#^ goodness no need to send condolences !!!!

[cubtales]

my darling blooms, march has finally came ! 🌷🤍 and here you all are coming into march with me, it's a blessing to have you here no matter who you are, and i'm so so proud of you! spring is finally here, despite all the trials and error, or the somber cold days of the winter— spring has came walking hand in hand with the shining sun. may you greet them both, and may the days of spring bring smiles and lots of love. thank you for being here and i love you. ♥︎🌻 !

[bernardsbendystraws]

Synopsis: Matt and Chris bring you some much-needed relief on your period.

Warnings: SMUT & FLUFF, bloody lube iykwim, you're literally on your period, soft dom chris and matt. Doll!Reader x Chratt - don’t like, don’t read, go suck a brick

A/N: Currently on my period so I'm projecting. Deal with it bro.

With love and big tits, Rose

wc: 1900+

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Sweetheart…” Matt coos, petting your hair out of your face as a stray tear falls from the corner of your eye and onto his chest. He hates to see you like this, so overwhelmed with emotions and pain. 

All three of you are curled up in Chris’s bed. You felt extra needy, and they definitely didn’t mind. The pair both hated seeing you feel so crappy, but the fact that you really just wanted them to comfort you… it made them proud how safe you felt with them. 

“Doll, you want the heating pad again?” Chris asks, his hand grazing lightly over your cramping stomach. 

You shake your head sadly. You didn’t want a heating pad, you just wanted the pain to stop. And so far nothing has helped. 

“It hurts.” The repetitive statement falls from your lips once more. Both boys sigh, exchanging a look of defeat. What else would even help? You’d taken medicine, you’d drank plenty of water, you tried the heating pad, and you even tried taking a bath. Nothing helped. It was all pointless. 

A specifically sharp cramp in your gut makes you whimper into Matt’s chest. He holds you closer, looking at Chris with a certain stare. “Hold on, let me see if I can figure something else out,” Chris says, leaning over to pick his phone off the nightstand. 

Matts kisses your forehead over and over again, whispering sweet condolences as he hugs you into his chest while Chris digs through the internet for a different solution to try. 

And he finds one. But - he’s just not sure. 

He sends the website to Matt, placing his phone down before patting on his lap. “Doll, c’mere,” he whispers, shooting Matt a glance to urge him to check his phone. The second you shift onto his lap, he starts to pet your hair behind your ear, frowning as he feels a thin layer of sweat coating your forehead. You’re really struggling. 

Matt reads through the article quickly, still making sure to pay attention to the important details. It made sense. Making you feel good would help with the pain, and at this point, they were desperate to see you with any sort of relief. 

Setting his phone back on the nightstand, Matt spoons you from behind. You shiver as you feel his lips gently start to kiss along your neck, hovering over your sweet spot as he nips lightly. Every sensation is amplified. You can’t help but let out a whine, your body contorting in search of more relief. 

“Do you want us to make you feel good, Doll?” Chris husks, biting on his lower lip as he watches your face relax with pleasure. 

But, you’re reluctant. You’ve never had period sex, it seemed inconvenient and hard to enjoy. 

“It might make you feel better,” Matt whispers, his hand crawling up the oversized shirt on your body, carefully cradling your sensitive breasts as he starts to grind his hips against you. 

“It’s gonna,” you shriek as Matt sucks on your sweet spot, a warmth spreading through your body as your hand travels up to his hair, “-gonna be too messy.” 

Chris moves your hair to keep your neck fully exposed for Matt, his tongue prodding through the corner of his lips as his eyes worship the sight of you in his lap, so blissed out. “Don’t worry about the mess. We just wanna make the pain go away - make you feel good. How does that sound?” he questions. 

As you open your mouth to respond, you feel Matt’s fingers graze over your nipples, your stomach dropping as you feel a familiar pressure start to ache between your thighs. 

“I.. okay,” you sigh hesitantly, your hand grasping harder into Matt’s hair as you feel his hips go rigid, grinding fully against you. 

You feel Matt begin to smile against your neck, his hand sneaking downwards from your belly button, grazing over the fabric of your panties. It feels so good - but, the anxiety you get feels awful. 

“Wait,” you announce, pulling Matt’s hand away by his wrist, “I…I don’t know about this.” Your voice wavers with uncertainty, an embarrassing pink warmth painting over your cheeks. 

Chris knows what’s wrong - even Matt does. 

“How about we let you do whatever you need to do first, we’ll get some towels and then we can come back and see how you feel?” Chris says, petting over your cheek with his thumb. 

The sigh of relief escaping your lips makes him smile. 

___

It had been a couple of minutes. Matt and Chris had laid multiple towels on the bed, fluffing the pillows while they waited for you to come out from the bathroom. Looking towards each other, they sigh. You just need… some encouragement. 

Chris walks over, softly knocking on the door. “Doll? Do you…can I come in?” 

Hesitantly, you turn the knob to let him in. Chris looks at your anxious expression, sighing as he runs his hands down your arms before grasping onto your hands. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t wanna. I just… there’s nothing to be scared of. A bit of blood is not gonna gross anyone out or make us feel differently about you, okay?” You nod. Chris leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek before pulling you out to the bedroom. 

Matt is sitting on the edge of the bed. He pats on the towel, helping you lay down. The oversized T-shirt is still covering you, but that’s it. 

“Can I kiss you? Is that okay?” Matt asks, looking at you for confirmation. 

As you nod, he lays himself to prop up on his elbow, cradling the side of your face as he places his lips on yours. The way he moves his tongue into your mouth drives you insane, your lips vibrating with a hum as you let him explore your mouth. 

Meanwhile, Chris is slowly grazing his hand up and down your thigh, moving his fingers inward inch by inch. He knows he needs to take it slow, be as gentle as possible, and make sure you feel comfortable at all times. This wasn’t about anyone but you. 

“Can we,” Matt pants against your neck, his hand fiddling with the hem of the shirt covering your body, “-can we get this off, sweetheart?” 

As you nod affirmatively, you sit up just enough to let them peel off the shirt. But, as you lay back down, you get more aware of how sticky your inner thighs have gotten, looking down to see a red crimson already covering the fabric below you.

Matt notices your gaze, his hand cupping the side of your face to bring your attention back to him, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just towels.” 

His face furrows with confusion as you shake your head. “No, no,” you start off, wincing as you look towards both of them, the clothes still covering their bodies, “I don’t wanna get it on you guys, you love this shirt,” you point out. 

Before anyone can waste a breath, they both strip bare. It makes you smile as you watch Chris peel off his Pepsi boxers, throwing the prized possession across the room without a care.

“There, all better. Now can I make my girl feel good?” Chris asks, impatiently starting to part your thighs, his eyes bulging at the heavenly sight in front of him. You’re just so… drenched. He can’t hold himself back from thinking about what it must feel like to be inside of you right now. 

However, as his hands nearly prod into your folds, your legs snap shut. 

Chris leans his head against your knees. “You’re killin’ me,” he whines. 

Your panicked eyes shift over to Matt. He scoops his hand beneath your knee, spreading you back open before hovering his lips over yours. “It’s okay,” he says, pecking your lips sweetly.

You feel Chris’s fingers teasing along your inner thigh, slightly grazing over your folds as your mouth drops open with a gasp. 

As his fingers circle on your very sensitive clit, you gasp into Matt’s mouth as he starts to ravish you with hungry, open-mouthed kisses. He laughs as you squeeze onto his shoulder, momentarily stopping from returning the affection as Chris does sinful things between your legs. 

“It feels good, huh?” he purrs, petting your hair behind your ear as you nod vigorously. 

This is what you needed, this is what your body craved - pleasure. 

“More…more, please,” you moan. 

Matt is hypnotized from your fucked-out expression. He knows you’re sensitive, but fuck… it was a perfect sight. Looking down, he watches as Chris’s fingers sink into your heat, a loud squelch making his dick pulse. 

It sounds heavenly. 

“I… oh my,” you seethe, your nails digging into Matt’s bicep as your other hand clutches into the sheets. 

“Look at that…” Matt says, swallowing thickly as he lets his hand wrapped around your thigh shift, pulling your leg over his shoulder as his fingers wander to your swollen clit. He can feel your body shaking every time Chris plunges his fingers and curls them at the perfect spot inside of you. The overbearing thoughts plundering through his brain become more intense as lewd noises echo through the room. 

This is relief. Your stomach is building knots of pressure, a feeling of your heart dropping with each motion making your muscles tense up more and more. 

“I - I - ah,” you gasp, your head swinging back into the fluffy pillows as your hips flex upwards to chase more. 

“There we go,” Chris purrs, licking over his lips as he focuses on curling his fingers meticulously against the spongy part inside your walls, grinning as he feels you clench harder around his digits, the squelches becoming louder and louder as more red leaks from you. 

Matt is biting hard on his lower lip, his eyes tracing back and forth from your blissed expression to the sight between your legs. It’s all so pretty, it’s a sight he wants engraved in his mind. 

Your hips rock ruthlessly against their hands and the mattress. Desperate cries push through your lips as your legs quiver. You’re so close. 

“C’mon, let go. Being such a good girl,” Matt praises, breathless just from the sight as his finger continuously circles on your clit, “-just let it feel good, sweetheart. I… fuck,” he hisses, the piercing sting of your nails in his arm intensifying. 

A long, dragged moan escapes your mouth, your body becoming completely stiff as pleasure crashes onto you. 

“Thaatt’sss it, princess, you deserve to feel so good, just - just let it feel so good,” Matt husks, kissing on your temple as they both ride you through the high. 

As your body falls limp, Chris slowly pulls out his fingers, wincing as he hears you let out a whine. “-’m sorry, sorry,” he whispers, kissing on your knee while gently setting your legs comfortably back onto the bed.

“How do you feel about a shower? Gettin’ all cleaned up, hm?” Matt asks.

You nod lazily, hearing as Chris quickly runs off to the bathroom to wash off his hands and grab a warm, wet cloth. 

Chris whispers another apology as you flinch from the wet cloth. He wipes you off as gently as possible, mesmerized from how beautiful you look. “You’re so pretty like this,” he announces. 

Both boys laugh as they hear you groan. “Shut up. I look ill.” 

“Do you at least feel better?” Matt asks, smiling as you nod your head slowly, leaning into his chest, “-Good.” 

[torchwood-99]

After the destruction of the ring, during his time in Cormallen, Eomer starts getting letters from nobility from all across the land, offering condolences for the death of his uncle, congratulations for his ascension to the throne, thanks for his country's support in the war, and offers of marriage for either himself, his sister, or both.

Eomer decides to enlist his knight, Meriadoc Brandybuck of Brandy Hall, to take over his correspondance for him, a task Merry takes to with zeal.

Unfortunately, no one bothered to tell Merry that all he needed to do was send some gracious lines back, acknowledging their congratulations and condolences on Eomer's behalf.

Merry knows how to write a letter properly, and if there's one thing hobbits are good for, it's getting chatty with strangers, even through writings.

He writes long, friendly letters, rambling on about the war, the House of Eorl, Rohan, horses, Bill the Pony, pipeweed, and everything else that pops into his head.

In response to the marriage proposals, well, he doesn't want anyone to waste their time, so while he writes back that "the Lady Eowyn is indeed most fair and valiant", he's actually pretty sure that she and Lord Faramir have a thing going on, or at least, Lord Faramir would like them to, and nothing has been announced but they did spend an awful lot of times holding hands and Ioreth; Ioreth one of the head healers at the Houses of Healing, very chatty but nice lady, her sister keeps a garden, said she saw Lord Faramir kissing her on the forehead on the battlements, and he gave her a mantle belonging to his mother, of course, it was rather cold, but when Merry's father courted his mother her gave her a brooch that had belonged to Merry's grandmother, who got it from her husband, who got it from an aunt, who got it in a card game (and on it goes), and as for Eomer King, well, he can't say for certain but he hasn't heard of anything going on there, so certainly, if they think Eomer and their daughters might take a fancy to each other, there could be no harm in them meeting.

And that's how Eomer ends up having daughters from every noble house thrown at him, and becomes the last man in the kingdom to find out about Eowyn and Faramir, and Merry ends up becoming pen pans with half the nobility in Middle Earth.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wade up to the surface of consciousness with a bubbling groan. Your skin tingles and your head swirls. You blink away the dregs as the world comes back into focus. A low drone tickles your ears.

You turn your head towards the voice. Steve's deep timbre sends a shiver through you. You bring your hand above the blankets and rub your forehead. His words are hard to decipher as he keeps his tone low and measured.

"Yeah," he comes down the hall and peeks in at you. He grins. "I'll let her know. Oh, yep. She's been working hard. Oh, ho, I'll make sure of that." He leans on the door frame as he watches you. You slowly sit up, perplexed as his hand frames one hip. "I'll talk to you later, Harriet. Yeah, can't wait to meet."

He pulls your phone away from his cheek and taps with his thumb. You furrow your brow and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, clinging to the blanket to keep yourself hidden.

"Was that--"

"Mom's doing well. She was checking in." He nears and puts your phone on the nightstand. "I didn't want to overstep, baby. In due time. But she kept calling and then I didn't want her to worry. She's already got one kid in trouble, huh?"

"You were talking to my mom?" You croak.

"Well, sweetheart, only a matter of time before I meet the family. Already got Vaughn off the list so...:" he shrugs casually. "She's doing well. Asked about you, I assured her, you're good." He turns and sits next to you. He grips your knee through the blanket. "Don't worry, I don't got much family. A good buddy but.. mom went a while ago. Strong lady but not physically."

"Oh, I'm..."

"Spilled milk," he waves away the condolences. "She said your brother called. Got in a fight or something. She said she couldn't understand him."

You grimace, "A fight?"

"Yeah, it's too bad, 'cause I had my guys looking out for him." He looks at the wall and clucks. "I told him to keep himself straight." He shakes his head and turns his focus to you. "You know what, sweetheart, he takes you for granted. They all do. I'm not stupid. I sat in the pen long enough and you were the only person kind enough to check on me. Your mom won't even come up for her own son, she sends you..." his expression hardens. "It's about time you start doing stuff for yourself."

"It's... complicated," you cross your arms over the blanket.

"Not anymore. You got me now. We're gonna do this together." He insists.

"It's fine, I'll call tonight. I'm sure she misheard," you assure him.

"We'll call," he counters.

You flinch. You stare at him. The lines around his eyes deepen. His age only adds to his stature.

"Okay," you agree. What else can you do?

"We're gonna go out," he proclaims. "I'm gonna buy you something nice."

"Steve, you don't-- I don't want to spend your money--"

"My money's mine to spend and you don't need to worry about it. I got more than enough." He stands and rolls his shoulders. "Got myself a suit delivered while you were resting too." He faces you and puffs out his chest. "I take care of mine and you're my girl so you deserve only the best."

You blink then make yourself smile. The sentiment is sweet, it's only him that's terrifying. At least you don't see the truly scary part of him. The part that saw him through prison.

"You wanna know something silly, baby?" He purrs as he tilts his head.

"Um, sure," you gulp as you shiver beneath the blanket.

"You know, the appeal was taking a while. I was getting impatient," he drawls. "That place will drive you mad but you got me through. I just kept thinking of you and I figured, they draw this thing out another year, maybe you could... arrange for a conjugal." He snickers. "I mean, I wouldn't wanna do it like that but you know how to torture a man with those sweet eyes."

He winks and bites his lip. You squirm as your brows lift. You don't know how to respond.

"The more I thought about it though. You wouldn't believe how worked up you had me." He scoffs again. "And now I got you right in front of me, I wanna do all those things I thought of but I don't wanna spoil it. I want it to be perfect. For both of us."

He crosses the room and lets out a deep breath. He stops before you and pets your cheek.

"So I'm gonna buy you something sexy and then we're gonna come back here and I'm gonna fuck you in it," he growls as he grabs your chin firmly. "And I don't know if I'll ever stop."

⛓️‍💥

"Nah, I don't think black's your colour," Steve takes the teddy out of your hands. It's the only thing in the shop that won't show everything. You suppose it doesn't matter but your instinct is to hide. "How about this?"

He pulls out a light purple bodice. It only goes halfway down the torso. It's embroidered with little flowers but otherwise transparent. It's not the choice you expect; of either of you.

"If that's what you like," you shift awkwardly.

You stick to basic cottons. You're not really a lingerie person. You never felt sexy enough and your track record hadn't given you many opportunities to dress up. Most of the time, you kept your shirt on.

"It's about what you like, sweetheart," he puts the hanger back. "I mean, I'll take you in nothing at all. You know that."

You look around. You're not the only customers in the store. He doesn't care at all.

