#HAVE YOU SEEN THE *AMAZING* SIDE PROFILE THEY GIVE YOU????!!!!

[berryblu-soda]

hey! people with hooked noses, how does it feel to have the prettiest type of nose on the entire planet?

[wethotcrazy]

NEVER GO HUNGRY EVER AGAIN

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

word count: 1727

hii it's been a while since my last fic and im stll on a high since the abu dabi gp, so heres a cute little lando fic. also just finished my first semester of uni hopefully i can be more active.

The soft glow of the monitors illuminated Lando’s face as he leaned forward, laser-focused on his game. His fingers danced across the controller, jaw set in determination. Voices of his friends buzzed through his headset, a mix of banter, callouts, and the occasional burst of laughter.

“Lando, mate, you’re absolutely throwing right now,” Max’s voice rang out, feigned frustration clear in his tone.

“I’m not throwing! I’m playing the long game,” Lando shot back with a grin, eyes still glued to the screen. “It’s called strategy, ever heard of it?”

“Yeah, the strategy of losing,” Ria quipped, drawing a chorus of laughter from the team.

“Alright, alright, just watch this,” Lando said, leaning even closer to the screen. His tongue poked out in concentration, the telltale sign he was locked in.

Time slipped away unnoticed as he navigated the game’s twists and turns. The familiar rhythm of the stream chat’s messages scrolled rapidly on his second monitor, but he was too deep into the game to glance over. Hours must have passed, but Lando’s mind was too preoccupied to register the growling in his stomach.

Then, a knock.

“One sec,” Lando muttered, sliding one earcup off his head. He glanced toward the door, his brows furrowing in confusion before realization dawned. He leaned back in his chair, eyes softening. “Come in!”

There was a brief sound of shuffling, the slight thud of a hip bumping the door before it slowly creaked open. Y/N stepped in, balancing a plate of food in her hands with the focus of someone carrying a national treasure. The chat’s speed doubled as her side profile came into frame, and messages like "OMG it’s Y/N!" and "Wifey alert 😍" flooded the chat box.

“Brought you dinner,” she said softly, walking toward him with careful steps. The aroma hit him before she even reached his desk, and his heart swelled with warmth.

“Oh, you’re a legend, babe,” Lando said, quickly sitting upright and scooting his chair back to give her space. He took the plate from her, eyes wide with admiration as he gazed at the meal she’d prepared. “This looks amazing.”

“I was worried you’d forget to eat,” she teased, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile was soft but knowing—she’d seen him get lost in games like this before.

Lando’s eyes didn’t leave her face for a second. His gaze flickered to the chat, catching sight of the flood of adoring messages. "The way he’s looking at her, I’m sick 🩸" and "That’s the look of a man in love" filled the stream.

“She’s literally the best ever, chat,” Lando said, his voice warm and unwavering. He reached up with his free hand to gently squeeze Y/N’s wrist before letting her go. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world, I swear.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Y/N said, already turning to leave. “Wait here.”

“I—” Lando started, but she’d already slipped out of the room. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head before glancing at the camera. “Chat, I’m telling you, I’ve won the lottery. She’s just…” He trailed off, unable to find a word that felt big enough to encompass it all. “Yeah. She’s perfect.”

“Bro, you’re down so bad,” Max’s voice cackled through the headset. “Not even hiding it anymore.”

“Why would I?” Lando shot back, eyes sparkling with pride. He lifted a piece of the dinner—some kind of stuffed pasta—and popped it into his mouth. His eyes widened as soon as he tasted it. “Okay, wait, hold on.” He covered his mouth as he chewed, glancing at the camera like he’d just uncovered a world-class secret. “This is actually insane. I’m eating like royalty right now.”

“Imagine getting home-cooked meals while streaming. Must be nice,” Ria sighed dramatically.

“Couldn’t be me,” Aaron added with mock bitterness. “I’m over here eating cold leftover pizza like a peasant.”

“Jealousy’s a bad look on you, mate,” Lando grinned, taking another bite. He’d meant to savor it, but he’d already eaten half before he realized it. “Chat, she’s turned into a whole chef since moving in. Two weeks ago she’d barely step into the kitchen, and now look at this. Look at me.” He gestured toward himself with his fork. “I’m living like a king.”

The chat’s pace somehow sped up even more, hearts, fire emojis, and "Y/N for president" messages flooding in.

Y/N returned with a cold drink in hand and set it beside him on the desk. Her eyes darted to the chat for just a moment before glancing at him, eyebrows raised in suspicion. “What did you say?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Nothing incriminating, I promise,” Lando said, eyes wide with faux innocence. “Only that you’re basically a professional chef now.”

“Mhm. Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, but the smile on her face gave her away. “Just eat it before it gets cold.”

Lando’s face broke into a grin so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He glanced once more at the chat. "Lando’s done for, he’s a goner," one person wrote, and he had to admit… they weren’t wrong.

He raised his glass to the camera in a mock toast. “To all of you wishing you had what I’ve got,” he said, eyes flicking back to Y/N as she disappeared through the door again, “I’m sorry, but it’s mine. All mine.”

A couple of months into living together, it had become a routine for Y/N to bring Lando food during his streams. It started as a simple act of kindness but quickly became a beloved ritual for both of them — and for Lando’s ever-watchful chat.

Tonight was no different.

Lando’s camera captured him in his element, leaning forward in his chair, controller in hand, eyes narrowed in sharp focus. His headset covered his curls, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth in classic 'concentration mode.' On his second monitor, the stream chat moved at lightning speed, viewers spamming “LAN-DOOOO”, “HE’S SWEATING”, and various emotes of fire, skulls, and crying faces.

“Lando, you’re one shot, man,” Max’s voice rang in his ear, sharp with urgency.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—I got it, I got it,” Lando muttered, hands moving rapidly on the controller. “Just cover me for like... five seconds!”

“Five seconds too many,” Ria chimed in. “I’m not your babysitter, Norris.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lando quipped, grinning as he slid his character behind cover.

Then, it happened — the knock on the door.

“Yo, hold on. Hold on. One sec,” Lando said, throwing a quick glance at his door. A slow grin crept onto his face as he realized what time it was. “Chat, you know what’s coming,” he said, sliding his chair back.

“It’s timeeee!” one person spammed in the chat.

“WIFEY ALERT 🚨,” another user wrote, followed by a sea of heart emojis.

The door nudged open slowly, and in came Y/N, balancing a plate with one hand and holding a drink in the other. Her expression was one of mock seriousness, eyes narrowed like she was on a high-stakes mission. The second she stepped into frame, the chat went wild.

“SHE’S HEREEEE” “THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED” “HOLD ON, SHE’S CARRYING SNACKS??” “I’m so single it’s painful”

“Dinner delivery for one Mr. Lando Norris,” Y/N announced, placing the plate in front of him with a flourish like she was a waiter at a five-star restaurant. “Sir, your steak and garlic butter potatoes. Compliments of the chef.”

“Oh, you’re too good to me, babe,” Lando said, eyes wide with dramatic awe. He glanced at the plate like it was a priceless treasure, then looked at the camera, pointing at Y/N. “Chat, look at this. Are you seeing this? Chef Y/N at it again. Tell me I’m not the luckiest guy in the world.”

“You’re not,” Max’s voice cut in, laughing. “I’m still here eating microwave noodles, mate.”

“Skill issue,” Y/N shot back casually, leaning down to glance at Lando’s second monitor. The chat’s speed had tripled. Her lips twitched into a smile. “They’re calling you a simp, by the way.”

“I am a simp,” Lando declared without hesitation, holding a fork like it was a scepter. “And I have no regrets.” He stabbed a piece of steak and stuffed it into his mouth, eyes closing in exaggerated bliss. “Oh, my days. This is illegal. You’re ruining me.”

“Man’s got his priorities right,” Aaron’s voice chimed in through the headset.

Y/N’s laughter bubbled out, light and melodic, and she shook her head. “Don’t choke on it, simp. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” She leaned in and tapped a quick kiss to his cheek, which sent the chat into meltdown.

“CLIP IT, CLIP IT RIGHT NOW” “THE KISS. THE KISS. WE’VE WON.” “I’m crying. They’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

Lando’s cheek flushed pink as he glanced back at the camera, his grin stretching wider than it should. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m done for,” he said, rubbing his cheek where her lips had been like he could still feel it. “But you’d be too if you had Y/N bringing you garlic butter potatoes, alright? Don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look.”

“You’re insufferable,” Ria sighed. “But also, I’d like to formally request a plate.”

“Tell Y/N I’ll pay her to ship it to me,” Max added.

“She’s not taking requests,” Lando shot back, grinning like a man with the world’s greatest secret. “This exclusive menu is mine and mine alone.” He held up the plate to the camera, displaying the perfectly cooked steak and crispy golden potatoes. “Look at that. The chat’s in shambles. They’re losing it. I would be too, honestly.”

He glanced toward the door, his grin softening as he caught sight of Y/N’s figure passing by in the hallway. “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, eyes trailing her for a moment longer before turning back to the camera. “I’m absolutely done for.”

“Somebody save this man,” Aaron’s voice cackled, but Lando didn’t even hear it.

“Don’t want to be saved, mate,” Lando said, mouth full of potatoes. He raised his glass toward the camera like he’d done a hundred times before. “Cheers to being a simp, yeah? I’ll happily stay down bad forever.”

[ahqkas]

♯ THE TASTE OF HEAVEN . . . sugar daddy ! batboys x fem ! reader

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce wayne doesn’t need to flaunt his wealth because he is the wealth. he doesn’t call himself your sugar daddy—it’s just implied in every action, every gift, and every moment he spends with you. whether it’s a sleek black card handed to you with no spending limit or a private plane waiting to take you to an exotic destination, bruce makes luxury feel effortless

you can forget off-the-rack anything. bruce ensures you have custom clothing, jewelry, and even furniture. he’ll casually remark, “i had the designer make a few changes for you,” as though commissioning bespoke items for you is just another tuesday

his gifts are never tacky or gaudy—this man has impeccable taste, and everything he gives you reflects that. think diamond necklaces that catch the light just right, limited-edition handbags, or handwritten invitations to exclusive events where you’re his arm candy

you’re the arm candy !!! bruce’s automatic date to every high-profile gala, charity ball, and exclusive event. he wouldn’t even think of bringing anyone else. he makes it clear you’re not just an accessory, you’re the highlight of his night

you have a tab at nearly every high-end establishment in gotham. whether you’re shopping for couture or just stopping by your favorite café, bruce ensures you’re treated like royalty. everyone knows exactly who’s footing the bill

bruce isn’t the type to throw money at you just because—he always wants to make sure it’s something meaningful or useful to you. if you mention wanting to start a business or learn a new skill, he’ll quietly arrange everything you need, from connections to resources

while his gifts are extravagant, his affection shows in quieter ways too. when you’re stressed, he whisks you away for a weekend spa retreat. if you’re cold, he’ll drape his expensive coat over your shoulders without hesitation. every gesture, big or small, is about making your life as comfortable as possible

people know bruce is your sugar daddy, but they’re far too intimidated to say anything. the whispered assumptions only make him smirk. he doesn’t care what anyone thinks—if anything, he enjoys the power it gives him to make it abundantly clear that you’re his

despite the sugar daddy thing between you, bruce’s affection runs far deeper. he doesn’t just give you gifts—he gives you his time, his attention, and his unwavering loyalty. the material luxuries are just an extension of the way he sees you: as someone deserving of nothing but the best

he’ll sometimes joke about the arrangement with a mischievous smile. “you’re lucky i’m rich,” he’ll say, handing you keys to a new car or sliding over a box containing some ridiculously rare jewelry. but his tone is warm, his teasing more affectionate than condescending

DICK GRAYSON

unlike bruce, dick doesn’t shy away from the term “sugar daddy.” in fact, he might jokingly call himself that from time to time, especially when handing you an absurdly expensive gift

( dick ‘what’s the point of having all this money if i can’t spoil my girl?’ grayson )

while he spoils you endlessly, he does it in a way that feels personal and heartfelt. every gift, trip, or gesture reflects how well he knows you. if you casually mention a dream vacation destination or a favorite designer, you can bet it’ll show up in your life sooner rather than later

he is the kind of sugar daddy who makes spoiling you fun. he’ll turn shopping trips into mini-games, daring you to try on the most extravagant pieces in the store just so he can gush over how amazing you look. “if you don’t let me buy that dress, i’ll be personally offended,” he’d tease, but you know he’s serious

dick loves being seen with you. whether it’s walking hand in hand down the streets of blüdhaven or pulling up to a gala with you in tow, he thrives on showing the world just how proud he is to have you by his side. and yes, he does things like carrying your shopping bags with zero shame, flashing that charming grin at anyone who stares

doesn’t wait for a special occasion to surprise you. whether it’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a new gadget you’ve been eyeing, or tickets to a concert you love, he’s constantly finding ways to brighten your day

with dick, every vacation feels like a scene from a romance movie. he books private villas, sunset yacht rides, and five-star experiences, all while making it feel like the most casual, natural thing in the world. “i just thought we could use a break,” he’d say, as if flying you out to the maldives was as simple as grabbing coffee

he’s always finding ways to make you laugh, even about the relationship itself. if someone gives you a side-eye for carrying a designer purse, he’ll lean over and whisper, “they’re just jealous, babe. can you blame them?” his lighthearted attitude makes the relationship feel easy and natural

with his good looks and high-profile status, the press is obsessed with you two. headlines like “blüdhaven’s golden boy and his stunning girlfriend” are a constant, but dick takes it in stride, often laughing at the exaggerations

“you deserve the world,” he’d say, his blue eyes sparkling. “let me give it to you.”

JASON TODD

jason didn’t immediately step into the role of “sugar daddy.” in fact, he hesitated because he didn’t want his wealth to define your relationship. but as time passed and he saw how much joy he could bring you by easing your stress, he leaned into it—but only his way

for jason, being your sugar daddy isn’t about flashy displays or media attention—it’s about making sure you’re secure and comfortable in a way no one else could provide. he loves knowing you don’t have to worry about rent, bills, or any other mundane stressors. “if i can fix it, i’m going to,” he says simply, brushing off your thanks like it’s no big deal

he might not shower you with gifts constantly, but when he does, it’s jaw-dropping: a rare first-edition book he remembered you mentioned once, a custom leather jacket, or even a dream vacation to a quiet, secluded spot where you can both relax away from the chaos of gotham

jason is practical when it comes to what he provides. he’ll upgrade your phone, stock your fridge with your favorite snacks, and even surprise you with a car when he notices yours struggling. “i’m not about to let you drive around in that death trap,” he grumbles as he tosses you the keys

and while he’s not the type to parade you through expensive stores, jason shows his affection in quieter, more personal ways. he might take you on a motorcycle ride to a hidden gotham rooftop, where he surprises you with your favorite takeout and a designer bag “he happened to pick up”

despite his tough exterior, he has a serious soft spot for you. if you so much as hint at wanting something, he’s already making plans to get it. he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but his little smirk always gives him away

jason sometimes pretends to be annoyed by how much he spoils you, but it’s all in good fun. “you’re turning me into one of those rich guys,” he’ll grumble, handing you a sleek gift box. but the way his lips twitch into a smile when you beam at him says otherwise

you’ll come home to find an envelope with tickets to your favorite band’s concert or a designer coat hanging in your closet because he noticed the weather getting colder. “what? you think i didn’t notice you shivering last week?”

he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else stepping in to provide for you. if someone so much as jokes about taking you out or buying you a drink, he’s quick to step in, slinging an arm around your shoulders and shooting them a glare. “she’s taken. move along.”

he makes sure you feel safe, cared for, and endlessly spoiled in his own rough-edged, loving way <3

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[urfavblackbimbo]

Dutty-Wine and Games

(This the reader’s facecard but just imagined her being thicker ☺️ and this is what Terry’s wearing for tonight.)

Summary: It’s date night for you and your man Terry and he wanted to surprise you by taking you to the Caribbean Festival that  you were talking about to him couple months ago and Terry getting you a souvenir that tested his man-strength also not knowing that tonight you would get your man high for the first time.

Warnings: Est. relationship, black fem. reader, n-word usage, D/s dynamic, smoking weed (a joint), kissing, oral(fem. rec x2), cursing, spitting, choking, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, ass-spanking, squirting, unprotected p-in-v, doggy-style, the reader’s legs are on his shoulder(idk the position.)

Word-count: 3.5 k 18+ (this is the song that use dutty-wine scene if y’all wanna listen you can🙂‍↕️)

You’ve been dating Terry for the past eight of months and it has been amazing with him since he moved here to Atlanta after winning his case against Shelby Springs Pd and getting a large sum of money for himself and paying back Mr.Liu in ten folds and to have the restaurant to be open for decades. You met Terry on a dating website for other black people to meet, once you saw his profile and them beautiful hazel eyes he had with his bulging arms and large print you knew you had to have him. And today is another date night with him even though you don't know where you’re going.

“So I have a surprise for you, it’s something that we’ve seen a couple of months ago and it’s finally here this weekend.” Terry pulls into an empty lot to find parking for his truck to back in, turning off the ignition and coming around to open the door for you and only grabbing your phone and your lipgloss since you won’t need your purse.

“Good baby you are so fine right now, you lucky there’s going to be people there cause if not-” You put a hand on his gold chain he had laying on his chest to pull him down to kiss you, his soft lips overpowering you, slowly being push up against his truck, putting your hands up against his hips to push away “Okayyy daddy, you are done you still have to tell me what my surprise is?” looking into his eyes and shifting to his lips and back to his eyes “Well for what I’m wearing that should give you a hint?” smiling back at you and stepping back for you while holding your chocolate hand.

Your eyes shift down to his shirt to see he is wearing his curacao shirt that was makin’ look like a full course meal, his shirt fitted around his arms so deliciously with his big ass guns he had on him with his khakis pants that filled his legs out sooo good and his white forces and then you realized and smelling many flavors of jerk chicken, plantains being cooked, and a light smell of weed; your eyes widened “The Carribean Festival, awhh Terry I thought you forgot that I  told you that I always wanted to go.” you poke out your bottom lip in happiness showing a down towards smile to him  “Awhh babygirl don’t cry, you’re gonna mess up your pretty makeup.” He swipes his thumb in the corner of your eye to catch your tear and wipes it on his shirt “All-right I’m starvin’, let’s go inside before I eat something else mhm.” Terry smacks right on your ass making your Jamaican colored dress giggle.

You both made inside with him paying for the both of you, this festival was fucking huge with rollercoasters, kiddy rides, carnival games and tents full of vendors selling their amazing food, Terry let you choose for what you both wanted for dinner, you ended up getting a plate of jerk chicken and rice and a side of fried plantains and Terry got a bowl of beef stew with rice, carrots and potatoes with two drinks, as he paid for the both of you again, both of you sit a table.

