#...and i fucking hate that every damn time it comes back to me

[tennisthatcher]

art plotting on you (he’s so girlie).

art who.. first saw you in the crowd at one of his stanford matches. tashi brought you along after the two of you bonded over being the only two intelligent people in your philosophy lecture and decided to hang out outside of class. he nearly choked on his water when his gaze flickered over the crowd and caught you during his break between sets. you had to have been the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. the way your hair framed your face? the way the sun made your skin glow? your laugh? he was sure he was a goner when he started to look around for cupid and where she could’ve shot that damn arrow from to make him fall this hard.

art who.. lost his match, naturally, as he was too busy catching glimpses of you and not focused enough on the rally between him and mr. who cares from notre dame. both you and tashi came down to congratulate him on a game well (poorly) played and so tashi could properly introduce the two of you.

art who.. felt like he was in a trance the moment he heard your voice. the way you said your name. he stared at you like an idiot and could only hope that blistering california sun would cover up the fact that your hand in his was the cause of the flush working its way up his body.

art who.. studied tashi’s calendar, memorizing when you both had class and ate lunch together so that he could conveniently get lunch around the same time and sit with you both. you welcomed him with open arms, wanting to know more about him and possibly be friends since you didn’t have many on campus. but tashi saw through his attempts, knowing that he was acting the same way with you that he was with her back when patrick and tashi had started dating.

art who.. started to catch you around campus, picking up small conversations with you whenever he could and remembering every detail that you’d share. he damn near wrote down every fact he knew about you in his notes, from you mother being sick to that one time you slipped down the stairs in school, making sure to go over them every time he left the dorm in hopes of finding and striking up a conversation with you.

art who.. made patrick practically hate you without even knowing you because he talked about you so much. cutting him off after his fifteen minute long rants about you with “dude, seriously? just ask her out already. or stop fucking talking about her.”

art who.. practically avoided you for a week out of anxiety while he pestered tashi constantly to help him come up with the perfect date idea. when you noticed his absence in what would be your everyday run ins, you consulted tashi, wondering if there was anything you had done to offend him. art nearly cried when tashi reported back to him that you thought you had scared him away, deciding to rush his plan and ask you that friday instead of a few weeks ahead.

art who.. practically cornered you in front of your dorm building, clearly out of breath after running around campus to try and find you. “i’m— you didn’t scare me away,” he started, his face beet red as he tried to catch his breath. “i’m just an idiot. i really— fuck.” he turned away for a moment, looking away from your stunned expression of confusion as he clenched onto the tulips he bought for you, remembering they were your favorite flower. he eventually got his thoughts together, turning around once more and looking at you with a nervous smile on his face as he finally confessed his feelings and asked you on a date, holding out the bouquet for you to take.

art who.. was genuinely shocked when you had accepted the flowers and his ask for a date, reciprocating his feelings with a smile. the flush that he had just gotten rid of creeping right back up his neck, smiling and nodding like an idiot as you invited him into your dorm building to hang out in the lounge together. he had to remind himself to thank tashi for practically interviewing you while he stayed away to (hopefully, no— successfully) make you his.

this is just my mind rambling and me typing it down at random but thank you for 50 followers <3 halfway to 100 i 🫀you all !!!!!!

[huggybearhughes43]

Can you write like the smuttyist smut ever in life about Jack Hugh’s pleaseee

It was always you

Jack Hughes x Fem! reader

Summary- Jacks new girlfriend is a little overly jealous of reader. But then, turns out, reader has to break the news to Jack that she caught his girlfriend kissing another man.

Warnings- Smut, raw dawggin, creampie, mentions of jacks injury, cheating (don't do that), technically not public sex but very exposed.

Word count- 3.2k

Jack Hughes was injured.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or to feel bad, a little bit of both, I guess.

Jack was an asshole, everyone knew that. Especially me, I’d practically grown up with him. I never liked him, or course, but he was always there. Our mothers were inseparable, so I found myself at the lake house every spring break and summer since I was a kid.

Coming with that, was being stuck in the presence of Jack. I didn’t know what I did but all of his (many, many, many) girlfriends he’d bring to the lake house hated me. Every. Single. One. Maybe I was intimidating, or maybe they thought I was ugly. Who knows? They couldn’t be jealous because despite being in the same house as Jack, I spent my time bound at the hip with his older brother, Quinn.

The reaction I had to Jack’s injury replayed in my head. The smile on my lips when he goes head first into the boards perfectly explained the relationship we had. But the smile dropping when he didn’t stand up explained our parent’s relationship. I couldn’t sleep that night, nerves getting to me. Not for Jack, he has a hard head so I knew he’d be fine, but for his mom.

He’d gotten his surgery shortly after, Ellen assuring that everything was alright. I didn’t get this reassurance directly but through my mother. All was well, he was back to being an asshole, even more than usual without his hockey. Thus, all of the nervousness leaving as fast as it developed.

But as spring break rolled around, I dreaded the thought of my mom begging me to go to the lake house. I gave in Every. Damn. Time.

Which brought me here, slowly walking out of my front door. My two bags were over my shoulder as I dragged my feet across the pavement. I hear banging on the side of the car, my eyes look up.

“Hurry up, sunshine, we don’t got all day”

Jack fucking Hughes. I roll my eyes at his mean smile from the drivers seat. I fight the urge of flipping him off as I pass the window to put my bags in the trunk.

I flop down in the backseat, between my mother and Luke. I figured Quinn would be in the front seat but no, it was yet another unfamiliar girl. The drive was long, long, and even longer. When we arrived I was asleep on my mom’s shoulder. She shakes me off her shoulder to wake me. I sit up and rub my eyes. Once my hands drop my eyes catch Jack’s in the rearview mirror.

That’s weird.

Before I can say anything, Luke tosses me my bags and I get out of the car.

As pretty as i remember it. The lake house, I mean, the view had always been beautiful. I snapped out of my thoughts as I hear my name called and the second I look over, I’m wrapped up in arms and lifted off of my feet.

“Oh, y/n! I’ve missed you.”

This must be what heaven feels like- wait… no- hell. Definitely hell. No.. air- I’m let go.

“Jesus”

I rub my ribs as I’m sat down.

“Sorry”

A very smiley Quinn Hughes says from in front of me.

I haul myself inside and up to the room that was designated to me. This place was huge, everyone had their own room and there was still space for a quest room. I guess my family and I weren’t quite considered guests anymore. I’m greeted by the boys parents before I make it up the stairs.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

I change out of my sweats and into a more presentable outfit of a loose baby tee and some denim shorts. I braid my hair quickly and put sunglasses on the top of my head, full intention on convincing my mom to take photos for my instagram.

I take the last step off of the stairs, greeted with a scoff from the girl I didn’t even know the name of. I look her up and down before walking right past her. But not before I caught the eye of Jack behind her, his arms around her waist. I ignore it, walking outside to my mother.

My mom pushed me to stand on the dock, posing as she took photos, the golden glow of the setting sun shining against my skin. She has me sit down at the end, toes in the water as I look to the side. The side towards the house. The side towards the house that I could see an obviously pissed girl sitting next to Jack by the pool.

Weird…

I stand to take my phone back, interrupted by a heavy weight pushing against me and the next thing I knew, I was in the lake. I resurface to see my mom taking photos while giggling. I look to my side to see Quinn. I scoff playfully and splash him before hoisting myself back on the dock.

“You’re going to be the one doing my laundry”

I point down to my soaked outside and Quinn just laughs before following me back onto the dock. I thank my mom before taking my phone back and scurrying back inside.

I change quickly back into a comfortable outfit before returning outside. Quinn was stationed at the grill, Jack and what’s her face at the pool, and Luke in a deep conversation with our parents.

I sit down and open my phone, my eyes catching a notification.

“Quinn Hughes and his longtime best friend: Dating?”

I almost laugh as I click the notification. Amelia Blake. Huh? Oh. My eyes snap up from my phone, landing on Jacks girlfriend. I look back down at my phone. “Amelia Blake posted, two images attached.” I open the notification and my eyes widen at photos of Quinn hugging me earlier. No fucking way.

It is so on.

I stand to my feet, as I approach the pair, I realize she’s on a live video. Oh yes, yes, yes. Trevor must’ve rubbed off on Jack. So unfortunate.

“Hello everyone” she smiles “I’m at my amazing boyfriend’s lake house!” She tilts the phone towards Jack who forces a smile. Embarrassing. “I see rumors spreading off of the photos I’ve posted, and I’d just like to say-“

I cut her off before she can finish.

“Lying bitch”

And with a shove, she’s in the pool. Jacks eyes widen and he looks back at me. Something tells me he hadn’t seen the photos yet. I turn backwards as she reemerges. I don’t catch her words but I do catch that she is pissed. I walk back inside, sure that eyes were on me.

I don’t leave my room until Quinn knocks, telling me dinner was ready. I’m still mad, can’t deny that. I look up from my phone.

“You saw what she did, right? I didn’t start anything.”

He laughs and nods. Laughs? I didn’t find it funny. He shouldn’t either, I mean, just lowered his chances of getting a girlfriend.

“Don’t be pissed, our parents are on your side.”

“Oh”

And with that I follow him down to the dinner table which was already set. I sit between my mom and Ellen. Lucky me, Jack and Amelia were right across from me. Her once curled hair was now straight, her makeup melted off. Was anything real about this girl? She was pissed, livid, really. She was sitting in an oversized hoodie and shorts, jacks hoodie. Jacks New Jersey devils hoodie.

I take a bite of the food, if Quinn wasn’t a hockey player, I was sure he’d be a chef. I look up at Amelia.

“You’re sporting a team he’s not even playing for right now”

Ow, that’s what goes through my head when my leg is kicked under the table. My eyes narrow on an obviously guilty Luke as he looks away. But my gaze snaps back to Amelia.

“At least I’m dating someone who’s even capable of being successful.” She pauses “Well, at least I’m dating someone at all, you couldn’t even if you tried.”

My eyebrows raise, everyone was quiet.

“Really? Because you have all the fans thinking I’m dating a captain.”

Quinn covers his mouth, keeping composed instead of laughing. It would fuel the fire, so he held it in. Amelia scoffs and stands, storming off. I cross my arms and lean back, my eyes snapping to Jack. He was eating quietly, weird…

“Geez, Jack” his dad laughs, “where do you find these girls?”

“Sorry”

He mutters, eyes on me, before standing up himself and following after her. My eyes go to Quinn to make sure he heard that and he just shrugs. His dad’s word prove Quinn’s words from earlier, I’m so glad they were on my side.

The next morning, I’m greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a golden retriever. Oh, wait no, that’s just an overly energetic Trever Zegras.

“Hey Trev”

I give him a fist bump as I pass him. I’m wearing a white sundress today, my hair still braided from yesterday. I sit at the island counter with Trevor, catching up. Then my phone chimes, “Amelia Blake tweeted”. I’m about to sit the phone back down when another notification pops up, “You were mentioned in Amelia Blake’s post.”

I look at Trevor before I open the notification.

“@y/n.username is the definition of slut. I mean, not only is she flirting with the brothers but also their friends? How desperate.”

Trevor gasps and I look back at Amelia who’s sitting on the couch, tangled in Jack’s arms. He was quiet, too quiet. Did he know she posted that? He probably encouraged her. I shrug it off and tell Trevor it’s okay.

Then my mom announces the bright idea to go shopping in town.

And now I’m in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car, trying my best to avoid Amelia. I stay with Quinn the whole trip, if he didn’t care about the stupid rumor then neither did I. We all walk along the strip of shops together. Amelia practically drags the group into a makeup store and clothing store. I’m looking at bathing suits with the newly joined Dixie, which Trevor abandoned to go explore the store with Quinn.

I look up at the makeup section. Jack looked miserable, not that I cared or anything. Okay I sound like I’m in denial, maybe I care a little bit. Amelia was distracted and so I tell Dixie I’ll be right back. I walk next to Jack.

“Are you going to talk about what’s going on, or what?”

Jack looks down at me and sighs.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, I already apologized.”

So it’s about me? Why is this about me?

“You’re upset over me..?”

“She’s jealous because she saw some fan saying we’d be cute together.” He looks back up “you can go back to whatever you were doing.”

Right, that makes sense. No the fuck it does not. I backtrack and go back to Dixie.

I’m pretty silent for the rest of the trip. It ends with us eating lunch at a local cafe. I talk with Dixie about the whole time while eating. I pay to mind when Amelia excuses herself, Jack busies himself by talking to his brothers and Trevor. I excuse myself a little later to use the restroom.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see on the way to the bathroom but it was not Amelia kissing another guy. And I’m the slut? Makes total sense. When my anger fades from her, I can’t shake the aching feeling when I realize I have to tell Jack. I pull out my phone and snap a photo before going to the bathroom and back to the table.

Amelia is already back when I sit down. I contemplate posting the photo to ruin her reputation but then I remind myself of Jack who would be more than likely hurt. So I wait it out, I wait until we’re back home and everyone’s asleep.

I’m still thinking about whether or not to tell him as I sit by the pool with my feet in the water. I’m wearing a new bikini that I bought from the shop, deep red. I hear the door open and close but I don’t care to look back. Only do I look when then person sits next to me. Jack. I take a deep breath before speaking.

“This isn’t meant to hurt you but-“ I open my phone and scroll through the photos, showing him the one I took.

He shakes his head. He just shakes his head.

“Figured.”

“Excuse me?”

“No ones that jealous unless they’re reflecting”

He leans back on the palm of his hands and I go quiet, looking away. I set my phone down before speaking again.

“Why haven’t you been the typical asshole like you always are?”

“Mom told me you were worried,” he looks at me “when I got injured. I didn’t know you cared.”

My mouth opens but it closes before I can get anything out.

“I was only an asshole because I thought you hated me.”

“Oh”

“And besides, I was pretty pissed she posted that photo of you and Quinn. She did it because she was jealous. Shes so getting booted out of this house first thing in the morning.”

I hold in my laugh, as I look down at my lap. Jacks sits up and I speak.

“How do you really feel about me?” I look up at him “If you were only an asshole because you thought I hated you.”

He thinks for a moment before speaking,

“I had a crush on you when we were little.”

He admits.

“I guess being mean helped it but it never really went away. I guess admitting that, Amelia has every right no be jealous.”

“Not when she kissed that rando.”

I didn’t know what else to say. How could I when I just found out that a boy I thought hated me my whole life actually liked me? What? He shrugs and we just look at each other for a moment. I clear my throat and look away.

“Wanna make her even more jealous?”

Jack asks abruptly and I look at him like he’s grown two heads.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me kiss you.”

My eyes widen.

“Excuse me?”

Then he bursts out laughing.

“For a photo, I mean, she’d be pissed. Then you can post the one you showed me, ruin her reputation.”

Sweet, sweet revenge.

“Fine”

His lips were even sweeter.

He grabs my phone, not disconnecting our lips as he takes the photo. He only does when he looks at the screen.

“Good?”

He asks me and I nod, literally speechless. He tosses my phone aside on a lawn chair.

“So what-“

“Shut up.”

I cut him off and press my lips to his once again. I can feel his shit eating grin against my lips and his hands tangle in my hair. All my rational thoughts? Out the fucking window. I move and straddle his hips. He pulls away, the smile still on his face,

“Here?”

