#Fuck I have feelings. He wanted to be good he tried to be good he tried again and again ext ext you know the drill

[ellecdc]

grovelling under an old oak tree

prompt from @redeyesthicthighs: I have been thinking about our girl Vix & craving some good ol’ hurt/comfort with a touch of groveling from one of the boys... I feel like we tend to see Sirius or James be the ones to step wrong and then have to fix it but… I know we are all obsessed with Remus and he truly is an angel (I KNOW! YOU KNOW I KNOW!) but how do you think he would grovel?

poly!marauders x vixen!reader who Remus needs to apologize to [1.3k words]

CW: fem!reader, Remus yelled at her/told her off off screen, Remus-centric, begging for forgiveness, hurt/comfort and fluff

“Sirius, I think you ought to at least pretend to be a little less happy about how upset your girlfriend is right now.” Remus scolded instead of acknowledging the fact that he was currently in the wrong.

Sirius simply snorted at him. “Of course I’m not happy about my girlfriend being upset, Moony. I’m just thoroughly enjoying the fact that it’s not my fault.”

”It doesn’t hurt that Moony was the arse this time.” James added rather unhelpfully. 

“I wasn’t an-” Remus started as he stood straighter, cutting himself off and taking a steadying breath. He really was sort of an arse. It was the day after a full, Remus was feeling particularly sorry for himself - his hip seemingly giving him more problems today than it had in months - and you had been your normal, vibrant, effervescent self. 

The way Remus spoke to you probably had you thinking that was a crime worthy of Azkaban. 

You’d taken off - of course you had - because who would want to stick around to be spoken to like that?

It probably hadn’t helped matters that the other two boys were so thoroughly shocked by Remus’ outburst that neither of them thought to say anything to you, and Remus himself was too simultaneously proud and full of self loathing to retract his earlier sentiments.

The last thing any of them had seen from their dormitory window was a small red fox bolting into the forest. 

“I was an arse.” Remus admitted in defeat.

”Fuck yeah you were!” Sirius cheered, earning him a high-five from James as though the two of them had been watching a quidditch match and not Remus simply pull on a jacket, hat, and scarf to go out in search of you. 

“I need you to enjoy this a little less, please.” Remus sighed.

”No can do, Moonbeam; I’ll be riding this high all week. Can you imagine!? I wonder what it would be like to have Remus grovelling at our feet, eh Jamie?”

“Fuck off. The difference between the two of you and Vix is that you’d actually… deserve it...” He joked, though the atmosphere immediately fell flat when he remembered that he had, indeed, been an arse to you. And what’s more, you didn’t deserve it in the least. 

“Fuck; I was an arse.” Remus reiterated.

”Do you want us to help, Rem?” James finally asked, clearly taking pity on Remus who, in his defence, was not at all used to being in the dog house. 

“No… no. I- I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” Remus decided; whether he was convincing himself or his boyfriend’s, he wasn’t sure as he ventured out of his dormitory in search of his girlfriend. 

…

He supposed that, all things considered, he should be thankful for the mixture of rain and snow that was currently falling from the sky. If nothing else, it served to leave a definitive trail of paw prints in the soft ground leading Remus to where you’d gone and hidden.

From him.

You were hiding from him.  

Fuck, he was an arse. 

There was a small hole in the earth under a tangle of roots beneath a grand old oak where your paw prints came to a decided halt. 

“Dovey?” He tried carefully; he heard an exhale and a shuffle. “Sweetheart? I’m sorry…” 

He received no response. 

Remus didn’t think he was in a position to ask anything of you; not to hear him out, not to come out and talk to him, not even to come back inside so he’d - at the very least - sleep knowing you were indoors and warm. 

So, screaming hip be damned, he lowered himself to the ground, the layers he was wearing doing nothing to protect him from the biting cold of the muddy ground as it seeped into his front. 

He wondered for a moment if he should feel embarrassed should a passerby notice a student prostrate beneath the trunk of an old oak tree, but he decided pleading for your forgiveness outweighed any potential embarrassment. 

“Vix, I’m sorry, love.” He pressed earnestly; a small white muzzle appearing near the entrance of your burrow. “I didn’t mean it.” 

You let out a huff and moved to turn your face back away from him. Yes you did, you seemed to argue.

”I didn’t, sweetheart. But I shouldn’t have said it, and that doesn’t excuse that I still did.” 

You kept your face turned away from him. 

“Dovey, I-” Remus paused and bit in a breath, using his elbows to pull him that much closer to your burrow and streak that much more mud up his front. “Pads and Prongs…they saved me. But…but you- you brought light back into my life, and you manage to do that even on my darkest days.” 

He waited a few beats before he continued. “Even when I don’t deserve it.”

One of your back legs twitched as though you were itching to move but actively fought against it. 

“Even when it’s the pain that’s talking, and not me. Even when I know it’s the pain talking for me and I let it anyway. Even when all I want to do is sit and wallow and feel sorry for myself you-” He felt embarrassingly close to tears. “You never fail to share what little light you might have to offer; to me, to Sirius and James, to everyone around you. It’s one of the things I love most about you, and I berated you for it.” 

More silence.

”I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t push. He simply laid on his stomach beneath an old oak tree in the Forbidden Forest under the light of the waning moon as he watched your fur fall and rise in time with your breathing whilst you refused to look at him. The only movement other than the infinitesimal twitching of your legs and ears. 

“Okay, that’s alright.” He sighed after an unknown stretch of time, turning his head to rest his cheek against his folded arms. “I’ll be here, okay? Whenever you’re ready.” 

Remus’ blinks became sticky with the moisture gathering along his eyelashes between the cold and the sleet quickly soaking him through the top of his jacket, leaving him damp on all sides. 

He was just about resigned to spending the entire night out here, perhaps being found by a rather smug Sirius or slightly less smug but no less pleased James covered in a thick layer of frost not unlike the heather bushes lining much of the landscape come morning when he felt a wet, warm nudge to his cheek.

He peeled his eyes open to see a small red fox standing above him with a curious tilt to its head.

“I’m fine to wait out here if that’s what you need, dove.” He assured you, shifting his head to look at you though never lifting it from his arms. “Don’t worry on my account.”

Your ears twitched again - towards something deep in the forest behind you - but you kept your eyes dutifully on him before pressing another boop to his cheek. 

“Ready to go inside?” He asked, daring to prop himself up on his elbows. A definitive yipping sound told him yes, you were. 

Remus finally moved to stand, hip cracking audibly though he kept his face painfully neutral so as not to have you feeling inadvertently guilty. Remus thought he probably deserved to spend more time on the cold wet ground for the way he spoke to you.

“Hope this doesn’t mean you’ve gone and forgiven me yet, Vix.” He declared sternly, bending slightly to pick you up when you stood on your hind legs to press gentle paws into his thigh. “I have much more grovelling to do.”

You made a fox-like laughing sound before shoving your nose into his neck, nuzzling closer to him in as much of a hug as a fox could manage. 

“And if Sirius or James ever spoke to you that way, I’d expect you to leave them begging for days.”

[tossawary]

It's fun to play with the various takes on "What the fuck did Mobei-Jun think his relationship with Shang Qinghua actually WAS going into the ascension ritual???" All of the options are good, honestly.

It's funny if Mobei-Jun thought that they were basically engaged to be married by enthusiastic mutual agreement. It's funny if Mobei-Jun thought they were in some bizarre, undefined, extended courtship that existed on top of their established, much more important master-servant relationship. (The "be pathetic to seduce men" scene with Moshang and Binghe does suggest that Mobei-Jun knows/thinks by this point that Shang Qinghua is into him and that Mobei-Jun isn't opposed to that.) It's funny if Mobei-Jun was actively pursuing Shang Qinghua for years and it's also funny if Mobei-Jun thought that he was merely graciously tolerating his smitten servant's clumsy advances.

My most consistent headcanon is that Mobei-Jun himself probably doesn't know his own take on his decades-long situationship for sure. Sometimes, conflicted people honestly don't let themselves look directly at their own thoughts and feelings for years, because it's a "I can't handle this right now" or a "I don't want to handle this ever" situation for them. Even if any given interpretation of Mobei-Jun has actually thought at length about this strange relationship in any kind of emotionally mature way, I still don't think that he could then (if he even wanted to) communicate his thoughts in a way that humans could fully understand.

I think fondly of just how quickly and flatly Luo Binghe said, "Not you," when Mobei-Jun tried to respond to his request for romantic advice. (It was bad advice.) How many conversations have these two had before now that went like this? Truly, a "if a lion could speak, we couldn't understand him" man to me.

[avonsdrabbles]

You know, I wanna add to this.

My parents… tried. They tried to come to my everything. They taped what they could so we could always have it on disk. My childhood was spent rewatching videos of my major events, none of which feel major now as a 27 year old. But they were major then. And with how much therapy I’ve gone through, I finally can recognize — can finally remember — how good that felt.

And how horrible it felt when that wasn’t the case.

