Ony's Baby

welcome to the jungle

[jellywrites1218]

𝔍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖞´𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖎𝖗

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!

𝙷𝚒 𝚒´𝚖 𝚓𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢!!!

𝟸𝟶🙃

𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔!!!

𝚂𝚑𝚎/𝙷𝚎𝚛

𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!!

𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚎𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜!!!

𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗´𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢

𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎⇣𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝✍︎✄

𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎⇣𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝!

𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖✎♥︎

[cocoadropp]

something about overstimulating men during sex that gets me riled up.

first they’re a little cocky, your hand tugging on their phat dick. honestly it’s a regular hand job. they’re moaning with a smirk on their face until their balls tighten and you stop a little to see it twitch until you spit on it once more and start tugging fast do that smirk drop and a frown comes above.

and the cum shot is long, splashing on your titties that sat nice in your navy blue lingerie.

the second you start stroking your hands on him again does he twitch and shake. It’s a lot because it’s surprising, it hurts a little but feels good more.

he’s laughing a little but it’s almost like he’s trying to hide the pain. “uhn f-fuck.” he keeps repeating it, over and over “ah- fuck- fuck!” and when he comes a second time you give him no break to start again.

you have to grip his dark harder because he has gotten so wet, his cum squelching between your fingers it’s frothing up at this point.

and now he’s in straight sweet agony.

his hips are thrusting, his spine is arching and gosh…his voice is wrecked.

“It f-fucking hurts!” , “god it feels so good b-baby.”

“I don’t know if I can cum anymore.” but he always cum, even if the cum shot is shorter because your draining his balls repeatedly

and you’ve gotten so wet, you decide you’re tired of hearing him fuss so you go and sit on his face reverse cowgirl so you can still stroke his dick.

that might have been the quickest he came. he’s licking you up, whining into you all while sniffing up your scent.

his thighs are squeezing together but you know he still wants some more cause his dick stay getting bigger, stay getting wetter, and stays getting harder.

“you can give me about 2 more yes?” you whisper and he whimpers.

++++ ur favs

[jellywrites1218]

hehehe

[h3avenlyglory]

GIMME BACKSHOTS

wc- 2.541k(with no plot)

Pairing: Soft dom! Geto x Sub! Gojo x Hard dom! Reader

Summary- After an amazing date at the carnival with your boyfriends, you got ‘excited’ on the car ride home, and once you got inside? Well, none of you could move by morning.

A/n: SOMEONE PLAY HEADSHOT BY RJ PASIN!!! A part of my Gala Of Pride event, you know, cause I'm gay and stuff. WHO LOVES TO PEG A MAN?! MEEEE!!!(I've never been in a sexual situation)

Taglist: @mtcloudsworld, @aizawash0e, & @jellywrites1218. (My beautiful moots who encourage my filthy writing, love them!) Official taglist: here

CW- Mature content, OOC(Geto, I feel), humor(crack), I kinda rush into the smut cause I'm really like that, not much dialogue cause I get into the dets, m/f/m, BLB, intoxication(reader & Gojo), dub-con(drunk sex), fingering through the panties(?), loads of sloppy kissing, spit, strap-on action(reader 2 Gojo), sandwich situation & Eiffel tower situation, oral(Geto receiving), pegging, P in V❥ unprotected(no diy), hands-free cumming(Gojo), several orgams, cum eating(Gojo), praise(Geto) & degradation(reader), gentle ending/aftercare, crying from pleasure(Gojo), ass smacking(reader 2 Gojo), we're going to hell, etc.

Geto watched you two with a grin on his lips—watching Gojo stumble while laughing because of his intoxication and you slurring and drunkenly giggling.

A complete hot mess.

The three of you made your way to the car, moving through the crowded walkways of the carnival. Screams, laughter, and music echoed through the mall parking lot, and the smells of carnival food made your stomachs curl, but your mouths watered.

You lost track of how many rides you and Gojo had been on, then how many drinks you had after them, then how long Gojo was throwing up in a bush because he decided it was a good idea to go on a ride that dropped him down from sixty feet in the air.

Geto watched the whole thing in amusement, you two and your odd behavior enthralled him in ways he wouldn't admit. Geto had no choice but to be the responsible one in the relationship, you were a party girl and so was Gojo. You two could stay up all night bar hopping, recklessly driving, making out, and trying new foods if he didn't step in and make both of you settle down.

Your relationship started around three years ago—a threesome. Something that was supposed to be quick and simple for all of you; however, during the aftermath, you talked and got to know each other.

Gojo and Geto had already been a thing, then you entered the equation. They had kept their relationship under wraps but you stepped in and made them expose their love for each other without shame—oh how you loved to see your sweet boys loving each other.

While a poly wasn't what you expected on your visit to Japan, you weren't mad at it.

“I see three moons…Am I crazy?” Gojo’s head was thrown back, staring up at the night sky full of stars, his eyes drifting back and forth.

“For seeing three moons? No, you're drunk. In general? Yes, you're an egotist psycho.” Geto replied, hands stuffed in his pockets, smug pride all over his face.

“That's hilarious coming from you.” Your sarcasm interrupted their conversation as you jumped on a bench.

“That's exactly what I was thinking.” Gojo agreed, following your footsteps and climbing onto the bench with you.

Geto rolled his eyes at both of you and stopped his steps in front of the bench.

“Can you get off the bench?”

“Nuh uh.” You both replied in sync.

“Please?” Geto's foot tapped impatiently.

“Neh.” Gojo shook his head, going to stand on the arm of the bench.

“Okay.” Geto reluctantly sighed and moved forward.

First, he slid his hand underneath your armpits and lifted you off the bench.

“Ah!” You squealed.

Then as he was going to grab Gojo, the blue-eyed demon leaped onto his back, arms clasped tight under his neck.

“Unhand me you troglodyte.” Geto's eyes slowly twisted to the Gojo whose head was resting on his shoulder.

“You love me.” Gojo replied, teasingly with his obnoxiously boyish grin on his face.

