.
Turning, Hob finds– who he’d been referring to as– his stranger behind him, close enough to reach out and touch. They’re in the middle of the dance floor, bodies packed and grinding all night, but somehow they’ve given them room now.
Hob was dreaming, he was aware of it almost immediately. He’s been thrown back into the 1980s, one of Hob’s favorite periods of the 20th century, and in a nightclub no less. The music loud enough to penetrate skin, feeling the twangy synth pop in his bones. Everyone around him dressed in every color of the rainbow, over accessorized in neon hoop earrings and bangles, leg warmers, windbreakers, and mesh patterns. 
Hob’s dreams often took him back in time, and he wondered what prompted this. Though as Hob often did in his dreams, instead of considering why, he simply indulged. The music wasn’t anything particular, perhaps nothing was actually playing and it was all in his head, but Hob had felt the push and pull of everyone around him and followed along like a buoy at sea.
And now, feeling drunk off the sticky sweet air in the room, Hob grins as he boldly steps into his stranger’s space and slips both arms around his middle, pulling so his skinny, pale, gorgeous friend is flush against him.
He’d been dancing with strangers all night, shadows with indeterminate faces, allowing them to trace patterns on his skin, grip his shoulders or tug on his shirt. Hob hadn’t been dancing or even hanging around loud bars or clubs in decades, maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he missed it. Missed the anonymity of it all, getting high off everyone else’s pleasure and succumbing to it. So it made sense, as Hob felt himself getting hot, his skin prickling, that his imagination would wander, drifting to his perfect stranger. The only constant in his life, and someone who frequented Hob’s dreams often, especially as their centennial meetings came around or passed.
Though this iteration of his friend appeared distinctly… solid. He was dressed in that long black coat and skinny jeans from their last meeting (where he’d apologized, apologized! And called Hob a friend), his black hair gently tousled as before.
Hob paid it no mind as his tongue finally became useful and spoke for him.
“Hello, stranger.” he tried his best to mimic his friend’s deep voice and giggled at himself, cataloging the twitch of amusement in his usual stony face.
“You were thinking about me.” He spoke again, choosing to not point out how Hob currently had his arms ensnared around him and swaying them back and forth. “In a place like this.”
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811 notes - Posted November 3, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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zarameraki · 2 months
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♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!
: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k
: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)
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You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.
“Look at you, Mrs. Sukuna, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.
“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.
The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.
Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.
Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.
Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.
"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.
"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"
"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.
Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.
Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.
“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.
"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.
"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.
"Yes, sir."
As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.
Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.
The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.
In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.
The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.
One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.
Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.
When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.
Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.
Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.
You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.
Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.
Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.
Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.
You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.
Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.
"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.
Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"
You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."
"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"
Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.
How could he not know?
"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.
"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."
Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"
You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 
He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"
“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.
"Come here."
Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"
"Come here."
With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.
An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.
"Feeling better?"
"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."
Sukuna responded only with silence.
You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.
The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.
In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.
Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.
"I can't—Uraume—"
"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."
"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.
"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."
Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.
The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.
The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.
You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.
"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.
"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.
"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Sukuna."
You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.
"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"
With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.
The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.
The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Sukuna," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."
You drifted into unconsciousness.
The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.
“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.
With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.
"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."
"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.
Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.
His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.
"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.
"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.
He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.
"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.
You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”
"No shit. You pushed an eight-kilo baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.
"Did you want . . . a girl?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."
"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."
Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.
“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.
“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”
“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”
Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."
He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.
"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.
He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.
"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.
You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.
"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."
“Did you fire the last one?”
“I fired at her, yes.”
Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"
He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."
Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”
"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."
“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”
He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”
Up until the kidnapping.
Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."
Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"
An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"
"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"
You . . . nodded. 
“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”
You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"
"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.
"Oh."
All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.
Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.
But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Ryomen. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.
Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."
"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."
"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.
"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."
A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.
“She sleeps like you, Mr. Sukuna.”
“Ryomen,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Ryomen.”
Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Ryomen?”
His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”
You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Ryomen.”
In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.
In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.
The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.
Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"
"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"
Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.
"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"
"Ryo," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.
Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.
Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"
"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"
"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.
Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.
"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"
"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"
"Not toys. Friends."
Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.
“Papa!”
“Ryo, come on.”
There wasn’t any winning with his girls.
Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of reluctance that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.
Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'
That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.