Later in my life, before cutting them off, my dad lamented about how he had never been there for me. How he had work often when I was a child, so he missed a lot of my developmental ages. He tried to make up for this later in life; he built me toys and games, talked with me about various topics he thought would appeal.

They all fell flat. There was always some aspect of it that was missing. The air hockey table he built (which I appreciated, genuinely, especially since it was based on the joy I had with my sister, playing a makeshift one in my room) was in the garage where he smoked, and my asthma wouldn’t allow for playing. Every conversation we had that I was passionate about resulted in an argument as passions flared, and it became easier not to talk at all.

He would tout this failure of his to connect to me as a child as the reason I came out to mom, first. In some degrees, I think he’s right. I think it was a factor, at least.

But the biggest thing I can recognize as an adult is… I get it. He couldn’t be there as much. Just… physically. My father is disabled, was making the most money in the household, and we needed that income to continue with our way of life. My parents worked their asses off to provide for my sister and I, and we had a very comfortable lifestyle because of it. But that work came at the cost of connection.

I guess what I’m saying is… I can recognize, now, how necessary it was. But I wasn’t an idiot then. I could’ve understood, had anyone just explained it properly.

“Dad couldn’t come; he had work.”

To a 5 year old, that’s not an excuse. Can’t you just take off work? Can’t you just come? What sort of world do we live in where work is more important than (checks) my fifth grade play where I’ll screech at the top of my lungs??

“Dad had a headache.”

To a 5 year old, fuck that. I’ve had headaches at school before. Nevermind that my father had an aneurysm, I don’t know that word.

If you can’t make it, please, fucking explain to your child why, in ways they can understand!!! And do it BEFORE you miss, whenever possible.

“Hey honey; I want to come, but my boss is evil and won’t give me time off. If I don’t go to my job, I can’t afford your magic tree house books. I know this recital means a lot for you, but I know those books matter a lot too. Is it okay for me to miss this one, if I promise to see you on the camera later?”

Just give that reassurance.

Help your child through the grief of not seeing you there. Prepare them for it.

my parents never came to anything I did.

I have so many memories about this, but one in particular: when I was away at camp with 89 other teenagers, and at the one-month mark the post was collected distributed to all the dorms. 89 other children tore open their boxes and, shovelling handfuls of sweets their parents had sent them into their mouths, read pages-long letters and handed around photos of their brothers and sisters.

I didn't. I didn't get anything, I sat on my empty bed watching them. The teachers had to call my parents and ask if perhaps the post had gone missing...? but my parents were surprised they were required to interact with me while I was away.

Well, today, my 3-year-old daughter had a fun-run. The childcare centre invited parents to come but stressed that if we weren't able to, it was alright. There was no fucking way I wasn't going. My daughter wasn't going to be the only child there without a parent watching.

I got time off work and stood there in the beating sun and plastered in greasy sunscreen waiting to see my little girl emerge from inside the centre and stand on the track.

When she did, her little eyes searched through the crowd person-by-person for me, and absolutely lit up like the sun when she spotted me.

Mine filled with tears as I waved at her and cheered.

I'm breaking the cycle.

[raerae2727]

When they blow up at you: multiple One Piece men x reader

You make them upset and they lose their temper + how they apologize

Includes: Ace, Kid, Law, Sanji, Crocodile, Doflamingo

GN! Reader, established relationship

Warnings: language, crocodile is neglectful and doffy is toxic, both reader and kid are lowkey toxic together, ace sanji and law’s parts are sweet tho💋

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Ace

He’s always pretty upbeat and tries not to show anger around you, but one day you make a joke that takes it too far. Your relationship had always been full of humor and you simply misunderstood what was acceptable to joke about and what wasn’t. You know you messed up when Ace goes quiet and puts his head down. You put your hand on his shoulder and frantically try to apologize, but he clearly isn’t having it as he stands and tries to walk away from you.

“Ace, wait! Listen!” You call as you try to pull him back, eager to explain yourself and properly apologize. He suddenly turns around and, in front of everyone, begins to lecture you.

“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

Your guilt quickly turns to anger at the hypocrisy of Ace’s words. It always seemed to you that no joke was “too far” because of the way he so freely poked fun at you, your interests, and those you care about. How dare he pin this accusation on you?

“You’re the one who can’t take anything serious!” You respond, raising your voice louder than his.

He’s basically yelling when he responds, “At least I know where to draw the line!”

“What about all those times you made fun of me? Is it only an issue when I do it back?”

Everyone is staring at you two by this point, but all you can focus on is holding back tears when Ace yells, “I guess we just don’t go well together!” He slams his hand on the table, “Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you for as long as I have!”

Ashamed and heartbroken, you rush to your room and cry into your pillow. It feels like an eternity before you finally hear a knock on your door. You don’t respond but Ace opens it and lets himself in anyways, setting down his hat. He sits on the edge of your bed and breaks the silence with, “Good thing I stayed calm out there, right?”

Amazed that he still has the audacity to joke around, you sit up and scold, “Ace!”

He holds up his arms defensively. “Sorry, Sorry, I’m ready to talk about it if you are. And for the record, I love putting up with you.”

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Kid

Your relationship was always explosive because of your captain’s temper, but he must have already been on edge today because this was worse than usual. Killer wanted some rest so Kid is trying to make dinner for the crew, but he absolutely sucks at cooking. He refuses to listen to your advice and tension is growing as you continue to try and help.

“Stop being so controlling! I’m the captain here!”

The smell of burnt food is getting stronger, and you can’t help but take the pan off the burner yourself. “We’re hungry. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with just accepting help for once.” You try to keep your tone neutral to avoid a fight - which is clearly ineffective as Kid grabs you by the arm and pulls you outside of the kitchen.

“Why are you so set on embarrassing me in front of my crew!?” He shouts, gripping your shoulders.

You roll your eyes and speak calmly to make him feel like he’s overreacting. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be more embarrassing if nobody was able to eat because your ego is too big to let me help.”

Kid is infamously bad with words, so he just responds by cursing and shoving you with much more force than intended. You go tumbling back until your head hits the wall and you fall to the floor. Kid looks shocked but before he can kneel down to help, you shoot up and shout, “What the fuck was that!?!”

“I don’t know!! Are you okay?” He yells back, panicked.

“No! I’m gonna tell Killer that you’re abusing me!” You scream, not realizing the whole ship can probably hear you two by now.

“No!” Kid responds fearfully, one-upping your volume and holding you in place by your shoulders again. “I swear I’ll always listen to you from now on! I promise! Please don’t tell on me, you know it was an accident!!”

Before you can scream back, the kitchen door swings open and you two stare at Killer like deer in headlights.

“Get in here and set the table. I knew you guys wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

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Law

Law always stretches himself too thin between working late, taking care of his crew, and making sure they don’t get themselves in too much trouble. He must have been losing a lot of sleep because of this, as he’s asking you to bring him his 4th cup of coffee today and it’s not even noon.

You tell him, “I don’t think I should do that, babe. I’m sorry. You should get some rest instead.” His under eye bags are especially dark today and his hair is messy.

“I have to get this done,” he responds calmly, though you can detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Can you at least get someone else to make it?”

When you go behind him and rub his shoulders, he sighs and leans back in his chair. He must be exhausted. “Please, babe?” He asks once more.

“Law, you of all people should know the importance of rest.”

He pulls away from your touch and crooks his neck to look in your eyes. “And you, of all people, should appreciate the work your captain does to keep this crew out of harm’s way.” He doesn’t yell, but the scolding tone of his voice hurts you more than yelling ever could. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, presumably to make his own coffee, and you follow behind. “Can’t you just give me some alone time for once?” He snaps.

You’re growing increasingly frustrated at Law’s stubborn attitude. “You need to rest! I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re putting your health at risk.”

“Sometimes,” he grabs you by the chin and leans in, “I have to make sacrifices for this crew. Be thankful.” You can’t help but start to tear up. His harsh words stung extra when he looked at you like that. Law lets go of you and his gaze softens when he realizes how upset he’s made you. The tone of the conversation immediately shifts. “Sorry, I-” he pauses, “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”

“Of course I care.” You cry. “I love you.” You pull him into a hug and he leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ll take a nap if you promise to stop crying.” He whispers, rubbing your back.

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Sanji

“Can you add a dash of salt to the soup, love?” Asks your boyfriend. He’s recently taken to including you while he cooks, which is an honor coming from someone who takes it so seriously. He’s gentle, patient, and excessively romantic with you in every aspect of the relationship, though sometimes finds himself being a bit more firm when cooking. You waltz across the kitchen, handing over him a knife, stirring a pot, or cleaning dishes for Sanji, whose hand finds your waist each time you pass. You dip your finger into the sauce he’s making and give it a taste.

“It’s good, maybe a bit bland though,” you comment.

“Noted, head chef,” he teases back playfully while accepting your criticism and adding more seasoning. When you go to take another taste, your elbow knocks over an inconveniently placed jar of olive oil, spilling it into the sauce and all over the counter.

“Shit! I’m sorry Sanji, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit disappointed, but gives you a soft smile and pat on the back.