“You're very lucky I do.” Geto signed in annoyance, carrying Gojo on his back and holding the back of your skirt to keep you close.

You two were chaos, pains in the ass, adult children, but in the end, you were his and no matter how badly he wanted to shove melatonin down both of your throats and lock you away in the basement for a day of silence, he loved you two.

—

The car ride was smooth and quiet, just the small hum of the AC and the sound of tires gliding over the roads.

You and Gojo rode in the backseat as Geto drove, and you stared out the window observing each building and piece of woods you sped by. Your body leaned over Gojo’s to get a clear view and Gojo's eyes traveled your body with desire struggling to ignore his growing arousal.

You were immersed in staring until you felt a small graze on your inner thigh, then his fingers inched closer.

You looked back at your boyfriend and his lips curled into a ‘o’ with a small and quiet shush flowing from his lips as his large fingers dragged down your lips.

You compiled and spread your legs for him. A smirk grew on his lips and he pressed the padding of his fingers against your clit, building a slow circular motion.

A cold shock ran through you, causing a jolt from the sudden stimulation. His finger arched in, curling forward and steering against your pulsing clit. You felt your ichorous lubricant pour itself out of you, inundating the thin pink cotton of your panties.

Each gradual stroke of his fingers built your ecstasy and brought those lewd thoughts to your head— oh, the things you would do to him when you got home.

He dragged his digits between your vulva, gathering your dripping excitement that melted down his fingers.

You bit your lip to contain the moans that sat at the tip of your tongue. He hushed you once more before slowly tugging your damp undergarment to the side, little did he know that Geto knew.

He glanced back and forth between you two and the road, pushing his hips forward to handle the bulge pressing the zipper of his jeans that just continued to get tighter.

—

“We're here.” Geto pulled the car to a halt and cut off the engine.

Gojo pushed the door open with ease, and a dried residue was on his fingers as he wrapped them around the handle. You climbed out behind, biting your lip, and a lustful gaze, running over him. Your filthy thoughts grew more intense the closer you approached your house.

Gojo was oblivious to how both of you were looking at him, eyes full of burning desires and minds full of raw thoughts and fantasies that were destined to come true.

Geto wasted no time unlocking the door and moving into the house, he left you to lock the door while he dragged Gojo away to the room to get him ready for both of you.

“Ugh, I'm exhausted-” Geto cut Gojo off with a kiss rich with passion and heat. Gojo involuntarily moaned into the kiss, his hands creeping up Geto’s chest.

You followed into the room and locked the door behind you. Geto broke the kiss, a glint of excitement in his dark eyes, knowing exactly what was about to happen in the room.

He stripped Gojo out of his clothes, jacket, shirt, then pants, then his boxers till his lean body was nude and exposed to both of you and your dirty intentions.

You stripped yourself, leaving your undergarments wrapped around you. After you made your way to the bottom drawer of your dresser to grab your favorite ‘toy’.

“Damn.” Geto huffed, grinning as he observed the two people he got to call his own.

“I see what you two want tonight.” Gojo teased, sitting down on your king-size bed. As if both of you weren't about to engulf him from the inside until he was unable to move.

You stepped into your strap-on and hooked it around your hips. Meanwhile, Geto removed his jacket, then unhooked his pants painfully slow in front of Gojo– a torture tactic to make Gojo pulsate with elation.

Geto spread his legs in a ‘v’ shape, with his knees lifted slightly. Gojo's eyes shifted to his boyfriend's erection, a sudden need to please him running through his mind, and he crawled forward on all fours bending down and dropping his mouth open.

Geto wrapped his cold slender fingers around his throbbing length, the sensation of his fingers sending a jolt through his sensitive cock. He pressed the crown of his shaft against Gojo's pink lips wet with saliva, pushing past them and allowing his tip to enter Gojo's warm mouth:

You stood on your knees behind Gojo, fondling the softness of his ass. Spreading him open, you sent a wad of spit riding down between his ass for lubricant. Then you spit into your hand and stroked your cock, after doing so you teased— rubbed the tip over his hole, pushing the head in then pulling back, teasing his ass with small slaps from your cock.

Gojo's hand reached back, folding around your rod trying to shove it into him. A smug smile of satisfaction filled your lips and you slapped his hand, swaying it away.

“No, you be a good boy and wait until I'm ready.” You hissed, slamming a slap against his ass.

Gojo moaned around Geto's dick, sending twitchings through Geto. His mouth sealed around Geto, deliberate sloppy sucks up and down his cock, the corners of his lips poured out spit that rode down to Geto's sack.

Geto felt sparks watching Gojo become a male slut for his inches, wanting to praise and admire the work his boyfriend was doing.

“Aahh,” Geto released a broken moan, “good, you're doing so well, keep goin’ just like that.” Geto cooed and encouraged his beautiful boyfriend.

You felt a fire ignite in your chest, a dosage of an indubitable power over Gojo, a dosage that gave you a high.

“Fuck, you're such a dirty slut,” you snarled, proceeding to crash your cock into his tight hole, gapping him apart with your six inches of length.

“Mmh!” Gojo’s muffled moans erupted once he felt you plunging inside of him, the warm silicon dragged along in him a sensation that brought out another side of him. With each thrust plowed in him, his hole widened then clasped back around the inches.

You rolled your hips with a relentless cadence, the vibration of domination rumbling through you making each thrust harder than the last. Each hammer into Gojo's sensitive dome was made with determination and want of supremacy, you hauled yourself out then back in deeper than the last time.

Geto watched you attentively, each tough plow of your hips against Gojo's pelvis, each huff and pant you released while keeping your eyes on the man you were splitting open, and every smack and rub you brought to Gojo's got him ready to take you and put all of himself in you.

However, the luscious feeling of Gojo's sealed warm mouth around his length, his tongue stroking the underside, and throat closing around his hot tip. His cock twitched, knocking Gojo's throat making him gag, dewy spit gleaming as it rolled down his cock, salty tears soaking the poor man's cheeks as he struggled around his cock and was overstimulated by the overwhelming pleasure.

