wallacepolsom

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izzy's playlists!

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shark vs the universe
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Janaina Medeiros
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🪼
will byers stan first human second
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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@susanhill
Come For Me.
Character: Terrance (Foe)
Summary: As the warm night lingers on, you drunk dial an ex boyfriend, who happens to be your roommate, while he’s on assignment and now here you two are, spread out on your living room couch.
Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI!), cursing, domTerrance!, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, titty play, makeup sex, slight hand fetish, squirting
Divider By: @dollywons
A/N I: My first (and possibly only) drabble, but this is actually x reader this time. I’m not using Y/N though. May have brought some of @dollys-world224’s idea to life 🤭🤭
𖦹 jealous nanami is a rare sight ⋮ fluff.
♯ a bit rushed bc i did it in a rush also ❤️☺️
Nanami had never considered himself a jealous man.
possessive, perhaps, in small ways. protective? certainly.
but jealousy? it was messy. the sort of thing that clouded judgement and made people act irrationally.
Nanami preferred facts.
and the fact was that you were free to spend time with anyone. the fact that your smile didn't belong to him. and the fact that he trusted you completely.
but why—why had he spent the last twenty minutes staring at his phone?
the photo on the screen was harmless for god's sake!
a group picture from a company dinner. you sat near the center, smiling oh so sweetly to the camera.
but the problem is there was a man sitting beside you.
nothing appropriate or suspicious. just a coworker. a coworker whose arm was slung casually over the back of your chair.
a coworker who seemed to appear in every photos your friend posted. a coworker whose name you had mentioned bunch of times this week without realizing it.
Nanami locked his phone and set it face down on the table.
he hated this feeling. Not because he distrusted you.
there was no reason for the knot tightening in his chest.
there is no logical explanation for why he suddenly found himself wondering whether you smiled that brightly around everyone. or whether you looked at everyone the way you looked at him.
the apartment door opened suddenly, snapping him out of his trance.
"Kento?" your voice drifted through the hallway.
you stepped into the living room, smiling when you saw him.
"There you are."
Nanami returned the smile automatically.
but as you sat beside him and started talking about your day, he found himself listening for one name. and when it finally appeared in the conversation? his jaw tightened.
your words faltered. "Kento?" you looked at him carefully.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
then, quietly, you asked. "Is there something wrong?"
he met your gaze briefly before looking away.
the silenced stretched. not uncomfortable, just heavy. Nanami wasn't entirely sure how to answer.
you knew your husband too well to notice when something was off.
"Kento."
"Hm."
"You're doing that thing."
his brows furrowed slightly. "What thing?"
"The thing where you pretend nothing's bothering you."
you moved closer on the couch, turning toward him fully.
"Did something happen at work?"
"No."
"Did someone annoy you?"
"Not particularly."
"Are you tired?"
"Always."
your expression only softened.
your fingers reached for his hand without thinking. you interwined your fingers with his.
"C'mon, talk to me?"
you waited patiently, giving him space to speak.
Nanami hated that he was making this difficult.
eventually, he said, "Who is he?"
you blinked. "...who?"
"The coworker."
your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
for several seconds, you said nothing.
then, "Are you jealous?"
Nanami closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps," he sighed.
your expression softened even further.
you shifted closer until your shoulder rested against his.
"I found him annoying," you started. "He talks too much, he steals food, he's arrogant too."
the corner of Nanami's mouth twitched. you caught it immediately.
"There he is."
"I was here the entire time."
"No, you were somewhere in your own head."
you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.
"I don't smile because of him," you sighed. "I smile because i was having fun."
his gaze softened. "I know," he admitted.
"Then why are you suffering by yourself?"
a faint huff escaped him, not quite a laugh.
"Because," he pulled your joined hands closer. "I was hoping it would stop if i ignored it."
"Did it work?"
"No."
you laughed. "That was unfortunate."
he laughed along with you. "It was."
the knot in his chest began to loosen.
not because the jealousy had vanished. but because you were looking at him exactly the way you always had.
© mochaization 2026. DO NOT copy, reconstruct, reupload on any other platform, or feed my works to AI.
megumi with a feminine girlfriend <3
when megumi told his friends he was dating you, the first reaction was pretty much the same for everyone — a mix of 'no way' and 'i don't believe you'. the worst part? he couldn't even blame them.
megumi would describe himself as introverted and probably pretty anti social. so when you walked up to him one day and started talking to him like you knew him for years? yeah he knew he was a goner. but honestly he never understood it — you were so beautiful, pink and glittery. him, on the other side, looked like he didn't know any other colors other than black and blue.
and somehow, he still fell inlove with you. he realised it soon when he missed the splash of vivid colors in his dorm or the sweet strawberry vanilla scent you left anywhere you went.
imagine his shock when you, yes you, confessed to him first — your eyes glassy like you were actually scared he might not feel the same way. and yet, the only thing he noticed in that moment was how cute your lips looked with the pinkish gloss.
when you started dating, no one really noticed the change — you always used to kiss his cheek even as friends, and he didn't go around to brag — not because he was ashamed, but because he always was one to admire you quietly. he never hid the relationship, he just didn't announce it shouting like yuji would.
so, when one day, when you joined megumi at training, which doesn't happen often, chaos unfolded. you strut down to watch him train in the sun, your pink customized uniform (curtesy of gojo) shining in the sun. megumi didn't see you immediatly, too focused on fighting off maki.
after the sparring match (which he lost) he finally saw you — sitting on the bench with some kind of iced drink. taking a break, he walked over to you, a small smile on his face at your obnoxious waving. "what are you doing here? i thought you went shopping." he takes the drink you're silently offering him, taking a sip from the sugary liquid. definetly your taste.
"hey babe! i was, but after i bought three bags my arms started to hurt so i came back. i found these really cute purple heels that match that skirt i bought last week, do you remember which one? oh and i also found these new gloss that tastes like strawberry..." he's listening to you rambling off about whatever you bought today, following your every word with quiet acknowledgment.