“Don’t worry love, it happens,” his tone shifts to something more firm yet still gentle, “but we only have one jar left, so try to be a bit more careful for me in the future, yea?”

“It won’t happen again, promise.” Your mistake makes you shaky with nervousness because you know how seriously Sanji takes food waste. When you reach for a towel to clean up the oil, of course you accidentally knock over a pepper shaker. It falls to the ground and shatters, pepper corns bouncing all across the floor.

Panicked, you stutter out a pleading apology while you scramble to find a broom. “Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m so clumsy to-”

“How about you just leave the cooking to me.”

You look up, surprised at his stern voice. He doesn’t look back at you, just grips the handle of his mixing spoon angrily. Your heart drops into your stomach in shame.

“Go find someone else to help me clean up this mess, okay?” You can tell he’s trying his absolute hardest to contain his disappointment, but it’s still evident in his tone. You silently leave the kitchen, embarrassed tears stinging your eyes.

You try to calm yourself down in your room before dinner, you don’t want any of your crew mates to know about your humiliating mistakes. Not even five minutes after you had left the kitchen though, your door swings open. Sanji is on his knees with a bouquet of flowers and big puppy dog eyes looking up at you.

“I have no words to describe how sorry I am for getting upset at you. My anger was a bigger mistake than any amount of spilled food.” Your emotions quickly turn upside down and you laugh at the dramatic display.

“Sanji! I should be the one apologizing!” You run up to him and pull him into a tight hug. You reassure him, “It’s okay to get frustrated sometimes. I’m not mad!” He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes you tight.

Smelling the bouquet, you ask, “Where did you even get these?”

“I have a stash,” and you both burst into laughter.

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Crocodile

It seems like all he does is work, and you’re fed up with it. You get so bored sitting around in Crocodile’s mansion all day while he’s locked up in his office. Luckily, he left the door ajar today and you’ll be able to force him to give you the attention you deserve. You slink through the door and hoist yourself up onto the edge of his oversized desk.

“What.” He says gruffly, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m booored,” you whine, swinging your feet, “wanna go swimming?”

Crocodile sighs and rubs his temple in annoyance, still not looking up. “Go fetch me a drink and I’ll consider it.”

“No you won’t!” You argue, “you always say that!”

He slams a fist on the table and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe I would want to spend more time with you if you weren’t so whiny! Now go!”

You’re shocked and hurt by his unexpected anger and leave defeated, looking back one last time to see him continuing his work, seemingly unbothered.

Later that night, as you’re lying in bed reading, you hear the door softly creak open. Crocodile is holding an unopened expensive perfume with a ribbon tied around it.

“I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting the gift on your nightstand and undoing his tie. “We’ll go swimming next week, I promise.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting into his robe.

As you drift off to sleep, you look at the various expensive gifts he’s gotten you as apologies, knowing he will never follow through with his promises.

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Doflamingo

Making Doflamingo angry is always the last thing you want to do, but his immature sense of entitlement can be infuriating. The two of you were watching the sunset by the poolside and discussing your latest reads while waiting on a servant to bring another bottle of wine. You didn’t notice how long it was taking until he brought it up.

“What’s taking that damn worm so long?” What’s so hard about fetching a bottle of wine?” The veins in his forehead started to bulge, a telltale sign of his annoyance.

You take his hand in yours and rub your thumb into his palm, trying desperately to keep him calm. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon, Doffy. Let’s not worry about it for now - keep telling me about your book.”

He could see right through you. Any attempt at influencing his emotions always only made it worse.

“Don’t baby me. This is an act of utter insolence and I don’t know why you expect me to tolerate it.” He slaps your hand away. “I’ll give that rat a piece of my mind once it gets here.” As much as you want to just leave it at that and enjoy the rest of your evening, your unrest with Doflamingo’s behavior has been growing for weeks and you speak before you can think.

“Can’t we just have one nice evening where you don’t have to abuse someone over the tiniest thing? It’s just some wine, we’ll live.” You’re terrified to see his frown turn into a wide grin as he starts to laugh.

“Have you forgotten who I am? Who you have the privilege of being close to?” With one sweep of his arm he knocks your glass off the table, shattering it and making you jump in fear. “Get out of my sight,” He hisses.

Offended by his quick switch-up, you bargain, “Doffy, can’t we just talk abou-”

“Out!” He yells. “And that’s Young Master to you!”

You scurry inside the palace, knowing things could get ugly if you chose to stick around. You wait all night for him to come knocking on your door with a superficial apology, even a passive aggressive one, but he never shows.

That petty man child was avoiding you. A whole week goes by before you even see his face. As you’re playing chess with Diamanté (who’s even more insufferable) to pass the time, you find yourself wishing you were with Doflamingo instead. As if on cue, he struts in and ruffles your hair from behind.

“What do you say we go share a drink together, just you and me, hm?” He muses, rubbing your shoulders as if he hadn’t just disappeared for a week. Your anger towards him subsides at his touch. You know you only feel this way because of his manipulative charm, but you let yourself love Doffy anyway.

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[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.

warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET

notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 this man

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.

You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.

You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.

A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.

“Excuse me, Miss… Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said the man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.

“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”

Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.

Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.

Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.

Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your glasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.

“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.

“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”

“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”

The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.

“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.

And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.

…

Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.

You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.

It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a half sized living room with balcony.

Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.

Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.

At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.

The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was in the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.

He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.

What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.

Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.

His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.

The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.

Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.

So now, was like it was meant to be.

How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.

Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he was worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.

With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.

And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.

…

Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.

Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.

“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.

“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.

The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.

“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice…” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice?”

“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things…” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.

“You sound like an ethnocentric…”

“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.

“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”

His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.

“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination…” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”

“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.

“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.

“I might believe you. I always win…” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.

Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.

“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but… here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.

“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me…” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.

The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.

…

Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.

The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the encounter with him.

It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.

He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.

He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.

After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.

Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.

Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to being drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.

“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.

The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records were a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.

You swore you saw your salesman.

Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.

“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind…” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.

But once they got more drunk, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.

Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.

And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.

You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.

Your salesman was the attacker.

“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.

His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.

It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in the face whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.

You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.

There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.

You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.

But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.

Your salesman finally found you.

…

“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.

The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.

Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.

“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.

Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.

“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.

“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call…”

He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.

“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.

For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.

“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”

His good girl….

What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.

What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”

He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.

“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.

“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”

Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.

“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir…” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.

“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”

“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.

He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.

Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.

Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.

Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.

“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.

“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.

His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.

It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.

You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.

At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.

Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to experience it as a young woman in her twenties.

…

When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.

“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”

“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.

He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.

“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”

He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.

Fuck everything, you thought.

I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).

“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.

Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.

Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.

Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.

Likely you’ll get a scar. The would-be slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.

You step forward, confidently eyeing him.

“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean…”

He gulped.

His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.

Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.

Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.

You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.

Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.

“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts…” you blurt out, panting for air.

“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless…” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy…”

“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”

“And you won’t have to worry about anything again…” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.

“I don’t need your money”

“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct…”

“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”

It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.

“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.

Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.

As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.

_______________________________________________

If you ask for more I will provide

Quién me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.

[niniwritesxo]

nsfw alphabet - nam-gyu (player 124)

(it contains things like degrading, threesomes, and nam-gyu being an asshole tbh, if you aren’t into that i wouldn’t read this x)

saw this on @cybrasigilism ‘s page, you should really check that out ! (love their writing btw)

——————————————————————————

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- sorry to burst your bubble but his aftercare is probably none existent, he might hand you the tv remote afterwards but that’s about it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- 100% his hands, obviously he had to add some rings, because he knows girls like you will go crazy over it. favorite part about you is most likely your boobs or your ass (basic am i right?)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- he for sure has a breeding kink (who said that haha)

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- a dirty secret about namgyu is the fact he would to have a trio with thanos and you, the thought of seeing thanos fucking you turns him on more than he would like to admit.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- i think he has had a lot of one night stands, so he knows what he is doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

- he loves when you are on top of him, that way he can look at your body all he wants, the way your boobs bounce when he is thrusting into you, how you are so out of breath after a few rounds, he loves it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- i don’t think he is very humorous in bed, he doesn’t even think about making a joke in the moment because he is so focused.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

- i don’t think he has a insane bush, but lets just say he isn’t perfectly trimmed either.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- he sees you as a fuckbuddy, good for fucking. he isn’t looking for a relationship so he probably isn’t that romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- he looks up your (or your friends insta) and jerks off to your photos.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

- i feel like he would love tying you up, seeing how you aren’t able to move while he gets to do whatever he wants. (and knife play ..anyways!)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

- definitely in places where you COULD get caught like, fittings rooms & public restrooms.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- praise 1000%

‘Bet you’ve never been fucked like this huh?’ he says out of breath grabbing your chin, at this point it’s almost impossible for you to talk, it’s like he fucked your brains out. You decide to nod.

‘Fucking speak up’ he says glaring at you.

