#Frozen Facade

[sammaggs]

2x15 Body Language // 3x07 Mountie and Soul | Melt

Constable Benton Fraser watches A Random Man boxing

vs

Constable Benton Fraser watches Stanley Raymond Kowalski boxing

Tell me you don’t see the difference and I will show you a LIAR

Benton Fraser Checks Out His Boyfriend [One] [Two] [Three] [Four]

[soupmanspeaks]

Okay wait sorry for the double postage but I just wanna let everyone know that I maaaaaay be losing it just a tad because I'm going insane comparing Micheal Afton and Evan Afton to freaking Anna and Elsa Frozen like

Who let me get into fnaf, dawg what is this

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic Idea: New Money

The ghost zone doesn't have a formal form of currency. Depending on which part of the zone one is in, a trade could be made, or a Deal can be struck, but coins can rarely, if ever, be exchanged.

Every subculture that forms in the zone can eventually develop its own currency, but it will only have value within its territory. An example would be the credit crystals that the Far Frozen have developed, with a corresponding amount of funds floating inside their iced rocks. Still, if a Yeti were to travel even a foot outside their snowy mountains, the stones would become an interesting clothing choice and nothing else.

Ghosts value emotions more than any amount of gold or coin. Oftentimes, the most powerful of ecto beings would battle it out if a child's favorite teddy bear somehow found its way into the zone, though the thin cracks between worlds or an entire army of ghost mercenaries could be bought with a single pair of favorited socks.

It may not seem as much to the living, but to ghosts who could see the attachment embedded into the item, it meant everything. Some emotions could even be eaten off of the items if they were fresh enough, and while it did give a power boost, most of the time, the emotions were positive.

If a negative emotion was eaten, Ghosts could quickly become addicted to it, and when cut off from the negative emotion, they could soon fall apart in seconds.

Spectra was a famous example used in the zone as a precautionary tale for all new ghosts. Her beauty and power were only a facade to her desperation for angst emotions, and she flouted about the Zone, always on the hunt for her next fix.

It was pretty sad to see.

A few ghosts did their best to limit additions, such as Walker, who established himself a section of the zone using his great sense of justice that he had died with. He found human contraband that came into the zone unnaturally, sealing them away in his haunt.

These items usually had lickings of anxiety, desperation, or even fear attached to them and could quickly turn any ghost into a violent sort.

Walker's mission since his creation was to limit this exposal. He even arrested various ghosts that went to the human world through unnatural means, a majority coming back contaminated with human emotions and becoming a danger to fellow ghosts.

Most of these ghosts had items on them that were deemed worthless once all emotion was sucked out. Walker usually had his men take them to the Dump.

The Dump in the Ghost Zone was an extensive collection of worthless items gathered at the far right. It was known as a neutral section of the Zone, as every civilization and haunt often traveled there to eliminate clutter. Everything unwanted usually finds its way to the Dump.

Danny, after having a trial with Walker and coming to the understanding that he was not, in fact, attempting to make his fellow Ghosts addicted to anger- cause apparently a majority of Walker's prisoners were in there because of their exposal to Danny!- he was directed to the Dump to rid of his worthless ripped bag.

Danny had flown there expecting mountains and mountains of garbage. What he found instead were islands made entirely of gold. He flouted over the piles and piles of jewels, gold coins, random bills, and valuable items, gaping at the long collection that went further than his eye could see.

"What is all of this?" He gasps just as Box Ghost floats by carrying a jewelry box. He flips it open and shakes out a necklace with a diamond as large as Danny's palm onto the pile of jewelry. He gives Danny a friendly wave when they make eye contact.

He proudly flouts over to Danny, taking the neutral status of the Dump to heart. No fighting was allowed in this territory, much like Truce Day; all ghosts abided by this rule.

"The Box Ghost was lucky to be near a natural portal leading to the Human world's sea. This small rectangular object was once beloved by a grandmother, and now it is all mine!" He cheers, holding the jewelry box, practically half rotted and dripping wet over his head. A faint, gentle green glow surrounded it.

Danny blinks, pointing down at the necklace. "What about that? Aren't you going to keep it?"

"The Box Ghost has no need for useless stones!" The floating man even sticks his tongue to the necklace that could pay for Danny's college education (If it were real).

Only half joking, Danny asks, "Can I have it then?"

Box Ghost blinks, then gestures to the mountains and mountains of wealth. "If the Ghost Child wishes for a garage, he can take whatever he likes. No one will mind. Though, why would you waste time on soulless items? Box Ghost can not be sure!"

Box Ghost flies away laughing as if Danny was the one to mock for wanting a diamond necklace. He watches the ghost go before turning back to the mountains and mountains of shimmering gold.

Deciding to fly through the Dump to see what else he can find, Danny begins exploring- but not before taking the necklace- and later comes upon an island dedicated to various human clothing that looked like it came from hundreds of eras. He finds himself dressing up like a Lord of Old for fun when he happens upon leather bags.

Seeing as no one was there to stop him, Danny filled up each bag with chains and jewels, flying home in his new get up. He figured he could use some of the funds even if the gold was fake.

_____________________________________________________________

Oliver Queen is new money. His wealth came from only three generations ago, and while that is rather impressive, it held no candle to families like the Waynes.

The Waynes were old money, and their galas showed it. Every time old Brucie called him to celebrate, Oliver went along only to keep his company board happy.

They couldn't afford to offend one of their most prominent investors even if there were no thoughts behind Bruce Wayne's eyes. Oliver would have enjoyed himself more at these parties- if there was one thing Bruce Wayne knew how to do: throw a fantastic party- but sadly, he had to deal with the other old-money people who attended Bruce's parties.

The passive aggression reminders that he would never been on their level, the choking humiliation, the constant looking down on him. Well, it got exhausting. Especially since Oliver spent so much of his free time fighting for justice and trying to make the world a better place. These people talked and acted like they were above it all.

Like nothing could touch them, even when a majority of them were the cause for so much darkness, Oliver faced as Green Arrow.

He needed a stronger drink.

"Rather self-important for new money, isn't he?" A woman whispers loudly, mocking in every inch of her tone. Oliver's eyebrow twitches as he drowns his glass. He turns towards the voice, somewhat ready to cause a scene so he can go home, but it is a surprise to find that the gossiping woman isn't facing him

Rather, they are turned towards a young man, likely late teens, who is currently piling his plate high with sweets. The boy glances in the woman's direction before snorting unattractively and adding more to his plate.

Oliver is mildly impressed that he could make the woman flush with rage without saying anything. He had never seen the kid before, but he almost looked like a new Wayne with his dark hair and sparkling blue eyes.

He finds his feet walking towards the teenager before he can think about it. Something interesting may be at this gala after all.

"Hey, you seemed to really like fudge. Have you tried the raspberry ones? It's the best." He starts gesturing to a familiar chef's name in front of a chocolate tray. He had a sample of their work only a week ago when Batman brought some to the Watch Tower.

It was absolutely heaven.

The teen considered the pink color fudge before he took three cudes. With his bare hands. Well. New money, indeed.

"Thanks!" The boy chirps after stuffing one in his mouth and savoring the flavor.

"You're welcome. My son, Roy, really likes it too." He smiles as the boy glances towards where his adoptive son is currently chatting with Jason Todd. Those two find themselves attached to the hip whenever there is a gala. Maybe Roy will bring him home for the holidays soon. "I'm Oliver Queen, owner of Queen Industries."

"Danny Fenton," The boy responds slightly hesitantly. "Do all rich people do that? Add what makes them rich to their inductions?"

Oliver snorts, "Only the real tacky ones."

"Okay, Mr. Owner of Queen Industries."

Oh Oliver like this kid. He grins, ignoring the jab. "And what about you? What made you rich enough to be here to tonight."

The kid's eyes gain a certain glint of humor as he shrugs. "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Oliver moves to ask what he means, but Brucie shows up then, and he can't find a way out of the conversation. He's buttering up to the big idiot, knowing he lost sight of the strange boy.

Afterward, Oliver looks into Danny Fenton, only to find that the boy somehow appears out of nowhere with billions of dollars but no known source of where he got them. It also seems Batman was already on the case, assuming the boy was counterfeiting somehow, but Oliver didn't get that sense from the kid.

Something wasn't adding up about the boy, but he didn't think it was illegal. He just had to convince the big bad bat of that. If only it could be as easy as convincing Bruce Wayne to spend millions of dollars.

[buckyalpine]

18+ af, minors dni. Dub con elements, please ignore if it's not your thing. Back at it with a dark Bucky who has the biggest corruption kink and loves to manipulate the sweet doll across the hall who makes him have the most unholy thoughts. He can't help how badly he craves for her to take care of him, comfort him, all while he pretends he has no idea what's happening with his body after all the abuse from Hydra. His mind is too fried. He's just too innocent with so many big feelings. So many big, thick, achy, leaky feelings-

Oop-

It started off with small things. Patching him up after a rough mission. Making him dinner. Feeding him. Falling asleep in her lap. Seeking her out when he has bad dreams. Calling her mommy when he was especially needy and just wanted to be held. Feel extra close. Around her, he's just a clingy little baby Bucky who loves to nurse from his pretty mommy for comfort.

It's all perfectly innocent. Sometimes after a nightmare. Sometimes before bed. Her nipples are so warm against his tongue, his pink lips sealed around every bit of her peaked bud. Who was she to deny him with the way he cuddled his face into her chest with the quietest "Mommy, please?"

Of course she lets him take her top off, it's nothing sexual, purely to comfort him, his gentle gurgles quickly turning into soft snores within minutes.

She'd always take care of him.

Like now when you were watching tv, lounging in a loose tank top. He splays himself across your lap and you idly play with his hair while he gets comfy, only wearing his boxers. He’s so cute and precious, reaching up to latch onto your breasts, tugging at your top so you'd take it off. He nuzzles his face in, struggling to maintain his facade of just needing to be held, no longer able to ignore the way his cock needed attention too.

You're so used to letting him take what he needs, you don't notice his extra squirming, still focused on your show until he takes your hand to show you where he actually needs you.

"Mommy, it’s hard" he whines while your eyes grow wide. It's always fuckin' hard around you, pretty girl.

He’d never done that before, spreading his thighs further so you could see where he needed you most, blinking up at you innocently while his thick cock pressed against the fabric, rubbing your hand over his bulge.

"B-Baby?"

"Mommy, help" he continues to pout before going back to sucking while shoving your hand down his boxers to his achy erection. You feel your heart beat out of your chest with your hand now wrapped around his velvety shaft, absolutely torn over what to do. It wasn't his fault his body was reacting this way. He was asking the one person he felt safe around to take care of him. He obviously didn't know any better.

God, you felt awful over how frustrated he would have felt not knowing who else to turn to when he was in such a cloudy headspace. You stay frozen until he puts his hand over yours, showing you how to touch him, stroking up and down with just the right pressure.

"S-sometimes I do this by myself" He moans between tugging your nipples between his lips, lifting his hips up to take off his briefs. His balls are heavy between his thighs, full and aching after waiting months for this very moment. "It feels good, is it bad?"

"No sweet boy, it's normal" You coo, giving him exactly what he wants while his body runs hot, his hips rutting up to chase more of your soft hand, "I got you, don't worry, relax Jamie" You pet his hair while stroking his cock, his mouth working between your breasts, lost in his own world. Even now, he looked so innocent, a deep blush on his cheeks while you made him feel good, it was going to take years to help him remember-

"It feels good here mommy" He wraps your hand around his dripping, swollen head, his hips pushing up, eyes nearly rolling back at the way his cock feels in your hand. He knows he's gonna blow-

"R-right there, m'gonna-make a mess" He moans between a shy pout and of course you reassure him you'll clean him right up because he's doing nothing wrong and all of this was perfectly natural. His body was responding to touch exactly the way it had to, he was safe with you-

"MMPHHHH" He cries out as the first stream shoots out, load after load still pouring out of his stiff cock. You wipe him down and he spends the rest of the night cuddled up with soft blankets, hiding his smirk with his face tucked into your neck while you rub his back.

I could stop here but just imagine what happens when he decides to get more bold.

"Do you ever feel like this?" He asks innocently and you nearly squeak in surprise. He waits intently for an answer and you pause before answering, carefully considering your words.

"Um, sometimes baby"

Liar, he thinks. I hear you pretty girl, always playing with that pretty pussy thinking I can't hear you.

"Can I help you?" You swear his voice drops an octave and so does your stomach. It felt so fucking wrong, why were you responding to him like this, he wasn't thinking clearly and you were getting turned on-"Like how you helped me?"

"No! No Jamie, you-you don't have to"

Oh, but he wants to because you're so good to him and it's not fair he doesn't help you too. That's how he manages to get you naked and spread out on his bed, shoving his cock in your pussy.

"M'I doing it right?" He still looks at you with the sweetest lost expression but you can't help but notice there's something darker in his eyes. His whines melt into groans, his pace growing faster. "M'so hard mommy"

"J-Jamie, I-" You're so confused over what to do, moans escaping your lips, your pussy swallowing his cock back in each time he thrusts.

"Tell me to stop mommy" You swear you hear a smirk in his voice, his movements suddenly more calculated, his hips perfectly rolling to hit that spot your fingers can never reach, "Tell Jamie to stop"

"St-Jamie, oh God" You pant, your orgasm barreling towards you and you want to scream stop because something is off but his hands snake between your bodies and he finds your clit- "Please!"

"M'gonna think about this when I touch myself, mommy" He rubs you faster, needing you to cum instead of worrying your pretty head, "Can I? Can I think of you when I make a mess? M'gonna make one now, I-

He couldn't wait for you to tell him why your belly would be getting bigger and bigger over the next few months.

Lord I'm sorry.

[mythicalmaven]

19 Lando fluff and smut please

Secret Desires - Lando Norris

Loved writing this! <3 If you guys want a part 2 where the whole ordeal continues (including Lando’s awkward encouter with Max) let me know!😂❤️

Masterlist ↳pairing: Lando Norris x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 4,6K ↳Summary: In which the reader is Max Verstappen's twin is Lando's friend & he accidentally confesses some things to her while he's drunk. The day after when he apologizes, it leads to something more. ↳content warnings: friends to lovers, reader is Max Verstappen's twin, lando is drunk and accidentally confesses something to the reader, suggestive content, flirting, dirty talk, sexting, sending nudes, phone sex, masturbation (both f! & m!), praise kink, fluff, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), confessing feelings ↳prompts used: 19 - "Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you.. with my hand down my pants"

You sighed deeply, sinking back into the comfort of the guest bed in your older sister's house, the covers wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The room felt different compared to your Monaco apartment, but it was cozy, filled with the nostalgia of growing up with your family as you saw the pictures hanging on the wall. Pictures of your parents, of you and your twin brother Max, of you and Victoria & so on.

You traded your own bed for the guest bedroom at Victoria's house back home in the Netherlands for the week, to spend some time with your sister again to catch up. After a long night of chatting with Vic, you finally decided to call it a day, though sleep was far from your mind.

Just as you were about to close your eyes to at least give sleeping a try, your phone lit up on the nightstand, a soft buzz drawing your attention. You reached over lazily, expecting a random notification, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flashing on the screen: Lando

Your best friend, your partner in crime, and the guy you’d been secretly in love with for longer than you’d care to admit. The guy who made your heart race with a single smile and had you questioning your sanity every time you felt his touch linger just a little too long. Even though you refused to admit it to anyone with a passion. Stating that the way you felt about Lando was nothing more than two flirtatious friends. You knew you were lying to yourself and your facade was starting to crumble. And now he was texting you, at this hour?

Unlocking your phone, you were met with not one, but several messages from him. You squinted at the screen, reading the texts slowly as they loaded, your eyes widening more with each one.

Lando: Y/n… Lando: Fuhk.. why are you sooooo hotttt? 🥵 Lando: Do yhu have any idea howw many tiems I thout about you… with my hnd down my pantss Lando: *1 image attached* You felt your face heat up instantly, a wave of flustered shock washing over you. He send a photo that you had posted on your story on Instagram today, a photo of you in a cute bikini set at the pool at Vic's house.