"do you have the new gloss on right now?" his question throws you off, making you halt your story telling. "yes how did you know? wanna try it? i have it in my bag!" while your searching your bag — which was filled with sweets, lipgloss and perfume, megumi's eyes don't leave you. he doesn't even realise maki is yelling at him to come train until yuji shouts like a gorilla making him jump.
"can i try the gloss?" the question would be weird for anyone else but you always make him put on some to 'taste test' it. "i'm not finding it right now ugh and you have to go—" he cuts you off with a direct kiss on your lips. right there in front of everyone — you swear you hear nobara gasp.
either way, you kiss him back, the gloss transfering onto your boyfriends mouth. it's a rather quick kiss, not wanting to put on a show infront of everyone. when he pulls back his forehead against yours, his breath stutters. "it tastes nice."
you don't have time to answer — he walks back to the training ground, ignoring the way everyone is looking at him. guess they finally know you're really dating.
Praise Kink - Midoriya Izuku Smut
cw: mdni, nsfw, teacher!midoriya izuku, praise kink, p in v sex, so many praises
It started completely innocently. In the bedroom, Izuku is just like he is in everything else—analytical, observant, and intensely focused on you. He notices every gasp, every shiver, every bite of your lip, and he can't help but vocalize his findings.
"You're doing so good for me," he'd murmur against your throat one night, his calloused hands gripping your hips. "That's it... you feel incredible, you know that?"
You'd always been a confident woman, but the way those soft, breathless words hit you made your brain completely short-circuit. Heat flooded your cheeks, your core clenched hard around him, and a desperate, pathetic little whine slipped past your lips before you could catch it.
You buried your face in his shoulder, embarrassed by your own reaction—but your body betrayed you entirely, squeezing him again, tighter, chasing the ghost of his approval. You realized right then and there that you craved it. That you needed him to say it again. That you'd do anything to hear it again.
NSFW (18+)
it was nasty, sheets pulled out from where they had once been neatly tucked in—soft skin dusted with a light sheen of perspiration, head drooping down slightly with each brush of nanami kento's slightly curved length against that gooey spot in your walls making you shudder underneath him.
it'd been what, almost two hours since you'd started, not sure how your body still had enough moisture to be soaked both inside and out, having been flipped from front to back and licked and nipped at from head to toe.
he had you on all fours, knees trembling slightly after a particularly low dip in your stomach. you were struggling to properly keep your head up, moments away from slumping forward completely when the corded muscle of his forearm moved round your side to allow his hand to cup your jaw, right under your neck. his touch was light yet strong enough to tip your head back, easing the tension that had been building in your neck.
his other hand tightened its hold on your waist, voice raspy against the shell of your ear. "just one more for me, okay? you can do that for me, i know you can."
"y-y're just so deeeeep," you groaned, hips moving back anyway, soft plap plap plap each time his hips met your own gradually increasing in speed.
"nothing you haven't done before." he murmured and gently he turned you over, your back now against the mattress and he was still buried up to the hilt inside of you, honey-brown eyes lazy and lidded as he pressed against the lower pudge of your belly.
"you feel me all the way up here?" he pressed a little harder, lips curving up in a small smile at the way you squirmed underneath him.
"does it feel good?"
his hand snaked back up to your throat, hand just resting over the exposed flesh.
you nodded, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. "soooooo good."
and he chuckled, low rumble vibrating in his chest—hand moving up to squish your cheeks into a soft pout.
"you are so cute like this."
and that's how you knew you looked awful—mascara clinging to your lower lashes, flyaway hairs stuck to the sides of your face, sliver of drool crusting at your chin.
you clenched your jaw when you felt that dip in your stomach, instincitvally moving to inch away from him, but his grip on your waist was tight, pinning you flat against the mattress.
"breathe honey." he reminded you, rubbing soothing circles into the curve of your side. "don't run from it. let me take care of you."
NSFW (18+)
it was nasty, sheets pulled out from where they had once been neatly tucked in—soft skin dusted with a light sheen of perspiration, head drooping down slightly with each brush of nanami kento's slightly curved length against that gooey spot in your walls making you shudder underneath him.
it'd been what, almost two hours since you'd started, not sure how your body still had enough moisture to be soaked both inside and out, having been flipped from front to back and licked and nipped at from head to toe.
he had you on all fours, knees trembling slightly after a particularly low dip in your stomach. you were struggling to properly keep your head up, moments away from slumping forward completely when the corded muscle of his forearm moved round your side to allow his hand to cup your jaw, right under your neck. his touch was light yet strong enough to tip your head back, easing the tension that had been building in your neck.
his other hand tightened its hold on your waist, voice raspy against the shell of your ear. "just one more for me, okay? you can do that for me, i know you can."
"y-y're just so deeeeep," you groaned, hips moving back anyway, soft plap plap plap each time his hips met your own gradually increasing in speed.
"nothing you haven't done before." he murmured and gently he turned you over, your back now against the mattress and he was still buried up to the hilt inside of you, honey-brown eyes lazy and lidded as he pressed against the lower pudge of your belly.
"you feel me all the way up here?" he pressed a little harder, lips curving up in a small smile at the way you squirmed underneath him.
"does it feel good?"
his hand snaked back up to your throat, hand just resting over the exposed flesh.
you nodded, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. "soooooo good."
and he chuckled, low rumble vibrating in his chest—hand moving up to squish your cheeks into a soft pout.
"you are so cute like this."
and that's how you knew you looked awful—mascara clinging to your lower lashes, flyaway hairs stuck to the sides of your face, sliver of drool crusting at your chin.
you clenched your jaw when you felt that dip in your stomach, instincitvally moving to inch away from him, but his grip on your waist was tight, pinning you flat against the mattress.
"breathe honey." he reminded you, rubbing soothing circles into the curve of your side. "don't run from it. let me take care of you."
new account: @mckenzieluvsnanami 🙋🏽♀️
Call it whatever you want.
"You're not my boyfriend." Try telling Ryomen Sukuna that when another man gets a little too close.