‘n-namgyu please, i need y-you please’ you manage to puff out.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- anal.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- he loves receiving especially when you suck him off. but he is also a munch, he loves going down on you. he could do it for hours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

- he is very rough and fast, it’s almost like hate fucking, nothing sensual about it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- he loves quickies, especially in the games he would find places where he could quickly release his stress onto you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- i think he has tried a lot already but will try all sorts of stuff on you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

- depends if he is under the influence of something, if he’s taken something? he could go on for hours on end. if he is sober he’ll probably pass out after a good 40 minutes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- he doesn’t own or use toys, he feels like his hand are good enough to keep you satisfied.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

- he is such a tease, you definitely need to wait before you can cum and he’ll make sure you beg for it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- i don’t think he moans, he is more like a grunts guy. i feel like he talks a lot tho. (cursing and degrading you obvi)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- it kinda turns him on when you try to be bossy for once, telling him what to do and what he isn’t aloud to do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

- he has a average body, leaning more towards a dad bod than a jacked up guy tho.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- his sex drive is hiiigh, he always feels horny and is always in for a quickie.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- give him ten minutes and he is gone.

english isn’t my first language so if i made any mistakes, i apologize x

[elodieunderglass]

“Eohippus,” I say to the Doctor.

The Doctor is an ageless, genderless, timeless being: an unstoppable force. I have unlimited amounts of horsegirlness and am something of an immovable object. They look incredibly shifty.

“Eohippus,” I say again, menacingly.

“Merychippus?” They’re a man at the moment, and he tries this with a placating smile.

I know what he’s up to. He thinks there’s significantly more chance of human-related bullshit, and alien fuckery, and all the other bullshit he actually likes if we go see Merychippus, the first of the grazing horses. It’s basically just a horse, though. You can see those anywhere. And I know that the minute we step off the TARDIS it’s going to be a series of bullshit escalations leading up to the Doctor saving something in front of an adoring audience. I distinctly recall not fucking stuttering and I said I wanted Eohippus. I want the ancestral form. Strange, elusive, tiny; poised like a dancer on hard little many-toed paws.

You’ll never meet a unicorn in your life, but if you crack spacetime in just the right way, you could meet something better: the strange alien wild seed of something your species has chased for all of history. Before you were you and they were horses. Who’d want to waste spacetime on anything else?

“Do you only take people along with you just to convince yourself that you’re not selfish?” I ask, interested. “Or do you normally take children - no, not children, children would argue - but fuckable young people, I bet. Girls, mostly. In their twenties, I bet. Because they’ll just smile and agree and compromise.”

“That’s very rude,” the Doctor says, startled. “Like. Wow. Seriously?”

“Is it true? Eohippus.”

“Not true at all. Pliohippus.”

“Pliohippus comes just before Equus, you quack.”

“Why do you even care? They’re not like they’re real horses. Just a generic beetlin’-around, weird little spotty beastie paddin’ around like a long-legged boring badger. D’yiu want to see some real proper horses, alien ones? I know a race of them with blue shiny wing cases and six genders. Caste system based entirely on the production and rating of poetry - ”

“Oh, they’re spotted?” I cry happily. “Wait, you’ve seen them?”

“All they do is run about on the forest floor, eatin’… fruit.”

“Fruit?”

“I don’t know. Boring things. They don’t even neigh. Just trundle around like guinea pigs.”

“Doctor,” I say eventually, pondering this, “you like horses, don’t you.”

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor says. “I only humour you to keep the peace. And it isn’t bloody working.”

“You like horses. Let’s meet the first ones. Again. And do it properly. Look them in the eye and see the spark of the kinship - see if we can feel the deep emotional connection of the bond-”

“What bond is that?” The Doctor says, but - hahahaha. I’ve got him. The Doctor is such a horse girl.

“The deep emotional connection of the kinship between horses - well, horse-shaped things - and humans. Well. Human-shaped things. Is it still there? Did it start there? When you look in the eyes of Eohippus, will you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The thing you feel when you look at horses,” I say. “Excitement and adventure and potential and wonder, the desire to love and be loved by it, a thousand wishes, and the feeling of being there at the dawn of the world.”

“We could just go to the Big Bang -”

“I didn’t say the Big Bang. I said the dawn of the world. It’s different. Are they horses? Will you feel the same way with Eohippus? Is the feeling there?”

“Rubbish!” says the Doctor, looking hot and bothered, and setting the coordinates.

Of course it does escalate from there, with running and shouting and aliens (seeking to stripmine the earth’s resources before there were humans to defend it; quite a good plan honestly; genuinely can’t work out why they aren’t all trying that?) but I don’t care; I’m sitting on the forest floor with Eohippus in my arms, having decided that there’s nothing stopping me from doing so; at the dawn of the world.

“NOT the Big Bang,” I say again, as the Doctor squats down beside me. “The dawn of the world.”

And we are quiet for a while.

“Wow,” the Doctor says eventually.

“Yeah.”

“They really are all in there. All the horses that ever were and will be. In that little eye. It’s a kind eye,” he announces, as horse girls do when they mean to compliment a horse with few other notable positives. “And that’s where it all starts.”

“Yeah.”

“Bellerophon and Secretariat and Arthur - I had a horse called Arthur.”

“What happened to him?”

“Gave him back. Can’t keep a horse in the TARDIS.”

“Keep this one,” I say impulsively.

“You know we can’t.”

“… can we clone it?”

Something Doctor Who misses out on is how none of the companions are extremely interested with any one thing. All the companions are all “idk, I have a few ideas of stuff that’d be cool to see, but I’m up for whatever! All of space and time, woohoo! :)”

And that’s great for them and I know it makes for a better show overall but I think it would be more realistic for someone to say “I want to see every historically significant moment for my special interest, and then I want to double back for mundane bits too.”

I, for example, would be an insufferable companion.

I’d be like, “okay now take me to the place and time where they first used stirrups for the whole ride instead of just using them as a foothold to mount the horse. Then I want to watch Ray Hunt put a first ride on a colt. After that we’ll take a nap, and then let’s sneak onto set of the Return of the King to be extras in the Ride of the Rohirrim”

The Doctor would be all “please. This is the twentieth horse-centric stop in a row. We have all of space available to us. Can we leave Earth this time I’m begging you”

And my annoying ass would go “not unless there’s horses in space” roll credits

[alphafratworship]

It didn't take much to get him there did it. The FAGGOT came to me begging for me to give him a bigger dick. Gave me a whole sob story about how he was stuck bottoming with the 1 inchr the universe gave him that he'd do anything to TOP with a REAL COCK . Who am I to deny a FAG's request like that especially with such vague wording.

Bitch was a real Twink if you can imagine, played into the " HOLE " hyper femme stereotype. lean build, bubble butt with slutty clothes just begging for some attention and thinking they're so high and mighty until they were fucked silly by a real man. I have no problems with COCKSUCKERS , a HOLES A HOLE but when they are a whiney little fairy I need them to change.

When I agreed to help him after he begged he immediately got excited, especially when I told him to undress. "The process is simple BRO , I'm going to give you MY DICK , then you'll have more then enough meat to satisfy any bitch you want" his lil DICKLET betrayed his face, I know he didn't want to think of people like bitches, scrunching his face in false superiority as the idea of ​​giving him MORE then he wanted to make him hard.

"No offense to you don't call me BRO , bu..but like I don't think like that, just want a bi..bi.bigger penis to please my boyf.." he stuttered out before I laughed.

"I don't need to know that shit bro, all guys want BIGGER FUCKSTICKS it's normal!" I say slapping him on the shoulder emphasizing fuckstick by thrusting forward a little, getting him hooked on me with each movement.

"So you're just going to like give me your dick, like what about you? And how are...." He began to ask before I cut his whiney ass off. "Listen BOY I have no problem with you having my COCK , I'll be fine no worries and it's easier to just do it then tell ya! You good with that." The eager slut agreed

He only got harder when I adjusted myself before pulling down my pants, my 12 inches of man meat hard as I pictured the transformation this FAG was going to go through. His face flushed and he moaned as I turned him around and pushed him against the sink of the bathroom. He even tried to beg for lube as I pressed my raging cock head against his experienced hole but I just laughed and told him it had to be all natural. Spitting on it as I pushed in easily, his pain turning to pleasure as Alpha spit entered into his system. Warmth filling his body as I thrust in and out.

He tried to grab onto his cock but I shouted not yet, pushing his hands to the sink as I felt his ass take me all the way to the root. Plunging past his prostate and making him wail in pleasure. Once I was all the way in I felt it, the heat filling my member as my bull balls slapped against his smaller nuts. It was starting.

I could look in the mirror, my cocky sneer as I grunted thrusting into him grew wider as I saw him throw his head back, eyes rolling. The warmth turning to heat as inch by inch my cock shrank and his GREW. His moans and his begging first started getting louder, before they started cracking as he proclaimed he could feel it and finally his voice dropped deeper and slower. MORE MANLY. His ass meeting my thrust as pleasured over took rationality, his hole which started off loose became like a vice trying to milk me. It was working.