What the hell? Lando was… Was he really saying what you thought he was saying? Your mind spun, trying to process the drunk, typo-riddled texts. You knew he must have had a few too many drinks tonight; he mentioned going out to a party with the grid earlier. But this?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as you tried to think of a response. A thousand emotions crashed through you at once—embarrassment, confusion, a thrill of excitement. You could barely breathe.

You: Lan, you're drunk as fuck. Go to sleep 😂

you typed back quickly, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself. You barely had time to process your own message before another one from Lando popped up.

Lando: Drunk on love ���

Your heart did a somersault in your chest, and you felt your cheeks burning even hotter. What was he doing? Your pulse thudded loudly in your ears as you stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Before you could collect your thoughts, your phone buzzed again, but this time, it was a call.

Max’s name flashed on the screen.

You answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Max, what the hell—”

“Sorry dat ik zo laat bel,” (sorry for calling at this time) Max's voice was low and slightly slurred with a laugh. “Maar ik zag dat je online was, dus dacht, jij bent nog wakker. Wilde je alleen even een seintje geven dat de kans vrij aannemelijk is dat je vannacht nog dronken appjes krijgt van Lando.” (But I saw that you were online, so I figured you were still awake. Just wanted to give you a heads up that it's very likely that you'll receive some drunk texts from Lando tonight)

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh of your own. Of course, your twin brother knew exactly what was happening. “De kerel is echt gewoon laveloos en hield zijn mond maar niet dicht over je. De hele rit terug naar zijn apartment bleef hij maar zeuren over hoe hij je moest appen over iets geheimzinnigs. Dacht ik waarschuw je even.” (The guy is absolutely hammered and he wouldn't shut up about you. Kept yapping about how he had to text you about something secretive. Thought it would be nice to warn you)

“Te laat, is al gebeurd” (too late, he already did) you replied with a chuckle, glancing back at Lando's messages. “Had al zo’n vermoeden dat hij dronken was haha.” (I already figured he was drunk)

“Dacht ik al,” (I thought so) Max chuckled. “Hou het een beetje netjes, ja? Ik wil hier niet meer van weten dan ik al doe.” (Please keep it decent, yeah? I don't want to know any more about this than I already do)

You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Maar ik moest hem echt thuisbrengen, de jongen was niet meer te houden.” (But I just had to bring him home, couldn't keep him at bay anymore)

“Dank je, Max,” (Thanks, Max) you said softly, biting your lip. “Je bent een goede broer.” (You're a good brother)

“Altijd,” (Always) Max replied. “Ik moet wel weer ophangen nu, voordat ik Kelly en P wakker maak. Succes met je dronken vriendje.” (Gotta hang now tho, before I wake up Kelly and P. Good luck with your boyfriend)

“Max, hoe vaak moet ik nog zeggen dat Lando en ik gewoon vrienden zijn” (Max, how often do I have to tell you that Lando and I are just friends) you said, rolling your eyes.

"Als jij jezelf niet zo voor de gek hield, waren jullie al lang samen" (If you didn't keep lying to yourself, you two would have dated a long time already) and with a last chuckle, he hung up.

You flopped back onto your bed, your mind racing, Lando’s texts still staring at you from the screen. Your fingers shook as you picked up your phone again, reading his words over and over, your stomach flipping with nerves and something else, something hotter, more dangerous.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake it off. Lando was just drunk, you told yourself. He didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything… Right? But the way your heart fluttered at the thought of him thinking about you like that, the way your skin prickled with excitement at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way…

You forced yourself to put the phone down, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the wild thoughts racing through your mind. It was late, and you needed to sleep. But as you drifted off, your dreams were anything but peaceful. Lando's words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself imagining all the things he might have done while thinking about you, the way he might have said your name, the way his hands might have—

You woke up, flustered and breathless, your body tingling in a way that was all too familiar. The morning sun was peeking through the curtains, but all you could think about was Lando, and the way his words made you feel things you’d tried so hard to ignore.

Around the same time, somewhere in Monaco, Lando jolts awake.

"Fuck" the single word comes out as a hiss, his head pounding from the hangover. His phone screen glares back at him, a series of messages and a notification from Max catching his blurry gaze. He squints, his heart starting to race as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back.

He fumbles to unlock his phone, praying he didn’t do what he thinks he did. But the evidence is right there, the bold lettering of your name above the most mortifying message he could ever have sent, full of typos, but easily desiphered as 'Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you… with my hand down my pants?'

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his messy curls, anxiety flooding his system. What the fuck had he done? His fingers move of their own accord, tapping out a frantic apology.

Lando: Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.

You: Good morning to you too. How is your headache? 😉

He cringes at the situation, a mix of playful and mocking. His mind races, grasping at straws to somehow make this situation less embarrassing.

Lando: I don’t even remember sending that. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, pretty sure I wasn't thinking at all. I didn’t mean it.

A lie. He did mean it. But he’s not ready to admit that just yet.

You: Oh, you definitely weren’t thinking, lol. But hey, maybe you should apologize to Max too, since you apparently spilled some beans about me to him. 😆

Lando’s eyes widen, horror painting his features. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. He types back, heart racing.

Lando: What did I say? Please tell me I didn’t—

You: Relax, nothing too scandalous. Just enough for Max to find it disgusting.

Despite himself, a small laugh escapes his lips. He can picture Max’s reaction, the exaggerated gagging, the inevitable jokes he’ll have to endure.

Lando: I’m so sorry. Are you mad at me? I don’t want you to think I’m some idiot who can’t control himself.

You: Nah, I’m not mad. You were drunk, it’s not like you meant it anyway, right?

He swallows hard, your words hitting too close to home. A dry response forms on his screen.

Lando: Yeah, sure.

But deep down, he knows it’s not true. He’d thought about you like that more times than he cared to admit, a dangerous longing simmering beneath the surface of your friendship.

You: Hey, at least now I know I looked hot in yesterday’s bikini post.

Heat floods his cheeks. You’re playing it off, but there’s a hint of something in your words, a subtle curiosity. He swallows, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he types back, heart pounding.

Lando: Stating the obvious.

He can’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he imagines your reaction. It’s risky, but you don’t seem upset, and he’s willing to test the waters.

You: Oh? So you think I’m hot?

Lando: Didn’t know that was up for debate.

He’s toeing the line, the thrill of it sending a spark through him.

Lando: U really not mad? I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.

You: Mad? Nah. Flattered, maybe.

He blinks at your response, surprise mingling with a rush of arousal. Flattered? His mind reels, thoughts scrambling as he tries to figure out what to say next.

You: I have to admit tho, when I first got that message, I thought you’d sent something different than my own instagram post…🤭

His breath catches, heart skipping a beat. The implication is clear, and he feels himself growing hard at the mere thought of you expecting a more explicit photo from him. He shifts uncomfortably, typing out a teasing response.

Lando: So, you’re saying you opened it anyway, even though you thought I sent you a spicy picture? 😉

You: Shut up.

He laughs, imagining the flustered look on your face. It’s too easy to picture, and he leans back against his pillows, biting his lip.

Lando: Where are you?

You: In bed. Why?

Lando's breath got caught in his throat. A dangerous idea takes root in his mind, one that’s equally thrilling and terrifying. He knows he should stop, should draw the line before it goes too far. But something in your responses, the playful edge, the hint of curiosity, makes him want to push further.

Lando: Just curious. 😉

His mind races, and before he can second-guess himself, he snaps a quick photo. It’s not much,—just him lying back on his bed, shirt unbuttoned halfway, his abs on display and his hair a mess. He was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, apparently not changed out of it. But there’s something undeniably suggestive in the way he looks at the camera, the flush on his cheeks, a knowing smile on his lips as he sends it with a caption.

Lando: I can send you one for real if you want to see one.

His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for your response, the seconds dragging by agonizingly slowly. Then your reply comes in, teasing and playful.

You: Kinda daring coming from the guy who was apologizing 10 minutes ago for accidentally sending his best friend a text about thinking about her with his hand down his pants😉

Your words send a thrill through him, the boldness of it, the way you’re not backing down. He can’t resist pushing a little further, fingers trembling with anticipation.

Lando: You didn’t seem too disgusted by it.

The moment stretches out, his breath catching as he waits for your reply. The tightness in his dress pants becoming significantly worde.

When it comes, it’s more than he expected. 

You: I wasn’t. Actually, it was kinda hot.🫣

His eyes widen, arousal spiking as he reads your words again and again, disbelieving. Is this really happening? 

Lando: Yeah?

You: Yeah.

He swallows hard, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He glances down at the growing bulge in his pants, his arousal straining against the fabric. His hand moves almost on its own, snapping a quick picture of his hand palming himself through his dress pants, the outline of his erection unmistakable.

Lando: What about this? Still hot?

Your response is almost immediate.

You: Fuck, yes.

The words send a shiver down his spine, desire flaring as he imagines your reaction, the way you must be looking at your phone. He wants more, needs more.

Lando: Your turn.

There’s a pause, then a photo comes through. His breath hitches at the sight of you, flushed and flustered, the soft curve of your cleavage visible just above the red lace of your bra. It wasn't too naughty, but enough to send Lando reeling. 

He groans, his hand moving down to rub himself through his pants, a low moan escaping him as he imagines what’s beneath that thin fabric.

Lando: Fuck, babe, you’re killing me.

You: Good.

The playfulness in your response only fuels his desire, and he knows he should stop, should take a breath before this spirals out of control. But he doesn’t want to. Instead, he hits record on his camera, aiming it down at his crotch as he begins to palm himself through the fabric.

The video is short, just a few seconds of him rubbing himself, a low groan slipping from his lips. He ends it with a whispered “fuck,” his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants to give himself a teasing stroke before the video cuts off.

He sends it without thinking, heart racing as he imagines you watching it, the way your breath might hitch, the way you might bite your lip.

You: You’re really enjoying that, huh?

His breath hitched at your words, every sensation heightened as he slowly works himself up and down inside his dress pants, unable to contain the soft groans leaving his lips.

Lando: I do. Feels amazing... I wish you were here with me.

His hand is shaking now as he types out his next message, his arousal growing with every word.

Lando: Show me more.

There’s a beat of silence, and then another picture comes through. This one is more daring, more revealing. You’re under the blankets, one leg exposed, the other hidden beneath the covers. The waistband of your red panties is just visible above the edge of your blanket, your hand resting suggestively on your lower stomach, fingers reaching just into your panties.

Lando: Fuck, babe, that's so hot

Lando's breath catches as he stares at the photo you sent, his mind racing with all the things he wants to say, all the things he wants to do. He decided to take the leap and press the button to send you a facetime request. You accept it almost immediately, his heart pounding as your face fills the screen. You look flustered, lips slightly parted, and he swallows hard.

“Hi,” you say, your voice breathless, almost shy.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that?” Lando murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he admired your flushed face.

You blush, your eyes darting away from the screen for a moment before you look back at him. “I think you’re the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed right now, not me.”

He grins, the playful tone of your voice sending another jolt of arousal through him. “Oh, trust me, I’m plenty embarrassed. But I’m also…” He hesitates, his gaze dropping down for a moment before he meets your eyes again, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “... really turned on.”

Your breath catches, and he watches as you shift on the bed, the movement causing the camera to reveal a little bit more of your cleavage and the red lace bra you were wearing. His eyes are drawn to the exposed skin, mesmerized by your body.

“What are you wearing?” The question slips out before he can stop it, his eyes dark with desire.

You glance down at yourself, then back at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Not much.”

He groans, his hand tightening around his phone. As he speaks, his other hand drifts back down, brushing over the ever-growing bulge in his pants again. “Can I see?” The words are thick with anticipation, his voice trembling slightly as he palms himself, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through him. He bites his lip, letting out a quiet moan that he can’t quite suppress.

You hesitate, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you consider his request. Then, slowly, you change your camera angle and pull the blanket down just a little, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the red lace of your panties, the soft curve of your thigh. Lando feels a jolt of arousal shooting through him, and he has to bite back a groan. It’s just enough to tease, to make him want more. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” His voice is rough, strained, as he shifts on the bed, the fabric of his pants suddenly feeling too tight, too restrictive. His hand presses harder against his length, his breath hitching as the friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

You giggle, your eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “You like what you see?”

“Like?” He shakes his head, his eyes glued to the screen. “I fucking love it.”

Your cheeks flush a deeper red, and you lean back a little, giving him an even better view of your body. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the sight of you, the way the red lace clings to your skin, the hint of cleavage peeking out from beneath your bra. He can see the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the anticipation, the arousal clear in your eyes.

“Your turn,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to send his heart racing.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still holding his phone, he shifts back on the bed, his other hand moving to the waistband of his pants. His fingers fumble with the button, his hands shaking slightly as he pops it open, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath hitches as he unzips his pants, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours, seeking permission. When you nod, he slides his hand into his boxers, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as he wraps his fingers around his length.

“Fuck…” The word slips out as he strokes himself slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he forces them open again, needing to see your reaction. His voice trembles, laced with a mix of desire and restraint, each moan escaping his lips growing louder as he quickens his pace.

Your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted as you watch him, your hand moving down towards your panties on their own accord, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric “Fuck, that's hot, Lando…”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his boxers now pushed low enough to reveal his cock, hand moving faster, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. “Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”

You bite your lip, waiting just a moment before you slip your hand beneath the waistband of your panties, a soft gasp escaping you as your fingers make contact. The sight of you, the way your body arches slightly, the soft, breathless sounds you make, is almost too much for him.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so fucking hot…” His voice is barely more than a growl as he watches you, his own hand moving faster, the pleasure building inside him, threatening to spill over.

“What would you do to me if I was right there?” you ask, your voice a breathless whisper.

His eyes darken, his grip tightening around himself. “I’d start by kissing you, slowly… working my way down your body.” His voice is rough, each word laced with longing. “I’d touch you everywhere, make you feel so good. Then I’d…” his words getting cut off by his own moan.

“Tell me,” you encourage, your own voice trembling with need.

“I’d bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name,” he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic as he imagines it, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “F-Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You moan at his words, your fingers moving faster as you picture it, your body aching for his touch. “Lando, I…”

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I’d touch you,” you breathe, your voice trembling as your fingers move in sync with his. “I’d wrap my fingers around you, just like you’re doing now… make you feel so good, Lan”

He whimpers at your words, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he imagines it, the sensation of your touch almost too real. “Fuck, Y/N, I need you…”

“Imagine it’s my hand, Lan” you whisper, your voice laced with seduction. “Imagine I’m right there with you…”

His moans grow louder, his hips bucking into his hand as he follows your words, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “I’m so close…”

“Me too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you feel the pleasure building, your body trembling with anticipation.

“God, you’re amazing,” he pants, his voice filled with praise as he watches you, every movement driving him closer to the edge. “You’re so perfect… I want you so bad…”

Your voice is a breathless moan as you reach the brink, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumes you "F-Fuck, Lan, I'm coming"

“Fuck, baby, I’m right there with you…” His voice is ragged, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation. You watch, breathless, as his hand moves faster, more desperately, his grip tightening around his length.

Then, with a strangled moan, he tips over the edge. His hips jerk, and his head falls back against the pillows as he cums, thick ropes of it spilling out and covering his abdomen. You can see the way his abs contract with each pulse, his hand still working himself through every last wave of pleasure, milking himself until he’s spent. His eyes remain locked on yours, his breathing heavy, a mixture of satisfaction and lingering desire in his gaze as you both ride the waves of your shared climax.

For a few moments, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you staring at each other through the screen, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy in the air.

“Fuck…” He laughs breathlessly, his head falling back against the pillows as he runs a hand through his hair. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finish for him, your own laughter bubbling up, your cheeks still flushed, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. “Holy shit, Lando…”

“Yeah.” He grins, his heart still racing as he looks at you, the reality of what you just did slowly sinking in. “Are you… okay?”

You nod, your smile softening as you look at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. More than okay.”

His heart swells at your words, relief flooding through him. He’s about to say something else when you shift on the bed, the blanket slipping down a little further, giving him a glimpse of your bare shoulder.