A/N: you aint my boyfriend and i aint your girlfriend 🤨 if u couldnt tell, this was inspired by boyfriend by ari and social house ✌️😗 this is also an old fic i dug out 🚬 anyways exams have been fucking me raw lately and not in a fun way. i should be out here bussing it down at the club, getting lit, making questionable decisions. instead im bussing it down with textbooks and practice exams. tragic. devastating, even. it's okay though, bc i got bts tickets 😛
Art: @/pattyi.i on insta <3
Sukuna never asked for a commitment. Somehow, the arrangement just fell into place anyway. It started with small things: late night texts, showing up without warning, and a heavy black leather jacket tossed over the back of a chair like it belonged there.
Sam Winchester, I know what you are
a biter
please bite me
oh wattpad, tumblr has unfortunately taken your spot
Pussy worship.
The motel room smells like cheap detergent and rain-soaked asphalt. Katsuki doesn't care. He's got you spread out on that scratchy floral bedspread, your jeans a puddle on the floor, your panties hanging off one ankle. He's still fully dressed — black shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders, cargo pants riding low on his hips — and the imbalance of it makes your pulse hammer.
"You're twitching already," he says. Not teasing. Observing. Like he's reading the tremor in your thighs the way he reads an opponent in a fight.
He settles between your legs, and the weight of him sinks the mattress. His hands find your knees, pushes them wide, holds them there. His thumbs press into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and he just looks at you. Stares at the wet gleam of your cunt like he's memorizing it, his crimson eyes dark and hungry.
"Pretty," he mutters, though it sounds more like a challenge. And then his mouth is on you.
No warning. No slow build. Just the flat of his tongue dragging up through your folds, slow and deliberate, from your entrance to your clit. The sound of it — wet, obscene — fills the room. You gasp, your hips bucking, and his hands clamp down hard enough to bruise.
"Stay," he says against you. The word vibrates through your cunt.
He licks you open. That's the only way to describe it — long, broad strokes of his tongue that part your lips, that taste every inch of you. He takes his time. He's not rushed, not greedy in the way you expected; he's methodical, determined to conquer every nerve ending.
His nose nudges your clit when he dips his tongue inside you, and you feel the rough rasp of stubble against your inner thigh. Your hand finds his hair — that spiky, ash-blonde mess — and you grip. He groans. The sound buzzes through your flesh.
"Yeah. Pull," he rasps, his voice wrecked, muffled by your pussy.
You do. You tug hard, and he rewards you by sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking. Your vision whites out. Your back arches off the bed. He doesn't let up — his tongue flicks across the tip of your clit in quick, dirty strokes while he sucks, and the pressure builds behind your pelvis like a wave about to break.
"That's it," he mutters, pulling back just enough to breathe the words against your slick flesh. "Let go. I wanna taste it."
Two fingers press into you without warning. Thick. Strong. They curl up immediately, finding that rough spot inside you, pressing and pressing while his mouth goes back to your clit. He's eating you like you're a meal, like he's been starving, and the sounds he makes — low, hungry groans that vibrate against your cunt — push you higher.
"Katsuki — I'm —"
"I know."
He doubles down. His fingers fuck into you harder, faster, that aggressive rhythm hitting your g-spot with every thrust. His tongue circles your clit in a figure-eight, then flicks, then sucks. He's relentless. He's focused. He knows exactly what he's doing, and he's doing it with the single-minded intensity of a man who always gets what he wants.
You come apart.
It hits you in a wave that starts in your gut and crashes through every nerve. Your thighs clamp around his head, your heels dig into his back, and you cry out — something broken, something that might be his name. He doesn't stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, fingers still pumping, and then you feel it — that deeper release, the gush of wetness flooding out of you.
He groans against your clit and drinks.
You can feel his throat working. His fingers slow, then stop, but his mouth stays. He laps at you through the aftershocks, cleaning and tasting and taking, until you're trembling and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his head.
He sits up.
His chin is soaked. Glossy. His lips are red and wet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at you with those half-lidded eyes, dark and satisfied.
"Good?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
You can barely breathe. You nod.
He grins, slow and wolfish. "Good. 'Cause I'm not done."
His hands find his belt. The metal clinks. And you feel that first flutter of anticipation all over again as he pulls his cock out — thick, hard, the tip flushed and wet. He gives it a slow stroke, watching your face with a predatory gaze
"On your stomach," he commands. "Wanna feel this one."
You turn. You let him arrange you, his big hands guiding your hips up, your face pressed into the scratchy pillow. You hear him spit. Feel the wet smear of it against your asshole, his thumb pressing in just enough to make you gasp.
"Gotta take care of you," he mutters, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Gotta fill you up right."
He lines up. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, slick with your own wetness, and he pushes in.
The stretch is everything. You feel every inch as he sinks into you, slow and deliberate, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. He pauses when he's fully seated, his pelvis flush against your ass, and lets out a breath that shudders.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Feel that? You're clenching around me like you're trying to keep me."
You can't answer. You can barely think. He starts to move.
Each thrust is deep. Measured. He pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in, letting you feel every ridge, every vein. The angle hits something new — deeper, fuller — and you moan into the pillow
"You gonna come again?" His voice is rough. Strained. "Gonna soak my cock?
You nod, muffled.
"Good. Do it. Squirt all over me."
He fucks you harder. His hips slap against your ass, the sound wet and sharp. One hand leaves your hip and presses down on your lower back, arching you deeper into him. The other reaches around, finds your clit, rubs tight circles while he pounds into you.
It's too much. It's not enough. You're climbing again, that pressure coiling in your gut, your toes curling against the cheap sheets.
"That's it. That's it." His voice is strained now, cracking. "Come on, baby. Let go. I wanna feel you."
You do.
It gushes out of you — a hot flood that soaks his cock, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. You hear him hiss, feel him slam into you one, two, three more times before he follows. He buries himself deep, and you feel it — the hot pulse of his come filling you, pumping into you, so much that it leaks out around his cock and runs down your thighs.