Gojo’s cock toughened and he felt a buildup in his pelvis, cock leaking small droplets of pre-cum.

“Ahh, fuuck!” Gojo pulled away from Geto's cock and cried from his intense climax, his cum draining and leaking all over the bed.

Geto watched pumping his cock, hands coiled tightly around his hard-on, his pace frenzied, desperate for his building orgasm. Pre slid down his knuckles, the white cream coating over them, and his cockhead. His hips twitched involuntarily, a small pulse in his stomach before he gushed out on his hands and the bed, the milky climax ran down his hands, cock, and thighs.

Gojo's face flushed with heat watching Geto's climax and he excitedly began to lap up all of his milk.

“Good, that's my boy.” Geto praised, running his fingers through Gojo's white locks.

Geto looked up at you, eyes gleaming with exhilaration and ecstasy— obviously not ready to finish just yet.

—

Behind you was Geto, lining himself up with your throbbing hole, and in front of you was Gojo, legs spread apart and a split hole ready for you.

Your wetness from watching the prior activities, leaked down your inner thighs and smothered you completely. Geto towed his long fingers through your folds, scooping up your sappy arousal and rubbing it over his pulsing tip mixed with his remaining cum.

Geto was precise with his thrust, calculated and international. He rode himself in your warmth, a slow deep push inside of your walls, and steady hands clasped around your hips.

“Fffuck.” You released a shuddering breath, his cock filling out your walls making your cilt pump faster.

Gojo spat on his fingertips and rubbed them over his thumbing hole, coating it for you. You slowly pushed your strap back into him, rolling your hips to gain a steady but merciless pace.

Geto drew his cock back, letting you folds tease him then bucked back into, Geto's impact made you propel harder into Gojo, causing both you to shake and quiver.

“Ahh, yes.” Gojo released a frantic moan from his throat, hands curling the sheets into his fist as he bit hard at his lip.

Geto controlled the whole situation, with each pump he made was one you made into Gojo.

A gentle thrust would gain a lazy:

“Yees, baby,” from both of you.

A hard thrust would gain an:

“Fuck, just like that,” from both of you.

Either way, he had control and he loved it. He rocked his hips back and forth, knocking in and out of you hitting your sweet spot on each thrust. Your walls embraced him tightly and icky and wet ‘plaps’ filled the room, his balls slapped against you leaving your dripping all over him.

You could feel his warm breath grazing your face as he stayed silent, focused on a sharp pace destined to bring your orgasm out of.

Meanwhile, Gojo could barely contain himself between the high of his previous position, watching you both, and his climax still hanging. He could feel the pressure hardening him, it made his back arch up, toes curl, and shaky breaths fall from his lips.

Your clit twitched, aching for stimulation and your pending orgasm. You pulsated around him, clasping tightly while your hips jerked from pleasure, you could feel that hot sensation blooming ready to coat Geto's cock white.

Unable to focus on both of your men at once, Geto gained your attention with his calculated and attentive thrust, which you forgot Gojo was squirming from the build-up and didn't realize it until:

“Oooh, yes!” He exclaimed, steamy cream spraying over your thighs and lower stomach. He huffed and rolled over, panting like an exhausted dog while he struggled down from his high.

Your eyes followed your boyfriend who had given up, then you looked at your other one, who was determined to make you reach your high.

“G-Geto—baby, oooh fuck!” You followed behind Gojo, your heat gushing from you and coating Geto's rod. The high made you squirm, hips pulsating, walls streaming out your release while opening and closing, thighs trembling and soaked, and then finally—the collapse.

You fell forward, the mattress sank and creaked from the impact, you curled into the warmth of your damp sheets, and caught your breath.

The aftermath hung over the room, now quiet with pants and huff. The aftermath was heated and intense till Geto gently draped a blanket over both of your bodies, a gentle act of aftercare and intimacy that calmed the air.

You shivered from the sudden cool air that blew from under the sheet but all was at peace once you felt Geto's arms wrap around you and Gojo's hand caressing your stomach gently.

© All Rights Reserved to @h3avenlyglory, don't not copy, steal, translate, or feed my work to AI.

[jellywrites1218]

in honor of pride month i will be adding on to the Score drabble series!!! and maybe do a wlw fic… if that’s what the people want…👀

please do let me know!

ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH TO ALL OF MY LOVELY LGBTQ+ PEEPS I LOVE YOU ALL NEVER STOP BEING YOU!!!

[liliacsdelight]

Saint Living in Sin

WLW

ೃ1,667 words, excerpt from After Hours, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), fingering, dirty talk, bent over the countertop->standing doggy position, squirting, dity talk, degradation, praise, spanking, making out, petnames/name-calling (e.g., baby, slut¹, bitch¹, baby girl), etcೃ

ೃ࿔ ͙✟ 18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 ✟ೃ࿔ ͙

The humid storm from the night before had left the air inside the diner cloying and thick, smelling of old grease, bleach, and the sharp, clean scent of rain coming off the street. Outside, the early dawn was a low, murky green, the overcast sky pressing against the plate-glass windows and drowning the intersection in a heavy, gloom. Inside, the only light came from the neon sign vibrating in the window and the amber glow of the heat lamps behind the counter, pooling across the laminate surface like spilled syrup.​

You were bent over that counter, your chest flat against the cool, smooth surface, your spine arched so high it made your lower back ache. Your skirt—part of the uniform you’d been forced to wear—was bunched up around your waist, leaving your bare hips exposed to the damp chill of the room. Your panties were gone, kicked somewhere into the shadows beneath the stools.​

Behind you, she stood firm, her pelvis pressing directly against your ass. She had two thick, long fingers buried deep inside your cunt, her knuckles riding hard against your opening as she worked you with a steady, punishing rhythm. You were so sensitive from what she’d done to you the night before, your internal walls already raw, swollen, and aching with a relentless, throbbing heat. Every micro-movement of her hand felt magnified, a sharp, electric shock that went straight to your thighs.​

You were moaning loudly, a constant, breathless stream of noises tearing from your throat, echoing off the empty booths.​

Smack. Smack.