“So do you want to ride any of the rollercoasters while we're here babygirl?” Terry holds out both of his hands in front of you, nodding your head at him and resting your hands on top of his large palms “Yeah daddy you know I’m not  a scaredy cat. I’m a big girl.” sticking out your tongue at him, he licks his lips  and smirks “Oh so you a big girl now huh, so you don’t need daddy no more huh?” as he told you that you were zoned out on his veins and hands, lightly scratching your smaller hands ontop of his and looking up at him and looking into his eyes shaking your head no repeatedly “Noooo daddy.” almost coming out as a whine from you, he gives you a chuckle “You know I’m just playin’ with babygirl I know you in love with daddy’s dick.”  he leans over to give you a wet kiss on your lips.

“Order for Terry, Order for Terry.”

He comes back with the food and lays it in front of you, you were in foodie heaven and you were starvin’ like marvin too and both of you dig in eating your delicious food, you look at his bowl and somehow he already knew what you were thinking, he places a couple of pieces of meat and carrots with sauce on your plate you smiled at him and thanked him “Did you want some of my mine too?” he nods his head with still found in his mouth, you grab your fork to pick off the chicken and rice for him and had in the air for him and opens his mouth to you and gracefully took the food, you look at him as he eats the food, you were in a traced that someone could look so sexy while there eating once he swallows it and it goes down you couldn’t help but to look at his thick neck a sheen of sweat that made you wanted to climb over the table and tackle him.

Both of you walked around the festival once you guys were done eating holding each other hands and looking at people, rides, and hearing laughter coming from all around you see a dance floor in the middle of the festival with some dutty-whine music playing throughout the place you lead him to dance floor, slowly moving your hips to the beat of the song Terry comes up behind you to stop where you were at and put his hands on your hips and starts to dutty-wine with you, your hands were on your knees moving your hips in a eight figure then throwing it in a circle and Terry was right there to catch all the wines, you slowly bend over hips while still moving in a circular motion he grabs one your arm to hold your balance while you grind on him, you look over long black french curls braids to see him biting his bottom lip and gripping on your hips, raising back against his chest while twerking on him, he turns you around to face him.

“Fuck babygirl you got me so fuckin hard right now, grinding that ass on me I feel like I was about to nut if you didn’t stop.” you put arms around his neck and peck his lips also to block anyone that would see your daddy’s hard-on “We can stay like until your soft daddy.” he raises his head to look at you and gives you a sloppy wet kiss. A few minutes later Terry was feeling better and both kept walking through the festival in-hand and you stopped in your tracks to walk up to the booth and asked the worker at the tall sledgehammer machine.

 “Excuse me, how many games do I need to win that teddy bear up there?” the buck-tooth boy turns “Four ma’am.”

You turned around to look for Terry and seeing him already behind you not leaving you any room, his gorgeous eyes going straight to your heart and pussy “You want that big ass teddy bear babygirl?” you plead with your eyes and put on your best pouty face and wrap your arms around his neck and gettin’ all close to his face “Please please daddy- pretty please?” giving him a kiss on the lips he wraps his arms around your waist he takes a deep breath “One more-mhm one more- one more babygirl.” you giggle in his arms “All right babygirl here take my phone, I’m gonna get you that teddy bear.” and gives you a small love tap on your ass and pays the worker then grabs the large sledgehammer.

The first bell he got was effortlessly, the second bell as well, by the third bell he had a crowd around him and you were cheering him on, and by the fourth bell he used all of his might and went it ringed you screamed and ran to him then jumped on him wrapping your arms and legs around him, giving him kisses “Thank you - thank you - thank you so much daddy.” and you still kept kissing on his face, he snorts out a giggle out as he put you down on your feet and rest his hand on your hips “Your very welcome babygirl.” “Ma’am here’s your bear.” 

You got tired of carrying the bear and had Terry carry it for you as you both were walking back to the truck, he opens the passenger side first for you to get in then he stuffs the teddy bear in the back seat and gets in on his side and turns on the ignition “Back to your place baby?” you looked at him “Yeah daddy let’s go.” you take your phone to be dj for the both of you and listen to Paramore and some RnB songs on the drive home.

You opened the front door of your apartment to let Terry in so he can put the teddy bear on the couch and his night bag on the carpet you turned on some lights so you can see Terry  and closed the door “You know being at that we were just at the festival today and eating some good food  and dancing I have the perfect way to close out having this full caribbean experience, be right back.” You walked to your room to get your goodie bag and bring it out to the family room to show him. 

“I’ve never smoked weed before, I wasn’t allowed to do it when I was in the marines.”

You slowly put back your joints that you had in your bag “But....If I wanted someone to be my first for this I would want it to be with you.” he turns to look at you “Thank you for trusting me daddy and I’m gonna get you so fuckin’ high you have no fucking idea.” you give him a kiss on the lips and one more for good measure and grab your goodie bag to sit out on your patio and smoke Terry out for the first time. 

You spark the first joint in your mouth inhaling the smoke and exhaling it out, Terry was watching you  the whole time seeing how your body language became relax under his touch and you holding it out in front of him to take a hit   “You just want to do a little hit first, there you daddy.” He coughed abruptly out the smoke, you set down the joint to grab some water for him and came back with a glass of water for him and your pink Stanley for yourself, he took a couple of more hits before letting you hit it again “How are you feeling daddy?”  he takes an even deeper breath and rubs your chocolate thigh “I feel really good babygirl. Thank you for this.” you handed it back to Terry “You’re welcome daddy, hey have you ever done a shotgun before?” Seeing him inhaling the joint and blowing it out his mouth, you couldn’t believe that this nigga has never smoked weed before and with him under the warm sunset making him looking like he was a fucking emperor with him smoking this joint, shakes his no at you “What’s that?” you slowly pull your lips in a smile.

You fill your lungs with smoke as you ashed the joint in your bowl, then grab his face to come closer to your lips and push out the smoke into his mouth, lips lightly touching each other then he moves his head up to blow out the smoke. Your mouth was slightly parted as you stared at your daddy’s adam- apple move up and down and the veins that pop out the side of his neck out, he pushed out the last bit of smoke and looked down at you and smirked  “What?” still looking at him “You so handsome daddy mhm, with yo’ fine ass.” Terry grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips “Let’s go inside babygirl, I don’t want none of these little niggas know what I got, come on.” and opens the sliding glass door for you to go inside.

As you walked in, Terry closes the door and locks it and walks over to the front door and locks that one too then walks over to you to pull you into your bedroom, almost feeling like your were flying Terry turns on the bedroom light and walks over to you to pull you in for a kiss “Mhmm daddy I need you.” he gives you another kiss “What do you need baby, use your words.” he leans down to kiss your neck you moved your head the other side of give him room and moaned, moving your hands up his back to grab on the back of head his soft lips and tongue kissing all your spots making you want to his full lips somewhere else “Oh shit daddy I need to you to eat my pussy please ughh pleaseee.” 

“You want me to eat your pussy babygirl huh? this pretty pussy, you need daddy’s lips on you.” 

Terry took of your dress and threw it across the room and lifted you up to throw you on the bed, taking off your bra and throwing it in the corner of your room he climbs ontop of you he rests his crotch on your clothed pussy slightly moving his hips against you, he takes his hand to hold your cheek and give you a wet sloppy kiss in his mouth. You moaned in his mouth and Terry kissed down your neck to your chest then sucking on each of your breast and kissing your tummy, he sits up to take off his shirt ‘fuckkkkk meeee this nigga has to be the worldest finest man to walk on this earth’ you thought to yourself.

Terry kisses down your chocolate thighs and spreads your legs apart “Lift that ass up babygirl.” Terry takes off your panties and throws it behind him he grabs your thighs closer to his face and kissed both of your inner thighs then the bottom of your cheeks giving you little bites of pleasure “Ah- Ahh! Daddy stop teasin’ meee?” kisses your bottom one more time and hold on to your legs and dive right into your pussy, his tongue swirling all around you and bring it up to your clit slowly sucking on it, you put your hand on his head Terry moves his lips to eat you all the way up and flattens his tongue against you, moving his head against you then he lifts his head to spit at your pussy and growled against you.

“Fuck babygirl god I love this fuckin’ pussy soo much, do you wanna nut babygirl?” “Yess daddyyy.”

Terry kept eating you out with his tongue is flicking over your clit, your thighs were shaking and fighting against Terry’s hold, but it was no use then you grind out your climax on his face he gave you little kisses around your pussy and comes back up for air to face you, his goatee was dripping of you then leans down to kiss and tasting yourself on his lips the sweet and tangy flavor of it. You grab his belt to unbuckle it for him and he stopped you to pull down his khaki pants and took off his forces then got back on the bed, he grab your hips to him and got ontop of you with his fist next to your face “You ready for daddy’s big dick babygirl?” Biting your bottom lip  and nodding your head.

“Yeesss dadddyyyy I want your dick- I need it - I need it so bad daddy please - give me your big daddy dick.” you gave him kisses on his full pink lips.

Terry sat up and grabbed your legs to put them on his shoulders and slowly enters your pussy, moving to a pace to slowly open you up “Fuck your pussy is so fuckin’ tight babygirl, here baby relax your legs for me ughh fuckk mee ohh yeahh that’s it babygirl.” Your legs were spread wide to your chest under the firm hold of daddy’s fingers “Ohh shitt daddy you’re fucking. Mee. Soo. Good ohh ughh fuckkk.” Terry picks up his pace to fucking you deep in your guts, he leans over to give you a wet nasty kiss he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you suck on it then biting his lip “Babygirl I can feel your pussy grippin’ me, fuckk baby are you gonna nut on my dick? You can do it babygirl, nut on daddy’s dick.” Terry hips were fucking you dizzly and your legs started to squirm again “ugh - ugghhh - uggghhh ohh fucckkk” releasing your wet essence on his dick. 

“Turn the fuck around.” 

He grabs your hips to flip you over on your hands and knees then pulls your hips back to face him “Goddam babygirl look at this wet pussy, this is all for daddy huh?” you lay your head on the pillows and relax your back by pushing your hips out. You moaned his name “Yes yes daddy it’s all for you, please eat my pussy daddy.” Terry smacks both of your cheeks, you gasped feeling the lightning strike you moan that turned into a whine “Daadddyyy.” Terry grabs both of your arms to hold them behind your back and he gave you a long wet lick from your clit to ass and back down to your clit then kissing down your pussy his tongue swirling in your pussy  “Fuckkk daddyy ughh ohh fuckkk.” Terry used his hand held onto your hip to hold you in place so you take whatever he gives you. Feeling the heat rise again in your lower tummy, you try to scoot away but Terry leaned forward to give his tongue lashing and slurping your clit as well. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god daddy ughh oh shit, you’re eatin’ my pussy soo good oohh fucckk dadddyyyy I-I’m gonnna cumm.”

Terry just kept eating you up as you wetted his face, he growled into your pussy then gave you a few pecks down your ass and released your arms and made you be on your hands and knees and you groaned out “Daddyyy.” He pulled back your hips to him “Can you give me one more babygirl? Come on you can do it baby, you’re doing soo good for daddy, don’t you wanna make daddy nut?” he leaned over your body then grab your chin to look at him with his lips just barely touching you and push your lips to him and slides in your pussy once more, Terry stretching you out and grabbing a handful of your braids to sit you up as he drilled into you, he wrap his hand around your throat and slightly closing your airways under his grip. 

“Who’s pussy is this? Is this daddy’s pussy babygirl?”

“It-t’s  yourss daddy fuckkk it’s all your pussy ooh fuckk.”

“Open your mouth for daddy.” 

You sticked out your tongue and looked into his eyes Terry lets go some spit on your tongue and swallowing it down, he gives you sloppy kiss as he fucks the shit out you “Ughh daddy I don’t think I can cum ughh ughhhh.” Then feeling three wet fingers rubbing your clit, you horsley moaned loudly out and having your heat rise up in you for the last time “It’s okay babygirl if you wanna nut? I know you do. I can feel you mamas go ahead daddy’s gotchu.” You felt like you were exploding, shaking and shivering on Terry’s dick, him still fucking you through your climax and lets go of your neck so you fall on your pillow. He gives you a few more strokes before he cums deep inside of you.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to his speed-up heart “Thank you for this night daddy I had so much fun tonight I love you sososo much daddy.” he grabs your chin to have you look up at him “ I love you too babygirl. Daddy loves you very much and I'm glad that we went to that festival together babygirl.” Terry pulled the covers up from under the sheets and to see one large wet spot on the bed, you both looked at eachother with wide eyes and with you feeling embarrassed and covered your face then he slowly uncovers your face to hold your face in his hands.

“Heyy there’s no need to be embarrassed about this babygirl, I’m happy and proud that I was able to get to that point okay babygirl.” and gives you light pecks around your face “I’m gonna grab a towel and get a new comforter for us okay.” Once you both got situated in the bed and he had his arm wrapped around you pulling you close to him and relaxed behind you then you as well drifted off to sleep.

Holy fucking shit I can’t belive I just wrote all that 😳but I’m soooo happy that I did, I couldn’t help myself anymore thinking about this black king 🥵💕 and y’all this nigga got me like I want this nigga’s baby frfr 🤰🏿but if you had enjoy this thank you so much and I know in my heart that this nigga know how to dance I just feel it in my spirit, that nigga can and I wanted to talk about his heritage for the plot of the story. Andd High!Terry Bitchhh there was something in that weed that made him bionic cause nigga was hard for 4 rounds straight (like if he was the terminator) and Dom!Terry is always gonna do it for me especially if the nigga’s nasty, but thank you to everyone who read this it means really alot to me.

Love, Nazzy 💕

[iicehoon]

LEVEL UP | STREAMER!SOOBIN X READER

︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

"NO NO NO NO," you heard your boyfriend, Soobin, yell in despair.

Glancing at the Snoopy-themed clock, it read 2:30 AM, marking five hours since he started streaming. You recalled his excitement about being sponsored by the game, hoping for future offers if it goes well.

Rising from your spot on the shared bed, you crossed the dimly lit hall to quietly open the door to his room. He remained intensely focused on the screen, the soft clicks of his mechanical keyboard echoing as you entered. Frustrated sighs followed each demise of his character on screen.

"Chat, you don't understand," he started, setting aside his keyboard and mouse. "No username, I am not taking backseat gaming or any advice from you. The last time I did that, it made me restart the ENTIRE game."

You chuckled softly, watching your boyfriend ruffle his hair in frustration. His slouched shoulders hinted that he was nearing his breaking point and pretty ready to end the stream.

"Binnie," you called out, settling into the beanbag adjacent to his desk.

Soobin perked up instantly at the sound of his name, swiftly removing his earbuds as he rose to approach you. "When did you come in?" he asked, crouching down to your level. Leaning in, he planted a kiss on your lips before gently settling on top of you, eliciting a surprised yelp at his sudden weight.

"You've been at it for five hours, hun," you said, poking his side playfully until he squirmed and finally got up after the tenth poke.

"Come here, and I'll show you why," he motioned you over, patting his lap. His followers knew about you because he couldn't help but talk about you at times, and they have seen your face from the times you brought him snacks or a drink during his streams.

"Hi Chat," You smiled, bringing your face closer to his webcam and giving them a little wave when you settled on his lap.

"Okay," Soobin placed his chin on your shoulder and returned his hands to the keyboard and mouse. "Just watch and see why I just can't get past this stupid level."

You weren't as big of a gamer as Soobin, but you knew your way around from the games he played or even those you tried yourself from the days when he didn't want to be at his computer.

One of the perks of having a gamer boyfriend who was also a popular streamer was having access to his Steam account and his credits to buy games that piqued your interest, often discovered from TikTok.

Your eyes analyzed his movements, and you couldn't help but giggle when he dropped his head, hitting the back of your neck. "I don't understand why it's not working," he sighed in frustration.

"Well, it's because you're not hitting that when you're doing your runs," you explained, gently removing his hands from the setup in front of you. Slowly, you moved his character over to what you believed was the key element for him to pass this level. "See, it's breakable with that TNT sign on it."

You restarted the level and began to execute your run. As you played, Soobin's eyes moved back and forth between his main screen and your side profile, a lovestruck smile spreading across his face, just as his chat had claimed always happened whenever you were in his peripheral vision.

His smile widened as you cheered, successfully passing the level he had spent the majority of his time on. "Wait, babe, you're crazy good," he exclaimed, his jaw-dropping in amazement at the winning transition.

"I'm just better than you, Soobie boobie" you teased, twisting slightly to face him and sticking out your tongue.

He shook his head, laughing, and wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, giving you a quick peck on your cheek.

His joyful expression quickly shifted to one of furrowed eyebrows as he read his chat.

"Chat, she IS NOT replacing me," he groaned, "And stop asking if she's single. I'll literally make out with her right here, right now."

an | there is no specific game I'm referencing, I couldn't really think of one but if anyone has an idea, I can make it for another one!

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Firefighter ❤

Credit for the amazing pictures goes to: @d-lioncourt (thank you so much for doing them)

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Manipulation; Memory Loss.

Special credit to @deceitfuldevout cause she's the one that came up with the idea, thank you!

--

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who jumps right into rescue when your building has a major fire on a Saturday night.

He doesn’t even hesitate before jumping into action, running inside the apartment complex, ready to save everyone. Control the damage. Be a hero. Save lives.

It’s his job, after all, right?

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who ends up saving what might be the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life - yes, you.

Your hair is ruffled and your face is tinged with tears and black smoke, but his heart stops positively for a moment when his eyes land on you.

You’re passed out on the floor and for a moment, all of his world stopped and everything made sense. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who doesn’t understand what’s happening. Never had he been one to believe in love at first sight, not him.

He was the one that steered far away from cheesy foolish things such as commitment and marriage - casual hookups were more his style. 

But meeting you changed things. He experienced what he never thought would happen to him. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter that fights tooth and nail to be by your side when the paramedics step in to take care of you. You’re passed out, having inhaled too much smoke but they assure him that you’ll be fine. 

But still he doesn’t relax, unable to take his eyes off you. You look peaceful while sleeping, a comforting aura around you as you travel in the realm of dreams. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who comes to visit you at the hospital, claiming the plastic chair next to your bed as he waits for you to regain consciousness.

When the nurses ask him who he is, he shrugs off his shoulder, muttering something unsure and shaky that sounds a lot like ‘boy friend’.

Doctors say that might take a day or two, that you probably gained a concussion from when you passed out and hit your head on the floor. In the meanwhile he does some research, he’s got some connections in the local PD and uses it to do some much-needed research on you.

You’re originally from another country, recently having emigrated for work. You’ve got no family alive. Not much of a record in the police files. You’re low-profile, having a small job as a waitress in a restaurant near your apartment. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter whose mind drifts to the worst scenarios as he impatiently waits for you to finally wake up. How will you react to seeing him?

Will you feel the same ardent and powerful emotion that has him completely enamored to you? Will you accept him or his feelings?