He stays inside you for a long moment. Both of you breathing hard. Both of you slick and ruined.
When he pulls out, you feel empty. You feel the wet trickle of his release sliding down your skin. He flops onto the bed beside you, one arm slung over his face, the other reaching out to rest on your hip.
"Gonna need a shower," he says.
You laugh, breathless.
Then his hand slides down, cups your wet thighs, and he brings his fingers to his mouth. Licks them clean.
"Taste even better the second time."
White Feather Hawk — Jack Abbot
part oneᵎᵎ ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four
pairing — jack abbot x fem!reader
summary — loving jack always had a price. you just assumed you’d seen the worst of it.
warnings — 7.1k words. MINORS DNI!! explicit sexual content (unprotected piv sex), divorce, ex-spouses with a major case of unresolved feelings, toxic relationship dynamics, codependency, alcohol use, unexpected pregnancy, discussion of abortion and reproductive choice, crying, emotional distress, also the past relationship details are left vague
author’s note — whipped this up bc i could not stop thinking about this plot 😬 yk i love a gooood angst + this one should be multiple parts!!
If you knew your ex-husband was going to be at the bar, you would have gone straight home. The only point of getting drinks after a shift was to stop being a person who’d had that shift—to sit in a sticky booth with people who’d seen the same bad day and let it dissolve into something cheap—and Jack’s presence anywhere had the effect of making you more yourself, not less; a woman performing being completely okay for an audience of one who’d seen you cry over burnt lasagna on your two-year-anniversary and had the terrible indecency to remember it.
But you didn’t know. Dana had said a few of them were going to the bar after the night shift took over, and you’d heard it would only be a few of them and not done the thinking on who’d be working the night shift—you’d assumed him, because he was always there, always fucking there. So you walked in already loosened, your badge clipped to your waistband, and you were three steps into the warm beery dark before you saw the back of his head in the corner booth.
2 Good Saves! – Jack Abbot x Reader
previous
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Black Dermatologist Reader
Tags: Black reader-based (anyone can read!!), feminine reader, nickname usage, no use of y/n, social media, established relationship (slight age gap! 45-year-old Jack, 35-year-old Reader), date night, sweet banter, non-accurate medical care, allergic reaction!, anaphylaxis, healthcare scare.
Word Count: 2.5K
Summary: The 2 times Jack saves you from dangerous situations!
1. That damn BMW
The apartment you and Jack shared was in disarray as you got ready for a date. Your shared closet was open with multiple hangers left bare as you tried on clothes left and right. You did mean to put them back, but you honestly forgot about the mess left on the bed and focused on the one you left in the bathroom.
On the shared countertop, there were many liquids and powders left open that you were currently cleaning up. From the bedroom, you heard a small gasp, “Baby, did the Tasmanian devil run through here?” he called from the bedroom.
“I know, sorry, I’m cleaning it up,” You responded with a clattering of all of your products going back into their respective spaces. I swear.” Yes, you left a mess, but you needed your things to be in the same place as before.
A chuckle came from the door as he walked in. Jack’s face had its usual small scowl because of the dress code. He’d have to wear slacks instead of his typical sweatpants (That he totally HATED!). He’d want his partner to be happy, so he’d have to compromise. Tonight, he looked even more handsome than usual. Maybe it was his tight-fitting shirt or his hair, but you push down your unholy thoughts with an internal groan.
Jack’s arms wrap around your waist as you pull out a few stray pieces of your hair. Beautiful boho braids that have not yet begun to tangle up (thank god for that). You smile as you feel his heavy stare on you. “Something you wanna say to me?” you joke, pushing back against him.
He hums, “You look so beautiful, baby.” You begin to feel his lips kiss behind your ear, making you gasp out a yelp. Jack continues to pepper kisses all over the back of your neck. “Thank you, my love, you look handsome as always.” You peel off his hands to turn around to him. Jack was able to take you in fully, noticing your outfit, a casual dress top paired with sleek boot-cut pants. The shirt’s pattern paired with your gold accessories looked incredible on you.
Robby made fun of the way Jack looked at you. In his words, he described it as ‘Jack hunting his prey’. You didn’t understand it until you paid attention to the way he looked at you, like he was yearning for something… you.
You felt his hands trail up your back and all the way to your face. His thick fingers caressed your bottom lip. “Thank you, baby.” Jack’s eyes linger all over your body, mainly your lips, his favorite feature on you. He couldn't stop kissing you. Jack leaned in for a kiss, his warm lips met your glossed ones. Both your lips moved in sync; his head moved to the side, continuing his mission to devour you.
Your hands wrapped around his neck, trying to move your body even closer to his, which was impossible. Jack breaks apart the kiss to catch his breath and take a good look at you. You looked back, feeling a bit dazed by the passionate kiss. Not letting go of you, he begins to kiss your neck. His lips caught the scent of the perfume you were wearing. He pauses to breathe in your scent. “We have to go before I take you here.” Jack’s voice came out desperate as he continued kissing your moisturized neck.
“Alright, let’s go.” You nodded, feeling his prickly beard on your neck.
—
The drive to the restaurant was short, no more than 30 minutes to get there. Jack’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, as always.
Your date had been going on well, the food was delicious, and no one had called either of your phones. It was finally a date where both of you could be present, something you’d both been wanting for a long time. The subtle peace.
Instead of going back home, you both decided to get some ice cream from a shop a few blocks away. Jack, being the most gentlemanly of them all, offered you his jacket. It wasn’t cold per se, but he noticed the trail of goosebumps formed on your skin. You walked alongside each other as he held your purse, looking funny as a black purse hung over his arm. As you both walked down the street, his fingers slowly circled your knuckle. His warm hands differ from your deathly frigid ones.
“Do you think that couple next to us is still fighting?” You asked, turning to look at your boyfriend. He nods, “Definitely, I’d bet they’re fighting on the way back home. There was an older couple who sat next to you two, arguing the whole time you visited the restaurant. You couldn’t complain at all. Dinner and a movie.