I don’t respond but instead I kiss him again. He doesn’t protest again when my hands slide under his shirt. He pulls it off, disconnecting our lips for only a moment. My eyes look down at his chest and torso. I’d seen it a million times but it was different this time. My eyes linger on a scar just above his collar bone, from the surgery.

I pepper kisses along it, careful to not put real pressure. The second I pull away, he pulls me back up to kiss his lips. His hands wander to the string of my bikini top, pausing.

“Positive?”

“Jack, please”

That’s all he needs before pulling the string, the top falling off of me. He wastes no time, craning his down to run his tongue along my chest.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”

He mumbles before taking one of my nipples into his mouth, his hand cupping the other. He stays like that for a moment before switching. I practically melt into his touch, my hands tangling into his hair.

He pulls away, looking up at me as if asking me if I want to keep going. My answer is me reaching down and tugging his swim shorts down. A smirk plays on his lips as he helps me pull them down. His hands are fast to untie my bikini bottoms the second his shorts are down.

A week ago I would’ve laughed in someone’s face if they simply told me I’d be kissing Jack. But now? Now I was lining him up to me. I gnaw at my lip as we keep our eyes on each other, his hands grip my hips to pull me down onto him.

I hold his shoulders, carful to not touch the injury. I gasp as he bottoms out inside.

“Holy fuck-“

“I know, I’ve got you.”

and he wasn’t lying. He pulls my hips up and down on him, I didn’t even have to move myself. He throws his head back and holds himself up with one palm when I start moving myself.

He was big. Well, the biggest I’ve had. I roll my hips as I move up at down. The sight on his mouth slightly ajar and he watches me nearly throws me over the edge. That would’ve been embarrassing, surely he’d picked on me for it.

His fingers gripped harshly on my hip. The feeling of his dick dragging against my walls has me gasping his name. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, burying my head into his non injured shoulder. His dick twitches as he moans softly.

“Where-“

“Inside”

I gasp,

“I’m on birth control.”

He knew that, I just wanted to remind him. He doesn’t protest to the idea, a few more bounces and he does just what I suggested. The feeling of his warm cum sends me completely over the edge, my juices mixing with his.

I stop moving as just sit with him inside for a moment, my head resting on his shoulder. He sits up and wraps his arms around me.

“I’m so fucking stupid, it was always you.”

“Can’t disagree with that”

I smile lazily as I sit up. He rolls his eyes playfully before pulling both of us to stand up. He adjusts his shorts before grabbing a towel to wrap around me. He grabs my bikini before pulling me inside and up to my room.

We shower.

We dress.

We lay down.

We. I just fucked the guy I despised my whole life? Did I regret it? Fuck no.

I lay in his arms in the bed, scrolling through my phone when I remember the whole reason we were in that situation. I go onto instagram and post the photo on my story with the caption “She thought I had the wrong brother” I tag Jack then post.

I mute my phone before nestling into an already sleeping Jacks chest, falling asleep myself.

[syoddeye]

down the hatch 5 / je ne sais quoi

141 x f!reader | ~1.8k | series page tags: spanking, anger issues, big emotions, bad jokes a/n: banner by @/cafekitsune.

somewhere between swats fourteen and fifteen, a thought interrupts the fuzzy broadcast of your brain to scream—this is what gaz was missing.

the je ne sais quoi. the hate.

gaz isn’t a fan, you think, but he doesn’t loathe you. john, on the other hand? it’s almost inspiring.

if you’re going to spank someone, you gotta mean it, y’know?

the pain and shock melt into a stinging numbness. from the ragged breaths above, it sounds like john’s losing steam with every swing. big idiot probably thinks you’ll come out of this all docile, ready to fall into line like his three stooges.

you twist your head, smearing your cheek through drool, and point a grin over your shoulder.

“put your back into it, old man.”

he winds up, arm high, and holds it. “you’re a brat.”

then it comes down harder than the others, and you screech.

spots flash in your eyes when you force them open, hissing and spitting at him. “and the sky is blue, at lease i think it still is, but i wouldn’t fucking know since you won’t let me out!”

john freezes, hand raised, but he doesn’t bring it down this time. his nostrils flare, his jaw tightens. “is that why you’re acting like this? feelin’ cooped up?”

you scoff. “for starters, i’m ‘acting like this’ because four commandos broke into my house and they’re holding me hostage.”

“we’re not keeping you prisoner.”

“why else would you keep someone on the door all the damn time, then? huh? you think i don’t know what’s going on? keeping me locked in here like some fucking animal.”

he laughs, like he can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. he tightens his grip on your wrist where it’s pressed to your tailbone. “so no one else comes in.” his eyes narrow. “you want to see the great fuckin’ outdoors? i’ll take you myself.”

with that, he releases your wrist, yanks your shorts up hard, and lands one last swat for good measure.

you roll over, ready to throw out a colorful comment, but he cuts you off, thrusting a finger down at you.

“no more hidin’ in here. i expect to see you at breakfast. at all meals. got it?”

you get why he’s in charge. the less-fun type of screamer. a permanently angry dad.

still. you won’t sit comfortably for a week.

you raise a hand in mock salute, throwing on a chipper tone. “yes, sir. understood, sir.”

john looms for a second longer, red-faced and breathing heavy. makes you think you’ve earned round two, but instead, he turns on heel. he flicks the light, stomps through the door, and slams it shut behind him.

someone snickers through the duct tape plastered over the vent. assholes.

the urge to cry wells up out of nowhere, tickling your throat and stinging your eyes. you choke it down. you haven’t cried since the early days, and you won’t start now. not over some egotistical, power-tripping has-been.

so, you take it out on your pillow. punches first. then screaming.

nobody laughs at that.

the next day, you slink into the kitchen. gaz elbows soap before he can say something stupid, and you grab your share of the canned corned beef hash. you eat at the end of the counter, ignoring them all.

when john finally shows, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. the bruises on your ass throb at the sight of him.

miserable fucker.

they discuss their plans. ghost and gaz are heading out on a scavenging trip with a list of parts to gather for communication equipment they apparently looted off of corpses. they’ll be gone a few days.

soap’s on maintenance. closest thing they’ve got to an engineer. figures. he’s the only one curious—or dumb enough—to stick his hands into wires and pipes. not a surprise, considering where else you’ve seen him stick his hands.

john declares he’s on ‘babysitting duty.’

you don’t look up. not even when all attention shifts toward you.

you stab a chunk of hash and chew instead.

as the others head off, john lingers. hovers. too close. invading your space, the wretch.

“when you’re done, get dressed. sleeves and jeans, if you got them.”

when you don’t respond, he bends and angles his face into your line of sight. that big, stupid smile stretches, lifting his cheeks and squishing his eyes. and ghost called you unsettling.

“if you don’t want to go outside, you can scrub the latrine. make yourself useful.”

you roll your eyes, hating the surge of interest. you didn’t think he was serious about that offer.

all you have for bottoms are leggings. your jortcraft apparently shortsided. you shove socks into the toes of a pair of men’s boots and dig out an atrocious ask about my wiener schnitzel shirt. 

john gives you one long, judgmental once-over that says everything. he would’ve thrived as a retail sales clerk in the before times. but he deems you ready.

the hatch is a sight up close again.

that first day, it took you hours to free yourself from the bunkroom where the austrian locked you up. of course, your first instinct had been to get the fuck out, but you’d felt the heat radiating off the bulkhead. decided you liked having hands. skin and eyeballs. you don’t think you could’ve opened it alone, anyway.

nerves. a mild case of bubblegut. too many feelings for just staring at a damn door.

john breaks a sweat turning the wheel, muttering under his breath about ghost closing it too tight. you bite back a laugh when his shoulder pops, and he groans like an old man.

the laugh dies when the first sliver of real light you’ve seen in months filters in.

it burns.

it only opens wide enough for the two of you to slip out, and just as you step forward, john stops you.

“wait here. i’ll whistle.” 

you hadn’t really noticed the firepower he was packing when you followed him to the entrance. too busy imagining how you could poison him with dehydrated eggs. the handgun looks small in his grip, almost like a toy, but his expression is anything but playful. you thought he was serious before, now he looks deadly.

he rounds the edge of the door, disappearing into the light and up the short flight of steps. his footsteps fade.

a minute stretches out.

then, a whistle.

shielding your face as you climb the steps, you figure this must be what astronauts felt like returning to earth. 

(shit. you hadn’t thought about that. was anyone still up there?) 

the crusty puddle that used to be your neighbor is easy enough to avoid. squinting ahead, you spot john waiting near the garden gate. you glance back, staring into the entrance of what’s been your home for months. and just like that, you can’t help but wonder how your actual home is doing.

you haven’t thought about your rental in a long time. like after a fire or flood, there came a point where you had to stop. let go. you were already going crazy, no need to add fuel.

so what if your beloved magnet collection is goo? your baby photos dust? your grandmother’s ring? your mom’s guitar?

it’s fine. dandy. peachy keen. what are physical belongings, anyway?

chin high, shoulders squared, so cool and unaffected, you approach john. that act crumbles the moment your gaze shifts. while the austrian’s house is as charred and wrecked as you expected, beyond it…

devastation. ruin as far as you can see. broken and burnt buildings. pulverized cars. rubble and debris everywhere. 

john carries on like it’s just another beautiful day in the neighborhood, quietly narrating his plans as he scans over the fence. “thought i’d take you a street over. saw a clothing store. could look for some things that fit.”

you don’t really hear him. you’re too busy marinating in the awfulness that surrounds your hidey hole. and even though you already know what to expect when you finally, slowly, turn toward where your block used to be, your jaw still drops.

all those stupid crunches and jumping jacks finally pay off. pure, unadulterated instinct.

you duck under john’s outstretched arm and break into a run. painful, considering your bruised glutes.

john’s yelling behind you—definitely obscenity-laced, probably a threat, he’ll probably kill you—but you don’t hear him.

doesn’t matter.

you only stop when your legs give out at the end of the street, collapsing into a jog, and that’s when he catches you. scruffs you like a dog.

you’re pointing, blabbering nonsense, brain short-circuiting as you gesture wildly at the fucking crater where your building used to be.

john doesn’t entertain your mental breakdown. his head’s on a swivel the whole time he drags you back. gaz and ghost are already there, standing with their packs. soap, too. he’s the one who hooks an arm around your middle to help john corral you inside.

déjà vu hits hard. big hand over your mouth. bad breath whispering in your ear.

you hope soap doesn’t take it personally when you knee him in the balls at the bottom of the entry steps before tearing off into the bunker. 

even if he doesn’t, john sure as hell does. 

because he’s hot on your heels, and he catches the door when you get to your room.

“what the hell were you doin’? you could’ve been seen, could’ve been shot at—”

your head’s a mess. a whirlpool, no—one of those shitty carnival rides that spin until someone pukes. you don’t even know where it’s coming from. you’ve been cool. good. kept your shit together for months. made peace with the fact the world was over. it’s not like the austrian scooped someone beloved off the streets. not like anyone would’ve been looking for you.

but seeing every trace of your little life wiped off the map?

that’s a different fucking story.

john’s on a rampage. blocking the exit, watching you pace. “you’ve compromised our location. we’ve been careful with our entries and exits, and you—”

it’s their fault. all of it.

if they hadn’t come along and cracked the bunker open, you could’ve died here. in peace. from starvation. oxygen deprivation. whatever the cause. maybe a month from now or years down the line. crazy, delirious, probably a full-time nudist, but at least ignorant. in the dark.

a hand touches your shoulder. you violently shrug it off, spinning on john.

his face is no longer red with anger but something else—concern? pity? gross.

there’s spit on your lips. you’re hoarse. so much for keeping your cool. you’ve been screaming at him.

three seconds of blistering humiliation. then you’re shoving him, harder than you should. must be adrenaline, because he goes with it. you slam the door.

then, silence.

you stand there, breath ragged, waiting.

waiting for him to knock. to kick the door down. to shout through the crack.

but nothing comes, just the shuffle of boots moving away.

you press your forehead against the door, fists clenched tight. your stomach twists with something unfamiliar. distant, almost forgotten. even before all this. 

regret.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter Seven

A/N: again, temporary shitty formatting, will go back and fix tonight. Let me know how you feel about this because I feel like it's just... idk edited bad? A little disjointed? IDK. Would also love some feedback on how everyone is doing with the mega-chapters- hate it, love it?

Series Masterlist

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Max should be relaxed. This- the sun, the open water, the lazy sway of the yacht beneath him- is everything he loves. Everything he worked for. Everything that’s supposed to make all the bullshit worth it.

He shifts slightly, just enough to lie flat on his back- the cushion molding to his body, designed for peak comfort, peak relaxation, peak fuck you money. He should be enjoying it. He wants to be enjoying it. The sky above is a ridiculous shade of blue, the kind that looks fake in pictures, and the only sound should be the occasional splash of water against the hull, the low hum of the engines idling beneath deck.

But he’s not.

He props himself up on one elbow, pushing his sunglasses down his nose just enough to squint across the deck. Jos’s iPad is blaring through its shitty little speakers, cutting through the peace with the sharp, mechanical sound of an engine at full tilt. Max doesn’t even need to look to know what it is.

It’s her.

Not her, exactly. But the sound of her voice, the revs of her engine, the way Jos keeps narrating her fucking onboard like he’s a commentator watching a championship-defining lap.

Jos is sitting there, completely transfixed, eyes narrowed in that way he gets when he’s properly impressed by something. The onboard from her rally. Her first ever rally in a Verstappen.com car, and Jos has it cranked up loud enough that Max can hear every gear change, every throttle feather, every sharp inhale through her radio.

It’s all he’s been doing. LeChriste this, LeChriste that. Her sector times. Her throttle application. Her ability to adapt to a completely different style of driving with barely any prep. Ever since she showed up at Spa, since she pulled off that miracle debut and then landed herself under Jos’s roof for the summer break, her name has been coming up over and over and over again. In conversation. In analysis. In comparisons Max never fucking asked for.

Jos talks about her like she’s the best fucking thing since power steering, and it’s starting to drive Max insane. It’s the way Jos sounds when he talks about her. There’s something there- pride, approval, something that Max has spent years chasing and has only ever gotten in fractions. And now, here it is, spilling out unchecked over a girl who’s been in their orbit for all of five minutes.

Max is used to his dad talking about other drivers. Criticizing them, usually. Or, occasionally, begrudgingly admitting when someone’s done something particularly impressive. But this? This is different. Jos isn’t just impressed. He’s... invested. Like she's is some kind of prodigy he’s just discovered, like Max is supposed to be taking notes instead of relaxing on his own damn vacation.

He shifts, trying to sink deeper into the lounger, trying to let the sun soak into him and drown out the sound, but the juxtaposition is all wrong- too much heat in his chest, too much irritation curling under his skin. It’s not that Max disagrees. She’s good. More than good. He’s seen enough himself to know she’s sharp, instinctive, ruthless in her precision.

That’s not the point. The point is that Jos won’t fucking shut up about her.

Max should be used to this- his father latching onto some new project, some new fixation, talking in circles about potential and raw talent, about work ethic and hunger and how rare it is to find someone who really, really wants it.

But this feels different. Because it’s not just the praise. It’s the contrast.

Max knows exactly what’s happening, even if Jos doesn’t spell it out. The way he talks about her in front of Max isn’t just admiration. It’s a fucking shift. Like something is being reallocated, rerouted, redirected- approval, attention, investment. Things that Max has spent his whole life starving for, things he’s fought for, bled for, won for. Things that Jos only ever doles out in precise, measured increments.