“Lando,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his through the screen, a mischievous glint in your gaze. “If that was just a taste, I can’t wait to see what happens when we’re see each other again.”

The promise in your words sends a shiver down his spine, his mind racing at the thought of having you, really having you, right in front of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…” His voice is a low whisper, his eyes still dark with desire.

“Maybe I have an idea,” you tease, your smile widening as you settle back against the pillows, your gaze never leaving his. “When I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe you should pick me up from the airport... and then we can do this again, but then in real life”

His heart skips a beat at your words, excitement and anticipation flooding through him. “You mean that?”

You nod, your smile softening, your eyes filled with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. “Yeah, I mean that. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

His breath catches, the sincerity in your voice, the way you’re looking at him, making his heart race. He knows, in that moment, that this isn’t just about sex, about fulfilling a desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for years. It’s about more, so much more.

“Y/N… there’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

Your gaze softens, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “What is it, Lando?”

He hesitates for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he continues. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. It’s not just about my text last night or about what we just did. I've been feeling like this for a while. It’s everything. Every time we’ve laughed together, every time you’ve supported me, every time I’ve seen you smile... I’ve been falling for you more and more.”

You feel your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. Finally ready to admit it out loud. “Lando... I’ve felt the same way. I’ve just been too scared to admit it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long, but I was afraid I’d ruin what we have.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you say softly. “If anything, you’ve made it better.”

A wide smile spreads across his face, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve never been so thankful for getting drunk.”

You laugh, the sound light and filled with joy. “Me neither, Lando. Me neither.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, both of you just taking in the reality of what’s been confessed.

“So… when I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe we could start something real?” you suggest, your voice hopeful.

“I’d like that,” he replies, his heart swelling with happiness. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s a plan,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips.

"God, I wish I could kiss you now" he whispered, a small hint of disappointment in his voice.

And with that, you both know that this is just the beginning of something truly special, something that’s been waiting to happen for far too long.

Sequel

Masterlist

[shockercoco]

Necessary Revenge

Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, sub!art, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation

Word count - 2111

a/n - yeah this is definitely on the list of the dirtiest things i've written. by popular request, here's part 2 to Cheer Up, but it can also be read by itself. Also tysm for all the love on Cheer Up. Sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoy :)

You hated it when Art teased you, which is exactly why he does it. All you want is a loving boyfriend who listens to you and does what you say, is that too much to ask? Apparently so.

Obviously, the only reasonable solution is to seek revenge. Unfortunately for Art, after being denied an orgasm earlier after a rough day, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Well, maybe not unfortunate since this is most likely what he wants. 

You were trying to study and watch playbacks of matches on your laptop to better your skills, but since you’re no longer in the mood, you decide you might as well close it.

After cleaning up your area, you head into the bedroom to see Art leaning against the headboard on his phone, his back propped by pillows. The television is on but on low volume, he always needed some type of background noise. Art glances up from his phone once he notices you walk in and can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. As soon as he looks back down, you shoot him a glare.

“Back for more?” Art asks.

Just you wait.

“Not exactly,” you tell him as you climb next to him on the bed, using the sweetest tone possible. You get yourself situated against the headboard with him, making sure you’re comfortable – you plan on being here a while. “What are you doing?” 

“Just texting Patrick, he’s complaining about the match he just lost and how he needs to find a way to improve.”

“Well, he always was a sore loser,” you say. Art hums and nods in agreement as he continues to text his best friend. He doesn’t make a move to continue the conversation, so you decide to begin your revenge plan.

You turn your attention to the tv hanging on the wall as you place your hand on Art’s thigh. He must be too into his phone since he doesn’t notice, so you continue to raise your hand higher along the fabric of his sweatpants.

Art’s body tenses as he feels your hand move up his body, his fingers frozen above the keyboard on his phone. You notice the questioning glance he gives you from the corner of your eye, but you continue to play innocent as you keep your attention forward.

You wait for Art’s focus to go back to his phone before drifting your hand even higher and stopping right over his crotch. You don’t hide the smile that starts to grow on your face as you feel his cock slowly starting to harden over your touch. Art’s breathing begins to shallow out as he tries to maintain his focus and keep his mind straight. Well, that is until you give his crotch a firm squeeze causing him to let out a small moan and his eyes to flutter.

“What are you doing?” he asks you, his voice low.

“What do you mean? I just want to spend some time with you,” you answer in a casual tone, but Art can see right through your facade. He can feel his heartbeat getting faster. You finally turn your head towards him to notice his blue eyes not slightly widened as he stares back at you. You notice the way his chest slowly rises and falls in anticipation as his grip tightens around his phone. “Is something wrong?”

He gulps. “N-No, just a question.”

“I’m pretty sure Patrick is waiting for you to text him back,” you say, nodding towards his screen. 

Art continues to stare for a few more seconds before nodding and looking back at his phone, but you don’t take your eyes off of him. You let your hand hover above him as you wait for him to send a few more messages out before beginning to palm him through his sweatpants.

Art bites his lip as he lets a whimper. His cock is at full attention now as your hand continues to move. The grip he has on his phone is faltering, his hands starting to tremble and his face completely flushed. When his hands fall into his lap along with his phone, you stop and raise your eyebrows.

“Pick it back up and continue texting him,” you command, your tone firm. His phone is vibrating non-stop from Patrick’s pettiness.

“Baby-.”

“I said continue,” you tell him. 

A look of desperation flashes across his face before he lifts his phone back up and responds to the messages. Your hand starts back up again, and Art lets out a noise, sounding like he wants to start crying. 

He’s falling apart with just a touch of your hand.

Art is starting to get annoyed at Patrick’s texts and wishes they would just stop so he could enjoy himself. He knows you’re not too pleased right now, but he doesn’t care. It just feels too good.

You lean your head into his neck for you to kiss just below his ear, his favorite spot and his weakness. “What’s wrong? You were so cocky earlier, where’s that same energy?”

A shiver runs through Art’s body at the feeling of your breath on his neck. He lets out another whine as he closes his eyes for a second before opening them back up. He’s looking at his phone, but given the fact that his head is starting to feel empty, he can’t really make out the words on the screen.

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” you taunt as you press down harder on Art’s crotch, causing him to buck up into your hand. 

You pull away from his neck to get a good look at his face, which now has a distant look on it. His mouth is ajar as he looks back at you. You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond to you, but all he does is whimper and pant. He’s a complete mess.

You bring him into a kiss by grabbing the back of his neck, which he happily gives in to. The kiss is filled with nothing but need – more on his end than yours. Art drops his phone on the bed next to him so he can grab your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He whimpers into your mouth as you give his hair a quick put firm tug.

He plunges his tongue into your mouth, needing even more from you. You allow it for a moment before pulling back just a little to wrap your lips around his tongue. Art lets his eyes roll into his head at the feeling of you sucking his tongue. He feels his climax coming quickly from the combined pleasure, and you can tell by the fact of him squirming under your touch more and more.

“You’re not going to cum without my permission are you?” you ask after pulling away from his mouth.

Art feels his eyes become heavy as his forehead pressed against yours. “No.”

“Good boy,” you smile, and that brings Art even closer to the edge. He removes his hand from your waist to grab a hold of the cover beneath him.

“Can I cum?” he pleads as he throws his head back against the headboard, your hand still on the back of his neck.

“Not yet.”

“Baby please,”he pleads again, his breathing speeding up.

“No,” you tell him, wanting to torture him.

“Baby I can’t. I-I can’t,” he stutters, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed.

“That’s too bad,” you tell him. You feel his hips stutter under your touch making it known that he’s about to cum anyways. You already knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer. 

Art lets out a cry as his orgasm floods through his body and shoots out of him. A wet patch begins to appear through his sweatpants as you keep on pressing against him. He continues to roll his hips into your hand as he rides his orgasm out, a string of gasps falling out of his mouth.

“Oh no,” you fake pout, “Looks like you didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” he pants as he opens, looking down at the stain on his pants before making eye contact with you. A look of embarrassment falls on his face.

He’s so cute.

You move your hand away from him. “What a shame,” you shake your head in fake disappointment. There’s a moment of silence before you say, “pull your pants down.”

“What?” Art asks, confused. He thought you were done, but he was so wrong.

“You heard me,” you say in a plain tone. 

Art hesitates before shimmying his pants down his legs to his knees, along with his underwear. You look down to see a mess of his cum covering his shaft, and as you take a look at his underwear, you see some sticking to the fabric. His cock is red and starting to soften, but that’s going to change.

Art gives you a look of realization as he lifts his head from the headboard once it registers in his mind what you’re about to do. “Please don’t.”

You ignore his request as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He jumps at the feeling of your cold hand around him, still sensitive from his orgasm. You stare into his eyes as you begin moving your hand up and down. Art lets out a pathetic whine as his body jerks, trying to escape your touch, but it doesn’t work.

“You know, you’re just so easy,” you tease.

“Baby, please-,” Art cuts himself off with a whimper, his hips starting to writhe against the cover.

“Please what? You should be thankful that I’m doing this, unlike how you denied me my orgasm earlier,” you tell him. “I’m letting you cum as many times as you want.”

“Oh my god,” he says as he drops his head. His voice strangled as his second orgasm unexpectedly arrives. You watch as his cum lands on your hands and the bottom of his white shirt. 

A sticky and wet sound echoes through the room as your hand speeds up around him. Art’s mouth falls open as his breathing picks up once again. He looks at you, silently begging, but you ignore him once again. You remove the hand from behind his neck and place it on one of his legs to help keep his body still.

“Say you’re sorry,” you tell him as you run your thumb over his tip a few times..

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his grip on the cover tightening. He feels like his hands might be stuck in fists by the time this is over.

You pretend to think in your head before saying, “I don’t think you mean it.”

His voice is high and whiny as he throws his head back once again and says, “I am. I promise.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Make me believe it.”

Art begins to rethink his choices and starts to regret messing with you. “I’m so, so, so sorry, baby. I swear. It was wrong of me to do that to you.”

“Hmm.”

“Baby.”

You smirk at his desperation. “I forgive you.”

“Oh, no, I think I’m going to cum again,” he cries, his eyes rolling back once again as his body tenses.

“Go ahead,” you tell him.

Art’s third orgasm hits him harder than his previous two. He trembles as his back arches away from the headboard while watered down cum spurts out of him. Drool spills out the side of his mouth as you continue the motions of your hand.

He uses a hand and reaches down to pull yours away from his cock, but you slap it away. Art gasps as he continues to twitch in your hand, feeling like he can’t stop as cum flows out of him. You finally move your hand away, but his cock continues to spasm with your touch.

Wanting to torture him one last time, you lean down to wrap your mouth him, sucking and cleaning. Art’s body jerks as he curls forward and grabs your head. You laugh as you pull away.

You lean back against the headboard, pulling his head into the side of your neck to help him calm down. His breath tickles you as he tries to slow his heart down. You glance down at his spent cock with a smile as you gently rub his back.

After a long moment of silence, Art’s phone vibrates from its place on the bed beside him.

You shake your head as you ask, “Are you going to answer that?”

“Patrick can fucking wait,” he breathes out.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[uzurakis]

hi hi it’s me again!! (yes I’m the nonnie w/the stalker request + ‘my friend thinks ur cute’ request :3) I’m here to request again!! reckless!reader with jjk men (yuta n Megumi yk the deal 🙏🙏) + bonus points if reader hides their injuries too! maybe reader was on a mission; got injured and didn’t tell jjk men, or reader was playing around on a frozen lake not giving af and it begins to crack, or reader straight up doesn’t look both ways while crossing the street n act like they have 9 lives (yuta ptsd fr 😭), or anything you wanna come up with :3 do what you like!

HIDING YOUR INJURIES FROM THEM?

featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. itadori yuuji.

n. i sure know the deal my beloved meguyuta nonnie (imma call u dat instead). i decided to go with the first idea of yours, i hope that’s okay!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you returned from a challenging mission, your body aching with every step. despite the pain gnawing at you, you plastered on a smile as you entered the room where megumi was waiting. he looked up, concern etched across his features.

fushiguro megumi has the term ‘worry’ in his vocabulary. he immediately called out, "you…” without saying any ‘hey’s or ‘hi’s, you were able to cut him off with your response. 

"it went alright, just a few scrapes," you replied, trying to downplay the severity of your injuries

but megumi wasn't fooled. his brows furrowed as he approached you, his eyes scanning your form. “you’re lying,” megumi grabbed your wrist firmly as he looked straight into your eyes. "those 'scrapes' look more like serious wounds," he said, you could literally hear him edged with frustration.

you swallowed, guilt creeping into your chest. "i’m fine," you confessed, avoiding his gaze and breaking free from his grip.

megumi sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "you're injured, and you’re still trying to hide it from me? seriously?" he scolded, frustration becoming more evident.

“fine then.”

he looked away, and you felt a twinge of regret at the way he responded. but then there was a change in his attitude. as he reached for the first aid kit, his demeanor softened and his irritation vanished. silently, he whispered, "let's get you patched up," megumi’s voice was soft yet stiff.

as he tended to your wounds in silence, the tension in the room dissipated. his touch was tender, his movements careful as he bandaged your injuries. when he finished, he looked up, green pupils meeting yours.

"you make me worry, you know that?" 

ITADORI YUUJI. you stumbled through the door, trying to hide the wince as pain shot through your side. itadori was waiting, his eyes lighting up as he saw you, but then furrowing with concern as he noticed your slight limp.

"baby, you're back! how did it go?" he asked.

you forced a smile, trying to brush off the pain. "good, thank god it was just a second grade curse," you replied, hoping he wouldn't see through your facade.

your boyfriend, though, remained unconvinced. "are you sure you're alright? you’re limping.”

you hesitated, but his genuine concern melted away your resolve. you felt bad for keeping it from him, but at last you said, "well, there might be a small injury, but it's nothing serious." 

instantly, itadori's expression softened, and he wrapped you in a tight hug that made you let out a small ouch. "don't hide these things from me," his breath warm against your ear. “let me help you tend your injuries, baby. do you need shoko or just an aid kit?”

GOJO SATORU. the mission had been tougher than anticipated, but you knew gojo would worry if he saw how badly you were hurt. so you played pretend and hoped it would be enough. gojo was lounging on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, his usual smirk playing on his lips. his eyes, hidden behind his pitch black glasses, seemed to twinkle as he looked up at you. "oi, you're back earlier than i expected."

you nodded, keeping your movements slow and controlled. "yeah, managed to wrap things up quicker than i thought." he tilted his head, a curious glint in his eye. "really? no trouble at all?"

"none," you lied, forcing a laugh. "just the usual."

gojo's smile faltered, just for a second, but you caught it. he stood up and sauntered over to you, his gaze never leaving your face. "hey, you know," he began, voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone, "i can see right through you, babe. you're hurt."

"i'm okay, satoru. really."

he reached out, gently but firmly taking your arm. "don't lie to me." his fingers brushed against a particularly sore spot, and you winced despite yourself. “look?”

"satoru, i didn't want you to worry—“

he cut you off, his grip tightening just enough to keep you still without causing more pain. "hm, too late for that, baby," he said with a mix of irritation and concern. "let me take care of you."

you sighed, realizing there was no point in hiding it anymore. "okay, but just... be gentle, alright?"

he led you to the couch, his touch surprisingly tender as he helped you sit down. "i'm always gentle," he teased, but his eyes were serious as he examined your injuries. "you should've told me right away."

YUUTA OKKOTSU. he eyed you for a moment, his smile fading slightly. "babe, you alright? you seem a bit... off."

"just tired. it's been a long day." you waved a hand dismissively, nothing to worry, you wanted to tell him that.

yet, yuuta's gaze still lingered on you, eyes narrowing slightly. "alright," he said slowly, "if you say so."

you made your way to the bathroom, trying to move naturally despite the pain. you thought you had managed to convince him, but as you stood in front of the stall, trying to remove your clothes without aggravating your injuries, the man appeared in the doorway.

