#I promise I'm trying to get back into it but it's just hard when I fall off for months at a time

[eufezco]

A PLACE FOR YELENA 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

bucky x pregnant!fem!reader

synopsis — after disappearing for weeks, consumed by her own darkness, yelena shows up in your house unexpectedly and decides to reach out to you and bucky, her best friends, just to find out that you're pregnant and you wanted her in your baby's life.

fluff. angst

marvel masterlist

you wiped your hands on a towel, the sweet scent of the coffee and cocoa still on your fingers. the kitchen smelled amazing, garlic and tomato from the bubbling lasagna in the oven mixing with the tiramisu you'd just finished layering. you'd been home all day, but not alone. the gentle kicks and soft stirring inside you reminded you that your tiny companion was always there with you. a little smile appeared in your lips as your hands moved to your bump.

bucky left early this morning, pressing a kiss to your forehead and another to your belly, promising he'd be back in time for dinner. so you'd spent all day doing this and that around the house, folding the tiny clothes, each one making you pause and imagine the little body that would soon fill it, playing bucky's old records and napping on the couch, a blanket over your legs and a hand resting protectively on your belly.

the timer on the oven beeped and you opened the door. a wave of the heat and the rich cheesy scent hit you all at one. you closed your eyes and hummed. the baby also seemed to loved because a soft kick nudged at your side. you pulled the lasagna out to take it to the living room table, but when you turned around, you froze.

—oh my god!—you exclaimed, eyes wide as your breath caught in your throat. your heart pounded so hard against your chest, —yelena... hi.

she quickly stood up from the chair, her usual confidence slipping as her blue eyes stared onto your belly. you didn't give her enough time to analyze you because once you placed the lasagna right in the center of the table, you wrapped your arms around her in a tight sudden hug. she hesitated before she hugged you back, like you were made of glass. her arms circled around you but she didn't dare to press her body against yours, like the roundness of your belly was sacred.

—you're pregnant, —she said when you broke away from the hug. her voice was soft, almost in disbelief.

you smiled, —yeah, i am. surprise, —the delicious smell of the food filled the space but yelena's eyes never left your bump.

—but like, so pregnant, oh my god.

you giggled, —that's usually how it works, yeah.

—no, seriously, how far along are you? you're glowing. it's weird. you're glowing and soft and... —she swallowed and waved her hands vaguely in front of your bump, —so pregnant, shit.

you let out a laugh. —i'm eight months but i'm still me. just... slower, rounder and slightly more emotional.

—more emotional? so crying over commercials and talking to plants?

—try crying over baby socks and talking to lasagna.

she nodded, pressing her lips together, trying to keep a straight face. you shifted your weight slightly as the pressure in your lower back appeared again. you put one of your hands behind you, trying to relieve the ache but yelena was quick to notice and without a word, she placed the chair she was previously sitting in behind you.

—thanks, —you said with a sigh as you sat. —what are you doing here? did you talk to bucky? he said he's been trying to reach you, —asking how'd she got into your house felt pointless. if yelena wanted in, no locked doors were going to stop her, yet you didn't mind, she wasn't a threat, not to you at least.

yelena shook her head. —haven't talk to your man in months. i was... just in my apartment and decided to drop by. i don't know, —she muttered, shrugging like it could erase the weight of her words. —i thought about you. about both of you. and i guess i just... showed up.

there was a pause. a real one. you knew what being in her apartment meant for her, especially at this time of the night. she was probably alone, thinking of getting drunk, staring at nothing and trying to hold it together until she couldn't anymore. you slowly nodded but didn't say anything about it. —well, it's your lucky day, there's lasagna for the four of us, —you rubbed your belly, —and the tiramisu is in the fridge.

she blinked, —oh, no. i was just... i just came to see you. i don't want to be a bother.

you tilted your head, —you broke into my house, sat at my table, and commented on my belly. you're already bothering me, you might as well stay for dinner.

you managed to get a laugh from her. in that moment, the front door opened and bucky stepped inside. —babe? i'm h... —but he froze mid-sentence when he saw yelena at the table. it was surprise in his face but there was something warmer too, like he'd just walked into something unexpected but not unwelcome. —either this food smells good enough to summon ghosts or i've officially lost track of who has a spare key.

—yelena's here! —you announced as if he hadn't just noticed her.

—and i bet she didn't come in through the door like a normal person.

yelena just pressed her lips into a guilty smile.

bucky approached you after hanging up his jacket and dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. he leaned in, supporting the weight of his body with a hand behind you on the chair and he kissed your lips. you hummed when he leaned in further and kissed your belly over your pajama shirt.

—you know? you should answer my calls or texts sometime, —he said to yelena. —missed you today, baby. this smells amazing, —he said to you as he kissed your lips one more time.

—i've been busy, —yelena said as she bit the inside of her cheeks.

bucky tilted his head slightly and looked at her, narrowing his eyes. he'd been there, done all of it before he met you. the quiet disappearing with empty explanations, not answering to sam's messages, letting voicemails pile up, just ignoring everything that reminded him that he existed outside the limits of his own perception. so yeah, bucky knew yelena was lying.

—right, —he just said. —just don't disappear.

—i didn't disappear. i just needed a minute.

—a minute's fine, —bucky said. he made his way into the kitchen and pulled out another plate, a glass, a fork and a knife. he returned and set them in front of the empty seat beside yelena. —but you vanish and we worry. she worries.

you nodded, assuring her that you did worry about her.

—i didn't mean to worry anyone.

—you don't have to mean it for it to happen.

yelena finally gave a small nod in return to bucky's words. he met her eyes and slowly nodded back. they were never much of words, the two of them. you had taught bucky how to open up overtime, he used to struggle with it but he got better with your help. but his bond with yelena grew from a very different space, his relationship wasn't shaped by long talks or heartfelt confessions. a strange brother-sister dynamic that was built in the shared silences, exchanged glances, sarcastic jokes and the unspoken comfort of just being there.

bucky stepped back into the kitchen.

—but the important thing, —you gently nudged her chair out, inviting her to sit at the table. —is that you are here now with us.

she finally sat down, her hands resting in her lap as she looked around the table. bucky came back from the kitchen, casually placing a bottle beside yelena's plate. it was her favorite spicy sauce, the one brand she always reached for. she stared at the bottle and then she looked up at you, then at bucky. this and your words you just said did something to her. it wasn't just the sauce, it was the fact that you'd thought of her and left space for her. no one had ever waited for her before, not like that.

—okay, let's eat, —you said, grabbing the big serving spoon. you grabbed yelena's plate, guests first, and served her a generous portion of lasagna. then you turned to bucky's plate and yours last.

yelena grabbed the sauce almost immediately, twisting off the cap and pouring it over her food. she hummed as she took another bite, eyes closing for a second. bucky slid his hand across the table and laced his metal fingers through yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

—how did that happen? —she pointed at your belly with her fork.

—you wanna know while we're having dinner? —bucky asked as he raised his eyebrows.

you kicked him softly under the table and yelena rolled her eyes, —no, not that. i mean, how? why now? you guys have been solid for years.

you glanced at bucky, who met your eyes with a little knowing smile, the kind that said, we've been through hell but made it out together. —well, it didn't feel terrifying to think about the future anymore.

bucky gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his metal thumb drawing circles over your skin. yelena didn't say anything right away, she just looked at the two of you for a long moment, like she was trying to decide whether to make a joke or actually feel something. —i was not prepared for all this emotions with my lasagna, —she finally said.

—sorry. hormones, —you let out a breathy laugh.

—she cried over baby socks last week, —bucky said looking at yelena.

—they were so tiny, —you added defensively. —and pink.

yelena's eyes widened as she turned to bucky. she leaned back after finishing her food, folding her arms as if she needed to process that. —pink? bucky barnes... a girl dad?

—terrifying, right?

—ugh, don't listen to him. he's gonna be the best dad. he already is, —you said. bucky smiled as he got up from the table and stacked his, yelena's and your plate to take them to the kitchen. —she's got him wrapped around her little finger already.

—that's the most terrifying part, —he made his way back with the tiramisu, carrying it like it was a treasure. he slid another plate in front of each of you.

during the dessert, you told yelena how bucky spent in the baby aisle what felt like an eternity, trying to choose between two tiny overalls, one with strawberries and the other one with ducks, just to end up buying both. you told her how he talked to your belly in a high pitched voice and how he had somehow ended up in a forum for modern girl dads which he checked every morning over coffee.

—you had gone soft, bucky, —yelena teased him.

—she's gonna need a tough aunt, —you said giggling, your voice casual, like the words had just slipped out without weight. but they hit yelena hard. you wanted her there? in your daughter's life? as her... aunt? she swallowed as she finished her tiramisu. it wasn't a title yelena had ever imagined for herself, not in the kind of life she had, not with everything she carried.

but there you were, offering it to her so easily like it was already decided and across the table, there was bucky, the very picture of someone who had dragged himself through the same kind of darkness she still found herself tangled in. his presence alone was a reminder that things could get better.

yelena shifted slightly in her seat. maybe, after all, she could be someone's aunt.

—this was delicious. did she like it? —bucky moved his hand to your belly, rubbing it gently with his thumb. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. you placed your hand over his.

you placed your hand over his, —i think she did. she's been kicking all night, so i'd say it was a success.

yelena looked at your belly with wide, curious eyes and you noticed the moment her gaze softened, —come here, —you said to her, offering her your hand. she stood up and moved toward you, her steps uncertain. when she reached your side, she knelt beside you. bucky removed his hand to give yelena the space she needed. you placed her hand in the middle of your belly. for a moment, she was even scared to breath in case she hurt you or the baby, but then, a quick shy smile appeared on her lips.

—i can feel her, —her eyes brightened as she looked up at you. you nodded.

she stayed there for a bit, her fingers pressed against your belly, feeling the kicks against the palm of her hand as bucky took care of everything from the table and moved it to the kitchen. when the room quieted, yelena seemed to come back to herself. she hesitated but then she stood up. it was late, you and the baby needed to sleep.

—you staying for the night?

bucky irrupted in her thoughts and you sighed in relief he did. you and him knew that if she went back to her apartment, she'd be swallowed by the darkness that always seemed to follow her. her lips parted but bucky didn't give her the chance to pull away. —if the couch is okay with you... we've changed the guest room to the baby's room, so that's all we've got but it's all yours for the night.

yelena hesitated again, her eyes moving to the door almost like she was ready to leave, but something held her in place. maybe it was the comfort of not being alone, or the warmth that you two, now three of you, radiated to her. her shoulders relaxed, she thought she could let herself breath for one night. she nodded.

—the couch is fine, thank you.

—great! —you said, relieved that you've managed to keep her with you for a little longer and that fell like a small victory. —do you wanna listen to buck read the baby some bedtime stories? she goes crazy with his voice.

yelena looked at her friend with raised eyebrows, so a couple of months apart and now he was the kind of guy to read bedtime stories. bucky closed his eyes and shook his head, clearly realizing what was coming. —oh, i'd love that, yeah, —she finally said, knowing that bucky would die of embarrassment.