By the first two inches he'd grown taller, as the testosterone shot him up from his pathetic 5'5 to a modest 6 foot. The next two I watched as his muscles bulged out in his back, up his neck and shoulders, down his arms. His noodle arms became bulging biceps and carved forearms that anyone would fawn over as his back muscles became wide and defined giving his body a Doritos like shape. His body creaking as his moans turned to grunting, a panicked look on his face as his features hardened and he was worried about the transformation.

"N..NOO l.. I don't want...want like big muscles... BRO !" He cried out, his voice cracking before the word BRO forced itself out of his mouth, scaring him more. His body and face changing against his wishes as I kept pumping into him. "What are you talking about BRO , you LOVE MUSCLES , you're a giant MEATHEAD !" A shit eating grin formed on my face as my COCK and Alpha spit hammered my words into him.

"No BROO , not..not... I'm not.. a.. I'm a.. MEATHEAD I like MUSCLES on other.. ME n.. BROS !" his eyes rolling back as he tries to fight my words and pleasure in this losing battle. My cock shrinks another two inches dissolving into him as his body explodes with muscles, his pecs getting plumper, and abs shredded as his face loses the last bit of softness. His hole around my cock TIGHTENS again as his mind starts to give way to my ideas as his life flooded down to his balls inflating them.

"Yeah BRO , you like your muscles DUDE . You're a DUMB , MEATHEAD , who only cares about LIFTIN , GAINS and getting PUSSY !" I emphasize each word with a thrust as I see his face twist in confusion and pleasure. His FUCKSTICK growing bigger as mine shrinks again going down to four inches while his soon to be BABYMAKER hits 9.

"I... I don't like pu... GA...FAGS...im...GAY...FAGS.... BRO I just wanted a big dick what the fuck are you doing to me " He moans his ass thrusting back as his body tries to take the last inches of my cock. Craving it's virile, alpha, straight energy as I grab him by his muscle tits with one hand, the other going down to his cock. His eyes were heavy now his brain filled with images of lifting weights partying, tits and pussy.

"Bro I'm just giving you what you wanted, you wanted a my big dick. I gave you MY big STRAIGHT dick! It just also comes with muscle, a need for partying and 100% straight sexuality!" I laugh as he cries out. The pleasure was erasing who he was and dropping it down to his balls permanently where he cum it all out.

I let the last two inches go as I moaned NO HOMO in his ear, watching as his cock got to a size twelve, his ass so tight mine barely got in his hole. My balls here pent up I was close and so was he I just needed him to do one last thing.

" No...NO HOMO BRO , your..myour cock...sp big dude I can't take it..mneed to get into the frat NO MATTER WHAT! !!" There it was. My new bro didn't know how big I was but his ass thought I was huge still so it quickly made it so (god I loved magic)

When I came from the gigantic growth of my dick in such a tight bussy, bros he launched out a waterfall of cum. Guess that fag lived a big life but it wasn't nearly big enough for him obviously. But now, now it would be.

I mean one look at this studs pussy pounder is all it takes to get them wet

[oneforthemunny]

has anybody sent in something for our loverboy hockey!eddie yet 🥹 if not here you gooooo

jealousy, ex!boyfriend, angst to fluff please 🥹

for my loveeerrrrrrr <3!!! ofc had to make the ex a lover, sunshine boy too so it's sunshine vs sunshine bc i'm feeling evil lol.

"You know, I've fuckin' missed this so much." Eddie grinned at you from across the booth, leg shaking with excitement, fingers drumming on the table, over the laminated menu of the diner.

"Yeah?" You giggled. "You missed Benny's or you missed me?"

"Both." Eddie grinned back, toothy and wide in a way that made your heart swoon. "Missed you the most, sweetheart, you know tha-"

A man stopped in front of your table, his name leaving your lips before you could recognize him- Ryan.

"Hey," You blinked, a squeak in your voice that had Eddie's attention snapping to you. "Ryan- uh, how have you been?"

"Good, ya know? Busy at school. I'm trying for the Principal job at Rogers Clark Elementary."

"Oh? You got your degree? I didn't know you went back to school."

Eddie burned at how your attention was on this guy, whoever the fuck he was. A frown pulling at his brows, knitting them together nearly petulantly.

"Yeah, I decided to go back. I love being a teacher, ya know, but longterm... Just needed to make more money." Ryan nodded, just as bubbly and nice as you remembered. You certainly had a type.

His eyes flashed over to Eddie. "Oh, uh, Ryan this is my boyfriend, Eddie." You swallowed the awkwardness.

"Oh, shit. I know you." Ryan grinned, reaching his hand out to shake Eddie's. "You play for the Reapers, right?"

"Yeah, I do." Eddie nodded, his voice a little tighter than usual, so was his grip on Ryan's hand when he shook it.

"I caught the end of the game last week, it was unreal. What a way to end the season." Ryan nodded.

"Thanks, yeah, it was. It was a good season." Eddie smiled lightly, looking over at you. "Glad to be home now."

Ryan looked from Eddie to you, nodding awkwardly. "Sorry, I'll let you two get back to it. Just wanted to say hi."

"Good to see you, Ryan. Good luck!" You waved to him as he walked off, turning back to Eddie, greeted by a rather sulky pout.

"What?" Your lips curled gently.

"Was that Ryan-Ryan?" Eddie frowned. "The ex?"

"Yeah, the ex." You nodded awkwardly, flipping the menu over. "Are you getting chocolate chip waffles? Or an omelette?"

Eddie didn't reply, face still long in a pout, arms crossing over his chest. "What?" You looked at him, a soft, lifted brow in question. "What's wrong?"

Eddie looked at you, then back over his shoulder. "Why were you all happy to see Ryan?" He said his name with disgust.

"Happy? I don't think I was happy." You rolled your eyes lightly. "I was being polite."

"Yeah, well, he was too polite to you." Eddie grumbled, sulking over the table. "Weird guy."

"Eddie," You laughed lightly, setting down you menu. "Seriously?"

Eddie didn't let up, his frown furrowing more, lip jutting farther. You giggled at his petulant look, sliding out from your side of the booth, and into his side, your body pressed up against his.

"You don't have to worry about Ryan or anyone, baby, you know you don't." You muttered, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close to you. Your lips ducked under Eddie's waterfall of curls, peppering kisses to his cheek until you felt them tug, curling in a soft grin he tried to hide.

[ylangelegy]

my lovely !!!! congrats on 1 million followers 💝🎉✨ although u deserve a billion 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ i’m here to submit a📱 bc i’m dying to hear some more about ‘blindsided’ pls 🤲

char, my light! u make this godforsaken site worth it and i love u oh so dearly ୨ৎ i am forever a u/pochaccoups fan 🙂‍↕️

📱 office worker!wonwoo x reader, based on blindsided (fic + text imagines). part of my follower milestone celebration. mdni, 18+ content. word count: 700.

Wonwoo has fucked you in every imaginable corner of your office.

He knows he should probably be guilty. He’s a model employee, after all. Perfect performance evaluations and all that. 

But he just can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s got you bent over the copy machine after hours. He doesn’t think of ethics or rules when he’s eating you out in one of the bathroom stalls or when the two of you steal away to the supply closet for a quickie.  

He’s certainly not thinking of it now as the two of you christen his new office room. 

Graduating from a cubicle was no small feat. At least that’s what you sweetly told him before sinking to your knees and unbuckling his belt. Wonwoo has a fistful of your hair in one hand while the other clutches the corner of his desk, white-knuckled in its grip. 

He hasn’t had this room for more than two days and he’s already risking it all for some head. Maybe he should— 

The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and whatever he was thinking of doing is as good as gone. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, his fingers tightening around the strands of your hair. “You’re— ah— going to get me in trouble.” 

You hum in response, unrepentant in your debauchery. You merely continue to suck him off like your life depends on it. The only thing Wonwoo can do is keep an eye on the door and hope, pray, that nobody needs him for the next ten minutes or so. 

When Wonwoo’s gaze flicks to you underneath his desk, he’s done for.

Maybe it’s the tears edging at your lashes, the way you’re trying so hard to take in every inch of him in your mouth. Maybe it’s how you look underneath his grasp, how you’re pliant and perfect and on your goddamn knees. 

Maybe he’s always just been weak for you. There’s that, too. 

Either way, Wonwoo finishes with a strangled groan. His hand that had been clutching the desk goes to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to bite back the sound. You lap up every drop of his seed in the way that drives him absolutely crazy, the way that makes him want to shoot his cum down your throat for days on end. 

His chest heaves as you shuffle out from underneath the desk, a coy grin tugging at your lips. You throw a quick glance at the door before draping yourself across Wonwoo’s lap, your skirt riding up as you bracket yourself across his thighs. 

Wonwoo’s hands instinctively find purchase at your waist. He lets out a low hiss when he feels just how wet you are, the evidence of your arousal seeping through your underwear and on to his pant leg. 

“Can’t do this,” he breathes out, his denial weak in the way his fingers slide up your blouse. “We have to stop.” 