"She's asleep," you informed him.
"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.
Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.
"I want you, Ryo," you murmured.
Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."
"It's late."
"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.
"Please, Ryo," you whispered near his ear.
How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?
“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.
“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 
Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.
“Oh, Ryo, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 
Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 
“Hurry, then.” 
Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 
After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.
Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 
“Are you close?” you whispered. 
“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 
You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 
“Yeah?” 
You nodded. “Please.” 
Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.
Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 
Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 
“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 
You both snapped in unison. 
Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 
You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Ryomen,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.
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capableofcrying · 28 days
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Ok so like yk how Chris always slaps Matt’s or Nicks ass well what abt they are like live on instagram or sum and he kinda just forgets and slaps the reader ass yk and he doesn’t realized u til Nick or Matt say something and so they is like edits on tt and yea 
public, c. sturniolo
chris x fem!reader
summary: what the request says :)
disclaimers!: established relationship, flirting, cursing, use of y/n, very short, idk what else ☺️
a/n: i love when yall send requests and start it with “babe” like … what r we???? 🤗🤗🤗
a/n 2: also i need more nick fic ideas 🤕
a/n 3: this sucks goodbye
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“where’s matt? probably sleeping or something.” chris responds to a comment. nick sits back down next to him, handing him a pepsi can.
“but yeah guys, we’re back home in LA. and we just wanted to come on here and say hello for a bit.” nick smiles into the camera.
i walk into the kitchen, and open the fridge, unaware that i’m in camera view. “y/n, come say hey to the live.” nick smiles.
i walk over, a gallon of orange juice in hand. “hey guys.”
the chat starts going insane, and i slowly start to step away. chris grips the tee im wearing (which was his), and pulls me back. he manspreads, and i glance at the phone. chris shrugs, and i give him a look.
“wanna sit and talk to them, y/n? i can move seats.” nick suggests. i shake my head, and walk back behind the island. chris stands, and walks over to me.
all you could see in the background of the live was chris towering over me.
“why didn’t you sit?”
i glare at him. “you guys are on live, chris.” he shrugs. i cross my arms. “i thought we weren’t going public.”
“so friends can’t sit on other friends laps?” he smiles, and leans closer toward me. “chris.” his smile widens when he hears me say his name. “christopher.”
“call me that again.”
i laugh. “you’re unbelievable.” i begin to walk away, still in view of the live camera. i hear chris chuckle underneath his breath, and next a slap to my ass cheek.
i stop in my tracks, and turn around trying to contain my myself while i look at chris. nick had turned around, and his mouth gaped open.
“yall are fucking ridiculous.”
nick turns back toward the phone. “um… on that note, i think we’re gonna get off. i love you guys! bye!” he says.
nick picks up his phone, and walks over to us. “chris, you’re fucking insane. are you actually mental?”
i stand next to him, and look at chris. “THANK YOU!!” chris rolls his eyes, and i walk out of the kitchen, turning down the stairwell to chris’s room.
i hear footsteps behind me, already knowing who it was.
“what the hell was that chris?” i ask in a genuinely confused tone. he tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth.
“i thought it would be funny, sorry.”
“you’re the one who said you didn’t want to go public yet because of how hard it would be to have a girlfriend, then you do this shit?”
i sit on the edge of his bed. chris slumps down beside me, and leans his head onto my shoulder. “im sorry.”
i sigh. “its fine.”
chris pulls his phone out, and sees a text from nick.
“look what you did dumbass.” the text read. i giggle at the message, as chris slides it to the side, opening it.
it was a tiktok video of a screen recording from the live, and the clip was of chris slapping my butt. my eyes widen.
“shit, they’re fast.”
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AITA for asking my boyfriend to wear lingerie?
Wow that sounds really fucking weird and this is weird but anyway
I (31M) am dating a guy (29M) and have been for about 4 years now, and we share an apartment. He's so beyond perfect and I am insanely lucky, and I'm planning on proposing to him this June.
Important to note that he is FTM. I am not, I'm very cis. He doesn't dress very masculinely, he likes dresses and skirts and stuff, which I like because he looks fucking hot in them and it makes him happy to dress like that. I haven't ever seen him wear ladies' underwear or anything like that before, only boxer briefs. I didn't really realize that till after this conflict though.
Lately I was in... a certain store for adults, picking up some undisclosed items, and noticed some lingerie that I thought would look really good on him. I ended up buying it as a gift.