[nakylvr]

— DESCENDING

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary: after your first mission together and sophia staying the night in your apartment, you don't hear from her again. until one night you're awaken by knocking on your door, revealing the girl.

warnings/tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mild language, marvel!kats au, kate bishop!sophia, yelena belova!reader

hell yeah we back on our marvel!kats agenda 🙂‍↕️ deadpool!dani next? let me know 😋

you fucked up.

after the first mission with sophia became a mess with her getting shot and ultimately ruining what was the original plan, you were put "on hold" for missions for some time. you assumed she told the director what happened, and to say you were irritated would be an understatement. you were pissed off. this was your job, you lived off this. for days you had been sitting in your apartment doing nothing, letting time flow by as you drank more beer than you knew you could.

it was another normal night. you were on your couch, legs propped up on the coffee table with a beer in your hand and a few scattered on the table around your feet. you were half-awake watching the television and what it was playing.

and then the knocking came. hard and fast.

you jolted up, grabbing your knife from your table and slowly heading to your front door. you peer through the peephole and your gaze falters, putting your knife down and opening the door, revealing sophia.

she's a mess. hair tousled, scratches across her face and her glasses cracked in the center of the left lens, her shoulders slouched like she's about to pass out.

"sophia?" you let out. "what are you–"

"i didn't know where to go," she wheezes in response, her voice raspy.

the words stick with you for a moment before you shake it off and grab her arm to pull her inside. closing the door behind you, you turn and really look at her. she looks like shit. but you know better than to question what happened, for now, at least.

"come with me," you say, grabbing her arm and gently pulling her with you to the couch. "ignore the mess, i wasn't really expecting anyone." you add before going off into your kitchen.

sophia didn't even notice the beer bottles scattered around, her head pounding too much to even hear your words as she practically collapsed onto the couch. when you come back, her eyes are nearly closed.

"hey," you say softly, making her look up at you. "here's this." you hand her a ice pack wrapped in a towel.

"thank you," she manages to get out, taking the ice pack and holding it against her shoulder.

you stand there silently for a moment, debating what to do. and just as you open your mouth to speak, she beats you to it.

"i'm sorry for showing up like this," she murmurs, her eyes barely open.

"it's alright," you reply. "what happened?"

"nothing," she says quickly, shaking her head.

"okay." you nod, sitting down beside her. "do you need anything?"

"i don't know," her voice is barely above a whisper. "i just...needed someone."

you're taken aback by her response, but try not to show it, putting the cocky smirk on your face like you always do. "someone that tried to kill you?"

"someone that saved me," she says after a moment, making your breath catch in your throat. she looks over at you then, her eyes glossy with tears that she's trying to hold in. "i think i really messed up, yn." her voice cracks softly.

your smirk immediately disappears from your face the second she looks at you. "why?" you ask softly.

and the dam inside sophia breaks. she's bursting into tears the moment after you ask her why, and you instantly panic, not knowing what to do. "i-i thought i could do it on my own, b-but they followed me a-and i didn't have my equipment a-and–"

you're wrapping your arms around her shaking frame before she can finish, pulling her close to you as she buries her head in your shoulder. she's sobbing now, fully crying in your arms. "it's okay," you say quietly. "it's okay, you're safe here, i promise. i promise."

sophia holds onto your shirt in a tight bundle in her hands while she cries, barely hearing what you're saying over her sobbing. but she hears it. and it just makes her grab you tighter, the words hitting her like a truck despite only a few being spoken. your hand runs through her hair in slow, soft movements, bringing her closer to you when her cries amplify.

you don't know what to do. never once in your life did you think that she could be like this. she was always so strong, and didn't take anyone's shit. but here she was, breaking down in your arms like she was an entirely different person.

before you can even begin to think of something to say, sophia's crying slowly quiets. she doesn't move, a few sniffles coming from her, but she doesn't move or say anything. her arms remain wrapped around your torso, gripping your shirt tightly as if you were going to disappear. you glance down at her, not knowing if you should pull away first or if you should stay.

"are you okay?" you ask quietly.

"yeah," she replies in the same voice. "can we stay like this for a minute?" she hesitantly asks.

"we can stay like this for as long as you want," your response is immediate, your voice still being soft.

she doesn't say anything after that.

you're not sure how long you stayed in that position. and you honestly thought she might've fallen asleep sitting up with how quiet she was. until she finally unravels her arms from you and removes her face from your neck. her eyes don't meet yours for a minute, as if she's trying to think of what to say.

"i'm sorry about that." is what she ends up with.

you shake your head. "it's nothing, i don't mind," you reply. a moment of silence passes between you two before you speak again. "are you gonna leave now?"

another moment passes.

"do you want me to?" sophia asks.

"no." you shake your head.

"okay." she nods.

"okay," you say. "so what now?"

sophia takes a second to respond, not knowing either. "you got anything to eat?" she eventually responds.

"yeah." you nod. "i can make you–"

she suddenly stands, making you stop. "no offense, but i doubt you can cook something when the last time i saw you eat something it was mac and cheese out of the pot. i'm sure i can make something," she says bluntly, back to her normal self.

"i–uh–okay," you stammer over your words.

and for the first time, a smile curls on her lips. and then she's turning around and heading towards your kitchen, leaving you sitting there dumbfounded.

you sit there for a few minutes, hearing the clanking noise of pots and pans hitting each other before getting up and walking over to the kitchen. standing in the doorway, you watch as sophia appears to perfectly move around your kitchen like she had been there before. her hair swayed as she walked around to find the items she needed. her shoulders weren't scrunched up anymore, now relaxed and not tense. and despite the crack in her glasses, she looked peaceful as could be.

you felt a tug on your heart watching. for so long, you had been alone. you lived the same day every day. wake up, go to work, come home to no one, drink until you passed out, and repeat it. you had lived this way for so long now, that just seeing someone else in your home had you feeling things you weren't familiar with. and it scared you. you couldn't even remember the last time you were genuinely happy. you couldn't remember the last time you laughed. you couldn't even remember the last time you smiled genuinely. every day the darkness grew bigger, the void becoming more appealing to jump into and never come back. but at this moment, you wanted to stay.

"yn?"

you're shaken out of your thoughts when you hear your name, blinking a few times and seeing sophia looking at you.

"are you okay?" she asks.

"huh?" you let out. "i'm fine," you answer.

she studies you for a moment, clearly seeing past your lie but deciding to not say anything about it. "then help me with this," she tells you before looking back at what she was cooking.

"yeah, yeah. okay." you regain your composure and start helping her.

but that feeling doesn't entirely leave you throughout the night. you're not sure entirely what it means, and it terrifies you. you don't know what's going on in your head anymore or what to do. you're stuck. but so is sophia. and maybe that means something.

[sophiewritesworld]

Chained - E.M.

Eddie Munson x Plus size female Reader Warning: MDNI 18+, porn with a tiny plot Summary: Eddie and you finally get to try the handcuffs after he joked about them and you just gave him the green light.

The air in Eddie's trailer hums with the low crackle of a Metallica cassette spinning in his ancient stereo, the kind of background noise that makes everything feel a little more electric. You're sprawled on his bed, the patchwork quilt soft under your curves, your oversized Iron Maiden tee riding up just enough to show a sliver of your plush hips.. Eddie's across the room, rummaging through a drawer with that chaotic energy he never quite shakes, his dark curls bouncing as he mutters to himself.

"Swear I put 'em in here," he says, tossing a couple of D&D manuals onto the floor. "Not like I'm cuffing people every day, y'know?"

You laugh, propping yourself on your elbows, the motion making your body shift in a way that catches his eye. He pauses, ringed fingers frozen mid-search, and gives you that lopsided grin that still sends your heart into a tailspin. "What?" you ask, arching a brow.

"Nothin'," he drawls, but his gaze lingers on the way your shirt clings to your chest, your softness a contrast to the sharp edges of his world. "Just... you look good on my bed. Real good."

Heat creeps up your neck, but you play it cool, kicking a leg out to nudge his thigh as he finally pulls a par of silver handcuffs from a drawer. They dangle from his finger, glinting in the dim light of the lava lamp on his nightstand. "Found 'em," he announces, like he's just unearthed treasure. "You still wanna try this, sweetheart?"

You nod, your stomach fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. You and Eddie have been together long enough to explore each other’s bodies with confidence—his calloused hands worshipping every curve, every roll, every inch of you—but this is new. The idea came up a week ago, half-joking over pizza, when he’d teased about “locking you up” for stealing his last slice. The heat in his eyes when you’d said, “Maybe I’d let you,” had planted the seed.

Now, here you are, watching him twirl the cuffs like they’re an extension of his stage persona—confident, a little cocky, but with that undercurrent of care that makes you trust him completely. He kneels on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and crawls toward you, his ripped jeans scraping against the quilt. “Ground rules,” he says, voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that does things to you. “You say stop, we stop. You say slow, we slow. You say ‘Eddie, you’re a genius,’ I’ll probably agree.”

You snort, but your pulse quickens as he straddles your thighs, careful not to press too hard. His hands find your wrists, thumbs brushing over your pulse points. “You’re sure?” he asks again, softer now, his brown eyes searching yours.

“I trust you,” you murmur, and it’s the truth. Eddie’s never made you feel anything less than adored, his affection a steady anchor in a world that hasn’t always been kind to your body. He leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours until you’re breathless, your fingers curling into his hair.

When he pulls back, he’s got that mischievous glint in his eye. “Arms up, princess,” he says, and you obey, stretching your arms toward the headboard. The metal of the cuffs is cool against your skin as he clicks one around your wrist, then loops the chain through a slat in the headboard before securing the other. The click echoes in the quiet, and you tug lightly, testing the restraint. It’s firm but not tight, leaving you just enough give to squirm.

Eddie sits back on his heels, admiring his work. “Well, damn,” he says, voice thick. “Look at you.” His hands skim down your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips. “All mine, huh?”

Your breath hitches as he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Gonna take my time with you,” he whispers, and the promise in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Eddie’s hands are everywhere but where you want them, and it’s driving you wild. He’s still straddling you, his weight a comforting pressure, but he’s taking his sweet time, savoring the way you’re laid out beneath him, wrists bound and body open. The handcuffs rattle softly as you shift, the sensation of being restrained amplifying every touch, every glance.

He starts at your neck, lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath warm and teasing. “You smell so good,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your skin. His hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up to expose your stomach, and he pauses, eyes darkening with that reverent look he gets when he sees you bare. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, and it’s not just a line—Eddie means it, every word a balm to any lingering insecurities.

His fingers trace patterns over your belly, dipping into the soft give of your flesh, and you squirm, the cuffs clinking as you tug against them. “Eddie,” you whine, half-laughing, half-desperate. “You’re teasing.”

