ojovivo
$LAYYYTER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
tannertan36
Cosimo Galluzzi
DEAR READER
⁂
@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
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Three Goblin Art
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
titsay
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@love4blackwrites
𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝟒𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬!
This is a dedicated safe space for Black readers and creators. My goal is to celebrate the diversity of our stories and provide a sanctuary while supporting through reblogs and comments.
𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬/𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 O&A
𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞/𝐓𝐢𝐩𝐬
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐵𝐿𝒜𝒞𝒦 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝑅 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘
𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐸𝒩𝐸’𝑠 𝒮𝐸𝒞𝑅𝐸𝒯! 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ 𝓈he/𝒽er! 𝓉wenties! 𝒷lack 𝓅rincess! 𝓅retty 𝓅isces! 𝓃sfw 𝓂ulti-𝒻andom 𝒷log! ⨾ 𝐸ren’s angel! 𝑅einer’s wifey! 𝒜lucard’s princess! 𝒮uguru’s prettiest problem! ❤︎
⤷ 𝑅𝒰𝐿𝐸𝒮! 𓂅 𝑀𝒜𝒮𝒯𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝒮𝒯𝒮! 𓂅 𝒜𝐿𝐿-𝐼𝒩-𝒪𝒩𝐸! 𓂅 𝒜𝒪3!
• 𝐸𝒩𝒢𝐸𝐿.ᐟ ❤︎ ft. german/turkish eren jäeger! * 𝓷𝐞𝐰!
• 𝐸𝒱𝒜𝒩𝐸𝒮𝒞𝐸.ᐟ ❤︎ ft. bondage & temp play w/zuko! * 𝓷𝐞𝐰
• 𝐹𝒪𝑅𝐵𝐸𝒜𝑅𝒜𝒩𝒞𝐸.ᐟ ❤︎ ft. brat-tamer!suguru! * 𝓷𝐞𝐰!
• 𝒩𝐸𝒞𝑇𝒜𝑅.ᐟ ❤︎ ft. adrian ‘ alucard ’ țepeș! * 𝓷𝐞𝐰!
• 𝒞𝐿𝐸𝑀𝐸𝒩𝒞𝒴.ᐟ ❤︎ ft. cowboy!reiner braun * 𝓷𝐞𝐰!
© 𝒫𝐼𝒩𝒦𝑀𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐻! ⸻ 𝓇ℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝓃ℴ𝓉 ℴ𝓅𝑒𝓃. all rights reserved! don’t steal or repost any of my works, no permission granted. please and thank you! ଘ( ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈)ഒ
WELCOME TO YOUR LUVRS PARADISE !! MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME...
# ; YOU GOT A SPECIAL INVITE FROM THE KEEPER, ADRI, BIRACIAL N' BEAUTIFUL ! ⤥ twenties. oct libra. higuruma n' nanami's loyal house wife. satoru's toxic, favorite ex. choso's perfect girl. jabber's toxicologist. tamsy's pretty problem. arkha's acrobat.
BUT ! don't get lost on the way in; the girls get a little rowdy at night, y'know?... might wanna see the RULE OF LAW before settling in! TALK TO ME NICE... asks and thirsts are welcome !
ー☆ EVERYONE KNOWS THERE ARE TWO MAIN HALLS OF THE AUBERGE... JUJUTSU KAISEN KORNER n' GACHIAKUTA GALLERY ... ENTER IF YOU DARE! IF YOU GET SPECIAL PERMISSION, YOU CAN HEAD UP TO THE ATTIC .ᐟ
ー☆ WE HAVE TWO FORMS OF DIALECT HERE… # cyxnidx ー main posts & content. # luvrs notes′ / luv letters ! ー crack, sht talking, answers, etc.
` © CYXNIDX 2024 - 2026. all rights reserved. do NOT copy, repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or feed my posts into ANY form of AI.
Devotion
Summary: Jalen comes home early after a long day at work to spend quality time with his wife.
Warnings: Married couple fluff with a little bit of spice. 18+
I don’t even know who Jalen Shaw is, but I will find out soon! This is such a well-written piece; I loove the couple's relationship and their witty banter. My favorite part of the excerpt had me smiling and shaking my head:
"So what you’re saying is the ladies love Jalen Shaw and I should feel honored you come home to me every night."
"More or less."
"Wow. The first married man to admit to having a work harem. Is there anything else you’d like to say before I exile you to this here couch, Detective?"
AMAZING WORK!!!
ʜᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ
Every university had that signature party that was the highlight of the semester. The one event that made even the most stubborn homebodies come outside, put on their shortest shorts, and soak in the sun. At Florida State University, it was the LDOC party. Graduation was right around the corner, and all everyone wanted to do was enjoy the last weeks of their undergraduate experience. Or that’s the justification your friends were giving you.
But for you, saying yes to the party never felt that simple. A quiet tug-of-war was playing out in your mind: half of you wanted to stay in, avoiding the crowd and the noise, wanting to keep things easy. The other half hated the thought of missing out on one of the last chances to feel young, carefree, and surrounded by your people before real life started. What if the night was one you’d remember for years? Or what if you ended up on the edge of things again, just watching everyone else have fun from a distance?
Your heart fluttered with a mix of curiosity and anxiety, making it hard to tell where hope stopped and worry began.