"You got everything I like built right in," he steps closer and runs his hand down your side. "You got a nice shape, you know that? And those thighs--"

"Steve," you whisper as your eyes dart back and forth.

"I like that about you. You're shy. You wanna keep this between us. I respect it," he pulls away. "Well, let's see..." he turns back to the racks. "This?"

He pulls out the pink polka dot teddy with the open front. It's trimmed in black with a bow under the chest, and is long enough to keep your stomach mostly covered, except for that slit down the middle.

"Pair of pink panties..." he growls. "I mean, I'll ruin them but it'll be fun."

Your lips part. You nod. It's not so bad. Not like the bras with no cups and the thongs made of little more than strings.

"It's nice," you say, trying not to look too long at it.

He lowers the hanger. His eyes pierce you. You meet their stunning blue.

"You know you're gorgeous regardless of what you got on," he affirms. "You got me thinking of finding a restroom and just..." he chuckles. "A man in the pen is like man in the desert."

You fidget and distract yourself in a search for matching panties in your size. He stays close.

"Have I let you down so far?" He nudges you. "Think I've left you... purring."

"Steve, I just..." you grab panties and face him again. "It's... I'm still surprised, is all."

"Oh, well, you know I won't ever lie to you again. Not that that's what I did," he says, "I just wanted it to be... well, the look on your face was worth it."

You hold out the panties, "these go."

He takes them and arches a brow, "getting impatient, huh?"

You chew your lip and nod. Sure, that's what the tremor in your stomach is. It isn't fear. It's anticipation. Maybe if you can make yourself believe it, he will too.

⛓️‍💥

Your apartment is not your own anymore. Neither is your body. Or your life.

Steve has infected every part of it. Your home, your family, your very being. Your only reprieve is the short time he gives you to 'get ready'; ready for him to take what's left. 

You close yourself in the bathroom and stare at the teddy hanging on the back of the door. A shell of numbness spreads over you and yet your heart is hammering, shaking every part of you. There's a finality that pits in your stomach.

Soft music rises from the other side of the wall. He's ready. He's fearless. He's in control.

You won't waste any more of his time. Funny, how you feel guilty. After what he told you, about waiting on you, you feel like you're wasting his time. He spent enough behind bars for a crime, he claims, he didn't do. That the courts decided he didn't.

It's all so confusing. And scary.

You get up. You undress and change into the skimpy panties and the teddy. You feel exposed. You are. There's nothing left between you and him.

You rinse your face and do your best to tidy up your hair. You don't know why you're trying. The hollowness makes you clumsy.

You face the door. You make yourself leave that room. You're not brave, you're just used to doing what needs to be done. It'll keep Vaughn safe. Your mom too, now he knows about her.

You peek into the bedroom. The walls flicker with the candlelight, a tinge of red in the air as a scarf hangs over the lamp. There are petals all over the floor. The bed has been remade in red silk. He did all this. For you?

"Sweetheart," he startles you as he turns away from the curtains.

He wears only a pair of white boxers, his thick thighs exposed, his muscular middle clenching with tension. You shift your weight and hug your chest. He bites his lip as he comes up to the bed.

Choked to silence, you near the other side. You stare at him and he stares back. His eyes reflect the small flames lit around the space. The music glosses through the air and raises bumps on your skin.

"Come here," he puts a knee up on the bed and reaches across. 

You take his large hand and let him pull you onto the mattress. He's deceptively gentle as he guides you down onto your back. He reclines with you, snaking his arm beneath you. He holds you as he traces your jawline and admires you. You look away shyly.

"You really are the most beautiful creature," he growls.

Your cheeks pinch and you look at him. You press your hand softly to his chest. You push your fingertips into him, feeling the firmness, the strength. You remind yourself that if he wants to, he can hurt you. He hasn't so you'll go along.

His fingers flutter down your neck. You shiver. He purrs and leans in. He kisses you. His warmth seeps through the shell frozen around you. Your hand slips up to his shoulder.

He feels along your chest and squeezes you through the thin cup of the lingerie. He swirls around your nipple as he dips his tongue through your lips. You moan as his touch stirs inside you. Your fear mingles with the fire lit by his diligent tending. He growls into you, hooking his leg around yours.

"You really do fill this out perfect," he runs his hand down the sheer fabric of the teddy, the knuckle of his thumb grazing your stomach. He pulls your leg away from the other with his. "All of you is... made for me."

Your lip trembles. You don't want him to know how afraid you really are. He has enough power.

You slide your hand up behind his head and pull him down. You kiss him, desperately. Desperate to hide, to forget, to survive. Grasping at whatever control you can have over this.

His fingers trail along the edge of the panties; across the top then along the creases of your thighs. He spreads a hand over your thigh and kneads the flesh. You quiver and gasp into his mouth. 

His breath plumes out hotly as he drags his fingertips along the narrow crotch of the panties. He rubs you through them. He pushes along your clit, the friction hot against the lace. You moan again, your mouth slipping from his as you loop your arm around his neck.

You squeeze your thighs around his hand as he teases you. He buries his face in your neck and nips you as he slowly builds his tempo. Twisting your nerves around his touch until you're writhing and whining. You his and clasp onto his bulging bicep. He snarls and puffs into the crook of your neck.

You cum in a series of spasming waves. You soak through panties as he hums and chuckles along your throat. He pushes beneath the fabric and starts again, unwinding you as he flicks up and down.

The second orgasm has you clutching at the pillow. You dig your heel into the mattress and arch your pelvis, quaking as you ride out the thrill. His fingers slip through your juices and he pokes at your entrance.

He lifts his head, his silvery blonde hair drooping forward. His blue eyes bore into you as yours roll back. He growls as he prods at you.

"Look at me, sweetheart,"

You gasp. He drags his finger across your entrance.

"What'd I tell you?" His voice turns gritty.

You bat your lashes and look at him. His pupils are large and dark. They swallow you up as he pushes two fingers against you, slowly parting your cunt around their breadth. Your lips form and O and you gasp again. You clasp onto his wrist as he delves down to his bottom knuckles.

"Gotta get you ready for me," he leans in to nuzzle your cheek. "Once I'm on ya, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

[samsketchbook]

personal update

hey everyone, i apologize for the lack of new art lately. I am going through some difficult stuff in my personal life, so things will all be delayed for a while. I'm ok, no need for worries or condolences, but things will be slow for the foreseeable future.

orders from my shop - will be slow to be filled, but the support is really appreciated.

the same goes for my patreon- im behind on sending out reward envelopes right now but they will all go through.

It is my most consistent income and there's a good backlog of content on there - link, if you'd like to join, I doubly appreciate it right now.

anyway, thank you all for your patience and love.

[deadgirlsnoring]

“Oh Tate, you’re so cute.” Your full lips swallowed his, a small squeak escaping his lips.

Your boyfriend was just the best, even though he was a ghost he was the most perfect boy ever.

“Mmph, fuc—mommy stop.” Tilting your head you frowned, eyeing the pretty little thing under you, “Aww, but bunny.” Your tone laced with fake condolence, “Don’t you like it when I do this?”

Tate gasped, quickly biting his lip to control himself while your hand rubbed his bulge through his boxers.

He was sooo hard, you could feel the heat radiating off him. Poor boy couldn’t stay still, he could feel it in his head he was so dizzy.

“Does it feel good, hm? Tell me. Mommy’s doing good?” Nodding his head while biting his hot plump lips made your panties drenched.

“F-feels so good, mhm I love it so much, please I want you.”

“You already have me.” In a swift movement you pulled his cock out of his boxers, the cold breeze sending chills down his spine, straightening his back out.

“F-Fuuckkk p-pple—Oh I know baby, I know.” His pre cum already lubricated his needy boner, it pulsating with every breath.

Your soft voice just gave him life, it sounded so smooth he just couldn’t get enough.

“Ah, more, more, moree. Shit I need it, c-can I have it mommy ppleassee?” Tate was chasing your hand with his hips, them rising up and down with every thrust of your hand.

“Shut up and keep going, you know, you look so pretty all desperate?

The boy was just so pretty, his slick covered along your French tip manicure, the purple blueish marks kissed all along his waistband.

“My baby looks like such a slut, don’t you think?” You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I just love pretty sluts like you, you like it when I do this? Your body does.”

A whimper came loose from him, heavy pants following after, his eyes looking up at you with such adoration. “F-fuck, gonna cum, mm—mph I’m so fucking close.”

God, he was soo adorable.

Xoxo,

[shirefantasies]

This is something no one requested, but that I wrote for sheer comfort at a rush of bad memories. Warnings are fairly obvious, but this post will contain implications of abuse, though no graphic/explicit depictions.

The Hobbit Characters Finding Out You Were in an Abusive Relationship

Balin

His gaze drops from yours, but you are not offended by the pensive expression that crosses his face- what you said would take anyone time, let alone someone as thoughtful as Balin. Several heartbeats pass before he speaks. "My heart breaks for you," he begins, "that is a fate no one deserves. I can hardly begin to imagine... But what I do know is you have every right to do things at your own pace. Don't push yourself for me, love." Eyes shining, you nod. "And if I ever raise my voice at you, it'll only be for good reason, say, in a battle or because my old ears don't work so good." Giggling, you accept his proffered hand. "I admit, I can't picture you raising your voice like that at anyone." "It's happened," he jokes back, "those nephews of Thorin's have earned it a few times. But not you. I'm not here to control you, I'm here to love you, and you tell me if I'm making good on that." "It's a deal," you reply, smiling softly as Balin squeezes your hand.

Dwalin

“I know you may not understand or that my fears may seem weak-” “Weak?” Dwalin cuts you off. “Ya know who’s weak? That coward for picking on someone who loved ‘em. You are strong as hell for telling them yer done.” One final question rose to your lips. “So you don’t think differently of me?” At that, the tattooed dwarf shakes his head, placing a hand upon your shoulder and breathing your name softly even in his rough voice. “By my bear, you’re about the sweetest soul I’ve ever met and this only serves to confirm it. I’d have pummeled the sod at first insult.” “I probably should have,” you remarked, arms crossing over your midsection. “Not so fast,” Dwalin’s hand clapped over your chest, taking yours, “that’s what you have me for!” The hearty, devilishly proud laugh he burst into was enough to have you joining the mirth, your head falling gently against his.

Thorin

His eyes darken, jaw setting in a way that sends shivers of intimidation down your spine even in spite of your knowledge that it is not for you. You know it because of the way Thorin pulls you into his arms, because he breaths his condolences into your ear as he does so, warm air ticking the shell of it. "And your fire still burns," he remarks, wonder coloring his voice and shining in his blue eyes. "In a way," you reply, gaze still a bit downcast, "I use it as fuel. Never again will I be somebody's plaything." "Never indeed," Thorin agrees with a small nod, "and you may not need it, but while I remain at your side you have my sword and my word that no harm will come to you so long as I draw breath…”

Oin

His eyes go moist in a moment and he holds up his ear trumpet, clearly hoping beyond hope he heard you wrong. Hands clasping his, you shake your head. “So I’m sorry if I ever seem afraid to-” “You are sorry?” Oin asks incredulously, his tone still managing to be quiet, subdued to the volume you normally know him for. “You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for. That is not your fault in the slightest. Do you have any scars? Any bruises? I’m only asking because I want to take away your pain.” Likely it was in the past, long enough ago for those worries to fade. Scars to score only your heart. “Aye, if I can…I want to heal that, too. Treat you like the jewel you are.”

Gloin

His wide-eyed expression is almost comical despite it all, bringing a hushed, nervous chuckle past your lips. Gloin continues staring at you like you're a new creation for a moment longer, dragging the silence out until you feel you might burst. Finally, he stutters out a reply. "You- you endured all that?" "Yes, though I cannot help wondering if I could have prevented it. You see, I-" "Oh, no," Gloin cuts off your spiral, clutching your gesticulating hands and shaking his head firmly at you, "don't you dare let that coward off one bit. No one asks for anything that bastard did. They always say pressure makes a diamond, but you, my dear, were a gem far before and only shine brighter with each passing moment. Diamonds are gifts of this earth, though, not just some trinket for rich arms. If it was you or all the wealth in the Lonely Mountain, I'd choose you every time. Remember that. Please." "How could I forget words like those?" You grin at him, heart still hammering. "I will do my best to carry them in my heart."

Bifur

Soon as your confession leaves your lips, Bifur backs up from you, dismaying you with his own pain in your eyes. “Scared?” He signs, and your heart breaks anew. Quickly you step forward, bridging the gap again, and reach up to tuck some of his wild hair behind his ear. Shaking your head, you reply, “No, dear Bifur, I am not afraid. If anything, I apologize if I ever seem that way. If my nightmares frighten you and I either hold you closer or push you away. If I startle a little too easily. If I am quick to say no.” He finally tilts his head back up to look you in the eyes, moving it to the side to rest his cheek against your palm. “I, too, have nightmares. Bad things happen when I sleep,” he signs to you, “I get hurt. You get hurt. I need space sometimes, too. I may tell you no, too.” “But when you love someone,” you finish, a tearful smile rising to your face, “You want to see them fulfilled.” At that, the dwarf nods vigorously. “I love you. I never want to scare you. To hurt you.”

Bofur

“A star as bright as you?” Shaking his head, Bofur removes his hat, clutching it in both hands. “Guess that’s beside the point. Someone like that only thinks o’ themselves. But hey, you know that wasn’t your fault, right?” You just nod. “And the fact that you still give your heart to everyone… you’re nothin’ short of amazing.” Tearing up, you burst into a smile, exhaling your relief and falling into Bofur’s open arms. “Was gonna do it anyway,” he mumbles into your neck, “but I want you to know that I’ll treat you like royalty. Much as I can give. I really will.” “I believe you, Bofur, I believe you.”

Bombur

Never have you seen his face fall like you do in that moment. All but instinctually, he opens his arms. “May I?” Nodding, you fall against his chest, the beat of his heart calming your racing thoughts. “I don’t know what to say other than that you don’t deserve that,” Bombur tells you, a hand gently cradling the back of your head, “you deserve the finest man who tosses roses at your feet ‘n’ sings your praises day after day. Someone with half an eye who can see how lovely you are. You deserve all the pretty things in this world.” “And I have that. I have all I could ever want right here,” you reply, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye, “you give me all the love I deserve.”

Dori

"What gives them the right? Nothing. It's not right, any of it! Why is it always the prettiest flowers that get plucked?" Even in his righteous anger, Dori pays you a sweet compliment, a small testament to his value of you. Cupping his cheek, you interrupt his rant, shifting him to meet your eyes and feeling tears prick at you when you see how wet his eyes are. "I don't want you to live with that pain," he adds, voice breaking slightly. Heart dropping, then soaring again at the love in his eyes, you reach up on the other side, and his hand comes up to cover yours. "These roots are strong," you assure him, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his, "with care they grow anew." "I will take care of you," Dori whispers your name, blue eyes fluttering shut, "Always. I swear it."

Nori

“Where is the rat? I’ll kill ‘em, gut ‘em like the pig they are!” Nori’s rage rose an odd flush of endearment through you; murderous as his words may have been, your heart was lightened for his care, the sheer vindication that what you went through was not deserved. But then again, the way that person hurt you was something you would never wish upon any living soul and you knew that. Sheepishly, you shook your head, stepping forward to take one of the dwarf’s wildly gesticulating hands. “The way you love me has avenged enough,” you cut into his harsh words, “no one has fought for me before you, Nori. Thank you.”

Ori

“Somebody really did all that to you?” He doesn’t mean to sound stupid, but the revelation is nothing but dumbfounding. “Yes,” you nod, breath catching in a half-sob, “I didn’t even feel like a person by the end of it.” Your arm is crossed over your chest, but Ori removes it, gently, intently, to hold your hand in his. “You are, though. You’re…you’re more than anything I could have ever imagined. And I like imagining things quite a lot,” he smiles softly, almost sheepishly, “in fact, you know what one of the things I imagine is?” You cringe, see his eyes widen that he accidentally hit a sore spot and feel the way his hand involuntarily tightens. He continues, though. “How I can show all that to you.” Head falling atop his, you succumb to a grin- he is leagues different from that person without even lifting a finger. “You do that just by being you, Ori.”

Fili

You hardly expect his first words to be thanking you, but indeed as both of his hands grip yours, he smiles sadly and does just that. "Thank you for trusting me with that. Fighting the fear. I don't take it lightly. But if you think this does anything but make me love you more," his smile shifts, returns to something more like the amusement you more often saw, "I'm afraid you are solely mistaken. The fact that you trust me, feel safe around me...why, I'll work to keep earning that until the day I die." Grinning, you fall into Fili's arms, feeling utterly secure in the warmth of his embrace. "And that alone means the world," you whisper, "I love you." "And I you. Forever."