“Am I?” he asks, all mock innocence, but the smirk on his face gives him away. He leans down, kissing a slow path across your collarbone, then lower, his curls tickling your skin as he nuzzles the tops of your breasts. Your bra is still on, a lacy number you picked just for tonight, and he groans softly as he cups you through it, thumbs brushing over the fabric. “This is torture for me too, y’know,” he says, voice rough. “Wanna touch every inch of you at once.”

“Then do it,” you challenge, arching your back to press yourself closer. He chuckles, low and wicked, and finally tugs your bra down, exposing you to the cool air and his hungry gaze. His mouth is on you in seconds, kissing, licking, worshipping, and the sensation is overwhelming, your hands straining against the cuffs as you try to touch him.

“Can’t,” you gasp, the metal biting gently into your wrists. “Eddie, I wanna—”

“Shh,” he soothes, looking up at you with those big, soulful eyes. “Let me take care of you.” His hands roam lower, skimming the waistband of your leggings, and he hooks his fingers into them, tugging slowly. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart,” he says, and you do, letting him peel the fabric down, leaving you in just your panties.

He pauses again, sitting back to take you in, and the way he looks at you—like you’re a work of art, like you’re everything—makes your chest ache. “You’re perfect,” he says, almost to himself, and then he’s moving again, hands gliding up your thighs, squeezing the softness there. He spreads your legs gently, settling between them, and your breath catches as he kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate.

“Eddie,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. He looks up, grinning, and there’s something almost feral in his expression, tempered by the tenderness in his touch.

“Patience,” he says, but his own voice is strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. He kisses higher, closer, and you’re trembling, the cuffs a constant reminder that you’re at his mercy—and loving every second of it. His hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your softness as he kisses you through your panties, the thin fabric a maddening barrier. You’re panting now, your body arching toward him, the handcuffs rattling as you pull against them, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer.

"Eddie, please," you beg, and the sound of your voice- needy, raw- sees to snap something in him. He growls softly, a sound that vibrates through you, and hooks his fingers into your panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. The cool air hits you, and you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he finally, finally gives you what you want.

He’s relentless, his tongue and lips working you with a skill that makes your head spin, each movement precise yet hungry. Your thighs tremble, and he holds them steady, his rings cool against your skin. The cuffs keep your hands pinned, and the helplessness only heightens the sensation, every nerve ending alight as he pushes you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled but fervent, and the vibration sends a jolt through your body. You’re moaning now, loud and unashamed, and he loves it, you can tell—his eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and wild, and the connection is electric.

You’re close, so close, and he knows it, slowing just enough to draw it out, to make you feel every second. “Eddie,” you whimper, and he hums in response, the sound pushing you right to the brink. When you finally shatter, it’s like a wave crashing over you, your body shaking, the cuffs clanking as you writhe against them. He doesn’t stop, not until you’re gasping, oversensitive and boneless beneath him.

He crawls up your body, kissing every inch he can reach, and when he reaches your face, he’s grinning, his lips glistening. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing his nose against yours.

You nod, still catching your breath, and he kisses you, deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on him. It’s intimate, overwhelming, and you tug at the cuffs again, wanting to wrap your arms around him. “Let me out,” you murmur against his lips. “Wanna touch you.”

“Not yet,” he says, smirking. “I’m not done with you.” He shifts, pulling off his shirt, and you drink in the sight of him—lean muscle, scattered tattoos, the faint scars from his past. He’s beautiful, and he’s yours. His jeans are next, and when he’s down to his boxers, he settles over you, the weight of him grounding you even as your heart races.

He kisses you again, hands roaming, and you feel him, hard and ready against your thigh. “You want this?” he asks, voice low, and you nod, desperate for him. He reaches for the nightstand, grabbing a condom, and you watch as he rolls it on, his movements quick but careful.

When he pushes into you, it’s slow, deliberate, and you both groan at the sensation. He fills you perfectly, and the cuffs make it all the more intense, your body completely open to him. He moves, steady at first, then faster, his lips never far from yours, whispering praise and filth in equal measure.

Eddie’s pace is relentless now, each thrust driving you higher, your body arching to meet him despite the cuffs holding you in place. The headboard creaks, the handcuffs rattle, and the trailer is filled with the sounds of you—moans, gasps, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. His hands grip your hips, lifting you slightly to hit just the right angle, and you cry out, the pleasure almost too much. “Look at you,” he pants, his voice rough with need. “So fucking beautiful.” His curls are damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, and his eyes are locked on yours, intense and adoring. You feel worshipped, cherished, and the way he moves, the way he fills you, makes you feel like the only thing that matters in his world.

You’re climbing again, the coil in your belly tightening, and he senses it, leaning down to kiss you, his tongue mirroring the rhythm of his hips. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and it’s a command wrapped in a plea. You do, your body seizing as the orgasm rips through you, stronger than the first, your vision blurring as you clench around him.

He groans, his rhythm faltering, and you know he’s close. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he gasps, and with a few more thrusts, he follows you over the edge, his body shuddering as he buries himself deep. For a moment, you’re both still, breathing hard, connected in every way that matters.

He collapses onto you, careful not to crush you, and kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “You’re incredible,” he says, voice soft now, and you smile, still dazed. He reaches up, fumbling with the cuffs, and finally frees your wrists, rubbing them gently where the metal left faint marks.

“You okay?” he asks, inspecting your skin, and you nod, pulling him down for a kiss. Your arms are sore but you don’t care, wrapping them around him, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Better than okay,” you say, and he grins, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest.

The Metallica tape has long since stopped, leaving just the hum of the trailer and the sound of your breathing. Eddie’s hands trace lazy patterns on your back, and you feel safe, loved, utterly content. “So,” he says after a while, his voice playful again. “Handcuffs. Yay or nay?”

You laugh, swatting his chest. “Yay. But next time, you’re wearing them.”

His eyes light up, that mischievous spark back in full force. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you closer. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

[archangeldyke-all]

Angel… I just realized when jinx said to Sevika “don’t suppose you can swim huh lefty?” Sevika just sighed and…well we all know what she said 🙂‍↕️ My point is… could you write something where reader finds out Sevika can’t swim? Love your work and reposts as always Angel 😌😌💜💜💜💜💜

this is so sweet and cute eeek

men and minors dni

"are you gonna get in the water?" you pout.

it's a hot summer day and you've dragged your girlfriend to the cold springs to cool down. only, after two hours of hiking out of zaun, instead of stripping down naked and jumping in beside you, sevika just slid her socks off and dipped her toes in.

she chuckles from her perch. "i'm happy here."

"sevika! you've been bitching about the heat all day, and i'm naked in here!"

sevika grins. "i'm very aware. enjoying the view, too."

you roll your eyes and splash some water at her, doggy paddling over to her legs. "c'mon, sev. the water's so refreshing."

sevika pinches your cheek. "not gonna happen, doll."

"you shy?" you tease. sevika snorts and rolls her eyes.

"i'm missing an arm, dummy."

you frown. "so?" you ask. "ran's missing an arm and they swim all the time."

"yeah, well..." sevika trails off. you study her for a moment, before giggling.

"you don't know how to swim?" you ask. sevika shrugs.

"never learned." she says. you grin. sevika kicks some water at you. "don't give me that look."

"what look?" you ask. sevika laughs and shakes her head, pointing at your face.

"that look. the 'i'm gonna teach sevika how to swim look.' it's not happening."

"it's not?" you ask, pouting and blinking your eyelashes up at your girlfriend. "even if we stay in the shallow end?"

sevika's already stripping out of her clothes, cursing you out the entire time.

you try to bite back your giggles as you watch her slip into the water, cringing at the cool. she glares at you. "if you let me drown--"

"i'm not gonna let you drown, drama queen." you swim over to the shallow end where sevika's standing, kissing her cheek as you stand beside her. "i'm gonna be here the whole time, holdin' onto you. okay?"

sevika glares at you a little longer before relenting, a huff escaping her lungs and her posture loosening. "i... i trust you. i'm just... scared."

you smile softly.

here she is, the scariest woman in zaun.

only, for you, she's rid herself of her mechanic arm, stripped herself of her clothes, and whispered her weaknesses aloud to you.

"look." you whisper, guiding sevika to the waist height water. "c'mere." you say, twining her arm around your waist, then hoisting her legs around your hips under the water. sevika gasps, then bursts into laughter as you easily carry her weight with the help of the water. "see how easily i can hold you? if you start drownin', i promise i'll pull you out." you seal your promise with a kiss.

sevika's smiling at you when you pull away. "alright. can't be that hard, can it?" she asks. you giggle.

"first step to swimming is floating. do you know how to float?"

"i've never been in more water than a bath tub's worth, babe."

"so, no?"

sevika snorts and nods. "no."

you grab her waist. sevika tilts her head like you're about to kiss her. you laugh. "you'll get your kisses once you can float."

"what do i do?"

"you're lungs are the most buoyant part of your body, so you're going to lay back like a starfish, thrusting your chest toward the sky."

sevika gives you a suspicious look. "and that works?" she asks.

you snort. "if you do it right." you hold your arms out and sevika turns to lay back into the water, into your arms.

"like this?" she asks, starting to spread her limbs. you giggle.

"arch your back some more." sevika snorts and shoots you a dirty look. you cackle. "don't look at me like that, you haven't earned your kiss yet. c'mon. tits to the sky, sevi."

sevika adjusts her posture, and her weight in your arm starts to vanish. slowly, you pull your arms away, letting your girlfriend float on her own. "am i doin' it?" she asks.

you nod. "you're doin' it, baby."

sevika smirks. "gonna kiss me about it?" she asks.

you laugh and bend over her, pressing a kiss to her lips where she floats. sevika doesn't let you go, though. instead, she stands with you as you straighten back up, wrapping herself back around your body as your kiss grows heated.

"mmm. th-there's more to swimmin' than just floatin' sev--" you mumble against her barrage of kisses.

"you can show me once i'm done with you. i don't think you get how hot it is that you can hold me like this."

kofi

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

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taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@ferxanda @helaenabugmom @spookymomfriendtm

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru’s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[ha-rinrin]

Little Brat

summary: She blew up your kitchen. Time to make her pay.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 3k

Note:

WELCOME BACK I missed all of you so much, hope you guys didn't forget about me. I'm sorry for disappearing — I was focused on my academic comeback. I think I might be able to post more often (but no promises).

I noticed there's been a shortage in the Jinx x Reader tag, and a lot of you asked me to come back — and who am I to say no?

Anyway, I'm really happy to be back, even if I don't post daily like before. I hope you enjoy this new fic, which, by the way, was HARD to write. I'm really bad at writing smut, but I did my best.

TW: NSFW, overstimulation, strap-on, orgasm denial and control, top!reader x sub!Jinx, light degradation, teasing, and I think thats all, if I forgot something, im sorry

The fire alarm’s going off when you unlock the door. Again.