When I showed it to him that night though his face just fell. He started tearing up and said he really didn't want to wear it and that he felt really insulted that I'd ask him to wear something like that. I apologized right off the bat, but I said was confused and I told him that he wears fem clothes the time. He told me that women's underwear made him feel really dysphoric and the lingerie had this thing, I forgot what he called it, but it basically makes the breasts more prominent like a wire or something (I grew up with two equally cis brothers and a mom who never talked about any of this so cut me some slack). He got top surgery years before he met me so I'm not sure what he's talking about.
Anyway. I apologized and put it back in the bag, told him I'd return it and I intend to. We ended up going to bed without having sex like we planned. He didn't touch me at all all night and didn't kiss me goodbye before he went to work the next morning.
I want to be very clear. I'm not trans, and I would never challenge him on what makes him dysphoric. But I do want him to explain what upsets him so I understand. I want to know what he's thinking so he doesn't just shut down on me.
One last thing. I know this is the drastic actions website but I don't want to see any of the "break up" comments or any sort of slander against my boyfriend. I love that boy and I am going to marry him if he'll have me.
Was I TA for getting him a gift? I wanted to surprise him but it did not turn out well. I would also appreciate any advice, especially from other trans guys. Thank you all.
What are these acronyms?
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leclerc-hs · 22 days
Text
ex's and oh's - CL16
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pairing: ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex-boyfriend are in complicated territory OR your ex fucks you in the drivers seat of his car warnings: 18+, SMUT under the cut, badly translated french (pls correct me), not proofread!!!! word count: 2.4k author's note: ok I just want to sincerely apologize for my long absence on here!!! i know you’ve been waiting for me to finish this for a while now LOL but I've been insanely busy balancing life with two jobs lol. So I'm going to leave this here. I can honestly say it's not my best work and I apologize for that but I really wanted to give y'all something in the mean time. I have a bunch of drafts I plan to work on whenever I get the chance. Love you all!! pls forgive me and don't forget to leave me some comments and thoughts xoxo
THERE WAS NOTHING that could’ve prepared you for this fight. You weren’t drunk, as promised. Although you weren’t sober either. 
You and Charles were...complicated. Exes but…. still, something more. You would always be something more. Your history stretched back almost forever, and that alone made it challenging to stay apart from each other.
There was a point in time when the aftermath of your breakup made it impossible for both of you to share the same space. It invariably led to bitter arguments over seemingly trivial matters. One such instance was during a movie night with your group of friends when you showed up in a sweatshirt that was far too big for your body, obvious that it wasn’t your own. Charles simmered with silent resentment in the corner until he could no longer contain it. The memory etched vividly in your mind, recalling the knots in your stomach throughout the night, feeling the intense burn of Charles’ gaze upon you. He didn’t cast a single glance at the movie that evening.
“Who’s fucking sweatshirt is that?”
“Already fucking other people, hm?”
As you slid into the familiar supple leather seats of his Ferrari, you felt the warmth of the car hug you like a blanket, providing much relief from the contrast of the cold air outside. In the process of slipping into his car, your skirt had ridden up higher than Charles would’ve preferred, your panties nearly exposed if it weren’t for the sheer tights providing more coverage. Did you really go out dressed like that? He felt his hands grip the steering wheel tighter than normal as a waft of your perfume enveloped the car. 
“Did you have fun?” His tone was neutral, but his body posture was tense. He barely turned his head to check if you placed your seat belt on before peeling out from the curb at a speed much too fast.
Sober you would’ve caught onto his attitude almost immediately. But tipsy you, thought nothing of it. 
“Oh Charlie!” You exasperated, the click of your seatbelt filling the car as the radio was turned on the lowest possible volume. “It was so fun!” 
He dropped one of his hands from the wheel, bringing his hand to rub the scruff of his unshaven jaw, as a deep sigh falls past his lips. He was annoyed—more than annoyed. The sole fact that you left him unanswered for hours wasn’t his only issue. What had his muscles all tight and the permanent frown on his face was the images of one of your guy friends being way too close to you. Too close for Charles liking. It was the same guy that his friends had briefly mentioned weeks ago on his boat. 
“Cha, l’aimes-tu toujours?”  Do you still love her? His friends sat around the table; half-eaten food left on their plates. He didn’t answer the question immediately. But everyone knew, subconsciously, that he did.