He’s given you this bullshit excuse enough times that you know he doesn’t really mean it. A part of him does this time, he likes to think, and you must know that, too, because you lean forward until your chests are pressed together.

“Don’t worry.” You give a playful nip at his earlobe. “I’ll be gone in two weeks.” 

“What?” he sputters, his eyes widening behind his glasses. 

He tries to gently pull you away from him, but you don’t budge. Your head instead falls into the crook of his neck as you giggle breathlessly. 

“Got poached. Same position as yours,” you inform him. “Our company’s non-compete clause is pretty shitty, so I think I’m going to get away with it.” 

On one hand, Wonwoo is grateful. Your move would solve a number of issues, from conflict of interest to his never-ending war with morality. And— maybe, just maybe— he could graduate from friends with benefits to something more. Something real. 

But it also meant— 

Your teeth scraping his pulse point drags him out of his thoughts. Wonwoo’s grip on you tightens. You and your stupid habit of leaving marks right before ruining him. 

“What do you say, Jeon?” you tease. “One more for the road, yeah?” 

[your-reference-here]

Okay, I know I already reblogged this, but my brain has been absolutely gnawing on this AU's possibilities so I had to write some of my ideas down.

Boq is definitely the DM. He seems like the kind of guy who would have gotten into the game back home and then brought it to Shiz. He tries for weeks to get Galinda to play, but it's not until he mentions it to Nessa, who then mentions it to Elphaba, who THEN mentions it to Galinda that a game comes together. Fiyero tags along too because he's curious...or at least that's what he says. It's not until they actually arrive at their session zero character creation that he rolls up with a fully prepared character sheet and they all realize "oh this guy knows this game."

Here's what I think everyone decides to play:

Galinda = College of Glamour Bard. I put this in my original reblog and I'm sticking with that. The whole subclass just feels like it was made for her.

Elphaba = Wild Magic Sorcerer. I was torn on whether Wild Magic or Divine Soul would be her subclass, but thinking it over more I've decided to say fuck it, give her the Wild Magic Sorcerer build because it fits thematically and because its shenanigans are fun. In universe, my excuse is Boq suggested choosing options that they could relate to as a first time player, so there you go.

Nessa = Order Domain Cleric. In my head, Boq mentions that cleric is his favorite class, so Nessa decides to explore those options. Something about the Order Domain just speaks to her...maybe it's the desire for some control over her own life, maybe it's a dark foreshadow of who she will become later. But who's looking into it that deeply?

Fiyero = Cavalier Fighter. He just wants to kick ass on a horse. It's also a nice way to uphold a "knight in shining armor" appearance for his peers. Galinda loves it, while Elphaba just rolls her eyes and calls him out for being a horse boy.

The first game is a simple fetch quest that quickly goes off the rails. This isn't unusual as far as D&D goes, but it does escalate to a loud enough volume that the crew gets kicked out of the library and has to find another spot to play. This could be a number of places, but I like to think Doctor Dillamond is kind enough to allow them access to his classroom, mostly to keep them all out of trouble and because of his soft spot for Elphaba (he's happy to see her making friends and joining in whatever this strange social club is). His only request is that whatever mess they make is cleaned up before the first class the following day. It's very close once or twice.

Now, in terms of how our cast actually are as players...

Galinda is the confused enthusiast who has no idea what she's doing but is going to do everything with an air of exaggerated flair. This results in her being the unintentional button pusher/trap trigger-er/the one the party is constantly yelling "NO!" at a second too late. Somehow, she always manages to pull through whatever mess she is in or has gotten the entire party in, mostly because she's able to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss everyone else, including the DM, on a whim.

Elphaba is a born rules lawyer who comes to the game having memorized all her spells and abilities, only to find herself consistently exasperated by Galinda's choices and/or fighting with Fiyero who knows the game so well that he's found countless loopholes to exploit. She does end up having fun but hoo boy does she come close to magically throwing a book at someone's head on multiple occasions.

Fiyero is just vibing and, though he won't admit it out loud, is genuinely having a good time with these people and it's the happiest he's been in a long time.

Nessa is the only one trying to keep the party on track with the plot for Boq's sake, who is beginning to question bringing this particular group of people together.

UPDATE: I just saw the spellbook again in the artwork and was like "shit that's really a wizard thing to have a spellbook" and then I remembered the beauty of the multi-class, so my solution is that Elphaba decides to multi-class later on into a School of Transmutation Wizard.

dnd au request

[h0lahey]

Two months after the outbreak.

Viktor is a lot more capable than Jayce thinks. His calm demeanor and pragmatic thinking got them out of many stressful life threatening situations. He can also handle him self pretty well in physical encounters. Suspiciously well given his leg.

Viktor is infected. Had been for a few weeks. His bad leg got bit but surprisingly he feels fine. Maybe the virus isn’t as bad as they thought.

He’s even getting better but can’t bring himself to tell Jayce. Not after what happened

Jayce isn’t taking the whole apocalypse thing well. He misses his old life. Family, friends, work, everything. He’s trying not to show it but some days are worse than others.

The only thing that keeps him going is Viktor. The memory of the good times. He is constantly worried about Viktor, tries his best to take care of him. He can sometimes get a little overbearing.

Jayce clings to the idea of them being able to stop all of this and get his life back. They need to get to the checkpoint. They have to.

Okay I have a new obsession.

I want to write a fanfic so bad but my academic career would go up in flames sooo

But maybe one day I’ll break and just say fuck it xd

(I’m really close ngl)

[formula-ghost]

Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.  

A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!

TAGLIST:  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse  @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg  @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments

If you wanna love her, just deal with that

She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes

Every night’s a heartbreak

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants. 

Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you. 

“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”

You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”

“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”

He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating. 

You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest. 

“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.

“Don’t you dare.”

You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.

But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.

You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer. 

His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face. 

“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.” 

“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.

“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly. 

“My Spanish is getting better.”

“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”

“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—” 

“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?” 

“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment. 

You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror. 

You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover. 

But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too. 

“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response. 

You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.

“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities. 

“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“I’ve gained weight.”

“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion. 

“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.

“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”

You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”

“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”

“Franco—”

“YN.”

You looked away.  “You could be with a model.”

“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”

You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”

You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form. 

And, much to Franco’s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night. 

“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”

“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.

Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.  

He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.

Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him.  Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle. 

Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you. 

It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea. 

“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”

Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said. 

“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”

“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”

“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”

“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”

The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”

“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”

His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not. 

The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?” 

“Eh… no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious. 

“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through. 

“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”

“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”

“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”

Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”

The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.” 

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”

“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?” 

Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”

The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”

“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”

Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”

“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”

His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”

“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“You knew that was too much.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”

“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.

At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress. 

So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.

“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”

“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes. 

“What’d you do this time?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”

You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”

“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.

“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed. 

He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”

You laughed again. “Because they’re models.” 

He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”

He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”

“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”

“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”

Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”

He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.

“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction. 

“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling. 

Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.

“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.

“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.

You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true. 

When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.

He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.

He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling. 

The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day. 

He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.

But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.

So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.

She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.

Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?

“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”

His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.

He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully. 

“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”

“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded. 

“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”

“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air. 

“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off. 

“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”

“Well, um… they want you to model.”

You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”

“I showed them your social media.”

“And they want…me. To model for them.”

“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”

“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”

You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.

“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”

So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist. 

“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”

You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”

You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup. 

“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”

Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray. 

Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry. 

You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders. 

When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks. 

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.

You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you. 

“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions. 

Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration. 

Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.

“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”

You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.

He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”

“Franco!”

“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”

You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop. 

“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.

“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”

“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”

Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera. 

His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you. 

When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.

Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry. 

“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”

“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in. 

“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”

“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring. 

The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”

Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock. 

But for you? Anything. 

The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit. 

Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.

As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”

You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”

The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos. 

YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?

Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now

The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!

You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post. 

You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco. 

Eres el amor de mi vida <3 

You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight. 

You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you. 

As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this. 

Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.

You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy. 

“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.” 

“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.

“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.

“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours. 

But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched. 

“Franco…”

“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”

With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this. 

He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan. 

“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.

But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful. 

Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you. 

“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”

You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you. 

As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before. 

He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”

“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”

He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan. 

“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”

“Yes,” you moaned. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”

His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.

You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.

“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”

You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged. 

He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.” 

You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected. 

His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace. 

“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again. 

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.

“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”

“What else?”

“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”

“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”

With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it. 

He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him. 

When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.

But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him. 