Your friends, Halle and Jade, took multiple pictures with the digital camera. The theme this year was 90s Freak Nik, and their outfits were perfectly in line with it. Halle wore a multicolored one-shoulder leotard. Box braids in pig tails with bright pink bow-bows. Her shoes were simple, white Air Forces with thick white slouch socks. Jade, on the other hand, wouldn’t be caught dead in any ‘skimpy’ outfit. Her words.
In all the years you’ve known her, she hasn’t owned any clothes that weren’t black. For her, dressing in black wasn’t just a style choice—it was almost a quiet statement. Jade liked to keep things simple and direct, never feeling the need to stand out with colors or follow anyone else’s rules for how girls should look. In her typical fashion, she wore a tank top and knee-length cotton shorts. Her honey blonde locs were crinkled in a half-up, half-down style. Her bronze complexion contrasted nicely with the silver studs that were newly pierced in her nostrils. Jade always said she didn’t care what people thought, and you believed her; she carried herself like she knew exactly who she was.
You on the other hand, were nowhere close to being ready to go out. Still contemplating if you wanted to go in the first place. A feeling you wouldn’t dare voice out to your friends on the other side of the door. You looked to your phone, seeing a new message from Tyriq. He forwarded you the LDOC flyer and sent a question mark.
Tyriq, a boy you had been talking to since your sophomore year. It started off casual, speaking in passing whenever you crossed paths. Following each other on social media and interacting with each other’s posts. You attended his probate when he joined Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity Incorporated, his fraternity.
There was one moment last semester, at a mutual friend's apartment, where you shared a kiss. A private moment, just the two of you, after everyone had gone to sleep or returned home. It happened so quickly, and you couldn’t be sure who leaned in first, but for a few breathless seconds, nothing else mattered. As soon as it ended, a flood of feelings hit you: surprise, followed by an embarrassing rush of hope that maybe Tyriq felt something too. But that hope tangled with doubt, and the awkwardness in the air was almost too much to stand. You tried to play it cool, but every time you remembered it, your stomach twisted with a mix of excitement, confusion, and a weird kind of shame for letting yourself care that much.
Tyriq never brought up that kiss, and you followed in his lead. Taking the rejection in silence, you withdrew a little from Tyriq, determined not to show you were upset. Not entirely, because you still shared mutual friends and didn’t want to make it awkward for everyone else. Regardless, the message felt clear, and you told yourself there was no reason to mope about it, even though part of you still wondered, late at night, what that kiss had really meant.
Maybe if you weren’t in the middle of your moping, you could have moved your hips in time to avoid the hefty slap from Halle.
“Oww!” You groaned, holding your right cheek in your hand. Shooting a dagger at your friend, the sting travels across the area. She returned a mug of her own, her hand still elevated like she was considering laying another smack to your bottom. Rolling your eyes started getting dressed. The year you were born in a spray-painted fire print, shorts, and Converse. Your hair was in a slicked braided ponytail, courtesy of Halle last night.
“Ready.” You shrugged.
“Not quite.” Halle started pulling down your baby hairs with a rat-tail comb, then grabbed some edge control and made dramatic swoops across your temples. She squeezed a glob of gloss on your lips and instructed you to apply it. Switching out your small studded earrings for jumbo hoops, she then moved down to your outfit. Unpopping the front buttons of your shorts, pulling your underwear on top of your hips. Pull up your bra to the top of your shirt, revealing the solid black bra.
“Now you’re ready.”
—
“Take a shot, everybody!”
Is the first thing Jade said once y'all stepped out of Ken’s car. Waterfalling the spiked punch into everyone’s mouth. You scrunched your face.
“Don’t make a drink ever again.” Halle patted her chest rapidly, trying to decrease the burn.
“Or invest in some ice, please.” You laughed at Halle’s reaction.
“You don’t drink alcohol for the taste, you do it for the aftermath.” Jade defended.
“The aftermath that makes you text your ex.” You playfully responded.
“Exactly.” She tilted her glasses down her nose and smirked.
The three of you split up to scope out the party. Ken and Halle went left, and Jade wandered off to the right. The party was hosted on a wide, grassy open field, the kind where the grass stuck lightly to your bare shins when you brushed past. There was already a decent crowd swaying between fold-out tables scattered with half-empty cups, melting ice, and the sharp, sticky smell of spiked fruit punch. Someone nearby had a grill going, wafting smoky hints of charred hot dogs and sweet barbecue sauce through the humid air. Every few steps, you caught snatches of laughter and overlapping conversations: someone loudly recounting a finals horror story, squeals over a missed summer internship, a group debating which song would really get people moving.
The DJ was weaving 90s classics into the popular music on the radio, the thump of bass vibrating up through your sneakers. The summer beats blasting made you feel like you were at a real block party—the kind your mother reminisced about, roasting in the sun with her girlfriends and cheap 40s on the stoop back in the early 90s. Everything felt alive: the sweat beneath your arms, the dry scrape of straw poking out from the makeshift photo booth, and the sugary tang that stuck to your lips after every sip.
You waved at your friends as you passed them. Taking sips of their drinks and finding yourself loosening up. You could tell when the Greeks arrived by hearing the respective stroll songs start to play. A natural interest formed near the DJ speakers. You weren’t sure how you found yourself toward the front of the crowd. It was almost your coincidence that you heard the whistle. Coming down the line, a group of alphas. The girls behind you stared with interest, and part of you wanted to slip behind them so they could be front row.