Kili

"No," Kili shakes his head, "no, you cannot be serious!" "So you think I lie?" You shoot back, tone sharply defensive in your hurt. Kili's dark eyes widen, glossing over with tears; he shakes his head again, this time slower, but much more vehement, "Not at all. I simply can't believe it. Why anybody would want to hurt someone like you. I admit I can't fathom it." "It's because I didn't matter in that person's mind," you reply, your own eyes tearing and your voice going soft, "I was not a consideration." "Well, let me consider you," Kili replies quickly, straightening and reaching out a hand, "I'll not do anything you want me to do. And if I ever raise my voice at you, feel free to slap me." "Kili," you half-chuckle, half-sob, "how would that make me any better than-" "It was a joke, but see? Now I have you smiling again. That's all I want. For you to be happy. I love you, truly, I do."

Bilbo

“Any chance we would…run into this person?” So casually, almost awkwardly phrased, and yet you deduced exactly what Bilbo meant with his question. “Are you…” Your expression widened back to a tentative smile. “…hoping to have a fight with them?” Plenty of people had been on your side, nearly everyone agreeing that what you endured crossed every line, but hearing it from a partner was an even stronger spike of the vindication you never tired of. Plus Bilbo’s scrappy side was all but the cutest thing in the world. “Well,” the hobbit straightened his coat, “I simply think they need to be put in their place. Why, of all the… how could anyone take a look at someone like you and see anything but the greatest treasure they’ve ever known, it’s insulting, maddening, uncouth beyond all-” He stopped when he heard you giggle, felt your arms snake around him. “Oh Bilbo…my greatest treasure. I’ll always feel safe when you’re here.”

Thranduil

Rarely do you see the woodland king’s eyes harden, go so cold like shards of pale blue eyes, as you do when he hears your admission. “This person saw fit to treat you like property?” Thranduil’s voice is dangerously low, his gaze drifting distantly from yours. “I felt that way, yes,” you quietly agree, nodding. The king’s expression sends a shudder of intimidation down your spine. He must notice, the way he offers you his hand- tentative, eyes softening in question. Telling you wordlessly that acceptance is your choice. A small nod and you take it, his fingers closing over yours as he lifts the back of your hand to his lips. “Never again,” he breaks the silence, voice low but all ice drained from it, “while I wish your time here to never end, our gates are open to you. My halls are as your own. If that…that fiend even thinks to cross the Woodland Realm’s borders? Some gates shall be closed forever.” A part of you wishes to cringe at Thranduil’s harsh words, but as he winds you into his chest you simply feel the heat of tears prick your eyes as you whisper your thanks, an answer coming in the form of the elven king’s lips upon your head.

Bard

He stepped back, eyes widening at your revelation. Every aspect of him softened. “How? How could anybody…” Eyes distant, you shook your head. “At the time, I felt like it was because I wasn’t good enough. Now I see how sick it was. How I was…just an object,” your voice faded into a near-sob, prompting Bard to catch you about the waist, lower you into a chair. He moved to put a hand on either arm of it, thought better of making you feel trapped. Instead he simply let you keep hold of his hand, tilting your chin with the other to meet your eyes. “By every power I hold dear I hope you never feel too afraid to tell me no. To tell me if I’ve hurt you. And by that same light we’ll spend every day filling your heart. Never should you apologize for your scars- those are signs of your strength.”

Beorn

He never does this. You've never known the Skin-Changer to be one for spontaneous affection and yet he's pulling you into his arms the moment you finish, your head falling against his chest or wherever it falls upon his massive height. Several breaths pass like this before either of you speak again. “There is cruelty in this world I will never understand. No excuses exist for it. None. But I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from it.” True to his word, the Skin-Changer is there for you after every nightmare. Never once does he raise his voice or his hand to you. He may not always understand you, but well does he know the feeling of chains, physical or metaphorical, and he would die before casting his own. In moments surpassing his understanding of you, he takes to the woods, offering space over harsh words and freedom of travel over control. True love, after all, always returns.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy | Message/Reply/Ask to join 🥰

[skythealmighty]

gang ngl i miss object universe. i should rewatch it again and get way too emotionally attached to Ice Cream and Map

#rocket talk #i made fanart of them with a steven universe song once i'm unwell

(1 note)

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

why does gamey get to be on ii TWICE. who gave him permission

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

thanks for the suggestion @cabtube-truther

📟 knockoff-gameboy Follow

You don't hear PBSB complaining about this...

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

well they're in a show that's super popular

📟 knockoff-gameboy Follow

Yeah, and you're in one that got cancelled

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

shut up you didnt even finish season one

#just one more cameo mephone4 thats all i ask

(316 notes)

anonymous asked: not sure you're gonna want a cameo rn mephone is going Through it

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

hold on im not actually caught up lemme see

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

holy shit

#I TAKE IT BACK

(58 notes)

anonymous asked: omg fan pleaaaase marru me ill do anythinggg ❤❤❤🥵🥵🥵

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

hey @test-tubular just checking was i ever this weird

🧪 test-tubular Follow

Weird? Always. This weird? No.

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

COOL just checking anyway

no please stop sending me these

#fans fantastic asks #this is the least weird anon ask from i think this specific anon #ive blocked them but oh my god #NO!!!

(83 notes)

💥🔃 fans-fantastic-features Follow reblogged 4️⃣ four-therecord

2️⃣ hey-two Follow

Hello everyone!! 👋 Since I've gotten many an ask about my cheesecake recipe from previous TPOT episodes, I've decided to make a longpost and put it here for you all to use!! Feel free to use without credit but credit is still appreciated 😊

Keep reading

4️⃣ four-therecord Follow

i hate you

#so they ARE on here #followed both immediately #how did i not come across them earlier...

(2,613 notes)

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Recovery across different universes, a scientific theory

(Full post below the cut)

((Thank you to @not-tally-hall for the testimony regarding the S*n!))

Keep reading

😎 the-chad-one Follow

boring 👎👎👎👎

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Get off my post

⛳ bossy-bot Follow

This is incredibly fascinating and an enjoyable read! There are some points of debate I've brought up in DMs, but otherwise this is a very solid theory. Good job!

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Thank you, that means a lot!!

#I follow your papers closely so hearing that coming from you is an honor #anyway back to my regularly scheduled nonsense

(13 notes)

🟧 julian-waiting Follow

Bonjour! J'ai découvert ce cite grâce à des vidéos amusantes

Je suis encore en train de m'habiteur à la société et je pense que c'est une bonne façon de me faire des amis! Enchanté de vous recontrer tous 😃

🥖 shut-up-about-boto Follow

bienvenue sur le site de l'enfer ! la plupart des gens ici ne parlent qu'anglais, vous pouvez donc m'envoyer un message si vous voulez parler à quelqu'un en français. je peux également vous montrer des endroits en ligne pour apprendre l'anglais

🟧 julian-waiting Follow

Cela signifierait beaucoup pour moi, merci

🥖 shut-up-about-boto Follow

bien sûr!

🍐 betterthanpearaib Follow

Baguette we all know you're not actually French you don't need to keep pretending 😒...

🥖 shut-up-about-boto Follow

K

(172 notes)

anonymous asked: your iconic quote from episode 10 has unfortunately become a vocal stim for me. please help, i'm suffering

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

Hey? This is the funniest ask anyone's ever sent me. Can we make out behind a Denny's

#my condolences though oh my god 😭

(4 notes)

⚾️ take-me-out-to-theballgame Follow

Guys, this site is easy! Just watch

⚾️ take-me-out-to-theballgame Follow

Based ball? Based on what?

⚾️ take-me-out-to-theballgame Follow

#hey. are you doing okay

No

(42,526 notes)

🍐 betterthanpearaib Follow

Finally watched II! Good show. I want that twink OJ dead why is he like that

☝ i-date-iconic-posts Follow

Date of origin: November 2nd, 2020

🍐 betterthanpearaib Follow

I DIDNT MEAN IT I DIDNT MEAN IT I DIDNT MEAN JT I DIDNT

#😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

(26,942 notes)

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

Thanks everyone for the help so far! I'm not too much of a science nerd, unfortunately, @bossy-bot, so I didn't understand everything in the papers you sent me- but they still helped a ton! Especially the coding help. I was a telemarketer, not an IT person...

Now that I know what I'm doing, I have some free time. With some recommendations from @fans-fantastic-features:

If you have any other recommendations, just leave them in the comments. And please go and send help to @fire-cartoon-schtick while you're at it!

[konpeitonom]

general dating/marriage headcanons for jimmy (mouthwashing).

sfw— lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader - trigger warnings for toxic relationship, mentions of child abuse (what i’d assume his backstory would be) this is jimmy so.. general warning for him i guess. curly is mentioned twice because i am in love with him and so is jimmy ngl.

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^ i have a lot of free time tomorrow so it will get done by then most likely. please send them!!

notes; he’s a raging misogynist so i couldn’t really do g/n reader. i might do male headcanons if people care for such. i’d take awhile though because he/male readers are both a bit hard to write for… haha. eat well the 9 jimmy fans that exist. i hope i did him justice and made him as disgusting as he is!!

— i think he is charming in his own way. i mean, he has to be. he’s kind of the type of guy where you’d cross the street to avoid him, so he has to have some sort of positive aspect that’d make your wanna further the relationship.. no?

— at first he is. very flirtatious and says all the right things. maybe a little off putting, but isn’t every man? i’m trying to focus on the positives because i was so nice to curly in his posts t_t

— calls you sweet nicknames. overtime he kinds of stops, but starts again if he feels you distancing.

— i think he’d be a little rough with you sometimes, and i’d be taken at first as protectiveness. like gripping your hand a little tighter or grabbing your arm.

— when i say curly is a traditional guy i mean he knows to be nice and respectful of woman (to an extent) but jimmy is traditional in a.. misogysntic sense.

— like he’s a ‘sole provider’ kind of guy. at least when you’re married. i’d hurt his ego if you got job, even if it was realistic and practical to. like, “you think i don’t make enough? maybe you just need to shop less” .. if you were just dating/not living together he wouldn’t really care.

— pays for dates but makes you feel kind of bad about it. subtly of course, not enough for you to care but enough to know that maybe you should order a little less or get something cheaper to lessen his harsh comments. but if he notices he’ll think *you think* he’s cheap and get angry at that too.

— if you offer to pay for a date he’d refuse, unless he was in a severe financial situation or the place wasn’t too crowded. he’d still find a way to make you feel bad though.

— sees curly buy his partner gifts and now has to buy you gifts, but x2. sometimes i’d be things you’d like? but also just to make him look good. he isn’t as considerate as his curly. but an expensive gift is a expensive gift, “you’re so ungrateful” he’d say. he is a scumbag sorry.

— things like jewelry. lucky if you like that. he’d consider maybe the kind of jewels or color you like. maybe if you prefer necklaces or rings, earrings. nothing much past that.

— i think he’d open up about about his childhood, either to make you feel bad, make you feel as if you ‘understand him, or just as a genuine he needs it. he was hit as a child, divorced parents, all that. it’s no surpise.

— i don’t think he’d get married to just anyone, though— that’s so much money and commitment that he does not have. i think he’d genuinely have to love someone to go through with that. he does not want to be in a loveless marriage— he’s seen that in his parents already.

— if you end up marrying him (condolences to you) he’d try to get better. he’s a shit person and you both know that. he’d need someone to probably keep him from being an ass. push him around long enough and he just might consider therapy. he’d do it for you.

— he is incredibly insecure. how could a girl like you like him that much. You either have an insane savior complex, or ‘just plain fuckng stupid’. you can’t fix him, but maybe you can make him a smidge better.

[kirain]

Bellara: Neve! What are you doing here?

Neve: What? You now I show up for you, Bel. They'd only let one of us come, though. The rest send their regards. Especially Emmrich.

I can only imagine that conversation went something like this:

Neve found Emmrich standing by the window, gazing out at the grey sky, his expression distant—contemplative. The sun had long set, but the moon shined bright, making the night seem less tragic.

"Cyrian's funeral is soon," Neve said gently, drawing his attention.

"What a sombre occasion..." Emmrich sighed. "I hate that Bellara has to go through this." His brows furrowed. "They were so close."

"They were..."

He exhaled, slow and heavy. "Are you going?"

"Yes. Veil Jumper customs only allow one other guest, though. I'm sorry, Emmrich."

He didn't look disappointed, only relieved. "Good. I'm glad she won't be alone." He met Neve's gaze in earnest. "Will you give her my condolences?"

"Of course. See you when we get back."

Neve started to turn, but before she could take a step, Emmrich stumbled forward, his face tightening with thought.

"And—ah—please ask her to wear a sweater on her way home. It wouldn't do at all for her to catch ill."

Neve arched a brow, but he wasn't finished.

"And remind her to keep up with the breathing exercises we practiced. Grief takes a toll on the body, and rest is important."

Neve smirked. "Noted."

"Also, she should eat regularly, even if she doesn't feel like it. Maybe something hot, like soup. Or perhaps tea. Shall I pack some up for you before you go?"

"I don't think that's necessary, Emm. I'm sure they have all that and more at the camp."

"Ah—yes. Quite. Of course they do."

Neve turned again.

"Oh, and if she needs a distraction, she should write things down in her journal. That can be surprisingly soothing for some."

Neve, amused, let him go on a while longer, listening to every little way he wished he could ease Bellara's pain.

But eventually, she lifted a hand.

"Emmrich... I'll just tell Bellara you're thinking of her."

He paused, lips parting as if to say more, but then he cleared his throat, collecting himself. "Yes, well... perhaps that's enough."

Neve chuckled, patting his shoulder. "You're a good friend, Emmrich."

He smiled, weary but warm. "As are you."

She nodded, then took her leave, stepping outside into the cool night air. The moment she did, however, she heard a sharp gasp, followed by hurried footsteps behind her.

"Oh—just one more thing!"

[suosgirl]

Keeping It Cute (& Dangerous) - Hayato Suo x Reader | Ch. 5

Word Count: 6197

୨ৎ Read me before interacting!

୨ৎ Pairing: Hayato Suo x Reader feat. Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, Taiga Tsugeura, Mitsuki Kiryu, Hajime Umemiya, Kotoha Tachibana

୨ৎ Warnings: mdni, smut, f!reader, manga spoilers (?), ooc (?), fighting, slowburn, penetrative sex, use of f!bodied language, teasing, creampie, squirting, oral (fem!receiving) praising, pet names, filth, 2 stubborn idiots falling for each other – if I’ve missed one, I apologize + please let me know!

୨ৎ Note: Long ass chapter. There's smut in here. I'm delirious - but happy. Hugs and kisses for all who waited hehe! ♡♡♡

୨ৎ Keeping it Cute (& Dangerous) Masterlist

“You don’t have to be so careful Hayato – I won’t break ~” He hums thoughtfully, before bending down to whisper in your ear. “And if I do? Break you, that is.” That catches you off guard. You laugh, loud and boisterous – “Then I expect you to fix what you break, pretty boy.”

Every couple of months, Bofurin holds a sparring match within their ranks.

It’s meant to be fun, friendly, and maybe just a little competitive. But, the main intention? To see where everyone is strength-wise. No one’s meant to get roughed up so badly that they’re out of commission.

At least, that's what you’d thought when Umemiya had extended the invitation to you. Still, as you stand in the sweltering, stuffy gymnasium room surrounded by the grunts and groans of the skirmishes going around you, you’re not so sure.

Granted, no one’s fighting with malicious intent, but you can feel how serious everyone is, and you’re starting to wonder now if your presence is really as needed as Umemiya made it sound.

“I think it’d be good for you to be there. It’ll be a nice change of pace for everyone!”

And it’s not because you don’t want to fight. Quite the opposite, actually.

You were itching for it – willing, ready, and eager to pounce. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d been able to let loose and enjoy the thrill of a well-matched scrimmage.

No… it’s because you were fully convinced that you’d absolutely obliterate most of them. 

Within just a few minutes of observation, you’d assessed the fighting styles, expertise, and strength levels of almost all of the matches happening throughout the gym.

This wasn’t to say that anyone in the gym was weak. No, they were all incredibly strong – some intimidatingly so. But, you knew how to use their strength against them, how to parry, how to defend – which was so much more dangerous. 

And now, you’re starting to get it – why Umemiya invited you.

Sparring against the same opponents year after year could only permit so much growth, but you, a wild card, could prove to be difficult.

You let out a small smile.

Alright, you were game. 

You were so game.

“Heyyyy! Didn’t know you were coming – I call dibs on your first match!”

Tseguera’s calling for you from where he’s sparring with Kiryu, and you chuckle at the sour look on Kiryu’s face.

“Tsuge-chan, I’m fighting you right now – shouldn’t you be focused on me?”