"let me help you with that," he said softly, moving to stand beside you.

you blinked, surprised. "yuuta, really, i'm fine. you don't have to—”" then he gently took your hand, eyes full of concern. "please, let me help you tend your wounds, babe.”

thinking again, you hadn't said anything about being hurt, but somehow he knew. "how did you..”

your boyfriend smiled faintly. "i could tell. i know you too well." his fingers brushed lightly over a bruise that was starting to show through your shirt. "you don't have to hide it from me."

you sighed, feeling a mix of relief and resignation. "i just didn't want you to worry."

yuuta shook his head, his expression tender. "i worry more when you try to hide things from me. so don’t do it again, you hear me, babe?”

@uzurakis

[theinnerunderrain]

The earth destroyed itself [Yan! Capitano x Fem! Reader]

Warnings: yandere themes, minor character death, brief description of violence, Capitano and reader are married and have a son.

+

"...What have you done?"

You stood at the entrance of the throne room, your heart sinking as your eyes fell upon the scene before you. Your beloved husband, bathed in the flickering light of the candles that lined the walls, stood over the lifeless body of your eldest son. His hands were stained with blood, a sword clutched tightly in his grasp. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the torches and the sound of your husband's heavy breathing. You felt a wave of disbelief wash over you, followed by a deep sadness that seemed to seep into your bones.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke again, "What have you done, my love?"

The word 'love' slipped from your lips like a fragile whisper as you took another hesitant step towards him, your heart pounding fiercely in your chest. Capitano remained silent, his gaze reluctantly leaving the lifeless form at his feet to meet yours, though his expression remained veiled by the helmet he always wore. Another eerie moment of silence stretched, the air thick with unspoken words and heavy with grief. You gathered your courage and stepped forward, your gaze fixed on the lifeless form of your son. His hair, once a vibrant hue, now marred by blood, framed his pale face, his eyes closed in eternal rest.

"What have you done?"

You inquired once more, your voice unwavering, as you hastened toward your son and knelt by his side. His blood seeped into the fabric of your white dress as you cradled his lifeless form, delicately brushing his hair from his eyes in a desperate bid to find a glimmer of vitality. Yet, his eyes stared back at you, vacant and hollow, his lips frozen in a silent plea, tears tracing lines down his once-rosy cheeks.

Capitano stood in solemn silence, his grip on the sword unwavering, before he spoke, his voice carrying a quiet resolve despite the heart-wrenching scene before him.

"It was an inevitability."

"What are you even talking about...! How could you do this? He's...he's our son!"

Your voice trembled, momentarily finding resolve, as you cradled your son's head against your chest. Tears teetered on the brink, poised to cascade down your cheeks, as you clung to him, reluctant to release his form. Amidst this tragic tableau, a narrative of his making, Capitano could not help it find you to be a vision of ethereal beauty.

"He was deemed dangerous. The prophecy forewarned of his tyrannical future, predicting he would pose a threat to your life."

He attempted to explain, dropping to his knees and reaching for your arm, yet you brushed him off as though he were tainted. You regarded him, lips pressed in a firm line, eyes brimming with a blend of sorrow and disbelief for the man who was once your beloved.

"A prophecy...? How could you entrust our son's fate to such a thing...?"

Your tone held a note of incredulity as you let out a bitter laugh, struggling to accept the rationale behind his actions.

"I couldn't risk endangering your life..."

He attempted to reason, but you interrupted him, your voice cutting through the air.

"So you chose to sacrifice his life instead..? How could you commit such a grievous act..?"

Your words, though laced with sorrow and accusation, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken questions. They resonated in the chamber, filling the space between you with a palpable tension, like the charged air before a storm. Capitano remained on his knees, his gaze fixed on you, his expression unreadable behind his stoic facade. He felt the weight of your words, each one a dagger that pierced through his resolve.

"[First Name]..."

He called out your name with a soft yet commanding tone, reaching out to grasp your wrist gently but firmly, pulling you closer despite your desperate struggle. Your son's lifeless body slipped from your grasp, falling to the cold floor in a pool of his own blood as you wailed and cried, yearning to hold him once more. Capitano stood steadfast, allowing you to scratch and scream at him, though your efforts were feeble in his grasp. He remained unmoved, understanding the depth of your anguish.

"Let go of me..!"

In the aftermath of your son's death and your husband's betrayal, you found yourself overwhelmed with weariness and sorrow. Your futile struggles ceased as you surrendered to a wave of tears, the weight of the tragedy washing over you. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood, your hands and knees stained crimson from the tragic events. Despite the wrongness of seeking solace from the man who had caused you such pain, his presence offered a strange sense of comfort in the midst of your grief and shock. Capitano's embrace was a gentle dance, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes of tenderness and restraint. In the depths of your sorrow, he stood as a silent sentinel, a pillar of strength amidst the tempest of your grief. His touch, like a soft breeze, caressed your pain, offering solace in the midst of your anguish.

After what seemed like an eternity, you gathered the strength to speak through your tears, your voice a fragile whisper echoing in the hallowed silence of the room, your words simple yet causing his heart to drop upon hearing it.

"You're nothing but a disgusting traitor to me, may you suffer for the entirety of your life and onto the next one."

[alastorss]

Hello! I'm not sure if you'll be interested in writing something like this, but if your requests are open (and if you're interested), would you be willing to write some fluffy stuff? An Alastor x Shy/anxious reader, perhaps?

a/n: hello!! i'd love to write some alastor comfort fics based off shy/anxious readers but for now here's some good ol' fluff for the soul ♡ (with a mentioned quieter/shy reader)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You can always tell when Alastor's smiles are forced.

It's the subtle twitch of his eye, the annoyed little glare he'll stare into empty space with, the way his jaw gets so taut you're afraid it'll snap.

Quiet and observant, you've made it your personal duty to learn Alastor inside and out without stepping on his toes—watching how he grows increasingly annoyed with every brazen sex joke beat into his head from a distance but never actually having the nerves to talk to him.

You think you can read all his little tells by now. How his antlers get a little bigger with every huff of indignation. How his mind is never in the room (he's got a lot of souls screaming in his ears, after all. You learned that, too).

You thought you knew him just by watching, but you were wrong. Dead wrong. Alastor is an enigma, truly one of the great mysteries of Hell. You were foolish to think you could understand even half of him.

He's all bared fangs and glowing eyes right now, a hand squeezing your hip and the other tracing down your face. Waltz music faintly fills the lobby of the hotel where you both stand, but it feels like a million miles away when the static from the Radio Demon is sizzling in your ears.

His smile is impossibly relaxed, not an ounce of irritation in his expression that you've gotten so used to seeing all over his face. You can't comprehend this, can't understand why he's looking at you so softly and cradling your face with so much care.

It's bad enough that he had asked you to dance with him in the first place, and that you'd squeaked out a "yes" before considering the implications of that. He knew you were shyer than the rest of your friends here—perhaps he had been suspicious of you and wanted to get a closer look.

A dreadful chill runs up your spine and you shudder pathetically, eyes screwing shut as you await whatever fate will befall you in the hands of an Overlord.

But your judgement never comes.

Instead, his thumbs gently pull at your cheeks in opposite directions. When your eyes fly back open, you're face-to-face with nothing but warmth.

"You should smile more," he tells you without his usual facade of excitement. "It's wonderful."

You just stare at each other for a long moment, both frozen in place with his hands all over your face and you limply staying in his hold.

Oh no. Oh no no no. You're certain your cheeks are hot as magma right now because of some simple flattery. Then again, you've been watching him from afar for long enough to know that he doesn't flatter just anyone.

You jerk away from him with a nervous cough, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into his chest. As if nothing had even happened, he guides and strings you along in a waltz once more.

Annoyance, anger, sadistic joy—these are all things that come as easy as breathing to Alastor. But this is a new emotion you're witnessing, with his ears pulled back flat against his head and his eyes avoiding yours even as he dances with you.

It makes you sputter in laughter, head tilting back as you giggle at how embarrassed he seems.

"Thank you."

He softens at this, smile genuine. You'll come to know this side of him, too. You're sure of it.

You don't know why you were ever so afraid of this monster. Not when he's automatically reaching out to trace your smile with his thumb as if it's something he's always wanted to do.

(It is.)

[smutoperator]

Under Her Skirt

Choi Yewon (Arin) x Male Reader

Tags: A2M, acrobatic 69, anal, ass eating, ass-to-pussy, balcony sex, carry fucking, cheeky, choking, cute but slutty, daddy kink, dirty talk, (lots of) facefucking, face slapping, facial, miniskirt, objectification, rough sex, schoolgirl, socks, spanking, specs, spitting, squirting

Word count: 5143

For the last couple years, you and Arin seemed frozen in time. Ever since Oh My Girl renewed their contracts and moved towards sporadic activities, you have had very few chances to see Arin in person. All your opportunities would come from festivals where they would always play the same songs, and all you could do was watch Arin jiggling her cheeks on stage from afar.

After you saw Arin perform in a schoolgirl outfit, wearing specs and looking cuter than ever, but also sexier than ever, you knew this drought had to end. You had to get Arin at all costs. It had become a matter of life or death for you. As you managed to dribble their managers and snuck into backstage, you found the beautiful, cute Arin right there, her heartwarming smile in full display when she saw you.

"It's been a while since we last met," Arin said. "I still remember when you used to warm me up backstage before Music Bank," she continued. "Can we do this again, even if just for today?" you asked. "Sure, meet me at home; I'll be waiting for you," she said.

Arin sent you a few pictures of her schoolgirl outfit before she even published them on Instagram. Truth be told, she missed you too and had been craving it for a long time; that backstage smile wasn't for nothing at all.

Arin greeted you with her stage outfit still on. Her glow-up since you two last met was quite amazing. The more you looked at her, the more your lust for her grew. Flashbacks of her riding you with her cheeky butt already popped into your mind, of you carrying her and spanking her ass while going nonstop inside her holes. It was long overdue to bring it back.

It turns out Arin wanted it just as much as you did. As you sat on the chair around her house's table, she took a different route, sitting on top of the table itself with her round cheeks and advancing towards you, giving you sexy kisses where you could feel how much she missed you.

"You want this, baby?" Arin asked you. You didn't reply, but the expressions on your face already made your answer clear to her. And your next move, even more so, as you jumped from the chair and grabbed Arin by her neck, immediately answering back her torrid kisses. You took your coat off as Arin's sexy mouth quickly heated you up. "You're still the same whore from the last time we met," you told her, giving her face a little slap. "But I'm a lot more experienced now," Arin pushed back.

"Then let's cheek it; I mean, check it," you said as you reached under her skirt. God, you really missed those cheeks. The moment you grabbed them, you already wanted to explode. Memories of you clapping it and spanking it hard flashed into your eyes. You placed Arin's body on top of the table and already took her panties off. Her lifted skirt stays on, just like her socks and specs. You are very much enamored by this look on Arin, like you never were before, and ready to show it to her.

You duck your head under Arin's skirt and start eating her pretty pussy. That cute schoolgirl facade is only present in her outfit. Everywhere else, Arin is just the moaning slut you always knew her for, as she closes her wonderful thighs around your head the more you stimulate her sweaty pussy. Soon, your fingers replace your hands as you kiss Arin and let her taste her hole while your hands make her even wetter. Arin just falls back onto the table and enjoys the finger-fucking session.

"Yes, please, please," Arin begs right before you kiss her. But you've got different plans. Carrying this petite doll was always one of your favorite things, and you do it again as Arin clings to your mouth and keeps kissing you.

"Turn around," you say as you drop Arin to the floor after a little while. As you give her skirt a little lift, the thing she's most known for is already on full display. You waste no time ducking between her fat cheeks, circling your tongue around both her holes. But this time, her asshole gets the most attention, as you already tongue it deep and soon remind yourself how much better it tastes when sweaty. Arin just moans and spreads her legs.

Arin starts jiggling her ass as you eat her out and grabs your head to dunk it deeper between her cheeks. Her reaction makes you go even crazier, as you suddenly get up and give Arin an order: "Let's get this off," you tell her, as she tries to take her top and tie off while you choke her and finger her pussy at the same time.

"Ohhhh, I missed that touch so much," Arin says. "Of course you did; you're an insatiable whore, always jiggling those cheeks on stage," you punch back, yanking her top off. "It looks like you enjoyed that jiggling, didn't you?" Arin said. "Look at how hard you are; I've been noticing it the moment you entered my house," Arin replied, touching your pants right where your erection lied.

"Then get on your knees and worship it, bitch," you tell her, unbuttoning your pants. Arin quickly wraps her hands around it and licks your shaft from top to bottom multiple times before she sloppily sucks it. "Open that mouth, bitch," you tell her as you grab her hair and start fucking her beautiful face, your balls slapping nonstop against her chin. As you stop with your cock impaling her throat, Arin moves it even further, testing herself and getting ready to gag hard on that shaft.

"Spit on my mouth, please," Arin says, opening it even further as soon as she gags on your meat. You give her what she wants and kiss her once again shortly after, quickly moving to keep the facefucking going. You had forgotten how messy she gets when her pretty face gets pounded, going from a cute, classy maknae straight into a slutty cocksleeve.

"You like to fuck that cute little face, don't you, baby?" Arin asks as she goes back to blowing that pipe off. "But you like it better when I turn into this cock-sucking slut, right?" she says as she finishes her aggressive blowjob, taking all your shaft in, including giving a lot of love to your balls.

"You're going to detention today, you slutty schoolgirl," you poke at her, aggressively taking Arin's bra off and exposing her perky tits. More kissing ensues while you rub Arin's cute boobs before slapping them. "Tell me who's daddy's whore?" you ask her. "I am!" Arin laughs.

"Get in there," you say as Arin places her small head between your legs. You feel really dominant watching her face get fucked in that position, giving you the perfect view of your manhood bulging under her throat while your balls hit the glasses in her specs.

"AHHHHHHHHH. AHHHHHHHH." Arin screams from the top of her lungs once you pull out of her mouth. "Shut up, bitch," you tell her, covering her mouth with your hands as soon as she screams. Instead, Arin licks your fingers nonstop. "My pussy tastes really good," she says once she finishes it.

You take your shoes off, making a stomping noise on the woody floor of Arin's house. Clearly, she hasn't learned the lesson. Now you fuck her face with your fingers, going deep into her pussy. "How does that taste, cunt?" Arin tries to say some words, but your cock mutes them. "Louder, I can't hear it," you tell her.

Arin coughs all over your cock, but little does she know you're about to get even spicier. You grab her by the waist and flip her upside down. "Don't let those specs fall down," you say to her. "YESSSS!" Arin gets excited and licks your cock as you grab her lower body and eat her pussy while she's upside down. Down low, she maniacally licks your shaft.

"Who told you to do this?" you ask her, spanking her ass and thrusting your prick right back into her face. Arin gets punished hard as her cheeks slowly turn into your favorite color: red. Upside down, a cock deep in her throat, a tongue deep in her cunt—it's incredible that Arin still manages to keep those specs on and still finds strength to bob her head on your dick as soon as you stop fucking her face, which leads to yet another punishment spank from you.

You flip Arin back and kiss her. "Yes, baby, it looks like you enjoyed that 69, didn't you?" you rhetorically ask. "But we are just starting," you say as you grab her neck once again. "Bend over," you order right after, placing your hands in her cheeks as you go back to rubbing her cunt.

"Time to get punished, bitch," you tell Arin, sliding your cock in her pussy. "Oh fuck," Arin gets caught by surprise with a monster suddenly inside her cunt, but instinctively bends over from long years of experience. "YES, YES, YES, FUCK IT!" Arin yells as you are already clapping her massive cheeks, giving her no room to breathe and attacking hard from the start. "Please destroy my pussy, AHHHHH," she begs as you pick up the pace.

"Fuck me just like that, hit me deeper," Arin keeps demanding as you pump her pussy nonstop, spreading her cheeks and moaning while you grab her arms behind her back. You push her body towards yours and give her a crazy pounding in standing doggy, treating her pussy like a fleshlight and making her cheeks let out loud noises each time you thrust deep inside her.