Especially once you noticed Tyriq in the stroll line. He was the tallest one in the line, and I’m sure you could confidently say he was one of the tallest people out there. He looked so focused, hitting every move with precision. A cockiness to his moves, that he didn’t have anything to prove. He enjoyed every moment. And as he passed you, he made eye contact.
You were spotted. He saw you. That shouldn’t have frightened you as much as it did, but your stomach dropped, your chest tightening like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Heat rushed to your face, an uneasy cocktail of anticipation and dread. Suddenly, it felt like an invisible timer was ticking down, counting the seconds until Tyriq would find you again. You tried to steady your breath, telling yourself to play it cool, but your heart was racing and your thoughts tangled between hope and anxiety.
What would he say? Did he still remember that kiss? Would he act like nothing had happened, or would this be the moment things changed between you? Unable to stand still, you took a step backward, searching for a place to hide the nerves sparking under your skin. You found solace in the open field while the music and chants from the Greeks faded into the background. You saw Jade again, hanging out with her friends. Almost taking refuge from the heat, you stood underneath the shady area, half-listening to Jade's conversation, trying to will your emotions back under control. You only tuned in when you heard one of Jade’s friends call over Tyriq.
He acknowledged his friends when he came over, but he didn’t spend much time talking to him. His focus was on you.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” You face was warmed and you couldn’t even look at him. All of a sudden eye contact was becoming a big ask.
“Can we talk?” He pointed with his head away from the lingering eyes.
You nodded quickly, following Tyriq as he led you toward a quieter patch of grass, further from the crowd. The moment you were alone, the air between you shifted—buzzing with something electric, something unspoken.
“So you been dodging me?” Tyriq grinned, his voice low and teasing. He leaned against a tree, arms folded, eyes locked on yours. “I know you saw me out there.”
You laughed, trying to play it cool, but you couldn’t hide the way your cheeks heated. “I haven’t been dodging you. Maybe you just haven’t been looking hard enough.”
Tyriq stepped closer, just enough to make your heart pick up speed. He smirked. “Nah, I always see you. You just act like you don’t want me to.”
You glanced down, fighting a smile, but Tyriq wasn’t having it. He tilted his head, searching your face. “Why you always act so distant with me, huh? You tryna make me work harder?”
Your breath caught. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, letting your feelings show for once. "Maybe I just want to know you mean it."
Tyriq’s expression softened. He brushed a stray braid from your face with the back of his hand. “I do. For real. I’m tired of the games, you know? I want us to be official. If you want that too.”
You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to contain your giddiness. Butterflies exploded in your stomach. “You mean that? Like, for real for real?”
He grinned, a little shy, but certain. “For real for real. So, what you think?”
You couldn’t hide your smile. "I think I want that too."
Tyriq laughed softly, eyes shining. "Say less then. It’s us now."
You both stood there, grinning, the world around you fading out as something new and thrilling bloomed between you.
two freaky girls • enjin + s. grier
your best friends decide to help you get over a breakup in a very special way.
wc: 3.8K
📝: black fem!reader, 3sum ffm action, substance use, oral sex, squirting, fingering, shotgunning, praise kink, masturbation, facials, spit play, all of the fun things, ofc not set in the gachiakuta universe bc yall know me by now and semiu is still very much gay, she’s just having a lil’ fun! Just filthy and maybe a lil ooc but it never gave that I cared fr
this is rushed, I hate it and I was drunk too, writing this straight from my coochie but ik if I kept thinking abt it too much, I would’ve never dropped it. So enjoy. Pretend you never saw this if you don’t like it.
°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The two of them couldn’t have been more different and yet they complimented one another so well! Semiu, a rather stoic, alluring, no nonsense, crazy intelligent, fierce lady with zero patience for foolishness. However, she did have a bit of a soft side when the need arose…not to mention, she was insanely gorgeous. Every woman or otherwise had their sights set on Miss Semiu but they’d be luckier to find a needle in a haystack than to get a shot with her! Naturally, she’d have her fun here and there but nothing too serious. Then there was Enjin…the sweet, kind hearted, lovable goofball turned heads each time he entered a space. Whether that was due to his exceptionally good looks; standing at a striking six foot three, littered in tattoos with spiky blonde locks or that hilarious personality of his. He certainly could be the life of the party when he wanted to and he always had this big brotherly-esque charm about him that would make anyone feel safe in his presence. And together, you’d never be more protected and comfortable with anyone else than you would with those two around. It was one night, whilst the three of you were hanging out at Semiu’s place…a spotless environment, shrouded in modern, afro-centric decor with sleek glass and marble furnishings. Seated on the plush suede couches as you partook in your vices of choice. Semiu, nursing a glass of red wine, Enjin blowing smoke from a blunt and (y/n)? Well, you opted for a bit of both…as this week had been particularly tough on you.