But the words keep reaching him, carried over by the lazy sea breeze. The way she commits to the throttle, no hesitation- real control, real talent- instinctive, like she just knows where the grip is going to be before the car even tells her- 

It’s stupid. It’s fucking stupid. It doesn’t even have logic behind it. He’s not losing anything. He’s Max fucking Verstappen- he’s fine. He’s better than fine. He’s winning.

She’s some rookie. Some no-name wildcard they threw into the deep end and who, yeah, sure, did fine for herself, but- so what? Plenty of drivers have had a good debut race. Plenty of drivers have shown potential.

But Jos is talking like she’s something special. Like she’s something rare, something worth nurturing, something that deserves his attention, investment, time. Not from RedBull, or an Indy Team, or from the rally crew- Jos’s attention. And that- that- is the part that sits wrong.

Because Max has spent his entire life scraping for every ounce of attention, every inch of approval, every goddamn breadcrumb of acknowledgment. It has never been handed to him freely. Not once. Not even when he was seventeen, when he was doing things no one else his age had even attempted, when he was proving himself on a stage far bigger than any kid had any right to be on. Even then, even after all of it, there was always more to do, always more to prove, always the expectation that he was still falling short of what he should be.

And yet.

Jos is sitting there on the other side of the deck, speaking about some girl- some newcomer- with the kind of casual admiration Max has spent his whole life bleeding for. And maybe it’s not rational, maybe it’s not even fair, but it doesn’t fucking sit right with him.

“Listen to this,” Jos calls, rewinding a section of the video. “The way she handles the weight transfer through this hairpin- smooth as hell. And her time- decimated the women’s class,” Jos continues, and Max already knows where this is going, “would have put her top twenty overall. Against world-level men. And that’s with four years away from rally.”

“Fantastic,” Max mutters, not even hiding the sarcasm. “Maybe you should adopt her.”

Jos rewinds again. 

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The water is punishment.

It’s not leisure, not relaxation, not some luxurious indulgence in the middle of a summer break that barely feels real. It’s a means to an end- an outlet, a discipline, a place to put all the restless energy that would otherwise consume you.

You cut through the pool like a blade, pushing your body until your muscles scream for relief, until your lungs burn with the effort. The water resists you, but you don’t yield. You push harder, kicking off the wall, flipping into another lap, willing yourself to stay in motion because the alternative is stillness, and stillness means thinking.

And thinking is starting to become dangerous.

The first thing that strikes you about Jos’s estate is the silence. Not just the absence of noise, but the kind of cultivated, deliberate quiet that feels designed to make you self-conscious for existing too loudly. Every footstep you take on the polished floors seems to ripple outward, like you’re disturbing the air itself.

It’s sleek. Minimalistic to the point of sterility. Expansive windows, impossibly clean surfaces, not a single item out of place. It’s the kind of house you’d see in a luxury design magazine, all angles and expensive materials and perfectly curated furniture. But there’s nothing comfortable about it. You can’t imagine curling up on one of the pristine sofas with a bag of chips or leaving a coffee mug on the counter without feeling like you’ve committed some kind of crime.

This is not a house built for a family with small children.

It’s the opposite of home.

At home, on the ranch, there’s always something happening. Music playing somewhere- an old country station drifting out of the kitchen radio, or your dad gently playing his upright during the winter. Blankets draped over the couch, dog hair on the floor, the faint smell of dinner lingering long after the meal’s been eaten. Someone is always yelling, or laughing, or arguing over something stupid and irrelevant. The coffee table has rings from too many iced teas set down without coasters, and the fridge is covered in drawings, wedding invitations, and passive-aggressive notes about who used the last of the milk and put the carton back. 

This house has none of that.

It feels like a showroom. Not a home anyone actually lives in.

Jos is rarely seen, though you’re not sure if that’s because the house is too big and you refuse to go wandering around like some nosy guest- or if he’s genuinely not here much. You don’t ask. You just make yourself small, sticking to the one guest room you were given, keeping your things neatly confined to one side of it like you’re afraid spreading out might get you evicted.

His wife, Sandy, and their two little kids- kids you’ve only heard about in passing- are ghosts. You don’t see them, don’t hear them. There’s no trace of them in the halls, no toys underfoot, no fingerprints on the windows. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Jos lived alone.

It leaves you disoriented, this strange purgatory you’ve landed in. You’re a guest- but a guest with a job to do. You’re part of this family’s life- but not really. You’re in the house- but you don’t feel like you belong in it.

It makes you ache for the mess of home. For your mom yelling at your brother from the front porch. For the cluttered kitchen table where you could dump your boots and your bag without anyone batting an eye. For the knowledge that even if you fucked up, even if you crashed the truck or broke a fence or left the horse water on for two-goddamn-days, there would still be a place for you at the table at dinner.

Here, you’re not sure if you’re even allowed to breathe too hard. So you breathe quietly. You stay out of the way. You do your job. And in the absence of all that noise -  the team, the travel, the sheer adrenaline of the race -  you were left with nothing but this house.

This too-perfect, too-big, too-clean house. It’s the opposite of home, and after the first week, you stop trying to make yourself fit. You withdraw, pulling yourself inward until you’re nothing but a tightly wound knot of need and fear and simmering grief.

This doesn’t feel like a fever dream anymore.

It feels real. And it feels lonely.

So you do what you always do when the world feels too big and you feel too small -  you work harder.

You trained like you’re trying to outrun the silence. Long runs through the private trails that snake around the property, your feet pounding against the dirt until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. Weight circuits in the sterile home gym, counting reps like prayers. You threw yourself into the sim like it’s a lifeline, lap after lap after lap until you couldn’t feel your hands, until your back locked up from the seat.

And the media room? The one with the absurdly large television and the fancy built-in sound system no one uses? You commandeered it. It took you nearly a week to strike up the nerve to use a piece of tape on the concrete wall, but when nobody notices, well, game on. 

It had become your war room -  screens glowing with onboard footage, data sheets pinned to the walls by the dozens, your notebook spread open across the coffee table like a sacred text. You track every lap, every sector time, every weather pattern that might affect a future race.

You studied Max, Pierre, Yuki, Checo -  everyone who’s touched a Red Bull or AlphaTauri in the last five years, because that’s the data you have best access to. Used every publicly available resource to reverse engineer the drives of the rest of the grid- likes, dislikes, the way they behave when you breathe down their neck. You built profiles like dossiers, not because anyone asked you to, but because it’s the only way you know how to cope.

You can’t afford to let this house, this silence, this emptiness swallow you whole.

Because if you stop -  even for a second -  you’re afraid you’ll have to actually feel everything you’ve lost.

Beyond the trianing, the studying, the past two weeks had passed in a blur so muted it’s hard to call them memories. It’s like you’re sleepwalking through someone else’s life -  inhabiting a body that isn’t quite yours, in a house that definitely isn’t yours, orbiting a family you only ever catch glimpses of. You know, logically, that you must have interacted with Jos when he was home, with Sandy and the kids when they drifted into your periphery, but none of it sticks. The details smear like rain on a windshield.

Your mom calls often- her voice cutting through the heavy quiet of your room, a lifeline back to something real. You let her talk, let her fill the space with questions you don’t always have the answers to, let her remind you that there’s a world outside of this strange, sterile limbo you’ve trapped yourself in.

You practice interviews, run through talking points until they blur together, until you can recite them without thinking, until you don’t have to feel anything when you say them. You give a few real ones, too- stiff and overly rehearsed in front of your laptop camera, forcing your mouth to stretch into smiles that never quite reach your eyes.

And then there’s Illinois. The friends you left behind when you peeled out of Dale Coyne’s garage for the last time. The life you abandoned so abruptly it still doesn’t feel entirely real. They packed it up for you- your entire existence reduced to eight large boxes, shipped off to the ranch like you had died and left them to sort through the remains.

You have no intention of going back. No reason to.

Illinois had been fine. But you hadn’t particularly liked it. It had been convenient, that was all- an unfortunate necessity dictated by a contract. And now? Now, you’re not a Dale Coyne driver anymore. You’re not a driver at all, technically.

That version of you- the one who compromised and shrunk and swallowed her pride to make it work- is dead. But there’s nothing triumphant about it. No blaze of glory. No catharsis.

Just a slow, unceremonious burial.

The water muffles everything -  sound, thought, even time. You’ve long since lost count of how many laps you’ve done, working on pure autopilot, pulling yourself through each length of the pool like it might save you. Your muscles burn, lungs tight, but you love that. You need that.

You flip at the wall, streamline into another lap, and when your face breaks the surface, you suck in a breath and- 

Jesus fucking Christ.

Jos Verstappen is standing at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, looming like a goddamn specter in his own backyard.

Your body reacts before your brain does- shoulders jerking, legs kicking out a little harder than necessary. You swallow a yelp, nearly inhaling water instead, and spend the next few seconds choking as you tread in place, blinking up at him in disbelief. How does a man that large move that quietly? Why does he move that quietly? Had he been standing there the whole time? Just watching?

You wipe water from your face, forcing yourself to settle, but it’s not just that he scared you- it’s that look. That impossible-to-read, mildly disapproving, permanently unimpressed look he always seems to wear, like he’s perpetually finding the world just slightly inadequate. You haven’t seen him in days- long enough to start assuming that was just how things worked in this house, long enough to get used to his absence. And now, out of nowhere, this.

God, Dutch people are so unsettling.

You grew up in America, where small talk is a sport; raced in the South, where politeness is practically a religion. In Texas, even the people who hate you smile when they pass by- hell, especially the people who hate you. Here? Not so much. Jos looks at you like you’re a project car someone left rusting in his driveway. Like you might have potential, but you’ll probably just disappoint him. And he’s saving himself the trouble of getting attached.

You open your mouth, trying to decide between hello and Jesus Christ, a little warning next time, but Jos speaks first. “Dinner.” His voice is flat as concrete. “Six o’clock. Family table. Be there.” There’s no question in his tone, no invitation. It’s a command. A summoning.

And just like that, he turns and walks off, disappearing back into the house without another word, leaving you blinking chlorinated water out of your eyes. That’s it? No explanation? No further details? No casual Hey, we eat together sometimes, thought you might want to join?

Just an edict, dropped at the edge of the pool like a brick through a windshield. Your arms ache as you tread water, your mind racing faster than your pulse. After three weeks of being ignored, of feeling like an unwelcome ghost in this house, you’re suddenly being called to the table like a member of the family. Except you know- you know- you’re not.

This isn’t hospitality. This isn’t warmth.

This is something else.

You pull yourself out of the pool, water rolling off your skin, and stand there for a moment, toes curling against the tile, wondering what the hell you’ve just been invited to. You mull it over as you towel off and slip back to your room- quietly, always quietly- for a shower.

You stand in the vast, spotless bathroom, steam curling out of the shower as it warms, towel clutched in one hand. You stare at your reflection like the answers might be written somewhere in the fogged-up mirror. Family dinner. What the hell does that even mean here? In this house, where silence feels like the default setting, where everything from the marble floors to the air itself feels staged, deliberate, untouchable.

Family dinner back home meant something entirely different- melamine plates around the kitchen peninsula, your brother in a dirty t-shirt, your mom threatening to stab someone with a fork if they tried to eat before grace. Laughter that got too loud, bickering that somehow always circled back to love. It meant elbows on the table and phones face-down. It meant warmth, mess, familiarity.

Here? Family dinner feels like an ambush.

You mull over what to wear as you rinse the chlorine out. Something that seems put together without trying too hard, probably. First order of business when you had got here was your several loads of laundry- Nomex in its own load, casual clothes in another, your scant selection of blouses and a single set of trousers in another. None of it really seems right. 

You mom, bless her, had packed up a box for you the moment she had found out you were staying. It showed up on the doorstep of the Verstappen house this morning. There’s got to be something in there. 

You peel the tape on the lid back to reveal neatly folded stacks of fabric- soft cotton, well-worn denim, a few crisp button-ups that still faintly smell like the laund- wait. Wait wait wait. The second you spot the familiar, glorious, eye-searing purple bag peeking out from the pile of clothes your mom sent, all rational thought evaporates.

Taki’s. Holy fucking shit.

You barely get the towel cinched around yourself before you’re tearing into the package, fingers already itching with the promise of neon-red dust and salt and heat. You’d known your mother would come through for you- she always does- but this? This is divine intervention. This is a goddamn oasis of flavor in the middle of this bland, minimalist, Dutch penitentiary.

You grab a handful, practically shoving the rolled chips into your mouth, and the moment that neon-red dust hits your tongue, it’s transcendent.

The first crunch is loud in the silence of your guest room, shattering against your teeth, setting every taste bud on fire in the best way possible. The tang of artificial lime burns the sides of your tongue, the heat from the chili powder kicks in a second later, and you actually moan. Like, audibly. The kind of sound that should only ever be made in response to something significantly more R-rated than processed corn snacks.

You don’t care.

You don’t care that you’re curled up on the edge of your too-pristine, too-expensive guest bed, fingers already stained nuclear red, demolishing this bag like a woman starved. Because you are. You’re starved for home, for anything remotely familiar, for something that doesn’t feel polished and muted and cold.

Dutch food, you’ve discovered, is the culinary equivalent of being scolded. Plain. Disciplined. A diet that seems fundamentally opposed to the concept of joy. It’s all soft cheeses and boiled potatoes and bread so dense it could be classified as a weapon. Even their seasonings are hesitant, cautious little dashes of salt that taste more like a vague suggestion than an actual decision. You’d decided about day three that you’d prefer to stick to your own brand of flavorless- endless chicken and rice, meal prepped in bulk, because while it might not be interesting, it at least hasn’t been boiled within an inch of it’s life. 

But this?

This is your Guy-Fieri-style homecoming to Flavortown. 

You groan, sagging against the headboard, shoving another chip into your mouth before you’ve even fully swallowed the last one. The heat builds in layers, stacking onto your tongue, your throat, the back of your sinuses. You revel in it, licking the neon dust from your fingertips, already reaching for more.

You should slow down, pace yourself- but fuck that. Fuck everything. You’ve been so good- so fucking composed, so perfectly polite and professional, walking around this house like a ghost, keeping your head down, keeping your mouth shut, keeping yourself from going fucking insane in this brutalistic hellscape of a home. You have earned this. This one indulgence.

And it is indulgent. Almost obscene, the way you’re devouring them, heat prickling across your lips, your fingers a crime scene of red dust. You think, absurdly, that if you were ever going to have a food orgasm, this would be it.

Your stomach clenches from the sheer force of spice, from the ruthless combination of acid and heat- but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. You fold the bag over, shaking it so the broken chips and extra seasoning settle at the bottom, then tip it back, letting it all spill onto your tongue in a final, sadistic burst of glory.

By the time you’re done, your lips are tingling, your tongue practically vibrating, and your face feels a little hot- but for the first time in weeks, you feel alive.

You suck every last whisper of flavor from your fingers before you start thumbing through the rest of the box. A little, nagging part of you holds out hope you might find another bag but- no such luck.

Your mom had known to keep it light, to keep it easy. A few casual pieces, things you can throw on without thinking, things that might make you feel a little less like a stranger in your own life. Your fingers skim over the top layer, brushing against the sharp pleats of something unexpected. You pause, grip tightening as you lift it from the pile, neat folds of tightly-woven wool unfolding in your hands.