[bandgie]

just reread ur freeuse reader and skz drabble but now all i can think of is skz who is freeuse imagine just being in public and just eating them out / sucking them off while they whine :33

did you ask for a MTL on who I think likes to be free-use? did I hear a yes? !!free use society ahead!!

most!

han!

lovely slut! he's sooo endearing and wants to be used anytime anywhere! you want him to finger you in the theaters? done! giving you head during a night out? yes please! but he gets so embarrassed when you do it to him. stroking him while he's trying to work on a song or when you're on double date? he's blushing so hard and he'd prolly beg you to wait until you get home. he secretly likes it tho. the way you keep a conversation with your fingers playing with his tip makes him leak so much

seungmin!

okay, please don't be shocked. I had to put him up this high. USE HIM. USE HIM. USE HIM. I'm tired of seungmin being a hard dom when irl I know he loves being rough-handled and used. he's a huge munch idk why that's such a strong belief I have. he'll do anything for you anywhere. ask him to fuck you while the members are over and he's putting you on the dinner table and drilling your shit unbearably good. the only limit I'd say is when he's working ? like practicing his vocals he just really need to focus and he can't do that when you're pretty legs are open just asking to be spread

hyunjin!

he worships you idk what you want me to say. he doesn't even view it as sex or something gross, he just wants to be close to you in the most intimate way possible (I think ive said this before). constantly rubbing your clit because he knows you looveeee that and kissing the curve of your neck because that also drives you insane. you honestly don't even have to ask hyunjin, he just knows when you need it because he knows you so well. that being said, he also would like his partner to be free-use too. he wants the passion to be equal

changbin!

I feel wrong putting him lower, but I think it's true. he's shy and he likes to keep things between you two, BUT he feels super prideful (as a Leo should) when you ask him for a favor. he's most comfortable with oral, but he underestimated how much you enjoy giving it to him. you wanna do it public??? he'll give in but he hides his blushing face in his hoodies and tries to keep him hips from bucking so much. if he gets super into it, he'll thread his hand in your hair and try pushing you deeper. I can only imagine how much his members coo like ugh I just know Felix watches almost enviously lmaooo

felix!

he actually really likes it! the reason he's lower is because he just feels uncomfortable sometimes. like, I don't think Felix enjoys that many people watching. especially if they're strangers. but if it's his members or friends? then yessssss use him! pull his panties to the side and do what you want! lol, but he just needs to be warmed up with the people around him. he would also love it if some members joined in on you using him. like maybe he's fucking you and someone's pinching his nipples or guiding his hips to fuck you harder. he really really likes feeling completely surrounded, so he's down for a whole orgy so long as he knows and trusts everyone.

jeongin

okay I was gonna put him last but then I was thinking and? he really likes fingering you. feeling your plush walls and if you're jerking him off too?? pure bliss. the members get tired of trying to talk to him when you're there cuz you end up whispering in his ear to play with your clit and it always ends with you two moaning into each other's mouth. or if someone's trying to talk to him and you get on your knees to suck him off, jeongin is so persistent like "Nono, keep talking im listening" and his fingers curl into your hair and he's trying to stay still because HE'S the free-use but holy shit your mouth is so warm and soft, he cums straight down your throat. but like I said, HE'S free-use, so you overstimulate him pretty often until the person he's talking to can't stand jeongin's high pitched whining and rolling eyes like - I need to stop

chan!

bandgie...did you really put him this low? yes and im sorry. but listen! he's shy okay??? he's a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets! some things are for you and him and THATS IT. maybe a very small handful of people who he trusts can see but he's just really possessive. if YOU were free-use? that'd be different. like he gets to use you and everyone knows who you belong to, but him? what if people think you want another free-use bf? what if they think he isn't already owned? he worries too much BUT I do think he's similar to minho in that he'd eat you out and finger you, but sexsexsex? I mmeeaannnn if you ask nicely and bat your pretty eyelashes he would, but he would also give anyone the death stare that so much as glances your way.

minho!

he likes it, but like idk. he's down to finger you anytime, getting all your juices gushing down his wrist because he's genuinely the best finger-blaster on the planet, but full on sex?? he has boundaries. you want a quickie in the bathroom? okay yes he's absolutely okay with that, but even if it is a free-use society and it's accepted he just? he just likes keeping it low-key. BUT he likes people knowing he's yours. maybe an earrings or necklace with your initial. a hickey that never seems to go away. something to mark him as yours. but anything more than his hands or mouth publically is a limit

least!

[lady0mandy]

TL;DR: Fatshaming did not motivate me to lose weight, it programmed me to always hate my body, no matter the size.

Just wanted to weigh in with my personal experience with this matter. I was fat shamed, primarily by my mother, from the time I hit puberty. I was borderline underweight at this time, but my mother would still get on me about losing weight so I didn't get "bloatus of the toadus" or whatever the fuck she used to call it. In highschool it got a lot worse, with her criticizing my stomach every time she saw it and openly making comments about my body around family, friends, etc. I stopped letting her visit the doctor with me because I didn't want to hear her giving me shit every time they weighed me. She even asked the photographer who took my senior photos to edit them to make me skinnier (he was very uncomfortable and luckily did not do that). I repeatedly tried to explain to her why this behavior is inappropriate, and I would always get the same responses: "I'm just worrying about you" "I just care about you" "I just want you to be healthy" etc.

When I was 19 I broke my spine. As a result I put on about 15-20lbs and let me tell ya, all hell broke loose. The guy I was seeing at the time was fatphobic and would fatshame me on a daily basis while also trying to control what I ate and what I did in my spare time. I repeatedly tried to explain to him why what he was doing was hurting me, and all he could say was "it hurts because it is true" Eventually I had enough and kicked him to the curb. I remember trying to confide in my family about his cruel behavior and each time my mom couldn't help but chime in "he's right, you know!".

Do you know what over a decade of fatshaming did for me? Well, first of all it gave me a pretty messy eating disorder. Some days I wouldn't eat anything. Some days I would eat everything. Some days I would purge until nothing was left. However, it wasn't until I developed thyroid cancer that I saw a genuine change in my weight. I put on 50lbs fairly quickly and it had a detrimental impact on my self esteem. My entire life I had been told my worth was dependent on how skinny I was, and now I was rapidly gaining weight. I started hearing the same things my mother and ex used to tell me, but from a lot of other people as well. I quit making my silly little tiktoks and sharing my silly little opinions on the Internet because I couldn't handle the waves of trolls coming at me for my weight. I quit wearing makeup because I felt that I didn't deserve it. I quit dressing up because I felt I didn't deserve it. I couldn't look at photos of myself without wanting to cry. I couldn't eat a meal without feeling guilt and shame. I didn't feel motivated by their cruelty, I felt defeated. I felt helpless. I felt like a disgusting waste of space that didn't deserve to live.

I have made some major improvements over the past year or so. I have been working with a therapist on the ED for a couple years now and this past year I have done really well. I still have days where I don't eat, but I can't remember the last time I purged or over ate. I got my thyroid out, and my weight is returning to where it was. People have been complimenting me, telling me how great I look, how noticeable it is, how hard I must be working, etc and instead of making me feel happy or proud it just makes me feel like shit. I still hate who I see in the mirror. I still hate my stomach and my chin and the fat around my arms. I bought some new makeup and I'm trying to put more effort into my appearance, but all I see in the mirror is a clown. Fatshaming did not motivate me to lose weight, it programmed me to always hate my body, no matter the size.

Anyways, I doubt anybody is going to read all this but it felt good to type it out. Don't fatshame. It never helps.

The number of times I've earnestly seen the take "but it's good for fat people to be mean to them! It motivates them to lose weight!"

Also whenever you provide even light pushback that maybe bullying people does not magically make them skinny but instead makes them depressed, they immediately demand scientific sources as if "bullying fat people is good for them" is scientific concensus and you therefore owe them a peer reviewed paper.

No babe I'm so sorry you're not actually doing people a service by being an asshole to them you just want an acceptable target and have decided that fat people are one. You don't get to be a bad person until you've produced 3 peer reviewed meta analyses that being a dick to random fat people improves their health, OK? I'm sure people will thank you for your invaluable service of being an asshole.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

wait did I say 16 or 18? I meant 18 for the Oscar request please the “Silly me to assume that you would care.”

I fucked up +:ꔫ:﹤

Prompt: 18. "Silly me to assume that you would care."