“Oh! Ha, sorry Kiryu-kun, you’re right! Okay, I’m ready, hit me again!”

Kiryu, exasperated, sends a weary but good-natured smile your way, and you send him your condolences.

“Sure, sure — let me warm up first!”

You nod to everyone who you pass as you make your way to where Nirei’s got a table set up with refreshments and disposable cups. He’s got his notebook in his hand, furiously taking notes as he watches all the fighting unfold.

“Hi Ni,” you greet him with an affectionate pat on his head, and he leans into your touch.

God, just like a puppy. 

“Hi! Happy you’re here! You don’t work today?”

You drop your bag on the floor behind him and gather your hair into a tight ponytail. 

You can feel Suo’s eye on you, but you’re not sure from where – and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching you try to find out.

Besides… what would be the fun in that?

“Nah, Kotoha said she’d cover my shift today so that I could come. What’s in the jugs?”

You stretch out your arms and roll back your shoulders before tilting your head from side to side.

Your little game with Suo was still in full swing, but you had to admit, you were starting to crack just a bit. Every touch lasting a little too long, every whisper cutting a little too short – but you knew, Suo was losing his composure too (if the way he was finding it harder and harder to not follow you into your apartment at the end of every shift was anything to go by).

You were starting to grow restless, but your pride stopped you every time – because you were set on him giving in first, not you. 

“Oh! I’ve got sports drinks and barley tea for optimal hydration! Want some?”

“Ah… I’m okay Ni, thank you though! Have you just been watching everyone?”

Nirei turns to you in excitement, ready to prattle off about all the learning he’s been doing and all the notes he’s been taking, but the words die out as soon as he lays his eyes on you.

Because – you’d taken your sweatpants and jacket off. 

You’d taken your sweatpants and jacket off, and all you had underneath those two bulky layers was a tight long sleeve and even tighter shorts. 

And Nirei is just – well, he’s just caught off guard is all. 

… and you looked very pretty, very cool, very strong.

His (surprising) lack of response has you looking up from where you’re seated on the floor, but you continue stretching out your legs.

“Ni, did you hear me? I asked if you’ve just been watching everyone?”

All Nirei can offer back is a strangled uh-huh, and now you’re starting to get a bit worried. 

Standing up, you repeat his name once more as you press the back of your hand to his forehead.

“Oh… is it too hot in here? Do you have a fever? You feel so warm –”

Adept, familiar fingers are wrapped around your wrist before you can diagnose any further.

“Sorry bunny, it seems like Nire-kun’s a bit overheated right now. How about we let him cool down?”

You turn to Suo with your lips parted in surprise at his sudden appearance, but you let him pull your arm away from Nirei before enveloping your hand in his. 

You peek down at your conjoined hands.

He was totally breaking.

(You are too, but the longer you can deny it, the better.)

“Hayato, did you come over to help me stretch?”

There’s a playful sparkle in your eyes that Suo knows is only reserved for him, and it makes him smile.

He hums in thought while his thumb softly strokes over yours, but you can see it – the hint of mischief on his lips.

“Depends bunny – what part of you needs stretching?”

You bite your lip with a coy flutter of your lashes, even though you and Suo both know that you’re anything but demure.

“All of it – every inch.”

He blinks at your words, but there’s a weight to them – it’s slow, drawn out, and ravenous.

You feel lightheaded just maintaining eye contact with him.

Thankfully (or not, you’re not quite sure yet), Tseguera’s calling out your name before Suo can further double down with an equally suggestive response.

You give him an apologetic smile before balancing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Aw – I was really looking forward to you stretching me out Hayato, but I guess there’s always next time ~” 

Just because he couldn’t double down doesn’t mean you couldn’t. 

All is fair in love and war, you suppose. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

As you make your way to Tseguera, you don’t miss the trailing of eyes that follow you in your wake. 

Eyes full of curiosity with a hint of skepticism. 

Granted, you didn’t know everyone in the gym, but you knew a handful – at least, enough to be invited here. 

The stares don’t phase you – in fact, they add more fuel to the fire. You were going to show them that you were someone to remember. 

Fighting was your bread and butter, and you’d be damned if you let anyone else think differently – because you were your brother’s sister, and you kicked fucking ass.

You bow to Tseguera to show your respect, before assuming your position. 

And then – 

Everything changes. 

You hear the comforting voice of your brother in your ear, and it eases any hints of anxiety that you might’ve had leading up to your first match of the day. 

You breathe in – slow, controlled, and relaxed.

You breathe out – observing, calculating, and strategizing. 

You blink slowly – a menacing glint in your eyes.

And then, you smile. 

Tseguera briefly wonders if he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but he can’t deny the way he’s psyched to fight this version of you.

The real you that he’s heard so much about. 

He’d watched you fight before, sure, but that was against someone who couldn’t even hold a candle to your raw strength. Tseguera on the other hand? Call him optimistic, but he liked to think that he had better odds than the average run-of-the-mill fighter.

So he rushes in, and you’re ready. 

Suo watches, sharp-eyed as ever. He notes the assertiveness in your body language, the fluidity of your moves, and the intensity of your power.

All of Bofurin could see it now – why you were called tiger.

You were patient, cunning, and precise. Never exerting more energy than necessary. Never wasting time on flashy moves. Never giving more than what you’re opponent's worth.

You took your time with your prey until they were in a position that benefitted you – and then you’d strike. 

And, within minutes, Tseguera’s flat on his back, every little bit of air being pushed out of his lungs.

It’s gone quiet, everyone turning their heads just to try and catch a glimpse of what’s just happened, but all they can see is you.

You’re standing over Tseguera’s body, with a hand on your hip and a smirk on your lips.

And they see him shiver under the weight of your stare.

“Come on, Tsuge – don’t tell me you’re tapped out already~”

You give him your hand to help him up (no one could ever say you’re a bad sport), but with the way your hips swish from side to side as you head back to your starting position and the wicked gleam in your eye, Tseguera’s just the tiniest bit distraught.

Umemiya smiles – he was right. 

You were a great change of pace.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

It’s meant to be fun, friendly, and maybe just a little competitive – but with you as an opponent, well… 

You amped up the competitive aspect to a whopping 100% – and you were loving it.

Objectively, you could say that everyone else was too, based on how they were lining up to squabble with you. 

And – it’s not like you won every single fight. But, you had even Hiragi huffing and puffing just trying to keep up with you – and that? That felt good. 

Because fighting was so much more than just winning. To you, it was about learning, communicating, understanding, and most importantly – evolving. 

That was something your brother had taught you. 

You can’t strive towards your fullest potential without the guidance, support, and help of others – and fighting was an extension of that. Every person and every fight was a wonderful new experience to learn from, and you were so happy. 

Suo, on the other hand …

Well, he was happy for you, but he, himself?

Absolutely, tragically vexed.

Because you really had no idea how much of a tease you can be when you’re not even trying. 

Between every fight, you’d stretch out your body in those sinful shorts and that thin little long sleeve – and he wishes he was stronger, really. 

Wishes he was strong enough to look away when you use the bottom hem of your top to wipe away the sweat from your forehead.

Instead, he drinks in the exposed skin of your stomach and lower back. It’s got a sheen to it, no doubt from the exertion that your body has been going through, but vaguely, Suo wonders if it would look similar to a different type of exertion.

One that involves him and only him.

He focuses on his breathing – no need to get worked over this… really. 

He could remain calm and composed, just like how he’s always been.

But when he finds himself next in line to spar with you, well – 

What can he say? He just really wanted to get stronger. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You should’ve known. You should’ve fucking known.

But, feigning ignorance can only go so far.

And with Suo standing in front of you, his hands held loosely behind his back and an amiable grin on his face, you fear that maybe you pushed your luck a little too much. 

Because, in all honesty, Suo’s the first person today to actually make you nervous. 

And it’s not that you don’t think you can put up a good fight. No, it’s not that at all. 

What you’re afraid of is more … personal. 

Because when you’re in a fight, well, your hands will go wherever they need to. 

And with how pumped you are with endorphins right now, you’re not sure if you’d be able to handle Suo’s hands anywhere on your body.

Even his hand on your thigh had you crumbling, but you held up the good fight as long as you could before excusing yourself under the guise of using the restroom.

But now? Here? You couldn’t simply call for a time-out because you’re getting bashful about his hands touching you.

Fighting, to you, could be intimate with the right person – and lo and behold, the right person just happened to be standing right in front of you. 

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re running out of steam, bunny.”

You purse your lips at his words.

Leave it to Suo to be so insufferable that it brings you back to reality. 

You quickly bow towards him before rolling your shoulders back and raising your fists.

“Hmm, then why don’t you fill me back up, Hayato?”

He smirks at your response, and you feel the air thicken just the tiniest amount. His aura is overwhelming, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle from the eye contact alone.

You take a deep breath in, before steeling your nerves.

Now was not the time to get shy.

You were on your playground, in your element.

You breathe out, feeling the sparks of your competitive spirit quickly fan out into flames.

And then – 

Nothing happens, at least, not for a couple of seconds.

“Are ya gonna fight or what?”

You flush at Sakura’s words. 

You were slow to realize this, but just like you, Suo (ever the gentleman) was also someone who practiced patience in a fight and let their opponents make the first move – and, you had a sinking feeling that this match was about more than just … fighting.

You shake your head in an attempt to garner back your focus, and once it’s there, you strategize.

Regretfully, you’d only ever seen him in a handful of skirmishes, so you weren’t certain about the exact moves he used, but there was at least one thing that you could go off of – 

Suo was pretty damn strong.

You pause, gathering your thoughts as best you can in the little amount of time that you have. 

You decide, then, that going on the offense is your best bet. If anything, it would allow you to witness firsthand the type of training he’s received. 

So, you move. 

You rush him, aiming for a kick to his midsection, but he grabs your ankle – and pulls you towards him. 

Off balance and unsteady, you grab onto the first thing you can – his shoulders.

Belatedly, you realize his hands slid under your leg to grip the underside of your thigh, holding you flush to his body. 

This … you’d never fought like this before.

As he holds you there, you can’t help the furrow of your brows nor the pout on your lips.

You’d actually wanted to fight, but he …

He was toying with you. 

“... why aren’t you going full out?”

He’s looking down at you, and for the first time today, his face is unreadable.

“Would you like me to use my full strength?”

You sputter at his words, “Hayato, yes? Isn’t that the whole point of this?”

He laughs, and it makes you swoon just the tiniest bit – as if the way he’s holding you right now isn’t already making you feel that way.

“You’re right, I’m sorry bunny. It seems I got ahead of myself.”

He lets you go, and you only let yourself mourn the grip of his hand on your thigh for a second, you swear.

Once you’re properly standing on your own, you look up at him with a playful smile, and he can’t help the endearing furrow of his eyebrows as he awaits whatever amusing remark will fall from your lips next.

“You don’t have to be so careful Hayato – I won’t break ~”

He hums thoughtfully, before bending down to whisper in your ear.

“And if I do? Break you, that is.”

That catches you off guard.

You laugh, loud and boisterous –

“Then I expect you to fix what you break, pretty boy.”

All Suo does in response is smile at you, but you’re much too focused on the sight of him taking his jacket off and expertly folding his sleeves up to his biceps.

Because oh – oh. 

That… that shouldn’t have been stupidly attractive but it was. 

You take in his forearms, his fingers, his swiftness with it all – and you gulp.

And now you’re doing everything you can to desperately grasp onto that flame of competitiveness that you had just a second ago because – 

He stared into your eyes the whole time.

“In that case, I’ll make sure to fix you right up when I’m done, pretty girl.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Watching the fight between you and Suo was almost like watching a tiger and a panther in the heat of battle – and it was mesmerizing. 

In fact, it didn’t even look like fighting – it looked like the two of you were dancing.

It was a flurry of neverending moves, from flying kicks to evasive dodging, and it had everyone enraptured at the sight – because they’d never thought that Suo would be able to fight someone who matched his tempo so well. 

But the best part? You both just couldn’t land a single hit on each other.

And that’s not to say that you both weren’t trying your absolute hardest, but more so, it was a testament to how adaptive you both were.

However, in all honesty, you were getting worn out.

It was easy to ignore it and push through at first, but you could feel the cloud of fatigue starting to infringe on your battle sense. It was showing in your moves and your muscles – that slight delay between your body and your mind. 

And, you didn’t want to admit this, but the forced proximity of it all was starting to make you just the tiniest bit lightheaded – because Suo, despite having been in multiple matches, still managed to smell so good.

Every time you invaded his space, you’d catch a small whiff – and it was intoxicating.

So, when you try to step back from yet another attempt at a palm strike, only to sway just a bit from your lack of balance, well – you don’t blame him for honing in on your error.

What you do blame him for, though, is the position you’re in now. 

He’s got you trapped underneath him, your body pressed against the gymnasium floor, and – 

Whether it was the exhaustion getting to you, or the fact that Suo’s got both your wrists held in one hand above your head and the other latched onto your hip, you’re not sure – but a whimper slips out of you. 

Good news, it’s low enough for only you and Suo to be made aware of it, but the bad news – Suo’s aware of it.

And if his mouth dropping in surprise isn’t a big enough tell, maybe the way his fingers dig deeper into your hips is. 

For a second, one split second, you almost give in. 

You almost wrap your legs around his waist.

You almost break his hold on your wrists.

You almost pull him in for a kiss.

Instead, you do the most sensible thing that you can think of given the circumstances.

You forfeit.

Did it feel good? Absolutely fucking not. Were you ashamed? Partially.

But the only thing that kept you standing on two feet, the only thing that kept you from running away in utter embarrassment and shame?

… the outline of something thick and hard just barely noticeable through his loose black pants when he sat back on his knees to let you go.

Safe to say … you were out of commission for the rest of the sparring event.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

When Suo offers to escort you home afterward, you don’t say no.

When he offers to hold your bag, you don’t say no. 

And, when he drops you off at your door with a lingering look of want in his eye that compels you to invite him inside, Suo doesn’t say no.

You lead him to the living room and offer a seat on the couch to him, but he simply shakes his head, preferring to stand instead. 

“Are you hungry?” you ask over your shoulder as you try to still the incessant beating of your heart. 

You knew he wasn’t ever one to indulge in a meal, but it would … be rude, right? To just part ways after … all of that? That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. Plus, eating is casual. It’s friendly. It’s safe. You could sit across from him and maintain your distance, and there’d be no reason at all for his hands to be on your body. 

And, there’d be no way for him to pull such an embarrassing noise from your mouth again. 

You blush as you recall the chain of events that lead up to right now, and suddenly, you’re restless. To busy yourself, you go to get him a glass of water in your kitchen.

He follows you.

“... Starving,” he rasps out, and your body breaks into goosebumps because he’s right behind you.

Your breath is shaky now, his presence much too overwhelming in the cramped space of your kitchen, but you persist. 

“Oh… w-what would you like to eat? I’ve got noodles and sp–”

“You, only you – bunny.”

You’re so so glad that you’ve got your back to him because you can’t help the way you bite down on your lip at his words to stifle a whine.

It wouldn’t hurt to get one more jab in, you convince yourself. Serves him right for pulling such an embarrassing noise from your mouth earlier.

“Maybe –” your voice breaks, and you let out a small cough to clear out any residual qualms that might’ve been stuck in your throat.

Screw it – the man could suffer in the same way he’d been making you suffer for the past couple of months with his heated touches and lingering words and his stupid little smile.

“Maybe I’ll consider it, Hayato, if you ask nicely on your knees –”

A soft thud cuts you off, and – oh.

Oh.

You’re turned around before you can stop yourself, needing to confirm with your own eyes – 

He’s on the floor, his chest moving rapidly with his breathing, and an absolute disheveled look on his face.

Your lips part and your eyes flutter under his heady stare, and you desperately look away in an attempt to maintain some sort of self-control.

You think – no, you’re sure that you look just as disheveled as he does. 

Because how the fuck did you manage to get Suo, the Hayato Suo, to fall to his knees on his own accord on the floor of your kitchen?

You felt dizzy and needy and powerful – and that was so so dangerous.

“Remember when you did this? The first time we met?”

There’s a smile on his lips as he stares up at you, and your knees buckle at his words. He’s chipping away at your resolve and he knows it – if the mirth in his eye is anything to go off of.

All you can manage is a shaky inhale and a small, pitiful nod in response – and he chuckles. 

“I helped you up off the floor, remember that?”

You nod again, though he can see the slight glimmer of tears in your waterline from just his verbal overstimulation, and he takes pity on you – just a tiny bit, though.

Because although he was on his knees, he wanted you to be the one to finally break first.

Isn’t that how the phrase goes, anyway? Ladies first? And Suo really was a gentleman to the core. 