You don’t even flinch this time, just toss your keys onto the hallway table and step into the smoke.

It’s coming from the kitchen. Of course it is.

You walk in and see it: your custom-built, voice-controlled, top-of-the-line Piltover microwave blown wide open. The front panel’s cracked, the inside is scorched, and something definitely exploded.

Jinx is sitting on the counter like nothing happened—legs swinging like a child, soot on her cheek, a little too proud of herself.

“Hi, babe,” she says sweetly, waving a tiny screwdriver at you.

You blink. “What. Did you do.”

“Okay, so–” she starts, already smiling, “I was trying to make popcorn.”

You just stare at her.

“But then I thought… what if I gave it a boost? Just a little chemtech.”

She lifts a small, still-glowing power cell––clearly modified. “Y’know. To speed it up.”

The fire alarm shrieks again. A soft pop comes from the microwave.

“You blew up my microwave,” you say.

She shrugs. “I improved it. Technically.”

You don’t laugh. You don’t even blink.

You take one step closer, and Jinx’s smirk falters just slightly.

“Do you think I’m impressed?” you ask.

She leans back on her hands, still trying to play it cool. “Thought it might at least make you look at me.”

You glance at the mess, then back at her. “Oh, I’m looking.”

She quiets.

You place a hand on the counter beside her thigh, lean in just enough to make her press back against the cabinets.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, voice low. “To blow up my kitchen just so I’d come home and deal with you?”

Her eyes flicker. “Maybe.”

Another step and your knee’s between hers.

“You’re going to clean this up,” you say. “After.”

Her breath catches.

“Now get off the counter.”

She moves fast. Obedient. Like she’s been waiting for that tone all day.

She hops off the counter, but doesn’t move. Just stands there with that smug little tilt to her head, eyes flicking up and down like she’s deciding whether to listen to you at all.

You don’t give her the chance.

Your fingers close around her jaw–– not hard, but enough to stop her in her tracks. “Try me again, and you’ll be on your knees before you make it to the bedroom.”

She grins, breath hitching just a little. “Kinky threat. You sure you’re not the one who blew up the microwave?”

You don’t flinch.

“Keep running your mouth,” you murmur, “and I’ll make sure you’re too sore to use it later.”

That wipes the grin off her face. Almost.

Then she shrugs, deliberately slow. “Guess I better make it worth it, huh?”

You let go of her jaw.

“Bedroom. Now.”

She turns around with a smirk, strutting like she owns the place. “God, finally. I was starting to think you’d just let me get away with it.”

You follow, watching her every step.

“Not a chance.”

The bedroom door barely clicks shut before you’ve got her on the bed.

You don’t give her time to settle. You grab her wrist and push her downing the bed and onto her back, climbing over her like she’s already yours.

“Hands up,” you say––low, firm.

She obeys, too quickly, too eagerly, eyes flicking up to yours with that defiant spark still burning.

You drag your fingers slowly up her stomach, just under her shirt, and she shivers.

“You wanted attention,” you murmur, leaning in close. “Now you’ve got it. Let’s see how much of it you can take.”

Her breath catches, and she swallows hard, but she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t dare.

“Try anything bratty,” you add, hand sliding higher, “and I’ll make sure you don’t get to come tonight.”

And just like that, she’s quiet.

Not behaving––but quiet.

You don’t bother with slow.

Clothes come off in quick, practiced movements––yours first, then hers––until she’s bare beneath you, except for her panties. You leave those on.

On purpose.

She arches slightly, like she expects more, like she wants more, but you don’t give it to her.

Not yet.

Instead, you slide your hand down, press your palm flat over the soaked fabric, just enough for her to feel it––your heat, your control––without giving her what she really wants.

She squirms, breath shaky. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of course I am.”

Your fingers move slow, dragging along the thin fabric, teasing the wet spot already blooming there. You circle her clit with maddening precision, just enough to make her whine.

She bucks her hips up, impatient.

You pin them down with your free hand. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to be greedy.”

Her hands tighten in the sheets above her head, body tense beneath yours.

“You blew up my kitchen,” you murmur, mouth brushing her jaw. “You’re lucky I’m even touching you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, slow and controlled. But you’re not done.

You tug her shirt up with the hand that was previously pinning her hips down, exposing her chest. She shivers, nipples already hard.

Her hands leave the sheets––one flying up to grab the pillow beside her head, the other fisting the blanket like she needs to hold on to something, anything, just to stay grounded.

You lean down, tongue dragging across her right nipple before wrapping your lips around it and sucking deep.

She gasps––loud, unrestrained––her hips jerking as your fingers rub tight, wet circles against her clit while your mouth teases her chest.

Your tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, then you bite––just a little. Just enough to make her cry out.

“F-fuck––” she moans, her body arching up into your mouth, down into your hand. Caught between both.

Her free hand flutters for a second, unsure, then lands shakily on your shoulder––digging in, nails pressing hard.

Your fingers don’t stop. Your mouth doesn’t either.

“Still squirming,” you murmur against her chest. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

She doesn’t––can’t. Her breath’s a mess. Whimpers leave her mouth with every stroke and suck.

Then––just as her breathing stutters––you pull your mouth away.

And slow your hand.

She lets out a broken sound, high and needy.

She’s already dripping through the fabric.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and peel them down slow––just to watch her squirm. She lifts her hips to help, breath stuttering as the cool air hits her soaked skin.

You toss them aside.

Then, without warning, you slide one finger into her pussy.

She gasps, sharp and breathless. Wet. So wet, you barely have to try.

You move slow. Intentionally slow. Just enough to make her ache, slick already coating your knuckles.

“Please,” she whispers, almost desperate.

You add a second finger.

Her thighs jerk, twitching hard, hips rocking before you press her back down with your free hand.

“Still so impatient,” you murmur.

She whines, eyes wide and glassy, her breath catching every time your fingers curl inside her.

You lean over her, lips brushing her jaw. “What happened to all that attitude, Jinx?”

She doesn’t answer, just bites her lip, thighs trembling as you pump your fingers a little deeper, a little rougher.

Then you add a third.

She gasps like she wasn’t ready for it, body tensing all over again, then melting into the mattress, legs shaking under your grip.

The slick sound of it fills the room––hot, messy, desperate.

You lean in closer, voice low and wicked against her ear.

“Next time you want attention,” you whisper, “just ask.”

She moans, helpless and breathless and already so close.

And you don’t stop.

You drag your thumb up and press it firmly against her clit, circling it slowly while your fingers move inside her––deep and deliberate.

She moans the second your thumb finds its rhythm––high and shaky, like she’s trying to hold it back but can’t.

Her thighs twitch with every stroke, already slick and trembling. You keep going, curling your fingers just right, then pulling back before she can get too close.

“Ah––god,” she gasps, hips bucking up. “Don’t––don’t stop––”

But you do.

You slow down, just slightly. Just enough to make her whine.

“No,” she breathes, voice cracking. “Please, don’t do that.”

You hum like you’re thinking about it, but your fingers are still moving––just barely, just enough to keep her strung out and desperate.

Every sound she makes now is a mess.

Tiny whimpers.

Breathless gasps.

The occasional broken “fuck” when your fingers hit just the right spot––then pull away again, cruel and calculated.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was a good idea?” you murmur.

She shakes her head fast, eyes glassy, thighs clenching around your wrist.

“Then why,” you whisper, mouth brushing her ear, “should I let you come?”

She groans––loud and wrecked. “Please,” she begs, hips rolling, trying to chase your hand. “I’ll clean it––I’ll fix it––just please––”

You smirk, watching her fall apart.

“Not yet.”

And you keep going. Slow, deep pumps, curling just right so that they touch that spongy spot inside her that makes her see stars––then pulling back again.

Your thumb flicks her clit harder now, tight little circles that make her whimper.

But it’s not enough.

You lean down, catching one of her nipples between your teeth, biting gently as your fingers start slamming into her.

She yelps––loud and raw––back arching off the bed as the sudden overload of sensation hits her hard.

“F-fuck!”

Her whole body jolts.

You suck hard on her nipple, tongue dragging over the bud as your fingers pound into her and your thumb teases her clit in tight, wet circles.

Her back arches off the bed, hands clutching the sheets like she’s about to tear them. You don’t let up––your mouth, your fingers, your thumb––all working in rhythm.

“God––oh my god––” she cries, voice rising in pitch. “Wait––wait––”

You don’t.

Her thighs are shaking now, soaked and twitching, her head thrown back against the pillows.

She’s falling apart. Fast.

The shift from teasing to ruthless ruins her. Her hips jerk without rhythm, no control left in her body at all.

“Too much––” she gasps, voice cracking. “It’s too––”

“You can take it,” you growl, curling your fingers again. “You’re gonna take it.”

She sobs––loud and wrecked and completely undone.

And you keep going.

Fast. Deep. Merciless.

Exactly how she likes it.

She cums around your fingers.

No warning––just a broken cry and her entire body seizing up beneath you. Her back arches, mouth open in a silent scream before the moans finally catch up––loud, raw, and completely helpless.

You feel it the second it hits––her walls clenching tight, fluttering, pulsing around your fingers, squirting.

But you don’t stop.

Your mouth is still on her nipple, tongue dragging, sucking, teasing while your fingers keep going.

She gasps––sharp and panicked. “N-no––wait––”

You keep going.

Her hips jerk away from your hand, but there’s nowhere to go. You hold her there, pinned and trembling, pumping into her over and over while her legs shake and her voice breaks.

“Too much––too much––” she whines, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her hands claw at the sheets, one arm flinging up to grip your wrist, not pulling you away––just holding on.

Like she’s drowning.

Like she can’t take it, but she doesn’t want it to stop.

The overstimulation hits hard––her cries turn to sobs, every breath hitching, every sound wrecked and slurred and ruined.

You lean close, lips brushing her ear.

“Still think you can act like a brat in my kitchen?”

She shakes her head frantically, breathless.

“I didn’t hear you,” you murmur, fingers never slowing.

“N-no––no, I’m sorry––fuck––I’m sorry––”

You smile against her skin.

But you keep going. Just a little more.

Just until she breaks again.

Her moans and whimpers fill the room as she cums, but you’re not near finishing, as Jinx’s going down her hight ––thighs covered in her own juices–– you’re already moving, grabbing the bright blue strap-on, 4 cm of girth and 18cm long. 

Jinx’s a small girl, you're probably about to break the poor little thing in half.

She's still recovering when you hover over her, she's already so wet you don't even need any lub, she doesn't have time to register what is going on till she feels the tip of your blue cock already pressing at her entrance.

Her eyes widen, she has been dying to try the new toy, but now she's just so sensitive she isn't sure she can handle it.