​

The sudden, stinging cracks of her palm against your bare ass cheek cut through the hum of the kitchen. You jolted, your belly scraping against the counter as your thighs trembled violently.

​"Keep your fuckin' voice down," she scolded, her tone a low, harsh rumble right against your ear. She didn't pause her fingers; she just dug them in deeper, her thumb rubbing hard against your clit. "You're a noisy little bitch today. Look out there. If someone walks past that glass right now, they’re gonna see you face-down on the counter with my hand between your legs. "​

You shook your head frantically, your face pressing into your crossed arms as another wave of pleasure made your thighs tremble. "Y-You didn't... you didn't give me a chance," you stuttered out, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath. "You just—ahnn.. grabbed me."​

She let out a short, mocking laugh, the sound vibrating through her chest and straight into your back. "Please. If you really cared about anyone seein' you, you wouldn't let me do this to you. You'd be telling me to stop, baby girl."

​The squelching, wet sounds of her fingers churning through your natural juices were loud in the silence of the diner, a filthy, steady sliding that made your face burn with a heavy, internal heat. It was embarrassing. Completely exposing. But it felt too good being stretched out and fucked while your insides were still tender and raw from last night was an intoxicating sensation.

"You would've done what I told you to anyway," she murmured, her pace shifting, her fingers curling upward to hook against your internal walls. "Stop actin' like you got any decency. We both know you don't."​

You let out a weak whimper, your jaw clenching as you turned your head back to look at her over your shoulder.​

She was wearing a fitted black tee that stretched tight across her chest and the thick muscle of her biceps, her dark cargo shorts riding low on her hips. Her locs are down, hanging over her shoulders and framing her face in thick, shadowed ropes. In the dim light of the diner, her brown skin looked incredibly smooth, catching the faint glow along her jawline and the soft, full curve of her lips.

The metal on her face gleamed under the low lighting—the sharp glint of her eyebrow ring, the subtle sparkle of her surface piercing, and the micro-dermal shining against her cheekbone. She was so pretty, so effortless and sexy, it made your chest tight just looking at her. She wasn't even looking at your face; her narrow, feline eyes were fixed entirely on your lap, watching the way your pussy was swallowing her long fingers down to the palm with every stroke.​

"Look at you," she said, her voice dropping into that smoky, hypnotic register. Her knuckles pushing their way past your soaking wet lips. "You're so easy... you're dripping down my wrist, all down the inside of your thighs. So nasty."​

Then she finally looked up, her dark brown eyes locking onto yours. You were biting your lower lip, trying to stem the noise, and to her, you looked so cute like this—completely ruined and exposed under her gaze. Your eyes were glassy and hooded with a helpless, focused arousal, and the neat, laid edges of your hair were completely frizzy and messy now, baby hairs curling wildly from the sweat tracking down your temples. Your long braids were slipping out of their loose bun, cascading over the side of your face.​

The sight of you looking so messy seemed to shift something behind her eyes, a heavy, possessive fondness softening her expression for a fraction of a second.

​"C’mere," she murmured.​

Before you could answer, she grabbed your left leg, lifting it easily and hooking your knee over the top of the counter, forcing your pelvis to tilt at a sharp angle that laid your swollen pussy completely bare. With her free hand, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the back of your neck. Her grip was heavy and certain, her thumb pressing into the side of your throat as she pulled you backward, forcing your spine to curve until your back and head were resting flat against her chest.​

The heat of her body swallowed you whole. Her hot, tobacco-and-vanilla breath hit the side of your neck in ragged puffs, making your skin break out in goosebumps. The position—the absolute, unyielding restriction of her weight against your back—instantly made you think of how she had you pinned to the prep table last night, holding you down until you forgot your own name.

You let out a loud moan, a sharp curse slipping past your lips as her fingers suddenly hit deeper. The blunt tips of her fingers brushed against the sensitive ring of your cervix, a deep, heavy impact that made your stomach drop. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp, your body automatically trying to jolt away from the pressure. She knew you didn't enjoy that blunt ache, so she seamlessly adjusted her angle, pulling back an inch before driving her fingers upwards, targeting your g-spot with fast, deep pumps.​

"O-Ohh—fuuck —" Your hand scrambled backward, your fingers locking onto her forearm, your nails digging into the dark ink of the vines curling across her skin.​

"Yeah, right there," she whispered against your ear, her tone a condescending, sultry purr as she kept up the relentless, deep rhythm. "Look how good you take it when you're behaving. Such a good slut for me, aren't you? Keeping my spot warm before the sun's even up."​

The degradation mixed with the praise made your head spin, your internal walls contracting violently around her fingers in tight, desperate pulses. You needed her mouth on yours; the distance was making you ache.​

"Kiss me," you begged, your voice cracking as you tilted your head back into her shoulder, looking up at her with a needy, desperate expression. "Please... kiss me."​

She slowed her fingers for one agonizing second, looking down at your pouty, wet lips. "You gonna cum again if I do?"​

"Mghnnm—yes..."​

She let out a low, satisfied hum, the sound tickling against your neck before she leaned down and caught your mouth. It was a sloppy make-out, her wet tongue sliding past your teeth to claim yours with a heavy, all consuming hunger. She sucked on your tongue, swallowing your ragged gasps while her lower half quickly picked up the pace again, her fingers churning your slickness into a thick, creamy white foam between your thighs.

The hard, laminate edge of the counter was putting intense pressure directly against your lower stomach as she pulled you back, and the combination of the internal thrusting and the external pressure was driving you crazy. You wanted to come so bad. Your toes curled against the floorboards, your hips involuntarily twitching against her hand.

​She broke the kiss, a thick string of spit connecting your mouths before it snapped. Her hand left your throat, sliding down the front of your uniform shirt to grope your breast, her thumb rubbing hard over your stiff nipple through the thin cotton.

"Fuck, you're makin' a mess," she teased against your cheek, her fingers inside you turning into a relentless, blurring hook that hit your spot over and over. "C'mon. Take it. Tell me how it feels."