“Elle et Nick été proches récemment,” Her and Nick have been close lately. The phrase alone made Charles choke on his water. In that moment, he thanked the lord for the sunglasses covering his widened eyes. The burn in his chest began simmering as the conversation continued.
“Oui, ne sont-ils pas partis ensemble l’autre soir?” Yeah, didn’t they leave together the other night?
He couldn’t blame his friends for the discussion. They didn’t know that you two were still in complicated territory. Everyone always figured you two would rekindle, but it’s been so long, no one knew if it would happen anymore.
So, although Charles felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, he plastered a big smile on his face while throwing his arm around the back of the chair beside him. “Nick, hm?”
He made a genuine effort to control his anger. Honestly, he really did try. However, as you persisted in discussing the night, particularly when the name ‘Nick’ slipped past your lips, he couldn’t help but lose his composure just a little bit.
His voice took on a lethal edge as he maneuvered the car to the side of the desolate road. The act of driving demanded attention, but his mind was a whirlwind of a million thoughts. He was consumed by anger, it oozed from every pore of his skin as he scoffed and turned to confront you. Your eyes were already fixated on him, and his gaze instantly met yours.
“A-t-il touché à toi?” Did he touch you? His voice rumbled like a low growl, and the green in his eyes was so deep and intense that it masked their actual color, making it nearly impossible to discern the green hue. But you memorized those eyes. His eyes. You were familiar with every nuance of shade that adorned them. His breath was slow and even as he awaited your answer.
The idea drove him insane—the notion of another man laying his hands on you. And even worse, you wanting another man’s hands on you.
For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, only to fully comprehend his tense posture and the sharpness in his tone. Suppressing any inclination to react visibly, you wrestled to maintain a neutral expression, ensuring your lips didn’t betray a hint of a smirk at his jealousy. You didn’t even need to ask who he was. 
“Et est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance s’il l’avait fait?” And would it matter if he did?
The fact that you didn’t need to even address who he was talking about, only caused him to spiral further. As if you were confirming that Nick is the only other option. 
The car felt increasingly smaller as the anger in Charles grew. His knee was bouncing with impatience as he clenched his jaw. Yes. Yes, it fucking mattered. He wanted to shout until his lungs gave out that it mattered. He began to lose the evenness of his breathing pattern, becoming more erratic as you didn’t answer the question.
“Dis-le-moi et nous le découvrirons,” Tell me and we’ll find out. His eyes traced your every movement as your eyes narrowed at him, a scowl forming on your lips. The lips he dreamed about almost every night. 
The silence in the car heightened, and with each passing second, you could feel your heart rate quicken. His gaze remained fixated on your face, unwilling to divert elsewhere. It was as if he were a predator, and you, his prey, captivated under the unrelenting focus of his eyes.
“What? No snarky remarks for me?” C’mon play with me. Although he felt like his chest might crack in two, he needed to mask it. Needed to be nonchalant. 
The tension lingered until you took a sharp swallow, the muscles in your neck twitching, that his eyes shifted, descending to the nape of your neck. They fixated on the subtle gleam of your collarbones, still glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the night’s dancing. His gaze traced the gentle rise and fall of your breasts with each breath. He wanted to devour you whole.
You felt your thighs clench slightly from his pressuring gaze. He is so fucking hot. His hair in complete disarray from running his hands through it. He wore a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie that made you want to cling your body around him as soon as you saw him.
“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two? His patience was wearing thin. You still haven’t answered his question, and the silence was eating him alive.
You detected a subtle waver in his tone, prompting a softening in your gaze. Your hand gently reached for his face, and he allowed his head to lean ever so slightly against the palm of your hand. It was as if your touch alone had the power to appease the turmoil of anger and jealousy rising within him. 
And as much as you loved to get under his skin like he did yours sometimes. You couldn’t find it in you to provoke him. To cause him any pain. “No.”
The corner of his lips twitched up slightly as your thumb brushed against his jawline. His hands tremble when they reach for you, pulling you out of your seat and across the center console into his lap. “Est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance?” Would it matter? You repeated the question as your legs straddled him. His hands slid around your waist, resting on your backside in a tight grip, so you couldn’t move. 