“Wait–– I cant–– Too sensitive––” 

You don’t hesitate “You should’ve thought about that before blowing up my kitchen”

She lets out a soft, broken sound as the tip circles her entrance, slow, relentless. Not pushing in––just dragging, spreading the slick around, rubbing right where she’s sensitive. Rubbing your cook between her pink puffy folds, rubbing her clit a few times. 

You chuckle, taking your time. Running the shaft up and down her slit. Not pushing in. Not giving her what she wants.

Just watching her squirm.

Her hips twitch up, trying to take it, but you move just out of reach.

She groans in frustration, tears welling up in her lashes. “Please––fuck, just––”

You finally lean in, lips brushing her ear.

“You want this?” you whisper, dragging the head back to her entrance. “Beg for it.”

She moans––half pain, half pleasure, everything too much. “Please, please––I want it, I need it, just fuck me––”

And that’s when you push in.

Not gently.

Your cock slips past her slick entrance in one smooth, firm thrust, making her scream.

“Ah––too much––I can’t––”

“Oh, you can,” you growl, holding her hips tight. “And you will.”

She gasps, her body tensing, arching, trying to take the stretch as her walls clench around the thick toy. Her thighs are twitching again, eyes closed shut with overwhelmed pleasure.

You don’t move just yet.

You stay buried inside her.

Letting her feel the fullness.

Letting her realize just how deep you are.

She whimpers, completely wrecked already. “F-fuck, you’re gonna break me––”

You smirk.

And then you start moving.

Slow, deep thrusts at first––dragging your hips back just enough to make her feel it before slamming back in, harder, deeper each time.

Her body moves with it, pushed up the bed with every stroke. Her moans spill out helplessly, one after another, breathless and sweet.

A melody you never get tired of.

Jinx can feel the faux veins of your cock dragging against her walls, touching all the spots that make her dumb, the tip hitting her cervix. 

You can see the bulge of your cock inside her.

And then you start pounding.

Fast. Deep. Ruthless.

Her moans turn to cries.

High-pitched and broken.

The slap of skin against skin fills the room, echoing with every sharp thrust. Her whole body jolts with each one, pushed into the mattress like she weighs nothing.

You’re relentless now.

No mercy. No pause.

Just the thick strap-on slamming into her, deep and fast, grinding her deeper into the sheets.

She’s gasping for air, nails digging into the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream that only catches up a second later.

“F-fuck––too deep––too fast––”

You just growl, thrusting harder. “That’s the point.”

Her hands claw at the sheets. Her body can’t keep up. Every nerve in her is on fire, pleasure rippling through her in waves so intense they border on pain.

She’s soaked––completely, impossibly wet––slick pooling beneath her, dripping down your thighs, smearing between her legs with every thrust.

You grab one of her legs and throw it over your shoulder, angling deeper.

Her scream is immediate.

“God––oh god––please––”

You lean over her, one hand gripping her throat, thumb pressing just enough to make her whimper.

“You wanted this,” you growl against her ear, your cock still driving into her, hard and deep. “So take it.”

She sobs, overwhelmed, shaking, but she doesn’t tell you to stop.

Her hips meet yours on instinct now, trying to keep up, trying to take everything you give her.

Jinx a mess beneath you, mascara staining her face, lipstick smudge, tongue out like a dumb dog while her hands grab the pillow where her head is laying like a lifeline. 

Her clit’s begging for attention––swollen and flushed, untouched but throbbing.

You reach down between her legs and rub your thumb over it.

She screams.

The second you touch her, her body goes rigid, her back arching so hard it lifts her off the mattress. Her moans twist into helpless, choked sobs.

Her eyes roll back.

She’s so far gone.

You don’t stop.

Not with your cock, not with your thumb.

Circling her clit fast and tight, keeping the rhythm of your thrusts brutal and deep.

“Gonna come again?” you murmur darkly. “Already?”

She nods frantically, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Y-yes––please––please––I can’t––”

“You can,” you snarl, voice low and rough. “Come on my cock, Jinx.”

And she does.

She cums with a scream, her whole body convulsing. The orgasm rips through her like a shockwave––intense and shattering. Her thighs clamp around you, walls fluttering violently around the strap-on, soaking it all over again.

But you don’t stop.

Not even for a second.

You keep fucking her through it––deep, brutal thrusts that don’t let her catch her breath.

She sobs, completely gone, babbling your name between cries. “N-no––too much––’s too much––”

You grab her hips, slamming in harder. “I said you’d take it. So take it.”

She screams again––half-cry, half-moan–and comes again, barely a minute later.

A second orgasm, sharper than the first.

This one wrecks her, more than the three ones you already gave her.

Her whole body goes limp beneath you, twitching, broken.

And still––you don’t stop.

Just a few more thrusts, slow now, grinding in deep with every roll of your hips. Letting her feel it. Letting her drown in it.

By the time you finally pull out, she’s shaking.

Covered in sweat, lips parted, tears dried on her cheeks, body completely ruined.

You toss the toy aside and lean down, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand.

She’s barely conscious––blissed out and wrecked, blinking slowly as she looks up at you.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was worth it?” you whisper.

She doesn’t answer.

She just moans softly––wrecked and dazed––and nods.

Like the little brat she is.

[whisperofwonder]

Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader - 758 words

It's your wedding day. Everything was supposed to be perfect, but it feels like it's all falling apart. Luckily, your soon-to-be husband knows exactly how to make you feel better.

A/N: This literally took me days to write 😅 but it feels good to be writing again! More to come soon 💕

One of your bridesmaids is in the hallway, on the phone with the baker because the cake is now half an hour late. Another is in the reception area, working with your mother to turn 11 centerpieces into 12. The third disappeared a few minutes ago after whispering something in your maid of honor's ear. All you caught was something about the photographer's camera. Your wedding is in an hour.

"It's all going to work out, you know," Your maid of honor chirps. She's the last one in the room with you. You force a smile. "The cake'll be here, and the flowers will be fixed, and..." She pauses, waving her hands to encompass the room, "It's going to be amazing. I know it."

You nod. "Yeah." If you let yourself say anything else, you won't be able to control what comes out of your mouth. You're trying to hide it, but you can feel the hysteria building. All these months of planning, weeks of hard work, all the money your parents have spent to make your wedding dreams come true... and it feels like it's all falling apart.

"Hey," She interrupts your spiraling thoughts. It must show on your face. "Are you doing okay?" All you can do is mutely shake your head. No. Not really. "I'll be right back," she says finally, giving your hands a quick squeeze. "I promise." With that, she slips out the door.

You're alone now. You lean against the wall, not even wanting to sit down in case something happens to your dress. Tilting your chin up, you stare at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. You refuse to ruin your makeup, at the very least.

"I'm back," Your maid of honor taps gently on the door, cracking it open. "Iwaizumi is out here, too." You suck in a breath. "I told him he can't go in the room under any circumstances," She adds firmly, "But... I thought you might want to talk to him." She pauses. "I'm gonna go check in with your mom, okay?" With that, you hear her move on down the hallway.

"Hey." At the sound of his voice on the other side of the door, you squeeze your eyes shut, just until the burn of tears recedes. You should have guessed that's where your maid of honor was going.

"Hajime." You hate how your voice wobbles around his name.

"I heard you needed some cheering up." You huff at that, not trusting yourself to respond. "Give me your hand," He says, and you hesitantly reach through the crack in the door. You feel his fingers curl around yours, squeezing gently. You bite down hard on your lip. "We're getting married in an hour," He says softly.

"Yeah," You still can't get your voice to work properly. "But everything's going wrong. Did you hear?" It rushes out before you can stop it. His thumb skims the back of your hand. "It's practically ruined."

"I don't think any wedding goes off without anything going wrong," He muses after a beat of silence.

"It was supposed to be perfect," You squeeze out.

"It will be perfect," He says, sliding his fingers between yours.

"You can't know that," You insist.

"As long as I'm married to you at the end of the day, it'll be perfect in my book." His thumb finds the ring on your finger, giving it a gentle twist.

"You have to say that," You murmur, lips twitching into the beginning of a smile.

"That's the point of today though, isn't it?" You hum, not quite sure how to respond. "It's not about the cake, or the flowers. It's about how I love you, and you love me, and we're celebrating that with everyone we care about. That's what everyone will remember when they think back to today. They're going to remember how I couldn't stop staring at you, because-" He pauses, swallows. "Because I can't even imagine how incredible you look right now."

"Hajime," You have to stop him, because the tears that had been threatening for so long are starting to fill your eyes.

"Hmm?" He gives your hand another squeeze.

"I love you." You manage to blink back the tears - you'll save those for later.

"I love you, too." Carefully, he lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "And I'm marrying you in 45 minutes."

"Yeah," You can't help the soft, giddy laughter that slips out. "Yeah, you are." And who knows? It just might end up being perfect after all.

[cripplecharacters]

Thank you so much for this blog. Can I take a moment to ask the rest of your followers to please stop using it to ask for *permission* to write whatever they're trying to write? On every ask that starts with "can I write XYZ?", I just wanna grab the asker by the shoulders and ask back "what do you think is going to happen if you do?"

Since there's no ableism police going around inspecting amateur creative projects, this is really a poorly worded version of "is this bad/ableist/problematic/gonna get me cancelled/punished?", with an undercurrent of "am I bad? Am I a bad person? Please reassure me that I'm not a bad person", which is a hell of a lot to drop on a handful of strangers online who can only ever give you a bit of information and their own biased personal opinions.

I swear I'm not trying to be a jerk about this. It's good that so many people want to depict disability in fiction beyond flat stereotypes. But it's incredibly hard to create *anything* with this level of anxiety and craving for approval. It's sooo much better to be driven by playful curiosity. Learn to love research! Don't underestimate your capacity for critical thinking! Dare to form your own opinions! The worst that can (and will) happen is that you'll be wrong and make mistakes. Big deal.

I also invite everyone to get further along in the writing process before running to consult here. Writing is rewriting, and it's easier to rewrite what's already on the page than toy with hypothetical ideas forever. Tumblr jokes a lot about the mere existence of bad pieces of writing being "a hate crime", but let's get real. Your accidentally ableist first draft is not an act of violence, and treating it that way is not disability advocacy or activism or helpful to anyone.

Sorry if this ended up too long or verbose. What do you mods think? Agree/disagree?

I can't speak for the other mods but I mostly agree TBH.

There's much more to writing disabled characters than just getting a "stamp of approval" that what you're doing "is OK". And it's not that it's bad to consult others to make sure you're not being ableist (it isn't), but a good disabled character can't just be a character that's Not Offensive.

They should be well researched, they should be interesting, and they shouldn't just be there to be "good disabled rep". They should be a character, not a diversity quota to fill.

I've addressed the whole "no one is actually going to Cancel You if you write something ableist" in one of my older posts about writing characters with facial differences because it's true. One billion movies and series and comics come out every year and a ton of them are ableist, and I promise you no one is getting "cancelled" over having a villain with a scar.