His insides are dancing with anxiety and apprehension at what will happen next and he crosses his fingers in a silent prayer for you to love him back. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who is borderline starstruck when you groggily start opening your eyes, feeling himself falling in love with you all over again. 

He calls the doctors and then panic is installed in the room.

You can’t seem to remember who you are, what your name is. Nothing at all. Doctors try to comfort you, explaining it’s normal.

You just suffered a concussion. It happens. Your memory will come back one day - tomorrow or in two decades, the doctors aren’t sure of that. 

And then, you look at him for the first time, acknowledging his presence. Butterflies erupt wildly in his belly as you give him your attention, confusedly looking at him. 

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he still does. The answer is unconsciously on the tip of his tongue, just ready to be spilled as you question who he is. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who shamelessly lies about being your boyfriend, the answer coming firm and steady.

He feels guilty for doing this, but isn’t this a great chance? It’s destiny, telling him that maybe he doesn’t need to spend months - or even years - courting you. 

So he takes the chance, creating a beautiful love story where you’re dating him. That you’re practically engaged.  

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who tells himself that this isn’t lying. It’s just…forcing the circumstances a bit. All the indecision and fear is resolved when you accept his answer, not throwing a thousand questions his way - questions he doesn’t have answers to.

No, you’re calm, almost passive about it. You don’t cry in frustration of losing all your memories, accepting the short answers he gives to appease you, making up some of them.

He sighs in relief at how docile and sweet you are. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who kisses your knuckles, promising that you and him - together - will make new memories. The ones that will last for the rest of your life.

Promises to keep you safe and sound. To marry you. To love you. To cherish you. To treat you like the precious diamond you are. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who finally takes you to his apartment - your new home.

He doesn’t lie about what happened, saying that you were almost at the point of moving in together when your apartment burned.

Hence why your clothes aren’t in the wardrobe, but promises you can use his until he takes you shopping. 

Immediately falls in love with how cute you look with his oversized hoodie on, despite the slight uncomfortable expression on your face. Almost makes him want to keep you forever in his clothes. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who induces you into taking upon the domestic chores. Keeping your mind and body busy - hopefully that’ll help keeping old memories away. Memories where he doesn’t exist.

He never thought he’d be one to enjoy coming home to a freshly cleaned apartment, a meal ready to be served and a pretty girl waiting for his arrival but he loves it. 

He kisses you softly every time he arrives from work, making sure he doesn’t smell like smoke - doesn’t want the smell to trigger something in you - hugging you tightly before you pull away. 

You’re always reluctant when it comes to PDA, as if your subconscious knows there’s something wrong even if you don’t voice those thoughts.

But with time, he hopes to convince you to do more than just a few rushed shallow kisses and awkward cuddles where you pull away after five seconds. He says it’s okay, being understanding of your reactions but the fact is that he’s aching for you.

He wants you so bad that he has to rub one off every night, hidden in the bathroom cause sleeping in the same bed as you is so fucking tempting. 

Maybe once you’re finally married, he can convince you to accept him - all of him. Soon enough, he’s on one knee, presenting you a ring that he immediately slides on even if you didn’t answer. 

You’re his and that’s all that matters.

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART II

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

⬅︎ PART I

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.6k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ this is a continuation of the original post as the overall word count exceeds the character limit on tumblr posts. this is not an official part 2, but rather the second half of the one shot.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Your vision blurs, head spins. Movements slow, you sit yourself up. The zip-ties, previously binding your wrists and ankles, have been removed. So have your platform ankle boots, fish-netted feet brushing against the fur of your coat. Willing your sight back, you screw your eyes tight, blinking until your vision finally clears to take in the room.

A masterpiece of modern elegance, the room is a blend of minimalist design that indulges comfort. It is expansive, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows to offer a panoramic view of the Crimson Heights skyline below. You shuffle yourself off the comfortable bed, eager to get a closer look. The red lights of the city twinkle back at you and cast a soft, ambient glow throughout the space. You’ve never seen the city from such a height, swallowing thickly.

In the reflection of the glass, beyond your haphazard image of dried tears and ruined lipstick, the bed you have only just climbed out of summons your attention.

Draped in the finest linens with a dark charcoal-grey duvet and plush pillows arranged neatly, it must be king-sized in order to fit  the extensive space of the room. The headboard is a stunning work of art in itself—made of dark walnut wood, with soft leather inlays that give the room a sleek, masculine impression. The bed sits on a low, streamlined platform, reinforcing the room's minimal yet luxurious aesthetic. And, on either side of the bed, are matching nightstands, both topped with geometric lamps that are made of brushed steel and frosted glass.

Your eyes fall to the polished, dark hardwood floors. A rich, handwoven wool rug in deep, muted tones lays over it, warming the room and offering texture underfoot. You catch the gleam of the recessed lighting overhead, installed in the high, coffered ceilings. You lift your gaze and take in each panel. An awed sigh leaves you at the sight of the meticulously crafted slots, indirect LED lighting embedded into the coves to cast a sophisticated, layered illumination.

Against one wall stands a sprawling built-in wardrobe. The seamless doors are made from smoked glass and brushed steel accents. And, to the left of the bed, a small seating area invites relaxation, consisting of a sleek leather armchair and a low-profile marble coffee table. A few books rest upon it, alongside a single crystal whiskey tumbler, hinting at quiet, contemplative moments probably spent here.

You wander further around the room, spotting a door that leads to the master ensuite bathroom in the corner. It’s visible through frosted glass sliding doors. You debate on going in, curious to see what breathtaking architecture it will offer.

But then the walls captivate your attention, or rather the art that hangs from them. Large intricate pieces, each one probably chosen for its muted palette and contemporary feel, enhance the understated luxury that defines the room. The only splash of colour comes from a vase of white orchids resting on a sleek dresser, their delicate petals standing out against the otherwise neutral tones.

You resist reaching a hand out and tracing rigid lines of dried paint.

“I don’t give a shit,” you hear Chris growl on the other side of the black door.

You stiffen.

This is his room, you realise. The heart-wrenching events of the night return to you in a fast wave, flooding you with the same shame and anger that plagued you in the van.

As quietly as you can, you rush back to the bed for your coat and dig through the pockets for your switchblade. However, both are empty of your belongings, not even your lipstick remains. If you really are left without a weapon, you know what you must do.

Scooping up your coat and boots, you make your way to the door. It was one thing to be caught tangled in a bright dressing room with witnesses. It’s another to be cornered alone in his room. If he has a view of the city this marvellous, he must be tightly connected to within Stray Kids. You cannot, will not, subject yet another gang to your reckless behaviour. It will be best for everyone if you just leave. Besides, Vinny is probably worried sick about you, having witnessed you kidnapped.

“Call him,” Chris orders, his loud voice a bit clearer as you open the door. “Tell him she’s safe.”

You look up and down the long corridor. It is just as exquisite as the bedroom. Grey walls, remarkable artwork that looks to be of Korean origins. The hardwood floors extend beyond the room too, covered by a narrow carpet of lavish Persian design.

The left side leads to a number of rooms, one of which has the door wide open. Warm light seeps into the hallway with the natural grace of the sun, momentarily disrupted by shifting shadows. You don’t need to hear his voice again to know Chris is in there, the oversized silhouette of his frame confirmation enough.

You feel a grin involuntarily spreading on your lips.

“Good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says behind you.

Turning, you meet an unfamiliar face. Features nearly feline, the indigo haired man stands on the other end of the hall, compromising your path to the exit. He crosses his arms over his chest, dragging his gaze over your frame, attention lingering on the coat and boots clutched to your chest.

“And we were worried you’d try to run,” he jokes, though his face is void of friendly notions.

That stern dryness of his tone, sharpness of his voice triggers a memory.

“Shut up,” he had hissed before informing you that Vinny was alive.

“That’s what you do, right?” he asks. “You’re a runner.”

You narrow your gaze. “You say that like it’s some secret.”

He flashes a knowing smirk, as if well aware of your secrets. What is more astonishing, however, is the way that suggestive grin resembles Chris’s. It lacks his charisma and cynicism, and that flicker of darkness, dimming whatever light might have snuck through with indications of loss and trauma. So while the one before you is a good copy, it is not perfect. Those onyx eyes gleam of playful interest, twinkling with subtle notions of hostility instead.

You wonder if he learned it from—

Chris says your name.

The speed in which you turn to answer his call is downright disgraceful. Shame heats your chest, spreading up to your cheeks. Your instincts scream at you to avoid his gaze, to focus on anything other than that teasing smile he’s trying to bite back, but you find yourself helpless, unable to tear yourself away.

He must have showered, the smears of lipstick and splattered blood gone. His hair is pushed back, displaying his forehead. And his handsome face is on the way to recovery. Though his bruises still look tender, the cut on his brow is all clean and bandaged. Leaning against the doorframe, he wears a black shirt, that still emphasises the large muscles of his biceps, and a pair of matching sweats. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to look just as good clothed as they do half-naked.

“Come’ere,” he beckons before tonguing his cheek. The twinkle in his gaze is enough indication that he knows you’ve been checking him out.

I need to go, you know you should say.

Your body has a mind of its own though, diminishing your voice, shackling your sanity and nudging you towards him. Completely compelled by the pull of his charm, you obey, only stopping once you’re pressed against his buff chest again and cranking your neck back to maintain his enamoured gaze.

“Let me get these out of your way,” he smiles, voice a mere notch above a whisper.

No, thank you. I have to go.

His fingers brush yours, prickling goosebumps along your arms.

You release your tight grip. He hands your things to the man you met in the hallway. Barrier of your belongings removed, you fully lean into him.

Grin widening, Chris cups your cheek and rubs his thumb against your chin. “You know, I resent the fact that you think I’m dramatic,” he mumbles, inches away from your lips. “I just like making statements.”

“And what statement were you planning on making by abducting me?”

His eyes darken, swirling with sinister intent. As if remembering he had an agenda beyond seducing you, Chris’s soft caress on your chin becomes a tight grip. He forces your lips onto a pucker, using his new hold to guide you into the room and shove you into the nearest chair.

You softly grunt upon the impact. Chris clenches his jaw to suppress a smirk. You know that you’re fighting your desire based on the fact that you do not deserve to have it fulfilled, being the treacherous person you are. But why is Chris suddenly shoving down his sexual urges? He didn’t have any qualms about using them to lure the truth out of you before.

The magnificent state of the office disrupts your thoughts. It maintains that same elegant, minimalistic aesthetic of his bedroom. Tall windows that offer views of the pier, gleaming hardwood floors decorated with luxurious, handwoven carpets of varying muted shades, all working together to become the backbone of comfort and professionalism within the room.

In front of you, Chris leans on the large, polished walnut desk. You notice a sleek laptop, and a few notepads and pens, all of which are neatly arranged. An ergonomic leather chair looms over the desk and you find that you are thankful he is not sitting on it, knowing you’d be incapable of enduring his scrutiny from such a position of power without wrestling the overwhelming urge to touch yourself.

In one corner, a small lounge area features a plush velvet sofa in a deep navy hue, flanked by a glass-top coffee table. A handful of his friends, including Seungmin and the icy-haired man from the dressing room, occupy the space. The other side, by the wall of windows, linger the remaining few, including the man who took the position of his coach in the recent match and the one you met in the hall.

The artwork in the office does not resemble that of his room, or even the corridor. It is more abstract, sometimes broken up by black and white photos of himself in the ring. He barely breaks a sweat in each photo, clenching hard around his mouth guard as he glares at his opponent. A championship belt is framed and pinned behind his desk too, under a collection of trophies and gold medals.

You wonder how many people have been invited here, blessed to witness the wonders held within these walls.

“I need to know everything,” Chris says, pulling your attention away from the layout of the room.

You furrow your brows. “I told you everything.”

Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “Word for word,” he clarifies, voice void of the softness it once cradled.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Disappointment lances around your heart, ensnaring your high-hopes like barbed wire. You thought he was making a statement of affectation or, at the very least, interest. You thought that his body was reacting to yours as well, that he felt your pain within a shared kiss, understood your damage within an exchanged breath. You thought that maybe he just wanted to see you again and didn’t know how, his efforts extreme but he is a Stray Kid after all.

You now understand the forced meeting for what it really is— an interrogation.

Told you so, a little voice in your head gloats. If you put up a fight and ran when I told you to, you wouldn't feel this way.

Sucking on the insides of your cheeks, brows knitted and eyes reverting to the floor, you shake your head and humorlessly laugh at your desperate short-sightedness. You’re no better than Aiden in the ring, flailing yourself around for a chance to be accepted somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps this is for the best. You were going to ruin his life at some point anyway, possessing the damned knack of cursing him with your existence as you had done with the others that have come before him, friends and lovers alike.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you begin your tale, thinking back to everything you overhear in the alleyway. You give him a detailed description of Mickey, his features and breaking voice as Andy threatened his life. In greater detail, you describe what Andy looks like, from his messy crew cut to the nasty scar on his forearm. You describe his voice and his manner of speaking, the jittery bounce in his step as he lets his impulsive thoughts win and presses a knife to Mickey’s throat.

Chris nods along. Every so often, one of his friends shifts their weight or adjusts their position in their seats. You notice a few of them captivated by the floor whenever you mention Mickey and you can’t stop yourself from wondering who he was to them before he was outed as a traitor. Was he merely Chris’s coach, or really part of his inner circle?

“And you?” Chris asks when you finish.

You shrug. “What about me?”

“What makes you a traitor?”

You didn’t think such a question would summon tears, not after how much time has lapsed since you last called Vince, Danni and Andrea your friends. Yet, your eyes water. Jaw clenched, you narrow your gaze at him. Insults perch on the tip of your tongue, prepared to fire upon your frustrated command, but your despair holds your vicious voice hostage.

Blinking, you look down at the expensive hardwood floors. Breathing deep, you muster enough courage to quietly answer, “Delusions.”

“I need details,” Chris clarifies. You can hear the annoyance drenched in each grunted word.

You look over your shoulder at his friends. Tense, they stare with carefully neutral features.

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

“The answer is no.”

Chris reaches behind him. He pulls out a black handgun, the letters SKZ scratched on the side of the barrel and aims it at you. “I think you should reconsider,” he says, chambering a bullet.

You cannot help smiling at the sound of the cocked gun, like a toy in his huge hand. You relax back in your seat, and tilt your head. Gesturing his hand upward, you advise, “Higher if you’re aiming for my head. You’ll only shatter my collarbone from this angle.”

Features flinching with confusion, Chris looks between you and his gun. He quirks his head to the side as he schools his expression once more, poking his tongue against his cheek.

“Are you stupid or suicidal?”

“A lot of people would argue both.”

The slightest impression of a smirk flickers on the corner of his lips. It's quite endearing, really—the way he tries so hard to stay focused, yet can't help but be distracted by your charms. You smirk for him instead, once miserable eyes now filled with playful defiance.

He takes a step closer, then another and another, until the cool barrel presses against the centre of your forehead. You try not to moan from the kiss of cold steel upon your skin, the proximity of his lips hovering over yours.

“Reconsider,” he orders in a whisper.

Sultry eyes, half-lidded and drowning in lust, you shake your head. Originally, shame shackled your truth. You didn’t want him nor his friends to lose respect for you, unsure if they even possess any for you at all. But now, all you want is to see how far he will go with his trigger, with you.

Chris moves the gun to your right temple, dragging the cold tip of the gun against your warm skin.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He peers down at you with a lust-ridden gaze that mirrors yours and leans on the arms of your chair. He slides the gun down your cheek, along your jawline then finally pushes it firmly under your chin.

Your eyes roll, head tilting back.

“How about now?” he whispers. His voice is deep, heavy with lust as he breaths over your face.

Voice as breathless and even weaker than his, you practically whine, “No.”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Seungmin mumble, “This is what I was telling you.”

“Shut up,” someone else replies in a quiet hiss. “I’m watching something.”

“It’s fine. Minho’s recording,” the one with the deepest voice reassures.

Chris pushes himself off the arm of the chair, uncocking his gun and removing it from your head.

You can’t help the dissatisfied sigh that escapes you at the loss of contact.

Turning to his friends, Chris demands, “Get out.”

“You’re ruining my footage,” Minho, the one you met in the hall, scolds, looking at Chris through his camera phone.

Chris merely points to the door. They sigh, grumbling protests as they shuffle out of the room. He shuts the door behind them and makes his way back to you.

“Listen,” he starts, wiping his nose with his wrist. He leans back against his desk again, meeting your gaze.

You press your thighs together at the sight of him all spread out along the edge of the grand desk.

He continues, snapping you out of your horny thoughts, “I want to fuck you senseless. I want you to take that little top off again and shove your tits in my face.”

Swallowing thickly, you sink into your chair, flushing at the confession.

“But before I ravish you,” he says, unable to fight off a smile, “I need to know what you did that made one of the most powerful families in Crimson Heights, levy such a steep price on your head.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s stupid, Chris,” you try to argue. “And childish.”

Gaze supplying tender understanding, Chris ever so sweetly encourages you to share with a gentle nod of his head. “Tell me everything,” he repeats, this time as a plea rather than demand.

Licking your lips, you confess, “And I don’t regret it. Before I tell you what happened, I need you to understand that I would do it again.”

At this, the compassion in his gaze wavers. Nonetheless, he sets the gun down and waits for you to begin.

You draw in a shaky breath, and upon the exhale, you explain, “Vince was flirting with me. I didn’t know it at the time, but at a certain point, it became obvious. He started to touch me more, and would find reasons to get me alone. We both lost someone ‘cause of overdoses and I guess it was a topic of bonding? I thought it was just as friends. He clearly had a different idea.”

Chris furrows his brows. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

A tight lipped smile momentarily tugs on the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Danni,” you confirm. “That’s how I met him. She was like my best friend. We accidentally met while knocking over the same liquor store. She wanted the booze and I wanted the cash. It worked out perfectly.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory. Chris allows a small smile to break through his assertive expression in response.

“Anyway, one night we were supposed to meet up by the pier. But, Danni wanted to stay in for the night, which she of course told us after we already got there, and she was Andrea’s ride so neither showed up. Vince and I got to talking about the people we lost— his was more recent than mine. I thought he just needed some more support. He looked devastated at the time.

But then he reached for my thigh. I didn’t push it off right away because I couldn’t believe he was touching me like that. And I guess he took that as a sign that I liked it. He moved his hand further up my leg and leaned in.” You pause to swallow your disgust, the memory panging your heart with anxiety.

Chris sharply exhales. “Please tell me you pushed him into the sea,” he says, tone laced with anger.

“I wish,” you dryly chuckle. “No, I went to shove his hand away, but Danni showed up after all, after Andrea begged her for the ride. She saw my hand over Vince’s and how close both were to my crotch and just lost her shit. I tried to explain but she hit me and I figured running home would be easier. And they followed me. They banged on my door all night, flip flopping between wanting to just talk to kill me. I waited until they were gone to run to Vinny’s.”