“So…you gon’ talk about it or are you just gon’ keep getting drunk and high until that little head of yours starts to spin?”
you’re meant for him
onyankopan was steady. he had a confidence about him that wasn’t subtle, but it also wasn’t arrogant.
he was a dependable man, being the oldest out of 5 siblings. he had a hyper independence factor about him that you tried your best everyday to get him to let go of.
he took care of his people, and had a higher understanding of the way things worked than most people due to experience. he loved in his own unique way.
he was an acts of service man. the kind of man you didn’t even have to ask because he just knew you well. he’s smart and observant, always been the intuitive type.
he’s used to being on his own and doing things alone. he never really minded. there’s been girls he’s courted or try to date but it never really went anywhere and onyakopon couldn’t even try to pretend he cared. he knew he’d be good anyway. until he met you.
ε⠀❤︎ᩙ ⠀з — 𝔀ash day with boyfriend ! 𝓻yo
۪ ݁ 𓈒 𝓬urly hair ◞ black ! reader ໋ ◞ sukuna is whipped !! and loves his curly haired girlfriend ◞ 𝒻luff ˚˖𓍢ִ໋
“sit,”
ryo’s fingers are left over anise and lavender conditioner, loose curls that coil his knuckles like doting stray cats and remnants of your jasmine shampoo. he’s gathered hair products in one hand: rose-mary oil, a spray bottle, detangling brush, hair gel and curl creme: and in the other a comfortable hoodie of his for you to wear.
“i’ll handle it, doll.” he says, knowning you were very much ready to shoulder the responsibility of wash day yourself out of habit. he had already insisted on washing your hair in the shower, but detangling and braiding were territory he was yet to unearth.
you pout, damp-haired and champagne toast scented as ryo pats the space inbetween his thighs where you tuck yourself into, sitting on the pillow he placed for you on the floor and wrapping a towel around your shoulders.
“remember, four —“
“yeah, yeah four sections, detangle ends first, use the spray bottle before brushing, braid down each section when done,” ryo rambles reaching down to your cheek and pressing a soft kiss on it. delicate. like everything you deserve to feel is at the tip of his mouth. “i got you.”
you exhale then nod, placing your trust in the palm of his hands. “you comfortable down there?” he asks, fingers already curls deep in your hair.
“mhm.”
ryo gently separates each section, taking one in hand and sprinkling a thoughtful amount of water and curl creme before starting with a brush from the ends.
“am i hurting ya?” ryo asks, careful not to tug at any knot. “tell me if i am.”
you shake your head.
he rakes four fingers through your hair, brush slipping through your curls from root to ends as he whisked product through bristles, “such a pretty girl with such pretty hair,” ryo mumbles, unable to remember the last time he was so enamored by such charm, your curls were radiance and he was merely a comet, “what am i gonna do with ya.”
you roll your eyes, “you say that every time.”
ryo smoothes oil into your hair, fingers curling at the root as he massaged it in carefully, “will ya take the compliment.” he grumbles.
“thank you, baby.” you hum, lips pressed together in an attempt to rid the grin on your face.
he takes this as a cue to kiss you again. tatted hand still in wet-hair, the other, black nail polish and rings, lifting your chin as he lowers himself onto your lips, marlboro mint rolling off his tongue, tracing your jawline in hair product.
he kisses you until you’re both laughing in each others mouths, then your cheek until you fuss about him being overbearing then your forehead.
“now sit still,” ryo says, “i’m almost done.”
“youre the one that keeps kissing me!” you argue.
he braids down the section and then starts on the next, utter concentration painted across his face.
“keep talking and that’s all that’s going to get done tonight.” grin plastered across his face as he sings.
he brushes ends to root again, smoothing product into your hair while the occasional whispers of how beautiful your hair was slipped into conversation: kisses if there was no conversation at all: and once he finished he would slip his hoodie over you, arms first, then pull your hair out from the hood before kissing your forehead again.
“such a pretty girl with your hair all done.” ryo says.
“you’re obsessed with me.” you say.
you were right. all you did was occupy his mind.
“oh i so am.”
dividers by anitalenia ˚˖𓍢ִ໋
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ — inspired by my lovely mootie @satomiu mwuah
The merry performance
You and Toji attend Megumi's annual Christmas performance
WC: 426
-----------------
“Toji pay attention”
Toji groaned, turning off his phone looking at the stage in front of him. It was Megumi’s Christmas performance
Megumi was behind looking around as his friend beside him, Itadori held his hand. He looked so cute with his little christmas sweater you had worn for him, playing with the hem of his sweater as he sang.
“How long do we have to wait till we can leave…” Toji said
“Until it’s over”
“Just his performance?”
“Toji!”
“We’re only here for our son…not sure why you want us to stay for everyone”
“Because it’s rude! Would you like it if people stood up during Gumi’s performance!”
“I wouldn't care…they’re here for their kids, so am I” Toji said trying to stand up when you glared at him
“Stand up from that seat and you’re banned from eating my pussy for a month”
Toji sat immediately, looking at you “What”
“You heard me….stand up from that seat and we’re not having sex for a month” You said
"You're banning me because I don’t care about other kids' performance?”