As you both stopped at a crosswalk, waiting to get across the street, you looked up at the traffic light. “What kind of ice cream are you gonna get?”
Jack tsked “Hmm, maybe vanilla.” You rolled your eyes. “Jack, please tell me you're joking.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “What?”
The traffic light turned from yellow to red, and you both began to cross. “You have over 25 options of ice cream, but you choose vanilla?” You made sure disgust traveled into the word vanilla. Your booted shoes clacked with gravel along the street.
Jack looked at you with confusion. “What’s wrong with vanilla? You are basically eating the same thing when you get cookie dough.”
“Still!” you playfully argue back, “It had additions to it, the cookie dough and the little chocolate pieces.”
Before you hear Jack’s response, you're harshly pulled to the other side of the street. Jack's quick instincts pull your arm. The only sound heard was an ear-piercing screech of tires. You turn around to see the car that almost hit you both. A black-tinted BMW honks and speeds off, feeling as if it’s in the right. Leaving the burning rubber smell lingering in the street as you collect yourself, “Fucking idiot!” You scream out, trying to read the license plate, but the car is way out of eyesight. A few people walking look at you, confused about the commotion.
“Are you okay?” Jack brings you back on the sidewalk. “Did I hurt you?” his voice is concerned as he examines you, doctor mode on. You nod, “I’m fine; are you okay?” matching his same amount of worry. “I’m fine. Are you sure you're good?” His fingers lightly grazed your arm and hand. “I feel like I pulled your arm out of place.”
You shook your head, “No, no, I’m good.” His worry settles only a bit, feeling a bit guilty for pulling you so hard. You notice and rub your finger along his tensed jaw. “Jack, I promise I’m good.” You peck his lips and leave another kiss on his cheek. “C’mon, let’s get some ice cream.” He stood frozen for a few seconds before grabbing your lonely hand.
Jack feels the comforting circles you are now doing on his hand. “Fine,” a long sigh coming from his mouth. You gave his hand a tight squeeze.
2. Maybe no pistachios
A physician's gala is not where you’d think you end up on a Friday night. Were you a physician? No, but you still would come and support your boyfriend. Robby and Jack were in attendance to represent PTMC. Shen was on the night shift (winning a rock-paper-scissors match between Jack, who had to attend). “Lucky bastard” is all the words Jack had for the younger attendant.
Sure, Jack invited you as your plus one, but the real reason was the food. The organization made sure to cater the best food, and you were going to take advantage of it. There were so many types of pasta, charcuterie meats, endless bread options, and your favorite. The dessert table!
You had spent most of the night grabbing new dishes for you and Jack to try (mostly desserts). A rich chocolate mousse, a creamy tiramisu, and a fudgy brownie. You were in heaven. There was so much more to try, including the delectable raspberry cake that looked delicious under the lighting.
You sat in the middle of Robby and Jack, who were doing their gossiping rounds as different physicians joined the stage. “Didn’t he cheat on his wife with a nurse at his hospital?” Robby looked to Jack as they clapped. “Shit, you’re right.” Jack choked out a laugh.
“You guys are so messy.” You cackle at the pair of best friends. They both turn to you, confused: “Messy is what you're calling it?” Robby questioned, shaking his head, “I say it’s telling the truth.” The older man shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Ya’ll are messy boots.”
It’s now Jack’s turn to side-eye you. “Here she goes with her lingo.” Robby almost chokes on his drink, turning to the side to compose himself. “Messy boots? I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”
“I bet,” You smirk, looking at both men.
The night continues with more awards and much more food to indulge in. Finally, you got the raspberry cake you’d been wanting. You use your fork to scoop a piece of cake, and your hand under it to catch any crumbs. Your fork falls in front of Jack’s lips. “Try, please”.
Jack opens his mouth, inviting the fork inside. He chews a bit, nodding as he does. “Pretty good, baby.” Robby begins to fake a gag at you, “You wanna feed me to?”
“Sure,” You tease him back, pushing his shoulder. The ceremony continues as you enjoy the spongy cake. Even giving Jack a few more bites of the cake.
There was this stinging feeling that was beginning to form in your throat. You tried to wash it down with a sip of water, but that did not help. Your hand reached for your throat, trying to take in more air, but a retraction in your chest restricted it.
“You okay?” Jack's hand runs along your back. His fingers feel the sweat forming on the lower half of your back. “Baby, you okay?” His voice goes in and out as you try to speak. Robby looks over in concern, seeing you begin to take ragged breaths.
“Jack,” Your voice is weak from the lack of air. “I think I’m allergic to something.” Beads of sweat begin to form at your hairline. It had to be the few pistachios in the cake. You’d had raspberries dozens of times before.
You tried to calm yourself, but it’s incredibly hard to relax when your throat is actively closing.
“Shit! Robby, she’s going into anaphylaxis!” Jack’s voice echoed through the room. Turning all heads to their table. All personnel rushed over, someone carrying an EpiPen, handing it to Jack. Multiple people called 911, explaining the allergic reaction, while he rolled up your dress to access an injection point.
Robby performed a visual assessment, noticing your worsening condition as you attempted to inhale. Your throat felt as if a snake had wrapped around it. “Holy shit, this sucks.” You attempt to laugh, but it turns into a coughing fit. “Alright, jokester.” Robby smiled, holding your thigh in place. You begin to tremble.
“Alright, hold still.” Jack removed the safety cap from the EpiPen. “I have to inject this into your thigh, alright?” You hummed, closing your eyes tightly. You hiss at the sharp aching pain of the needle as epinephrine is injected into your thigh. “You’re doing great.” Jack tries to bring you comfort with a small rub against your other thigh. You open your eyes to see the needle still in your thigh, you all hear a clicking sound, and Jack holds in there for a second. Robby feels your neck for your pulse, a bit weak. You grew increasingly tired, your eyelids feeling even heavier.