The suit.

You hadn’t asked her to send it. You hadn’t even thought about it.

But of course she had.

The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips, structured but comfortable, tailored perfectly to your body- a suit that means business, that means you belong in the room, that means they will take you seriously whether they want to or not.

If she sent this, that means…

You set the jacket and pants aside carefully, even years later still painfully aware of exactly how much they cost, and dig to the bottom of the box. There- about halfway down, your fingers scrape hard plastic, and you dump the box out over the bed entirely. It clatters out- bulky, beat up and scuffed- just how you remember. Your hat case. It might be faded and scuffed from getting tossed into the belly of planes, traines, and rental cars- but what’s inside is in perfect condition. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

Your fingers trail over the brim, the felt impossibly smooth beneath your touch, softer than anything you have any business owning. It’s flawless- pure beaver felt, crisp, perfect. A 40X cowboy hat. The kind of hat that turns heads when you walk into a room, the kind that means something in places where handshakes and deals are made under wide brims and a big sky. The shop smells like leather and cedar, rich and warm, and the weight of your parents’ presence beside you is both steadying and unbearable.

Your dad doesn’t answer immediately. He just nods toward the mirror. “Try it on.”

You hesitate, then do as you’re told, settling the hat onto your head. It fits like it was made for you, which- well, it will be. The hatmaker is watching, assessing, already planning whatever adjustments will be needed to make it perfect.

“It’s too much,” you say quietly.

"Doll," she says, voice quiet but firm, the way it always is when she’s already decided how this is going to go. "All good business in Texas happens under a 40X."

"I’m not gonna be in Texas," you argue, running your thumb over the ribbon on another hat, something cheaper, less significant. You don’t even know why you’re fighting it, not really. Maybe because it feels too nice, too permanent, too much like something you don’t deserve. 

Your mom’s mouth presses into a thin line.  She’s always been the picture of effortless presence, of someone who belongs anywhere she chooses to be. You’ve spent your whole life studying that about her, trying to learn how to command a room without raising your voice, how to make people want to listen, to follow. But right now, there’s something else in her expression. Something heavy. Something sad.

You know why she’s sad. She won’t say it outright, but you know. Texas isn’t just some place they picked at whim to start your junior career. It not even the closest major junior circuit to home. It didn’t matter that it was almost ten hours more of driving than the California circuit would have been. 

Because, to her, it’s not just a stepping stone, the way it was for you. It’s roots. Her roots. It’s where she grew up, where she met your dad, where some of her family still is. Even if Washington is home, Texas is still something. Still a piece of her. 

This is the place where she always knew someone would be watching out for you, where she could trust that even if she wasn’t there, someone else would be.

And what good did that do?

What did any of it fucking do, when it mattered most?

"Then you’ll just have to take Texas with you," she says.

Your dad finally shifts beside you, rolling his shoulders like the weight of the last few months has settled in there permanently, but he doesn’t say much. He never does in times like these. Still- he’s there, beside you, quiet and steady as ever. He lifts one off the rack, gives it a little test bend between his hands, then sets it on your head with the kind of gentleness that makes your throat tight.

"How’s that feel?" he asks.

It feels like too much. Like more than you deserve.

"You should spend the money on something else."

Your mom tsks. "Something else isn’t going to sit square on your head and remind people exactly where you come from."

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat.

"It’s too much," you try again, softer this time. "You should save it. For- "

"For what?" your father cuts in, leveling you with one of those quiet, steady looks that makes you feel six again, standing in front of him with skinned knees and hands too small to hold all the things you wanted. "This is yours." His voice is steady, but there’s something else beneath it, something he doesn’t quite say. You deserve this. You deserve nice things. You deserve to be proud of what you’ve done.

You shake your head, staring at the hat, willing yourself not to feel too much. This isn’t a happy time. There are things none of you talk about, things that sit heavy in the spaces between words. But you know what this is. Because it’s not just a hat, not just a purchase- it’s them telling you that you belong to something bigger than whatever is waiting for you in Florida. That no matter how far you go, you are still theirs.

You exhale, staring at both pieces, feeling something tighten in your chest. You know exactly what this means. It’s not a sentimental gesture. It’s not just in case. It’s a statement. If you’re going to be here- if you’re going to play in this world- you better be prepared to play for real.

Your mom knows you. She knows how this business works. And she sure as hell isn’t about to let you stand around looking lost while decisions get made around you. She’s going to wrap you in armour made of crisp beaver felt and sharp wool suits and remind you that you get to make some decisions your goddamn self.  You swallow, smoothing a hand over the fabric, a quiet, careful movement. 

Alright. You don’t know what’s coming next, when this meeting in your future might be, the lions that you’ll need to tame in your full regalia. But whenever it is?

You’ll be ready.

Not yet. Not tonight. You try to redirect your thoughts, away from happy-sad memories and expensive suits and towards your more immediately daunting task. Ah, yes. Family dinner. 

You settle on something softer, something that might pass for vaguely European- wide-leg linen trousers and a matching button-up tank top in a muted, earthy color. It feels appropriate, even if you have no actual reference point for what appropriate means in this house.

You twist your hair up at the nape of your neck, leaving it loose enough to not look too polished. A little mascara, a swipe of something on your lips so you don’t look like a corpse. That’s it.

You step back from the mirror, assessing yourself like you’re about to walk into an interview you didn’t apply for. It’s not perfect. But it’s presentable. Polished enough to look like you respect the invitation- casual enough to look like you didn’t overthink it. Even though you absolutely did.

You press your hands down the front of your trousers, exhaling slow. Okay. 

The moment you step into the dining room, you know something is off.

The table is set like it’s expecting a guest of honor- fresh stems in the vase, linen napkins folded with crisp, deliberate precision, silverware arranged just so. It’s formal in a way that dinner in this house never is, and for a brief, unsettling moment, you think maybe you missed something. A birthday? An anniversary? Some obscure European holiday?

And then you see him.

Max.

He’s at the far end of the table, leaning back in his chair with the kind of casual slouch that reads more like defensive position than comfort, his phone loose in his grip, thumb idly scrolling. He doesn’t acknowledge you, doesn’t even look up, but the set of his shoulders, the hard angle of his jaw, tells you everything you need to know.

He doesn’t want to be here. Neither do you.

And Kelly? Nowhere to be seen. The kids aren’t here, either. Just Sandy, calm and composed as ever, and Jos, who looks entirely too pleased with himself.

You keep your expression schooled, slipping into the perfect, polite mask your mother taught you to wear in rooms full of powerful men. You step into the role without thinking, automatically plating your own meal- prepped, measured, balanced to the gram, like every other meal you eat during race weeks. You don’t like imposing, and you’ve already learned the hard way that Dutch food is, for lack of a better term, shit.

As you sprinkle a pinch of salt over your chicken and vegetables, you glance toward Sandy. “No Kelly tonight?”

Jos answers before she can. “Running late.” Like it doesn’t matter.

His tone is dismissive, but you catch the flicker of something in Max’s eyes. He doesn’t look up from his phone, but you see the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers tighten for just a fraction of a second before relaxing again. You’d bet good money Kelly isn’t running late- she’s just avoiding this like the plague.

Honestly? Relatable.

You settle into your seat, hands folded in your lap, offering just the right amount of a smile. Engaged, but not eager. Interested, but not overstepping. You ask the correct questions, offer the appropriate remarks, thank Sandy for the offer of food even though you don’t take any. You play the part like it’s second nature- because it is. 

Jos, though. Jos talks too much. Jos, as it turns out, is feeling chatty.

About you. About Max. About racing and talent and potential and everything you’ve done right so far. It should be flattering. It’s not. It’s suffocating. You try to smile through it, but it’s hard when you’re being held up like some kind of prize for the whole table to examine. Jos goes on and on about your performance, your raw talent, your ability to adapt- he talks like you’re not sitting right there, like you’re a highlight reel instead of a person, something for the entire table to marvel over.

You’re smiling. You don’t know what else to do. It feels wrong, like this is too much, like Jos has never been this nice to you to your face, and you don’t trust it. Not for a second. But you smile anyway, because what the fuck else are you supposed to do?

Sandy, to her credit, seems fine. Not warm, not particularly invested, but not unfriendly either. Just… fine. She asks how you’re adjusting to Europe, to the house, to the endless rain. You get the sense that she’s made her peace with being wallpaper here- present, pleasant, largely ignored.

“She’s meticulous,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you, like presenting a fine piece of craftsmanship. “I’ve never seen a rookie so prepared. Do you know she’s been working on a file for every driver on the grid? Just like the one she showed you on the plane. Every. Single. One.”

You nearly choke on your water, but swallow it down, keeping your expression neutral. Jos doesn’t notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Across the table, Max says nothing, his silence heavy. He doesn’t need to speak. His father is already speaking for him, about him, like he’s not even in the room. If you had to guess, this isn’t the first time Jos has dragged him into one of these elaborate setups under the guise of a family meal.

And then, just when you think it can’t get worse, Jos starts trying to engage him.

“You two actually have a lot in common,” he says, effortlessly sliding the words into the conversation. His voice is casual, like he’s just making an observation, but there’s an edge of purpose to it, a calculation you don’t quite clock. “Same aggressive approach to racing, same work ethic, same hunger.”

Sandy, ever the perfectly unobtrusive presence, offers a quiet smile.  She at least looks mildly aware of how unbearable this conversation is. Not warm, not particularly invested, but not oblivious either. Just… present. A quiet observer, offering nothing more than the occasional nod, the occasional polite smile. A sip of wine. She’s not just used to being wallpaper, you think. She’s used to this. Used to letting Jos speak and letting it pass without protest.

Max still doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hmm.”

Jos doesn’t take the hint. “That’s what makes great drivers, you know,” he continues, cutting into his steak. “Not just talent. But the drive to be ruthless. To push harder than anyone else. Max understands that. And so do you.” He points his knife at you as he says it, like he’s bestowing some kind of great truth upon you.

You nod, polite. “Thank you.”

“Not many have that,” he says, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “Not even half the grid. Plenty of drivers are fast. But they don’t all want it enough.”

Max’s fork clinks against his plate, the first sound he’s made in minutes. “Uh-huh.”

Jos either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between the two of you like he’s waiting for something to click. “You two should talk more. You could learn from each other.”

You blink. You are talking. You’ve been sitting at the same table, enduring the same conversation, existing in the same fucking space. But that’s not what he means. You can hear it in his tone. He’s pushing something, steering toward some invisible objective.

You try not to let your discomfort show. You are so good at this- at smiling when you don’t mean it, at playing along, at making yourself palatable in the rooms that matter.

But this? This is suffocating.

And then Kelly walks in.

For a brief, fleeting second, you almost feel relieved.

She’s tall, poised, effortlessly elegant in the way only someone born into privilege can be. Long, dark hair cascades in sleek waves over her shoulders, makeup flawless, her outfit effortlessly polished. She’s the kind of woman who always looks put together, always moves with quiet certainty, always seems to have the upper hand in whatever room she steps into.

And maybe that’s why your first instinct is to think- finally.

Finally, some kind of reprieve from whatever the hell this dinner has been. Finally, a presence that might shift the balance, dilute the weight of Jos’s unwavering focus on you, lessen the unbearable pressure that’s been stretching across the table like a noose.

Because Kelly has been nice. Talking to Kelly is nice.

But no.

No, it gets worse.

The tension in the room doesn’t ease- it sharpens, condenses into something even heavier, something thick and stifling that settles deep in your ribs. You don’t fully understand it, don’t know what’s shifting, what’s crackling in the air, but you feel it. Like stepping into a conversation that started long before you arrived, like missing the first half of an argument and knowing you’ll never quite catch up.

“Seriously?” Kelly’s voice is sharp, slicing through the air, cutting Jos off mid-sentence. “You didn’t even wait for me?”

Jos barely looks up from his plate. “You were late.”

Kelly lets out a short, incredulous laugh, one hand bracing against her hip. “And that’s my fault?” You don’t know the full story. You don’t know any of the story. But you know this isn’t just about dinner.

You glance at Max, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just sits there, head bowed over his plate, fingers toying idly with his fork. Impossibly, he looks even more miserable than before. He looks more like a scolded child than a world champion.

And Kelly- Kelly is pissed. Not in the way people get when they’re mildly annoyed, but in the way that suggests there’s a much bigger fight happening under the surface, something unspoken and unresolved and bigger than you can begin to understand. You shift slightly in your chair, adjusting your napkin just for something to do, something to keep your hands busy, because fuck, the air in here is unbearable.

Jos is still eating like nothing is wrong. Kelly is still standing like everything is.

All evening, Max hadn’t been engaged in the conversation at all, his head mostly bent over his plate, phone occasionally appearing under the table when he thought Jos wasn’t looking. Fine by you, honestly. If you thought you could get away with it, you’d rather be doom-scrolling than timing your stretches of eye-contact with Jos. But now, caught between his father, his girlfriend, and the girl his dad would not shut the fuck up about, Max had seemed to reach his limit.

With a sharp scrape of his chair against the floor, he stands. "I’m finished.” 

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

[p5-apotelesma]

anyone else kind of put off by how they write makoto scaring her friends? idk maybe its just me

like, okay, in tactica especially there are multiple "comedic bits" where they mention how strong makoto is and that she does martial arts. like, they're praising and admiring her skill, or just commenting on it in general. but at one point someone (morgana, i think. and later futaba) specifically say she is "scary" and "terrifying" and it shows them being scared of her. when she reacts to most of their comments like this:

and you know how theres that bit where joker can imagine what it would be like to marry a phantom thief of their choosing? and the makoto in his head gets angry at him for a conclusion she jumped to about joker having someone else? and when joker comes out of the daydream he backs away from makoto and she says he looks pale.

theres a lot of these bits in tactica, but strikers and even the base game isnt saved from this altogether. theres that god damn 'peeping at girls in the hot spring trope' that comes up in every modern mainline persona game. its meant to be funny? apparently? but after the 5th time we see it we're not like. haha dumb teen boys get beat up by angry teen girl over a misunderstanding. we're like. oh. this again.

(i feel like this same 'girl beats up dumb boy' trope spawns from the same place the 'girls beat up ryuji after he almost dies for them' scene comes from. and maybe thats part of why it makes me do the frowny emote.)