​"It's s-so good—ughnn—I'm gonna—"​

"Cum for me, baby girl. Make a mess," she commanded, her voice constantly coaxing. "Mhmm, let it out for me."​

You lost it. Your spine arched violently off her chest as a high, broken shriek tearing from your throat as your walls clamped around her fingers like a vice. You squirted, a hot, frantic rush of fluid pulsing straight out of your heat, spraying across her wrist and dripping heavily onto the floorboards below.

She didn't stop.

She kept fucking you straight through the entire orgasm, her fingers relentlessly driving into your pulsing, sensitive walls, wringing every last drop of surrender out of your body while you thrashed helplessly against her grip, your vision whiting out completely, your head lolling back against her shoulder as you panted heavily into the quiet room.​

The tempestuous movement finally slowed to a stop, her wet fingers sliding out of you with a soft, plap sound that made your thighs twitch one last time.​

She stayed there for a moment, her chest heaving slightly against your back as she let you catch your breath in the dim green light of the dawn. Then, slowly, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your damp cheek, her heavy locs brushing like silk against your shoulder.​

"Good girl," she praised, her voice returning to that flat, professional tone as she stepped back, letting your leg drop from the counter. She wiped her hand on a rag from her pocket, her narrow eyes tracking the way you slid down to the floor, your legs barely capable of holding your weight. "Now, get yourself together. You're cleaning that floor before we open."

ೃ࿔ ͙✟ 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✟ೃ࿔ ͙

Lace cross divider by @/pommecita

All works © liliacsdelight 2025–Present. Do not repost, translate, modify, or use my work to train AI models.

[jellywrites1218]

[jellywrites1218]

guys… my god sister just had my god son and i got to meet himmmmm omg he’s so cute!!!! i got to hold him and goshhhhh i almost cried😫😫😫 im so excited to be a god mom

[jellywrites1218]

will this inspire a drabble?… maybe.

do i have baby fever?… absolutely

will i actually have a baby anytime soon?… absolutely not

[jellywrites1218]

guys… my god sister just had my god son and i got to meet himmmmm omg he’s so cute!!!! i got to hold him and goshhhhh i almost cried😫😫😫 im so excited to be a god mom

[jellywrites1218]

Hii, Jelly!!😚 Are you still thinking about opening a dance studio? I think dance is a wonderful activity and career path + I feel like you'd create a positive space instead of a toxic one.

hi liliac! i miss talking to ya! my studio is currently in the works! i’ve come up with the name with my cousin/business partner/bestfriend (yes she is literally all three and despite us being family we work very well together and she’s my favorite dance partner) we are naming it “Adored Devotion Dance Company”! (good right?😏🙂‍↕️😝) and yeah my main goal is a positive dance space! growing up i had a lot of toxic teachers. some of them mad when i left their studio, others teaching and creating ED’s and other toxic body standards, even teachers who were straight up bullies and encouraged their students to bully other dancers. very insane i know. i want my studio to be the opposite! i want dance to be and expressive outlet that makes you love yourself instead of hate yourself. even the “worst” of dancers have strengths that makes them a great dancer! i also want dance to be affordable while still getting quality technique. dance is so so expensive and if i didn’t have a teacher that really believed in me my parents wouldn’t have been able to afford it. (she discreetly lowered the prices for me and some of my classes were even free) i realize that there are many kids that miss out on their passion because of money and seeing as how the economy is now i know that number will increase! so i want to make payment plans and discounts for parents who have a lower yearly income and i also want an in studio dance store where we sell dance attire for cheaper prices. so yeah! now we’re forming a business plan/looking for a building and im excited!!!

darn i yapped🤧 thanks for the ask!!!

[jellywrites1218]

You said ask you anything and I'm taking that to heart. I love asking my friends about their music taste so,

Who's your favorite artist and your top song from them? (Yes, only one. No more than one)

hands down i love Beyoncé (she is neck and neck with my birthday twin MJ) DEEEOOOOOWWWWWNNNNNN

my top song??? it changes from time to time but rn it’s “PLASTIC OFF THE SOFA” that is my jam… i usually write while listening to music and every time it comes on i stop everything im doing to sing along😭😭😭

[jellywrites1218]

i feel like i have been neglecting yall🤧 so sorry but i promise im grinding on these stories and in life lmaoo😭😭😭 in the meantime don’t afraid to send me asks about literally everything and anything love you booties🫰🏾🫰🏾🫰🏾

[mtcloudsworld]

✮⋆˙. ‎ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you'd been raving about it for weeks, in hopes that maybe this could be it, that this could be the man of your dreams...or not. After clocking out for the night, your law partner finds you outside by a flower vendor, dressed in your finest. He's pretty curious as to why though when you should be accompanied by another...

warnings: wc: 3.7k ! higuruma hiromi x black!fem reader, black!fem lawyer, friend!hiromi, fluff, intimacy, slight angst but comfort in the end, failed date, the act of being stood up, making out, law partners, friends to lovers.

part two

𝒜ℱ𝒯ℰℛ three hours of sitting alone at the restaurant, the reality of being stood up finally settled in. You left the table and began walking aimlessly, eventually stopping at a flower stand a few blocks away. The city was loud, frantic with the constant drone of idling engines, the overlapping conversations from nearby outdoor seating, and the sharp bark of a dog created a dense wall of ambient noise. Though the evening humidity was high, the warm air pressing against your skin, it did little to alleviate the frustration tightening your chest.

You looked over the buckets of flowers, thinking that buying a bouquet might help brighten your mood. It was a pragmatic attempt to salvage the evening—a small, tangible act to counteract the feeling of wasted time and effort.

The stand was positioned directly beneath a flickering streetlight that cast a harsh, rhythmic glow over the display. You scanned the rows of flora, your hand hovering over the various arrangements without making contact. Nearby, the vendor worked with efficiency, trimming stems and stripping thorns with a pair of rusted shears. His movements were rhythmic and preciseー a sharp contrast to the restless energy you felt. You watched him, envying the simplicity of his task. You wanted something to occupy your hands so you wouldn't feel so conspicuously alone in your fuchsia, corseted dress—a garment designed for an audience that never arrived.