“So, shouldn’t you return the favor? Don’t you want to help me out, pretty girl?”

You don’t even try to hide it anymore. You don’t hide the shifting of your thighs at his words nor the twitch of your fingers seeking his touch.

You were aching and Suo could see it – and all you wanted, all you needed was right in front of you. 

But he doesn’t touch you. He wants to – no, he needs to know that you want it as bad as he does. 

That the incessant teasing and flirting is affecting you just as badly as it's affecting him. That he’s not the only one filled with desire and desperation and greed.

He knows what to say, knows what to do to make you finally give in and release your inhibitions.

And all it takes, all it takes are 3 words.

Just 3 simple words, dripping with adoration and filth and yearning.

“My pretty bunny.”

You whimper, needy and desperate, and then, you’re on him – and it’s everything you’ve wanted for so long and not enough all at once.

You’re straddling his lap, and his hands feel so good running up and down your body. They’re mapping out every curve – squeezing, pinching, fondling – and you’re grinding down onto him with abandon.

His tongue is hot and heavy on yours, and the noises coming from your mouth are so obscene that you briefly wonder if the walls of your apartment are thick enough to block them out.

You bury your face into his neck as he grabs your hips to grind your body even harder against his, and he revels in the way that you twitch and moan in his ear.

“Please,” you whisper, so softly that you wonder if he even heard you.

He did. Of course, he did, but he wanted more. He wants you to keep begging so pretty for him with your sinful tongue and sweet words and soft body.

“Oh, bunny – I can’t hear you when you’re hiding from me.”

His words make you whine high in your throat – and oh god you might actually cry now.

You still your hips as you look him in the eye, and he’s kind enough to let you try and form some semblance of control with your words.

“Hayato, please – I’m asking you nicely and I don’t know what else you want but –”

Suo holds back a depraved laugh, because rambling out of frustration, and at a time like this? Because you’re just so desperate? He didn’t think you could get even more cute but you keep proving him wrong time and time again.

So, he concedes – you really had no idea how perfect you were, did you?

You lead him to your bed (“Sorry Hayato, but I am not fucking you in my kitchen after the day I’ve had.”), and once every article of clothing has been discarded haphazardly on the floor, does Suo finally eat. 

“Might be a bit rough with you pretty girl, is that alright?”

“Oh my bunny, you’re dripping! Is this all for me?”

He dives in with long, broad strokes of his tongue as he laps up the heat of your cunt, and you writhe so pretty under his tongue. If he every so often dips down to push his tongue past the tight opening of your pussy, well – he was just really hungry. 

“Wider bunny, can you spread your legs wider for me?” 

“So noisy…” 

And god were you the best meal he’d ever had in years. Your pussy was the gift that just kept giving, and he was savoring every little intoxicating drop that it pushed out.

“You’re making all sorts of sounds for me, aren’t you?”

“Won’t you make that sound for me again, bunny?”

But, even after you squirted on his skillful fingers with his tongue lavishly flicking and suckling at your spoiled clit, he still wasn’t full.

No, he needed more – he needed to be inside you.

When he finally slides his throbbing, neglected member into your warm fluttering hole, it takes everything in his willpower and a harsh bite to his bottom lip not to rock his hips into you with wanton – he was so so glad you were on birth control so that he could enjoy this to the rawest extent.

“Wow – ha –- you’re taking me so well –”

And it feels so so good to be stretched out over Suo’s cock. There’s a delicious drag against your walls with every thrust, and he’s so damn big that when he pulls back with just the tip inside, you actually feel empty. 

You’re in such a delirious daze that you aren’t even comprehending the noises he’s pulling from your pretty plump lips, but Suo is. He’s greedily eating up every moan, every gasp, every whine – and it’s insatiable the way that he’s craving more. 

He’s pushing your legs up into a mating press until your knees are pressed right up next to your head, and he’s so so grateful that you’re flexible enough to allow him to do this because now he can thrust into you even deeper, and hit that spot just right.

And now it’s Suo’s turn to feel powerful because you — who could easily break his hold, who had mercilessly crushed a man’s hand — were letting him cage you in his arms like a domesticated house pet.

“You’re being such a good little bunny, aren’t you? My good girl ~ ”

But Suo … he should’ve known better, really. 

Should’ve known based on how long and drawn out this silly little game lasted between the two of you that you were just as filthy as he was.

And, before Suo can react, you’re swatting away his hands and using all your strength to roll him onto his back. It only takes a second for him to adjust to the new position, but the sight of you settled on top of him has his dick twitching and his mouth agape.

“Hayato… don’t you want your pretty little bunny to ride you?”

Your words bring him to ruin, and all he can do is manage a breathless, airy laugh before you plant your feet on both sides of his hips – and when you lift yourself he swears he knows what heaven feels like and it’s nestled right between your perfect plush thighs.

You’ve got just the tip in you now, and he really should take back control now.

He should, but he can’t – you don’t even give him time to think before you’re dragging back down achingly slow and all he can focus on is the agonizing tightness of your wet cunt and the drawn-out squelch of your conjoined bodies.

You’re no better – the feeling of him filling up every inch of you has you reeling from the pleasure and you let out a soft sigh once you’re finally sat and all of his cock is nestled inside you.

And then – you wait.

Because it was unfair, wasn’t it? Letting him be in control for this long, for still maintaining his composure.

You stare down at him with heavily lidded eyes and a coy smile on your face but Suo’s getting, dare he say, desperate. It was all fun and games earlier, sure, but now? He was simply claiming his prize that he’d worked so hard and so long to win and you weren’t letting him. 

He grits out a curt “please”, but you’re not satisfied. 

Instead, you trace a manicured nail all over him, from his tassel earrings to the sharp jut of his jaw to his collarbones to his chest – all the way to where his cock is currently entrapped in the warmth of your pussy.

“Oh, Hayato – I can’t hear you when you’re –”

You’re cut off by a change in gravity, and suddenly, you’re on your back again, with Suo peering down at you with thinly veiled annoyance and a strained smile on his face.

“On your hands and knees, please.”

Your breath hitches at his tone – because he was losing it. He was losing his composure, and that’s all you wanted, really.

And, with one of his hands pressing your head into the mattress and the other holding your hips in place, well, you get what you wanted real quick. 

Because Suo’s thrusting into you hard, fast, and rough – and you love it. Your cunt is squelching with every rock of his hips, and your body’s shaking and twitching with pure pleasure.

“You want me to break you? Is that it? You – ha – need a handler, little bunny?”

When you fail to answer him, he chuckles, before snaking a hand underneath you to rub small, precise circles on your aching clit.

“O-oh my god –”

You’re keening high in your throat, your hands fisting at the sheets underneath you, and all you can do is take it. You press down harder onto his adept fingers and you feel it washing over you – your sweet release.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” you whine out, your thighs quivering from the stimulation of it all, and you’re so fucking close.

Suo tuts his tongue at your words, but you can feel his fingers and his hips speed up at your pleas.

“That’s funny, I didn’t hear a please.”

You feel tears start to escape your eyes, all your inhibitions out the window as you try to appease the only person who can grant you the overwhelming satisfaction of coming undone.

“Please please please – Hayato please let me cum on your cock. I’ve been so good for you please –”

Suo doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of your desperate rambling. It’s just too damn hot.

“Then cum, bunny. It’s yours, it’s all yours.”

You scream into your sheets, your body spasming underneath his as you finally, finally allow for the crashing wave of bliss to run all over your body.

Suo coos at the sight, fucking you through it as you clamp down on him with everything in your body, and he’s not very far behind you. 

He’s close, so close, but he wants to see what you look like unraveled and raw and vulnerable.

What he plans on doing is maybe lasting a little bit longer, fending off that incessant urge to let his cum paint your walls as he fucks into you nice and slow and deliberate.

But, despite your euphoric state and the puddle of drool collecting around your mouth and dampening your sheets, you manage to shakily reach your hands back to press your fingers into the lips of your cunt and you spread.

You feel his hips stutter as you present yourself to him, and his lips part open at the sight.

He can see the ring of cream coating the base of his cock, as well as the glistening dots of your juices decorating your lips, and he’s entranced by the sight. 

A soft, obscene groan leaves his mouth as he looks down with his dark-lidded eye – and with the way that your body was still twitching with aftershocks, he couldn’t help but think that you really did look like a bunny right now.

A thoroughly fucked, thoroughly ruined bunny.

And when you open your mouth, well – it’d be rude, right? Not to indulge in your request when you’ve managed to ask it in such a polite and sinful manner?

“I’ve been such a good girl for you, Hayato…. Won’t you cum in your sweet little bunny’s pussy?”

He denies that he came from just your words alone, but you know better. 

You feel his cock twitch, his fingertips dig harder into your lower back, and the jolt of his hips as he tries to bury himself inside of you.

And, when he does come, he lets out the prettiest string of gasps you’ve ever heard, and it makes your body slump with satisfaction.

Because, in your mind, you’d won. Sure, maybe you were the first to break, but as Suo carries you into the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your exhausted body and wipes you down with sweet kisses to your temple, you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

And when he settles in behind you on your bed as he strokes your head and leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and across your shoulders as he lulls you to sleep, there’s no denying that sense of triumph.

… and when you ask him if he’ll be spending the night and he replies with, “Of course bunny, why wouldn’t I? You’re mine now, right?” – well, you can’t help the drowsy smile you send his way before you’re pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. 

You’d won – fair and fucking square.

And true to his words, he’d fixed you right up.

୨ৎ Chapter 6 (in progress)

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 30

word count: 4.0k

The following Monday, Harry opened shop.

His hand, still bandaged, flipped through the scheduling book. His finger traced down the page until he found today's date, skimming along who would come in and at what time. Harry took a mental note and sighed, grateful that his dominant hand wasn't the one that was injured. But work was work, he didn't have a choice. Niall and Zayn wouldn't have been able to take over, not with these endless listings.

Louis and Liam had reached out to him Saturday night, sending their condolences and offering to come in to help the other boys if Harry didn't feel ready. He appreciated it, though he brushed them off with the same ease he would have used months ago. Months before he met Aspen. 

The thought of her name made him shudder and his shoulders drop. His ears peaked at the muffled song in the break room, a scowl forming on his face. Fucking Niall and his stupid Taylor Swift.

"I wish I could unrecall it all, how we almost had it all."

Harry swung the door open, the handle hitting the wall behind it. Niall had been sitting with gloves on, etching ink into a slab of fake silicone skin they used to practice in while his head bobbed and mouth moved with the words.

"Turn that shit off," Harry grunted, tossing a package of sterile needles at his head before slamming the door shut. He huffed, clenching his fingers into fists momentarily before the song was turned off and quiet flooded the shop once more.

The chime of the door sounded after, Zayn scruffing his boots on the mat before he shrugged off his coat and hung it up.

Zayn was the only one who knew what happened between Aspen and Harry, besides Isobel. At least, he figured as such if Aspen had returned back to the car in that same shattered state he saw her leave in.

Although Harry kept his eyes forward as he tossed supplies onto his tray, too focused on what he was doing to greet Zayn, the brown eyed man kept his gaze on his friend for a while as he made his way to the schedule.

It was best not to mention anything, at least for now. Harry was a ticking time bomb when he was upset, and Zayn had never been there for heartbreak for Harry. He didn't even know if the lad had ever had a phase of that.

"So," Zayn spoke first as he cleared his throat, flipping through the book, "got a back piece today?"

"Yep," Harry responded blandly, pulling out a fresh box of ink and sliced a blade through the tape to prop it open.

The room fell quiet after that, just the sounds of the faint hum from the gun Niall used in the other room and the ruffling on Harry's end. 

Zayn sighed. "Look, man—."

"No." 

Harry cut him off, setting the ink bottles down with a hard thud. This was not the time nor place for that conversation, and Harry was sure he didn't want to have it ever.

Niall exited the room, holding the slab of fake flesh in his hands.

"Well, it's not too shabby, ri—. Oh." Niall caught glimpse of Harry's angered furrow between his brows as he set up the supply cabinet, and Zayn who was eyeing him with a piercing gaze. Harry was the one to glance over at Niall, falling to the work in his hands.

"Looks good." He said as his gaze went back to what he was doing, breaking down the box before tucking it into the recycle. 

"Thanks, Harold!" Niall grinned, tossing it down onto the table with a gentle thud before stripping his hands clean of the gloves. 

Niall didn't know what was going on, frankly. All he knew what that Harry got his ass beat and police had gotten involved, that's what he heard from Louis, anyways. But it wasn't like he needed to know. Whatever it was, Harry was his friend, damn near a brother. If he wanted to talk, he would. But for now, Niall could only offer no sense of change. Harry hated change. Hated being noticed, hated things being pointed out, hated when his chair had been lifted or lowered. 

So, he beamed a big smile and walked towards Harry to nudge him on the shoulder before leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. 

"How's it feel to be booked and busy, lads? Gosh, do you guys remembered when we first opened? Louis was here, we all were. And we had, what, three clients a week? Only if we were lucky."

Zayn puffed out a small laugh, fingers digging into the keyboard as he clocked in. Harry only hummed, though the memory flashed through his mind.

"There," Louis grinned, slapping the sign and they all watched as it swung on its metal hinges outside of the shop. He stepped down from the latter, tossing the hammer into the toolbox beside his feet with a satisfied sigh.

Harry looked up with a proud look, though his lips remained pursed. "Can't believe we did that," he breathed out, shifting on his feet to look at the white lettering on the glass window, his eyes scanning over the different tables and trays and cabinets. 

They all had finished setting up, the sign being their final hook on the wall before everything came together. Everything inside was pristine and neat, untouched and eager to be used by clients. 

"You did this, H. We work for you, Mr. Styles," Niall joked, though he set his hands on his hips as he followed Harry's gaze. 

"No," Harry said after a beat, shaking his head. He turned to look at the boys, lips finally cracking a smile. "We all did this, we're all gonna do this."

Things didn't change much. They were all proud of their work, Harry most of all. He built this place to be his second home. Over the span of months and years, they all chipped in to bring the shop to life. The white walls were replaced with black ones, big framed paintings from Zayn bringing them to life.

Sketchbooks scattered on display with different sketches and ideas and stencils for clients to flip through. That was a main selling point for their shop. Clients buzzed online about how raw their talent was, and how they were so open and vulnerable with their mistakes in their art just as they were with their successful pieces.

The low hum of the tattoo machine in the back room was soon joined by the chime of the front door opening. Harry instinctively glanced up from his tray, his hand already brushing over the tops of the ink bottles he’d just organized. The movement was automatic, his routine muscle memory, but his thoughts were miles away.

A pair of clients walked in, chatting softly and pointing to the designs in the display book near the waiting area. Harry adjusted the black bandana around his wrist, straightened his shoulders, and forced himself to push aside the storm brewing in his chest. He couldn’t afford to slip up—not here, not now.

Niall greeted the newcomers with his usual upbeat energy, leading one of them toward the consultation counter. Zayn, now settled at his station, leaned back in his chair and gestured for the other client to join him. Harry, staying quiet, stepped forward as the third figure walked through the door. It was his client for the day—a tall man with a shaved head and a sleeve already in progress.

“You Styles?” the man asked, his voice gruff but polite.

“Yeah. That’s me,” Harry replied, his tone steady despite the lump forming in his throat. He motioned for the guy to follow him to his station. “Come on back.”

As they walked, Harry’s eyes flickered to the appointment book on the counter, confirming the name and design he’d sketched for this particular session. It was a continuation of the man’s sleeve—a roaring lion’s head that would stretch across his forearm. Normally, Harry would feel a spark of excitement at tackling a piece like this. But today, there was only a quiet numbness, a fog that refused to lift.

He pulled out the sketch he’d prepared the night before, laying it flat on the worktable as his client nodded in approval. “Looks good, man. Real good,” the man said.

Harry offered a tight-lipped smile and a small nod. “Let’s get started, then.”

He handed the client a clipboard with the standard paperwork and went to wash his hands. As the warm water flowed over his skin, his gaze dropped to his reflection in the stainless steel sink. The bandages on his knuckles had started to fray, and his stitches still itched beneath his temple and cheekbone. He used to look at his injuries and feel a sense of resilience, pride even, at how he pushed through whatever life threw at him. Now, the sight of them only reminded him of Aspen—her tear-filled eyes, her trembling voice as she told him she needed space.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really looked at himself in the mirror. Every glance felt like punishment, the bruises and cuts on his face no longer symbols of strength but of failure. Failure to protect the people he cared about, failure to be the man Aspen believed in.

Harry dried his hands and slipped on a fresh pair of gloves. Back at his station, he sanitized the area, pulled out the stencil, and prepped his tray with the precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times. His client sat patiently, scrolling through his phone as Harry positioned the stencil on his arm.