ANYWAY

p5r dodged the obligatory hot spring scene, but Strikers did it instead. and makoto beats up the guys even though it was a honest fuck up and they tell the girls they weren't peeping and we the audience know they weren't but makoto beats them up anyways?? and exclaims "fist of justice!!!" ("HAHA MAKOTO SCARY LOL" ???????)

meanwhile she gets annoyed in any other instance when her friends try and reference her fists of justice?? (ryuji tells toshiro to watch what he says if he doesnt want to get pummeled, when he tried to compare makotos punching power to fist of the north star and she gets pissed) sigh. what is this writing. why would she having issue with it? this is a girl who gets so excited watching Yakuza movies that she sits on the edge of her seat with her fists clenched. shes started reading action manga more and actually enjoys it.

even if makoto wants to come off as being serious and put together, and even if she naturally is (moreso than her other friends) she is not immune to the sillies of teenagerhood. she would compare herself to it gladly and wouldnt hit or scold her friends if they did either. because its fuckin awesome. because shes awesome.

like. i'm not the biggest fan of makoto. she's got the lowest blorbo status in my brain out of the whole squad but i don't hate her. there is a good character there, its just. the writers. make. decisions.

makoto spent so long being alone and feeling isolated and like. she says during her confidant that a lot of people just thought she was some kind of cold. robot. so i certainly don't think she would want her friends to think she was in any way unapproachable. or unable to handle the bits.

and i dont think she would want her bit to be 'lol violence funny' (at the very least not to this extent.) i don't think she would want to give her friends any reason to think that she would hurt them. making a "strong woman" character does not mean this character. has to crack her knuckles at her friends and imply shes going to hit them if they say something a little too silly. and play it off as a bit??

like. idk. maybe im thinking about this too much or not explaining this with the right words. but its just one of the many things about the writing choices that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. to me this is completely different from them making her serious about studying and having her get on her friends asses if they dont do well. and her friends not wanting to get a makoto lecture. like oh we better study because if we fail we'll have to face Militant Academic Makoto Niijima because she will organize a tutoring/study session like it's the fuckin navy.

when ann and ryuji first say 'oh man shes scary i dont want to get on her bad side' right after makotos awakening, makoto seems more embarrassed than anything else. and i feel like this is. more true to her character. she lets her anger out in the metaverse and she can do amazing things with it as her drive but shes embarrassed about expressing it. but she comes to embrace this about herself. that shes powerful. and shes proud of it. but that doesnt meant she leans into being someone her friends think is. genuinely scary.

makoto is a terrifying fighter and brilliant tactician in the metaverse but in real life she is not all serious business! she is capable of fun!! makoto is a nice girl!! makoto is a girl who had to grow up too fast and mask her way into the good graces of the adults in her life! so she's awkward around kids her age!! and in situations that arent serious business (that she cant script as well) she isnt always sure how to best interact with her peers! but shes growing! shes going out of her way to experience new things! she wants to better embrace her anger because it means freedom for her!! after a childhood full of holding her tongue!! but she doesnt have a temper that makes her friends the victim of her misplaced aggression! and shes not a buzzkill!

[sk1ndx0]

˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪You. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Niragi x fem!reader

TW: Niragi in general, mentions of smut, cursing

A/N: I honestly can’t tell what kind of relationship dynamic I put these two into but…. It’s there.. I guess 😔💔 IS IT ANGST, IS IT FLUFF????? IDKKKKKKKKKKKK

Summary: You. You took too long to come back to the beach, and Niragi wasn’t very fond of it.

Fucking YOU. You who always got in the way.. you who always had some dumb shit in your head. You couldn’t have died. No.. not yet, at least. You were the only thing keeping Niragi from burning this whole-

Wait. What…??

The fuck was he thinking?? He didn’t care for you. He didn’t give a shit about anyone. He didn’t care if you went on a game by yourself. He wouldn’t allow himself to. He could deal with a couple hours by himself. All those thoughts rushed out at the sound of the hotel door clicking open. Niragi almost tripped getting up from the couch. He met your eyes, some type of emotion ranging between anger and anxiety lacing them. It was silent.. but not for long. Niragi had a habit of ruining such things..

“Where the fuck were you??” He spat out, looking you over once.. twice.. “Took too damn long.. it was just a fucking diamond game for fucks sake.” You had a few cuts and scrapes. Nothing huge. You heard him let out a soft exhale of relief..

“Went out a little longer than expected.” You answered calmly, almost used to this behavior, “It’s almost like you care.” You retorted, as you usually do.

“No I fucking don’t. Don't you know me, Y/N?”

“I do.. maybe not as well as I thought.”

“Well, you still seem whiny as always.” Niragi smirked, softly punching your arm.

Was he usually this tolerable??

“Oh, yeah, no I’m fine, the game was great thanks for asking.” You cross your arms. Your words never held any real bite. Oh no, you saved that hate for better times. “If I knew any better I’d say you were worried about me.”

Niragi shifted, slightly, just enough to show a reaction to the words before slouching in his normally horrid posture. He scoffed slightly and flashed his signature smirk. “You fucking wish.” You just ignored him and watched as he finally became less tense, plopping back down onto the couch. You looked at his rifle, sitting beside him like it was his girlfriend or some shit you couldn’t really explain by yourself. “Are you married to that thing?” You mumbled, jabbing a finger at the rifle like it wasn’t a weapon he could shoot you with at any moment. “Okay Ms. Bitchy-Mood-Switch.” Niragi held up his hands in mock surrender. “You know you’re just jealous.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, “Ridiculous. You’re insufferable.”

“You can’t live without me, we both know it. Who’s gonna keep you on your toes all the time?” Niragi smirked, his arms loosely on the back of the couch. Faint partying could be heard from below. The people of the beach getting drunk, high, fucked, etc.. it’s almost like this is all they can do to forget about the bloodshed out in the real Borderlands. Oh wait.. it is.

Niragi stared at you, his eyes narrowed.

“Thinking about them again? Seriously I don’t know why you fucking bother. They’re not gonna quiet down soon anyways. Besides, you should join ‘em.” Niragi finally spoke, once again, breaking the really needed silence.

“I don’t want to. I won’t. Thanks for the offer though.” You turned to look at him, kicking off your shoes and walking to the couch, sitting down right next to him.

“You know I’m not a party animal. That’s you. You should be down there.”

“Don’t get me started. I fucked almost every girl down there. They’d be all over me.” Niragi snaps back, running a hand through your hair. It wasn’t playful, it wasn’t hurtful.. it was just there. Just enough for you to know that he was real. That you were real.

Honestly, after that game you really needed it. A diamonds game, yes. But a lot of people died in front of you there.

You didn’t lean into his touch, though. Nor did you move away. You just sat there. Like you enjoyed Niragi’s terrifying company..

After more silence, you spoke.

“We should find something to eat. Or maybe drink.” You stretch, standing up. “Or maybe you should go to your own hotel room. This one is mine.”

Niragi slowly got up, as if suddenly all the weight of the world on his entire shoulders. He had a smirk plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

“What? I’m getting up.” Niragi contested, nearly busting out into a state of laughter.

You groaned, grabbing his arm and pulling him up from the couch, making him stumble a bit before catching himself. He grabbed his rifle and slung it over his shoulder before walking to the doorway, turning around and staring at you with something unfamiliar in his eyes.

“If you need me-”

“I won’t.”

You interrupted before shutting the door in his face, letting out a huge breath. God, it felt lighter in here.

What the fuck was that about??

Niragi stood there, a bit dumbfounded before he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, exhaling shortly before walking up to his room.

This wasn’t the end of it. This playful but hateful banter. Honestly, Niragi thought it would never end. You hoped it would end.

Because it wouldn’t.

Not yet.

A/N: OKAY.. this was my first little fanfic thing, and I hoped you liked it. Honestly, I know it was a bit out of context, but I might add parts to this, I just wanted to know if you guys liked it in any way so TYSM FOR READING PLEASE GIVE SOME ADVICE AND IF I SHOULD MAKE THIS A SERIES!!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

-Love Sk1n

[beef-brisket]

Adam: So- I have one guest- who's making GREAT progress! I have... one, two...four workers! It's really looking up!

The large angelic woman in front of him stared, her large, violet coloured LED eyes blown wide. He couldn't read her. That mask was more than annoying, but he wouldn't complain- not out loud anyway.

As the silence dragged on, Adam looked between the woman and the smaller male angel behind her.

He's never dealt with Heaven like this- and he could barely remember their interactions in Eden, so... was this normal.

Lilith: I- oh my father- you can't be serious!

Adam smiled awkwardly: Uh- very serious! I have a whole plan ready, and a three year plan-!

Lilith: Five year plan, you fucking traitor! Five!

Adam jumped, baking away slightly as the angel rose from her seat, her dark purple sings flexed in anger.

Lilith: This-?! This is why I'm wasting my time?! All of this for you of all people? Lieu, remind me to have a go at Michael, this shits ridiculous!

Adam: I- sorry, I didn't mean to offend you! I'm just... trying to find a way to get another way to get around the exterminations! I- don't think mom- Sera- QUEEN Sera was in the right place mentally when she sighed your contract, so-.

Lilith laughed: Oh, so it's our fault?! Listen, "Adam," you should be more thankful for about what we're doing! Heaven is taking care of YOUR mess! That you recreated! Remember?

Adam flinched back. He doesn't remember much about Eden, but he definitely remembers the whole apple thing.

Adam: And I uh... I'm sorry about that-.

Lilith: Sorry? SORRY?! Oh, Adam. When will you learn? Your word doesn't mean shit! Never did, never will. You were made to be cattle! A damn breeding cow! That's it! You aren't anything special. You may claim to be a prince, but that means nothing up here. NOTHING! Now, I don't like my time being wasted, and Adam?

The prince tried not to cry. But as much as he wanted to run out of the room, away from Lilith, he couldn't. He couldn't move.

Lilith: Hell is forever, whether you like it, or not~.

As the angel stood, Adam tried one last time to get Lilith to stay and see his side: Wait! Please! I know what I did was wrong-! And I'm so sorry! But I'm trying to make it right!

Lilith glared: Adam-.

Adam: Please, ma'am! Please! I've worked so hard on this, just- give me five more minutes!

Lilith: If you don't fuck up, I'll-!

Adam: I promise, Lilith! This will work, I'm cleaning up my mess! Making it right! I just need one chance-!

Lilith: THAT'S IT! I'm moving the extermination up by six months!

Adam: ...W-What...?

Lilith smirked: That got you to shut up, huh?! I'm gonna come down there with all of my bad ass boys here, amd fuck your shit up! Starting with your fucking hotel!

Adam: I-I- you c-cant-.

Lilith: Oh, I can. And I did~. Later, loser!

In a flash of light, the two angels were gone.

Adam sat in silence for so long. It felt like a dream. Every second of it. He hated that every time he tried to fix things, he'd just make it worse.

Looking down at his plans for the hotel, all he sees is a failure. A waste of time. Everything his mother ever said about it... she was right. They all were.

There's no way to fix his mistakes...

Love You More Than Anything

@beef-brisket

In the beginning there was the Garden of Eden that housed the first humans, Adam and Lilith. They were each other's equals and meant to be each other's spouses.

But they did love each other and Lilith wanted to control Adam. Upset he fled the garden to be alone and figure out what he really wanted.

That's when he met the Seraphim Angel, Sera. She was intrigued by the strong willed human and had come to care for him like a mother would a child. She cared for him and taught him things but there was only so much he could understand.

Wanting more for the man she considered a son, Sera plucked an apple from the tree of knowledge to give him the forbidden fruit.

But things went so wrong so fast, Lilith and her new husband Evan were also given the fruit and this brought sin to the earth.

For ruining humanity Sera and Adam were cast out of the garden into the darkest depths of the Earth, where they could only see the worst humanity had to offer and never seeing the good.

Knowing she made an unforgivable mistake, Sera became deeply depressed.

Adam became determined to find a way to help make things better, not just for Hell but for his mama too.

-

It was extermination day and Adam, the prince of Hell always went out afterwards to survey the damage. Most people never took his help, telling him to fuck off, but he still offered it.

Adam sighed: Might as well head back.

He decided to take a short cut through an alleyway and that was when he saw him.

A blonde haired man was leaning against the dumpster clearly hurt and even though he clearly needed help Adam couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

Adam went over: Are you okay? Do you want some help?

Lucifer opened his eyes and if it hadn't of been for the black and gold horns coming from brunette locks, he would have sworn he saw an angel.

Lucifer: Please.... I'm hurt....

Adam wrapped a head wound and helped him up: My name's Adam.

Lucifer smiled: Lucifer, it's nice to meet you..... Thank you.

Adam: You're welcome, let's get you inside. You can stay at my hotel until you're better.

[rainbowgod666]

TLDR: i think the issue is that only White Men seem allowed to excise themselves from reality... remind me what did housewives take in the 50s?

"this character is meant to be a self insert for the player to project onto"

> the character is a man

[rivianrudolf]

I do gotta say. It kinda haunts me that I'll never know if my p. grandmother would have accepted me as her grandson or not.

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[tojisteddy]

Acknowledge Me

or: Simon finally gives you attention after you piss him off.

“The power it takes, to make me cry that way. Baby, I hate me when you get under my skin.”

cw: 3.6k words (lord), 18+ MDNI, Toxic!Simon/Meanie!Simon, smut with plot, daddy kink (daddy, pa), dubcon, p in v, dacryphilia, degradation (like hell), water park amusement, pvssy slapping, creampie, marathon!, intoxicated sex, pet names (lovie, doll, pup), overstim, orgasm denial, straight debauchery, after care, y/n visuals.

a/n: acknowledge me by doja cat was the big inspo.

Were you a fucking stupid brat?

Or were you simply itching for attention that you deserved?

If you told your friends, they wouldn’t call you a fucking brat. Stupid? Yeah.

For being with a man who didn’t hesitate to curse you out when you annoyed him. Simon Riley didn’t even flinch when you started hearing those hiccups over the phone, he could already picture your trembling bottom lip, huffed out cheeks and tears forming at your water line. If anything it pissed him off further.

“Don’t fuckin try it with those tears [+]. I fuckin told you, you tell me where the fuck you’re goin. Why the fuck did I have see you move to five different bars in three fuckin hours and you didn’t say a word to me about it till now!?” Simon yelled through the phone.

“You and your dumb ass friends are too fuckin reckless—“

“—Don’t call them that-“ you chided.

“-Oh, I promise you lovie, I don’t give a shit.” his voice with venom.

For fucks sake, it was supposed to be a fun night out and if you were one of your friends, it would’ve been. You and your friends loved bar hopping, enjoying the vibe wherever you went and free alcohol that men and women would order for you. You don’t remember how many bars ago, but your phone died somewhere in the middle and you did spend about five minutes at the last 6 bars trying to find an outlet before your friends dragged you away to the dance floor. That had to count for something, right? You did try to get some form of life on your phone for thirty minutes!

You’d finally gotten to an outlet, right next to the fucking bathroom. ‘15 missed called 4 new messages.’ A string of curses leaving your mouth once you dialed that memorized phone number. And there Simon was, talking to you out the ass while the music was booming in the distance, you had your phone in one hand and a finger in the other trying to hear him properly, the smell of only-god-knows from god-knows-what filling your poor nose all so you could attempt to fix your accidental boo-boo :( — but that bastard had to have you crying in the club.

Like you were thirsty for his attention. you were.

No, none of this was your fault. You didn’t need to update the 6’4, blonde, hunk of a damn brat, when he hadn’t even bothered to contact you in a month.

Yup, the ghost was actually known for ghosting you.

Purposely declining your calls, leaving your texts on read or worse: replying with a ‘k’ when you tried to meet up when you knew (least for the most part) he kept to himself. When he was stationed near by, he was at his own fucking house minding his own business. He was the worst. And the cherry on top?

The fucker had your location on.

You swore he did this to get a rise out of you, to see you teetering off the brink of sanity— and you had to attempt to reel yourself back in every. fucking. time. You weren’t his little plaything, you didn’t need him.

“Don’t fuck with me.” you mumbled, salty tears hitting your mouth. Those would be the last for the night, you swore it. It was like the liquor finally left your heart and went to your brain. Liquid courage.

“What’dyou just say t’me?”

Louder, “I said, don’t fuck with me! I’m sick of your shit Simon!” You snapped. You weren’t an angry person, you’d just hit an annoying wall you needed to get though. The annoying wall called Ghost Riley.