You compared the options: the deep reds of the roses against the stark, clinical white of the lilies. You considered how they would look in your apartment, calculating whether their scent would be enough to neutralize the sterile silence of a night spent alone. You were still weighing the cost and aesthetic value of the selection when a voice behind you interrupted your thoughts.

"What are you doing out here?"

The voice was low, controlled, and immediately recognizable. They spoke softly at first, almost uncertain, like the speaker wasn’t sure if they should interrupt. The sound cut through the noise of the street, familiar enough to make you turn before you even thought.

There — still dressed in his professional attire—a dark, well-tailored suit—though he had made adjustments to the heat by loosening his tie and unfastening the top button of his shirt. He stood with his usual heavy posture, his briefcase gripped in one hand, looking every bit the man who had just finished a twelve-hour shift at the firm. A few strands of black hair had escaped his normally disciplined styling, falling over his forehead. You caught a faint whiff of his cologne mixed with city air. He looked tired but composed, carrying the day’s weight quietly. His expression softened when his gaze landed on you.

You could tell he was reading the situation before he spoke, trying to figure out what brought you out here.

And for a moment, the disappointment sitting heavy in your chest eases.

He slowly stops a few steps away, careful not to intrude. “I thought you had plans tonight,” he added. His tone lacked judgment, carrying only direct concern. His gaze drops briefly to your dress before returning to your eyes.

"I did…" you replied, forcing a short, dry laugh that didn't quite mask the irritation. "Until I realized I was being stood up.” You then gesture vaguely down the street, toward the restaurant. “I waited…but he never showed.”

You attempted a casual smile, but it was stiff

And Higuruma noticed. He always did. He’s heard you talk about this date for weeks, He had seen the preparation, the uncharacteristic nervousness, and the way you had joked about your own expectations. Now, he was seeing the failure of those expectations.

Seeing you deflated made his expression shift. A faint crease between his brows deepens, and his mouth tightens before he speaks. “I’m sorry he did that.” The words are simple, but they land heavier than they should. His tone isn’t pitying but it does make you feel seen.

"It's fine," you shrugged, shifting your weight. "Probably for the best."

You tried to dismiss the topic, but Higuruma remained stationary, his gaze lingering on the details of your appearance — hair pulled back neatly, lilies tucked into the bun. The corset dress you chose for the date was a deep fuchsia that moved softly when the breeze passed by, it fitted you perfectly in all the right places, emphasizing the bust of your breast and the curve of your hips. You looked beautiful in every way, and he knew it. Though, he doesn’t say it. He just stands there, quiet, taking in the details like he’s memorizing them.

His eyes shifted to the corner of the stall, catching the exact moment your gaze drifted toward a specific bouquet of vibrant crimson blooms. You had failed to realize he'd noticed that fleeting glance and without hesitation, he stepped toward the vendor, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and slid a bill across the counter. “When the man began reaching for change, Higuruma gave a subtle wave of his hand. "Keep it," he muttered.

When he turned back, the flowers were already in his hand, held out to you.

He waited until you took the bouquet, his hands then disappearing into his pockets as he watched the surprise register on your face. His gaze followed the way you held the blooms close to your chest, the paper crinkling softly between your fingers — the only sound in the quiet that had settled between you. As you looked down at the paper-wrapped stems, the tension in your frame finally began to dissipate.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just observed you glaring at the petals, blinking back the surprise at his gesture. The smile came slowly, tugging at the corners of your mouth until it was full and genuine.

When your eyes finally met his, he didn’t look away or try to fill the silence with small talk. Instead, he cuts the distance between you, offering a bent arm your way—a quiet invitation. “If you’re not too bummed out,” he said softly, “I know a place nearby. Good wine, quiet atmosphere. You might like it.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—in the uneven light of the street. You had spent years working alongside this man, navigating complex filings and grueling trials. You knew his habits, his work ethic, and his dry sense of humor. But at this moment, the professional boundaries felt thinner than usual. The way he was looking at you wasn't just the look of a concerned colleague. It was focused, intentionally warm, and entirely present.

"Hiromi," you said, your voice regaining its usual spark as you used his given name. "Are you asking me out on a date?”

He gives a small, knowing smile. “If you think I’m good company, and can get your mind off that asshole, then yes. I’m asking you out.”

You reached out, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. The wool of his suit was cool under your touch. "Such a gentleman, Mr. Higuruma," you teased as you fell into step beside him.

“Only when the situation warrants it,” he replied, adjusting his pace to match yours as you stepped away.

The walk to the wine bar unfolded at an easy, deliberate pace. He was mindful of your heels, shortening his long stride without a word until your steps fell in sync. He kept to the outside of the sidewalk, a quiet barrier between you and the hum of passing traffic.

Gradually, the tension of the day began to slip from your shoulders.You found yourself talking — about the chaos at the firm, the client who had called five times before noon, and the exhaustion of trying to keep up with a schedule that felt designed to drain you.

He didn't offer empty platitudes or try to pivot the conversation to his own day. He simply just listened, his attention locked on you. Nodding occasionally to show he was following the thread of your frustration. His presence was grounding. the physical contact feeling like an anchor with your arm looped through his, the rough wool of his suit jacket brushing against your skin.

As you passed a small neighborhood park, the scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass mingled with the faint floral notes of the bouquet you carried. He fell silent for a moment, the city noise fading into the background as he caught another trace of your perfume — subtle, lingering, and unexpectedly intoxicating.

He’d spent years looking at you across mahogany desks and stacks of legal briefs, admiring your mind and your sharp instinct for the law. But seeing you now, dressed in silk and framed by the soft, evening shadows of the city, made those professional boundaries feel incredibly thin.

You caught him watching you from the corner of your eye, his gaze lingering on the soft contrast of your features — the sweep of long lashes against your cheekbones, the warm glow of your skin, the faint cherry sheen of your lips. There was something quietly intent in the way he looked at you, as if memorizing a canvas. He didn’t look away immediately. Instead, he let the moment stretch, causing a surge of heat to rise in your cheeks.