I stopped answering those "is it ok if my villain is deformed and scarred?!??" asks because they don't really add anything, they're usually not looking to change anything or learn anything, they just want a Cripple's Stamp of Approval. And that's not going to result in a good character, ever, it's just like showing a thumbs up to a writer that it's OK for them to write this offensive thing. What's the point? If you want to write it so bad, just do it... There is no Council of Disfigured People that will cancel you and take your house. You don't need my permission to write a generic evil disfigured guy and I'm not going to grant it. If you don't want to actually learn or change anything, there's no point in asking.

As I said, that's my opinion and not necessarily representative of the other mods on the blog.

mod Sasza

As to my opinion I largely agree. You (the general you, not you specifically asker, which is what I will mean in this whole ask when I say 'you') can write whatever you want and no one will send you a certified letter by mail that says you are Cancelled or a Bad Person or whatever.

We just want people to do research and put thought behind what they're writing. To think about why things are considered ableist, by us or by anyone else. And we want people to make disabled characters be characters and not just a Trope.

We as a mod team, but also as just regular people, can't or control what anyone does or doesn't write/draw/do. No one can. If you want to write something we hate, then do it. We won't stop you. We can't. We just won't like it, but if you're that committed to writing what you're writing, you can live with that, or at least you should. Someone's specific piece of art/writing/etc won't change our minds on what we've previously stated. No, not even yours. But you can do it if you really want to because that's how being an individual person works.

mod sparrow

[avifaunaa]

Keep Me Waiting [ Anticipating ] [ r.v. ]

Authors Note: The fic to finally answer a long ago ask. Sorry it took so long Anon.

Masterlist

Pairing: Rio Vidal x fem!reader

Summary: Rio’s been busy saving the world and catching the worst of the worst: that’s what happens when your wife is an FBI agent. But you start acting like a brat for attention, and she finally gives you what you want — and then some.

Content Warnings: brief angst / marital arguments, reader is given pretty feminine descriptors in how she/they dress in this, some FBI jargon from Criminal Minds [ so, I know absolutely nothing as per usual ], a case of Rio's is mentioned in some detail and involves children so take care -- i do not get explicit, but i do give context as to explain Rio's mood

Smut Wise: a lot of filth — dom/sub dynamics, pet names [ babygirl, little girl, brat -> r, sir, daddy -> rio ], Brat!R, Brat Tamer!Rio, phone sex / masturbation [ r ], coming without permission, teasing / edging [ r ], vibrator [ Rio -> R ], kitchen sex, orgasm delay / denial [ r ], multiple orgasms, squirting, degradation, praise kink [ r ], aftercare

Word Count: TBA

Rio was called in on another case less than 24 hours after returning to your shared Quantico home while you were both getting ready for your reservation at Per Se in New York City four hours away, a restaurant she'd been begging to take you to for months before you finally broke and agreed to and then when she did get a reservation, it was another six months before the two of you could get in.

You were putting in your hooped gold earrings when the call came in. Rio got calls all the time -- sometimes they did not require her to come in due to her position on her profiler team and her rank, but not long after she answered with a firm, "Vidal," her face contorted into the form you'd only seen her use for work.

Followed by her leaving the room altogether. That was never a good sign and you waited ten minutes before removing the earrings and reentering your bathroom to start removing the makeup, trying to ignore the jab in your chest at the realization at what was about to happen.

She returned to you with her hands in her suit pockets just as you had applied your moisturizer and pulled silk shorts up your hips. Her features softened at what you could not mask on your face and she reached out to wrap her arms around her waist.

"I'm sorry, babygirl," she said quietly as she pulled you close in an effort to comfort you, fingers coming to slide under the tank top you'd slipped on. Cool fingers circled small designs on your lower spine.

You did not meet her eyes as you tucked your chin into her chest, inhaling the scent of her musky cologne and remaining smell of shampoo from her shower. "'s'fine."

"Do not mumble, baby." The other hand removed itself from around you to gently take your chin in hand. You resisted her hold, wanting to keep in her warmth. "Look at me, please."

You clenched your jaw under her fingers hard enough for her to feel your displeasure, but after a few seconds you did slowly lift your gaze to hers and allow her hand to lift your chin so your face was directly mirroring her own.

She was beautiful and immaculate -- she always was. She had initially let her hair down for the night but it seemed she had put it up in her tight bun during the phone call that would take her away from you again.

"I'm sorry," Rio said, voice low and honest. You glanced at her face and did take note she seemed forlorn about the situation but unrelenting in her dedication to her job. "I will reschedule the reservation on the way in and we can plan something else when I get home."

"We had this planned months out, Rio," you said, unable to keep the bite back from your tone. Right now you weren't talking to your domme, you were talking to your wife and partner -- who you'd been promised to have fully for one night with no interruptions of work or otherwise.

"I know but we agreed that me taking the promotion would mean I don't always get guaranteed days off." She tried to brush her thumb along your cheek bone, but you pulled away from her touch and padded into the bedroom.

She was right. It was a decision you both had sat down together to discuss over -- the pros and the cons of Rio's rising position in the agency she had dedicated her career life to.

At first it had seemed fine. She was home less anyways and she had promised she would make paid vacation time every three months just so that quality time was assured. It was working and you were able to buy your first house together in the process.

But her workload increased and she was in charge of a team of people, away on cases that took her energy and soul. She came home tired and cried more.

Instead of confessing your bubbling emotions to Rio, you swallowed them down into the pit of your stomach and played with the wedding ring on your finger as you snatched the tablet off your nightstand.

"Fine Rio. Be safe, love you."

It was a dismissal -- one you never expressed to the raven-haired woman in such a way. She followed you as you to the living room. "Babygirl," she started, an infliction of warning starting to form, but her phone rang in her pocket again.

"Don't you have a case to solve, Agent Vidal?" you asked her coolly as you lay the throw blanket across your lap on the couch, ignoring her as she rushed to gather her work bags.

"We'll talk when I get home," Rio said, a promise that you chose to ignore despite the pit in your stomach telling you not to. She kissed your head and expressed her love before leaving you in an empty house.

Wine, a cheap cheese and meat board, and social media kept you company that night instead of Rio sitting across from you at one of New York's finest restaurants.

Your temper had cooled considerably by the time Rio called 48 or so hours into the case. You were still hurt and you knew a conversation was coming, but you weren't fuming anymore.

She sounded tired as she spoke to you from her hotel room in Chicago, Illinois. She couldn't discuss much about the case other than it involved children -- a spot that was more sore for her than you knew.

You spoke as she ate her dinner and she asked how your clients were -- launching you into a rampage about how none of them should truly bother to hire a social media manager if they don't want to accept the brand deals that have fair offers when all your clients want is free.

A lot of your ranting was for Rio's sake, and both of you knew it. She needed her mind to be quieted so you did as best you could. When you ran out of material to work with, though, silence fell save for the television in the background from Rio's end.

"We should discuss what was said the other day, Mrs. Vidal," Rio started, dropping her tone an octave and foregoing her vulnerability for the domme persona she took a secondary comfort in.

You ran a finger down the lace trimming of your sheer slip. "Mm, you said we'd discuss it when we got back -- there were no agreements to talking about it beforehand. So . . ." you trailed off purposefully, knowing how riled she gets when you do not finish your sentences.

The receiver rattled as Rio's hand tightened around her cell phone and her breath dropped into the microphone. You smiled at yourself as you lifted the shift up your thighs slightly so she could hear the ruffle of it; she knew your lingerie based on the sound alone.

"So we're playing this game, huh?" Rio mused in a barely controlled question. The television was turned off. "Fine. Go to our room. Now."

You snorted, "Why should I? You don't listen to me when I want something." A fingernail left a soft whine line as you traced it up your skin, and your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

A laugh was your initial response. "Okay."

Then your phone started buzzing. You turned it slightly and saw Rio's call was on hold as she FaceTimed you.

You debated ignoring it and letting it go unanswered just to further piss her off but knew you had built up enough trouble so you answered it just before it dropped.

Rio's arched eyebrow and unimpressed expression greeted you on the other end of the screen. She was sat at the small table in her hotel room, jacket off and white shirt halfway unbuttoned with her suspenders still on.

Just the way you liked her.

"You have no idea just what you're getting yourself into, little girl," your wife warned you as she leaned back in her chair and stared at you with a set jaw.

"Something, something I'm terrified," you replied nonchalantly, allowing just the tips of your lips to curve upward in a way that would drive her absolutely crazy.

Your core was already on fire with nerves and need; pushing Rio when she couldn't do a damn thing about it was one of your rare past-times and you never did it when she expected it to happen.

You wore her favorite set, prepared your attitude, and had kept the panties off for this very reason; and when she came home she would have no choice but to pay attention to you.

Rio's nostrils flared and the way her pupils dilated in front of you had you clenching around nothing. "You're forgetting your fucking place, aren't you? Daddy leaves to make sure we're comfortable and taken care of and you throw a tantrum like the little girl you are."

You slid your hand down to your chest and revealed your breasts to her, brushing your fingers along your nipple. "I was mad," you agreed easily, to her surprise, "because you cancelled the nice date we had planned in advance followed by the nice, hard fuck you promised me after."

Rio spread her legs a little more in front of you and pursed her lips. "I promised to make it up to you tenfold when I came home, didn't I? I just need you to be a good girl."

The words sparked that little submissive kernel in you that confirmed in your brain that play was happening and you smirked at her slowly.

She studied you for a moment, fingers tapping along the arm rest. "Color, babygirl?"

"Oh, it's green," you purred as you angled your camera so it was facing your thighs and the hand that was underneath the slip.

"Absolutely not." Daddy was out, tone firm and harsh. Your hand twitched in place just above your clit as she spoke her command. "You're behaving real fucking dumb right now, aren't you?"

"I deserve an orgasm," you answered, hand starting up again. She did not stop you -- either out of shock or curiosity of what your plan was -- but she did lift a half-drank beer to watch as your fingers came into contact with your cunt.

You made your gasps sweet and just desperate enough that she enjoyed it. Her eyes were darkened as she took a swig of her beer and watched your hand making movements under the shift.

She slammed the beer down that revealed a small loss of her careful control. "Remove the damn thing. Let Daddy see you disobey her order, yeah?"

This you did decide to obey, slowly. You let your fingers show the gleam of your wetness that you wipe on your thigh.

You set your phone so it rested against a decoration on your too expensive coffee table and made sure that Rio could see you well enough as you began removing the slip. The straps had already fallen down your shoulders from when you'd exposed your tits to her.

She played with the rim of the beer bottle and watched with no commentary to provide, brewing in silence and dominance she had nowhere to put with her being hundreds of miles away for the moment.

"At least you can follow some fucking orders," Rio snorted once the shift was on the floor and you were naked, pussy exposed to her. "Daddy has rules, babygirl. No touching yourself unless given permission beforehand when she leaves. You've been doing so well up until tonight, why ruin it, huh?"