“So, she thought you were trying to fuck her boyfriend?” Chris asks, laughing at the obscurity. “Half the port is being gambled away because of some horny piece of shit and his stupid girlfriend?”

You can’t help smirking, yourself, the stupidity not at all lost on you. “No, that is just some context for why I…” You trail off, crossing one leg over another and taking another deep breath.

Chris raises a brow, only to hiss in pain.

“Careful,” you warn, earning a slight smile, before resuming your story.

“They went around the city slandering me. It got bad enough that certain gangs wouldn’t let me in their territory, worried I’d be more trouble than I was worth. At one point, I was confined to my apartment— Vinny suggested that laying low might help minimise the accusations. Everyday I spent alone, I would think about that night at the pier. I would wonder what Vince told them on their way to my apartment to make them so vile and murderous towards me. I knew both girls for nearly five years, and it killed me to know that in all that time, they really thought I was capable of such disgusting behaviour.

I was seething alone for almost three months, replaying that day over and over. I thought about what I would have said if I stayed and fought back. I thought about kicking Vince right in his tiny balls and punching Danni in the face until all her teeth fell out. I came up with a new way to torment them every single day I was locked away.”

“What was your favourite?” Chris asks, the allure of a fond smile settling on his lips.

You carefully meet his gaze and answer, “Bullets. I thought about lining them up and shooting their brains out. I wanted to see them with half their face still intact, the rest splattered all across the pier.”

Chris shares your tranquil smile, falling silent to let you continue.

“At a certain point, I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe I finally found clarity— I don’t know,” you shake your head, sitting up in your seat. “I knew that Vince’s father owned a fleet of boats on the pier. ”

Realisation instantly sparkles in his big, brown eyes.

“I snuck out and studied the crew’s shift rotation for two weeks. I found out that by Christmas Eve, there would be a skeleton crew and no one would be on the boats. They were only planning on securing the perimeter. So I set my plan in motion. I syphoned some gas, stole a pack of matches and set them all on fire. I shouted my name as the crew rushed to put it all out. I wanted them to know it was me, the person they exiled, who burned them to the ground. I needed them to know it.

The weight of what I had just done didn’t hit me until I got home and realised I couldn’t stay there. So I packed up some essentials, and ran to Vinny’s instead. Turns out there was an astronomical amount of coke on those boats. The bounty was placed within the hour.”

Chris sucks in a breath as you finish. “I see,” he hums, reaching for his gun again. “Stand up.”

You eye the firearm. “Are you going to use that?”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Jaw tight, you uncross your legs and stand. You look up at his towering 6’9 frame from your 5’8 position. Hands moving on their own accord, you grip onto his shirt, right by his hips, and press yourself firmly against him.

His clothed erection pokes at your stomach. You wonder how long he has been throbbing for you. Which part of your story made him this hard? The shared rage against Vince’s sliminess? The festering resentment? The violence? The retribution? You noticed his posture remained still, expression plain, but his eyes gleamed with something like pride.

“You’re so pretty when you’re following orders,” he murmurs, luring your attention. Before you can answer, he fiercely jams the barrel of the gun against your cheek .

You cannot stop a loud, whiny moan from tearing through your throat. The moment that cool tip digs into your skin, your arousal pools, eyes roll back. Your grip on his hips tightens and toes curl into the soft carpet beneath you.

“No, no,” he tuts, applying more pressure. “Open your eyes.”

You obey.

Chris peers down at you over the bridge of his nose, desires casting shadows in those brown eyes at your compliance. He grinds the barrel further into your skin, tilting slightly to watch your face contort under its cold pressure.

You lean into it, maintaining his lust-lost gaze.

“Take off your shorts.”

Looping your thumbs into the waistband, you make a show of wiggling your hips to push off the tiny short-shorts. You kick them aside once they fall to the floor.

Chris first smirks at the swish of your hips, but then tongues his cheek in sexual frustration at the sight of your panty-less crotch.

“Laundry day,” you shrug, feigning innocence as you peer at him under your lashes.

“My new favourite day,” he smiles before cupping you.

Your hips grind into his hand, legs slightly spreading for his wide fingers. Knowing he wants you to maintain eye contact, you do your best not to roll them back at the light, slow friction. 

Voice already trembling, you moan, “Fuck.”

He puts some force into his languid ministrations as he opens his mouth and arches his brows, hinting at you to mirror his actions. The condescension of his expression makes your hips buckle, clit throbbing for more stimulation.

God, he’s so perfect.

If you continue, if you let him bed you, ravish you as he previously put it, you’ll eventually regret it. You’ll wish you left when you had the chance, or at least thought you did. You know you can’t stay here. Your heart already bursts with infatuation, wetness collecting at his meticulous attention. If you stay, you will end up hurt and disappointed, all alone again with nothing but a knock-off fur coat and switchblade to console you once everything is said and done. Or worse— he will be the one hurt, dying or dead, plagued by the curse of your reckless existence.

Right now, Chirs exudes success, reputation built on the brute force of his powerful fists and swift footwork. He has friends who respect him enough that he doesn’t need to repeat himself when he speaks. He has the support of the most nefarious gang in Crimson Heights, prepared to defend him, stand for him.

You can’t ruin that. In fact, you refuse to do so.

So why are you standing on your toes, leaning into his broad chest for stability and rolling your hips into his calloused hand? Why can’t you tell him to stop, instead echoing his movements as he silently requested?

The moment you part your lips, Chris slides the barrel into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the cool metal, the taste of gun powder bitter on your tongue, you loudly moan and eyes rolling back.

He tsks, pulling your head back down using his grip on the gun. “Eyes on me,” he reminds through gritted teeth.

Oh? Is it a performance he’s after?

You recall his words— I like to make a statement— and wonder if he is waiting for you to do the same thing.

Hollowing your cheeks, you pretend to suck on the barrel, careful not to swallow more fumes of explosive powder than humanly capable. You bob your head back and forward, enchanting him with your most innocently lustful eyes.

A certain darkness diminishes the sweet tenderness that often glimmers in his gaze, even when he is sinfully intrigued by your shameless desire. Once a chocolate brown, swirling with smug delight, now a deep umber, whirling with lethal ecstasy. He feels it— the power of a mighty gun, the weight of life and death confined within sleek, curved edges of a silver bullet.

Fear and pleasure collide in your gut, becoming a force of thrilling anxiety.

What if the safety isn’t on? What if he fires?

Your mind laps around the questions, hips desperately jutting into his palm, as you trebly whine around the gun.

Chris removes his arousal-glistening hand from your crotch to wrap it around your neck. You shiver at the slimy sensation of your excitement against your skin. He pulls out the gun with more force than necessary at the squeaky whine you sound upon the lost contact. Your hips, still desperate to chase a release, fidget against him, much to his sinister amusement.

Pointing the gun to your temple, he shuffles and shifts your position so your back faces the desk instead. Then he shoves you against it by the grip on your neck.

You stumble back with a breathless yelp, the tail of your spine ramming against the expensive wood. Upon the impact, body buzzing with signals of pain and pleasure alike, you choke out a gratified giggle.

The clatter of objects on the desk falling from the force of his shove, the sound of your stricken surprise, flashes fear in his gaze. But then the melody of your laughter tumbles and tunnels his vision with carnal hunger. A vicious smile stretches on his supple lips, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth, like a famished predator upon trapping its prey.

You lift yourself up onto his desk as he approaches, immediately spreading your legs as a way of welcome. He appreciates the gesture, sliding the barrel of the gun along your breasts and stomach, then down between your drenched folds. Chest to chest, lips on lips, you exchange hissing breaths and curses. You grip onto your shoulders as he wraps his free arm around your waist, hugging you firmly against him. He’s caged you in, his body too large to move around now, even if you wanted to (or so you tell yourself, while feverently rolling your hip in tandem with his wrist.)

Terror knots in your gut, right where your climax builds. You wonder if his finger is still on the trigger. If he gets too excited, if he loses his concentration, if he ever so slightly shifts his finge—

“Kinky, little whore,” he croaks, picking up the pace. He then mimics the pitches of your waver voice and mocks your pouty expression, cooing, “You like that, yeah? You like my gun rubbing against your wet cunt, baby girl? Hmm?”

The patronising tone is reason enough to tremble, nails piercing skin as your scratch along his strong shoulders. His filthy words and ravenous gaze, however, have you releasing your scarring grasp to pull off your shirt and arch your back.

An approving growl resonates from his chest, attention now trailing down to your bouncing breasts.

“Lean back.”

Heat floods your face, your neck, your chest. You place your hands behind you and do as you’re told while his arms slither from around your waist to grip onto your hip, firmly sinking his fingers into your supple curves. Heart rapturing from the amorous attention, you fight off a smile. And the darkness that once brewed in your lungs, twisting around your ribcage as you rue your existence, dwindles with every salacious stare.

Other men have been passionate, but hasty. Eager to chase their own highs, they merely used you as a means to a satisfying end. Their hands would only roam if they required a better grip on your hips and eyes mostly screwed shut while they thrusted to an unsteady pace. It was mediocre at best, often having to think of your own turn ons to not fake an orgasm.

Chris deliberately studies your features, instead. He sips on your bare body like he might die if he does not memorise every roll, curve and fold. More than that, he revels at the sight. He croaks throaty moans and hisses when your hips stutter against the gun, the stimulation momentarily confounding your senses.

Your insecurities wane, allowing confidence to flourish in their stead. Even your self-loathing cowers under the judgement of his wanton gaze. You suddenly cannot remember why you needed to leave before. You can’t understand how a thought like that could enter your mind. Never do you want to leave him.

“I feel you clenching,” he notes, voice raw with authority. “Do you want me to fill it up for you?”

Your breath hitches, body quivers. Gaze flitting down to his erection, brutally evident in his black sweats, you moan, “Fuck, yes!”

He smirks and you already know he won’t give himself up that easily.

“Beg.”

Voice tangled in deplorable desperation, you keenly plead, “Please, please, please fuck me! Pl-ease,” you take a moment to swallow thickly, hoping to compose yourself enough to continue. “I don’t th-think I can cum without you.”

His smirk widens at that.

You pick your next words carefully, voice wavering. “Only you could r-really make me fe-feel it in the m-mo-morning.”

Jaw flexed, he softly growls.

“P-pretty ple-ase?” you add with a pout.

He tongues his cheek, hiding a smile, but does not reach for his waistband.

You part your lips to beg more, prepared to offer your soul if that’s what it would take to feel him inside you. Instead, an ear-piercing shriek escapes.

“Oh, god!”

Your voice breaks, peaking at a near whistle from the abrupt sensation of the barrel pushing against your tight, needy walls. Jaw slack, you look down and watch as your core engulfs the gun, clenching tightly around the arousal slick metal. Even after being shoved against your clit for so long, it still feels cold.

Chris chuckles darkly as you breathlessly mewl, the sight of the gun disappearing in you all too erotic. “Is this what you wanted?” he taunts, raising a cocky brow. He hums in mocking agreement with your hurried nods.

Between the thrusting gun and his belittling behaviour, you’re not sure you possess the capabilities to endure him for much longer.

“Ch-chris,” you attempt to warn, risking a glance back down at that barrel ramming into you.

His finger is on the trigger, force powerful enough that even the slightest pressure could set the firearm off.

Your toes curl, nails claw against the rich wood of the desk. The continuous friction, steady, speedy and strong, encourages the coiling of electrified excitement deep in your gut.

So, so cl—

A devastated cry tears through your throat as the sudden loss of contact. Your eyes snap open (you don’t even remember screwing them shut), and you glare at him.

“You fucking asshole!” You seethe, pushing yourself up from your leaned back position. You obeyed every order, leaned into every touch and embraced every vicious word only to have your orgasm ruined.

Chris dismisses your icy eyes, slowly dragging his tongue over the barrel of the handgun. His eyes radiate sexual satisfaction as he savours your taste.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckles, offering you the tip of the gun, “Did you want to clean it up for me?”

You are not a violent person— not unintentionally anyway. So why do you wind your hand back and whip it against his cheek?

Chris moans upon impact, twisting his head with the slap, as if embracing it.

You gasp, hopping off the desk and clamping a hand over your mouth only to remove it seconds later to apologise.

“Chris, I’m—”

He advances towards you with a fierce groan. Seizing you by the waist, he forces you against him and latches onto your lips. His hands slide down to grip onto your rear, kneading fistfuls of your plump cheeks. Both hands suddenly release your ass to smack back down against it and squeeze.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck as your guilt disappears.

His tongue puts up more of a fight this time, but is nowhere as aggressive as the rest of his actions, half-heartedly wrestling yours simply to delight in the wet and warm sensation. He yields to your rhythm eventually, muttering against your lips, “Do it again.”

You rip yourself away in pure confusion, brows knotted. “What?” you heave, as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Hit me again,” he demands, voice rough and raspy.

Your gaze bounces around his healing wounds, remorse resurfacing.

Chris must have read the guilt on your face, endearingly tilting his head at your hesitation. “I’m a big boy,” he smirks. “I can take it.”

That breathy, throat voice and haughty tone seems to be enough of a trigger because you smack him again before you have a chance to second-guess yourself.

He moves with the hit again, groaning as he grinds his erection against your stomach. Sucking in a breath with a sharp hiss, Chris tosses the gun to the floor. You brace yourself for the firing round, shoulders shooting to your ears. However, the gun does not go off. You narrow your gaze to find the clip missing, wondering when the fuck he slipped it out and how he managed to do it so silently.

The shuffle of fabric redirects your attention back to Chris. You’ve been so absorbed by the fear of triggering the gun, you hadn’t realised he untangled himself from you to take his clothes off.

His torso is as glorious as you remember, buff, broad and boasting with robust strength. Then he pushes off his sweats and your jaw slackens. Your gaze first lingers around the three-lettered tattoo of his gang on his left hip. SKZ – the ‘K’ coloured red. Then, as he shoves the pants down, his cock monopolises your attention. You knew he would be wide, the impression of him alone previously leaving you shaken. But you did not expect him to be as long, easily measuring at around eight and a half inches.

Your bottom lip whimpers and a hand comes up to steady it as you gawk. Saliva dampens your fingers. You lick your lips, wipe your chin and tentatively sneak a glance at his face, hoping he didn’t catch you shamelessly drooling.

That smirk widens as your eyes meet. “I need to be inside you,” he pants before closing the distance between you with a tug of your body into his.

You can’t agree more, biting back your own smile as you cup his face. “I need to ride you,” you reply just as affectionately.

Dripping with dominance, you thought he would ignore your request and bend you over the desk. Instead, he back pedals towards the chair you originally sat on, and commandeers it.

The sight of his muscular thighs has you biting your lip. You seat yourself upon him, just like you did in the dressing room. You know you can just lift your hips, align his length and begin bouncing. However, as you gaze down at his staggering size, pre-cum oozing from the tip, the urge to spit on it overrides your thoughts. You gather saliva and splatter it over him, earning a croaky groan.

You moan through a bitten lip in reply.

Wrapping a hand around him, you gasp at the fact that your fingers are unable to meet. Your core dampens.

Chris spits down on his length too, rubbing your thighs as you jerk and twist your wrist.

“You’re really big,” you shyly comment, maintaining a sluggish pace.

Just as sincere a smile hovers over his lips before he presses them against yours again.

Emotion bursts through your chest, desire unable to remain restrained. In hurried movements, you release your hold on his cock and lift your hips to finally accept the fullness he offers.

Chris helps you, aligning himself for you to easily sink down. He wraps both beefy arms around your waist as you gasp into his mouth. The kiss momentarily breaks, noses smushing together amidst blissful hissing.

You rest your arms on his shoulders to hug his head close, fingers tangled in his hair. You tug on the ends as he pushes between your tight walls. You move slowly, thankful for his steady grasp on you, inching further downward only to rise back up a bit and do it again. Inch by inch, you find a way to accommodate his girth, all the while whining his name.

“Just let go,” he whispers. His hold on your waist tightens, referring to the concentrated control you’ve adopted. “I’ve got you, baby.”

His delicate tone unravels your composure. You relax into his touch and find that he really does have a good grasp on you. He maintains your slow movements, acknowledging that you still need time to adjust. You wonder if it was the lack of speed itself, the crumpling pleasure etching your features, or how you’re tensing oh-so tightly around him that tips him off. And as he lifts and lowers you upon him, groaning between shared breaths, you realise that it really doesn’t matter what the reason was.

Clarity settles— Chris tunnels his vision when it comes to you. Within a night, he has noted your sexual boldness, recklessness, and affinity for guns. He knows you like to be harshly handled, tightening his grip only to roughly release it. He lets you strike him back, knowing you like to act out and does not only encourage it, but embraces it. He observes your features, searching for particular indications of pleasure to focus on or circle back to when he thinks you can take it again. Beyond that, he provides a space for vulnerability that does not centre around pity but rather a shared rage.

As you look at him now, hissing moans through gritted teeth and quivering lips, you cannot help but allow his words to splinter your previous philosophy. Perhaps it is not your existence that is cursed, but rather the world. Perhaps Crimson Heights is the beckon for misfortune— a city of survivors and casualties. You do not cause death; you simply outrun it. And when catastrophe rumbles the foundation of your life, claiming your family or friends, you do not need to feel guilty. Life ebbs and flows, grips and lets go— just as Chris does when he unwraps his arms around your waist, to grip onto your hips.

“That’s my slutty little girl,” he praises before grazing your chin with his teeth. “Arch your— Yes! Lean into me.”

A frail whine is all you can muster as he becomes more daring with the pace, speeding up.

Breasts glued to his chest, your back arches the way he instructs and you feel the hammering of his heart against yours. You cup his face. Your thumb brushes over the bruises on his cheek.

“Y-you know ex-actly what I n-need,” you whimper, internally cringing at your lust laced stutter.

A prideful smile plays on his lips. His grip tightens with newfound confidence as he uses your encouragement to experiment with the possible indication of fully submerging himself into you.

The moment your cheeks smack against the muscles of his thighs, an ear-piercing scream rips from your throat, heavy with delirious delight. So deep, so fucking full, he reaches far to stretch you wide. You doubt that you’d be able to tighten around anything other than his length again, hole now completely adjusted for his cock only.

“Like that?” he questions, voice still swirling with mockery. “Is that what you needed?”

You quickly nod, unable to find your voice.

Chris lifts and drops your hips with renewed force, ordering, “Speak.”

“I like that!” You confirm. “I love that!”

Grunting and growling in satisfaction, Chris decides that your hips do not give him the best leverage as he grasps on your rear instead. His fingers sink into your voluptuous cheeks, surely marking your skin, as he guides the rolls and rises of your thrusts.

You squeal, throwing your head back at the waves of excitement lapping over you. “Yes, yes, yes,” you pant before looking back at him. “Is this how you like it?” you ask, gaining confidence with every shudder sigh he expels. “Does this drive you c-crazy?”

Chris breathes a chuckle, mumbling, “You most definitely do,” before pressing his lips to yours.