His mouth formed into a hardened line, as if he forced it to show you just how serious he was when he answered. “Bien sûr que cela a de l’importance,” Of course it matters. 
“Porquoi?” Why?
“Why?” He repeats your question. Scoffing at the fact that you even had to ask him. As if you didn’t already know why.
You suck in a sharp breath as soon as his warm tongue meets with the nape of your neck, trailing hot and wet kisses up until his lips meet yours for a moment before pulling away. 
“Mon coeur t’appartient.” My heart is yours. There was no questioning in his words. “Il a toujours été tien.” It’s always been yours. As those words hung in the air, your breath caught. You love this man. You love this man with every fiber of your being. 
His fingers gripped onto your thighs with an almost bruising intensity, as if he needed to confirm your presence by feeling you in his hands, ensuring you weren’t a figment of his imagination. His nails traced along the thin fabric at the apex of your thigh, before digging them in and tearing them open instantly. You let out an audible moan as his fingers found immediate solace to the damp spot on your underwear. Of course, you were already wet just by looking at him.
“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He questioned, adding slight pressure to your cotton covered clit. 
You moaned in delight at the contact but did not answer his question. It drove him mad.
His fingers slipped past your underwear, shoving them to the side, and slipping his fingers into your heated core. His fingers curled, hitting the spot you needed him most just right. Your back arched, barely grazing the horn of the steering wheel. Your hands were frantic, reaching for the waistband of his grey sweats as Charles lifted in hips off his seat to help you.
“Oh fuck,” You moaned out loud. The pace of Charles’ fingers had you careening forward with a cry, before he pulled them out of you completely, leaving you shouting “No!”.
“Relax cherie,” He clicked his tongue before pulling your chest flush with his, raising you up an inch to slide his cock right into you. He groaned as your pussy clenched tightly around him, squeezing him so tight he could barely focus on anything else. He held you down against him, letting neither of you move. 
It wasn’t until you fully sat, completely full of him, that he rips the buttons of your shirt open, revealing a lacy ensemble across your chest. He traces the tip of his finger along cup of your breast and says, “Did you wear this on purpose, hm?”
You shook your head, wiggling your hips with a groan. You needed to move, needed to feel the force of his cock into you, but he wouldn’t let you. He just held your hips down as if he was waiting for something.
"You feel so good," He groans. "Squeezing me so tight."
“Cha, please.” You begged, getting agitated at the lack of movement.
“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He repeats again. A grin stretched across his features at your obvious struggle. The fact that you needed his cock this badly, had him only growing harder. 
You bit your lip as Charles’ fingers sprawled across your neck in a tight grip, pulling your face to his. Close enough that your noses were touching.
“Réponds, et je suis tout à toi.” Answer, and I’m all yours.
“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me?
You don’t know what held you back from answering before. Because you did. He knew you did. He just needed to hear the words from your lips. Needed the reassurance that this was more than a quick fuck to you.
“Oui!” Yes! You half-shouted, eyes blown wide with need. “I will always love you!”
His hand released your hips, giving you the immediate go-ahead. You wasted no time, working yourself over his cock, moans eliciting from the both of you almost instantly. His hands slid to cup your ass, controlling your movements as he urges you to move faster.
“Mon dieu,” Charles groaned, his fingers dipping into the cup of your lacy ensemble, rolling your nipples between his index finger and thumb. “Je t’aime,” I love you.
The mere utterance of those words had you instinctively squeezing his cock with an intensified fervor, bringing you perilously close to the brink of ecstasy. A sly smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the effect his declaration had on you.
You moved your hips faster, the bounce of your breasts had Charles in a trance before he brought his eyes back to your face, looking you deep in the eyes. “Je t’aime,” He muttered again, bringing his lips to your mouth, swallowing your moans as if they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “C’mon, give it to me.” He begged, thrusting his hips upward into you as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of his head until you both reach that point of ecstasy you both needed.
His face was bright red, cheeks flushed, as you worked yourself over him in a hurried pace. His sweatshirt no doubt, making him feel like a furnace, as sweat forms near his eyebrow. His eyes were wild, unsure where to look until they met with your eyes. His cock twitching inside of you from the clench of your pussy on him, and the gaze of your eyes.
“Je t’aime!” You shouted, releasing all over him and falling forward in exhaustion onto Charles chest. 