"This is your fault," you said simply as you dipped your fingers back into your wetness without her okay, gathering some of it up before going to your clit to make some circles.

Your body went lax against the even more expensive cushions, your throat releasing a sound of pleasure.

"My fault," Rio echoed darkly, drowned by the squelching sound of you touching yourself in front of her. "If you stop now and clean yourself up, little girl, I may not be as hard on you," she warns.

You gasped as you clenched, stomach muscles twitching as you slid your fingers downward slowly and instead inserted them inside of your aching cunt while your thumb replaced their spot on your clit.

"F-feels to good," you slurred, too far gone to stop and willing to take whatever comes later. You already pushed her beyond return from a punishment -- might as well get yourself an orgasm from it. "Daddy my fingers aren't as long, wish it were you instead."

A cold laugh answered you, "The way you're behaving, brat, my fingers would not be in you. No, you don't deserve my fingers or my cock. Little whores like you should be strapped to a vibrator and forced to learn their lesson."

The mere thought had your hips grinding into your fingers upwards, seeking out that spongy spot in your inner walls. Rio made a noise, as if startled by the reaction you had.

"Little whore likes that does she?" Rio drawls in a higher voice as your noises became louder the closer to your peak you got. "You don't deserve to cum for Daddy like a good girl, so how about you cum for Daddy like the slut you are since you can't follow my orders?"

You let out a cry as your clit throbbed against your thumb and you tightened around your fingers, the orgasm rushing through you. Your ears filled with your heartbeat and you bubbled out sounds and words that made no sense as she talked you through the orgasm.

When it eventually tapered off and you slumped back down onto the couch, fingers still stuffed where they were, you took in a large gulp of breath. "Fuck."

Rio laughed lightly and you lifted your neck awkwardly. She looked disheveled but her pants were still buttoned, her cheeks flushed.

She had an amused glitter in her eye as she said, "You're in so much trouble."

You stick your tongue out as you removed your fingers from your heat and cleaned your fingers. "Aftercare," the raven-haired woman ordered then, no nonsense. "C'mon, get up."

Even this far apart she had an aftercare plan and a kit set up for you when you played from a distance. It was crucial even when it was as small as phone sex with a side of dirty talk; she did not fuck with either of your mental wellbeings' in terms of play.

You took the phone and discarded slip from the floor and made a shaky trek to your bedroom, chatting with Rio quietly. She had softened her tone from "mean" Daddy to "aftercare" Daddy, and the two were incredibly different.

You start the bath with your favorite bath bomb and pour a glass of wine specifically saved for aftercare and other special occasions.

"I have some of those chocolate strawberries in the freezer. Sugar and food to go with the wine, please," your wife added as you set the tray of wine and your tablet above the tub.

"Yes, Daddy," you answer demurely as you walk away from the phone to go get the item she wanted.

"Now you listen to what I tell you," you hear her muttering as you leave.

Rio's communication was less available after the scene -- she was so tired by the time she was able to make a call to you and you did not push her to do or say more than she offered, not with that haunted look that lingered in her eyes.

She seemed a little lighter on the day they caught the guy -- a convicted sex offender who had relapsed after fifteen years in prison and then five years of being released with no offense before just . . . snapping.

"They found . . . a lot of shit on his hard-drives," Rio told you that explained not only her exhaustion but the deep, bone-trying emotion she was forcing down.

Rio had lost her son to someone like this perp -- years ago. She had told you this story. Her ex-wife, Agatha, and Rio met at the young age of seventeen; during boarding school where, apparently, Agatha's ashamed parents had sent her during her fifth month of pregnancy.

There, the two had met and the rest was history.

When Nick was five years old he had gone missing. One week later they found his body. Rio and Agatha had never recovered from the loss and they had never caught the fucker, but it encouraged Rio to work into catching as many murderers as she could -- with an interest in behavior that only specialized teams could work on.

She did not talk much about it but she kept Nick in her wallet and on her desk both at home and at work. These cases were the hardest for Rio and the ones that left her with the most pent up, restless energy.

"He's going to rot, right?" you asked quietly as you watched her make sure she wasn't forgetting anything from her suitcase.

She glanced at you and it was brief, but you caught the glimmer of satisfaction that lit life back into her eyes, "Yeah. He's never getting out again."

Rio waited for the gates to the driveway to open, tired and damn near dozing off as the slowly moving iron-glad gates allowed her to pull in. She pressed the button again for them too close and arm, driving into the opening garage.

The lights were off and nothing was out of place, save maybe for the two sleek Dobermans asleep on the floor in the entry way. Wanda and Pietro were quiet but watchful -- and Rio's decision rather than yours -- when she got her promotion and her name became more public during profile releases to the press and document publishings.

She left the two where they were -- they'd follow and join her if they desired, Rio had long since stopped trying to scold you for encouraging their place in the bed -- and found you curled up in your shared bedroom, breathing evenly as you slept.

She dressed in sweats and a t-shirt before joining you in bed, leaving everything else for tomorrow and instead curling her body and arms around the one thing she found anchorage in.

She buried her nose in your neck and you made a soft noise as you cuddled backwards into her, knowing even in sleep your wife was holding you.

She did not take long to follow you into sleep, exhaustion from the last few days finally pulling her down into darkness.

You woke up to the grease and baking chocolate smell alerting you Rio was making her return home meal consisting of bacon, chocolate chip muffins, and probably some eggs to go along with it; that was the breakfast she went created from scratch every morning she returned back from a case.

You took a moment to stretch in the bed, your muscles popping in your back as sunlight filtered through the windows, curtains having been opened likely earlier in the morning.

If you didn’t get up on your own, she’d come get you and drag you out of bed in some loud and boisterous way. So you detangle yourself from the bedsheets and pad into the bathroom quietly.

After doing your business and brushing your teeth, you notice a disturbance in the usual setup on your side of the bathroom counter. Next to your sink was an all too familiar box with a piece of paper on top of it.

Let’s play. Don’t come. Be good.

— Daddy.

You set the piece of paper aside and met your own gaze in the mirror, heart thumping in your chest as the puzzle pieces clicked into place for you.

Today was going to be a very long day.

The vibrator egg was nestled in its silk cloth, waiting to be used. You sit on the toilet seat and hold the object in your hand, rolling it around and biting your lip.

She didn’t use this toy very often with you — she didn’t normally have the patience.

You must have really pissed her off.

The thought of that alone made you wet enough to put the toy in with little issue where it nestles between your walls snugly. It still feels weird, and you’ve scarcely had to walk around with it before.

You pull up your panties and sleep shorts and wash your hands, trying to drift your thoughts to something other than the way the egg moved just right inside of you every time you so much as shuffled.

You found your way into the kitchen when you could no longer find excuses to avoid it.

Rio was tilting bacon from a pan, still sizzling, onto a paper towel covered plate. She was in sweats dipped low on her hips and a sports bra, hair in the messiest of bind you’d ever seen from Rio.

Your clit throbbed at the image. The domesticity of it all.

You slid your arms onto the island’s counter, half bent over as you watched her turn around and catch sight of you.

A sparkle came into those dark eyes of hers and she smiled. “Hey baby,” she greeted, setting the plate down and swooping in to give you a kiss.

You returned it, smiling upward and humming your satisfaction at the proper hello she gave you.

And then her hand, fingers splayed, found the curve of your ass and settled there ever so comfortably while the kiss lasted.

“Up,” she murmured into your mouth. You knew what she was wanting, so you push off the counter and she followed, lips still attached to yours, and jumped with her arms lunging out to quickly catch you. Legs wrapped around her waist and your fingers curled in her messy bun.

“Mm, what a beauty,” Rio said, licking her lips once the kiss was broken for air neither of you could no longer deny. “Did you find your special gift on the counter?”

“Mmhm,” you answered, grinding your hips into her abs as your fingers played with the baby hairs at the back of her neck. “I was already wet enough to slip it in,” you added mischievously, smirking.

Rio snorted and allowed you to grind, though one of her hands found itself between your bodies to fiddle with the hem of your shorts. “I bet you are, babygirl.”

You brushed your lips against her neck in hopes she’d be drawn into giving you the best kitchen sex of your life; but no luck. She slipped her fingers in with purpose and didn’t even go near your clit.

She barks out laughter upon coming into contact with your wet heat herself, pushing her fingers in until the tips made contact with the egg nestled inside.

“Filthy fucking slut,” she drawls. “How the fuck this is staying inside so well,” she punctuates this with a push of the egg upwards, and you squeaked. It had no where to go. “I’m left to wonder. I really am.”

“Core exercises,” you shoot back, leaving her to lift her lips upward in a soft sided smirk.

“I give your core enough—“

You shove her chest despite being in her arms, causing her to adjust the one holding you so she gently sets you down onto the chilled hardwood, fingers sliding out of your cunt.

You pouted at her. “You didn’t have to stop.”

“You’re in enough trouble,” Rio reminded you, turning back to the oven at the exact moment the timer went off. “I’m trying to keep you from getting into more.”

You blew air into your cheeks but let the conversation drop as she pulled the muffins out. Your stomach growled as she started plating all the food. “Baby, mind helping me set the table?”

“Sure.” You turned on your heels and meandered through the kitchen until you came to the right cabinets, grabbing your day to day diningware and stopping for silverware on your way to the table.

She brought the plated food to the table just as you sat empty diningware onto the placemats. The little slice of life you had carved out for yourself — it wasn’t what you were expecting for yourself when you met Rio almost five years ago.

You had expected to remain in your New York City apartment, drinking wine by yourself in a lonely silence as you handled clients with nobody coming home to you.

You were glad you weren’t living that future, but this one.

You caught Rio sliding Wanda a slice of bacon and rolled your eyes, but didn’t comment on the action as you sat down across from her at the table.

“When did you get home?” you asked her as the two of you began piling your plates with food. “I don’t think I woke up?”

Rio’s lips twitched. “You didn’t,” she confirmed, stabbing her eggs first. “You were lost to this world, drooling into my pillow by the way.”

“It smells like you,” you defended, though you knew your drooling habit was true enough. Sleeping face down always ended in waking up in a puddle of your own making. “You can’t blame a girl for missing her wife.”

Rio shook her head, loose strands of hair drifting around her face. “I suppose I can’t,” she agreed.

You both fell into relative silence as you ate your breakfast, sometimes having brief chats about unimportant things.

Rio seemed distracted, though when you were telling her about the client from the other night.

You figured out why the second the toy inside of you began to vibrate. Thankfully she waited until you weren’t consuming food or drink before she decided to turn it on, because your body jerked forward involuntarily as your fingers curled against the edge of the table.

Rio stuck a piece of muffin in her mouth, eyes locked on you with the unlocked intensity that told you that “Daddy” was out to play now, not Rio.