“You always- always come out of the fucking blue ‘nd think you tell me what to do! I’m not a fucking idiot, I know what the fuck I’m doin! Don’t be bitchy at me cause I like to have a little fuckin fun with my friends even when you’ve been ignoring me. Fuckin ignoring me instead of telling me what’s up! The fuck do I gotta do to get you off my dick?!”

“You like the messy shit, Si! You like seein me pissed at you just so you’re the one who has to come and fix it! I can’t stand it. You should go find a bitch who likes that shit because I don’t! I hate how I feel right now and I hate that you can’t be one of those kind boyfriends who’ll come and fuckin hold me nice and shit! Hell, maybe I’ll go find someone to hold me realll nice like since you fuckin won’t!” You spat, nose flaring, you were trembling with rage.

“Pup,” one word. Cut throat. Yanking you right back down to reality. “You take your pretty ass home, ‘nd I’ll go easy on you, yeah?”

You felt your chest rising and falling rapidly, you were frustrated that he clearly didn’t listen to your little rant but you felt your panties get damp. Just a bit. Just like always when you saw a punishment coming. You couldn’t help yourself.

“I-“

“—She’s busy right now please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeep.” Your friend, Sharon, has snactched your phone out of you hand, quickly interjecting your conversation with the man and hanging up. She hiccuped, nodding her head in satisfaction.

“You can’t spend the whoooole night by this stinky ass bathroom. Let’s go daaaaance, or-or drink.” She giggled, taking your hands. “Or both!” She squealed at her own words.

Fuck it.

You went out with your friends so you could have a good time, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Simon had such a nice way of breaking you down to your knees, so you were the one sobbing and begging then bringing you back up. He didn’t do it often, he wasn’t that fucking mean, but he did it when you really pissed him off. Simon needed you to understand— you weren’t in charge. He was. The man doesn’t remember exactly what you did to piss him anymore, it had been a long and grueling month for him anyway. But he had to follow through with something because he’d be damned if he had to actually apologize, you being with your idiot friends didn’t help your case. So he threw it in the melting pot of why he had a right to bully you.

The motherfucker couldn’t help himself.

When he entered your empty and annoyingly small studio apartment, he added another mark to his ‘reasons to fuck babygirl up’ list. He told you to take your sweet ass home, didn’t he? And where were you?

He’d make sure the neighbors knew exactly who the fuck he was.

It should’ve been easy for you to check in, no? He worried about your safety above all else, but it always seemed to fly out the window when you were with your friends who were notorious and extreme party girls while you just went with the flow. He didn’t not like them sober, it’s when you went clubbing you, for some reason, would get hard headed, defiant. It pissed him off, which would always lead to an argument. Usually he’d come snatch you up while you were tipsy, you’d have a cry in the car, mumbling something about how you just knew the man didn’t like you or take you serious.

And partially, Ghost didn’t. He brushed your insecurities away at first, thinking nothing of it as you went about your life. But you kept being on edge drunk or sober. So he would be right there, finger fucking you otherwise while the car was still in motion. And maybe you were right, maybe he wasn’t the sweet and soft boyfriend you wanted who’d hold your cute little hand when you made him angry. He wasn’t the type to coddle you, chicken peck your face with kisses when you felt down. Simon Riley was the gruff and overbearing man you needed to set you straight, keep you grounded when the world went to shit.

That’s what your cute little tantrum was about, least part of it was. Simon knew he was distant, you just needed a reminder he was yours and you were his. And only his. You craved him like you needed food, it was obvious to anyone who saw you two together. He chuckled, couldn’t believe you even suggested fucking some other man. As if they could handle you, as if they knew what you needed.

He’d set that attitude straight.

The shower was running when the front door of your flat closed behind you. There’s no way you left it on this whole time, did you? You didn’t remember. The night turned into a long one.

No, you didn’t get black out drunk like your friends suggested. You had another shot or two, deciding to stay on the sober side with your DD. You two did smoke a fat blunt before hitting another club though, that made you feel like you were starting to lose your hearing. But it mellowed you out completely. The anger you felt, all that angst and sadness? Gone like a snap of your fingers. The person who was yelling and crying earlier? Technically it wasn’t you, you just needed a little peace. A little medicinal help.

After singing and dancing as hard as you could, your drunk friends taking blurry photos and videos of you that you’d probably post later, you persuaded them it’d be best to get something to eat and head home around two am. It took thirty minutes to find a convenience store that was open so you could chow down on something, and fifteen to get home. With a basically empty bag of chips in one hand, purse slung over your shoulder like a duffle, a bag of junk food in your other hand, low red eyes and a small smile— you finally got home.

You’d deal with that asshole tomorrow. Or next week— maybe next month if you gave enough of a fuck like he did.

Who knows.

You sat the bag of food on the coffee table, right now the priority was your skin care routine, then eat, then zonk out till 2 pm. You still can’t believe you left the shower and the bathroom light on that was now blinding your eyes but whatever. You’d turn it off as soon as you were done since it was warm due to the slight steam.

Routine, routine, routin— you stumbled over a pile of clothes. Large male clothes— okay, maybe you were in the wrong apartment.

Not your first rodeo.

You’d just slowly back out and try looking for your apartment. No big deal.

But the shower curtain swung open and you tripped over the clothes, falling right on your ass with a yelp.

“Ya can’t be that fuckin drunk, can ya?”

Your eyes darted open, right at the familiar deep cockney accent— Simon Riley was right there in the flesh, water dripping down his scarred and large body, making him dazzle like a God in that fucked up bathroom light.

Now that was blinding.

“Hello? Are ya listenin?”

Oh, he really wanted an answer.

“ ‘M not drunk.” You said breathlessly. Intoxicated? Yes. But not drunk. The shots had worn off ages ago. Hell, maybe your high was too at the sight of this brute.

What the fuck was he doing here?

The blonde ignored the confused look on your face. Taking a towel that sat on the sink and drying his hair. No point in drying off anything else, he was about to sweat.

So were you.

Simon continued on, stepping past you and you quickly got up, following right behind him like a starved puppy. For someone who hated your apartment, he sure walked around like he owned the place. Nude, large cock swinging, and the look of annoyance written on his handsome unmasked face.

He sat on the bed, manspreading nonchalantly. Knowing you were looking at it, your eyes immediately went elsewhere.

“What do you want?” You mumbled out, shifting from foot to foot.

As if you didn’t know what was bound to happen.

The older man laughed, sarcasm dripping down his throat.

“Be good ‘nd strip, won’t repeat myself.”

“Si-Simon!” Your breath hitched once a large hand came down on your ass, once for good measure.

“Who?” He slapped his thick member on your ass, sliding it through the crevice of your cheeks.

“But- but Simon-“ another slap.

“You’re gonna make it worse for yourself, call me proper.” He smacked his cock over your glistening folds. So fucking wet.

“Daddy mmph,” You moaned.

“All this ‘b-b-but’ bullshit from ya. You’ve pissed me off more than enough. You’ll take all of it today.” Simon slipped inside your hole, filling you to the brim even with half of that girthy cock in you. You both hissed, fuck, it was always so good when he was inside your walls. Simon slowly started to rock his hips into you, slowly but surely making sure you took every inch if his manhood had to offer.

It was when he bottomed out, you knew you were in for it. Simon wasn’t talking to you, he forced your head down on the bed, forcing your back to arch further as he thrusted right at your spot. Over and over and over.

“Gonna cum pa, gonna cum.” You stuttered, feeling the pit in your stomach starting to turn.

“No you’re not.”

“—But—”

“I dare you [+]. I know you’d just looove seein how that turns out.”

You hiccuped, tears brimming as Simons pace got faster. You could feel him throbbing inside you but he wouldn’t cave. He was making the both of you suffer over a petty argument— a mistake that in any normal relationship wouldn’t be that serious.

“I- no- anngh— I need to cum—”

“-You don’t need shit you greedy. fuckin. bitch.” He grunted, swatting your ass with every thrust.

The man yanked you up by your tosseled hair, “You had your oh-so lovin Daddy fuckin worried about’cha so you can be safe then when I finally get a hold of ya ‘nd tell you to go home, you ignore me. Threatenin to go fuck some idiot, but he couldn’t fuck you like I can? Can he? Can’t keep you pretty ‘nd upright? Can he?” His hand trailed from your throat to the buldge at your stomach. He scuffed, “now you’re itching t’cum just because I have my cock right here in ya? Fuckin dumb bitch shit,”

“You a dumb bitch?” He asked, making sure you were fucking him back. Ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

“Noooo.” You cried out, trying to get away but it only made the brute dig into you further.

“What?”

“No sir.”

“Thaaats right princess. You're my smart little girl, listen to me next time. Good on you- fuck— for tryin to salvage yourself.” He huffed.

You didn’t realize your own toes curling at that small praise, your body trembling as you reached your peak.

“Hold it, did you just fuckin cum? When I told you not to?” He growled, forcing you to look at his eyes that were practically red with anger.

“Wait, wait, wait.” You really couldn’t help yourself, you’d been holding it for how long? And you were still kinda high which made you feel the sensations ten fold, Simon was drilling into you like no tomorrow and then he gave you an inch of kindness after being so mean to you this whole fucking time.

Your body unconsciously took a mile.

“Nope.” He yanked you back to lay your back on him, the rest of his drenched length in you, and lifted your leg so it was over your head, legs parted like the red sea. The first smack on your cunt for the night had you screaming, water spraying out.

Simon gripped your chin, forcing you to look down at the mess you created while harshly rubbing your pearl, still thrusting into you from behind, “You wanna act like a greedy bitch and think with your pussy? Then you cum like a greedy fuckin bitch. Cum you dirty pup.”

And he kept smacking down on your poor cunt, unable to stop yourself from cumming and squirting. Completely creaming Simons girthy cock so that a ring of cum formed around the base of his length.

“Daddy I can’t-“ you keened.

The man scowled, “-Shut. the fuck. up. You never shut the fuck up, the only thing I wanna hear is how fucking wet that pussy is. Keep fuckin cummin like a dirty slut you are.”

And you did.

You were wetting the bed like a dog. Water flying everywhere with every thwack of Simons hand on your abused and misused clit. You didn’t even know how many times you had cum by that point. Words? What were those? You wouldn’t even be able to read a street sign or name your favorite color if asked.

You were seeing pure white, the only thing you could hear was the loud squelching of Simon pumped himself in and out of you. He pulled out for a second causing you to whine at the loss of him, but he slipped back into your tight walls, fucking you in a nice missionary.

He gave your face a few light smacks to the face, tutting “Ah, ah, ah, pup, don’t you fuckin pass out. Eyes on Daddy.”

You managed to pry those long lashes open, hooded and lower than they could ever get when you were high.

“Therrrre my pretty girl is. Look so good bein fuckin stupid on my dick doll. This is alllll my girl needed. A good lesson, yeah? Remind ‘er who’s boss, huh?” He smirked, dragging himself down to you so your legs were at your chest.

“Shit baby, feel you squeezing down on me. Wanna cum with me? Missed me given it to ya just like you always need?” Oh, you were crying again. Yeah, you did miss his mean ass.

And his mean beautifully scarred up face, the mean way his muscles flexed when he did anything, his stupid fucking mouth that had to say some stupid shit touching your full lips, his disgustingly sexy muscular yet pudgy stomach with a happy trail touching your stomach everytime he wrapped those arms around you. His massive presence when he stood next to you, mean brown eyes watching while you did your hair, your makeup, or got dressed. Heartless hands that rubbed your neck everytime he didn’t know how to comfort you because that asshole trying his hardest to understand you.

And that undeniably cruel, overly massive cock fucking you like you were the final girl getting a well deserved an award for making it out the trenches in a horror film.

Your head was full with the thought of daddy, daddy, daddy— you shook your head but you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. You hung on to whatever bullshit that man gave you. Only him. Always him.

“Wan- I wan it pa! Wan your cum in me.” you babbled through your sobs.

“Course ya fuckin do. Can’t do shit without me.” The older man crooned. He finally planted his lips on yours, you moaned at just the feel. Pink walls fluttering in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim. Slow thrusts making sure he pumped everything he had into your perfect cunt.

So much for not crying anymore.

The only sound you could be heard in that studio was you cries, like a fucking baby, bouncing off your thin walls. The headboard was finally able to rest, you knew for a fact your neighbors probably despise your being now.

“Why didn’t you- you come see me? I wanted- hicc- I wanted to see you. But- but- you wouldn’t come see me! Wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone,” You sobbed, tripping and falling through your words. “you must hate me.”

The older man rolled his eyes, “Didn’t ever say tha’. How can I hate’cha ‘nd your mine? Doesn’t make sense mama.”

“Didn’t call me though.” You were sprawled out on the bed now, fat tears escaping your eyes. The blonde was sitting on the bed, grabbing the bottled water that he kept in the nightstand, opening it and putting it to your lips to drink. You did, lifting just enough for a bit to go down your bound to be sore throat and flopping back on the bed.

“Was busy swee’art.” Half truth, half lie. Though it was habit, he was trying to keep you in the loop of his life this time. But old habits die hard. The man forgot to reply. His work schedule was fucked, and he was busy spending his free time moving house. The house he planned to give you, it just wasn’t ready yet. Simon was actually being good for you, for once.

“You’re not always busy Si, you just don’t like my annoying voice!” You whimpered.

It took everything in the older brute to not laugh, you were bein so fucking cute. Babbling nonsense but still clinging to him like a lifeline. Still wanting, still his baby girl.

“Told ya, you weren’t annoyin. Got a nice voice, so get it out silly skull.” He cooed, sitting you on your bottom to face him.

You sniffed, moaning and groaning in annoyance but choosing to accept those words. And only those though.

“Fucks sake, Stop it.”

“I caaaant.” You whined, profusely wiping your tears.

“No, dummy.” Simon pushed your hands off your own face, gently wiping the tears with his thumbs that continued to poor out, “Yer gonna throw a fuckin fit if your face ends up bein puffy cause you wipe your tears so damn rough. Take it easy.”

No one knew how to wipe your tears better than the man who created them.

“I wanna make up, you don’t want to?” That was as close to an apology you’d ever get. Always.

A proper Ghost apology was rare as is and you wouldn’t be getting that after your little tantrum tonight. So you ate up what you could get.

“I wanna- I wanna make up too Daddy.” You croaked, dragging out your words. Adorable princess.

“Pfft,” he ruffled your now messy, sweated out hair, “I gotcha.”

“Up you go.” Like a feather, Simon lifted you from the bed, walking to the bedroom you too had been at who knows how many hours ago. He gently sat you on the counter of the sink,

“Let’s get you all ready for bed, yeah?”

a/n: I really love meanie!Simon the most. Let me know what you think about him.

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[sukunasweetheart]

hear me out on bully!sukuna okay...

warnings; highschool setting, DUBCON, dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, sex in a confined space, semi-public sex, breeding, sukuna is kinda mean but is a simp at the same time, groping, cum in panties, just lots and lots of cum, "just the tip" he lied, mentions of pregnancy risk, ?cheating, sukuna the toxic tsundere but is horrendously down bad and perverted, eventual or mildly submissive sukuna?, this isn't gonna be the healthiest relationship - but its to be expected tho bc its a bully fic so..