“This placement good for you?” Harry asked, holding the man’s arm steady as he checked the angles.

“Yeah, perfect,” the man said with a nod.

Harry peeled the stencil away and moved to set up his tattoo machine. The hum of the needle filled the air as he adjusted the voltage and tested the grip. The sound usually calmed him, grounding him in the art he loved. But today, it only seemed to amplify the noise in his head.

He leaned forward, beginning the outline of the lion’s mane. His hand was steady, his movements precise, but his thoughts were anything but.

Aspen’s face lingered in his mind like a photograph burned into his memory. The way her lips trembled as she said space might be for the better. The way her voice cracked when she admitted how much it hurt to see him like this. He’d replayed her words over and over in his mind, dissecting every syllable, every pause.

He missed her. God, he missed her. It was a physical ache, one that tightened his chest and twisted his stomach every time he closed his eyes. She’d been his light in the darkness, his anchor when everything else felt like it was slipping away. And now she was gone—because of him. Because of his lies, his mistakes, his inability to keep the promises he’d made to her.

Harry shook his head subtly, trying to clear the image of her tear-streaked cheeks. His client glanced at him briefly, but Harry kept his focus on the tattoo, shading in the intricate details of the lion’s fur.

“Everything good?” the man asked, noticing Harry’s brief moment of distraction.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, his voice low. “Just concentrating.”

The client nodded and relaxed again, but Harry’s mind was far from settled. He thought about the nights he’d spent tossing and turning since Aspen walked out. How he’d stared at his ceiling for hours, haunted by the look in her eyes when she said she didn’t regret being with him but wished he’d been honest. The weight of her words crushed him every time they replayed in his head.

He thought about the little things he missed—her shy smile, the way she’d twist the ends of her hair when she was nervous, the way her laugh sounded like music on a quiet afternoon. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and it was driving him mad.

As Harry switched needles and began shading the lion’s jawline, he felt the familiar sting of guilt creeping in. He’d hurt her in ways he never thought possible, and the pain of knowing he’d let her down was unbearable. He wanted to call her, to show up at her door and beg for another chance. But how could he, when he couldn’t even face himself in the mirror?

The hum of the tattoo machine continued, blending with the faint sounds of chatter from the other stations. Harry focused on his work, pouring every ounce of his energy into the design. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the ghost of Aspen’s sadness or the hollow ache in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt truly lost—and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his way back.

The rest of the week dragged by in the same, mind-numbing blur of routine.

Harry would wake up in the dim light filtering through his blinds, the weight of his exhaustion pressing him deeper into the mattress. He’d force himself to throw the blanket over his wrinkled sheets in a half-hearted attempt at normalcy, a futile effort to convince himself he still had some semblance of order in his life. His shower was quick, more out of obligation than need, the steam fogging up the mirror he avoided looking into. He didn’t need to see the man staring back at him. He already knew what he’d find—the bruises, the guilt, the weakness.

After dressing, Harry would shuffle to the kitchen, Jasper padding after him with hopeful eyes. The little cat’s energy was a stark contrast to Harry’s lifeless demeanor. He’d crouch down, scratch Jasper’s head, and let the faint purring soothe him for a moment before the guilt crept back in.

You’re a shit boyfriend, don’t be a shit pet owner too, he’d think, guilt pooling in his chest as he filled Jasper’s bowl. He lingered there, watching the cat eat, trying to muster up the energy to play. But most days, it felt forced. Jasper would swat at his hand or chase a toy Harry half-heartedly tossed, and the moment would pass too quickly, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

Work wasn’t much better. The buzzing of the tattoo machine no longer held the comfort it once did. It used to ground him, the vibration in his hand a constant reminder of the art he loved, the skill he’d honed for years. Now, it felt hollow. Every client he worked on, every intricate line and carefully shaded detail, felt like going through the motions. The usual satisfaction he found in seeing a piece come together was missing, replaced by a numbness that lingered no matter how hard he tried to shake it.

And when the day finally ended, Harry would trudge back home, dropping his keys onto the counter with a clatter that echoed in the silence. He’d grab a joint or crack open a beer—or three—anything to dull the ache gnawing at him. But no matter how much he smoked or drank, the guilt was always there, lurking in the back of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t escape. When he finally passed out, it was never restful. His dreams were fragmented, flashes of Aspen’s tear-streaked face and the words she’d said before leaving.

By Friday, Harry felt like he was hanging on by a thread. The shop had cleared out, and the silence left him alone with his thoughts once more. He slid on a fresh pair of gloves, the snap of the latex punctuating the quiet as he stared down at the metal surface of his workstation. His fingers tapped absently against the table, his eyes fixed on the reflection of his tools.

“Just a stupid fucking mirror,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Just look up, Harry.”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he braced himself. With a sharp exhale, he snapped his head up, his green eyes locking onto his reflection in the mirror. His stomach churned. He hadn’t looked at himself properly all week, and now that he did, the sight made his chest tighten.

The swelling under his eye was gone, replaced by fading yellows and greens that stained his skin like a cruel reminder of everything that had happened. His stitches were healing, the angry red lines still visible against his pale complexion. But it wasn’t just the bruises and cuts that unsettled him— it was his eyes. They looked hollow, the vibrant green dulled by sleepless nights and a guilt that weighed heavier than any physical wound.

He glanced down at his lip, where his piercing was conspicuously absent. The small, empty dot felt like a metaphor for how he’d been feeling— hollow, incomplete. Harry’s hand moved on instinct, grabbing the sterile needle from its packaging. He flipped the tab, removed the plastic covering, and swirled it in the sterilizing liquid, his movements precise and methodical.

Sliding the black ring into place, he swabbed the area with antiseptic, the cool liquid soothing the irritated skin. He stared at his reflection again, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied the new piercing. It didn’t make him feel better, not really. But it was something— a distraction, a fleeting sense of control in a life that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

Before he could think too much about it, his hands were already reaching for another needle. He tore the package open, grabbed the clamps, and tapped the rim to dry off the excess sterilizing liquid. The motions were automatic, his hands steady as he lined up the needle above his brow.

When the needle hovered over the area of his brow, he hesitated. His jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, he thought about Aspen. Would she hate this? Would she think he was reckless, stupid, weak? The thought tightened his chest, but before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the needle forward. A sharp sting followed, a brief moment of pain that was almost comforting in its simplicity. At least this pain made sense.

The pinch of the needle was sharp but brief, followed by the familiar satisfaction of threading the jewelry through. He twisted the spiked ends of the black barbell into place, his reflection staring back at him with an almost defiant edge. He didn’t bother marking the spot beforehand; his precision didn’t need it. If nothing else, Harry knew he was damn good at his job.

As he swabbed the fresh piercing and cleaned up the mess he’d made, he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. “Damn shame I’m better at this than keeping my life together.”

The truth of his own words stung more than the needle ever could.

That night, Harry found himself trudging to the bar just around the corner, his steps heavy against the cracked sidewalk. He didn’t drive anymore. His car had sat untouched outside the shop since last Thursday, the keys abandoned in his jacket pocket. Walking had become his escape. The howling wind bit at his exposed skin, the rustle of the trees filling the otherwise empty streets, but he welcomed it. Out here, there was nothing to distract him—no blaring horns, no stoplights, no bustling crowds. Just his footsteps against the pavement and the dark thoughts swirling in his mind.

He pulled open the bar's heavy wooden door, the warm air inside hitting his face as he stepped into the dimly lit room. The familiar scent of spilled whiskey and stale cigarettes wrapped around him like a blanket, almost comforting in its unpleasantness. Harry slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter without a word, his bloodshot eyes meeting the bartender’s for a brief moment.

Two shot glasses clinked against the polished wood as the bartender slid them toward him. Harry didn’t hesitate. One after the other, the shots burned their way down his throat, the familiar fire momentarily dulling the ache in his chest. He slammed the second glass down with a hollow satisfaction, the sharp clink punctuating the dull roar of chatter and clinking glasses around him.

But it wasn’t enough.

Pulling out his wallet again, Harry tossed thirty more onto the counter, his movements jerky and impatient.

The bartender eyed him warily. “I can’t serve you for another five—”

“Am I paying you to lecture me,” Harry cut in, his voice sharp and low, “or am I paying you to do your damn job?” He shoved the stack of cash closer, his jaw tightening as he stared the man down.

With a disgruntled mutter, the bartender complied, sliding three more shots in front of him. Harry didn’t wait. He downed them in rapid succession, each one hitting his stomach like a punch, but he welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the guilt gnawing at him.

The whiskey neat he ordered afterward went untouched for a while, the amber liquid sitting untouched in its glass as Harry stirred his soda absently. The black straw circled the ice cubes in a rhythmic motion, the faint clinking sound blending into the background noise. His mind drifted, the alcohol dulling the edges of his thoughts but not erasing them.

Aspen’s face kept flashing behind his closed eyelids, how upset she’d looked the last time he saw her. Her voice, her tears, the way she had walked away without looking back. His chest tightened. What the hell was wrong with him? How had he let it get this bad?

The sound of heels clicking against the floor snapped him out of his thoughts. Two light taps on his shoulder followed, and Harry glanced over, his brow furrowed. His vision had started to blur around the edges, but he could still make out the blonde woman standing beside him, her expression dripping with fake confidence and practiced charm.

“Can I help you?” he muttered, his voice low and laced with irritation.

She giggled, the sound grating against his nerves. “Uh-huh,” she chirped, her gum snapping as she leaned closer. “Can I get your number?”

Harry exhaled a sharp breath, shaking his head. “No, I’ll pass. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue, like he didn’t deserve to say it anymore. Was Aspen even still his girlfriend? He didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. The girl didn’t know Aspen, didn’t know the mess Harry had made of things. She wouldn’t call him out on the lie.

Her manicured nail dragged down the inked lines of his arm as she ignored his rejection, her voice turning syrupy. “Well, I don’t see her sooo...” She let the word linger, her gum snapping again as she gave him a coy smile. “I really like your tattoos.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, and he shrugged her hand off, standing abruptly and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. The room swayed slightly as he moved, the alcohol making his steps unsteady.

“I said hard pass,” he gritted out, his voice sharp. “I’m not into air bags.”

It wasn't like he had to analyze her chest to know how exaggerated her work had been. No one's boobs sit that high with that much definition.

Her jaw dropped slightly, her expression shifting from flirtatious to offended, but Harry didn’t stick around to see her reaction. He pushed past her, the leather of his jacket creaking as he pulled it on and shoved the door open. The cold night air hit him like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to clear his head.

The alcohol coursing through his veins fueled his frustration as he walked aimlessly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His steps slowed as he found himself outside Zayn’s apartment building, the familiar red bricks staring back at him. He didn’t know why he was here. Maybe he just needed to talk to someone, someone who might actually understand, even if Harry wasn’t sure he could say the words out loud.

Before he could second-guess himself, his fist was knocking against Zayn’s door. Three sharp raps that echoed down the quiet hallway. His head hung low as he waited, his breath fogging in the cold air. When the door opened, Harry didn’t even lift his gaze.

“Can I come in?” he muttered, his voice slurred and broken, the weight of the week finally catching up to him.

[cripplecharacters]

Regarding fictional disabilities: since there is no way to research a disability that doesn’t exist, how do you go about writing it in a way that makes it good rep and not offensive? For some context specific to my story, magic based abilities are biological rather than learnt and can manifest at any age, though if it develops at a young age it can cause development issues or brain injuries. One of my characters experienced this and developed a power that was psychological in nature, but because he was so young and couldn’t cope with the actual power, it left him with memory and intellectual problems. I was originally looking into stuff like dissociative amnesia or maybe even alzheimers but since the symptoms don’t fully line up I can’t just rely on it completely. My overall point here is that if resources for a fictional disability don’t exist, how can you write it while still taking into consideration real life disabilities? My bad if this is worded weirdly, I tried to keep it as specific as possible without delving into the full on details of the story and character. Have a nice day!:3

Hey!

First rule would be to not do harm. So not propagating misinformation or nonsense about the real life disabilities that the fictional one resembles (here that would probably be pediatric brain injury and/or intellectual disability). I don't think anyone expects realistic representation from a made up condition that they don't have but if you're deciding to associate it with one that's real, you have to be mindful of it. Even if it's a fictionalized version of a developmental disability you can't just go (example, not trying to insinuate you want to do that) "this character is an adult but is mentally 4 because of this fictional disorder that is made up and totally not close to anything IRL so it's ok to say", it would just look pretentious to pretend that it's something completely unrelated to a real disability if the character has symptoms that strongly align with one.

If your fictional condition is made of symptoms that exist in real life (but maybe not for the same reasons/don't really exist together) try to research them one by one. If he has memory problems, research how this specifically affects people with it - Alzheimer's comes with a myriad of other things that might give you an incorrect idea on how just that one symptom presents. For brain injuries, check what parts of the brain do what - damage to different parts might cause very different symptoms. You can read about this here in the context of strokes. Having an actual symptom list of things that your character has will be more helpful than thinking of it as "condition x if it was condition b/ condition c if it didn't have [major part]", even if that's how it's explained in-universe to help the other characters/readers get it - you as the author should know the ins and outs so that you can actually keep track of how your character functions and not have continuity errors.

It'd also be interesting to figure out what other symptoms this kind of scenario could cause that didn't happen to this one character (unless he's the only person this happened to). Developmental disability is a really big spectrum, and so are memory problems. I imagine that there would be other people more and less disabled than him who would have the same condition - this could affect how his is seen in-universe. Is he a very mild case, and not receiving the kind of support he needs because it's "not that bad"? Or is he on the severe end, and other people pity him and send condolences to his family? Think about the grander scheme of things.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[charlie-lec-stories]

Invisible string // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Vettel!Sister

Summary: While on a difficult time in his life, Sebastian discovers that his family is way bigger than he thought.

Warnings: Alcohol and drugs consumption, strong language.

Author’s Note: This story is and is not about Charles, but it's a nice story and I thought that it would be nice to include it on this blog. I'm not comfortable with writing about the death of real people, so even though reader is Sebastian's little sister, I changed the names of his parents and to feel more comfortable with the plot. You have to remember that this stories are originally done for my own fictional characters and I adapt them to the F1 world to include Charles on them, so when I write about Sebastian's family I am not speaking of the real one. Rate: +16 (sensitive language and mature activities)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Sebastian, I'm so sorry for your loss". It was the tenth time he had heard that phrase in an hour, and even though he was grateful for so many people being there for him, he was sick and tired of the condolences. He smiled sadly at yet another friend of his father, Klaus, and quickly looked around, searching for Hanna, his wife, to save him from the situation. He found her at the other side of the room, she instantly understood him and made her way to where he was. She started some light conversation with the older man, sending Sebastian a complicit look, giving him his cue to leave. He swiftly escaped to the kitchen and hid there for a few minutes. 

"Hi, kid". Sebastian looked up to find Henry, his father's best friend. The British man was like family to Sebastian and now that his father had joined his mother in Heaven, Henry felt like the last piece of family Sebastian had. "I've been looking for you".

"Well, you found me. I thought I had done a better job at hiding though. I'm not really in the mood for more condolences". Henry pulled away a chair and sat next to him, patting his back lightly, trying to be as comforting as he could.

"You don't need to hide from me, Seb". They both laughed softly, the tension on Sebastian's back loosening a bit.

"I know. I'm just... overwhelmed, I think". He let out a long sigh, and Henry squeezed his shoulder, his heavy hand finding a home there.

"I know, I felt the same when my father passed away. My brother was a good help at the moment, he took care of everything, I just felt like it all was too much. I actually went to your father's and hid there for hours. Came back home, stoned as fuck, just in time to put the old man to the ground". Sebastian smiled, he knew that story, his father had told him about the time he and Henry smoked weed like two Woodstock hippies the day Henry's father died. "Klaus was a good friend, but sometimes I feel a big debt with my big brother, he really stepped up that day".

"You're lucky to have a brother to be there for you at a time like that. I think that's one of the cons of being a single child". Sebastian felt Henry tense up, and the warm hand that was once on his shoulder, now slipped away, as if Henry was unable to maintain the contact. "What? What is it?".

"Seb...". The tension grew so thick that Sebastian had to move away slightly. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. "You know I wasn't just your father's best friend, I was also his lawyer". The younger man nodded slowly, his narrowed and confused eyes focused on the older man. "I may just give you this now, I would rather see you next week for the will's reading with this information a little bit more processed".

"What are you talking about?". Henry looked inside his coat, taking an envelope out of his pocket and handing it to Sebastian, who took him with trembling hands. "Henry, what is this?".