Arin has to cling back onto the table not to get obliterated, as you stop a bit to admire her meaty cheeks. "Get down," you tell her, taking advantage of a submissive Arin is bending over to eat her desirable butthole as she jiggles her ass and lets her cheeks hit your face. You put a finger up her asshole, but it's so warm you can't resist but to shove your whole cock inside it shortly after.

"Use my asshole; I know that's what you want the mo... AHHHH," Arin says. "Don't worry, bitch, I'll use it like my personal toy," you tell her, fucking her ass and spanking her cheeks nonstop. "Please, shove that cock deep in my ass," Arin continues to say. You love how her facial expressions change with each pumping and spanking you give her. "Oh my God, you fuck me so hard," Arin says. Even for a slut like her, it's hard to take such a big cock at such a fast speed in her butthole.

"USE ME. USE ME. USE ME. DESTROY MY TINY LITTLE ASSHOLE, FUCK!" Arin keeps screaming. The more she talks, the harder you fuck her ass, and the louder her cheeks clap. Not even five minutes in, but she can barely stand up, getting fucked like an animal as you go raw on her.

"I love how you fuck me," Arin says as soon as you finish ramming her. You slap her face as soon as you hear those words, which she loves. "Are you going to fuck me like your dirty little bitch?" Arin asks, clearly wanting more. You let your actions do the talking, grabbing her and leading Arin towards the balcony, pinning her against the glass door. Arin can barely hold onto the glass as you manhandle her ass, her moaning mouth, and her sliding hands, leaving an imprint on the glass on this foggy, cold day. 

"OH. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK," she screams, her little tits now hitting the glass nonstop as she has no control over her body, getting plowed like a slutty fuckdoll that she is. Arin gets grabbed from behind, and your primal urge to destroy her only grows as her whole body gets suffocated between that glass and your dominating self, forcing her to cling as hard as possible to any support, holding the door with all her might just to survive your rough anal rampage.

"Lick that glass, you dirty whore," you say, spitting on it right after you stop pounding Arin, who follows. "I want you to fuck me so bad," she says once she finishes. "What did you say?" you ask her, grabbing Arin back inside the room. Arin laughs. "Then shut up and show me," you say, lifting her leg against the door. "Ready to put it back in?" she demands, giving you a lustful stare. "Give me that ass," you say; indeed, you can't say no to it.

You fuck and spank Arin's ass like crazy. "Keep going, daddy," she says, masturbating herself at each thrust and even using different languages: "Follame el culo," she demands, in Spanish, as you grab her cheeks, but a different one in this case, those in her cute slutty face. Arin gets her face slapped multiple times, but she also retaliates and spanks yours as well, showing she's truly an untamed slut. All that while getting fucked hard in the ass.

"Make me fucking take it," Arin says as your anal addiction to her only grows. "I want you to treat me like the biggest whore you've ever met," she continues. You switch to a standing doggy once again; never stop fucking her butt. "Sí papi, así, así, así," she says once again in Spanish. "Fuck me harder, fuck me harder," she then says.

You indeed fuck Arin harder, making her hold against the door not to get destroyed. Her entire body jiggles, even her little tits. "Make me fucking take it, daddy," she continues. And you make her, gabbing Arin from behind. "GOD, I'M GONNA CUM," she says right after. As you just seem to have endless energy and never stop, her butt keeps getting spanked, her body used like a fleshlight. Her neck choked in such a way that it clenched her entire throat. If Arin really wants to be treated like a sex object, you sure won't object.

Arin gets on her knees to suck your cock. Despite the rampage she just endured, she seems just fine and ready for more, savoring her asshole like a dinner meal and making loud noises with her mouth as she gets very sloppy. Soon you're treating her face just like her asshole, fucking it hard as she nods with your cock deep in her throat, ready to choke on it. You spit on her face as soon as you finish it. "Give it back," she asks for more as you fuck her face with her still jerking your cock off.

"Come in." You grab Arin's hair as she crawls inside on all fours like a dirty puppy. You slam her body into the table and start eating her pussy. "Yes, daddy, make me fucking cum, ahhh," Arin moans as she moves her hips to meet your mouth inside her cunt. Soon, your mouth is replaced by that huge cock, sensing that Arin wants it back inside, begging and moaning as you pump her pussy in a hot missionary position before shoving your whole hand inside her mouth to shut her up.

Arin bites your hand as she chokes all over it, trying to let her moan out as you put the heat in her pussy. As you free Arin's mouth, you give her no time to collect herself, switching straight back to her asshole. The spanking continued, as this time you targeted her milky thighs. "Yes, that's what I want; spank me, spank me," Arin said as you kept hitting her.

You make things even harder for Arin as you shove your hand inside her pussy to add to the pumps you were already giving her asshole. She's on the edge of the table, having to be careful not to fall down. "FUCK. MAKE. ME. CUM," she says, each word becoming more and more of a struggle to come out of her mouth. "Fuck, I'm cumming," she says right after, her nipples fully erected and her body overwhelmed by the anal and vaginal stimulation you give her simultaneously.

Hearing those words makes you increase your speed a lot more, pounding Arin's ass until she squirts and cums all over your hands. You pull out and set your sights on fingering her wet cunt as Arin slides her legs out of the table. "Slap my fucking cunt, yesss," she begs as juices come out of it, and she wants the slapping session to extend into her entire body.

Arin romantically kisses you as she finishes her orgasm. You then turn her body around and place her head, falling out of the table, to fuck her face. "Give me all that cock," she begs as you plow her throat balls deep, and she savors your shaft, letting out loud moans that you can't hear an audible word of. Arin coughs deeper on your cock once you stop your pounding motion, engulfing it with ease. You two spend a couple minutes on this routine, with Arin lasting longer each time you shove your prick deep in her throat, coating your dick full of her spit and creating strings of saliva coming out of your throbbing shaft.

"Fuck that face up," Arin demands as you treat her mouth like a human onahole, reaching under her needy pussy to finger it while your pole is buried deep in her throat. "Yes, gag on that dick, you fucking whore," you tell her. "Fuck yeah!" she answers back.

With Arin still recovering, you grab her body and carry her. She answers immediately by bouncing on your cock while up in the air, showing why it's one of her favorite positions. Her moans are music to your ears as Arin impales herself on your big dick, and you enjoy how easy it is to spank her cheeks. Soon, Arin is kissing you while getting pounded and spanked mid-air.

But you want to pump her harder, dropping to the floor and without pulling out, hammering her pussy upwards as Arin has to hold herself to the edge of the table, getting pounded nonstop down low in her cunt. Your balls slapped onto her cheeks multiple times, turning both of you on even further. "Make those fucking cheeks clap," Arin orders as the pounding continues, only stopping for a couple seconds for you to switch holes and do the same thing but to her already sore ass.

You let Arin twerk on your dick as she made it disappear under her big cheeky butt. You love how she energetically jumps on that dick like an insatiable slut, spanking her cheeks and telling her to go fast, which Arin follows to the degree that your cock slips out of her butthole. Rather than complaining, you just take advantage of it to slide it back in her cunt and be the alpha man, obliterating it once more as your balls go all the way up into hitting her anal entrance with the speed you pump Arin's pussy.

"Let me fucking ride it; I need your fucking cock right now," Arin says as you pause a bit, letting her take control of the ride and impale herself all the way into her cervix. You kiss her and give her already red cheeks a little tap to praise her before she stops, and you two have a clingy and romantic moment filled with kisses, but always with your cock deep inside her.

You push Arin to the top of the table, lying on it while doing so, letting her enjoy a ride while standing tall. "There you go," you say as Arin spreads her legs and settles them on the table, giving long bounces on your dick, going all the way up your tip and then pushing all the way down your balls. "You want to feel this warm, needy pussy?" she asks. "Yes, just like that," you reply. Arin's moans get sexier as she shows her love for riding big dicks. "All the way deep in my pussy," she says while her bounce continues, and you get a perfect view of her hole getting stretched out every time she takes your cock in and out of it.

Arin's moans get louder as she spreads her cheeks. "Look at me taking all this fucking cock all the way in," she brags. "Time for you to use that fucking pussy again," she commands, as you push up it and Arin gets her sex manhandled while mid-air, the loud noise of her clapping cheeks filling the room once more. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK," is all she can say, defenseless as your cock stabs her cunt like nothing, making her skirt wave at each thrust.

"FUCK. FUCK, I WANT ALL OF IT," Arin screams, still mid-air. "Nonstop, nonstop, nonstop, nonstop, nonstop," she starts singing one of her group's hits while giving you an order at the same time. "YEAH. YEAH. YEAH. FUCK. I'M CUMMING." Arin gets destroyed as you show no mercy for her cunt; the more her cheeks clap, the harder you pound her. As soon as you run out of stamina, Arin grinds her pussy on your cock sideways, coating it with her juices, and kisses you to show gratitude for fucking her like a whore.

Arin flips to the opposite side, diving to taste your cock full of her juices from both holes. You get up a bit to watch her marvelous mouth work all the way down your shaft as Arin deepthroats it in full force and makes even louder noises as she keeps coughing on that dick. More deepthroating ensues as you duck her head into your crotch until she gags.

"Is that what you want? To fuck me hard like a dirty little slut?" Arin asks as you choke her, and she fingers herself. "Put it back in my ass, please," she says, lying on the edge of the table as you penetrate her already gaped butthole. "Give me more; destroy my tiny little asshole," she continues as she moans, and you spank her little. "Use that fucking asshole, yeah," she keeps saying. "Choke me," Arin demands as you oblige, while placing your thumb in her mouth.

"Back and forth, switch between my holes," Arin keeps demanding as you take turns between her anus and cunt and tease her before settling for another hard ass-fucking that she loves. "Yes, please, stretch my ass like that. I love it. I love it in my fucking ass. Stuff me up, stuff me up," she tells you. The anal pounding continues, but you surprise her with another switch to her pussy, enjoying the whole back and forth hole-stretching, but truth be told, Arin has a favorite one.

"Please put it back in my fucking ass; I want you to use it," she begs. You go back into her asshole just as she wants, turning her cheeks even redder. "My ass is so fucking wet for you," she keeps talking dirty and praising the wonder of her tiny little stretched anus. 

You clap Arin's cheeks against the table as you increase the speed of your anal fucking. "KEEP FUCKING ME, PLEASE!" Arin screams as her asshole gets destroyed. "Harder, harder, yesss!" She pushes you to the edge, demanding the best effort you can bring to fuck that ass, yelling nonstop even as you choke her. Your thobbing cock tingles, and you almost cum at the spot as her clenching butthole smashes it, but you respond, fucking her even harder as she tells you she's ready to cum again.

"FUCK YEAH. USING MY FUCKING HOLE!" Arin gets even louder as she squirts after a long and rough round of anal. You aid her into releasing those juices as you massage her clit, letting a geyser come out of her cunt as Arin gets into a fetal position for you to slap her cheeks once again, her body sliding over the slippery table as you dive to eat both her holes out and then spit on her slutty face.

"Keep going down my fucking clit, daddy," Arin says as you continue to eat her pussy, her skirt fully lifted as you dive under it. More passionate kisses ensue between both of you as Arin puts her long legs over her head, letting you take her in a mating press up her asshole.

"Drop that fucking cock deep inside me; drop it in my ass," Arin tells you as you push it back in her anus. "All the way deep in my fucking asshole, please," she continues, sticking her tongue out. "Shut up, little cunt." You have enough of her slutty antics and shove your fist down her throat, fully topping Arin as she lies over the table.

You go slow and deep, taking a more passionate approach this time. "Keep going, right in my fucking ass," she says as soon as you free her mouth to speak. However, that makes you flip a switch as you start giving her a rough mating press deep in her butt, making her cheeks clap once again. Arin screams as her swollen butthole keeps taking pounding after pounding.

You move sideways, anally pounding Arin in spooning this time, your balls hitting her cunt while she fingers her clit. "Oh God, fuck," she moans as you grab her right thigh and stretch her asshole. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," she repeats. "I told you to shut up," you say, placing your left hand over her mouth.

Arin is so overwhelmed she starts mixing up languages: "Me encanta the way you fuck my culo, papí," she says right after you go back to choking her. Your balls hit perfectly into her cheeks, making her moan softly. "Ram that fucking ass," she begs, but you have different plans, going back to her pussy as soon as she says those words.

Arin gets softer. "You treat me so well, Daddy," she says as you stretch her pussy out, her eyes flowing with tears of joy. "I love how you use both my fucking holes, Daddy," she continues. You two grow more passionate as you kiss Arin's mouth and neck while never stopping fucking her tight sex. "Keep going, daddy; put that cock deep in my fucking holes," Arin says.

"Slap my fucking titties," Arin demands, wanting to get used like a toy. You follow, hitting her boobs right at her throbbing nipples. Arin laughs as you duck under to suck her tits while still pounding her cunt nonstop, before surprising her and putting her back under a mating press that makes her body slide onde again.

"Fuck, it's so deep inside me," Arin moans as you keep attacking her pussy while up in the air, submitting her to a deep pounding that makes her cheeks jiggle on top of the table as your hips clash hard against them. "AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! FUCKKKKK! FUCKKKKK! FUCKKKKK!" Arin yells as her pussy clenches all over your cock. You could breed her at the spot, but you hold that urge, pulling her out so Arin can taste her wet juices.

"Fuck my little dirty mouth," Arin begs as your cock approaches her face, pounding her as if you had never left her pussy. "Ahhh, yes, use my face like that," Arin says as you finish, getting number after over 30 minutes of animalesque pounding. And you keep using her face, placing it on the edge of the table, and plowing her throat while lifting her skirt to get the perfect view of her amazing ass. 

At this point, Arin just wants to be a fleshlight. "AHHHH YESSS!" she gleefully screams once you shove your balls deep in her mouth. You push her to the other side of the table, taking a peek under her skirt to finger her pussy while fucking her face, amazed that her specs still haven't fallen off even with her head upside down. Arin bobs her head to meet your thursts as you slow down a bit to massage her cunt. "Holy fuck," you say as she shakes her head all over that meat despite facing down the floor, letting her face fuck your cock instead of fucking her face yourself.

"I want to sit on that cock, daddy," Arin demands. You pick one of the chairs around the table and sit on it, letting Arin slide your cock in her sore asshole, this time in reverse cowgirl, with one of her legs in the chair and another on the floor, giving you an amazing ride. "Daddy still likes to fuck me in the ass like that?" she asks.

Arin puts both legs on your thighs and gives you an amazing anal ride. The more you stretch her out, the more she wants. "Look at this cock so deep in my fucking asshole," Arin brags about her skills, fully impaling her sore anus into that big cock. "Do you like the way it feels in my ass, Daddy?" Arin asks as she keeps talking dirty. "Look how I sit on this cock all the way down in my ass," she continues.

Arin spreads her legs and lets her cheeks clap as she rides your cock, fingerging herself as she increases the pace of her ride. You grab her by the neck, and her butthole clenches even further. "I want to cum with your cock deep in my asshole," Arin says as she continues to bounce, reaching her orgasm shortly after. "Oh, I fucking love it," she says as she stops, giving you free reign to finger her clit and make it squirt nonstop as her legs close and she climaxes.

"Please cum on my face; drop that jizz all over my little, slutty face. I want to feel your warm and hot jizz in my face,  Daddy." Arin rests on the table, recovering from her final orgasm. You jerk your cock off on top of her, and soon she gets what she wants as you coat her specs full of sperm before filling the cheeks in her face with your white paint. Arin stays there, admiring your work of art in her now cum-filled face, sticking her tongue out in pleasure.

"You drained your fucking balls so well all over me," Arin says.

"Oh thanks. I have to go; it was nice fucking, I mean, meeting you again," you reply, as you notice it's already past midnight and you still haven't got back from the concert.

"It's fine," Arin says, with one final condition. "As long as you come back tomorrow to fuck my ass again,"

Damn, she's an insatiable anal queen, isn't she?

[solxamber]

(I sprint in like the Flash on a sugar high)

I'm here for the holiday event!! Hopefully I'm doing this right, I just love love love your writing & didn't wanna miss the opportunity.

I'd like to request the following: Scarabia, prompt #5 (It's always been you), and fluff (like romantic), pretty please!!