Word count; 5.5k

bully!sukuna bothers you because he has a weird complex with you - preferring to be outright hated by you rather than deal with indifference or facing possible rejection.

it's often teetering on the edge of actual bullying; his existence is more of a nuisance than a serious distress to you.

he often loves getting on your nerves by tripping you up with his foot, only to catch you himself, or he purposefully bumps into you in the hallways making you almost topple over - like the fucking asshole he is. and you'll never forget the time you happened to get paired up with him on an assignment and the bastard had the audacity to try and take you both down by not doing his part. in exchange for his participation, he had you carry his bag for him around school for a week...

and he only gets more thrilled the more you fight back or retaliate.

sukuna likes to call you names, often using very condescending and colourful insults against you. and he likes to harass and chase off any potential boyfriends that come your way. that last one pisses you off the most. you want a boyfriend so bad, and that bastard is being such a huge cockblock. god forbid a girl wants to get laid. all your friends have had their first times already - why can't you?!

and he's back at it again too, after finding out that another guy confessed to you at school today. you accepted it. obviously when he wasn't watching. for a damn reason.

he finds out your last class was P.E today and you find yourself cornered in the locker room, empty of girls except for you. you ended up lagging behind as you were texting your new boyfriend over your phone after class. you try to walk past him to go home, but he traps you against your own locker.

you end up snapping back at him, having had enough of it.

"what is wrong with you? you know what? i think you're obsessed with me!" you shout back, shoving at his chest.

"who do you think you are, to stop me from getting a boyfriend... what, do you like me or something?" you speak without thinking, in a fit of anger.

"i bet you do! i bet you go home every night and jerk off to daydreams of me. is that right?" you go off, pushing every button you can.

sukuna falls silent. you expect him to argue back, to deny all your claims fiercely, and then go storming off, having heard enough of your nonsense.

but he's glaring at you, tight lipped, ears and cheeks turning bright red.

"...why're you silent all of a sudden? say something..." you continue awkwardly. "don't tell me... you actually...?"

"shut up," he hisses at you. "just shut up, for a second."

he wears an expression you've never seen on him before, and seems to be thinking about what to say next. he looks as though he wants to say something.

you open your mouth to tell him 'nevermind', but the sound of a small group of girls approaching the locker room is audible, which interrupts the both of you, and you panic. just what kind of rumours would spur on if they caught you and sukuna like this in here? you only just got your first boyfriend, there's no way you're gonna let this bastard ruin that for you!

thinking quickly, you open up your locker and roughly push sukuna inside, and then jump in after him. you shut the locker door quietly and peek outside through the little gaps at the top. the girls come in, having come back to get something that they left behind. what terrible timing.

one of the girls walk up a little close to your liking and you end up moving your body back as far as you can, your back pressing up against sukuna without thinking. and then you're startled by the low and quiet groan you hear behind you.

whipping around, you see sukuna with clouded eyes and a tightened jaw, barely able to fit inside this narrow locker. but he doesn't find it in himself to feel uncomfortable or annoyed at the situation.

after all, your ass is pressed up tightly against his growing bulge right then and there.

you were right about what you'd said earlier. he'd always daydreamed of a moment like this, pumping his cock at the thought of doing lewd things with you...

you turn back to the front, panicked. what the fuck? why does he look... like that?

kinda hot...

shaking your head, you try to ignore your beating heart, praying that the girls exit the locker room soon so that you can quickly escape from this situation.

meanwhile, sukuna's hands struggle to keep away from you as his brain begins to short circuit, dick helplessly twitching in his pants, chest heaving but it being of no help - as the locker fills with the scent of you in it, the sweetness of your shampoo and perfume, making his heart pump harder.

you slowly shuffle forward a little, trying not to lean against him so much. when are these girls leaving... you think to yourself. they've started gossiping amongst themselves, sitting on the bench. goddamn it!

large hands fall onto your hips and pull you back toward him. you feel him grinding his crotch against your ass, and you know that whatever is poking you is definitely his fucking boner.

"what the fuck, sukuna? s-stop," you whisper to him as quietly as you can.

sukuna has stopped his thinking in itself entirely. whatever's making him act right now is nothing but his pure and selfish desires. there's no way he can resist you when you're the one who climbed inside your own locker with him. he needs to relieve his ache somehow.

he gets more and more handsy with you as each minute passes. his large hand snakes up to fondle your clothed tits as he continues to discreetly dry hump your ass.

you should be disgusted. you should jump out right now and snitch on him and call him a molester right in front of these girls.

but good god, this feels like... nothing you've felt before. his wandering hands. his immense horniness. this tight enclosed space. the size of his boner. it's all making you excited in a weird way, and you're starting to feel aroused at your core.

sukuna is doing his best to get some pleasure from this minimal friction he's getting inside his tight space, but it's not enough. the desperation and arousal claws at him, his dick hurting from how tightly it's sitting in his pants. he swallows on nothing.

fuck it. he's already started. why hold back now?

you feel a shift behind you and the sound of fabric and a zipper being undone. is he...?

you gasp softly when something hot and hard gets pushed between your thighs. it's... it's pulsing. you can't believe this is happening. with sukuna, out of all people? should you be mortified or intrigued? you fear that the latter might be truer.

there's ringing in his ears. not a single logical thought is occupying his brain as he thinks purely with his dick at the moment, having waited so long for a moment like this. fuck, he's so hard. and it only excites him more that you haven't leapt out of this locker yet, running away from him. even though you could. his heart is on the verge of beating it's way up to his throat.

small, shallow thrusts. you feel his heavy cock rub up against your inner thighs, and both of his large hands are now groping your clothed breasts lewdly. he unbuttons your blouse, and then messily pulls down your bra, as he's desperate to feel the real thing, and you can't muster the strength to swat him away. when his fingertips tease your nipples, you have to stop yourself from making any noise. you've always wanted someone to touch you there...

never did you know that someone would be sukuna. you grab his wrist in a fit of desperation.

"you're a fucking pervert... what the hell are you doing?" you tell him a tad bit loudly, trying to deny the heat in your cunt.

"... did you guys hear something?" one of the girls suddenly ask outside.

your heart drops to your stomach as this sets off a panic inside you again. a big, warm hand clasps over your mouth, shushing you effectively.

"quiet..." he mumbles into the shell of your ear, and it weakens your knees. it never occurred to you that he's always had an attractive voice. a wave of goosebumps wash over your skin.

you look down. you can get a tiny peek of his tip whenever he thrusts in... it's so fucking big. you can't possibly fit that inside you, could you? when you catch that it's glistening with precum, your pussy squeezes around nothing.

one hand still over your mouth and the other teasing your tits, sukuna is busy slowly chasing an orgasm, regardless of the girls that have gotten a little wary outside. they soon forget about it and continue their pointless chatter.

fuck... his cock is so close to your cunt. the thought of it makes him shudder. he's almost there.

your hands are semi-clawing at his hand that's still against your mouth, when you suddenly feel him cease the incessant groping at your breasts. instead, it goes under your skirt - a finger loosening your panties up to fit his fat cock beneath the flimsy fabric.

there it is. your bareback fuckin' pussy. he has to bite his own lip to hold off groaning out loud. he does his best to slide his dick in and out against your slit - being restricted in movement due to the tight space, but make doing somehow.

you're actually thankful for his hand covering your mouth up, as you would've definitely moaned out loud if it weren't for him. it's unreal how turned on you are right now. does he feel it? all the slick pouring out of you? it's so, so strange. you were so sure that you didn't want this with him before, but not anymore...

it grazes over your clit over and over, painfully teasing, and you need to orgasm so badly.

sukuna jolts his hips against you, giving a final short thrust as his tip catches the fabric of your panties - he presses his own face against your neck to effectively silence himself as he reaches his first high.

you shudder as his dick pulsates between your thighs so strongly, making a hot mess in your underwear, cum spilling out in thick ropes - you feel the heat of it on your poor cunt, and you shiver as sukuna inhales deeply against your neck, his breathing wavering, dick aching for more even as it continues to spill heavily, creaming your panties. his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, causing you to shiver.

it's a pleasure that's greater than he could've ever given himself alone. but he wants more. he needs more.

you're in the middle of trying to gather yourself again, but you again, feel him moving his hips. just what is he up to now...?

your eyes widen when you catch onto how he's trying to thrust himself inside you now. there's no way... you struggle against him but he holds you still - mouth still firmly silenced by his palm.

the best he can do is have the tip inside. but for now, it's enough. he doesn't care - as long as he can get whatever pleasure that's available...

"j-just the tip..." he whispers with the smallest voice he can manage, against your ear again. it turns you on so good.

you can't help but enjoy when he gropes at your chest again, his tip bullying it's way in your desperate and wet hole, popping in and out, in and out, in and out.

even with just the tip, you're about to lose your mind. you want more, but at the same time you're scared what'll happen to your mind if he shoves that whole thing inside you.

sukuna's brain is yet again short circuiting as he dips the tip of his cock into your hot and slippery cunt - making him feral and desperate to get deeper. yet, what's stopping him is this confined space that suffocates him. there isn't enough oxygen for both of you here, and he wonders whether it's you or the lack of oxygen that's making him endlessly breathless.

oh, he's close again.

he's going to cum again, but this time inside. you want to protest, but you've always wondered... does it feel good to have it spill inside? regardless, you still try to struggle against him purely because you don't like the thought of sukuna knowing that you're enjoying this. even though it's already too late.

he holds you so tightly against him - before letting himself loose once again - tip poking into your pussy as he pumps inside, balls clenching. your hole is welcoming, and it puckers around him mind numbingly, milking his heavy cock for everything he has. you feel the warmth of his seed reaching inside you but not very deep - most of it trickles back out onto your panties. he twitches against you harder and more intensely, hips shoving into you messily.

you're both out of breath...

...and that's when both of you hear the girls leaving the locker room with muffled laughter, successfully avoided noticing you and him inside.

they turn the lights off before they leave, and the locker room turns dark and silent. you're now sweating against sukuna - and the moment you feel his hands loosen against you, you push the locker door open and step outside, unsure of what exactly you're trying to run from. sukuna himself? or the fact that you might be forming some kind of attraction to him? to the way he treats you?

but alas, no matter how fast you think you are, you could never beat sukuna's reflexes. in that quick momentum, he's pursued you outside and grabbed your arm - before pulling you back and shoving you against the now closed locker door.

"where do you think you're going?" he asks with a deep and low voice, vein popping on his forehead and looking desperate and an intense blush being permeated on his face. why is it that it's always made you feel so squirmy, whenever he cornered you like this? the size difference, the strength difference... the pervert here is not only him, it seems.

your needy gaze flutters from his eyes down to his exposed cock. it's veiny, throbbing, and leaking messily. it looks heavy and most importantly... it's so fucking big.

in the blink of an eye, sukuna has hiked your legs up, holding you up against the lockers, making it so that you cannot run from him again. it's game over.

"having the nerve to try and run after seducing me with your ass..." sukuna mutters angrily, lining his dick above your cunt and tummy, showing off how deep it'll reach if he slid it inside.

"no- i didn't..." you protest weakly, heart hammering with excitement. "idiot... let me down."

you tell him, despite your arms that loop around his neck.

"your voice is lacking it's usual sharpness," sukuna tells you breathlessly, flipping your skirt up and pushing your panties aside. it's still wet with his previous loads. oh- he can't think straight.

"wait-! something that big won't fucking fit!" you tell him, only now the fear beginning to hit you. moreover, you're afraid he'll end up breaking you and stop all rational thinking - this is dangerous.

"it will. i'll mould the shape of your insides to my fuckin' cock," sukuna insists, eyes focused on your wet glistening pussy. so pretty.

he pushes it in. but he doesn't stop there. he pushes it in all the way. balls fucking deep.

your eyes widen and when he thrusts the whole thing in one go, you well and truly break. legs trembling, pleasure washes over you and you cry out a moan.

"fuck-! did you just cum? are you cumming?" sukuna asks, panting, slowly sliding himself in and out as your cunt spasms around him. soon enough, he speeds it up and makes sure his tip is bullying your cervix with each deep thrust, eyes rolling back as your walls welcome him so warmly and clamp down on him.

"haah- haah- mm, fuck! you're so fuckin' tight! ugh, 'm gonna bust again," he slurs messily, hips moving non-stop. the unkempt bush of his pubic hair gives friction against you adding onto your strange sensations of pleasure. drool begins to roll out from the corner of your mouth.

his balls have never felt heavier as they slap against your wet ass each time he slams his cock inside, slick pooling out of you and creating droplets on the floor. he has a lot to give you... and your cunt is being so agreeable, the way it sucks on him, warm and wet. it's turning him animalistic, no thoughts running inside his brain except to fucking breed this hole. breed you.

not inside... not inside... you think, not realising that you're not saying it out loud.

"i'm gonna do it inside. i'm gonna-!" he hisses, hips stuttering at the last second.

"ugh- shit! 'm c-cumming... fuuck... fuck!" sukuna cusses deeply, thighs trembling as he continues giving tiny, but sharp thrusts even as he's spilling into you while buried to the hilt.

it's hot. you can feel that it's thick. there's so much. even more than his two previous loads. sukuna's face being twisted in pleasure puts you in awe - and you unknowingly tighten your pussy around him as he orgasms inside, joined to you hip-to-hip.

he's never felt such a deep seated pleasure in him before. he continues to gasp and shudder with every stringy spurt that he knows is reaching your womb. what if he actually knocks you up? what if his seed takes? it's a scary but thrilling thought. the thought of you swollen with his baby... all rational thinking has been thrown out the window due to this pleasure.

sounds that you never could've imagined coming out of sukuna continue to spill from his lips... he slides his cock in and out and squeezes every last drop out of himself, and he suddenly brings his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. both of you pant over each other while making out messily as he slowly begins to thrust into you over and over again. he's going to get addicted to this. he's going to crave your pussy everyday from now on.

sukuna sucks on your tongue like he wants to swallow it. your arms hold onto him for dear life.

all too suddenly, he brings you off the locker, arms hooked under your legs and palms supporting you by holding onto your ass cheeks.

the kiss breaks, and catch sight of sukuna's lust-filled eyes as he moves you up and down his cock using his monster-like strength. and you're held up by him like this, you can't do anything to stop him. just cling onto him and take what he gives you.

"f-fuck, sukuna... ooh-! t-too deep," you mumble with tears in your eyes, gasping from the way his tip kisses your womb effortlessly. he's seriously too big for his own good.

"keep saying my name like that- it'll only make my dick harder," he pants, continuing to use your pussy like a fleshlight. his thick load has made it even wetter. he can feel your slick beginning to cream up around the base of his cock now, and it makes his chest well up with something like pride. does he turn you on that good? this hole of yours refuses to run out of lube.

the absurdly obscene plap plap plap sound of flesh against flesh, makes for the lewdest echo in the locker room. that, paired with the mild darkness, and the possibility of being seen by someone coming in during after-school hours, makes for the perfect thrilling atmosphere for such feral sex.

it's driving you mad. the echoing, the subtle anxiety, the smell of his sweat.

it's marvelous...

another orgasm hits you like a bullet train. gasping, you whimper as he continues fucking you through it this time, relentlessly thrusting into you regardless of your pulsing walls.

"shit... your cunt's clinging to me," sukuna groans, feeling blessed to see you get undone by him, by his cock. the fingertips of his large hands against your ass sink deeper, the pleasurable knot in his stomach getting tighter once again.

"you and your uselessly big dick... fuck you," you chide breathlessly, doing your best to keep your sentences clear even as he plunges into you with an unforgiving pace.