"That's a letter your father wrote to you, twenty years ago". Sebastian took the letter out and started reading right away.

"A sister? A baby sister?". Henry saw the array of emotions that passed the younger man's eyes: confusion, anger, sadness, disappointment, happiness. Sebastian felt every emotion he was capable of in just a few seconds, as his father's words sunk in. The letter was about the time when his parents had briefly separated and Klaus had gone to Henry's home in England to spend a few weeks, while he decided what to do about his marriage. He wrote about how he met a lovely woman, and that after one night with her, he decided that he was getting a divorce, but then, a 9 years old Sebastian called him and asked him when he was coming home and he understood that he loved his life in Germany, with Sebastian and Lina, his wife. He left the lovely woman behind and went back home, just to get a call a year later, letting him know that he had a daughter but the lovely woman wanted nothing to do with him. The letter finished with Klaus begging for Sebastian's forgiveness. 

"He left half of everything he had to that little girl, who's not so little now. He asked me to find her once he passed away and let her know that there were some things that he wanted her to have, but, most importantly, he wanted you both to meet". Sebastian, who just then noticed that he was crying, wiped his tears away angrily.  

"Why? Why hide this from me?". Henry gathered the courage to place his hand on Sebastian again and ran his finger through the grieving man's blonde locks.

"Because he was too scared to do anything about this while he was alive, but he knew that you deserved to know the truth".

A week later, Sebastian was sitting in Henry's office, Hanna by his side and Henry drinking a cup of tea in front of him while they waited for the girl to show up. Henry found her in the same town Klaus had met her mother, a little town that was Henry's home for a short period of time in 1996. It was crazy, but she was born on July 3rd, 1997, exactly on Sebastian's 10th birthday. He had always wanted a little sibling so it kind of felt like a birthday present, one he had hoped to know about way sooner. They waited but as the minutes passed, Sebastian started to lose hope on ever meeting his sister. What if she didn't show up? What if she didn't want to meet him? Henry sent the letter, but she never answered. What if she just didn't care about her father's side of the family? Hanna grabbed his hand and he felt a little bit of comfort, but the fear in his heart could only subside with the mystery girl's presence. There were some muffled voices that rang on the other side of the door and Hanna turned around expectantly to see who they were, but Sebastian couldn't move, not even when the door opened and his wife gasped, him too afraid to turn around. 

"Good afternoon, is this Mr. Henry Wood's office?". Even if the thick Northern British accent took him by surprise, Sebastian was still petrified, and he saw Henry get up to welcome the people who walked in. 

"Yes, I'm Henry. You must be Eleanor". Two sets of feet could be heard and Sebastian understood that his sister didn't show up alone. They both reached the desk and just then, he could move to look up. There was an older woman, in her 50s, dark reddish hair and green eyes looking down at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Next to her was a younger girl, her face shared a lot of features with him, she was unmistakably his sister, a Vettel without a doubt. It was strange, looking at her, a complete stranger, and still finding himself looking back. Her hair was lighter than her mother's, but they both shared green eyes. 

"Yes, I'm Eleanor. This is Y/N". The girl shook Henry's hand, but she sat down not even looking at Sebastian once. 

"Seb, if you don't mind, I'd like to start with Y/N's part of the will". Hanna had to elbow him, because he was zoning out looking at the girl.

"Yes". He finally said, looking back at Henry and clearing his throat. "Of course I don't mind".

Henry took his time, properly going through every part of Klaus' will. The older German left the summer house, one car and half of his bank account to his estranged daughter, and the rest to Sebastian, which included the family home, one car and the other other half of the money. Y/N never said a word, if it wasn't for him constantly looking at her, he could have sworn that she wasn't even there. Eleanor spoke up a few times, asking about legal processes and such, she sounded like a sweet woman, but Sebastian could see that she was trying to put on her mean face, doing her best to protect her child. Hanna had excused herself in the middle of everything, a chaotic call from their children sending her out of the office to play referee between their arguing toddlers. Henry walked out once the will was completely read, telling them that he needed to grab some other papers for them to sign. Eleanor started telling her daughter about what they were going to do with the summer house, that they could keep it or sell it, that if she wanted to sell it, they could rent a hotel room and use the money to do some remodeling and sell it for a higher price. Y/N spoke for the first time, agreeing with the selling.

"You're welcome to stay with us-". Sebastian started, but Eleanor cut him off.

"No, thank you". She had a hard look on her face, but the broken gesture on Sebastian's softened her a little. "I made a choice twenty years ago, and I stand by it, Sebastian. She's not a Vettel".

"But-". Eleanor got up and pulled her daughter with her.

"I said no. She's been more than fine without her father's influence. She won't start with this now". With that, she started to walk away, ready to wait outside for the final papers.

"I am not my father". Sebastian's angry tone made the two women turn around to look at him. He was still sitting, his body resting on the back of the chair, his gaze on the ground, until he looked up at them, tears threatening to spill out. "I was lied to, for twenty years. You knew we existed, I didn't. I was robbed of the chance of meeting her sooner, of watching her grow. I was robbed of the chance of being a brother, of forming a bond. So excuse me for trying to start now! Excuse me for wanting to get to know my sister!". Eleanor exchanged a look with Y/N, then, the girl walked up to Sebastian. The staring contest went on for a few seconds, then, she sat back down and wrote her phone number on a paper that she found on the desk. 

He was shocked when Y/N showed up at his door the next month without Eleanor, her mother still choosing to stay in a hotel instead of Sebastian's house. Even though it was unrealistic, when he let her into his home, he kind of expected them to click instantly, but his bubble quickly popped. The following two weeks were a disaster, Sebastian learned that they not only had nothing in common, she actually seemed to dislike him. If he said white, she said black, if he said sweet, she said sour. Sometimes he wondered if she was doing it on purpose, just to start a fight. He had never met anyone so different to him and they argued for almost every little thing on a daily basis. He complained to Hanna every night, he didn't know what to do, he wanted his sister to like him, he wanted to build something great with her, but she only pushed him away. But Hanna told him something that made him keep fighting: "She could go back home whenever she wanted, she could even go to her mother, staying just fifteen minutes away from us, still, every night, she chooses to stay here. She may be having a hard time letting you in, but she's not backing down and neither should you".

There was one thing that he noticed she couldn't hate about his life, and that was racing. Every day she walked down the stairs, he could hear her stop for a few minutes to stare at his pictures on the walls, most of them from his Red Bull days, but some from his now Ferrari era. He could tell that she liked Formula 1, even if she tried to hide it, he could see the spark in her eyes whenever she lingered a little too long on a trophy in the living room, or when he and Hanna went over the last details of the new season starting next month. She always seemed to listen to those conversations without making any mean remarks. That shared interest gave Sebastian an idea, he could take her with him to the races, maybe she would like him a little better if she could see him in his element, doing what he loved and maybe showing off a little. It was also a chance to spend more time with her, just the two of them, getting to know each other better. It could be his chance to be an older brother. She accepted the offer, not before making a whole scene of her showing almost zero interest and telling him that she was doing it more for the chance of meeting cute drivers than to spend time with him. He pretended to believe her, whatever means necessary if it meant her spending time with him.

"Y/N, are you ready?". He yelled from the bottom of the stairs, his German punctuality stressing over the fact that she was taking her sweet time, guaranteeing them to be 10 minutes late for the time he had to be at the airport. 

"Stop yelling! Jesus, you're insufferable". She complained as she walked down the stairs, her luggage heavy and hitting the edge of every step. He almost puked when she stood in front of him and saw what she was wearing. She had a white shirt with a Mercedes logo and number 44, Lewis Hamilton's name written on the back. She smirked at him and he looked back at her seriously, not finding anything funny in her little act. 

"You know my number is 5, and I drive for Ferrari, right?". He loved Lewis, he was one of his closest friends, but there was no way in hell his sister was wearing that to the paddock.

"I know". She simply stated and walked past him, saying goodbye to Hanna and going to the car. He spent the whole ride to the airport thinking of a good excuse to give to his Team Principal about why she was wearing that, but there was nothing that he could come up with.

"Well... That's... something". Maurizio, his team principal said as Y/N sat on the jet and put on her earphones, ignoring everyone.

"She's not my biggest fan". Sebastian admitted, sighing as he looked at his sister buckling up.

"I can see that". Maurizio laughed a bit, finding the situation a lot funnier than Sebastian.

"I already like her". He heard Kimi, his teammate, add without looking up from his phone, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. It was going to be a long season.

To say that a white Mercedes shirt stood out in the sea of red would be an understatement. She was like a LED sign saying "I hate Sebastian Vettel'' and her little number caught the paddock's attention instantly. Walking into the paddock, she quickly ran away from him, going who knows where while he did everything that was required before the first practice. He spent all Friday without seeing her, until it was time to go back to the hotel and on Saturday, she was already making friends around and ignoring him. Her insistent effort to pretend like he didn't exist only fueled him to win, still, Lewis got pole and Kimi followed the Brit on the starting grid. Sebastian was fuming when he saw Y/N grin as she looked at him, satisfied with his anger. She was a menace, like a Vettel, but he could be even pettier, that's why, on Sunday, he ended up winning the race and enjoying the little tantrum she did before going back to the car locking herself in until he was ready to take her back to the hotel.

The next race, Sebastian got pole and won the race, enjoying more the fuming expression of his little sister than the win itself. But then came China and he ended up 8th even though he got pole position and it was her time to laugh. After almost a month hanging around the paddock, Y/N had made a lot of friends, especially with the drivers that were close to her age. She quickly befriended Max Verstappen and Pierre Gasly, who introduced her to the Alfa Romeo rookie, Charles Leclerc. Sebastian liked Charles, he was a talented kid and there was this rumor, almost confirmed, that he was the one that would take Kimi's seat the following season and become Sebastian's teammate. But Charles was a boy, and the German soon discovered he didn't like her sister hanging out with boys. The next two races ended up with Lewis taking the P1 spot and Sebastian wasn't sure what he hated more, losing or his sister being so incredibly happy with Lewis' wins. Maybe what he hated more was Y/N going out every weekend, clubbing with her new favorite drivers while he waited awake and stressed out for her to go back. She was twenty, it wasn't like he could ground her, but she was still a kid in his eyes and the idea of her drinking with those three boys wasn't his happiest thought. 

"I'm going out". She informed him casually, then, he walked out of the bathroom and grabbed his jacket. She looked at him, frowning.

"Let's go". He said as he walked to the door.

"What are you doing?".

"It's obvious, innit?". Replied, smirking and making fun of her accent.

"There's no way you're coming with us". She crossed her arms and they heard her phone ring with a message notification, probably one of the boys telling her that they were outside to pick her up. 

"I'm not asking you. Answer the text, tell your friends that I'm taking us to the club". She opened her mouth to complain, but he saw her face morph into a big grin.

"Sure, Seb". She took her phone out of her purse and quickly replied, with a suspicious look, she watched her walk out of the room and he followed her. 

He learned that night that, if he pushed her buttons, he'd probably end up paying a high price. She drank her weight in alcohol and made out with half the club, she even got into a fight with a guy way bigger than her, and he was the one that ended up with a sore cheek. He had to literally tear her away from Max Verstappen, and then from Charles Leclerc, and somehow, from three other guys. She did everything she knew would make him mad and the next morning, she ignored his 20 minutes long sermon about her actions. But, she didn't win. He kept joining her on her clubbing and made it his mission to keep her away from trouble - and Charles' disrespectful hands, well she wasn't exactly complaining, but Sebastian still didn't like it-. 

It was around their birthdays when they discovered that they were actually having fun together and, before they could notice, they ended up walking out of clubs laughing their asses off. The press had a field day with them, but Ferrari didn't seem to care, and it wasn't like he was getting in any trouble with Hanna for his nights out. Austria was the race before their birthdays and Max won, Sebastian coming in third. The Dutch celebrated shoving his tongue down Y/N's throat and Sebastian decided that he had enough, he could deal with the fights and the drunken mischief, but she was definitely not dating a driver. They spent their birthdays together in England, the first time they had a good time together without alcohol doing its magic. Charles Leclerc sent a gift and it had Sebastian rolling his eyes in annoyance, but it still was a sweet gesture, one he noticed his sister liked a lot. Eleanor was in a better mood, and Sebastian could appreciate a sweeter side of her. It was his best birthday so far. Thirty-one felt great and being an older brother felt even better, even if they still were having some issues. 

The next weekend was Silverstone, and the Vettel siblings fell into their previous dynamic. It was Y/N home race and Sebastian wanted to win it more than anything, but she still wore Lewis' shirt. The Brit got pole position, but Sebastian won the race and, for the first time, his sister congratulated him for his win. They hugged tightly, he even let some tears roll down his face, it was their first time ever hugging. They didn't go out that weekend, instead, the party kids decided to join the Vettels for a nice and tranquil dinner. Sebastian got to appreciate better the developing relationship between his sister and Charles, how the young driver was slowly but surely winning her over, and he didn't like it, Sebastian didn't like it one bit. He thought he disliked Max, but he discovered that he could dislike Charles even more. Hanna noticed, because if there was someone on Earth that knew Sebastian like the back of their hand, that was Hanna. She could see the possessive spark in his eyes, the way he tensed as he watched Charles whisper something in Y/N's ear while she giggled. She knew that he was close to exploding, but to her surprise, Sebastian didn't do anything.

The following six wins from Lewis were interrupted by Sebastian's win in Spa, and again, even if she was still wearing white, his sister was there to congratulate him. He could feel that they were getting closer, but as their relationship got stronger, so did hers with Charles. By the end of the 2018 season, Sebastian finished second in the championship and his sister had officially started dating Charles, who was confirmed to become his teammate for the 2019 season. It was going to be uncomfortable, especially since Sebastian had made clear that he didn't like the relationship. He was convinced that Charles would cheat on her, because there were very few drivers that could be trusted and, from Sebastian's perspective, Charles wasn't in that selective group. She spent Christmas with the Vettels and her mother and New Year in Monaco, with the Leclercs. Sebastian was fuming, but he did what he could to keep himself in check. His relationship with Y/N was better, but she still kept him at arms distance, she still didn't trust him fully. 

There were no words to express just how happy Sebastian was when he saw her dressed in Ferrari red, but the number 16 was definitely bugging him. Him and Charles got asked a lot about the tension of being teammates and in-laws in press conferences, and the German did what he could to play it cool, even if he was constantly day-dreaming about cutting Charles' hands off. Charles was nice and seemed to admire Sebastian a lot, he was a four times world champion after all, but the older driver just couldn't stand the Monegasque. It was a shame, because if it wasn't for Charles' relationship with Y/N, Sebastian was sure that he would like Charles. The thing is, he was jealous, he hated the fact that she trusted Charles more than him, even if she had known him for less time. The couple shared so much, and Sebastian just wanted his sister to share just one little thing with him, but they were in this weird position where she accepted him as her brother, but they weren't close. Charles had gone to her house, been in her room, knew what she liked, knew childhood stories and shared some inside jokes with her. Sebastian didn't know anything more than what he could guess from the time they had known each other, but she refused to share information with him. They were amicable, but they didn't have a bond and Sebastian hated that she did form one with Charles.

Mercedes dominated and won the first eight races, Max won Austria again and then, after a very tense first half of the year, it was Sebastian and Y/N's birthdays again. After that, came Silverstone, and the tension that had been building up for so long was finally ready to explode. The race was the last drop, the glass was full and Sebastian was ready to set the world on fire. Charles finished on the podium and Sebastian 16th, after being given a ten-seconds penalty for nosing Max's car with his Ferrari. He did the best he could to smile for the cameras but he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and take the longest shower of his life. He watched Y/N kiss and hug Charles before he went to the podium and something inside him just snapped. He grabbed his sister and pulled her to the Ferrari garage as quietly as possible. They started arguing, because they were amazing at getting each other angry, and what started as a petty but harmless sibling fight, ended up with Y/N crying her eyes out and storming out of his driver's room. He went back to the hotel and took his so wanted shower, but when he got out, he didn't feel any better. As the time passed, he felt worse, and when he got an angry message from Eleanor, he knew that he had to fix what he had broken. He knew that she wasn't exactly helping to make things easier, but he was the big brother and if he really wanted the role, then he had to step up.

The trip to Eleanor's house wasn't long, and he noticed that he spent more time standing outside the door than he spent driving there. It was the first time he went there, the previous year they celebrated their birthdays in a restaurant and Y/N had refused to invite him to their home. He walked up to the door and after three failed tries, he finally rang the bell. He waited, the anxiety eating him alive, his heart beating faster as he heard footsteps getting closer to the door, what he didn't expect was Charles to be on the other side of it. He frowned, while the younger driver looked back at him, unamused. Charles actually looked like he was judging him and that angered the german, still, he did his best to contain himself and remembered, he was there to apologize. 