—🐈‍⬛

omg hi 🐈‍⬛️ anon!! and thank you <3

It's You || Jamil Viper

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "It's always been you: ; Genre: Fluff (+ very mild Hurt/Comfort)

Jamil was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral. But his next words shattered the facade.

“What’s your type?”

You blinked at him, pausing mid-bite of the snack he’d casually handed you moments ago. “Huh?”

He shrugged, looking at the ceiling like he didn’t care, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I’m just curious. You’re always surrounded by people—Ace, Kalim, everyone else. Surely you’ve thought about it.”

The question was so startlingly out of character for Jamil that you just stared at him, trying to figure out if this was some weird prank. But when his gaze flickered to you, there was a vulnerability there, fleeting but unmistakable.

“Well,” you said slowly, deciding to indulge him. “I guess I like someone who’s reliable. Smart. Quick on their feet. Someone who takes care of others, even when it’s thankless. And, uh…” You smiled to yourself. “Someone with nice eyes and hair. Maybe good at cooking too.”

You looked back at him, and he looked like you’d just punched him in the gut.

“Jamil?” you asked, concerned.

He didn’t answer. His lips parted as if to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, his expression twisted, heartbreak and disbelief warring in his eyes.

You laughed softly, trying to ease the tension. “You’re a sharp guy, Jamil. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” With that, you stood and stretched, brushing imaginary crumbs off your hands. “Goodnight.”

You left him there, frozen, and retreated to the safety of your dorm.

Hours later, frantic knocking yanked you out of sleep. You groaned, stumbling to the door.

“Who—” you began, but stopped when you saw Jamil.

He looked… frazzled. His scarf was askew, his hair messier than usual, and his expression was an uncharacteristic mix of panic and determination. He looked like he had run straight from his room, like he couldn’t wait another second.

“Jamil? Are you okay?” you asked, alarmed.

“No,” he said bluntly. “I mean—yes. But no.” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, pacing in your small space. “I… I’ve been trying to figure this out. What you said. And…”

He stopped, turning to you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“You didn’t say it outright, but it’s me.” His voice was soft, almost disbelieving. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He looked so lost, so unlike himself, that it broke something in you. You stepped closer, placing your hands on his arms. “Jamil, you’re one of the smartest people I know. But sometimes, you’re incredibly dense.”

Before he could respond, you tilted up and kissed him.

For a moment, he froze. Then he melted against you, his hands coming up to hold you close, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that made your knees weak. He kissed you like he’d been dying of thirst, and you were the only oasis he’d ever known.

When you finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing heavily. “You make it impossible for me to recognize myself,” he admitted softly, his voice tinged with awe. “You… you’re changing everything I thought I knew.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because you’ve been changing everything for me too. It's always been you.”

“I love you,” he said, the words almost trembling as they left his lips.

“I love you too, Jamil.” You smiled, pulling him into another kiss.

Masterlist

[moomuzan]

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊 𝖏𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖊

ᴛᴡ

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ they find out about your eating disorder

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ chuuya , dazai , akutagawa

The red-haired had always admired your strength. Carrying yourself like a quiet fire that seemed impervious to the storms of life, unyielding under the weight of the underworld’s chaos. You were his protégé, the one he poured himself into, the one who embodied everything he once longed to be but couldn’t. His pride. His light. The proof that even in the darkest corners of the world, something radiant could exist. But even the brightest flames can flicker, and it was in the faint tremors of your hands, the tight smiles, and the hollow laugh that he began to notice cracks in the armor you wore so well.

When you were alone, the emptiness gnawed at you. It was a beast you couldn’t tame, one that whispered lies into your ear about control, about worth, about the ugly truths buried in your reflection. Those nights, after the world fell silent and your facade could finally shatter, you found yourself in the kitchen, hands trembling as you pulled open cabinets, rifling through anything you could find. Bread, chips, sweets, anything to fill the void, anything to quiet the roaring need that felt like a punishment and a salvation all at once. You ate until you couldn’t breathe, until your stomach screamed in protest, until shame curdled in your veins like poison. Then came the guilt—a black wave that crashed over you, suffocating, pulling you under. And so, you purged, desperate to rid yourself of the weight, of the regret, of the proof of your failure. It was a ritual of suffering, one you endured in silence, hiding it from the world because no one could ever understand.

Therefore, food had always been the battlefield. Chuuya had no words for how your face tightened whenever a meal was placed in front of you, how your laugh sounded strained when he joked about how little you ate. At first, he thought it was preference, something trivial. But then came the patterns. The way you’d push food around your plate, the careful excuses that masked avoidance, the too-frequent trips to the bathroom after meals. He dismissed it, once, twice, too many times, unwilling to shatter the image he had of you—unbreakable, invincible, beyond fragility.

Until one day, he couldn’t.

Upon a quiet night, after a grueling mission, the two of you were eating together. He had cooked, something rare, almost celebratory. He wanted to see you smile, to hear your laugh ring genuine, unguarded. But the moment was stolen by the slight twitch in your brow, the way you forced yourself through each bite like it was a penance. And then you were gone, chair scraping against the floor as you muttered some excuse about needing the bathroom.

The mafia executive wasn’t sure why he followed. Perhaps it was the gnawing pit in his stomach, the accumulation of every unease he’d ever felt about you but hadn’t wanted to name. Or perhaps it was the way you hadn’t looked at him when you stood, the way your eyes seemed fixed on something far, far away. Whatever it was, it pulled him from his seat, silent, careful, until he stood outside the bathroom door.

A choked sob, raw and jagged, as if your chest was being ripped apart—the sound hit him. Then came the gagging, the frantic, broken attempts to purge what little you’d eaten. His heart clenched at the sound, a violent, suffocating force that left him frozen for a moment too long. When the retching stopped, there was silence, and then another sound—one that would haunt him far longer than any gunfire or scream. You were crying, but it wasn’t the kind of crying he could soothe. It was feral, unrestrained, the sound of someone drowning in their own skin.

He pushed the door open, and the sight gutted him.

You were on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles were white. Tears streaked your face, mixing with the remnants of your futile attempts to purge. Your shoulders shook violently, your breaths ragged and shallow, as if the weight of existence itself was pressing down on you. too lost in whatever storm was tearing you apart from the inside, you didn’t even notice him at first.

As he called your name, his voice broke, soft but weighted, you flinched as though struck. Your head snapped up, eyes wide and wild, filled with a mixture of shame, fear, and something he couldn’t name.

“Don’t—don’t look at me,” you choked out, your voice shattered, hands scrambling to shield yourself from his gaze as though his presence alone was enough to destroy you.

But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. How could he, when the person he cherished most in the world was falling apart in front of him? When the strength he admired so fiercely had been a mask for a torment so profound it left you hollow? His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling—not with anger, but with helplessness. Chuuya Nakahara, the Port Mafia’s finest, a man who had survived horrors most couldn’t fathom, didn’t know how to fix this.

And yet, he moved. Slow, deliberate, he crossed the space between you and knelt down, ignoring the mess, ignoring everything but you. He didn’t speak. What words could possibly touch the depth of what he felt? What comfort could ease the anguish that had been festering in your soul long before he’d ever noticed? Instead, he reached out, his gloved hand trembling as it brushed against yours.

Although you tried to pull away, he held on, firm but gentle, grounding. Your protests were weak, broken, crumbling under the weight of his quiet persistence. Eventually, you stopped fighting, your hand going limp in his as the sobs wracked your body anew. He pulled you into his arms then, holding you like you might shatter, like the world itself would crumble if he let go.

Heavy and suffocating a silence followed. Though in it, there was an unspoken promise. A vow etched not in words but in the way he held you, in the way his gloved fingers gently stroked your hair, in the way his own shoulders shook with the weight of what he’d just realized. You weren’t invincible. You weren’t unbreakable. But you didn’t have to be. Not with him.

Truthfully, chuuya didn’t know what came next. He didn’t know how to help you, how to fix the cracks in your foundation. But he did know one thing: he would never let you face this alone again. You were his pride, his light, the fire he’d chased his entire life. And no matter how fragile that flame might be, he would protect it with everything he had—even from yourself.

,

Dazai had always known how fragile you were, even when you didn’t realize it yourself. It wasn’t just your body, though the sharp lines of your frame had always seemed on the verge of disappearing, as if you weren’t fully of this world. No, it was something deeper—a fragility that resided in the quiet spaces between your laughter, in the way your eyes lingered on the edges of mirrors as though you feared what might look back at you. He had been drawn to it, at first. That strange contradiction of strength and delicacy, the way you carried yourself like a wisp of smoke in a room full of storms.

But even smoke can suffocate.

It began so subtly that Dazai almost missed it. The way you picked at your food with a practiced indifference, your careful avoidance of meals disguised as nonchalance. He watched you fold excuses into your routines like origami, delicate and precise—“I already ate,” “I’m not hungry,” “I’ll grab something later.” Lies so thin they barely held their shape, but he let them pass because he thought he understood you. You were his quiet escape from the chaos, a tether to the normality he so desperately sought. But now, as the days turned into weeks, and your sharp edges grew sharper still, he realized your fragility wasn’t simply a part of you—it was consuming you.

The obsession, your obsession, was was unsettled him the most. The way you clung to control, as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. He saw it in the numbers you counted in your head, the mental calculations that flickered behind your eyes whenever food was near. You moved constantly, restless and relentless, as though standing still would unravel you. And yet, despite your need to escape the shape of your own body, he saw how you lingered in front of mirrors, tracing the lines of your collarbones and ribs with trembling fingers. You hated what you saw, yet in that hatred, you found power. A twisted kind of triumph.

Dazai, for all his sharpness, didn’t know how to confront it. How could he, when you had built your cage so carefully, so intricately, that he feared any wrong move might trap you further? He watched in silence, a ghost hovering at the edges of your pain, his own heart growing heavier with every meal you skipped, every lie you told, every step that carried you further away from him. Naturally, you didn’t know, couldn’t know, how much he had come to love you—not in fragments, not as something fleeting, but entirely. Utterly. You thought you were a passing indulgence, something temporary to fill the void in his life, but you were so much more than that.

Fighting demons, he waited until the night he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

You’d spent the day evading food with a grace that was almost artful, your avoidance so practiced it might have been rehearsed. By the time evening came, you were a shadow of yourself, moving through the room like a ghost. Dazai sat at the edge of your shared space, watching as you ran your hands over your arms, up and down, like you were trying to prove to yourself that you were still there. Your fingers brushed against the sharp jut of your bones, and for the briefest moment, your expression flickered—triumph, control, and then disgust, so fleeting he might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, his voice soft but resolute.

Hands lingering in the air before it dropped to your side, you froze “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmured, the lie falling from your lips like ash.

He stood then, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. There was no anger in him, only a sorrow so deep it felt like drowning. “You do,” he said simply. “You’ve known all along. You’ve been counting every bite, every step, every ounce of control, but you can’t see what it’s doing to you.”

While your chest tightened your eyes darted away from his, searching for an escape. “I’m fine,” you whispered, but the words rang hollow, as brittle as your frame.

“No, you’re not.” His hand reached out, but he stopped just short of touching you, as though afraid you might break beneath the weight of his concern. “You think this is control, don’t you? That if you can keep shrinking, you’ll finally be enough. But you’re already disappearing. You’re fading, and I…” Being the first sign of the turmoil raging beneath his calm facade, his voice cracked, “I can’t lose you to this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, spilling over as the dam finally broke. “I don’t know how to stop,” you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of your admission. “I don’t know how to be enough for you, for anyone, for myself.”

Closing the distance between you then, his arms reached around your trembling frame. You felt impossibly small against him, as though you might dissolve entirely if he held you too tightly. “You’ve always been enough,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low, raw. “I didn’t fall in love with you because of how you look, or because of the shape of your body. I love you because you make me want to live. Don’t you see? You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive, and I can’t lose that—not to this, not to anything.”

Then you collapsed against him, your sobs muffled against his chest as his words sank into the hollow spaces inside you. For the first time, the control you clung to felt less like power and more like a chain, one you weren’t sure you could break alone. But in Dazai’s arms, in the steadiness of his voice, there was a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

And for a moment, in the fragile quiet of that night, you allowed yourself to believe it.

,

When you came back from the hospital, Akutagawa thought you were better. Not whole—he knew better than to believe anyone could walk out of that kind of war unscathed—but better. You were quieter, more restrained than before, but he chalked it up to the aftershocks of what you’d endured. He wasn’t one for excessive concern or sentimentality, so he gave you space, trusting that your resilience would guide you forward.

Working alongside him, just as you always had, you carried out the ruthless tasks of the Mafia with precision and poise. But there was something in your movements that had changed—something more deliberate, almost rigid, as though you were holding yourself together through sheer will alone. At first, he dismissed it as adjustment. You’d been through a storm, after all, and even the strongest took time to rebuild.

What he didn’t see was how the storm had followed you.

In the dead hours of the night, when you were alone in your quarters, the thoughts crept back in—quiet at first, like whispers. You’re too much. You’ll fall apart if you let go. Control is the only way. They slithered into your mind, wrapping themselves around the fragile progress you’d made, and you welcomed them like old friends. You told yourself you’d stop before it went too far, that it was just temporary, just a way to feel steady again. But control was a ravenous thing, never satisfied with half-measures.

Like an old, repeating pattern, you began skipping meals—not all at once, but enough to convince yourself it wasn’t dangerous. A missed breakfast here, a lighter dinner there. You avoided eating in front of Akutagawa whenever possible, claiming you weren’t hungry or were too busy. When you couldn’t avoid it, you picked at your food, calculating every bite, every calorie, with a precision that bordered on obsession.

Of course, you thought you were hiding it well. Learning to wear looser clothing to disguise the weight you were losing, staying late in the training rooms, pushing your body until exhaustion numbed the gnawing hunger, you told yourself this was strength, that the growing sharpness of your cheekbones and the hollows beneath your collarbone were proof of your control. But the truth was, you were spiraling, and you were too afraid to stop.

Akutagawa, on the other hand, didn’t notice at first. He was consumed with his own duties, his own battles, and you were careful to keep your mask intact around him. But as the weeks passed, he began to see the cracks. The way your energy faltered during missions, the unsteady tremor in your hands when you thought no one was watching. He noticed how your voice grew quieter, how your laughter—rare as it was—disappeared altogether. And then there was the weight.

Now you looked fragile, as though a strong wind might shatter you. He told himself it was stress, that you were still recovering, that if it were serious, you would tell him. You had promised him once, after all, that you wouldn’t keep him in the dark again.

But you didn’t tell him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, he caught you lingering in the shadows of the Mafia’s base. You were leaning against the wall, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. He approached silently, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the gauntness of your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“You haven’t been eating,” he said bluntly, his voice low and steady.

Stiffening, you didn’t turn to face him. “I’m fine,” you replied, your tone carefully controlled.

“No, you’re not.”

Heavy and unrelenting, his words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, and for a moment, he saw the truth in your eyes—the fear, the shame, the desperation you’d been trying so hard to hide. But just as quickly, you looked away, your mask snapping back into place.

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice sharper this time. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

He stepped closer, his presence as unyielding as his gaze. “This isn’t about need,” he said. “It’s about what I see. And what I see is you killing yourself.”

As your hands clenched at your sides, your nails were digging into your palms. “You don’t understand,” you said, your voice breaking despite your efforts to keep it steady.

“Then make me understand.”

For a moment, the room was filled with silence, heavy and suffocating. And then, like a dam breaking, the words spilled out of you.

“I thought I could handle it,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I thought I was past it, that I could stop whenever I wanted. But it’s always there, Akutagawa. The need to control, the fear of letting go. It’s… it’s like drowning, but I’m the one holding myself underwater.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he reached out, his gloved hand resting gently on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly. “You never have to be.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “But what if I can’t stop? What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not too late,” he said firmly. “And even if it takes everything I have, I’ll make sure you remember that.”