"You're staring, Hiromi," you teased, your voice a little softer than usual.

He exhaled a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "Can you blame me?"

You shook your head, trying to maintain your composure. "You're supposed to be subtle about it. We are professionals, after all."

He glanced down at the pavement for a second, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth before he looked back at you. "I was trying to be subtle. You just happened to catch me."

"You're terrible at hiding things," you murmured, looking ahead so he wouldn't see how much the comment affected you.

“Maybe I don’t want to hide it,” he said.

The bluntness of his words broke the easy rhythm between you, leaving a charged stillness in its place. You looked up at him, and for a moment, the city seemed to fall away — sirens fading, the low rumble of the subway dissolving beneath the grates. All that remained was the click of your heels against the concrete and the soft rustle of paper around your flowers. The air felt suspended, your breath catching as the weight of his gaze settled on you.

When you reached the wine bar — a discreet spot with wrought-iron fixtures and windows fogged by the warmth inside — Higuruma opened the door and held it for you. His hand found the small of your back, a light, guiding touch that carried a quiet sense of protection. Inside, the air was rich with the scent of aged oak and dark fruit. The lighting glowed low and golden, cast by thick candles flickering on every table. He led you to a secluded corner near the window, where the streetlights outside shimmered faintly through the glass.

You carefully placed the bouquet on the empty chair beside you, the crimson paper crinkling softly in the quiet booth. Across from you, Higuruma settled into the leather seat, leaning back as he loosened his tie another notch. In the amber glow of the bar, the rigid tension he usually carried in his shoulders finally seemed to dissolve. A comfortable silence settled between you—a shared breath of relief after a long day.

When the waiter arrived with a cheerful grin, asking what special occasion brought you in, you offered a small smile and deferred to Higuruma. He took the lead with practiced ease, ordering a bottle of wine and a few appetizers to start. As the waiter disappeared into the shadows of the bar, Higuruma found himself leaning back, his eyes tracing your silhouette.

You were looking out the window, arms crossed over the table with a posture that still held a trace of the day’s lingering armor. The city’s night lights washed over you, catching the twinkle in your eyes as you watched the world rush by. The natural glow of the evening illuminated the sharp, elegant lines of your profile, casting the deep warmth of your skin in a soft, cinematic light.

Watching you, a quiet frustration stirred beneath his calm exterior. He couldn't wrap his mind around the lack of logic in your earlier disappointment; why anyone would fail to show up for a woman like you was a mystery he couldn't solve. To him, you weren't just a partner or a friend, you were a rare combination of sharp intellect and a heart that didn't flinch in the face of adversity. You were brave, possessing a quiet strength and a heart of gold that he had seen you extend to others time and time again. You were beautiful and brilliant. And in that moment, sitting in the dim light of the wine bar, he realized he was more than happy to be the one who actually stayed.

"You deserve better than someone who doesn’t show up," he said quietly, his voice full of genuine sincerity.

"Maybe," you said, turning to look at him across the table. A small smile curls at your lips as you ponder for a moment. "But, I think the night turned out okay anyway."

Without a word, Higuruma nodded. His gaze held steady as he reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The motion was deliberate yet unforced, so natural it almost felt instinctive. The brief contact sent a quiet shiver through you — your breath catching, pulse quickening — but you didn’t move. Even after his hand withdrew, the warmth lingered. He looked as though he hadn’t planned the gesture, yet there was no trace of regret in his expression either. You glanced down at the table, trying to steady yourself, but his eyes never left you.

The conversation flowed easily, the kind that didn’t require effort or pretense. You moved through a bottle of wine, drifting between topics — dissecting the flaws of past trials, trading the kind of dark humor that only years in the legal field could produce, and wandering into subjects far removed from work. He leaned in when you spoke, his eyes steady on yours. Each time you laughed, he seemed to memorize the sound, his usual composure softened into quiet, attentive warmth.

This didn’t feel like the awkwardness of a first date. It felt like a shift — a natural evolution of something long established. The transition from colleagues to whatever this was didn’t need explanation or performance. The history you shared — late nights at the firm, mutual respect, the unspoken understanding of long hours and hard cases — had already built the bridge. This new closeness simply just felt earned.

By the time the bottle was nearly empty, you’d stopped trying to maintain your professional distance. The earlier frustration of being stood up had dissolved completely, replaced by something lighter — genuine ease, even happiness. You found yourself leaning toward him, posture relaxed, smiles coming more freely. The warmth in your cheeks was a mix of the wine and the intensity of his focus.

Each time his fingers brushed yours near the center of the table, a spark of nerves shot through you — sharp, fleeting, but impossible to ignore. It was strange, almost disarming, to feel this transparent with him, yet you didn’t pull away. His voice had softened, lower and more personal than you’d ever heard it in a courtroom. And as you sat there in the dim, golden light of the wine bar, you realized the night had become something you weren’t ready to leave behind.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

The walk back to your building was quiet. The city’s usual chaos had softened into a low hum — the distant hiss of tires on damp pavement, the faint buzz of streetlights overhead. Hiromi walked close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed, his suit jacket draped over one arm and his tie long gone. Neither of you spoke for a while, but the silence wasn’t awkward. It carried its own kind of meaning — steady and unspoken.

When you reach your loft complex, the glow from the lobby light spills across the sidewalk. You stop at the door, turning toward him with the bouquet still in your hands. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For tonight. For everything…I really needed it.”

He looks at you for a moment, that faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, voice low and steady. “I didn’t mind it at all.”

The silence returned, stretching between you until it felt thick with anticipation. You looked down at your keys, turning the metal over in your hand to burn off the sudden surge of nervous energy. It was a familiar, fluttering tension in your stomach, born from the realization that the night’s professional boundaries had long since dissolved.