Charles groaned hotly into your ear, his release catching him completely off guard due to the words you uttered. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest as you rested against it. 
“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. His fingers caressed the ends of your hair behind your back. The both of you made no attempts to move.
“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. You repeat back to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
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scientia-rex · 29 days
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Hi, your blog is a LIFESAVER.
I recently heard someone say their GP told them the best way to prevent cancer in their case was to lose weight - because if your body has less mass and therefore fewer cells, there are less of them there that can develop/turn into cancer.
It sounds like nonsense to me and to be clear I am NOT asking for your ruling on their case in particular, but you are infinitely smarter than I am and I wondered if perhaps this DOES make sense and I am just not able to see it. The advice is flawed for all the usual reasons that "lose weight" is garbage medical advice anyway to be clear, but does it actually logically track?
Thank you again for your blog, I have shared it with so many people and you have changed so many lives here and irl ❤️
Fat causes cancer is bullshit, you gotta read "Food Is Not Medicine," great book by a doctor-former fitness junky-former fat guy who started getting into the actual data and was like "wait. what the fuck. Everything I've been taught about this is contradicted by the actual data." and like a BOSS actually changed his opinions. He has a section on that.
Also I would just like to note that that explanation is particularly insane bullshit.
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itoshiexx · 15 days
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running your fingers through their hair
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you are now reading... LENA'S 1K MILESTONE EVENT FIC!
↳ itoshi rin, michael kaiser, reo mikage (separate) + cafuné (n.) - running your fingers through the hair of someone you love
notes: omg hi guys! i'm freaking ALIVE!!! i know i've been terribly inactive but life as a recently graduated lawyer has been INSANE and i barely have time to breathe, let alone write. regardless, i was able to finish this after some struggle, and i really hope you guys like it! cafuné is a brazilian word and it's something i love very much, so thank you anon, @kyukiss and @etoiile for the request and sorry it took so long ♥
event masterlist
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Itoshi Rin
“you remind me of a dog, you know?”
rin’s eyes shoot open with your unexpected words, and you receive the harshest glare you’ve ever witnessed on his face when it came to you. 
“excuse me?”
his tone is supposed to be threatening, but his voice is slightly laced with sleep, so it sounds a lot more like a whine. you snort a little bit, pausing your ministrations on his head, where your fingers run through his hair. 
“not in a bad way, baby. i just mean you’re like a puppy when you want my attention,” you giggled a little, and if rin didn’t love the sound so much, he would have berated you. 
“that’s absolutely not true.”
“it is, though. you came back from practice all tired and grumpy, and the first thing you did was put your head on my lap because you wanted me to run my fingers through your hair. you didn’t even showered, rin.”
“i did shower! on the locker rooms!”
you smile mischievously. “oh, i thought the dampness was from sweat. i was about to call you out for being stinky.”
rin’s grimace worsened, and a pout formed on his lips. you couldn’t resist the urge to squish his cute cheeks together. god, he was so adorable it tugged on your heartstrings. how was that even possible?
you lowered your head to give him a quick kiss, and although rin tried to deepen it, you pulled away fast, grinning once again. he knew what was coming even before you said it. “you’re also like a puppy when you trail after me around the house. a lost puppy.”
his groan reverberated through the whole apartment, and rin shoved your hands away from his face, scowling. “i fucking hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
“i hate you. i’m serious.”
you giggled again. “so why didn’t you leave my lap then?”
his eyes met yours, and you kind of relished in the furrow of his brows. it made his pout even cuter. “…what.”
smugness radiated off of you, because you knew rin — your rin — like the back of your hand. and if there was an universal truth in the world, it would be that the younger itoshi was down bad for you. enough for him to stay despite your shenanigans that always got on his nerves.
“i said, if you hate me, then why didn’t you leave my lap?”
his mouth opened, but no retort came out. he gaped like a fish for a few seconds before groaning again, turning his body so that he could hide his face on your stomach. you laughed at his childish behavior, knowing it was one of the reasons you loved him so much. not many people were able to see this vulnerable side of him, and you were glad to be one of them. 
“shut up.”
“yeah, yeah. you big baby.”
comfortable silence engulfed the both of you, and rin remained hidden on your stomach as you picked up the book you were previously reading, wanting to continue the story. though your left hand was suddenly tugged to lay on your boyfriend’s head.