“Yes and if you interrupt me again, you’re banned…I’ve said strange things in a school and now the other parents are looking at me in a weird way” You said looking around to see parents staring at you with confusion
Toji groans laying back on the chair “You’re insane”
“I’m not…we will respect the other kids because we would want our kid to be respected too”
“They’re not my kid”
“Toji say that one more time”
“They’re not-”
You glared causing him to keep quiet making the other parents chuckle
“Making me a public jokester" He says grabbing your hands as the performance ended, parents clapping as the teachers directed the group off the stage
“Should have listen to me” you said looking at the stage as the next group went on the stage
----------------
After the performance ended, Megumi ran to you, holding a christmas hat, probably given to him by his teacher
“Mama did you see me!” He asked as you knelt down pecking his forehead until he whined
“Yes baby! You did amazing! Such an amazing performance baby!” You said hugging Megumi
Megumi giggles wrapping his small hands around your neck, until he noticed Toji folding his hands staring off at the opposite direction
“What’s wrong with papa?”
“Nothing baby, he’s just sulking” You replied looking at the big man who was pouting behind you
“No pussy because I only wanted to stay for my son” Toji murmurs
“What did you say?”
“Nothing…”
nanami k. and married life
- the ultimate provider
- there are no “ifs” or “buts” nanami pays for everything.
- i’m talking dates, house finances, anything of necessity for your children etc
- he doesn’t discourage you in terms of making your own money and will fully support you if you choose to do that, however he also is happy with you living a comfortable life and being a stay at home wife if you’d like !
- if you guys decide on children, nanami makes it a statement to go on a date every other friday night because he read online that parents that maintain their relationship consistently make even better parents
- from then on, he has a sitter ready for the kids on date nights
✮⋆˙. 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
oh i’m reading this ASAP
-Eyeliner-
Paring: whoever(m) x fem! reader.
Type: After Hours 🍶
Calorie Count: 563
Warning(s): Pet names & 18+ content.
Your husband letting you practice makeup on him, all while he’s balls deep in you.
"Stop moving, or I'm gonna mess up your eyeliner." You mumble, holding his face in your hand as you try to get the wing on his left eye to match the right.
He leans his head back, a low moan escaping his mouth as he wraps his hand around your hips, giving them a light squeeze. "Come on," he mutters, "I barely moved. The way you're clenching around me should be a crime." He tilts his head back up to look you in the eyes.
You laugh at his words, reaching for the eyelash curler to quickly curl his lashes before applying the mascara.
"You're lucky you're pretty," you tease, setting down the mascara wand and tilting his chin to inspect your work. The wing on his left eye is slightly thicker than the right, but it's passable. He looks good like this — soft and undone, his lips parted, and his cheeks flushed from more than just the makeup.
"'M pretty regardless," he murmurs, voice rough, and rolls his hips up slow and deliberate. The shift in angle makes you gasp, your hand flying to his shoulder for balance. He catches your wrist and presses a kiss to your palm, smudging the lip liner you'd just set on his lips. "Now let me finish what you started."
You huff out a breathless laugh, steadying yourself with a hand on his chest. "Absolutely not. I'm not done with your eyes yet." You reach for the small one pan eyeshadow and a small brush with your free hand, but he catches your wrist again — gently, this time.
"You've been at this for an hour," he says, thumb tracing slow circles over your pulse point. "My face is basically a canvas at this point. Let me have my turn."
"Your turn?" You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way his voice drops half an octave when he's winding you up. "You've been having your turn this whole time, sweetheart."
He grins, and it's crooked and infuriatingly handsome, even with smudged mascara. "This? This was foreplay."
Before you can argue, he sits up in one smooth motion, keeping you straddled in his lap. The new depth makes you choke on a moan, your forehead dropping against his. Both the products roll off the bed and hit the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.
He takes a minute to look at them both, mostly the eyeshadow, as it cracked a little. “I’ll buy you a new one, okay?” He groaned into your neck.
Softly throwing you onto the bed, lining himself back up with your wet entrance, slowly pushing himself in as he bottoms out.
“I'm done with foreplay angle,” He moans with a shiver as he starts a solid medium pace, consisting of full, deep thrusts that hit that one spot perfectly for the rest of the night—his makeup look long forgotten.
“—ready to fuck you.”
masterlist
a/n: not very long, I’m lowkey uninspired and have no type of ideas. Hope y'all enjoy though. 💋 (p.s - pls request stuff)
✨ category: bad b!tch ✨
⋆˚｡⋆ 18+, mdni; i write fics, hcs, scenarios, drabbles for one piece, jjk, & aot/snk ⋆˚｡⋆ ⋆˚｡⋆ requests are: open temporarily (0/3). ⋆˚｡⋆
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₊˚.☘︎ ݁˖sumi's stories
₊˚.☘︎ ݁˖ jujitsu kaisen
feel my love, suguru getoᨳଓ 18+ woke up feeling intimate, wanting highlights the tenderness and raw intensity of his love for you within the peaceful morning. there isn’t a better way to show his girlfriend that he loves her other than with dick and weed!
fixing your crown, suguru geto݁❀ pt.2 who was so enamored with your hair! it was the first thing he noticed when he first saw you. he couldn’t resist having you and once he had his hands on your he was determined to get his hands in your hair!
just for you, megumi fushiguro❦ 18+ feeling tired and frustrated, returns home once again, overdue his time. his sleep schedule has been disrupted by work again, but when he sees his girlfriend peacefully sleeping in bed, in his shirt, he tries his best to avoid inappropriate thoughts.
₊˚.☘︎ ݁˖attack on titans 18+
coming soon!
₊˚.☘︎ ݁˖ kengan ashura
coming soon!
©𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘄𝗿𝗹𝗱
Adversary part 1
Eddie Brock/Venom x Spiderwoman!black!Reader
Tags/TW: Comicsverse, Action/Thriller, Humor, Canon-typical violence, (eventually) soft yandere
A/N: So, I've been reading some issues of Spiderman and Venom to get a feel for the characters bc i get into these superhero habits now and again. (Shrugs) so I made this! There's not romance in this first part but it was fun making a banter scene!
Read part 2 part 3
Lowering yourself behind the black suited behemoth, you make your presence known with a casual, "Hey there!"
The man- thing whipped it's head around with a vicious snarl, surprising you with it's huge maw and rows of sharp teeth. You gasped sharply, and when it swiped at you, you flipped backwards and pirouette land onto the ground.
In a defensive stance, you observed it. It's body was way too reminiscent of your original black-suited look to be a coincidence. It's wriggling edges gave you a hint.
'So... that's where my symbiote went,' You thought.
It wouldn't surprise you if it formed around someone else, but there shouldn't have been any reason for it to be almost an exact replica of yours save for it's... everything from the neck up.
Inwardly, you scolded yourself for your carelessness with the life form. Worse off for not being able to tell if the host was in pain. Though for the most part... they seemed to be functioning well.
"Y'know, digging through someone else's trash isn't really the fashion forward move you think it is," you remarked, putting your hand on your hip.
The thing growled... or... smiled? You couldn't really tell. "One man's trash, is another's treasure, Spider~"
You give a comical shudder of your body, in an attempt to hide your true feelings of disgust.
It continued, "You didn't want us, and so we made use of a new bond... together."
"May I ask who's we?"
It began to stalk and you backed away with each step it took. Preparing for a strike when it then raised it's gigantic claw, you instead were met with an elongated slew of black slime wrapping around your form and pulling you back to it's sickening grin before lifting you up to slam you repeatedly into the ground.
"We... are... Venom." The last word echoes. You can feel your vision going in and out from the concussion, but this body's been through considerably worse, so you tell it to suck it up like you're sucking up the coppery taste in your mouth.
You groaned as Venom lifted you up, near it's face once more. It then elongated it's tongue, bringing it out to lave over your mask.
"We can smell your blood like a shark in the water. It tastes sweet, but our revenge would be sweeter."
Your heart races when they trace a claw over the edge of your mask and pulls it... but it lets go to snap the latex on your skin, making you gasp.
"Don't worry, Spiderwoman. I'm not interested in destroying the man beneath the mask. But rather, the symbol of which everyone holds so dear... revealing her a false icon!" Venom jerks you before flinging you to the side.
Your body slides and hits harshly against brick wall, but you use this opportunity to regain your composure and create some distance. Gripping the wall behind you, you immediately turn and climb, climb, climb.
Venom growls behind you, "Height will do little to save you from me!"
"Hey, the further I'm away from a freak like you, the better!" You shout back.
"Touche, I am a freak. But only because you made me this way!" Venom declared, raising his fists in a shaking motion.
Finally you were at the ledge of the building. And turning, you could see that Venom was as small as a toy ball from up here. You even mimicked squishing him between your fingers, which you were sure displeased him by the growl you could hear from below.
You spread your arms out and leaned over to shout, "See, I notice you've got all this animosity towards me. And I don't even know your name." You said, "And like I'm real grateful that you don't care enough to know mine, but you're talking to me, like, I should know who you are."
"All will be revealed in due time little spider," he purred. You honestly didn't know how you could hear him so clearly. It was like his voice was all enveloping even from a distance. Was it because you had an attachment to the suit at one point? Did anyone who shared an extended period of time with the symbiote become accustomed to it's traits?
It's like leaving the beehive. You always come back eventually right?
'No, that's not how analogies works...' you thought.
Then without another word the ... Venom zipped itself away in a grotesque mimicry of your web shooting with its own slime, its large form disappearing into the blackest night.
"Freaky..."
This is good storytelling; I’m officially intrigued!🤭
fixing your crown, suguru geto݁❀pt.2
enjoy this fluff wip until my next post!
────────── ₊˚ʚ ݁.☘︎ ݁˖˚݁.
suguru geto who was so enamored with your hair! it was the first thing he noticed when he first saw you. suguru geto is canonically known for having gorgeous hair.
in high school, he won best hair for the womens and mens category. with all the time and product he put into his hair, he had every right to be opinionated.
when the two of you first started talking, you changed your hairstyle 3 times within the span of two weeks, and suguru was definitely a bit lost. “wait.. didn’t you just straighten your hair?” he questioned, head tipping to the side just a bit.
which was completely correct. you did straight your hair two days ago. the same straightened hair was now sitting on your wig head on one of your shelves in the closet.
currently, the front of your natural hair was braided down in a cute pattern, while you had a curly half wig clipped on the backside.
you giggled, dainty hand covering your goofy smile. "i did," you nodded, “but that wasn't my real hair. this isn't either, but this part.."
you pointed at the front that was 4 diagonal braids on each side of your head. "is my real hair." suguru stilled for a second, processing and registering the new information.
just a without a word, he leaned closer, examining the details in your hair. after a moment, he pulled back with an earnest expression and hummed,
"that's stunningly incredible, yet impressive... and you’ve done all your hairstyles prior to this?"