There was no grand gesture, no dramatic declaration. Just the quiet promise of someone who refused to let you fall. And for the first time in weeks, the walls you had built around yourself began to crack.

a/n: i‘d like to leave a few words actually, i got this request around midnight but i wrote it on sitting and got pretty emotional (yikes) i never wrote something like this so it might come off as stiff. i had anorexia myself, and am now still dealing with bulimia. help. i spent all my teenage years counting calories. i still do , sometimes. this disorder leaves you with nothing but despair. i don’t mean to romanticise it so i tried making it realistic — though it probably sucks. well whatever. if anyone is struggling with this, please get help—even if it’s just online, reaching out won’t make it disappear but easier. love you all so much!

[dcxdpdabbles]

How about one where Danny saves Tim after Damian cuts Tim’s line?

Danny is throwing out his trash when a hero falls into his arms. He had just finished settling the lid of the bin, stretched his two arms outwards, lacing his fingers together to pop them, and the very second he unlaced them, he heard the shout of alarm.

Glancing up, Danny watches in open astonishment as a body descends from heaven, and he barely has the time to bend his elbows into a catch as the body slams into his arms.

Thankfully, Danny was quick enough to cushion the landing with a big ectoplasm, letting it burst from his forearms and spreading into a makeshift glove that deflates as soon as he catches the body.

Owlishly, he blinks at the white lens of a mask that belongs to the man he caught. A vigilante, one of those bats, he thinks. Danny doesn't pay much attention to the news regarding them, so he has no idea who he's holding.

The other seems frozen in shock, so Danny looks at the sky, wondering where he came from. Standing at the edge is Robin, looking genuinely unsettled.

A rope swings in the wind, obviously been cut. The impaled knife shaped like an R is on the wall next to it. The same R that the kid is wearing on his uniform. His parents are genuine, but it doesn't take Danny long to figure out what happened.

The kid cut this guy's line, which could have easily killed him if not severely harmed him. In all his mature wisdom, Danny does the most natural thing to him.

He flips the bird, jolting the human in his arms into a more comfortable carry and retreating back into the manhole he had crawled out of. The kid seems startled, flipping down from the building, but it will be too late by the time he gets down.

Danny had actually placed a portal to his house in the Infinite Realms right at the diameter of the manhole. The second Danny recovers them with the metal plate, he swings back into the yard of his lovely garden and snaps his fingers to seal off the portal.

By the time the child gets the manhole cover, all he will see is the entranceway to Gotham's sewers. He may even be tempted to search for them, but Danny and his guest will be on an entirely different dimension.

The man in his arms slumps in his hold, looking utterly exhausted. "Where are we?"

"My house. Would you like to come in for some coffee?"

There is a moment where the stranger thinks it over before shrugging, "Why not."

Later, Danny realizes that the easy way Tim allowed himself to be brought inside was a facade. The little shit had just been gathering information on him before he flipped the table and attempted to beat Danny up with impressive martial arts techniques.

Then he stole his specter speeder, flying off into the Realms while Danny wheezed on the ground. Rude. He even took Danny's inbox of who knows what artifacts.

Danny was tasked with discovering their purpose and fixing them as his part-time job as a Ghostly Artifact repairman. Now, his client's stuff was stolen by a spandex-wearing weirdo from what he called the "Trash Dimension."

All because some other spandex-wearing ninja chose to cut his line.

"Crude, one of Clockwork's time amulets was in there," He mutters, wobbling to his feet and shifting into Phantom. He better catch the human before the idiot messed with a timeline. Last time, he took his trash out on a Wednesday and the usual Thursday. This is what happens when he breaks his routines.

[machveil]

if you're still taking blurb requests could you maybe do octopus hybrid könig who thinks he's doing a great job at hiding his secret of being an eldritch horror (he isn't) x roommate reader who knows but doesn't care? like they're both chilling on the couch, watching a movie, and reader subtly nudges a tentacle back under his hood after they caught it poking out. basically just könig being a goofy idiot:)

(König x Reader sketch at the end♥️✨) König, bless his heart, was confident in his ability to keep his eldritch appearance under lock and key. to his credit, he’d never had a roommate - it was muscle memory to perform certain tasks with the help of an extra arm.

when you moved in he was inwardly cocky. you’d never know that you were sharing an apartment with an eldritch nightmare of a man, what a silly little mortal! König was just too good at putting up a facade, his mask concealing tentacles that would no doubt alarm you.

to be fair, it did freak you out when you first saw them. it was just out of your peripheral, light reflecting off the glistening appendages. König, stood in the kitchen, idly washing dishes. two hands washing and rinsing ceramic plates, two tentacles drying them and putting them on a rack.

it was muscle memory for him, completely unaware of your presence and simply doing chores with extra help. caught up in his own world, you stood frozen, but ultimately decided he seemed harmless. you had been living with him for a month, and he was polite, always paid his half of the rent…

why mess up something good? if he didn’t bring it up, neither would you.

a year easily passed by, König’s well hidden secret never mentioned. he was so pleased with himself. you were none the wiser, right Maus? just his innocent little roommate, treating him like a normal man. he didn’t need to know about how you caught him carrying in groceries by himself five months ago - hands full, two tentacles easily carrying in the other bags. he didn’t need to know you saw him through the crack of his bedroom door two months ago, folding laundry while a tentacle was tucking his bedsheets in. he didn’t need to know that he had a tentacle out right now.

it was a lazy, stay-in-your-pajamas sort of night. the living room lights flicked off while a documentary played (König insisted that “this documentary is good, Maus— look, they talk about different species of mollusks.”). he was completely focused on the screen, relaxed against the couch and zoned in. so relaxed that a tentacle had slipped past the hem of his mask.

you didn’t think much of it, you’d grown accustomed to seeing his tentacles. that said, you’d never been so close to one. eyes flicking up towards his face, your hand slowly moves up. his gaze, completely on the tv, gives you the smallest bit of confidence to poke at the appendage. he didn’t seem to care, only when you finally moved it back under his hood did he glance down at you, an exasperated little sigh leaving him.

looks like you finally caught him.

(thank you for the inbox! I loved the idea so much - I hope the art is okay! I kept it sketchy and had fun drawing it🎀✨ I haven’t legitimately written anything since, like, sixth grade so I hope this wasn’t absolutely terrible lol)

[mariahcarreyyy]

.ೃ࿐𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑 |

max verstappen x fem!reader

plot. when max visits years after your split, the strong facade you've worn crumbles at his fingertips

wc. 3.4k

warnings. smut 18+, angry n rough sex, p in v, degradation kink, reader cheats on her longterm boyfriend lol, oral sex (f!recieving), rough fingering (f!recieving), dry humping, name-calling, doggy + missionary style, dom!max and reader who thinks shes a dom, hairpulling, slight choking, and very angsty in some parts

Two seconds.

The amount of time it takes Max to grasp your door handle and trudge into the dimly lit apartment instead of patiently allowing you to let him in is two seconds. A fitted black suit adorns his body. His body, who glides assuredly into your humble kitchen. His eyes, who choose to ignore your irritated frame.

Then his lips. His big, red lips, who swallow the copious amount of popcorn that his hands were shovelling down his throat. His massive, veiny hands who used to intertwine perfectly in yours.

Him, Max. The figure leaning over your marble counters with slouched shoulders and forearms resting against the cool surface is Max. Two cups, he notices, stand side by side on the sink. A pink Stanley cup and a cheap protein shaker that isn't his.

Max’s fingers twitch.

From where you’re frozen by the door frame, only his side profile is visible. You curl your fists tight. Suddenly, wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt and panties didn’t seem so comfortable.

“Max.”

Your eye twitches at the acknowledgement you receive. Or lack thereof. The recently crowned third-time world champion huffs at the bowl of popcorn in his hands before turning to open the fridge. He doesn’t look very satisfied. But then again, he never really was when it came to you, was he? 

The light of the furniture illuminates Max’s face rather annoyedly, contouring his sharp jawline and the curve of his lips like it had a point to prove. This is what you could’ve had, it taunted, if you hadn’t broken up.

Much louder and more irritated than before, you call out for him. And then, your eyes meet. You had spent the last few years meeting his gaze solely through the rectangular box in your living room; now, you pinch yourself in disbelief—anger, as well.

“What,” you stutter, and almost curse yourself when you catch a glimpse of his cocky smirk you remember all too well. “What are you doing here, Max?”

The fridge begins beeping loudly. Rolling his eyes, the Dutch slams it closed, slipping past you and into the living room. You follow him. The room is lit up by what feels like a thousand scented candles and it’s cold despite it.

The blond collapses on top of your couch, and the cushions pull him in like they missed him. It’s been so long, they think, and you feel better than the girl who’d been crying on us when you left.

“Where’s that guy?” Max asks bitterly, eyes stubborn on the television before him. “The one you posted yesterday at that restaurant.”

Max doesn’t follow you on any social media anymore, and an evil part of you feels content with the fact that he’d had to manually search your name to see that photo. Last night, Scotty had made a reservation at a fine, respectable Italian place to commemorate your one-year anniversary. 

You had a good time; Scotty would quip about everything and anything, and you would laugh exaggeratedly. You two were a great pairing, you think— hope, for the sake of your sanity.

You make yourself home in the space next to him, pulling your knees to your chest and tugging at your shirt to cover your bare legs. “You need to leave. Now, Max.”

A quiet ‘hm’ slips past his lips. But he’s still stuck on the couch, toeing out of his dress shoes and crossing his legs together like it was his home—but, it isn’t. Not anymore. Not while you are evidently a meaningless speck in his glorious life.

When Max turns to you, disgustingly pretty blue eyes and all, you succumb to the tight grasp he has on all of your logic. “Business trip. Milan.”

An empty chuckle raises the tiny hairs on your arm and echoes across the room. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth; his eyes refuse to leave yours. He brings a cold hand to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; his fingertips leave burn marks against your cheek.

“You don’t even like Italian food,” he continues, because does he ever really know how to stop? “Does he even know you?”

And that. It shouldn’t have made you as frustrated as it did, not when you had gotten over Max. Totally. Completely. Utterly. “What, like you did? Max, you wouldn’t even give a fuck to remember our anniversary!”

The sarcastic glint in his eyes turns sour. “I had to race—Fuck! y/n, I was leading the championship, you knew that.”

“Yeah, Max, how could I forget? Red bull this, Red bull fucking that,” you seethe through gritted teeth, face inching closer to him and squinting eyes shining predatorily. “It’s been two years, Max, two years since you broke up with me. So, congrats. You got what you wanted—a trophy and a name under your belt. Why don’t you fucking leave me alone?”

Max’s breath hitches, but your uncontrolled panting inhales enough air for the both of you. Then, his hand wraps around the side of your neck, not squeezing, but it’s there. It’s warm, and it feels painfully refreshing against your skin, and your protests die in your throat.

The Dutch whispers an octave lower, and only then, when his minty breath tickles your cheekbones, do you perceive your proximity, “Because I think if you really wanted me gone, I would be by now.”

And, well. He might as well be ripping open your ribcage and twisting your heart until it breaks in half, crimson blood making a mess of the carpeted floor. 

You’re left speechless under his gaze because as much as you try to deny, you know it’s true. Max would leave as fast as he did two years ago if there was even a hint of honesty in your words.

“And you know what else I think?” Max takes your silence as encouragement to continue. “I think he doesn’t fuck you well enough if you’re this desperate for it.”

Somehow, you muster up enough irritation to murmur, “I—m’not desperate.”

“No?” he taunts, extending his thumb to the underside of your chin and tilting it upward. “Why haven’t you properly kicked me out, then?”

You rack your mind for a response, a reaction—fucking anything to prove you aren’t wishing he’d just inch a bit closer to close the gap between you. 

“I . . . I hate you, Jesus Christ,” you curse defeatedly, craning your neck upward and frantically meeting his stupidly large lips.

The kiss isn’t slow or loving; it’s wet and filthy and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a lingering taste of honey on his tongue when he brushes it between your parted lips, and you can’t help but pull him in deeper for more. 

The hand on your neck tightens significantly, Max’s breath tickling your upper lip as the other seizes around your under thigh and swiftly pulls you onto his lap.

A gasp flows out of your mouth and he greedily swallows it. You want to skin him alive when you feel him grin arrogantly, but then he presses a hand on your ass and lowers you flush against him—Him, and the massive bulge straining his black trousers—and the thoughts spill right out of your head into a gooey puddle beside your feet.

“I hate y— oh,” your murmur morphs into a shaky gasp when he rips his lips away from yours and attacks the canvas of your neck; you say those three words like you could them words into existence. 

And I hate that I still want you so fucking bad; those eleven words are left unsaid like you expect him to read your mind. But Max couldn’t two years ago, and you know he can’t now.

Your hands glide over his muscular frame, relearning the sharp edges and smooth skin of his body and you moan breathily when Max sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear. “Y’might hate me, baby, but your pussy doesn’t. Fuck, she’s dripping all ov’me.”

A pathetic whimper slips past your lips. He’s not wrong— you could feel your slick coating your panties and rubbing against Max’s pants. You were usually one to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. Need him the same you did the first time you met, both young and inexperienced. Maybe more.

Probably more.

But he isn’t doing anything to relieve the ache between your thighs, so. Before you take matters into your own hands and grind your pussy against his covered dick, Max’s hands cup the mounds of your ass and lift you sideways to splay your body on the couch.

“Max,” you say like the breaths have been knocked out of your poor lungs, but it might not be so far from the truth.

Max positions himself in between your legs, hips and thick thighs parting them wide, and the itchy fabric against your naked skin spins your head in dizzying circles. You could fucking see the damp patch your slick left on his crotch. Your hips buck into the air; you hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

His dishevelled hair lay atop his head and you want to pull. His flush trails down his neck and you want to bite and kiss and mark it till pretty bruises litter his soft skin. Your hands and lips stay pliant under his body instead.

“Y’d only get this wet f’me, though, hm?” he groans when his fingers push your skimpy underwear to the side, unblinking like the sight of your glistening folds would disappear if he looked away.

I’m always like this for you, you feel the need to reassure, even when you aren’t here—especially when you aren’t here. But your blood still boils at his stupid hair and stupid smirk, so. He’s met with silence.

Growing impatient, Max slaps at your swollen clit, humming satisfactorily at the loud gasp you let out. He grazes his digits past the bundle of nerves, and your incessant need to murder him and fuck him till he realized he’d made a mistake letting you go only intensify.

“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I will leave you like this, shatje,” he ends up growling lowly, thick fingers hovering over your hole. “And then it’s your boyfriend’s problem.”

“Max, fuck off–”

The warm body abruptly stands up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this cold. But the empty sensation doesn’t last long, anyway. Max barely has any time to walk away before your fingers latch onto his forearm tightly.

You splutter, “M-Max wait, wait.”

When he tilts his head down to meet your eyes with a raised brow, you have no recollection of what you'd even wanted to say. 

“Please…please, just fucking help me.”

And apparently, that's all Max needs because his hands are immediately tugging your shirt off, lips trailing hot kisses in the divot of your tits. Your lips part around a moan when he purses his lips around your hard nipple, stomach stirring uncomfortably with need. His mouth leaves marks like cigarette burns in its wake; it stings against the wounds that have already healed years ago.

The Dutch doesn’t leave you much to dwell on before he lays between your thighs again, trails his hand across your body till his fingers nudge at your lips, and shoves his index and middle finger inside the wetness of your mouth. if you were slightly more desperate, you would've whimpered at the pleasent pressure on your tongue.

If.

“Fuck, lieverd,” Max exhales when you suck your cheeks in, wet muscle darting over and between his digits— wide, innocent eyes and all. “Can he get you like this? Fucking dripping and desperate for dick?”

You shake your head frantically because it’s true. Because he couldn’t, not like Max can. Satisfied, Max only presses against your throat slightly to watch you gag around him. He brings his hand back down to the space between your legs agonizingly slow and alas, pushes them both in like he’s in a rush.

“Max! Oh, oh m’God, fuck,” you gasp, the twinge of pain is quickly overshadowed by the hot pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach.

Your hips involountarily buck upwards into the fullness, but Max flattens his palm on your lower stomach to shove you down. Eyes rolling back and threading your fingers through his hair before tugging his insatiable mouth on your pussy.