“keep going,” he murmured, “…please?”
a gentle smile took over your features, and you were quick to run your fingers through his dark, silky strands. rin sighed softly, content with the affection you gave him — as if your angelic hands could take away every doubt swirling on his mind and wipe off the tiredness from his sore body.
“of course,” you said. and your mind completed silently: i’d keep going forever if it made you happy.
perhaps you were down bad, too.
Michael Kaiser
contrary to popular belief, michael kaiser was not a bad boyfriend. 
despite his huge ego, his narcissistic tendencies and his extravagant yet somehow rude personality, he wasn’t the type of guy to treat his partner poorly. in fact, he was a very attentive boyfriend, always doing his best to make sure you were happy and healthy.
or maybe it was just you. who knows.
whatever his reasons were, you relished the fact he took such good care of you, even if he wasn’t physically present because of away games — because michael was very good at making people notice him. whether it was with a bouquet of your favorite flowers delivered to your job, a nice breakfast cooked before you woke or even a small note of love professions. 
however, nothing really compared to having him there, with you, flesh and bone. 
especially on those days you just felt so miserable you wanted to disappear. 
“liebling? you okay?”
it was one of kaiser’s rare day offs, and all you wished for was to spend some much needed quality time with your boyfriend. though, this wasn’t possible due to your job, one you liked having despite michael saying he could support the both of you financially.
but the day at work just sucked. like, a lot. it was that kind of day where things go from bad to worse in a matter of minutes, and when you swear it can’t get shittier, it does.
you were exhausted and emotionally drained. the whole drive back to your shared apartment you were holding back tears, and the dam broke the second you heard kaiser asking you that.
“whoa!” the blonde exclaimed when your bodies collided on a tight hug. “what is it, engel? what happened? did someone hurt you?”
his worried tone just made you sob harder, and kaiser rubbed his hands on your back, trying to give you some comfort. he started to sway your bodies together while humming, doing everything to calm you down.
eventually, your sobs died down, and your boyfriend carefully brought you to the couch, making you lay on top of him; head on his chest. he started to gently scratch your scalp, running his long fingers through your hair.
“you feeling any better?” he asked in a low tone.
“yeah. thank you, mikka.”
the blond only hummed. “do you… want to talk about it?”
you had to stifle a giggle. god, he was so cute. even when he sucked at talking about feelings, he always made an effort for you. 
you slowly shook your head. “jus’ had a really bad day. but it’s okay now.”
his eyes softened impossibly, and you nearly swooned at the sight. “yeah?” 
michael kissed your forehead, and kept threading his fingers among your locks in a gentle caress. you smiled, because it was all you really needed to be comforted.
“yeah.”
Mikage Reo
reo’s body collapsed on top of yours, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. you should have been used to it by now, really, since he’d always do that after you finished your smexy times, but sometimes it still caught you off guard.
“reo, you’re heavy,” you groaned, teasing him. “get off me!”
“give a guy a break, will you?” he whined. “i’m tired.”
your giggle reverberated through his body, and reo repositioned himself to lay his head on your chest, hugging your waist tightly as if to never let you go. he’d rather lose all his fortune before he let that happen. 
“is mr. athlete getting out of shape? i didn’t know this light exercise could make you so…”
your boyfriend interrupted you with a groan. “babe!”
you raised your hands in mock surrender, giggling again, and reo thought maybe he didn’t really care about your teasing if it meant seeing you this happy. he loved you in all your versions, but carefree was his favorite one. 
“sorry, baby. i’ll make it up to you, yeah?”
before he could make a suggestive joke, his breath hitched in his throat when your soft hands started caressing his hair, gentle fingers threading through his purple locks making him sigh. it was so unfair, he thought, how you managed to disarm him with just a small touch, reduce him to putty in your palms with a little gesture of affection. some of his friends said he was a fool in love, and reo couldn’t agree more. 
your love made him silly, but he didn’t hate it. he could never hate anything about you. all mikage reo was able to feel was love, love, love, an emotion so strong it nearly overwhelmed all of his senses, making him forget about all his worries and responsibilities — heck, even the whole world. and he didn’t mind if the world burned as long as he could keep you safe and away from the flames.
“what are you thinking about?” the whisper of your voice echoed the walls of your shared bedroom. 
“what makes you think i’m thinking about something?”
though reo couldn’t see you, he knew you rolled your eyes. 