Hiromi noticed the way you fidget. Always possessing the ability to read the room, especially when the room was just the two of you. He let out a quiet, warm chuckle and stepped into your space. His hand reached up with steady assurance, placing a single finger beneath your chin to gently tilt your face upward. You froze as your gaze met hisーdark, searching, and intensely focused, as if he were cataloging every flicker of emotion on your face. He didn't rush his actions but waited, giving you every opportunity to pull back.

But you don’t. Allowing him to finally lean in, his movements gentle and deliberate. Your breath hitches, caught in the back of your throat as the distance between you vanishes.

His lips meet yours with a soft, cautious pressure. It began as an inquiry—unhurried and careful—testing the waters of a transition he clearly didn't take lightly. But as the reality of the contact set in, the world narrowed down to the heat of his skin and the faint, lingering taste of the red wine you’d shared. The bouquet in your hand became an afterthought; your grip loosening until the flowers slipped through your fingers, hitting the pavement with a muted, floral thud.

You didn't care. Your hands moved instinctively, finding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss deepened instantly, losing its cautious edge and becoming something much more urgent and hungrier. A low, jagged sound vibration started in his throat when you pulled him closer, a raw response to your touch that seemed to break his composure.

He moved with swift motion, his body pressing firmly against yours as he guided you back against the heavy door of the loft. One hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against the solid line of his frame. While the other hand cupped your jaw, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone with a mix of possessive heat and surprising tenderness. He kissed you with slow, sweeping intensity, a cumulative release of months—perhaps years—of repressed professional distance.

The air between you grew heavy and electric. His hand drifted downward, sliding through the slit of your fuchsia dress to find the bare skin of your thigh. The heat of his palm against your leg sent a jolt through you, your own breath hitching into a small, broken moan that he swallowed greedily.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. He rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged and heavy. He stays there for a moment, barricading you against the door with his frame, the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the cool night air swirling between you. Neither of you spoke. The weight of the moment was heavier now, a silent agreement that things could never return to exactly how they were before.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s already watching you — pupils wide, gaze steady and unreadable. His thumb lifts, tracing the curve of your lower lip, slow and deliberate, smearing the faint sheen of gloss left behind. The touch is light but charged, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch. His gaze lingers, soaking in the moment, like he’s trying to decide whether to apologize or let it stand.

But you beat him to it, whispering, “You didn’t have to do that.” your voice trembling slightly as you tried to find your footing.

“I know,” he said, his voice a rough, quiet rasp. “But… I’ve wanted to… for a long time.”

You nodded, leaning back into the door to catch your breath. He stepped back just enough to give you space, though his hand lingered on your arm for a second before dropping to his side. The atmosphere was charged, the professional veneer gone, replaced by a raw, mutual understanding.

He looked down at the fallen flowers, bent over to retrieve them, and handed them back to you. The petals were a bit tousled, but the colors were still vibrant. “You dropped these,” he said, his voice softening.

“Guess I got distracted,” you admitted playfully, your fingers brushing his as you took the stems.

He chuckled, a genuine, low sound that vibrated in the quiet street. “Understandable.”

For a moment, you both just stood there, the reality of the workday tomorrow looming but feeling remarkably unimportant. He straightened his jacket and gave a small, formal nod toward the door, reverting slightly to the steady man you knew, though the warmth in his eyes remained. “You should get some rest. We both have a long day ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You too, Hiromi.”

He hesitated for a second, as if he had more to say, but he settled for a final, thoughtful nod before turning to walk away. You stayed by the door, watching his tall figure move down the sidewalk until he disappeared around the corner.

Stepping inside the lobby, the scent of the crushed lilies and roses followed you into the elevator. When you finally enter your loft, you set the bouquet on the counter, your fingers lingering on the petals.

The disappointment of the early evening had been entirely overwritten. The night wasn't perfect, and the morning would bring the complexities of navigating a new dynamic at the firm, but as you locked the door, you felt a lightness you hadn't expected. You catch yourself smiling again, quietly, before locking the door behind you.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | @kimmylikesthemall @jellywrites1218 @amethyst09 @snore-3 @aizawash0e - if you're interested in joining the taglist, comment down below!

©𝗺𝘁𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱𝘀 ─ 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽. 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅, 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 ─ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

[jellywrites1218]

oh i’m reading this ASAP

[h3avenlyglory]

Going back and reading errors in my work:

[jellywrites1218]

omg it makes me cringe so bad😭😭😭 and then yall be hyping my head not telling me nothing😭😭😭

[h3avenlyglory]

The embarrassment is more bearable when nobody say nothing to me, it lets me know they understand it and don't😭even if that shit cringe afffff!

Still, that shit be having me rip hair from my scalp😭

[jellywrites1218]

me it’s because the compliments make me feel like shakespeare so when i go back and reread it and see all the mistakes it makes my ego plummet😭

[h3avenlyglory]

You just be there like “is y'all lying, blind, or just dgaf?” Be making me feel so good just for it to vanish🥲

[jellywrites1218]

no literally😭😭😭 though i know realistically everyone is just too nice to point it out

[h3avenlyglory]

Going back and reading errors in my work:

[jellywrites1218]

omg it makes me cringe so bad😭😭😭 and then yall be hyping my head not telling me nothing😭😭😭

[h3avenlyglory]

The embarrassment is more bearable when nobody say nothing to me, it lets me know they understand it and don't😭even if that shit cringe afffff!

Still, that shit be having me rip hair from my scalp😭

[jellywrites1218]

me it’s because the compliments make me feel like shakespeare so when i go back and reread it and see all the mistakes it makes my ego plummet😭

[h3avenlyglory]

Going back and reading errors in my work:

[jellywrites1218]

omg it makes me cringe so bad😭😭😭 and then yall be hyping my head not telling me nothing😭😭😭

[jellywrites1218]

The new theme ate, I love it! We're tigers now, it's tea🤏🏾🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

thank yaaa, heavenlyyyy!!! we’re tigers 🐅 🐾

[jellywrites1218]

I love your new theme 😍

TYYYYY @aizawash0e helped me put it together so thank you mikaaa

[niraves]

[jellywrites1218]

i get so happy every time