“She has a weak pulse,” Robby whispered to Jack, not wanting to freak you out. Jack curses, hoping the ambulance is close. You sigh in relief, feeling as the needle leave your thigh. Jack massages the injection site. “Give it a few seconds to kick in.” You nod, closing your eyes.
You feel your body fall back and a bunch of voices gasp, before you fade into the darkness. You think you remember Jack calling your name, but your brain felt too fuzzy. You needed to sleep.
*****
You awake to the brightest lights ever. You groan, covering your eyes, trying to get familiar with the room. With squinted eyes, you look around the hospital room to see Jack sleeping uncomfortably in those plastic chairs. He had what looked to be an empty cup in his hand, about to fall out of his hands.
“Jack,” your voice hoarse, you clear your throat, trying to sound more like yourself. He almost immediately awakes, hearing his name. Placing the cup on the side of him, he groans, " You’re up? " and leaves the uncomfortable hospital chair. His posture is a bit tilted as he tries to hide his pain while walking over to you.
He sits on the bed, caressing your cheeks, that returned to their original hue. In Jack’s eyes, he couldn’t stand the sight of you not being able to breathe. It was terrifying to watch his partner turn into his patient; he never wanted it to happen again.
Jack leans into place, pecks along your temple. “You need to rest. I can see you're hurting.” You say as his hand caresses your face. He ignores your comment, bringing you into a hug. “Baby, I was so scared,” he whispered. You felt his body tremble in your arms. Jack was crying.
Holding him in this emotional state caused you to begin to cry as well. “I’m sorry, I had no idea I was allergic.” You rub his back, which was just a white button-up. His jacket was abandoned on the chair.
Jack began to mumble something that you couldn’t make out, “What did you say?” He pulls away, his warm hands holding your face. “You had no idea; don’t apologize.” he wipes the tears forming at your eyes, and you do the same to him. He lets out a hearty chuckle, “I hated seeing you like that.” He pauses his tears to look into your eyes, “I was so fucking scared.”
You nod in understanding. Imagining Jack in your shoes would have you pettried as well. Jack continued wiping your tears. “I love you so much.” His words were broken as another wave of emotions came through him.
“I love you so much, Jack,” you said, sounding the same as him. Jack nodded as he engulfed you in another hug, needing to make sure this wasn’t a dream. He was afraid he’d wake up, and you would be there. You accepted, and needed physical contact after this.
You both sat there holding each other for a while. Jack got your gown a bit drenched in his tears, and you were the same. He’d whisper sweet nothings each time he kissed somewhere along your neck or grazed your lips.
To break the silence, you joke, “I have my very own tomato,” which causes a laugh from Jack. The tomato was his face, which was red from all the crying.
Jack sniffles as he accepts his role as your “tomato” before pulling you into a heartwarming kiss.
You’d been grateful enough to be around doctors tonight.
Divider by: @/bbyg4rlhelps
favourite crime
✧ synopsis: you spent most ot your life convinced that your over independence and unapologetic personality were just means to protect yourself. then suguru geto came along, tore down your walls, and made you fall hopelessly in love with him. but what happens when you discover that his devotion was nothing but a paid assignment?
✧ pairing: patrick verona! suguru geto x kat stratford! reader
✧ warnings: college setting, alt! suguru, gojo's here too, yuki is our sister, slowburn, pining, falling in love, he's down bad, drinking, parties, first kiss, regret, hurt/no confort, angst, complicated feelings, heartbreak, possesive! sugu, ex! choso, fluff. smut, solo mastubation!m->and he's so pathetic abt it!, suguru has piercings, making out, panty sucking, oral f! rec, hair pulling (suguru rec.), dry humping, unprotected piv, pussydrunk! sugu, aftercare + confessions. WC: 13.4k
✧ a/n: currently sucking my wifes toes for letting me be a part of her romcom event @uzugeto <3 and also thank you for reading through this. based on the movie "10 things i hate about you". 《 fanart by @chu-cho | divider by qtdecor 》
life was easy for a mysterious social reject like suguru geto.
Interview
⊹₊⟡⋆ Clark Kent x fem black!reader ⊹₊⟡⋆
⊹₊⟡⋆ This is a continuation of Where is Superman?
⊹₊⟡⋆ word count: 703
⊹₊⟡⋆ Summary: You're a photojournalist at Daily's Planet, and you've been trying to catch Superman for a year. But, who winds up with an interview with him every time? Clark Kent. You've decided enough is enough, and you're going to get your photo and interview no matter what.
⊹₊⟡⋆ a/n: Look at me with the double upload. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! I do not consent for my content to be published on other platforms and such by others. Also, please don't claim my work as your own! <3
“You were rescued by Superman?! Oh my gosh are you okay?” Lois asks over the phone. You two are on face time deciding on an outfit for your interview tonight. “I’m perfectly fine, it was nerve-wrecking at first, but because of superman, I’m still alive. Maybe I should wear something a bit scandalous to show my appreciation”. Lois giggles, as you rummage through your closet. “This is cute, right?” You show her the two-piece set. “Perfect! Wear that”. After setting up to get ready, you two say goodbye. You begin your nighttime regimen, spraying perfume on yourself to finish. By eight-thirty, you prepare tea for yourself, and research Superman’s favorite beverage.
You hear a soft knock at your fire escape window. You open it, and the broad man climbs into your home. “Hi” you say softly, taking in this 6’4 man with muscles of steel. “Hello” his deep voice is like music to your ears. “Please...have a seat” you gesture towards the dining table. You grab a soda from the fridge, “I heard it’s your favorite”. You place the can on a coaster. “That would be correct”. You smile, taking in the small victory. You place your beverage on a coaster in front of his. “I’m glad you agreed to do this interview”, You say. “Of course, I’ve seen your work. It’s quite remarkable”.
“Thank you...I’m so touched,” you try to stay professional, but he looks so good. “Would you like to begin the interview?”. Your thumb clicks the pen, and you open your notebook. “I’d love to”. You press play on the tape recorder. Your gaze falls on him, admiring the view. “So, many women find you quite attractive”, he chuckles at the compliment.