you nodded, curling bouncing in the wind. "mhm, it takes a lot of time." his mouth gaped like a fish, eyes sparkling. within that moment suguru knew he was right where he wanted to be.
boyf!suguru who would look forward to what hairstyle you would have next. the first time you asked him what to do with your hair he was kinda bummed, "i wanted to be surprised.. i like playing the guessing game."
but still helped you decide with a heartfelt smile and more enthusiasm than you.
so when you did start showing up with your hair braided in french curl braids, mini spring twist, natural braid out, colored wigs, etc, he damn near fainted.
his honeyed eyes lit up every time, piercing lips parted in a small dumbfounded smile, body frozen in place for a moment too long. "oh my god, m'gonna fuck you." he mumbled, slowly inching closer.
it didn't make it no better that you just stood there every single time with the cutest grin, cheeks throbbing and lips burning from how hard he had you blushing. "y'like it?" you asked, glittery eyes twinkling up at him, lashes batting.
"like it? baby, i love it." he reiterated, big warm hands cupping your cheeks before kissing your forehead, nose, then a sweet kiss to your glossed lips.
the cool sensation of his metal snake bites tugging a small moan from you, his pierced tongue trying his best to stay in his own mouth, desperately losing once he licked the bottom-side of your gums.
the two of you stood in the middle of his apartment, quickly getting lost in the once chaste kiss.
suguru pulled back, huffing out a small breath as he stared down at you. "you’re absolutely breathtaking. every time i think i found my favorite hairstyle, you prove me wrong."
boyf!sugu who would help you take down your braids. no matter the size, he was at your side with snacks and a large bag, making sure to be extra careful not to cut your hair.
"sugu, y'know you can cut more off?" you turned, looking at the extra 6 inches of extra hair he kept on just in case. he shook his head, baby hairs falling in front of his face, "don't wanna cut your hair."
boyf!sugu who would plead and beg for you to let him help with one wash day. "pleaseeee??? i promise you won't have to worry about my wandering hands, i'll be so gentle, baby, c'mon, let me help you."
how could you ever resist him when he was asking so sweetly, and looked hot as fuck doing it too.
"ugghh fine! but you do realize i'm about to be in the shower for.. maybe 2 or 3 hours?" you asked, still gathering all of the hair products you needed from your hair cabinet.
"we're about to be in the shower for 2 or 3 hours." suguru corrected, taking all of the products from your hand and transferring them to the shower. "go get our towels, i'll do the rest in here." he spoke with a turned back.
you couldn't help but feel your heart thump harder, tenderly aching and yearning for the man you were able to secure. you couldn't have found a more perfect man.
boyf!sugu who was meant to end up with a black girlfriend!
©𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘄𝗿𝗹𝗱.
THIS IS SO SWEET!! I love you, Suguru.
The color font on this post is so pretty.
Hands To Yourself || Sokka x Wife!Reader
Warning: Sokka has a serious problem...
Synopsis: You and Sokka married, both of you stubborn, devoted, and entirely too in love. Same year you had your first child and while you were overjoyed, something in Sokka shifted. He didn’t just want a family. He wanted a legacy. (art from Pinterest)
Sokka had always been an enthusiastic person. As a child, he threw himself into everything. Training, hunting, leading, even his terrible ideas. So when he married you at twenty-two, he made a promise to give you everything he had.
And Sokka, unfortunately, had a lot to give.
You had your first child that same year, a beautiful baby girl with your features and Sokka’s entire personality packed into a tiny, chubby, unstoppable body.
“Look at her!” Sokka beamed one afternoon, crouched low as your daughter toddled across the floor, clutching a poorly carved toy boomerang. “Baby, she’s perfect. She’s already a warrior.”
“She just tried to eat snow like five minutes ago,” you replied, leaning against the doorway.
“She’s innovative,” he corrected proudly.
You scoffed into a laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head just enough to steal one from you instead. That should’ve been your first warning, because something in Sokka clicked that day. And from that moment on…he wanted more.
More laughter, more chaos, more chubby grabby hands, more little feet running across the ice floors.
More you.
And unfortunately you Sokka didn’t believe in doing anything halfway.
•••
You should’ve known something was up the second Gran Gran looked at you like that.
You were sitting beside her, helping sew tiny fur-lined coats for the expecting mothers in the village. The needle moved steadily in your hands, but Gran Gran’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and knowingly.
“What?” you asked, squinting at her suspiciously. She smiled slowly, eyes soft but entirely too perceptive.
“I think,” she said, patting your knee, “we should make one more… for you.”
You blinked for a second registering her words, “Gran Gran no.”
She hummed nodding. You just laughed it off shaking your head, she’s ridiculous.
Two months later, you were staring at your round reflection in complete disbelief.
Seven months after that—twins…twin boys!
Sokka nearly lost his mind.
“Two?!” he shouted, pacing the room while you held one baby in each arm. “We made TWO?!” The babies blabbed blowing raspberries with their spit having no idea what was going on.
“You helped,” you said dryly.
He dropped to his knees in front of you, eyes shining like stars in the midnight sky. “This is incredible. This is— this is strategy. This is expansion. This is—”
“This is you not sleeping for the next year,” you cut in. He didn’t even hear a word you said. By the next week, he had already built some ridiculous contraption to carry all three children at once. It had straps, hooks and something that looked suspiciously like a modified fishing net.