Euphoria envelopes you, coursing through your veins and rattling your bones. You immediately submit to his rhythm, already content with the warmth of his lips on yours and taste of his tongue. Satisfaction swells, throbbing your clit upon the build of your climax. As emotion shines through the cracks of your armour, delirious delight flourishes.

You break the kiss with a breathless giggle, allowing the pleasure to travel from your core though your limbs. The base of your spine, centre of your chest, tips of your fingers, toes and ears, your nerves dash and dance with a degree of joy you did not believe you were capable of ever feeling. You cannot help your laughter between breathless moans.

Chris, voice croaky and deep with lust, joins you. He playfully nips at the skin under your jaw then peppers the light sting with kisses, laughing all the while.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he revels in whisper.

Your giggles waver upon the sincere emotion flooding his eyes.

You clench. “Chri—”

“You feel so perfect around me,” he groans, cutting you off. “It’s like your body was made for me.”

Whimpering, all playful humour darkening within your bones into desperate ecstasy, you can’ help but squeeze tighter, the knots of your high becoming more and more undeniable.

Your voice rises in pitch as you moan,“Use me however you want.”

His hips snap up to meet yours with a dark, loud groan.

You jolt from the force, body shaking. Panting whines tumble from your lips as your grasp on his hair tightens. Over and over, he sinks you down on him as he rams himself into you, meeting you halfway. Your breasts bounce against him, only encouraging his aggressive speed as he shoves his face between the valley.

The brutality of the force, the pace is unbearable. Toes curling, core gripping, you stutter through your next intake of air. All at once, a wave of satisfaction crashes over you. Muscles tense, you stiffen with a shrill cry of his name and gush, gush, gush your release. Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as he wraps his arms around you to keep you upright.

As he did in the dressing room, Chris peers up at you from between your full breasts. He offers a pleased smile before leaning back against the chair. Now, with you laying on top of him as your orgasm ripples through you all— dazed and drooling, Chris grinds your hips down into his. His own muscles flex, skin flushing. Through gritted teeth, a deep moan emits from the base of his throat.

His cock twitches. His release shoots, warm and erratic, filling you so well, you already feel it smearing around your folds.

Face buried in the crook of his neck, you whine his name quietly at the sensation. “Fuck, yes,” you moan, circling your hips around his. “Fill me up just l-like that!”

You swear you feel another shot of his cum, the wet sloshes of arousal slick with every grind of hip on hip.

After watching Chris endure seven rounds of boxing, with his composure still intact and sweat barely breaking, you should have known better than to think that he was done with you. He doesn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. Still heaving, he stands.

You wrap yourself around him, holding on tight. Has he forgotten that he is still deep inside you or does he not care, simply eager to continue using you? You moan from the new angle all the same as he walks you back into his room.

“You don’t need a break, do you?” he asks after kicking the door shut behind him. He grips onto your waist and rips you off his torso with a forceful shove. “Hmm? No break?” he teases.

A cross between a grunt and whine fills the room as you land on his bed with a little bounce. Before you can reply, he yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You yelp your pleased surprise, unable to fight back a giggle as he turns you over on your stomach. He pulls your hips up to roughly guide you into a downward dog position. Knees on the bed’s edge, face smushed into the soft duvet, your backside is now perfectly exposed for him.

His tongue slips between your folds, lapping the mess of your mixed climaxes with a deep-chested growl. The vibrations resonate upon every overwhelmed nerve ending around your core. You cannot deny the wiggle of your hips and strained mewls of distress from the overstimulation.

“Stay still,” Chris orders, voice muffled. His hot breath, the tenor of his voice all directed towards your overused hole, only further your squirms.

You want more of him, need more, but the unrelenting stimulation of his lapping tongue, slurping and groaning, makes you tremble. You find yourself attempting to crawl away from his mouth only to be harshly pulled back.

Chris wraps his arms under and around your thighs, locking you in place.

“Just where do you think you’re going, darling?”

You whine incoherently.

He mocks you, pitching his voice and mimicking your unstable syllables.

Your desire pools at your core all over again, eyes water. “Too much,” you whimper into your fist, overwhelmed by the all too desperate yearning to stop yet still continue. “Its—”

Chris groans, cutting you off. “We taste so good, baby,” he murmurs against your heat. “This might be the closest I get to heaven.” He then pulls himself away long enough to look at you over the full curve of your cheeks. “Wanna try?” he asks with a smug smirk, face glistening from the smear of your combined orgasms.

You flush, nodding.

He dives back in to slurp on your sex. Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and gently, despite the rough grasp, pulls your back towards his chest. You tilt your head back for him, parting your lips. He smiles at how quickly you’ve caught onto his intentions and spits the cum into your mouth.

Your pussy quivers upon the bittersweet taste, eyes fluttering shut. You moan your delight upon swallowing.

Chris takes the advantage of your proximity, stealing another quick kiss before using the grip on your hair to shove you back onto the mattress. He adjusts the position of your hips again but does not dive down between your folds this time. Instead, he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and spreads them apart.

You hear the throaty gathering of salvia and then the splatter of spit before feeling the warmth of it upon your tightest hole. Heat scorches your skin with humiliation from his laughter when you clench.

You part your lips to say his name, ask what he’s doing when his tongue reappears, circling your hole. A breathless gasp sounds instead.

Chris transfers more of your wetness to your tensing hole, scooping the cum with his finger and rubbing it against you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes as you whimper and wiggle in his grasp. “Relax, babygirl. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You lean back into him upon his soothing tone. You’ve never touched yourself there, never let anyone else do the same, certain they would only hurt you. From the way Chris takes his time however, you can tell he knows what he’s doing.

“You have the cutest fucking asshole,” he chuckles before spitting over it again.

Gratification tickles the darkness looming in your chest, allowing you to giggle in response and push yourself back against his finger.

“I mean it,” he says, misunderstanding your acceptance for teasing protest. His fingers then glide between your folds, down to your clit. He twirls the pad of his middle finger around the bundle of nerves, then spreads the folds as if to take a better look at your cum-leaking hole.“You have the prettiest pussy too,” he groans before his tongue dives, reaching farther inside than you expected.

Pride blossoms, boastfully overpowering all your emotions and triggering a loud, moan of approval. “Please don’t stop,” you beg while attempting to writhe out of his grasp.

Chris pulls himself away long enough to laugh at your conflicting movements. He quietly hums, content with himself, as he smacks each cheek halfheartedly, like you made a joke and he’s nudging you because of the wit and humour. You can’t help joining him, wiggling your hips in his hands with every slap.

There have been times where you felt at ease, perhaps even happy under setting suns and sneaky nights on the roof with your foster siblings. Watching a fusion of magenta and maroon cascade in the sky, as the sun disappears behind the Crimson Heights horizon, has been the image you conjure on cold, lonely nights between nightmares and distant gunshots. But being here with Chris, bent over and exposed from angles no one else has ever witnessed, absolute contentment engulfs you. Like a warm, tender hug, his patient presence nurtures your soul and caresses your darkness. And it feels natural as if the universe conspired to ensure that you do have at least one moment of true happiness amongst the death and betrayal.

He brushes your hair from your face, pulling you from your thoughts. You shyly meet his gaze to which he smirks. His hand then trails from the naps of your neck to the base of your spine, drawing you away from the memory of your trauma.

“Stay with me, yeah,” he coos.

You nod.

Is it your sudden silence? Is that what indicated that you’ve let your mind wander off? Though, you do remember moaning between giggles. Maybe you had a distant look in your eyes. Maybe you stopped responding to his touch. Does it even matter? Because whatever it was, whatever you did, he saw it.

He sees you.

Chris kisses each cheek before spreading them again. You feel his tongue on your heat, swirling once, twice then dragging up. You moan loudly, pushing yourself further into him. But his tongue does not return to your needy pussy. Instead, he circles the edge of your tightest hole.

You clench, whimpering.

He licks, chuckling.

His hands rub your cheeks, silently soothing your tense muscles. You try to lean into his calm, but the feeling of his warm tongue twirling around the rim of your hole is much too stimulating to ignore.

“More please,” you find yourself whining, fisting the sheets beneath you. “I-I need more.”

Chris presses a wet kiss upon your puckering hole before replying, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You draw in a long breath and release it.

He gives it another kiss, spit on it then orders, “Again. Take your time with it, baby.”

The pet name prickles your skin with goosebumps, face flushed as you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

You can’t see him with his face between your cheeks, but you swear he’s smirking as he praises, “Good girl.”

A giggle was meant to be your only reply. Instead, his tongue pushes through your hole and you moan in a voice so unlike yourself, so innocent and weak.

“Daddy!”

Chris growls, tightening his grip on your rear with one hand, while the other harshly rubs your dripping core. Slobbering, slurping, he bobs his head, in and out, up and down, shoving his tongue between your tense walls. His fingers are relentless, playing with your clit in quick, forceful waves only to abandon the bundle of nerves all together. He pushes them into your pussy instead. Three long fingers draw in and out of you to the rhythm of his tongue.

Moans meek and breathy, you writhe under his onslaught of pleasure. That pet name is on the tip of your tongue again, but you refrain from using it, clenching your teeth instead. You’ve never called anyone that and have even judged the people you know who have said shit like that during sex.

It feels so right when thinking about Chris, when feeling his tongue attempt to breach through your tight hole. If anyone was to embody that mindset of a Daddy, it would be Christopher Bahng. Chris with his tall, towering frame. Chris with his commanding voice. Chris with his charismatic confidence.

“Daddy,” you whine again despite your futile attempts.

He hums in question, tone oh-so condescending. Your nerves burn from the wetness of his tongue, the pace of his harsh fingers. You thrash into the sheets, further smothering your face in the soft duvet and screaming out your pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Your voice is muffled, hips ramming back against him with every plea.

Chris merely moans in reply, as if delighted by the sinful taste of you. He continues his dual stimulation, insatiable tongue bouncing in and out of your untested hole. His fingers curl, over and over and over right where you need him most.

Turning your head to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress again, you gasp for air and cry out your new favourite name, “Daddy! Fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

His breath staggers as you hear him chuckle, but you don’t care. He can laugh himself hoarse if he wants. You just need him to continue, your orgasm building all over again. Toes curling, eyes rolling, you quake and claw at the sheets, desperate to get a hold of yourself.

However, Chris, upon feeling you clench particularly tightly around his fingers, pulls himself away.

A sexually frustrated sob tumbles out of you at the all too sudden loss of contact. Your orgasm falters at the lack of stimulation. Once again, he has dangled you over the edge. Fury surges through you, propping yourself up on your elbows and glaring over your shoulder at him.

“Why do— Ah!”

Chris grips onto your hips, pushes himself back into your core. He rams his hips into yours, holding enough force to knock you off your elbows, cutting you off.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of you,” he groans, voice husky and deep.

You whimper in response, all words actively being fucked out of you. No one can even stand you, yet he ploughs into you, eager and deliberate, and still craves more of you. That realisation alone could coax another bone-bending orgasm out of you.

Apart from the first, initial thrust, you do not feel his hips smack against yours again. Instead, Chris restraints himself, offering moderate, yet fast thrusts. He still reaches deep, still stretches you out oh so deliciously, but you can tell he’s holding back.

And it ignites your veins with anger. You refuse to have him spoil yet another orgasm rattle you into calling him ‘daddy,’ only to then half-heartedly fuck you.

“Please fuck me,” you beg before echoing a version of his previous words. “I’m a big girl, Daddy. I can take it.”

Chris growls lowly under his breath. “You’ll get hurt,” he warns.

You cannot fight back your smile. “Good.”

The impact of his thrust upon your reassurance is so powerful, the bed shifts forward. You hiccup his name and hiss at the sting of skin on skin. Vigorous momentum grows with every mighty thrust of his hips. You feel your entire body jiggle, shaking with the squeaking bed.

“You have no idea,” he begins, breathlessly growling, “how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

He has no idea how many times you’ve been told the opposite.

“Show me how beautiful you think I am.”

His cock twitches. You swear you feel it quiver deep inside you.

A gasp so erotic, so pornographic escapes you at the sudden sensation. Clenching, you’re eager to feel it again, to feel him release his warm, thick arousal, especially so soon. You’re already giddy with pride, preparing to tease and mock him for becoming undone upon a few simple words.

Instead, Chris pulls himself out with a croaky groan. He’s heaving, breathes staggering as he swallows thickly. “Move up to the pillows, baby. Lay back for me.”

You slowly push yourself up, sitting down on your ankles. Just as breathless, you peer at him over your shoulder. His hair is tousled, face glistening with your excitement as he slowly jerks himself to the sight of you so messy and dirty.

“Was it something I said?” you ask in your most innocent voice.

Chris tightens his jaw.

A shiver dances along your spine at his silence. You give him one last once over, shamelessly letting your gaze linger around his erection, before leisurely crawling towards the pillows. Your legs already ache. You feel it most around your thighs and hips, bones stiffen and muscles tight from the exposing angle.

The fluffy pillows and duvet melt around your sweaty skin, engulfing you in a cocoon of comfort. Your eyes flutter shut, embracing the chill of the cool silks. The sheets in your tiny apartment are scratchy and rough, and prior to laying here, you had thought it was the most comfortable fabric a thrift store could sell, which is why you stole them.

The bed dips. You open your eyes to watch as Chris crawls over you, spreading your legs to welcome him. His face hovers over yours. You cup his cheeks, grazing your thumb over his lips.

He lowly groans. His nose brushes yours as he leans down for a kiss. You think it was meant to be quick, just a tiny peck before he buries himself in you again. But the taste of your lips proves to be intoxicating, or perhaps he felt the spark you did when your lips touched. He indulges in another kiss, then another. Even one longer than the last, Chris eventually integrates his tongue and forces you to taste yourself.

Heaven, hell, the worlds collide. Purely sinful, his tongue subjects you to his pace, swirling around yours slowly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants you to savour the bittersweet taste of your orgasms and holes.

Your lips part with a wet smack, breasts heaving. Chris pushes himself back to sit on his ankles. He lets his attention trail down your curves, ogling your rolls and fullness. He pants like a dog, mouth agape and saliva leaking from the corners at the mere sight of you.

People tend to either discard or objectify you. One look at your figure and you are either invisible, disgusting, or a drunken mistake that awakens a shameful desire for fuller frames. Your mother told you it would happen when she noted your curves for the first time. She told you that you’d be nothing in a bigger body, that no one will want to be seen with you. A part of you always wondered if that’s why she opted for heroin, knowing she too had curves and rolls at one point in her life. 

It doesn’t really matter because the sentiment snared your consciousness. You noticed how many people ignored your presence the moment you walked into a room or the sudden distaste of those who did happen to acknowledge you. Every wrinkled nose, every avoided gaze only reinforced your mother’s philosophy.

And here Chris sits, bare and breathless, leering over your naked body. Ravenous, lascivious, he devours every full inch of you, eyes drowning in lust. You suddenly cannot recall the words your mother once spat, the dejected feelings that bruised your pride when you walked into a room. All you know now is Chris— obsessive, gluttonous, shameless Chris and his insatiable appetite for everything that you are.

He blinks repeatedly, as if pulling himself out of his thoughts. You bite your lip and wonder what you must look like, staring back at him. You know your liner is smudged and lipstick smeared. You know your hair is a tangled mess around you. You know your skin gleams of sweat, hot to the touch from the exhilaration of submitting to him. You know your core is a mess of spit and cum.

Chris reaches behind you. The sweaty scent of leather, sandalwood and amber secretes from the pits of his arms hovering inches away from your nose. You inhale deeply through your nose and wet your lips. Chris’s attention flickers down at the sound of your heavy sighs. You flush under the subject of that knowing smirk.

“Lift your hips for me?” He asks, voice deep and delicate.

You do as you’re told and he slides one of his plush pillows under you. The new angle provides better support to your lower back. You shift yourself further into his comfortable mattress with a pleased sigh.

“Better, yeah?” Teasing amusement twinkles in his eyes, brows quirked as he tries to fight off a prideful smile.

You suppress your own, and nod. “Are you going to fuck me now?” you ask, exaggerating the breathlessness of your feminine voice.

His eyes darken.

Perhaps, you proudly think to yourself as he takes your bait, if he is desperate enough, he’ll finally let me cum.

Chris traces the span of your shoulders, down to the fullness of your breasts and the curves of your waist. He drags his hands over your stomach and trails his eyes to your pelvis. He traces the lines along your heat only to redirect his callous fingers to your thigh before he can reach the place you need him most.

You clench, hips instinctively rolling forward. You mentally curse at your desperateness, your ploy to rile him up into a lustful rage crumbling as your body betrays you.

He barely even smirks, as if expecting your body to react to his touch like that. “I was fucking you,” he corrects, taking his hard, throbbing cock into his big hand.

You watch as he thumbs his tip and the space between his brows creases. Swallowing a moan, you wiggle in place and bite your lip. Your nerves impatiently buzz through your veins, and you resist the urge to arch your back to their desperate will.

He continues to slowly jerk himself as he watches you stiffen only to squirm seconds later. “Now,” he starts, leaning over you. He aligns himself, tonguing his cheek. Tip teasing your clenching core, he whispers, “I am going to ruin you.”

The weight of the crude promise resonates deep in your gut, gathering your arousal at the entrance of your needy heat. You grip onto his shoulders, features already crumpled in desperate pleasure, and dig your nails into his smooth, pale skin.

You gasp a whine as he emits a throaty groan, pushing in, in, in. You begin to understand the purpose of the pillow beyond simply comfort. The leverage of your hips provides a new angle to explore, his length shoving its way to your most sensitive spot. And he does not even allot time to adjust as he first did in his office, moving quickly to bottom himself out in you. His weighty balls rest against your rear, burning your face with the thought of sucking them. You finally give into your body, too needy to continue to police its movements, and arch your back into his chest.

Chris, hands on either side of your head, grabs your wrists and pins them above you. He growls as his thrusts take off. The force of his hips continuously shifts the bed forward. The headboard slaps against the wall, the pounding of wood on plaster so loud, it almost drowns out your squealing moans. Even the mattress whines, springs shrieking under the rhythmic bounce of your colliding bodies. Perhaps the closest rival to the noise of the bed, however, is the sharp slap of skin on skin. Your rear and thighs tremble from the powerful smacks, sensitive skin stinging all too exquisitely.

Pain highlights pleasure. In addition to the sting of his skin on yours, the tight grip of his strong hands around your wrists, aches from joint to bone. Tears gather in your eyes, the friction of his pulsating erection against your wet, tense walls all the more sweeter in light of the consistent pain.

A series of hissing profanities leave his full lips and you open your eyes to find he is drunk on the sight of your erotic features. Your tears slide down along your temples as a sob hiccups through your throat, clashing with the moans you shamelessly release.

His vicious dominance falters. Letting go of your wrists, Chris leans himself down on his elbows and affectionately nestles his nose against yours. You like the softness of his touches, the tenderness of his most mundane gestures, like the brush of nose on nose or the exchange of heavy breaths.