"clearly not useless when it's made you cum twice now, right?"

"shut up-"

you get cut off when he begins to thrust faster, as you witness the very moment sukuna's eyes become blank with pleasure, getting ready to empty his balls again.

"slutty fuckin' cunt. latching onto me so greedily... can't stop- thrusting-" he mumbles, gripping onto your ass tighter.

you can't help but sigh with pleasure when he begins to fill you up again, twitching and pulsing like crazy inside you as he spills so much seed like he's peeing.

"ohh, shit... cumming s-so hard..." he breathes out shakily.

you're starting to feel full. but you get the feeling that this still isn't the last one. desperate kisses are pressed against the side of your neck as he takes some time to relax a little again, thoroughly finishing deep into you, hips jolting every now and then.

he carries you over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he lies you down and brings your knees closer to your chest, fully exposing your cunt to him, whole. his dick still squeezed into you.

with a hoarse shaky groan, he slowly drags his thick cock in and out of you in this position, with only the heavens knowing how he is still hard after so many orgasms.

you give a small yelp as he speeds up - your plush walls embracing him warmly and filling up his balls once more. god, he doesn't think he'll ever have enough of this pussy. of you.

"idiot! e-enough.. take it out... i'll get- pregnant-" you warn him not-so-convincingly, with gasping moans between each word.

"c-can't... you're... sucking me in so good... can't stop-" sukuna replies with no thoughts in his brain other than to relieve the throb in his erection again. it's driving him up a wall, too. the flesh of your ass that softens the impact everytime he drives his hips into you. your squeals and whines of euphoria. your exposed breasts and glistening clit. he burns every detail into his brain, to make sure he remembers forever...

he doesn't even know what number round this is, but it amazes even him how he feels like he's already edging close to another climax. it's pathetic and ridiculous of him. but he can't help the fact that you push him over so easily.

the number of tissues he'd run through just from jerking off every time he thought about you all night... you have no clue.

recalling those moments makes him feel even more determined to chase this final orgasm even more rigorously. it won't be difficult, not with how your cunt swallows him up so nice.

"fuck.... i- i like you. i've always liked you..." sukuna mumbles out the sudden confession slowly.

"stupid... bastard... you say this now...?" you say as you sigh in pleasure, almost being close to your own climax as well, this position setting off yet another deep arousal in you. after all that bickering and tormenting - he has the audacity to confess to you? only after cumming inside multiple times?

"can't give any excuses can i?" he voices with a curt laugh - finding himself to be pitiful in this moment as well.

"but it's true... i- fuck- i like you so much..." he groans, hips getting faster.

your eyes begin to blur with tears again... sukuna thumbs your clit gently... and then you arch your back with a gasping squeal. sukuna too, hisses as he pumps you full for a final time, letting his dick drain itself in your fluttering hole, hips and thighs jerking uncontrollably while his tip leaks spurt after spurt through your cervix, overflowing you to the maximum.

after dumping his final load, he slowly drags his large, twitching cock out of you with a pop and lets it rest against your gaping cunt, pulsing weakly against your clit. his thumb pushes your panty lining aside to keep your pussy exposed for him to see. your hole is still gaping and thrumming, as if missing him already and he's watching with awe as big globs of his spend trickle out of you thickly. if he wasn't so exhausted, the sight of this would've made him hard again.

sukuna lets go of you and lets your legs rest on the bench, as you're still panting from the exertion, mind numb from that last orgasm. he seems to loom over you for a second, before leaning down, arms caging you against the bench, knee between your legs, to kiss you on your glossy lips. it feels good, but you wouldn't want to admit that out loud to him.

"i like you." he repeats again, after breaking away from you. he wonders why it had taken him so long to admit this fact. once he got it out, it became an easy thing to say. you look at his face and he looks so pathetic in your eyes, the usual look of cockiness and mischief being wiped away. he says it as if he's pleading you, and you know what he's asking for, what he's unable to say out loud. he probably wants to be your boyfriend.

it's strange to see the puppy eyes of your literal arch nemesis, and it's also strange to hear his voice give you a love confession. it makes you mad. it makes you angry. not because you hate it, but because you don't hate it.

he sees it. he sees the instant your eyes glint with anger, and he very swiftly dodges the head butt you try to give him at the very last second.

"move, idiot," you say sharply, glaring at him.

alright, he probably deserved that one.

you stand up and fix your bra and blouse before gathering your things from the locker before leaving without another word - sukuna follows you outside in a fit of mild anxiousness.

"hey-"

"you. take responsibility and buy me some plan b pills. and a pregnancy test kit," you interrupt, looking back at him.

"...alright," he responds rather obediently, after a nervous swallow.

after you turn back around to continue walking, the tiniest smile grows on your face... sukuna looking nervous is something you never thought you'd see. maybe you can use this to your advantage.

your phone vibrates in your hand. it's from your new 'boyfriend'. a sweet message saying he's excited to see you again tomorrow. you delete the notification with a little bit of guilt on your mind. you'll leave tomorrow's issues for tomorrow.

in front of the chemist, you languidly stand around outside waiting as sukuna does as you'd asked him. truth be told, it was because you didn't want to buy them yourself, out of embarrassment. you know he doesn't care about how people sees him, so no harm done there.

when he comes back out with the bag, he holds it out to hand it over to you. but when you try to grab it, he lifts it away.

"you're gonna break up with him, right?" he suddenly asks, with a rather serious expression on his face.

you ignore the question and try to grab the bag, but he avoids you again.

"...right?" he emphasises. he doesn't intimidate you at all anymore, not after knowing about his feelings for you.

"it's none of your business?" you tell him, finally snatching the bag. he doesn't look too pleased about that answer. you take the pills quietly and shove the rest into your bag.

"okay. now go home," you shoo at him. "i'm tired."

"you haven't answered me yet," he says firmly, holding onto your wrist.

"you'll have your answer tomorrow," you reply in an exasperated tone, shaking off his grip.

"and just letting you know. if it turns out positive, i'm never speaking to you again," you warn him with a deadpan face. in the back of your mind, you're pretty anxious about it, but you know according to your cycle, today wasn't a fertile day. that, and with the pill... it should be alright.

sukuna stiffens up and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

"and don't follow me. if you do, i'll also never speak to you again."

you're not that serious about not talking to him ever again, but you believe he deserves to feel as anxious as you do.

"... i wasn't planning on stalking you anyway. jesus," sukuna mutters, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

you narrow your eyes at him, and then continue your way home.

he scratches the back of his head in frustration. it's like he's skipped a lot of steps towards you and it's coming back to bite him in the ass. ah, well. nothing he can do about it now.

sukuna starts praying that the test comes out as negative.

-

in the end, you decided to become the asshole and just break up with the guy over text. what was there to even really 'break up' anyway? it was for less than a day...

regardless, the news seems to run across the entire school and your friends begin to pester you about why. you can't tell them the truth. what could you even say? 'oh, i got railed good by the one guy i despised in school and it made me end up changing my mind'? fuck that.

he walks towards you after school with seemingly high spirits.

"so... i heard you broke it off after all," he approaches you after hearing the good news. you'd been ignoring him all day, but he's hoping you'll stop once the day was over and there was no one else around to watch them.

you continue to give him the silent treatment, walking along without sparing him a glance.

"hey," he grabs your forearm to stop you from walking.

"stop ignoring me. please."

you only spare him a glance because he added 'please'.

"...i don't see how that changes anything between us," you finally respond.

"right. surely not," he responds, voice thick with sarcasm.

"is that the correct attitude you should be taking? i broke up with him because i felt bad i fucked someone else while we were together. not because i like you back," you shoot at him, crossing your arms.

"oh, give me a break. you were barely with him for one day-"

"sukuna. do you want me to like you back?"

sukuna falls silent, looking at you with annoyance yet also simultaneous desire.

"if you want me to like you... then you need to work for it. make up for all the mean things you've said and done to me."

"...how? what should i do?" he asks, daringly, stepping forward towards you.

you wordlessly take your bag and shove it against his chest with an aloof expression on your features. it startles him for a moment, but looking at your face, he understands what you're asking of him. he slowly smirks and slings your bag over his shoulder, on top of his own.

"easy. anything else?"

"...i'm kinda hungry. take me somewhere good to eat. you pay."

"so... a date?" sukuna hums teasingly, trying to hold your hand.

"nope. you're gonna act as my lackey for a few weeks. it's payback. after that... well, we'll see," you say as you dodge his hand.

he can't wipe the smile off his face. you're clearly playing around with him, but he doesn't hate it. it's another form of attention, is it not? he'll have plenty of chances to make you his from now.

little does he know... he's the one that will become yours in the end.

you know the drill! dot points bc im lazy as fuck!!

okay well, first off the test does turn out negative, lucky for him... from then on you make him wear condoms whenever you have sex

but before that, he spends a few weeks running around to try and appease you

everybody shocked to see the big bad bully is being so obedient, and little do they know...

mmmaybe you give him little rewards every now and then, some sneaky kisses or so, just to keep him afloat... and then you withhold your body from him again

still carries your bag for you everywhere

has to deal with the frustration of not having boyfriend privileges yet... always itching to touch you but you wont allow it until you think he deserves it

sitting between his legs but not letting him be handsy with you is torture. maybe he'll break the rules a bit and hug your waist anyway

love the thought of him borderline begging for your touch because he's so hard from spending so much time being so close with you and it's been well over three weeks since he's done anything remotely sexual with you

maybe you'll feel a little turned on by his pleading that you cave in a bit, and take him to the public restrooms for a few handjobs

he will take anything he can, the opportunist...

and you'll have plenty of fun edging and toying with sukuna until he's shaped nicely into being a good obedient boyfriend for you

bully sukuna trope was inspired and set alight by @gojos-thot-patrol btw, link to his fic here... mine took a completely different path but it was a similar concept in the end ✨️👌

Masterlist

[deathbxnny]

Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst 🫠

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.✨️

Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》VI

She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.

You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.

And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.

Why, why, why.

Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.

Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.

"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"

She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."

Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.

She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.

》CAITLYN

"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.

It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.

Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.

The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"

Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.

"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.

She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.

There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.

For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.

》JINX

Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.

The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.

"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?

"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.

Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.

Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.

Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.

》EKKO

To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.

Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.

Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.

And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.

"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.

"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."

He let you win.

》SEVIKA

She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.

You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.

And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.

She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.

Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.

"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.

"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.

"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."

[frogeyedape]

I ran out of tags XD Good Omens Spoilers Beware! (time for dinner now)

The Magic Trick You Didn’t See: Being An Analysis of Good Omens Season 2

(or: Neil Gaiman, Your Brain is Gorgeous But I Have Cracked Your Sneaky Little Code And Have You Dead To Rights*) (*Maybe)

***

Soooooo I just spent the last 48 hours having a BREATHTAKING GALAXY BRAIN EPIPHANY about Good Omens Season 2 and feverishly writing a fuckin16,000 word essay about the incredible magic trick that @neil-gaiman pulled off. 

Yes, it’s long, but I PROMISE your brains will explode. Do you want to know how magic works? Do you want to know what Metatron’s deal is (I’m like 99% sure of this and it’s EXTREMELY FUCKING GOOD)? Do you want to know about the Mystery of the Vanishing Eccles Cakes and the big fat beautiful clue I found in the opening credits? Do you go through the whole inventory of Chekov’s Firearm & Heavy Artillery Discount Warehouse? 

Here is the essay, go read it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ When ur done u can tell me I’m an insane crackpot, and u know what, i won’t even be offended

In case you don’t know whether you want to bother reading the whole enormous thing on google docs, I’ve put the first couple sections of it under the cut. JUST TRUST ME OKAY, HEAR ME OUT, THIS IS VERY EXTREMELY COOL, NEIL IS GOOD AT HIS JOB–

Keep reading

[ishaslife]

You know how rarely you and Caleb get to see each other, right? It bothers you so much. Every time he’s around, you can’t help but feel a mixture of frustration and gratitude. Even if it’s only for a day—or if you're lucky, two—it’s enough to make you appreciate every moment, despite the distance between you.

And on one such night when he's there, he has you under him, thrusting into you, slowly. Making sure that every time he goes inside you, you feel how deep he is, or how deep he can go—before coming out completely and going all the way back in again, over and over.

You're so fucked out of your mind because it feels so good, you're overstimulated, lost in the haze of pleasure and emotion, yet beneath it all, an ache lingers, one you can't place. Without thinking, you reach for him, your hands seeking his warmth, your touch is desperate and clinging. He's utterly lost in the moment, but when you coo his name, his eyes flutter open, locking onto yours. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, a soft chuckle escaping as he murmurs, "You're so clingy tonight… And to think, just hours ago, you were ready to whack me over the head." He groans as he enters you again and places your hands on his shoulders.

You pull him close once he's entirely inside you and his eyes widen in surprise as you cling to him, your arms tightening as though he might vanish if you let go. For a moment, he hesitates, caught off guard, before finally wrapping his arms around you in return. A whirlwind of emotions swells within you—longing, relief, fear—and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out in a quiet breath against his neck. "Do you love me, Caleb?"

He exhales a soft chuckle, the sound rich with warmth but also a slight annoyance, as if the answer should be obvious. "You know damn well I love you more than life itself. Why do you always ask me that, hmm?"

He rolls his hips slowly as he hums, the limited space between you forcing each movement to be deliberate—almost as if he’s punishing you with overstimulation for daring to ask such a question.

You whimper, voice laced with need. "Don't leave again…I hate it when you leave." The words come out as a plea, muffled as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. He chuckles, the sound deep and knowing. "Mmm, I know."

He strokes your back, his touch is featherlight, keeping you close as he's completely sheathed in you, "I know, doll. If it were up to me, I'd stay right here with you forever." He inhaled deeply, as if trying to commit the scent of your hair to memory. "But I'm here now... and I'm not going anywhere for a while, so..."

He pulled back slightly, his fingers threading through your hair, before resuming his slow, deliberate movements. Your hand found its way to his cheek, a gesture that sent something wild through him. He nuzzled into your touch, tilting his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm.

His gaze—heavy with longing, devotion, something deeper than words—never left yours. "I love you so much," he groaned, his pace picking up, yet his eyes remained locked onto your face. "You mean everything to me, you know that, right?"

You nodded, moaning and whimpering as he moved faster against you, making sure you felt every inch of him. "I—I love you too, Caleb. Don't go anywhere again... Don't disappear."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest at your plea, and he pulled you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he pounded into you, The need in his voice was undeniable, as if your words had completely undone him. "Say it again, please. Say it again for me," he pleaded, his thrusts growing desperate, relentless.

"I love you, Caleb. I love you," you gasped, and that was all it took. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat and his body tensed, shaking with release as he finished inside you. "I'm not goin' anywhere... not for long" he grunted. Stuffing his cum inside you, caressing and raking his fingers all over before he kissed your breasts greedily, and looked up at you with heavy eyes— watching you reach your own high once you felt him explode inside, the look on his face, his warm and wet tongue on your breasts and the sounds he made only heightening the pleasure you felt, both of you panting and catching your breath in each other's arms, not wanting to let go. You held onto him tighter though, not yet ready for him to pull out.

He chuckled softly against your ear, his hand soothingly tracing over your back and through your hair. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the deep rumble of his laughter reverberate through your body.

"So needy, pipsqueak," he murmured, his tone laced with fatigue and affection. "Maybe I should keep you like this more often..."