“It’s efficient!” he insisted as you stared at it.
You stood with a hand on your hip with your head tilted, “It’s a safety hazard.”
“It’s innovative.” He had his arms open in awe.
“Just like the snow eating, huh?”
He wore a big bright grin “…Exactly like the snow eating.”
The third time truly was NOT your fault. New Year’s Festival, Gran Gran offered to see the kids. The entire village was celebrating, fireworks, alcohol, music, and dance.
And your husband? Your very affectionate, very determined husband decided that the storage tent behind the main hall was “private enough.” Nine months later, you had another daughter…
Gran Gran didn’t even act surprised anymore she just welcomed her with open arms.
Ten years passed in what felt like a blur of laughter, exhaustion, sleepless nights and tiny voices calling for you at all hours of the day.
Six children.
Four girls. Two boys. A home that was never quiet, and a husband who still looked at you like you were the best decision he had ever made.
The village noticed, of course they did.
At first, it was small comments. The little jokes. Nothing malicious just amused, fond observations whispered between mothers while hanging laundry or gathering water.
“I heard Chief Sokka might single-handedly repopulate the Southern Water Tribe.” Giggles followed.
“Oh, please. At this rate, they’ll need a second house.”
“I give it two more years before they run out of names.”
You didn’t hear any of it. Not until your best friend Leila told you.
Leila leaned casually against your open doorway, watching as you expertly balanced a toddler wrapped to your chest while braiding your eldest daughter’s hair.
“You know,” she said, biting back a grin, “people are starting to talk.”
You didn’t even bother to look up. “If this is about the twins putting fish in someone’s boots again, I already handled it. They're cleaning them as we speak.”
“No, no,” she waved you off. “It’s not bad gossip. It’s just—” she paused, trying not to laugh. “They joke about you and Sokka repopulating the entire tribe.”
You stilled. Slowly, you turned your head. You didn’t know how to feel about hearing that.
“…What?”
Leila lost it sitting down her basket and coming inside to take a seat, “I’m serious! Six kids in ten years? People are impressed— a little concerned and afraid but overall impressed.”
You blinked. Then glanced around your home at the scattered toys, the half-finished chores, the sheer number of small humans moving around you.
“Oh…Okay,” you admitted slowly. “That’s…kind of fair.”
•••
You thought about what Leila said all day and decided to bring it up later, casually though.
The house was loud as usual children scattered across the floor, toys half-finished, one of the boys arguing loudly with his sister over something completely nonsensical. Sokka sat beside you, one child asleep across his lap as you folded laundry nearby.
“So,” you started, “The village thinks we’re trying to repopulate the Southern Water Tribe…”
Sokka snorted. “What? That’s just ridiculous.”
You hummed. “I mean… six kids, Sokka. That’s quite a few.”
He paused, seemingly in thought. You narrowed your eyes waiting for a response, “…Sokka?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Well…” he said carefully. “When you put it like that…”
“Sokka.” Your stern tone hinting for him to spit it out. “I just—” he shrugged, trying (and failing) to look innocent. “I kinda thought we’d have more ya know?.”
Silence fell over the room. You stared at him as you felt your eye began to twitch and fist tighten around the clothes you held.
Sokka being Sokka smiled trying to make it better. Big mistake.
You set the laundry down slowly. “More?” you asked making sure you heard your husband correctly. The room went quiet just the crackle of the fire and Sokka’s very audible gulp.
“Just a few,” he said quickly. “You know round it out.” You stood, he immediately knew he screwed up.
“Sokka have. you lost your damn mind?! A few more— ROUND IT OUT?! Look at me, are I not round enough? I have spit out six children and you want more—“
“Wait—”
“You know what I’m never letting you touch me again.”
“WHAT— hey, that was a joke!” he scrambled to his feet laying his once sleeping baby on his lap on the nearest softest surface. He ran after you calling your name but you paid him no mind.
“You have six children, Sokka. SIX!”
He continued to follow you around your home like a lost otter penguin, “And they’re amazing!”
“You are done.”
“I’m not done—”
“You’re done!”
He continued to follow after you, actual panic setting in. “Baby, be reasonable—”
“Go be a father!” you snapped, gesturing to the chaos of your home.
“Wha- I am a father!”
“Well be more of one!”
“I can do both!” He pleaded.
You stopped, turned, and gave him a look so sharp it could’ve cut an ice berg down. He froze in his tracks, even as the Chief of The Southern Water Tribe his wife is the sole person who can strike fear in him (besides Gran Gran).
“…I’m joking,” he said weakly.
You stared at him a second longer before turning and walking off toward your children playing with the other kids you invited over earlier. Sokka stood there, watching you walk then glanced around at his six kids, then looked back at you.
“I could handle one more...” he muttered.
Across the room, Gran Gran— who had definitely heard everything sighed deeply.
“You,” she called, pointing at Sokka without even looking at him, “are going to be the death of that poor girl.” The other village mothers nodded in agreement.
Sokka frowned into a scowl. “Oh, go home already!” The women paid him no mind.
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Dividers, Dividers
I love this so much. Sokka is a trip 😭🫶🏼