However, you were promised ruin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you question, voice harsh even with breaking into a whine near the end.

Chris furrows his brows. Something about your tone triggers even more might behind his thrusts. It takes everything in you to not arrogantly laugh at how quickly he  shifts from ferocity to concern to anger.

You push against his shoulders. Chris yields to your silent request, flexing his jaw and knitting his brows in quiet confusion. His hips do not hesitate once, though. They continue to forcefully shake your body, breasts and rolls bouncing with the bed.

Once Chris is leaning on his hands again, you strike him across the face.

“Mmm, fuck,” he groans, voice hushed and husky. Dark fury engulfs his features as he snaps his attention back on you.

You slap him again, and again, and again until your hand radiates heat, nerves stinging from the impact. His cheek is a bright red, jaw tight as he looks down at you.

You lift your other hand to smack him only to have him seize both your hands with one hand. You yelp at the swift motion and attempt to break free. You figure it wouldn’t be too hard, considering he is only using one hand to pin both of yours, but find that one hand is all he needs. Your wrists barely budge from their place over your head.

“My turn,” he purrs, red-stained face bright with amusement.

You clench your jaw, steeling yourself for the impact of his hand against your face, only to feel it upon your right breast. You curve yourself further into him with a loud, whiny gasp. Your nipple stings, coaxing tears as he does it again and again. He gives the left one the same amount of attention, smacking against the heavy curves over and over.

Core tightening with want around his cock and breasts burning with a feverish ache, you wail, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Your voice breaks, sobs of incessant pleasure overwhelming you. He’s so, so big and so, so ruthless. You barely catch your breath with every thrust, let alone every slap of your breast or pinch of your nipple. He clamps your taut nub between his thumb and the edge of forefinger to squeeze and twist. You fall into a state of devilish delight, embracing the pain like a warm hug.

Chris, perhaps growing tired or just wanting to be closer, releases his grip on your shoulders and gives your chest a break. He falls back on his elbows and catches your lips in his. He swallows your sobs, your uncontrollable moans as he ram-ram-rams into you. The strength behind his thrust is ever so prominent, even his heavy balls smack against your rear, the pain watering your mouth.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mutters against your lips in hushed tones. The depth of his voice slithers along your spine.

You keenly nod, tears splitting freely from your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!” you whine between tumbling sobs. “P-please?”

He rests some of his weight on you, stunting your breathing. You now wheeze through moans and pants.

“Please what?”

His voice is a cacophony of primal growls and feral snarls, resonating against your chest right down to the marrow of your bones.

A whine of a syllable begins and falters under the combined weight of his frame and relentless hips. His dominance may demand your reply, but still shackles your voice, your very consciousness with every brutal thrust.

“Use your fucking words, you little slut or I swear to God, you won’t cum for the rest of the night!”

His threat sends a tremor through your entire being. But that voice, that croaky, hissing voice of pure power, curls your toes and rolls your eyes back. You clench tightly, forcing your orgasm back.

“Dad-dy!” You scream, voice breaking mid-way through into hysterical sobs, body overpowered by pain and pleasure alike.

A gratifying groan grumbles from the depths of his gut and you cannot hold yourself back any longer. Your muscles stiffen, legs lifting high to the ceiling with pointed toes and nails scratching at his biceps. Your jaw clenches, bouncing body trembling as a ripple of your release rushes over you.

Chris falls over you, his full weight now crushing you as he too tenses all over. The suffocation only heightens your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy now swelling into typhoons of rapturous bliss. Your mind spins, vision dims and sound muffles as you finally release around him.

Your lungs fight for air, the restriction becoming all too fatal. You swat at his biceps, attempting to gasp for air as you catch distant throaty groans between deliberate, harsh thrusts.

It takes him a handful of seconds, but Chris eventually realises his mistake, rushing to hold himself up on his elbows again.

You gasp upon the first breath of air, heaving as you eagerly consume mouthfuls of oxygen.

Chris mutters quiet apologies, voice nearly wavering as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and peppers the soft skin with tender kisses. He’s careful about dispersing his weight on you, even as his muscles tremble from the struggle of holding himself up. He shifts his balance to his knees as his thrusts decrease in speed and power eventually stopping all together.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your mind floats as your orgasm continues to cascade over your consciousness. Your limbs fall limp onto the mattress, full chest heaving with heavy pants and whines. It’s not until Chris pulls himself out that you finally feel your combined cum leak out of you again and you realise he came too, probably when he lost his balance and fell on top of you.

You feel the bed dip beside you, but cannot hear anything beyond the rush of blood in your ears. If you try hard enough, you might be able to catch the muffled squeak of the mattress, or the creak of the wooden frame. However, transcending into a state of pure euphoric bliss, all thoughts swirling around a phantom boxer and his towering build, you cannot dwell on the sounds of the fading world around you.

Rough hands delicately caress your face. A trail of kisses start on your lips. Full, plush lips move down your neck, collarbone, valley of your breasts, stomach, left thigh down to the knee, then back up to the right thigh down to the knee. They take their time with every press against your sweat-slick skin, each one just as wet and tender as the last.

There is another shift beside you and strong arms pull you into their embrace. You allow them to cradle you into a buff chest. The distant pound of a hammering heart beats to the same fast pace as yours. Those strong hands brush your hair back as they pet your head.

You’re not sure how long you laid there or when you made it into the bath, sitting between two muscular thighs as those calloused, yet gentle hands lathered shampoo into your hair.

The warm water grounds you back into the present. You squint your eyes open to a dark wood slatted ceiling, finding that your head is tilted back as a detachable shower head washes the shampoo out of your hair. You take a moment to inhale deeply, letting the notes of vanilla sandalwood remind you of where you are.

The water shuts off, the steel shower head returns to its place on your right, and you right your head to take a look around the bathroom. Spacious, the room radiates sophistication and calmness. Walls clad in dark grey and black, polished chrome fixtures, and a deep, freestanding bathtub, room enough for two, you cannot help but feel a sense of luxurious serenity. The lights are hidden behind the crevices of the room, warm and soft in their illumination. You wonder if he purposely designed the room to reel himself back to reality after a match.

Chris clears his throat, the sound soft and subtle as if he is worried he might scare you.

The possible implication furrows your brows. You peek at him over your shoulder before twisting your torso to face him.

“Are you…” he trails off, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright?”

You’re not sure how to decipher his hesitation or the oddly shameful look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you reply.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Are you hurt?”

The question finally registers the faded red of his cheeks where you slapped him and the pink lines along his biceps. You swallow thickly as remorse tightens your chest.

“Are you?”

A ghost of a smirk hovers over his lips. He leans forward to comb some conditioner through your hair.

“I’ve never been better.”

“What…happened?”

You chew on the inside of your cheeks. You know what led up to this moment, but cannot fully place what happened between your orgasm and the bath. Your past sexual endeavours usually remain in one position and location. Chris has moved you between three rooms now, his office, bedroom, and bathroom, and tested your endurance in multiple positions in a single night.

Did you pass out? Were you sleeping?

“Have you heard of subspace?” Chris continues upon the furrow of your brows. “After sex, when some people in more submissive positions orgasm, they might get put into a certain euphoric headspace. You might not feel pain or even be in your body. Some people completely pass out,” he explains before reaching for the shower head again. Tapping the bottom of your chin with a single finger, he gestures for you to tilt your head back again. “Others,” he continues as he watches your hair, “are conscious but unresponsive.”

“Like I was?”you ask, eyes fluttering shut to prevent the sting of soap.

He hums in confirmation. “Do you remember anything?”

You shrug. “You were kissing me,” you pause, swallowing thickly, “and then I remember feeling you hug me.”

“Do you remember saying anything?”

Your eyes shoot open. Moving your head away from the spray, you meet his gaze again.

He bites back a sheepish grin.

“If you’re messing with me,” you begin, gritting your teeth. “I’ll—”

“Save your cute threats,” he teases, cutting you off. He rinses the last of the conditioner out of your hair, adding, “I’ll tell you what you said.”

You nervously gnaw on your lip waiting for him to continue. When he turns off the shower head and puts it back in its spot, you think he would finally say something. Instead, he pumps some body soap into a washcloth and lathers it up.

“Well?”

“I never said I would tell you now,” he chuckles.

You splash water at his chest, oh so tempted to scoop more directed at his face but decide against it when you catch that dark, daring gleam in his eyes.

“You’re an asshol—,” you mutter, cutting yourself off before a moan slips as the cloth scrubs against your skin.

Chris smirks, features unamused as if he’s used to this sort of reaction. How many other women has he washed in here after a particularly rigorous night?

The question fosters a flame of envy, and sears through the flesh of your heart.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. You try to ignore the way he dips between the valley of your chest, then circles under to rub and squeeze the soap around your breasts. Your body betrays you again, however, back arching into his touch.

Chris furrows his brows. “I fucked you senseless and you expect me not to take care of you?”

You blink, baffled by not only his tone, but his words. Your cheeks burn at the realisation that he did indeed thrust every last one of your senses out of you. What’s more peculiar is that, even after all that, he didn’t kill you. He didn’t cram you into a cab and send you on your way, high on your orgasm and unable to fight back.

“I lied to you,” you dryly chuckle. “I told you I was commissioned.”

His smirk widens, hinting that he might still believe that after what just happened in his office and bedroom.

You roll your eyes. “I- You’re a Stray Kid,” you try again. “Isn’t killing what you do?”

Chris scrubs down your shoulders and back, then your arm, lifting it up as he replies, “Yes.”

A shaky breath escapes you as he drags the soapy cloth across the pit of your arm.

“You saved my life,” he adds, moving onto your other arm. “I had a rat in my gang and you helped identify it.”

Your spine stiffens.

His gang?

Chris flashes you a cautious look under his brows, tonguing his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “You’re the leader of Stray Kids?”

Chris nods, submerging the cloth under the warm bath water to drag it along your thighs.

Does he want to have sex again? Is that why he’s keeping you alive? You don’t really mind, you just need to know because his hands are dangerously close to the apex of your thighs and he is telling you information you do not need to know and, in fact, have no right to know. It’s the kind of information that can possibly remove the bounty on your head.

“You once told me information you didn’t need to,” Chris explains as he gently cleans the previous mess he made between your legs.

Curling in your lips, you suppress a moan.

“You didn’t need to tell me your name, but you did. So I’m telling you something I don’t need to as an act of good faith.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I tend to get religious on top of the right woman.”

You press your legs together, squishing his hand.

He laughs, scorching your chest and cheeks with embarrassment.

You push his hand away from your core with an annoyed huff. You don’t have time for this. Though you are not in pain, your body is still exhausted. You just want to get back in his comfortable sheets and finally sleep this enough night off, if not go to your own bed.

“Do you want to go again?” you suddenly ask. “Is that what all this is about?”

Chris quirks a brow. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

A submissive, desperate part of you whines at his belittling tone and implication. If you wanted to, you most definitely could endure another round. However, you catch its outrage before it can make itself known beyond the knotting of your brows.

“So what then?” you ask.

Chis wrings out the cloth and tosses it aside. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone. You saved my life. I’m going to save yours,” he states matter-a-factly. “You are now under Stray Kids protection. You will have round-the-clock surveillance and train to learn to defend yourself properly against threats should your security fail.”

You blink.

Protection?

You remember thinking of Chris as your protector when he was touching you, but even then, riddled with lust, you knew it was only a fantasy. You are not worthy of protection. You are barely worthy of friendship. You almost lost Vinny. How can he really think you are worth saving?

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Right,” he nods, tone descending in depth as his gaze sharpens. “Because I will be protecting you against the bounty.”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“It’s my life.”

Chris casts you a look of sarcastic confusion. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re eager to end it,” he practically sneers.

You tuck your chin into your chest, averting his stern glare. “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into,” you mutter as a means of warning.

I’m damaged. I’m broken. I am not a life saver.

“A life for a life— That is the rule of the city,” Chris reaffirms. “You saved mine. I am saving yours.”

You fall silent. Keeping your attention locked on the black, marble floors, you let him wash all the soap off. You are not going to argue with the leader of Stray Kids, not tonight anyway, not as exhaustion is slowly claiming you, one limb at a time. 

Fuck it— If he wants to fulfill this delusional debt of his then that is his problem. You warned him. You tried to fight this. When he eventually realises that you are more trouble than you are worth, you will gladly laugh and tell him you told him so.

“My bed or the spare’s?” he suddenly asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed or the one in the spare bedroom?”

“Um,” you start as Chris grabs a towel. “Am I allowed to go home?”

“Of course,” he nods, “ I can get Seungmin and Felix to take you.”

You wonder which one is Felix before tentatively meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to sleep in your bed?”

Chris suppresses a little smile with a bite of his lip. His eyes do not gleam with their causal mischief or amusement, rather a hint of adoration— if you squint. “I would sleep better if you did,” he confesses, voice dropping an octave.

And so you find yourself in one of his shirts, the fabric barely brushing over the full curve of your rear, under layers of soft, silk sheets. Behind you, Chris wraps a strong arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart against your back, feel how it echoes the race of your own.

You want him, want this so badly you can feel the aching desire deep within your bones. But the fear of shattering his world, of absorbing him and everything that matters to him into your vortex of ruin, shackles you in place.The red lights of Crimson Heights illuminate the room. As you watch the city, his steady breath fans against the nape of your neck. Mind exhausted, body slowly aching, you allow yourself to lean into him just this once and shut your eyes.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[aryana-thefairy]

Astrology observations part-3 🦋

🦋Libra Sun have the best complexion and usually clear skin. The sun radiates from within. They act silly to confuse people but they are wise. I have never seen an unattractive Libra sun. There is something about them that makes them so pretty. Everyone’s crush.

🦋Venus in 11H has to do with glamour. They have classy rich social circles. Tend to have more friends from the opposite sex. The friends have a big impact on them. A desire for rich successful high profile life. Also, tend to be a hoarder. They are loved by all.

🦋I love how opinionated Aries women are. They tend to be feminists or environmentalists. They scare the hell out of men. It's their way or high way. Why do so many aries women have water sign children, it's cute.

🦋People with Saturn with 0-degree placement were independent from a young age. Since the time they were born, they were already done with everyone’s shit. Might not have the easiest childhood. Also, tend to be emotionally closed off as adults. But my god their sense of humour is dark, with the right crowd, they truly shine.

🦋Lilith in 1H or Lilith conjunct ascendant, so what is it like being accused all the time? Women accuse you of stealing their boyfriends and men accuse of you flirting even when you are not.

🦋Lilith in 12H, I already mention this placement in previous observations. Let's look at the positive side. Your sensual energy might not be too upfront. But people can’t forget about you. You haunt their subconscious mind. So there is a tendency for others to get obsessed with you. Your ex-lovers or friends can never get over you. It's impossible.

🦋The wit of Gemini mercury is so hot. Their memory is too good. An intellectual.

🦋Virgo mars are so logical and strategic with their actions. I would go to them for any kind of advice. They are the master planners. Ready for anything.

🦋Scorpio midheaven, they are people’s guilty pleasure. People hate them because they can not be them. At the same time they are appealing to others, everyone has eyes on them.

🦋Neptune in 1H have trail of copycats. It is what it is.

🦋I feel Sagittarius's placement have too many love interest. Best bodies. Amazing butt. Especially Sagittarius rising are some of the prettiest people I have ever seen.

🦋Venus in 2H tends to marry rich. They can become famous too.

🦋Sun in 1H or Sun conjunct ascendant are warm, charismatic, and regal. They appear radiant and have glowing complexions. Prominent foreheads. I don’t think this placement has any cons. Definitely makes life easy. Can be self-centred. Divine wisdom. Powerful leaders. 

🦋Aquaruis rising look exotic or unique. They often appear eccentric and would constantly say they are weird. Gives off maniac pixie girl or guy vibes.

🦋Cancer Mercury / Taurus Mercury are great listeners. They are the true best friends. Empathetic. Provide words of comfort to others. I think it takes great emotional intelligence to be understanding and empathetic. Cancer mercury is unbeatable in that aspect.

🦋Capricorn suns are frank and straight to the point. They are the least problematic people of all. If you have beef with them, it's mostly one-sided because they are focused on building their empire. They take no shit from others and might appear cold. They are real sweethearts. Capricorn sun/moon / rising are often the eldest children in the family.

Disclaimer: Take what resonates with you. Personal observations are biased.

[rynwritesreid]

Okay, I'm obsessed with the Idea of a bisexual sunshine reader that is with Spencer but she meets Emily for the first time and Spencer expects her to be like 😆😁😌but instead she's like 🫣🫢😳 because Emily IS SO HOT and when they're alone Spencer goes like ''So you fond Emily attractive '' and she's like ''.. What ?..Wait, no.. Never..... yes''

A/N: I don’t know how, but you seem to be in my mind/drafts. I was already planning on writing a fic like this. I am planning on making my fic the part two to this, well as long as people enjoy this one. ;)

Summary: Basically what anon asked, but a little twist towards the end.

Content: fem!reader. Sunshine&bisexual reader. Fluff. No smut but 18+ only. Very little warnings for this. Definitely some implications towards the end.

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

You and Spencer had been in a relationship for the past few months, and for Spencer it had been absolute bliss. You were basically everything Spencer wasn’t. You were always happy; you somehow always had a huge smile plastered on your face. You always seemed to make friends with everybody, and he had never witnessed you have an awkward interaction with anybody.

And maybe because of Spencer’s new and improved attitude at work, or how he didn’t always ramble on about recent statistics, or maybe it was because Spencer worked with FBI trained profilers, that they were able to deduce that he was in a relationship.

“So, Spencer, when are we going to meet her.” Emily smiled, knowing she had caught him off guard. Spencer's eyes widened slightly, his mind racing to come up with an excuse.

"Don't even try to deny it, Spencer. We all know there's someone special in your life," JJ interjected, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Spencer cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

"Well, um, we're still in the early stages, and I just want to make sure everything is... right before introducing her to all of you," he stammered, hoping they would buy his vague explanation.

But Emily wasn't buying it. She exchanged a knowing glance with JJ before turning back to Spencer with a sly smile. "Oh, come on, Spencer. We won't bite... much," she teased, causing Penelope to giggle from her spot at her computer.

Spencer felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he realized there was no way out of this conversation. Taking a deep breath, he finally relented. “Okay, okay. I’ll see if she if free this weekend. And she’s amazing, you guys will love her.”

*

“So, you’re ready to meet my friends?” Spencer was nervous as he glanced over at you, waiting for your response. You smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

"Of course, Spencer. I'd love to meet your friends," you replied, your eyes filled with genuine excitement. Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him at your easy acceptance.

*

As Spencer walked you into the bar where his friends were waiting, he couldn’t help but feel happy. He already knew how this was going to go down, you would be your happy smiley self, and everybody would love you. 