"She's not here". Charles said and Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him, Charles rolling his eyes and then explaining. "She went to buy some ice-cream with her mom".

"Can I come in and wait for them?". He saw Charles hesitate, but then move aside to let him in. They sat on the living room sofa, in complete silence. Sebastian took a moment to look around, a lot of pictures of his sister hanging on the walls. "Do they leave you alone here often?".

"Well, yeah". Sebastian was curious, how could Charles have all that privilege while he was constantly begging for his sister's attention.

"This is my first time here". He admitted, and Charles just nodded, shifting uncomfortably on his end of the couch.

"Uhm... I know". Sebastian just scoffed. 

"Of course you know. You know more about my sister and our relationship than me". Charles could hear the venom dripping from the words and tried to calm down.

"Don't say that. It's not like I know everything". The sour laugh Sebastian let out was pushing Charles closer to the edge.

"Well, you must be more than aware that she hates me". 

"She doesn't-". But the other cut him off.

"Don't lie to me, not about this". It was the hurt in Sebastian's voice that gave Charles the last push.

"Come with me". Charles got up and he followed, both of them walking up the stairs and stopping in front of a white door, Y/N name painted on it. "I promised her I wouldn't tell you, but I can't stand this anymore". The Monegasque opened the door and walked in, Sebastian right behind him. The sight inside left him speechless: His face was everywhere. There were posters, Red Bull merchandising, Ferrari flags, everything with the number 5, everything with his name. The posters were notoriously old, some were even roughed up by the years. "I know that you think she knew about you her whole life, but she didn't. She got a letter, for her twentieth birthday, from your father. Her mother had to tell her then, the truth about who her father was. But the craziest thing is, she was your biggest fan, even when she didn't know you were related. She saw you win your first championship when she was thirteen and begged her mother to buy her everything she could find about you. You were her hero. She worshiped you, Seb".

"I signed this". He said, his fingers faintly gazing at a Red Bull cap that was hanging from the headboard of the bed.

"She went to Silverstone 2012, Webber won, you were third. She was outside the paddock when you walked up to them as you were going in. Signed her cap and told her to follow her dreams. It meant the world to her. She used to race in karting". He couldn't stop the tears even if he wanted to, full on crying as he sat on the bed and hugged the cap close to his chest.

"But then why does she hate me so much?". How could this happen? She felt it, she felt the bond. Even when they didn't know, she did, deep down, she did. 

"Your father went back to your family, left her mom alone, then her mother wanted him out completely when she had the baby. She just grew up hating the man that used her mom as a night-stand and then ran back to Germany. When she learned that the same man she hated her whole life was also your dad... it was just too much". Charles walked up to the bed and sat down next to him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "She loves you, Seb. She loves you so much".

"What the fuck, Charles?!". They both looked up and found Y/N and Eleanor standing at the door, Y/N furious as she gripped a bowl of ice-cream. The Monegasque opened his mouth to explain, but she was quicker. "How could you do this to me?".

"Mon amour, I'm so-".

"Bullshit! You're not sorry, you're a fucking traitor". Her accent got a lot thicker the angrier she got. Sebastian, still crying, got up and stood in front of her.

"Don't, please, don't get mad at him". Sebastian begged. "I needed to know this, I needed to know that you actually like me. Y/N, please, I love you so much. I dreamed and begged for you my whole life, you have no idea how much happier I am knowing that you exist. I know that my father was a piece of shit to you both, I know that I can't fix that, but please, I'm begging you, give me a chance". He saw her doubt, he saw her hurt, but the moment she jumped on him and gripped him tightly he knew they were never letting go. "Thank you". He whispered on her hair and she just squeezed him on a deadly grip. They pulled apart and she looked at Charles, who was patiently waiting for her to forgive him, or kick him out. "You know, Charles is alright. I mean, 16 is not that bad of a number".

"I'd rather wear number 5, though". She said and Charles looked down. "But I don't want to be a shitty girlfriend, so I guess I can wear a cap with the number 16 along with my Vettel shirt". Charles looked up again and smiled wide at her. "Okay, listen, I swear to God, if you spill my secrets again, I'm dumping your ass".

"Won't happen again, Amour, I promise". He then looked at Sebastian. "So... I'm alright?".

"Don't push it, Leclerc". 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This story was based on a real case of two brothers separated when they were little, and the younger became a fan of his older brother's band without knowing they were related. It was really bittersweet when they discovered that they were brothers. I hope you liked this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

"Hm, not that one. Dear, I think the last one was it. Perfectly traditional, without being stuffy," Winnifred insists.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your pick is everything you prefer. Simple and easy. Not uncomfortable. Not fussy laces or elaborate beading and endless skirts. Just a dress.

Of course, it wouldn't be good enough for a king. Nor his mother. You temper your disappointment. You assume that will need to become a habit. Your opinion, as always, is secondary.

"I suppose it it a bit plain," you agree, "sure. We can go with the last one."

"Are you sure?" Kitty pushes her shoulders up as she slides to the edge of the seat.

"Yes, it's fine," you assure her.

"Congratulations," the associate steps forward. "Shall we get you back in it?"

"No, you can just put in the order," you say. You are in no rush to have her ream on those laces again.

"Of course, you've had a long day," she agrees sheepishly, if not with a hint of surprise. Eight hours is a long day. Too long to spend in a shop. "You should ring the bell. Since you found your dress."

"The bell?" You question then glance over at the other women. "Okay."

The associate flits off and you stand listless in the dress you'll mourn with your previous life. When she returns, she has a big golden bell. She gives you a speech about your happy day and hands it over. You give it a jingle then just as quickly give it back.

"You sure you don't want to try it on again?" Winnifred asks.

You shake your head, "sorry, it's been a long few days."

"Oh, yes, our condolences," Rebecca intones. "Mother, I think Bucky might already have a few words for us for keeping his bride so long already."

"Yes, despite my best efforts, he can be a greedy little boy," Winnifred laughs.

You attempt a smile. You can imagine it's more of a quiver in your lips. Winnifred stands, the other women as well, your sisters hesitant. The three of you are cautiouslt wading through this new world. One where you're no long insignificant. The threat of your father's disapproval has been replaced by a greater one.

You did this. You and your selfish impulsivity. You could excuse yourself for fear or desperation, but you can blame yourself just as much for not thinking out the consequences. Not that you could ever guess they would involve a white gown and diamond ring.

There is some chatter as you are taken back to the lobby. Winnifred attends to the payment as you retreat in embarrassment. Your sisters exchange a none-so-subtle look of concern.

"Well then, girls," the matriarch turns with an accomplished sigh, "allow us to escort you love bridesmaids home." She declares, "I believe you," she stops in front of you and takes your hand, "are due to meet your beloved. Do tell my son I send my tidings. Certainly it won't be long until I might do so myself."

Your sisters stir nervously. You glance at them and nod. Just do what you're told. It's always been the best strategy.

"That's very kind of you,, Winnifred," Kitty speaks first.

"Ah not at all, I should like to see your side of town. I am painfully nosy, though I might paint it as curiousity," she lets you go. "And you might give me some insight into my future daughter. She is rather enigmatic thus far."

You wince. Of course, it all methodical. You claim your jackets and emerge outside. Wanda, Rebecca, and Natasha claim one car, your sisters and Winnifred the next, and another idles as you approach.

The driver comes around and pulls open the door. You hate that. It feels as if you are a puppet on strings. You move to the tugs and tweaks of Barnes' all reaching hand.

You lower yourself onto the seat, peering on ahead of you, and hesitate before you slide in. You don't expect him to be waiting for you there. The door closes as you shift further in. Barnes' takes your hand before you can settle and kisses your knuckle above the ostentatious stone setting.

"Doll," he purrs.

"Barnes," you greet plaintively.

"Ah, you don't gotta be like that," he drawls as he clings to your hand, his thumb feeling the stones.

"Sorry," you nibble your lip. "I'm only tired."

"Yes, I hope you found something," he says. "Ladies and their dresses."

"Mm, yes," you affirm.

He tuts, "you don't sound very excited."

"Not sure I'm fit to wear white..." you mutter.

"Doesn't bother me, doll. We've both lived lives before we met--"

"Not that," you interject, surprisingly yourself at your curtness. "You know why."

He inhales deeply and sighs, "he got all he had coming. We both know that."

"Yes, but it was me...." you trail off and shrug.

You sense him watching you. You stare ahead and swallow down all those confusing emotions. "It's done, I suppose."

"I respect the apathy, doll, but you don't gotta play cool with me," he insists.

"I don't give-- I don't care about him."

He nods and gives a thoughtful im, "your sisters. Have I not proven myself to you? I told you I'd see to them, I'm a man of my word.”

“I believe it,” you resign. “It's… a lot. I don't think I'm what you think. I don't think I can do this.” You slump in defeat. “I'm not what you're looking for. You've made a bad choice.”

“Hmph,” he scoffs. “That you even got the guts to tell me so shows me you're wrong. You don't know how right you are for me, doll.”

He snakes his arm behind you and pulls you close. “Now you're not gonna roll over and show your belly. Not if you're my woman.”

“I'm not…”

“We were both in that warehouse,” he lowers his voice as his fingertips curl into your hip. His other hand brushes over your lap. “You did what needed to be done. Just like today. Just like yesterday. Every step of the way You've shown me exactly what you say you're not.”

“Bucky, I just wanted to be free,” you latch onto his forearm. “That's all–”

“You're free. And safe. You know what I'd do for you, doll? What I'll do to keep you safe? Happy? To keep you mine.” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, “that's the one thing about me you haven't figured out. I'm stubborn. I put my mind to something and I do it. Exactly what you did when you showed up battered and begging–”

“Please,” you rasp and his nose tickles down your cheek and he dips down to kiss your neck. His lips and beard send a tingle through you.

“On my honour, you'll never look like that again. You'll never be bruised and the hand that dares to lay a single blemish on you will be cut off,” he nips your skin.

The tenor of his voice brooks no doubt nor the tight grip his keeps on your thigh. His hot breath blooms around your neck and he growls. You made a deal with the devil and now he's come to collect.

[writeforfandoms]

JENNNNNNNN

i am coming to you on hands and knees requesting anything star wars related. what are your thoughts on Boba Fett stumbling across reader left for dead??? maybe he's in a good mood and takes pity on us 😌 honestly im fine with whatever you cook up

Hee hee hee. Oh I have some Thoughts on this, indeed I do. I'm trying not to let myself get carried away with this, because I could probably write like... 5k on this. But! Here's a little something at least.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, threats of violence, off screen violence, mention of injuries, blood, sass and swearing.

Word count: 1.3k

GN!reader

Boba Fett was not a kind man. He had not lived a gentle life. In fact, he had done things that other men would weep at, had taken lives and destroyed them. 

No. He was not a kind man. Not gentle. Not soft. 

But his time as Daimyo had, perhaps, made him… indulgent. 

He stared down at the form below him. A person, curled on their side, one arm still protecting their head and one arm protecting their belly. Good instincts, although it hadn't seemed to serve them well. 

He didn't know this person. He didn't make it a point to know everyone in town, after all. Mostly just the noisy ones. So this person in the sand, alone, away from both the town and the palace, did not have a name to go with the bloodied face. 

If they died, perhaps he'd find out, if only to know who to send condolences to. 

He knelt carefully, knees creaking and protesting the movement. He'd not been kind to his body, which his joints especially now reminded him of. 

To his surprise, there was still a pulse. Weak, fluttering, but there. 

He paused, then. He could leave. Walk away. Leave them to die in the sands. 

Almost immediately, his heart rebelled. He would not leave someone to die in these sands, as he had been left to die years before. Especially since this person was not an enemy. Not a threat. 

“Fennec will never let me hear the end of this,” he murmured to himself, briefly making a face behind his helmet. Gloved hands found secure grips on the lax body, and he lifted. It was not as easy as it had once been, but he managed well enough. “If you live through the night, that is.” 

Even loaded down with new cargo as he was, it didn't take him long to return to his speeder bike, and from there to the palace. It was an interesting balancing act, to keep himself and his passenger from tipping over into the sands, but one he managed well enough. 

To his complete and utter lack of surprise, Fennec greeted him before he'd made it even two steps inside the palace. 

“Is picking up strays going to become a habit?” Her tone lacked real bite, and she opened the door ahead of him. 

He grunted, shifting the dead weight in his arms, lowering them gently to a bed. “It wouldn't need to be if no one was left to die in the sands.” 

Fennec huffed, a sound of mixed amusement and frustration. “I'll grab the bacta.” 

–

You woke slowly, aching and stiff. But still alive.

That made no sense. 

Cracking open your eyes proved to be a monumental effort, and you winced as light hit your eyes. It wasn't even that bright, you discovered after a minute of blinking streaming eyes. Just enough to see by. 

To see that you were in a room. Not on the sands. Not being cooked under the suns. 

What had happened after you'd passed out? 

Attempting to push up to sit proved to be a painful and fruitless endeavor, and you hissed out a pained breath as you gave up and laid back down. 

“I wouldn't try to move yet.” 

You felt like you nearly broke your neck trying to find the source of that voice. A woman, in orange and black, standing in a shadowed corner of the room. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but only coughed, throat too dry to make any intelligible sounds. 

“Here.” The woman crossed the room in a few long strides, offering you water. Your hands shook a little as you accepted, drinking your fill. 

“Where am I?” You kept hold of the water, hands clenched around the cup to hide your trembling. Not that you thought you were successful - the woman seemed too perceptive. 

“The Daimyo's palace.” Her lips quirked in amusement at your noise of surprise. “The boss will see you soon. For now, get some more rest.” She waved one negligent hand at you, already turning for the door. “It takes time to recover from almost dying.” 

The door shut behind her with a soft click, leaving you alone to your thoughts and your pains. Your pains were plentiful, making you grimace even as you finished your water. Your thoughts were more muddled and confused. 

Mainly because you still had no idea how exactly you had ended up here, of all places. 

Oh, sure, you knew of the Daimyo. Everyone knew of him, especially after the battle that had ranged the streets of Mos Espa. It was relatively well known that he was not a cruel man, nor a careless one. 

But none of your knowledge explained why you were here. 

It took a while for anyone else to come to your room. The door opened slowly, creakily. You turned your gaze from your own hands to the open doorway, having struggled upright some time ago. 

Green armor and black robes - the Daimyo himself. 

You froze, unsure if you should bow, more unsure if you even could right at that moment. 

He stepped into the room, slow but without hesitation. The helmet stayed fixed on you as he moved to a chair against the wall and sank down into it. 

Only then did he remove the helmet. 

You'd never seen him up close without his helmet. The silvery scars across his scalp caught the dim light, drawing your gaze, before you looked back at his eyes. You wouldn't stare, at least. 

“I found you half-dead on the sands,” he said, voice lowered and rough. “Unconscious.” 

“And you saved me?” You couldn't help the incredulity in your voice, or the way your fingers twisted into the bed linens. 

“I did.” He tipped his head, dark eyes surveying you carefully. 

“Thank you.” There wasn't much else you could say, not without more information, but you were at least glad to still be alive. 

“Who left you there?”

You swallowed. Ah. Of course. He wanted to know more. As was his right, you supposed, having saved you and all. 

“I don't know him well,” you started, gaze dropping to your hands where they curled and twisted around the sheets. “I caught him with spice, clearly planning to sell. I wouldn't care much, but I know the kids around there. So I told him to go elsewhere.” You grimaced. “Don't think he took my suggestion.” 

“Do you know his name?” 

You shrugged. “First name, sure. I can tell you where he was, give you a description.” 

He nodded slowly. “Why did you confront him?” 

You couldn't help yourself. You snorted, and then dearly regretted it. Eyes still watering from pain, you managed to choke out, “I couldn't not. Not like I meant to get into a fight, not that it was much of a fight.” 

He was quiet, then, watching you still with that absolute focus. Then he nodded once more, pushing back to his feet, helmet in hand. 

“You will stay here to recover,” he decided. “I will find this man and remind him why exactly he should not go behind his Daimyo's back.” 

“Thank you,” you said again, somewhere between grateful and annoyed. “But I can go home to recover.” 

“Not until I find out how many are involved,” he said, an easy declaration that left no room for argument. “You will be safe here.” He lifted his helmet, sliding it back into place, leaving you once again looking into the black visor. “Get some rest.” 

He swept out of the room as regally as he'd swept in, the door closing behind him. 

Well. That was one way to win an argument, you supposed, eyes closing against your will. Hard to argue with someone who's not present. 

Well. Maybe this stay wouldn't be all bad. At least you wouldn't have to hobble around your own kitchen.