“Would you mind telling me how tall you are?”.
“6’4”
“How big are you?”
He looks at you, flattered by the question. Your eyes widen at how the sentence sounds. “I mean how much do you weigh...”. You cover your face, completely embarrassed. “225”.
“225...” you mutter; your eyes flick back to him. “I apologize for how my previous sentence sounded; I did not mean it in that manner”. “No... you’re fine”. He looks at you, “you’re fine” he repeats. The grip on your pen tightens, you can’t help but feel warm under his gaze. You continue the interview, asking him about why he’s a hero, and does the responsibility ever become too much to bear. You can’t ignore the looks he gives you; the tension is thick. Your finger presses the pause button, “Superman...I feel a bit of tension”. You bat your lashes at him, waiting for him to kindly reject you.
“Well...you would be correct” he stares at you. You toss the notebook and pen onto your couch. Superman moves the table aside, giving you room to get closer. He doesn’t give you the chance, because his hands are already on you, picking you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, “I’m not one to do this” you whisper. “I believe you, because neither am I” he pants, leaning in for another kiss. His lips against yours feel amazing, his grip on your body tightens, it’s suffocating, but hypnotizing at the same time. “You’re so beautiful” he mutters against your neck. You pull his head from your neck, kissing him again. His eyes search for your bedroom to see the door slightly open. He carries you to the room, gently placing you on the bed. When he hovers over you, you wrap your legs around his waist putting your self defense class nights with Louis to work.
You giggle at his surprised expression, when he realizes you're now on top of him. He looks at your face, hands resting on your waist. “We can’t do this” he whispers, your heart drops. “Did I do something wrong?” you question. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to you, gosh no. He’s been attracted to you, since your first day at Daily Planet. With something this intimate, he wanted it to be with him as Clark Kent, not Superman. “No...no, you’re perfect. I just can’t, I’m sorry”. He gets up from the bed and leaves the same way he entered. Leaving you sitting on the bed in confusion.
⊹₊⟡⋆ taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆
@1dhoe93
@ynniksslirg
@avidreader73
@agape-for-more
OᑎE ᗯᗩY Oᖇ ᗩᑎOTᕼEᖇ
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rafe cameron x reader
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You shouldn't have said no to him. He always takes what he wants.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+/MDNI. DARK!rafe, noncon, kidnapping, obsession, stalker!rafe, restraints, crying.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 336
𝐀/𝐍: day 5 of June Jukebox Scribbles!!!!! I'm sorry I'm running late i promise I'll do them all. I don't know what to think about this one, i really needed a longer word count to express myself better lol, i will come back to this later.🫶🏻
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: “I'm gonna make her mine, all mine”
⤷June Jukebox Masterlist ⤷Rafe Cameron Masterlist
The first time Rafe saw you, he didn't pay any mind. The second time he did, he noticed your eyes. The third time, he knew your name.
By the fourth time, he wanted you.
dealer choso x sweetheart reader
notes nsfw 18+ content minors dni !! fem reader. toxic, secret non-established relationship. obsessive behaviour. choso is a possessive, manipulative meanie. y/n is a sweetheart #freemygirl. this is kinda long i’m so sorry i got carried away
dealer!choso who first sees you at a party he didn’t even want to go to, but was begged to come because "no choso means no good shit" and business is business. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, watching through half-lidded eyes when you walk in.
dealer!choso who notices you immediately because you don’t belong here. at all. you’re wearing a baby pink slip dress with a little bow at the chest, hair done in perfect glossy curls. you’re holding your friend’s hand like she’s dragging you through a warzone, your nose scrunched up at the smell of beer and sweat and weed.
dealer!choso who watches you avoid the beer pong table like it personally offended you. you’re holding a water bottle that you brought yourself. you’re so out of place. so sweet. so fucking pretty it makes his teeth ache.
dealer!choso who doesn’t approach you that night. he just watches, dark eyes tracking you from across the room. he’s watching you fix your lip gloss in your phone camera. he’s memorising the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. he’s imagining what that baby pink gloss would look like smeared across his mouth. you catch him staring— those dark eyes, the tattoo across his nose bridge— and you look away fast. cute.
dealer!choso who bribes gojo with a free bag of supplies just to find out your name. you’re y/n l/n and according to gojo, you're “too softhearted and a good girl” and that you “bake brownies for your study groups”. choso just files your name away in the dark, obsessive part of his brain. y/n. y/n. y/n. it’s a prayer and a curse and he repeats it to himself when he’s alone that night, hand wrapped around his dripping, aching cock, thinking about those pretty glossy lips and that tiny skirt and how you’d look once he bullies his full length in between your lips.
dealer!choso who sees you again two weeks later at another party he makes sure to attend. you’re alone this time, sitting on the stairs, playing on your phone, clearly waiting for your friends to be ready to leave. you’re wearing a mini dress with ribbon straps and little bow earrings and he’s never wanted anything as badly as he wants you.
dealer!choso who sits down next to you without asking, close enough that his thigh presses against yours, and you jump like a startled kitten. “oh! hi.” your voice is so soft. so polite. he wants to hear it break.
dealer!choso who just nods at you, lighting up a blunt, not saying anything for a long moment. you’re fidgeting with your phone charm. he’s watching your fingers. “you don’t like parties.” it’s not a question. you shake your head, a little embarrassed. “my friends dragged me. i’d rather bake or have a spa night, honestly.” he doesn’t smile but something shifts in his eyes. “why do you come then?” you shrug, picking at your nail polish. “i don’t like saying no.”
dealer!choso who tucks that piece of information away like a weapon. you don’t like saying no. good to know.
dealer!choso who finds excuses to be wherever you are after that. he starts showing up to parties he’d usually skip, telling himself it’s good for business. it’s not. it’s because he needs to see if you’ll be there, tucked into a corner in another flimsy little dress, looking like a lamb who wandered into a wolf den.