As you entered the bar, Spencer's friends immediately noticed the radiant energy you brought with you. Penelope was the first to greet you, her smile just as bright as yours. "Oh, my goodness, you must be the one who finally stole Spencer's heart! I'm Penelope, it's so lovely to meet you!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug.

JJ approached next, a warm smile on her face. "I'm JJ, it's great to finally meet the person who's been putting that smile on Spencer's face," she said, giving you a friendly handshake.

As your eyes finally met Emily, you suddenly became very shy, a side to you that Spencer had only ever seen once, and that’s when you were telling him how much you adored him.

With a slight blush gracing your cheeks, you extended your hand towards Emily, who regarded you with a curious glint in her eye. "Hi, I'm Emily. Spencer talks about you all the time," she said, her tone friendly but carrying a hint of scrutiny.

You seemed to fade back into your shell, something you hadn’t done in a while. Luke and Tara also introduced themselves, but all you could focus on was your boyfriend and Emily.

Spencer was taking notes of how you were reacting, he knew that you had developed a crush on Emily. He wasn’t mad about it; she was an attractive woman, and you had always been open with the fact you were bisexual. He knew you wouldn’t act upon this crush; he knew you loved him.

*

Once you were in Spencer’s apartment, his hand on the small of your back as you seemed a little too drunk to walk properly, “so, you found Emily attractive, huh.” Spencer raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he teased you. Your cheeks flushed crimson, a combination of alcohol and embarrassment colouring your face as you stumbled over your words.

“What?? Wait… No, I would never. Well, I mean she’s just really… pretty.” you mumbled, avoiding Spencer's gaze as you plopped down on the couch. Spencer chuckled softly, taking a seat beside you, and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"You know, it's okay to find other people attractive," Spencer reassured you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. You leaned into his touch, feeling the comfort of his presence wash over you. 

Maybe it was the Dutch courage taking over you, “all night Spencer, all I could think about was you and her,” you paused for a brief second a small giggle coming out your mouth “doing whatever you both wanted to do, to me.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer to you, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Is that so? You know, fantasies can become reality if you're brave enough to make them come true," he murmured, his words laced with promise.

Part two

~join my taglist~

I haven’t included a taglist for this specific fic, because I hadn’t put this on my google form. But if you’d like a part two/and to be added on a taglist for the next part please let me know:)

[ethernights]

Arthur Morgan Headcanons :3

he’s a killer no he’s my little pookie bear (gn! reader)

I feel like he’s super domestic - that one of his favourite things in the world is just to be at camp with you

Not even doing anything particular he just loves being around you while being safe and comfortable in camp

He most definitely loves cuddles in the mornings. He roles over in the morning and takes in your sleeping form, slowly and tentatively he wraps his arms around you and holds you close to him planting soft little kisses and with his large hands tracing the lines of your back.

“Mornin’ sweetheart” he says as you stir with that handsome goofy smile he never does as often as you’d like.

You plant a soft, lazy kiss on his lips “Morning handsome”. He opens his mouth to object but you shush him and settle down into his arms.

“I don’t want to get up” you mumble into his chest. He lets out a hearty chuckle, “do ya�� want Miss Grimshaw to beat you up?”

You laugh too, “No, but i want to just say here a little longer”

“Me too love. Just a little while longer ok?”

He’s so gentle towards you, not because he thinks you’re fragile but because he’s so afraid of hurting not just you but everyone he cares about.

Is always sketching you, wether you’re looking or not. Even before you got together, he’d have just pages dedicated to you (not in the creepy way) doing the hundreds of different things you do each day.

Pretty sketches of you picking flowers with Jack, with said flowers in your hair, chopping vegetables with Pearson, carrying in kindling from the forest and cutting wood. Anything really - it’s the only drawings that he really loves to look back on, especially when he’s away from camp and missing you.

With your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you wipe the thin sheen of sweat from your forehead after chopping up some wood for camp - you spot Arthur sitting on his bed, nose in his journal sketching away. When his looks up, his pretty blue eyes meet yours- he adverts his gaze and shoves his nose back into his journal with a blush spreading over his cheeks and nose.

When he sees you walking over to him, he (not very discreetly) closes his journal and places it beside him as you sit next to him.

“What you drawing cowboy?” you smile, noticing the redness of his cheeks.

“I uh, jus’ pretty things i seen” he says avoiding your gaze.

“Can i see?” you ask as he looks a little hesitant.

“I guess-“ He says opening up his journal to his recent page.

You read your name scribbled atop of the page in his pretty cursive writing, however the charcoal drawing of you drawing the axe down into the wood makes you blush a little. The other sketches of your face and side profile make you smile - you admire the scratches of the charcoal against the page, how he captures the high points and the low points of your face.

“These are beautiful Arthur” You say, amazed with his talent.

Instinctively he goes to say some self-depreciating comment, not used to accepting praise but he sees your wide eyes and large smile. “Thank you sweetheart”

He also really likes riding with you on the same horse, in-front or behind him he doesn’t care. He loves the way you wrap your arms around him and hold onto his gun belt. Or way that you lean back into his chest while he has one hand on the reins and the other resting atop your thigh or his arm wrapped around your stomach.

Overall i think he loves physical affection - giving and receiving, it’s definitely his love language. Just holding you and admiring you is his personal definition of heaven. PDA is definitely not his thing though, he much prefers the privacy of his tent or the quietness and peace of the wilderness even if it doesn’t last long while the two of you are there.

[luveline]

oooooo how about reader obsessed with hugging hotch !! like he's so big and warm and it always makes them feel safe and cared for <33

my love this isn’t exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it! I could write a hundred fics about hugging Hotch <3 fem!bau!reader

You’re addicted to Hotch’s hugs. It’s a crude metaphor, but you don’t use it lightly. Without his hugs you feel unbalanced and unsettled. It’s strange to think just a few months ago you hadn’t been able to hug him at all, though you’d sorely wanted to, and now you can do it whenever you like.

Within reason. You aren’t awful, you don’t try to pin them on him during work when he’ll be seen by high-ups and law enforcement — you would never undermine his professionalism like that, or your own. Though there are exceptions.

Like lunch time. 

The team usually eat and work at the same time, but legally you’re allowed an hour a day for lunch, and Hotch wouldn’t get mad at anyone for wanting to take it in a more relaxing fashion. That being said, you usually have lunch like this; takeout around the same table, notebooks open, Reid barely picking at his, Morgan and Emily too busy eating to speak, JJ taking ten minutes for herself somewhere quiet, and Hotch hard-pushed to order anything in the first place. You sit way too close on his left and cut your sandwich in two with a plastic knife. 

“Here you go,” you murmur, more to yourself than him as you pass over the bigger half. 

“Honey,” he says, “no.”

“It’s okay, just eat it,” you insist. 

You sound as fond as you feel, you always do. Everybody’s used to how much you like Hotch. Not just love him or care about him, like him. You like how he’s quiet and stern and assertive. You like his suits and his short-cropped hair and his frown. Everything about him makes you smile, which is amazing considering the severity of your job. Nobody resents your being sweet on him, though Morgan still makes his jokes. 

“Do as the lady says, boss,” he advises. “We all know how it ends otherwise.”

Hotch frowns at him but takes your offered sandwich. You eat in silence, listening to the click of the computers in the bullpen through the open door, the warbling voice of the precincts police chief, and the rattle of keys as a janitor makes his way past the conference room you’re holed up in. Reid flicks through a map of the area, trying to narrow down his geographical profile, his pencil tap-tap-tapping. 

You pass a big wad of napkins onto Hotch’s thigh, and put what’s left of your sandwich back into its wrapper. He squints at you inquisitively. You’re only standing to stretch out the nagging ache that’s coiled between your shoulders and around your neck. You click, the sound like a gunshot, and make everybody in hearing distance flinch. 

Hotch abandons his food not long after you have, seeing an opening you hadn’t meant to give. He wipes his hands on a napkin, then his face. 

While he’s not looking, you take a step closer. Another and another. Morgan grins at you knowingly. 

You slide your arm behind Hotch’s neck, standing slightly behind him, and bring your face to the side of his head. He wraps an arm around you in turn, movement rigid with reluctance. 

“It’s my legal lunch break,” you say softly. “What do you always say about breaks?”

“You can spend it however you want,” he says, sounding very much like the Hotch you get to adore outside of work, joking and light, a great surprise. “But I can spend mine however I want.”

“And you don’t want to be hugging me?” you summarise. 

You’re joking in that you kind of know he doesn’t want this, not because he doesn’t want you. He’s rather shy, your Hotch. He loves hugs, but in front of others he requires a little persuasion. If you thought he truly didn’t want one you’d keep your hands to yourself, but…

“That’s not what I said.”

Pleased, you curl your second arm around his collar, hand diving into the soft hair at the back of his head. You pull with the lightest pressure, pressing a secret, soundless kiss to the end of his unhappy brow. And then, because you love him and you don’t want to embarrass him too much, you spring away from him like it never happened. 

Later, when dark has enveloped the city and you’re making your way out to the SUV that’s gonna take you to the hotel for the night, you fall into step with your lovely boyfriend and sigh. You’ve felt the guilt of your hug all day. 

“Thank you,” you say.

It takes him a second to emerge from his thoughts. “For what?”

He doesn’t add a pet name, but his tone implies one. 

“For letting me, uh, climb all over you at lunch. I know public displays aren’t your favourite.”

He tilts his head toward yours without looking at you. “It makes you feel better.”

He doesn’t need to say the obvious. You both work a hard job emotionally. 

“I don’t want to make you feel worse,” you say, voice sticky with bashfulness. 

He laughs, tipping his head back in the open air, and it’s odd enough for him that you gawp, worse when he wraps his hand around yours and swings them mildly forth and back. 

“In what world would a hug from you make me feel worse, honey?”

You smile in fits and starts for hours. In the SUV, in the hotel elevator, in the hallway outside of your room. You smile as you and Hotch get changed into lounge clothes for the night, and as he twines your fingers together under the sheets. 

He’s far from stupid. He knows why you’re smiling, and while his mind is on the case, he takes the time to say, “You don’t have to be so quick to move away. In front of the BAU.”

“Think we could get away with it in front of Strauss?”

“…No.”

You laugh, and Hotch evidently likes the sound of it. He lets you hug him like a straight jacket until 5AM.

[bchan95]

Shock and Awe (Bang Chan x Y/N)

Based on this performance video I saw on Twitter bc... yeah. Slightly suggestive... but nothing too wild.

You watched with wide eyes, gazing at the gruff performance that he was giving on the stage. Every movement was messy, but he looked so self-assured. His normally warm facial expressions peeled from his face, ripping that beautiful smile away and leaving in its place, a firm brow and an angry, open mouth.

It had been a long time since you had seen him this fired up during a performance. He was so in his element that he’d probably need to take a few minutes after the performance to breathe and remember exactly where he was. You tried to meet his eyes, but you knew every attempt would fail as he was too into the moment.

You kept that smile on your face as you watched him tear up the stage for the rest of the song. His fans screamed and cried out as they watched the whole group jump up and down singing their hearts out. But your gaze never left him.

The way his dark eyes filled with passion, the way his skin shone with sweat dripping down it under the heavy lights… it was amazing that he was still standing at this point. You were drenched sitting in this hot room and you haven’t made a move in an hour.

As the final moments of the stage disappeared, you watched as Chan took his place in the back of the formation, panting heavily as he held up his signature pose, stoic for a moment. Within seconds that smile spread across his face again and he ran off stage as if your heart hadn’t been beating at two-times speed watching him.

You shook your head, tearing your gaze from the stage to look down at your water glass and take a sip as you gained your bearings. You knew you’d have to leave as soon as you came, with the kids jet-setting to another schedule before the show even ended. You gave them a breather of around 15 minutes before one of your staffers came over and tapped you on the shoulder.

You knew the routine. Keep yours and Chan’s profile low as long as you can to not rile up the fans until you can’t anymore. Every sneaky car ride, private plane, and scheduled driver was worth ending up in his arms though. So, you grabbed the bottom of your dress, gripping it above your shoes and making a hasty exit without another word.

You stopped by your dressing room to take off the floor-length dress and slip into something more comfortable, pulling your hair up into a ponytail in an attempt to cool yourself down.

As you slipped into the sleek black car, you took a deep breath, letting the air conditioning kiss your face as you leaned back into your seat. A soft cough caused you to re-open your eyes in a panic. You turned to your left and were met by that bright white grin again. You roll your eyes as you feel his hand grab yours.

“You’re insane Christopher,” you start with a soft giggle leaving your lips. “Anyone could have seen you.”

He lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. Your nerves slightly left as that knowing smirk pulled the right side of his mouth.

“That’s part of the fun,” he said, a husky tone overtaking his voice. Proving that he most definitely strained his vocal cords with the intensity that he brought to today’s performance. “Plus, these windows are tinted anyway…”

He continued to press kisses up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their path, until he reached your neck. His plush lips met the base of your neck with two open-mouth, wet kisses. Your hand pressed forward, pushing his chest back.

“Do not… get any ideas,” You laugh loudly at your boyfriend’s eagerness. The driver was very clearly still in the front of the car. There was no way you were letting this move any more forward than it already has. “You’re already testing your limits Bang.”

He seemed to ignore your hesitation, pulling himself back into you and bringing softer kisses back to the top of your neck near your ear. He wasn’t going to make this easy. You could hear his smile form again as he leaned in even more to whisper in your ear.

“You know… I could see you watching me tonight…” He started, giggling to himself before continuing that thought. “I feel like you want this even more than me.”

Your blush poured across your cheeks. Thank god for the darkness of your surroundings right now because you would have definitely given yourself away. He’s not wrong. From the moment you saw that homemade jagged hem of his makeshift crop top as the lights brought him into focus, you knew you were screwed. It was only made worse by the almost barbaric energy that he brought to his movement.

But you were a woman of your word. You told him from the beginning of your relationship that you weren’t comfortable with PDA in public. Not yet at least. Even if the "public" spaces were made as private as they could be. You saw boy group members torn to shreds for being seen with a woman before. Campaigns lead against them forcing them to leave the only career they’ve ever known.

You knew your fans would be disgruntled too, but you were far more concerned about Chan. You knew how much he’d always wanted this. All of that training, all of those late nights in the studio… he’s put in too much to have it all taken away for a kiss. A hand-holding scandal. A public relationship.

You sighed quietly to remind yourself of the gravity of your current situation before pushing him away again. You turned yourself toward him and softly touched his cheek with a soft smile. He watched you with wide eyes as your thumb swept left and right. You leaned forward and pressed a short kiss to his lips.

“You’re not wrong, but you need to be careful,” you pressed another peck. “I care about you too much to let my lustful want for you cloud my judgment.”

He let out a sigh and reached out for your hips “I’d give it all up for you.”

You rolled your eyes “You better not.”

He raised his eyebrow in a challenging fashion. His face leaned into yours and the force of his neck kiss pushed you back up against the car door. Your eyes widened as you watched his pupils dilate as he rose up above you.

“Don’t… say that again.”

You nod silently, your hand reaching out to him again. You felt his breathing calm and you lifted yourself up to kiss him.

“You know what I meant baby,” you said before chewing on your bottom lip. “I want you… you know that. Just not here. I promise.”

He nodded, falling back into his seat. You smiled to yourself, thinking about your boyfriend’s intense reaction to a simple denial of a kiss. The smile widens as you hear him huff again.

You look over at him and although he may be looking out the window and keeping his distance, you look down to see his hand in yours. His thumb rubbing circles on the side of your palm as you drive. His compromise it seems as you push forward into the night sky.

[juanarc-thethird]

Jaune OF #2

Beacon Academy is in chaos, a manhunt is going on. Most of the female students, and some males, are looking for a sexy man. Target: Jaune Arc. They want him dead or alive, I mean just alive, they need him alive. No one is going to die today… I hope.

Girl 1: Have you seen him?!

Girl 2: He is not in the cafeteria!

Girl 1: Where are you SexyKinght?!!

People search every floor, every room, even every closet. No place is safe for Jaune Arc, but for some reason... they can't find him. Is this the work of an incredible mind that knows how to stay in the shadows or maybe knows how to keep a low profile to fool everyone in their face? Only Oum knows what kind of person they are dealing with.

Girl 1: Wait a minute?

The girl sees a person with blond hair. This makes her suspicious and she decides to investigate who she is.

Girl 1: Hey, wait!

The girl approaches the blond young man. She grabs his shoulder and flips him over in a snap.

Girl 1: Got you! Wait, you're not my SexyKnight.

In front of her was a person who looks like Jaune. The only difference is that he has a big and majestic mustache. His mustache is so beautiful that the girl can't stop looking at it.

Felipe: Hola, my name is Felipe.

Girl 1: Felipe?

Felipe: Si, I am an exchange student.

Girl 1: Exchange student?

Felipe: Yes, I'm here for an academic program.

Out of nowhere an orange haired girl appears with the same beautiful but dazzling mustache.

Gloria: And I am his compañera, Gloria!

Girl 1: Ooookey…. Have you seen this handsome daddy?

She pulls a picture out of her pocket of Jaune choking on a sandwich.

Gloria: Hahaha! They used a good angle for y- Agh!!

Felipe hits Gloria with his elbow right in the ribs and then responds to the girl.

Felipe: No, I have never seen that man in my life. Nunca e visto a ese hombre en mi vida. He looks boring.

She then looks at Gloria.

Gloria: Yo tampoco! (Me neither!)

The girl is confused by Gloria's response in Spanish.

Girl 1: I-I see...

She then puts her precious photo of Jaune in her pocket and takes out a piece of paper and a pen. She writes something on the paper and gives it to Felipe.

Girl 1: If you see him, please call me or send me a message with his location.

The girl leaves with her friend, leaving Felipe and Gloria alone. Felipe throws the piece of paper to the ground and they relax. He takes a deep breath and crouches down as he supports himself on his knees.

Felipe (Jaune): Oh my goodness. I thought they already found us.

In Gloria's case, she is still happy and touching her mustache.

Gloria (Nora): I'm more surprised that these mustaches fooled them. How did you come up with such an amazing idea?

Felipe (Jaune): I'm more worried about the future hunters and huntresses of this academy after we tricked them so easily. I mean, how can they be so clueless?

After a little rest, he gets up.

Felipe (Jaune): Ok, we should focus. There we have to keep moving and we have to get to the Bullhead port without being discovered. Once out of the academy, we can be quiet and you can start a rumor that SexyKnight is someone else.

She stands at attention and salutes him.

Gloria (Nora): Of course my beautiful leader. I will follow him until the end of time.

Felipe (Jaune): I'm still a little mad at you.

Nora pouts at his comment.

They walk down the hall until they reach a new corridor. Jaune looks to both sides and sees a group of students on the left side. He waits for the right moment to slip past them. The students start to walk in the opposite direction from them and Jaune uses that opportunity to continue on his way.

Felipe (Jaune): OK let's go.