“He doesn’t,” Max cuts himself off with a groan when his tongue flicks at your clit, familiar tasting slick pooling on his taste buds. “He doesn’t know you like I do, can’t make you cum as hard as I do, can he?”

He doesn’t expect a response; it isn’t even a question, as well as you’re aware. Max knows he’s the only person who can have you writhing and moaning on his fingers, cock, tongue— all three, one night.

And he’s right. But. Max’s control of the situation makes you feel queasy, so.

“No– ohh, fuckfuckfuck,” you moan, high and needy, when Max curls his fingers upwards, like a reward for agreeing with him. “He–, he fucks me better.”

From under you, Max’s face visibly dims, but you aren’t able to bask in the satisfaction it gives you before he drags his thick digits out of you—your hole clenching in protest, crying out at the emptiness when it fails to keep them inside—hooks his hands into the small of your waist, and your ass meets the hardwood floor.

“What the fuck–”

Your breath hitches when he flips you over on your elbows and knees. Back arched almost uncomfortably, furrowed brows with Max’s bruising hands on your hips to lift your ass further in the air. 

When Scotty slips into bed tomorrow morning, you hope he’ll see the ugly hues of blue and green on your tainted body and leave soundlessly.

Shaking your head at the intrusive thought, you curse internally. Scotty’s nice, and you don’t deserve him. Not when you’re willingly presenting yourself to Max, the folds of your pussy connected by the lewd lines of his spit and your slick.

"Y’wanna act like a whore?" Max whispers hotly from behind you– his breath tickles your ear and his hands rise to your hair, gather your locks into a makeshift ponytail, and tug it forcefully to tilt your head back, making you wince. "I'll fucking treat you like one."

A string of your desperate whines fills Max’s ears like a symphony, and he groans with you when you begin to grind your ass backwards against his dick. His dick. Fuck, Max needs it wrapped around your tight walls, milking him for all he has; needs to watch you writhe on his cock like it was what you were made for.

“I hate you,” you repeat, much more breathless than the other times you said it, and Max has the audacity to laugh.

Though, you guess it has more to do with the fact that all the while you were saying those three words, you were still needily humping your ass against his covered dick.

You still are, and it’s driving him fucking insane. Max curses when he realizes he’s still trapped by the confines of his pants. Whoever thought wearing clothes was a good idea?

Clumsily and with only one hand whilst the other grips your hair, he fumbles out of his suit. And Max throws the articles of clothing mindlessly—on the couch, on the floor. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t fucking care. 

A relieved sigh fills the room as the cool air wraps around his painfully hard cock. Your breath hitches when you feel the thick tip graze your pussy. His hand hastily grips at his base, aligns it to your folds, and coating it in your slick as he strokes it once, twice.

“Ah! Max, holy shit,” you blabber when his cock nudges against your swollen clit, and finally, thrusts his hips forward, the tip fitting snugly against your walls. “Oh, oh, fuck, moremoremore, please.”

And Max. Well, Max is doomed.

“Fuck, liefje, your pussy missed me so fucking bad, I know, I know,” Max coos when your hole clenches around him greedily, and spreads your cheeks with one hand, gazing obscenely at the sight of you sucking more and more of him inside.

The familiar stretch burns and yet your hips push back against his cock— three words ringing in your otherwise empty mind: full, full, fuller. Max’s hips stutter as he meets your movements halfway, fucking his stupidly massive cock into your wetness and tightening his hold on your hair.

You wish you could say you hate the pain as much as you hate him.

“Max, Max, Max,” you urge him as your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you don’t really know what for; your neediness took over your senses the moment Max kissed you.

But Max, he’d already memorized all of it— all your tells, those things that pushed you over the edge—, protected them inside a dust-covered chest buried in his mind. It was no surprise he knew what to do with you now, filling you to the brim and pounding into you ruthlessly.

“Yes! Yes! Mm fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you sob happily, and Max wouldn’t fucking dare.

The man behind you tugs you upright with the hand on your hair, his chest flush heatedly against your back and tilting your head to pounce at your neck.

“Tell me,” Max growls slowly, slowing his assaults on your wet pussy, and now, you’re almost sure that your hate is reciprocated. “Tell me he means nothing to you.”

A loud yelp leaves your lips when he slaps your clit again, and a slight gush of slick slides down your walls, dripping lewdly onto his balls. Your hand reaches up to grip his hair and pulls his pillowy lips back onto your neck; tears brim at your waterline. You aren’t sure if it’s because of how badly you want to cum or miss him— you blink.

No, no, no. That wouldn’t be possible because. Because you don’t miss him.

“He’s nothing, Max, nothing compares to you,” you cry out, and Max falters.

Then, he pulls out.

“Huh? Wha…” You inhale sharply, feeling so stupidly empty.

Before you dig a hole for you and your pussy to crawl in and die, Max is swiftly turning you over by your hips and engulfing his dick in your walls again. Your mouth falls open again; Max takes it as an opportunity to press his lips against yours.

Your hands cradle his face and kiss him back gently like he isn’t fucking the life out of you. Like he isn’t projecting his pent up frustration for the last two years onto your wet, tight pussy. A muffled cry escapes your mouth when Max thrusts into you with newfound fervor.

His lips detach from yours, burrying his forehead into the crook of your neck to, hopefully, muffle his groans. “Max– ah! Oh m’God, I’m so close, please just.”

Max nods, wild and frantic and horny, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. He tweaks, pinches, and rubs at your clit until you let out a shriek and your thighs close instinctively around him.

He bottoms out, grinding helplessly inside the heat of your pussy. “Cum f’me, shatje, wanna feel you cum on m’cock. Fucking cum.”

And, well, if you were even the slightest bit good at denying Max, you wouldn’t even be in this position. So. You arch your back off the ground with a high, loud moan and savour the white specs in your vision that only Max seems to bring out of you.

He fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with short, wild thrusts. “Ah, fuckkk, if only y’were as good as y’pussy is to me, liefje, y’d be getting m’cock like this every fucking night— Fuck!”

Beads of Max’s thick cum fill you to the brim with a loud groan and a long string of curses, tainting your insides a heavenly white. His hips stutter when you clench around him, milking him for all he has just like he’d wanted. And, when Max pulls out with a shaky gasp, he takes another piece of your heart with him.

Maybe, if you make this same mistake enough, he’d realize he has your heart already, full and pieced together.

But Max was never one to take a hint, never one to read your mind, so you settle for the parts of him you can have once in a blue moon; you settle for him picking you up, carrying you to your bedroom, cleaning the mess between your legs, and pulling the covers above your naked frame; you settle for the scowl on his face when he notices the polaroid of you and Scotty on your bedside table.

“I hate y—”

Max leaves the room before you can finish your sentence. 

He knows.

authors notes dedicating this to @enchantecafe + @scuderiahoney bcs they were hor knee for max on this poll (me too) i hope you guys like it and thank you to @cafekitsune for the dividers once again xx

i feel like this isn't my best work but i'll post it anyway because i spent a lot of time on it and yolo. also i think i fried my brain with it.

also, writing this fic made me realize idfk how to write angry sex it just ends up being angsty so. i think at times theyre angry but as they go on, some of that tension dissipitates and they both realize they want but cant have each other. tried my best tho!! xx

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🐢

taglist in separate posts bcs tumblr chooses to be annoying <33

p.s reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💚💚

[gracexthoughts]

northern hospitality

jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader

warnings; nothing really except use of y/n and reader description, barely edited

summary; jace flies to winterfell to ensure the north’s allegiance and finds himself entranced by northern beauty

a/n; I saw someone talk about how Cregan might have given Jace the cloak he wears on the wall bc it’s not the one he leaves/goes back to dragonstone in and I just had to write this edit: this is my first jace fic so suggestions and criticism is very welcome!!

The Prince Jacaerys shivers as he flies through the frigid Northern air on his way to Winterfell. His mission in the Eyrie was well met and his confidence bolstered in the promise of the Vale’s support of his mother’s claim. Vermax chitters as the castle of Winterfell appears on the horizon. The northern beauty is rumored through the realm but the young prince is still stunned by the sprawling majesty of the northern stronghold. Even if it is cruelly cold already in late summer.

Soon, Vermax lands on the frozen ground just outside the gates of the castle, which are open to await his arrival. Guards greet him reverently and escort him into the courtyard, where it seems the entire of Winterfell’s inhabitants stand and at the front of them stands Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

“Lord Stark, I am very glad to meet you,” the young prince smiles, stepping forward to meet his hosts.

“The pleasure is ours, my prince. Winterfell is yours,” Lord Cregan responds diplomatically.

“I thank you. It is not often I find myself in the North. While I detest the circumstances, I am glad for the opportunity,” Jacaerys smiles, his eyes taking in his surroundings before landing on the woman standing to Cregan’s side. The Lady Y/N, he assumes, Cregan’s younger sister. Her beauty is rumored even in the South but no amount of whispers could have prepared the young prince for the vision that stands before him. Her hair is black as night, woven away from her face to hang over her shoulder, a thick fur cloak fastened with direwolf pins, and her smoke gray eyes seem to gaze through his confident facade seeing the prince for the frightened young man he really is. He’s always heard northern women were different than southern women and he feels he can sense a wildness in her—a fire that burns hot even this place of ice and snow.

“We welcome the opportunity to show the crown the value in the North, my prince,” she says with a proud smile, her voice melodious and sure, her northern accent intriguing to the southern prince.

“Let us retreat inside to the hearth so we may hear what messages you have brought us.” The prince tears his eyes away from the lady to her elder brother and nods with a smile, thanking him while they walk towards the castle and the warmth it offers.

Cregan and Jacaerys spend most of the day in conference, discussing the politics of the realm and the usurpations of the Greens, Lady Y/N left to attend to her brother’s typical duties. Jacaerys is determined in his diplomacy for his cause but in the idle moments of the day, his mind drifts to the lady of the castle. That night, the prince sits in his chambers, thinking of his home and family, hoping Luke fared well in his own mission, and warming himself by the fire. He had come largely unprepared for the cold of the North, incorrectly thinking it wouldn’t be as frigid in the summer, and had been attempting to mask his chill the whole day. A knock on the door pulls Jacaerys from his thoughts and he stands, leaving the warm embrace of the fire, crossing the room to the door.

“Pardon me, my prince,” a small servant girl says with a curtsy, her eyes downcast, as the door is opened. She carries a large bundle of furs in her arms, the pile so large it nearly covers her face.

“What is this?” the prince asks, his eyes scanning the furs in the girl's arms.

“The Lady Y/N sends cloaks for you. She had worried the chill more than you had expected,” the girl says softly.

“Oh, thank you,” Jacaerys replies, gently taking the furs from the girl, and watches her scurry off down the hall. He smiles to himself, stepping back into his bedchambers and examining the cloaks. They were black leather and fur and looked much warmer than the cloak he had brought with him. Northern hospitality, he thinks to himself, a small laugh escaping his lips.

The next morning, Jacaerys wakes early, and begins wandering the halls of Winterfell and finds himself in one of the courtyards, his new cloak keeping him much warmer and allowing him to journey outside with comfort, and sees Lady Y/N practicing her archery against the far wall, a massive gray wolf at her side.

“Early morning training, my lady?” The prince inquires, standing a few feet from her, wary of the great wolf laying at her feet. She turns to him, her eyes surprised, and nods.

“I’ve not ever been one to sleep late, unfortunately,” she responds, setting the bow down against the basket of arrows. She wears black coats that hang to her knees and lined with white fur on the collar, contrasting greatly with her woven black hair, a silver wolf broach on her breast, and dark trousers rather than skirts.

“Neither am I, in truth. Years of first light training has made me an early riser,” the prince laughs, staring into the smoky swirls of the lady’s eyes. “Thank you,” he adds suddenly, “for the cloaks. You must think me quite foolish not to bring warmer clothes.” The prince shifts his weight on his feet, feeling stranger under her knowing gaze.

“Just that one so used to warmth and fire may chill faster than us children of snow,” Y/N responds, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands, a kind smile on her lips.

“You are kind, my lady. And right, of course. I am much warmer today, thanks to your generosity,” the prince says looking down at the black fur cloak that hangs around his broad shoulders. “Are you well used to the cold, then? Or are the clothes just better made for it?”

“Both,” the lady answers. “Though this is nothing compared to true winter.”

“This is warmth for you, is it?” The prince asks bewildered, pulling a laugh out of the Stark girl. The mist of their breath mingles between them. The land is all frosted over in the morning chill, a few specs of summer snow visible from its last fall.

“A bit, the height of summer is warmer but not anything like the heat of the south. Your dragon blood would want of that cloak even when us Northerners shed ours.” The prince laughs, struggling to fathom such cold when the wolf next to Y/N stands suddenly, startling the prince slightly.

“Don’t mind Shadow, she’s tame,” Y/N chuckles, as the wolf nudges her leg and her gloved hand stroking the wolf’s fur.

“I didn’t know there were any direwolves south of the Wall. Let alone tame ones,” the young prince awes.

“Neither were dragons tame until your ancestors bound themselves to them. You’re not the only house with connections to great creatures,” she reminds him. “When I was a young girl, my father went to visit the Wall, took Cregan and I with him. One of the Rangers took us out riding just beyond the Wall and we came across Shadow. She was just a pup and quite injured. I begged my father to let me take her back home. Luckily, I can be quite convincing when I wish to be. She’s been my loyal friend ever since.”

“You have a kind heart, my lady,” Jacaerys says, eying the wolf with caution.

“You don’t have to be afraid of her. You can even pet her if you’d like. She won’t bite, unless I tell her to,” she teases, trying and failing to hide a sly smile.

“I am content as an observer, but thank you.”

“You were raised with dragons and yet you fear a wolf?”

“Dragons I know, wolves not as much. Would you like to meet a dragon?” The prince offers suddenly, smiling widely. Y/N meets his eyes, pausing for a moment, searching his eyes wondering if he really means it.

“Really?” Y/N’s smoke gray eyes are wide. The prince smiles, nodding and reaches out a hand to her. The lady hesitates for a moment before smiling wider and takes the prince’s hand. He leads her quickly across the frozen ground to where his dragon has been staying. As they approach, Y/N watches the creature carefully. His emerald green scales gleaming in the afternoon light.

The dragon groans softly as his rider approaches, Jacaerys eagerly approaching the creature and extending his hand to rest on the dragon’s large snout. “This is Vermax,” the prince says and Vermax sighs contentedly at Jacaerys’ touch, warm breath blowing his dark curls back slightly. Y/N hangs back, watching the interaction with awe.

“What are you waiting for?” The prince laughs over his shoulder.

“Exercising caution, my prince,” the lady says breathlessly.

“He won’t bite. Unless I ask him to, of course,” Jacaerys teases, the Lady smiling at his use of her words. The Prince eyes her momentarily before reaching his hand back, grabbing hers and pulling her closer. The prince takes her hand and places it on Vermax’s snout, his softly over top her own, guiding her gentle pets of the beast. Vermax chitters softly but Y/N mind is elsewhere, her thoughts not on the creature before her but the prince at her back. His hand on her shoulder, her hand in his against the powerful creature he has grown with, his breath ghosting against her cheek.

“See? Nothing to fear,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, just a fire breathing dragon that could swallow me whole,” Y/N laughs slightly. The prince releases his grip, stepping away from both creatures. “He’s beautiful,” she adds, stepping away as well and turning to face the prince with her cheeks feeling warmer than moments before.

“Thank you. Maybe I can take you on a ride one day,” Jacaerys offers, enjoying the thought of riding with her.

“I would like that, if you’d have me,” she nods, their eyes locked for a tense moment, lost in the swirls of each other's eyes.

“My Prince, My Lady,” a voice breaks the moment and the pair turn to see a page making his way toward them. “I have been sent to inform you breakfast is laid.”

“Thank you, Noran,” Y/N responds, the page bowing slightly before retreating. “Hungry, my prince?”

“Jace, just call me Jace,” he says suddenly, surprising himself and her. “And yes, I’m famished,” the prince smiles, and allows her to lead him back towards the castle, his mind concocting all kinds of ways to spend more time with her.