dealer!choso who doesn’t talk to you much at first, just lingers. a shadow in your periphery. a dark figure by the door. but you feel him. god, you feel him. your skin prickles when he’s near. your heart rate spikes. you start dressing for him without realising it— shorter skirts, lower tops, more glitter, more pink. you want him to look. you’re terrified that he might. you’re terrified that he won’t.
dealer!choso who eventually starts gravitating toward you at every party. standing a little too close. letting his fingers brush your lower back when he passes behind you. offering you water when he notices you haven’t had anything to drink. you start looking for him too— he catches you scanning the room, eyes lighting up just barely when you find him. he hoards that look. keeps it somewhere dark inside him.
dealer!choso who finally gets you alone in the backyard at a party in late spring. you’re sitting on the edge of the deck, legs swinging. he sits down next to you. he listens when you tell him about your week. he doesn’t say much, just nods and hums, but he’s memorising every word. no one’s ever been this soft with him.
dealer!choso who finally corners you in the upstairs bathroom of the frat house, the music muffled through the door, the lock clicking behind him. you’re touching up your lip gloss. he’s behind you in the mirror, eyes dark, face unreadable. he cups your face with one hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, smearing that perfect gloss. his thumb pushes past your lips, just barely, and you make a sound—a tiny, breathy thing that goes straight to his dick.
dealer!choso who kisses you for the first time in that grimy bathroom, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. he kisses like he wants to consume you, all tongue and teeth. you’re making these little whimpers against his mouth and he’s grinding his hard cock against your hip through his jeans, and it’s filthy, it’s wrong, you’re everything he’s not, and he doesn’t care. he wants to taint you.
dealer!choso who pulls back just enough to see your face— lips swollen, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. “we can’t tell anyone,” he says, and it comes out rougher than he meant. possessive. “no one knows about this.” he waits for you to argue, but you just nod, eyes still hazy, and whisper, “okay. secret.” and something in him cracks open and stitches itself back together wrong.
dealer!choso who becomes addicted to you. to the way you text him with numerous emojis and call him “cho” even though he never lets anyone call him that. the way you send him photos of your outfits before parties and he has to adjust himself in his jeans because you have no idea what you’re doing to him.
dealer!choso who meets you in his car between parties, in empty hallways, in bathrooms with the lock clicked shut. his hands everywhere— slipping under your skirt, gripping your ass, two fingers pressing into the heat of your cunt while you bite his shoulder to stay quiet. he learns and catalogues every sound you make and uses them later when he’s alone.
dealer!choso who hates that you make him soft. hates that he bought a strawberry plushie and keeps it in his car because it reminded him of you. that he knows your coffee order now. your pink toothbrush that’s in his bathroom. your stuffed animal on his nightstand. you asleep in his hoodie which makes his chest ache. he’s fucked. he’s so completely fucked.
dealer!choso who fucks you like he’s trying to brand you. on your back, on your knees, against the wall, in the backseat of his car with your pink lace panties dangling from the rearview mirror. he eats your pretty pussy for hours, makes you cum until you’re sobbing, until you can’t remember your own name. “who do you belong to?” he whispers against your sensitive clit, two fingers curling inside you, and you’re crying out “you, cho, you, you, please—”
dealer!choso who always pulls out at the last second, because he hates protection. he paints any exposed part of your body with his cum — your face, your tits, your stomach — and he almost gets hard again. but he always cleans you up surprisingly gentle. “good girl, so precious” he mutters and you preen under the praise.
dealer!choso who gets high on purpose and says cruel things when he’s jealous and he’s always jealous. when you mention a party he wasn’t at, a guy who talked to you in your lecture. “what, you let him flirt with you? you spread your legs for him too?” and you cry, and he hates himself, but he can’t stop. he pulls you into his lap and kisses your tears away and whispers “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, you just make me insecure, baby. you know it’s not me talking, it’s the drugs. this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t speak to him, my angel” and you forgive him. you always forgive him.
dealer!choso who, the moment you start asking where he disappears to at night, just exhales smoke slowly through his nose and pulls you onto his lap, calloused thumbs pressing into your hipbones while he mouths at that spot beneath your jaw that makes your words dissolve into shaky little gasps.
dealer!choso who murmurs "shh, shh, don't worry about all that, just feel this" against your dampening skin as he works his way down, pushing your shirt up to close his mouth around your nipple and suck hard enough to make your back arch, your cunt already starting to pulse and leak through your underwear while your half-formed concerns scatter into nothing. his free hand slides between your thighs to drag the soaked fabric aside so he can sink two fingers knuckle deep into that tight, clutching heat, curling them just right against that spongy wall while his thumb draws lazy circles on your swollen clit.
dealer!choso who watches your face go slack and dumb with a lazy smirk because he knows you've forgotten whatever you needed to say, and when you try to protest weakly he just flips you onto your stomach on the worn leather couch, yanks your frilly shorts down and notches the blunt, leaking head of his cock against your entrance, pushing in slow and deep until your breath catches in your throat and your walls flutter helplessly around the thick stretch of him, your cervix aching from the pressure as he bottoms out and grinds there, coarse dark hair pressing flush against your ass. one hand tangles in your hair to hold your cheek against the cushion while he fucks you at a languid, devastating pace until all you can do is whimper and take it, drool pooling on the leather, your clit throbbing untouched as he chases his own release, pulling out at the last second to paint your lower back in hot, pearly streaks, then tugging your shorts back up over the mess and kissing your temple like he's done you a favor, whispering "see? don't need to talk when we can do this instead."
dealer!choso who, on your six month secret anniversary, gives you a necklace with a tiny heart-shaped lock on it. he wears the key on a chain under his shirt. “so you’re always with me,” he says, quiet, almost shy. and you cry, obviously. he pretends to be annoyed but he kisses you so gently, so carefully, like you’re made of glass. “i love you,” he says against your mouth. “it’s disgusting how much i love you.”
dealer!choso who knows he’s corrupting you. and he can’t stop. won’t stop. you’re the only good thing he’s ever had, and he’s selfish enough to keep you, even if he stains you in the process.