They walk quietly to the right. Jaune takes a couple of glances back to make sure no one is following them and to check that the students haven't turned around and seen them. Without paying attention to where he is walking, Jaune bumps into a door that just opened in front of him.

Felipe (Jaune): Agh!

Gloria (Nora): Jefe!!

On the other side of the door a rabbit girl looks out to see what happened and realizes that she hit someone with the door by accident.

Velvet: Oh my gosh!!

She kneels to check if her classmate was hurt.

Velvet: Are you okay? Did you get hurt?

Felipe (Jaune): (Oh Shit! is Velvet! Play it cool Jaune, play it cool!)

He takes a deep breath and gets into character.

Felipe (Jaune): Estoy bien. I'm fine.

Velvet doesn't answer but stares at him as if she's trying to solve a puzzle. He notices this and is concerned.

Felipe (Jaune): I have something on my face? (Does she know who I am?)

Those words make Velvet react and she blushes from how embarrassed she is for staring at him.

Velvet: I'm so sorry, you look like the guy I'm looking for. Have you seen a tall boy who is blonde named Jaune? You may have seen him in one of your classes.

Felipe (Jaune): Sorry, I don't know that hombre.

Velvet turns to see the girl next to Jaune.

Velvet: How about you? Have you seen a guy with that description?

Gloria (Nora): Que?

Velvet: I see, thank you very much. Umm…let me help you up.

Velvet shows him her hand, Jaune takes it, and he gets up.

Felipe (Jaune): Gracias

Velvet: You're welcome… Well, I'm leaving. Sorry again for hitting you with the door.

Felipe (Jaune): Don't worry, I hope you find the person you're looking for.

Gloria (Nora): Adios!!

Each of them went their own way. Suddenly velvet feels like she kicked something. She looks at what it was and sees that it is a phone. She reaches down to pick it up.

Velvet: Hey, I think you dropped your phone!

Just as she picks up the phone, the screen lights up, showing an image of Team JNPR. Jaune checks his pockets and realizes that it is his phone. Unaware that Velvet saw the image, he went to retrieve it.

Felipe (Jaune): Muchas gracias, I didn't realize I dropped it.

Jaune holds out his hand to receive his phone.

Velvet: No problem...

She stands up, turns around, and in a single motion she rips off Jaune's fake mustache.

Velvet: ...Jaune.

Jaune immediately covers his mouth and begins to scream in pain.

Jaune: MIERDA, MI BIGOTE! (FUCK, MY MOUSTACHE!) PUTA MADRE! (MOTHERFUCKER!)

Velvet doesn't react to this and looks at him with a blank stare.

Velvet: I know it's you, Jaune.

Jaune continues to scream in pain and looks at Velvet. He sees that she doesn't react the way he wanted and slowly lowers the tone of his scream until he falls silent.

Jaune: Hey, you can't blame me for trying.

Velvet: Let me get to the point, I want to take some pictures of you…

Jaune: That doesn't sound bad.

Velvet:...Naked

Jaune: And there it is. When?

Velvet is surprised at his unusual response.

Velvet: Sorry?

Jaune: You want to take pictures of me, right? When do you want to do it?

Velvet: I… I didn't expect you to accept. I had a whole plan on how to blackmail you in my head. But then you tell me that it's ok?

Jaune: Ok ok ok, look I don't have all day. I don't know if you noticed but I have the whole school looking for me. When do you want to take the photos? Oh, and can I have my phone back, please?

Velvet: Yes of course.

She hands him the phone and he puts it in his pocket.

Velvet: How about today at 5:30pm? In my room.

Jaune: Sounds good. Just let me check with my agent if I'm free at that time. Oh look, speaking of the devil, he's right behind you.

Velvet: You have an agent?

She turns around but no one is there. After a few seconds she realizes she was tricked and looks back to where Jaune was. He was no longer standing in front of her. He was running to the opposite side of her with Nora on her shoulder looking at Velvet's direction. The only thing left were the fake mustaches on the floor. From afar, Nora can be heard screaming.

Nora: So long, sucker!!!

Velvet: You trick me!!!

She pulls out her phone and talks to someone.

Velvet: He is heading to the training area. I repeat, he is heading to the training area!!!

Back with our favorite duo. Jaune is running down the hall while Nora is still on her shoulder.

Nora: So where are we going now? Do we follow the same plan or…?

Jaune: We will continue with the plan. We just need to change our route a bit. Maybe we can use the back door to the training room? Oh the lockers! We can use the lockers to escape! I am a genius!

????: Yes you are~

Jaune: What the fuck?

At that moment, a machine gun is heard and a line of bullets comes out of the wall and blocks their path. That scares them and Jaune drops Nora to the ground. She got up and stood behind him.

Jaune: Holy shit!!

Nora: We are under attack!!

The machine gun stops and from the hole in the wall appears the incomparable Coco Adel. She looks at Jaune and smiles at him.

Coco: Hello Jaune~

Then she turns to see Nora but with a look of disgust.

Coco: Nora.

Nora, still behind Jaune, answers her.

Nora: Rude!

Jaune feels the danger that Coco emits right now, so he decides to do what he knows better than anyone. Fool people with nonsense.

Jaune: Hi Coco, you look amazing today. Are those new sunglasses?

She points her gun at them and approaches them

Coco: Yes they are new. Thank you for noticing it.

Jaune: No problem. Can I help you with something?

Coco: I need you to confirm something for me. Is that you in this photo?

She shows him a picture of a man wearing Pumpkin Pete's Trunks-type underwear, and he's displaying a colossal package.

Jaune: That ain't me.

Coco: Really?~ Wouldn't you mind if I ask you to take off your shirt to see if that's true?

Jaune: (Ok, Jaune, think. It's Coco you're dealing with, so you can't trick her like the others. She's one of the best fighters and she's smart. What should I do?)

As Jaune thinks of a solution, as Coco gets closer and closer to them. Nora puts herself between her and Jaune to protect him.

Nora: Stay back!

Coco: Relax, I just want to know if it's him, ok? Jaune, if you want I can give you a hand? But I must tell you that my hand tends to slip sometimes.

After hearing that last sentence, an idea came to mind. It's a low blow, but it'll work.

Jaune: *Quietly* Nora, play along with me no matter what happens.

He takes a deep breath and suddenly executes his plan.

Jaune: *Gasp* Coco Adele! That is sexual harassment!

Coco: What?! No, it was just a joke!

Nora: *Quietly* Oh, I see what you're doing. You are evil. *To Coco* Sexual harassment is never a joke!

Jaune starts acting like he's really crying.

Jaune: I've always admired you, and now I find out that you do these things?!

Coco is taken out of her comfort zone, and she panics.

Coco: I didn't mean too! It was a joke, I swear!

Jaune: *Looks away* I can't trust you anymore.

Nora: Perverted!

Coco: I am not a pervert!

Jaune: I need some time alone.

Nora turns around and comforts him.

Nora: Everything will be fine Jaune, don't worry. *To Coco* Are you happy now?!

Coco: It wasn't my intention, I'm really sorry.

Nora: Look, just go away.

Coco begins to walk backwards to leave and continues to apologize.

Coco: I'm sorry.

Out of nowhere Velvet appears on the other side, leaving Jaune and Nora in between her and Coco.

Velvet: Do not believe them! They are lying to you! He's not even crying!

Jaune is very upset that Velvet revealed his plan. All that effort wasted. He gets up and turns to see Velvet.

Jaune: God damn it! This is why they bully you!

They all gasp in surprise at that comment.

Nora: Jaune!

Jaune: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got a little angry there. I just want to get out of here, and you girls look at me with lustful eyes. I have every right to be mean to you, at least just for today.

Velvet: Seems fair to me, but that's not the point! You're trapped now, there's nowhere to go!

Velvet and Coco begin to approach them. Nora and Jaune are back to back. Nora looking at Velvet and Jaune looking at Coco.

Nora: *Panic* What will we do now?! We don't have our weapons with us!

Jaune: Relax, just... just let me think, ok?

Coco: Thinking about what Jaune? You guys are in the middle of a hallway, surrounded.

Jaune: *Still thinking* Shut up!

Velvet: Just give in and let me show your body to the world with my photography. We will be the window of new inspiration!

Jaune: *Quietly* Window?

At that moment a light bulb goes on in Jaune's head.

Jaune: Nora, get ready to do "The Wrecking Ball"!

Velvet/Coco: The what?

Nora: But Jaune, I don't have my weapon!

Jaune: *Turns to her* Use me.

Nora: But...

Jaune: I have a lot of Aura, trust me.

Nora: O-Ok...

Nora grabs Jaune by the collar of his shirt and his belt and starts spinning him around without stopping.

Coco: What are they doing?!

Nora: AAAAH!!!

Nora screams as she picks up more speed. The two girls can feel a bit of wind coming off of them. At that moment Velvet realized what they were planning to do.

Velvet: Coco stop them!

But it was too late.

Nora: HYAAAH!!!

She let Jaune go towards the wall. The impact caused debris to fall, leaving Velvet and Coco blinded for a moment. When everything is clear, all they can see is a large hole in the wall, a window to freedom.

Coco: Holy shit! Is he crazy?!

Velvet takes a look outside the hole in the wall and doesn't see Nora or Jaune anywhere.

Velvet: They escaped. We'll have to start the search again.

Coco: I heard them talking something about the lockers. Maybe we should set a trap for them there.

Pyrrha: Good idea!

Velvet/Coco: Huh?

They turn to look behind them and out of nowhere they are knocked out.

Meanwhile:

Jaune and Nora are hiding behind some bushes in the courtyard. Nora checking the coast for enemies, while Jaune recovers with his aura.

Nora: So, are we going to change our plan?

Jaune: Let me rest first and then we'll see. Most likely, yes. But give me about 15 minutes, okay?

Nora: Ok

Jaune: Thank you.

He says as he closes his eyes to rest. While they try to take a breath. A new group has them in their sights.

May: *Using heat vision binoculars* I see someone hiding in the bushes.

Neon: It must be Jaune. Ready girls?

Reese/Arslan: Ready.

Neon: Let's move.

[lehguru]

RUGBY + GENSHIN IMPACT MEN

how i think genshin men would be like if they were rugby players ft. alhaitham, itto, diluc, wriothesley

info: this is mostly superficial (i won't be talking about positions and things like that), im way too passionate abt this it's basically a non-stop ramble, will do deeper dives into all the regions + more characters later; mentions of physical injuries and things like that – not proofread as always!! (maybe romantic hcs coming later too??)

alhaitham is the brain behind it all. rugby might be a sport that is, for the most part, physical and the biggest men win, but alhaitham makes the impossible, possible. the amount of try's this man have on his career is unmatchable; somehow, he always knows how to bring his team to the try zone and score them those sweet five points. his turquoise eyes are sharp and his quick reactions are even sharper, he can see the best plays in a fraction of a second. even if he isn't one of the biggest in the leg department, he definitely have stronger shoulders and arms than a normal player, giving his tall build a really triangular shape (his shoulders make his tackles a lot more amazing too). not the type to brag or boast about his accomplishments, a low-profile man that usually just appears in the team's official social medias or during matches.

arataki itto is one of the most unique players in the rugby world. he possesses such talent for the sport, he would be quickly recognized as one of the best of his generation – and granted the title of 'oni' ('beefcake' for people closer to him). the only problem was, he often got himself some yellow cards and even red cards; the reasons ranged from foul play to straight up almost starting fights with his opponents or even the referee themselves. whenever he had to wait for the decisions on his yellow cards, he would sit on the side with the biggest and cutest pout on his face. if he is in game, he's a absolute behemoth of a player; his tackles are simply the strongest you could ever get hit by – and there's no 'if' he will tackle you, he will tackle you –, teams often have to make a strategy to hold him down for as long as they can. his muscles are well proportional all over his body, what do i mean by that? as a big man, he have bigger muscles everywhere (every week a new picture of his glutes go viral). not the brightest man on the field, but he is okay with just being the one holding back any attackers or being a battering ram for his team. hates having to kick the ball more than anything, rather have one of his teeth broken (again).

diluc is a exemplary leader. he might not be like alhaitham and have strategies for everything and anything, but diluc brings more physical prowess into the game. he's often seen starting plays by himself, but he doesn't mind to help other people on his team when they have the ball. he might be physically strong, but his forte is his mind; after a lot of work, he managed to be able to stay calm even in the worst situations – one of his craziest games was when he managed to turn a 34-3 difference into a win. in the beginning of his career, his long hair used to get into his way – even in a ponytail –, so he started to braid it and it became part of his image. somehow, he never got a single yellow or red card on his career and the amount of offenses he commited are abnormally low too. he have a strong neck and torso, but he's overall very muscular and he have a healthy layer of fat (yes. im saying he have a little tummy). everyone, from his teammates to opponents, compliment his behavior and actions; even if he needs to tackle and stop people, he is still very polite and he always make sure to help them to get up and make sure they are okay if someone needs to b tended by a medic.

wriothesley is a lot like itto in the physical sense. he's shorter than itto, but he is equally muscular. he have veiny hands and arms; if he didn't play often, his body would be hairy, but he shaves his legs and arms every time he have a match (he trimms his chest hair and his lower abdomen hair too). he have all the characteristics to be the leader of his team, but he settles for being a battering ram so the other less strong players can shine too. he is able to hold two to three men on his own, often being able to run even if they try to bring him down or hold him. wrio is the type of guy whose weaknesses are almost non-existent, but he never brags about being a good player; he said more than once: "'m just doing what I'm supposed to. i don't know how i manage to be good at it too". out of everyone in this list, he's probably the one that got more injuries during his career. his knees are never fully okay, but he somehow still manages to be at his top form all the time. he is often seen with elbow and knee protections even off-games. (don't try to tell him to rest, he won’t listen and just brush it off with a teasing comment and a smirk)

2023 © content belongs to lehguru, but the characters used in them belong to their respective creators!!

[brian-in-finance]

Inside A Hundredweight of Stones • Part 2

🧵 Outlander Starz: The incredible performances this episode absolutely tore my guts out.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate David Berry, who shows us a raw, heartbreaking, and visceral side of Lord John we've never seen before? Episode 711 is a massive emotional journey for John as much as it is for Claire.

Navigating that relationship with Claire is hugely complicated and hugely difficult. I think what we learn about John through that is not only his generosity but also his skill.

We understand how he's survived. That world is so political. You see him being able to bring those skills into a personal setting.

It's been such a privilege to work with David... David as an actor is really brave and absolutely up for pushing himself and his character as far as possible. — LISA CLARKE, DIRECTOR

I think this is probably one of the most challenging episodes I’ve ever filmed…

David was amazing. We talked about it quite a lot. In many ways, it sort of mirrored Lord John Grey. He was much more brave about stepping into the unknown and finding a way through it. — CAITRÍONA BALFE, CLAIRE FRASER

🧵 Outlander Starz: And of course, we have to give it up for Caitríona Balfe, whose performance took my heart and smashed it into a million pieces.

I've always admired Caitríona's work. To know that these storylines were coming up and to get that chance to work with her again on some material that, I think, really challenged both us and everyone, was something that I was really looking forward to. I never felt that there was anyone else that I would rather do that with because I knew that Caitríona was going to be committed, courageous, and bold with the material.

To be led by her in those scenes, to be supporting her in those scenes... her generosity was amazing. — DAVID BERRY, LORD JOHN GREY

🧵 Outlander Starz: Fun fact: SOMEONE was smiling during that wedding... just not who (or what) you think. The scene called for vows said to-camera.

Said David Berry, "I found that quite difficult. I just didn't feel it. I asked for another take, got a piece of tape, drew a little smiley face on it, stuck it next to the camera, and that's what l was giving my vows to. So Lord John is actually wed to a little piece of tape on the side of a camera and not Claire."

🧵Outlander Starz: The mood at Lord John's party may have been somber but Claire's dress was absolutely dazzling. Costume Designer Trisha Biggar called it one of the most complicated, time consuming pieces created in her time on Outlander.

The dress was crafted almost entirely by hand out of teal lace, built in a couture fashion with lace applied on lace (no seams), then covered with over a thousand tiny crystal stones. The stomacher was partly vintage, embellished with pearls, gold thread, and beads.

🧵 Outlander_Starz: And what about Claire's party hair? According to Hair and Makeup Designer Ann McEwan, ladies of the time would use cages in their hair or wigs to add height, which we see on Claire here.

The women of 1700s Philadelphia actually would have had *bigger* more audacious hair than depicted on Outlander but a slightly lower profile helps ensure vision lines on-screen.

Inside A Hundredweight of Stones • Part 2 of 3

Threads 🧵

Remember… this episode is a massive emotional journey for John as much as it is for Claire.

[changingplumbob]

I've seen several great responses to this but am going to do my best to go over the points I think are important.

Follow people. This may be obvious but you can't join the community if you don't find the community. There are many different simblrs around, you're bound to find ones you enjoy. You'll be inspired by their work and likely find other people to follow through what they reblog.

Interact. I too fall in the trap of simply liking posts when I'm tired but giving someone a reblog or a comment can make their day (it makes mine). Sometimes you'll find simblrs that don't appreciate conversation but they are few and far between, most of us love talking about our characters and creations.

If your story isn't sparking joy for you, it's okay to abandon it, or put it to the side. It's also fine to play around with your editing or writing. Your posts are allowed to evolve, likewise they're allowed to stay the same. If you have a process that works for you and you love, it's fine to stick with it.

Participate, it's a great way to met people. See who is doing bachelor/bachelorette challenges and make a sim to join the fun. Check out some CAS challenges, build challenges or legacy challenges. The creators love to see others participate.

Cite your sources when it makes sense. We are not going to judge you as a lesser simmer because you got that amazing house off the gallery or you got your beautiful sim from a sims dump. Give credit to the creators and have fun! Also DON'T use the cc tags if you don't link to actual cc because it drives people who have very little time to browse up the wall.

Be kind. It's easy to think fast and type stuff you really shouldn't. Remember that behind each profile is a person. Have adult discussions when there is a problem rather than just terrorizing the anon ask boxes. The block button is there for a reason.

Protect your mental health. If you have subjects that trigger you consider putting them in blocked tags. You can still choose to view the post if you wish but you'll have a heads up about the subject matter. If you followed someone that you are not enjoying anymore, you can unfollow them. I've had people unfollow me and my world hasn't ended.

Look out for others. Is that an okay font for low vision readers? Is the text on your pictures legible rather than simply in style? Do you have a transcript of character conversations somewhere if it isn't? Most importantly please tag your triggers! Some of us can handle when death or miscarriages come out of nowhere and for some of us it is upsetting to see it on the dash with no warning and can ruin our day. Consider also adding tags for other topics such as addiction, abuse or violence. Your story doesn't become "less cool" just because you think of others before posting, I promise.

Finally, be yourself. Don't try to imitate the works of blogs with larger followings just because it appears trendy. By all means grow your skills but post what you want to post, things that you've enjoyed creating. Remember it will likely take time for you to find your people on here, but there really is something for everyone on simblr.