𖦹 op x reader ₊˚⊹♡

𖦹 angst + fluff ₊˚⊹♡

masterlist ☾☼

it had started after hungary. you had noticed it, but decided to wait for oscar to approach you. he never did.

there were way too many people online who said that oscar's first win wasn't deserved, that lando had gifted the win to him. it was a fucked up strategy call, and lando and oscar had both agreed on it later. but, the amount of fans who blamed oscar for the radio conversations between lando and will during the race was putting a weight on his shoulders that he didn't need.

there were some who hated on his teammate as well, for not spraying oscar with champagne on the podium, but lando had. oscar knew he had. just like oscar knew that lando didn't blame oscar for the fucked up race they'd had.

but, it got worse, when he couldn't get pole positions, and he tried his hardest for a win. he got p3 or p2 but never good enough for p1. he was losing himself in his work, and you could see it. you tried your best to let him know that you were there for him, you came for more races, you cheered for him from the paddock itself. you hoped and hoped and hoped that your presence would be enough for your boyfriend.

the pressure kept getting worse, affecting his relationship with his own teammate as well. oscar was so desperate to prove himself, that the risky move he made in monza had only led to a mclaren 2-3 instead of a 1-2 as planned. you had watched oscar beat himself up about it, and you had watched the team principal scold oscar for the move as well.

he had confided in you later that lando and him had spoken about it, and that his teammate didn't blame oscar, which just made him feel worse. but, before you could offer comfort or advice, he had fallen asleep. on the other side of the bed, far away from you. that's when you noticed the ache in your chest for the first time.

when oscar got his second win in baku, you had been overjoyed. you stood with nicole at the parc ferme, cheering for your boyfriend. you were immensely proud of oscar, and you knew he was too.

he had rushed over, celebrating with his team, and even hugging his mom. you were right beside them, but he hadn't hugged you. he hadn't even looked at you. that's okay. he was full of adrenaline. he probably didn't notice you standing there. that's okay.

of course, you got to congratulate him later. you hugged him, and he hugged you back, before someone stole his attention, and without a second glance, he left.

the ache in your chest returned.

thats okay. he was a winner. he deserved the attention he was receiving.

you'd only hoped that it would be better from then on. that he wouldn't feel so much pressure, and he would make time for the two of you again.

he didn't.

andrea had asked him to help lando in the world drivers championship, and oscar hadn't been keen about it. he hated the thought of giving up a position, no matter who it was for. he deserved to have wins under his belt, and he was also a racing driver. but, again, lando and him had spoken about it, and cleared out what lando expected from him as "help" and what he didn't want oscar to do.

you had found out about that through social media. not directly from your boyfriend.

the ache was back.

that's okay. he'd been busy.

it was a few weeks later when it all came crashing down.

it was your birthday. you knew oscar was busy at the mtc, so you organised a candle light dinner with his favourite and your favourite. you hadn't had the chance to speak to oscar throughout the day. he was busy working, and you didn't want to disturb him.

you had put on your brand new dress, and you looked beautiful, if you said so yourself. you were proud of yourself, and you were excited for the night.

you sat in different positions, trying out which one was the most comfortable, and which one would make oscar smile. you eventually settled with just sitting on your chair of the small round table where everything had been set.

you checked your phone. 7 p.m. you smiled. oscar must be on his way.

but, 7 turned to 8, and you slouched in your seat, looking out the window.

and then, 8 turned to 9, and you became to play games on your phone.

9 turned to 10, and you slipped off your shoes and started watching a random show on netflix to pass the time.

by the time, 10 turned to 11, you sighed, giving up hope. you stood up, ready to change out of your outfit, when the door opened. you were so tired, you didn't even want to greet your boyfriend, or acknowledge him.

you just quietly made your way to your suitcase and pulled out your pajamas.

"what's this? did i miss date night?" oscar asked, confused, as he kept his bag inside the cupboard.

"no." you responded curtly, not even looking at him as you made your way to the bathroom.

"i didn't have anything in the calendar for a date night," oscar said, looking at his phone.

"cause it wasn't." your tone was flat, and oscar could tell something was wrong.

"then, what am i missing?"

you didn't respond, and instead changed out of your dress and into your pajamas quietly.

as you exited the bathroom, oscar asked again, "y/n, what am i missing?" he was starting to sound annoyed, but you didn't care.

before he could ask again, because you refused to respond, you just didn't have the energy, your phone rang. it was your sibling, and you let out a little smile.

answering the call, you put it on speakerphone as you folded your dress neatly.

"hey, birthday girl!" your sibling said from the other side.

you laughed at the excitement, a little bit of joy in the pit of sadness you had found yourself in.

"happy birthday! you're so old now!" you laughed again.

"thank you," you said softly, tears brimming your eyes.

"what are you doing now?"

"oh, just heading to bed. it's 11:30 here, and i'm exhausted from celebrating all day," you said with faux enthusiasm in your voice.

"alright, alright, im gonna let you sleep. good night! love you,"

"love you too," you said back, and then hung up the phone.

"y/n," oscar started.

you didn't respond. you just started packing up everything you had set out.

"i'm so sorry i forgot. we've got the constructor's and we're all really focused on it-"

"it's fine, oscar. it doesn't matter." you said, just wanting to sleep.

"we're under a lot of pressure, you know that. you knew what you were getting into when we got together, you knew this is what my life is like," oscar argued.

"yes, oscar, i knew." you pulled back the covers.

"then, why are you so mad? why can't you be more understanding of it instead of being all passive aggressive about it? i made a mistake! i'm sorry! what more do you want me to do?" oscar burst out.

the tears finally fell as you shouted, "nothing, oscar! i don't want you to do anything about it because you haven't been doing anything about us for months now!"

"thats not fair-"

"not fair? really, oscar? was it fair when the only things we spoke about was the races and the team and your teammate? was it fair when you didn't even notice me cheering for you at the parc ferme at baku? was it fair that half the things i now know about you or your team or your formula one life, i find out through social media?" you screamed.

oscar looked away.

"was it fair that i had to organise my own birthday dinner, and buy myself presents from you, only to be forgotten?" you whispered, the tears falling onto the duvet as you stood by the bed.

"i'm stressed out, y/n, i need to focus on my career, i need to focus on the championship. you know that." oscar said.

"of course i know that. i always know that. but, do you know that i got an award at my university? do you know that i've gotten my dream job back home? do you know that i've been requesting they let me work from home so that i can follow you around and be the dutiful wag?"

"you never told me any of that! how am i supposed to know any of that if you never tell me?" oscar yelled.

"i did, oscar! i sent you pictures, i texted you first thing! all i ever got was a fucking thumbs up reaction. you didn't even have the decency to type out a fucking congratulations!"

"yeah, well, i'm busy with my career too! you're not the only one who's got things going on in their life, y/n! i've got to focus here completely!"

you scoffed, sniffling a little. you nodded. you picked up your phone and your wallet and a jacket. "you're right. you should focus on your career and your life. you do that. silly me to assume that you would care about mine."

you walked out, slamming the door. tears streamed down your face, and you walked to the elevator where you wiped your face. you asked the receptionist for a room, whichever they had available for you for the night. with the key in hand, you walked to that room. you pulled the duvet back, and settled in bed, and you slept in that new room.

you ignored your brain reminding you that oscar hadn't followed you, hadn't texted you or called you.

you ignored your brain, and you let yourself sleep.

the next morning, there was still no texts from oscar, and you rubbed your chest as the ache grew. ignoring it, you checked out of the room, paying whatever amount had to be paid, and went back to the room you and oscar shared.

opening the door, you realised that oscar had already left for the day, and willing yourself to not cry, you began packing your suitcase and picking out your outfit for the day.

you weren't going to sit in the hotel room all day. your flight back home was tomorrow, and you were going to explore the city. yes. that's what you were going to do.

you packed a small bag, and got all your necessities, and you spent the day roaming the streets and eating food from vans, and enjoying. you couldn't remember the last time you truly enjoyed like this.

of course, a huge part of you wished that you could feel this with oscar. you desperately wanted to. but you couldn't. you weren't sure where your relationship with oscar stood at this point. you wanted to make it work. you loved him. you wanted him to be your endgame.

but at the same time, if he wasn't going to give you the same efforts or the same affection, then would it really be worth it? you had some self respect. you weren't going to let him push you around or anything. you needed to be viewed and valued as an equal, and you needed to be supported and cherished.

you knew that a conversation with oscar would make or break your relationship. the two of you were rational adults. all that was needed was a serious sit down conversation.

by evening, you had seen everything that you wanted to. you had decided to have dinner at the hotel itself, in the comfort of the bed and your pajamas. you had bought little gifts for all your friends and family and oscar's family, and yes, for oscar as well. you could pack quickly while the food came, and then get a good night's sleep. that was a good plan.

as you unlocked the door with your key card and entered the room, you stopped short.

oscar stood on the other side in a casual formal attire, your dress from last night laid out on the bed, a candle lit dinner behind him, and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand.

your mouth opened to say something, ask something. but you were at a loss of words.

"i fucked up." oscar started.

his voice broke you out of your trance as you entered the room and closed the door behind you, locking it.

"i fucked up really bad. i got so lost in my own thing and trying to make a name for myself and prove to people that the expectations they set for me are true, that i-"

he took a deep breath, trying to find the words.

"-i treated you like you weren't important. but you are. you are so important to me, and i hate myself for ever making you feel like i don't care about you, because really, you're the only thing that keeps me going every day. i'm sorry, y/n. i've been a shitty boyfriend, and i'm sorry that i needed you to tell me that for me to realise.

"i promise, i'll be better. i'll do better. you're it for me, and i made this mistake once, i'm not going to do it again." he finished, his chest heaving.

"okay," you said. you didn't know what else to say really.

"okay?"

"okay," you nodded, with a small smile.

"okay. do you maybe wanna have dinner with me and pretend that it's your birthday?"

you bit your lip to hide a smile, as you walked over the bed, picking up the dress. you made your way to the bathroom, stopping in between and leaning up to press a soft kiss against oscar's lips.

"okay,"

"okay."

he smiled, and you thought to yourself that everything was going to be okay now.

✩♬₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

i hope you enjoy this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04