“it’s usually how the human mind works, honey,” you answered, your wit making him stifle a laugh. “besides, you’re always so chatty, talking my ear off—”
“hey!”
“—so it always concerns me when you get quiet.”
the heir sighed, letting the silence linger a little longer to recollect his thoughts. reo usually didn’t have a hard time expressing himself with words, but sometimes his heart swelled so much it made it hard to think. so, pretty much every time he was with you.
“it’s just… i’m thinking about how i never really believed in past lives and reincarnation. i never really believed in soulmates, either,” he said, and you paid attention to every word. mesmerized by the wonder in his voice and even more by the sparkle in his purple eyes when he averted his gaze to yours. 
“but when i think about you, love… when i see you in my arms or when i rest in yours, i’m sure you are my soulmate, and that we were together in every lifetime. it’s always been you. it will always be.”
your chest swelled with love for the man laying in your embrace, and you tried to hold back the tears from falling. god, he was everything. you didn’t even know what you did to deserve a lover like mikage reo, but you were far from complaining. 
you gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead, trying to convey even a fraction of the love and adoration you held for him, and looked back to caress his face. then, smiling with the world in your eyes, you answered:
“it’s always been you, too.”
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© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.
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muppetebbtide · 16 days
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discworld dashboard simulator
❓ ankhmorporkpolls
🧙🏻 blackalisstan
This is like that tsortian guy who had to pick between goddesses and started a war and then died. Or like paying the assassin's guild to kill you
🔪 treefroghousealumni follow
*inhume
🧙🏻 blackalisstan
piss off you posh knob
🍴 priestessofanoia
tbf I don't think the watch is wasting its time on this blue hellsite so ur probably safe there. the POSTMASTER however...
#sometimes I think only bloody stupid johnson could have come up with this fucking site
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🪻watchofficial follow
ALL'S WELL!
🍴 priestessofanoia
nvm lmao 😭
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☕ klatchmeifyoucan follow
.
#ppl on here are actually sooooo ankh morpork centric it's insane #'EVERYONE knows webblethorpe the unconscious' who??? why the fuck should I??? #like HELLO there's other places on the disc? #and klatch is NICER like omg
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unseenuniconfessions reblogged:
🦧 unseenuniversitylibrary
Ook
#SO TRUE KING
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Anonymous asked:
Is lord vetinari gay
🪄ramtopswitches answered:
Why would you ask us, a ramtops witches blog, this
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🔮 uucompetitiveeatingchamp follow
CALLOUT: @ /spanglersal (deactivated)
• started a Kickstarter to crowdfund a click of Captain Vimes & Errol then disappeared with the money and has gone completely ghost on everyone
• apparently stole over 100k
• cringe
Read More
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Anonymous asked:
Blessings be upon this askbox
🌷queen-of-lancre answered:
I don't know if this is nanny pretending to be granny, or if it's actually granny, and I think I'm too scared to find out
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cmot-dibbler-enterprises sponsored
SAUSAGES INNA BUN ‼️‼️‼️‼️🌭🌭🌭🌭
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🏚️ throwingshades
Gonna go skating on the frozen river ankh!!
💀 nojusticejustus
HAVE FUN
🏚️ throwingshades
Thanks man!
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✉️ ampostofficeofficial follow
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🐸 bursaaaaaaaaar
is. is the post office posting crab rave bc reacher gilt just turned up dead
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🧳 agateantravels follow
The Crumley's Hogswatch grotto is being advertised again but somehow I just don't think they can top last year's... like idk where they got the budget from but the real pigs?? CRAZY. my little sister asked for a pony and there was just one in the house when we got back like?? My mum was PISSED but yes talk abt Hogswatch magic. Still wonder how they pulled it off
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💖 angelofmusic
It's literally SO unfunny to be making jokes about the Opera Ghost when you all KNOW I saw so many of my friends DIE last year??? I literally have so much PTSD from it... like it's so insensitive you're all actually the WORST
#vent #don't rb #some of you will say ANYTHING for a cheap laugh :(
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🐊 genuablogging
My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called “narrative causality” 😳 you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 💯
Me: yeah whatever. I don’t feel shit.
5 minutes later: dude I swear I just saw the Duc turn into a frog
My buddy Mrs Pleasant, pacing: Lilith de Tempscire is lying to us
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