“Feel good, baby?” she asked nonchalantly, pulling a strip of bacon apart and nibbling on it.

You breathed out through your nostrils, refusing to give her a vocal response until you could gather her bearings. Based on how slow the vibrations were against your walls, you deduced that she had it on the lowest setting — which meant she was feeling somewhat merciful this morning.

Sometimes she wasn’t as kind.

You glanced down at your half eaten plate, your glass of water you didn’t finish. Both worthy of punishment she would be pleased to give you if you didn’t leave both glass and plate empty.

“Feels good,” you confirmed as you adjusted your body on the chair and grabbed your fork.

“Feels good..?” Rio pressed, eyebrow arched.

You met her gaze as best you could while not rubbing your thighs together. “F-feels good, Daddy.”

Her smile widened and you know you had pleased her. “What a good girl,” she said, more so a dismissal for you to continue on than anything.

You were alight with arousal and soaking through your panties very, very quickly — sticking to your thighs and underneath your ass. It would grow uncomfortable soon but for now you put on a show for your wife, squirming on your chair and biting your lip between shaky nibbles of your breakfast.

She kept the setting of the vibrator blissfully low the entire time she had it on as you cleared your meal. Even if she was doing it to keep you aroused but not not close to cumming, you were somewhat grateful considering that this was the beginning of a punishment.

She stood up abruptly and started to stack empty plates and glasses. “Baby, mind getting tubberware and putting the muffins in the fridge?” she asked easily.

“Of course.” You stood, but the second you found steady footing the vibrator was clicked up a notch in speed.

Your hip knocked into the counter at the new clash of sensations that coursed through you. You made a low noise in your throat as you turned your body and placed your elbows on the countertop and leaned over it, trying to steady yourself.

“Aw, baby —“ a cool hand slid up your shirt, fingers mocking your overheated skin, “ — what’s wrong, huh? Are you hurt?”

“Daddy,” you bite out, clenching your legs together. Rio notices immediately, based on how her foot jams between your ankles and forces them apart and her knee rests comfortably between your soaked cunt.

“Holy shit, you can’t even keep yourself from ruining two layers of clothing,” Rio chortled, nails making upward and downward designs on your skin, her chest pressed against yours. “My knee is getting soaked.”

“M’cant help it,” you whined. Your forehead suddenly came into contact with the cold surface of the marble countertop, and you realized Rio had been slowly, gingerly bending you over.

“Of course not,” the agent agreed without issue as the hand not holding you down — now by the nape of your neck — slowly started pulling your shorts and underwear at down. “That’s why Daddy’s here, isn’t she? So she can get her stupid little girl back in line.”

You whine into the hard marble as her fingers brush against your ass. Then pulled away.

The vibrations grew in tandem, rapidly.

You yelped and jerked forward, knees knocking into the front of the counter despite Rio’s form holding you as still as she could.

“Nonono,” you whined, “m’gonna come.”

You warned her in advance — the buildup was intense and you were unable to avoid that road without Rio’s assistance. Your clit was throbbing to be touched, but even then you didn’t think you needed it to be for you to come.

The vibrator suddenly went still inside of you and a gasping sob escaped you, your sweat-slicked skin wiping along the countertop.

“Good girl,” Rio crooned as she massaged your neck. “I was fully expecting you to be a slut like you were the last time we played and come without Daddy’s permission — but I see my sweet, compliant girl is playing today. Not my brat.”

Her knee jabbed upward and you released a choked sound, fingers digging roughly into the edges of the counter.

“M’sorry — m’sorry,” you mewled, simpering and small in the ways that you knew Rio was digging through your headspace for. She loved your brat but she loved the thing that you became when she sought to punish you for being a brat.

The ebb of your lost orgasm faded as Rio held you there, basking in your sniffles and soft noises that she reveled in during your dynamic play. She took the time to rub the tension from your neck while her other hand kept a steady hold on your now bare waist.

She wouldn’t deny you for long — her preferred methods were overstimulating you and leaving you a sobbing mess rather than denial. But she cannot deny the deep root that came from the seed that was planted from your little game that night.

Her thumb made circles on your neck and she finally made a move as your breathing calmed.

You felt it when her fingers trailed down toward your weeping cunt, unbothered by the state of it and completely ignoring your clit entirely despite the aborted thrust of your hips to try and attempt stimulation.

“Stay still,” Rio ordered, tone final and tightening her grip just enough.

You went slack again and so did she, continuing her exploration. She played lightly, working you up until she finally inserted two fingers and grabbed the toy inside of you to pull it out.

You hated how empty it left you, the ghost vibrations still shooting pleasures to your nervous system. You shivered as Rio tossed the toy into the sink to be washed.

“Not with the dishes,” you moaned out.

Rio’s hand suddenly grasped your hair and she pulled your head up so she could look at you over your shoulder. “Do you think Daddy gives two shits if our dishes and toys mix?”

You swallowed. “No, but —“

“It’s, ‘No, Daddy,’” Rio corrected as she let go of your head and started roughly fingering you, no warning. “What’s your color?”

“G-green,” you yelped, stomach shoved into the counter as she took her place behind you and began to thrust upward into you.

“Are you ever going to disobey Daddy again?” Rio demanded, her breaths almost as lost as yours as she finally, finally, allowed you to meet her thrusts in tandem and her thumb came to roughly circle your clit.

As much as she was denying you before, this was now turning into a fucking that your brain couldn’t catch up with. A sort of whiplash that left you reeling and Rio knew exactly how to handle it.

“No Daddy,” you promised. “No, never again, I—oh,” you shuddered as a particularly hard thrust interrupted your decree and you were wordless.

“I just need to keep you fucked stupid if I want you to obey, I guess,” Rio mused, mostly to herself as her index finger suddenly scraped over your g-spot.

“Daddy, I—I’m gonna — Please,” you sobbed, sagging into her at the explosion of pleasure that threatened to over take you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rio said, a little more softly without lightening her touch.

It was ripping your body apart — this pleasure. It tore down your sides and cascaded through your entire body like a tidal wave of epic proportions.

Your knees couldn’t hold themselves up and Rio didn’t bother to stop fucking you, she sped up.

Two. Three, four more orgasms were forced from you until, finally, Rio lowered both of you onto the kitchen floor as you rippled through the aftermath of unrelenting torrents she pushed on you.

She pressed kisses into your hair, fingers still buried into you, and waited for you to come back to her.

You came back to awareness in a vanilla bubble bath, laying against something warm as a sponge rubbed along your arm.

“Hey.”

You turned your head and blinked blearily at Rio then offered a smile and buried your face into the crook of her neck, readjusting your body to be closer to her.

She didn’t stop you, letting the sponge fall into the water and wrapping her arms around you so tightly to encase you in her shield of warmth.

“If you’re up for it,” your wife started, voice husky, “I managed to get us our reservation in tonight.”

You shifted your gaze up to look at her, hers down to you and you smiled as you leaned up to kiss her.

“As long as you don’t keep me waiting again.”

Rio only smiled into the kiss.

[artdcnaldson]

Ok so hear me out. I need you to write an au about virgin reader and art having sex for the first time while patrick watches (like the perv he is!) I imagine that it would probably take place during the hotel makeout scene or in art’s dorm room😄

all three of you are on the same freakuency..... sweet art's first time, he just needs some moral support, that's all!

And maybe you've been hooking up with Patrick on the side and he very selflessly asked if you'll pop Art's cherry. Not like you're in his lap with his dick in your hand, the words were mumbled clumsily against your lips.

"I just think..." You interrupt him with a clumsy kiss, which he pulls back from reluctantly. "It would be nice. He's going to college in the fall and— fuck, yeah, like that— it'd be nice to get him nice and deflowered before he's surrounded by all that pussy without any clue of what to do."

"Gross. Are you seriously trying to pimp me out?" You ask with a tiny grin, not entirely disgusted by anything more than Patrick’s casual misogyny. Your hand continues its slick glide up and down his cock. Patrick just grins at you, like that's answer enough. "You're an idiot."

Whatever. Idiot or not, you still fuck Patrick. Idiot or not, you agree to deflower Art Donaldson.

And Art's cute, in a boyish, sort of way. He's sweet, well intentioned. When you come onto him at the MRTA graduation, he's all wide-eyed and nervous. Aren't you seeing Patrick? Are you sure Patrick won't get mad?

"I’m not Patrick’s girlfriend. And besides, he wants me to," you tell him, and his fears melt away like cotton candy. Now that you've eased his mind, it's so easy to get him back to his dorm room. It’s so sweet, how he’s already hard in his jeans from a little kissing and the promise of something more. His eagerness just proves that Patrick was right— this really was the best gift he could give Art for graduation.

If it were up to you, it would’ve happened in your own dorm, but Patrick insisted that it had to happen in their dorm. So instead of soft sheets and tasteful decorations and scented candles, Art gets scratchy blankets and the smell of cigarette smoke and empty Gatorade bottles.

He swallows when he sees Patrick waiting on the bed. It all feels like a virginity-intervention. Still... Art sits on his side of the bed, knees touching Patrick's, and looks between the two of you, hackles up, backing into a defensive state.

"You're both making fun of me," he mutters, and there’s an angry twitch in his jaw, that thinly veiled restraint that you notice and file away for later. "This is a big joke, right? Patrick, you fucking asshole."

"I'm not making fun of you, Art," you assure, moving to sit in front of him, hands on his knees. It forces his pretty blue eyes to land firmly on you. "I just want to help. It'll be nice to get it done, won't it? Patrick and I can help you."

He huffs, glancing between the two of you again. "He's staying?" Patrick grins and nods. Of course he is. He'd been there for the start of Art's sexual awakening, no way he'd miss this too.

"Yeah, to give you some advice, baby," you say with a little smile. You move into his lap, mouthing at his jaw. He sighs a little, tilting his head to the side so your lips can move to suck on his pulse point. You smile against his throat, teeth grazing the sensitive spot there, and he whines. "That's it, just let us take care of you."

You just kiss him for a while— licking into his mouth, letting him taste and explore however he wants. His hands slip under your top, squeezing your tits while he moans into your mouth something incoherent about how soft, warm, perfect they are.

It's like he's drunk on it— painfully hard beneath you, whining at every little touch. When you peel off his pristine blue button up and run your thumbs over his nipples, he keens and mewls like it's the best thing he's ever felt. Fuck, maybe it is.

"You can't suck him off," Patrick says when you go to unbutton his pants. "He'll cum before he can even fuck you."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art mutters, shooting Patrick a glare that's about as deadly as he can manage with kiss swollen lips and mussed golden curls and ruddy cheeks. Like an angry little cherub. “I won’t… I’m not gonna cum if you touch me. I have gotten head before, and handjobs, and stuff.”

His hips buck mindlessly, seeking friction as you work the button and fly of his jeans. You smile as you rub over the bulge in the denim with your free hand, feeling the hard length of him. It makes him throw his head back and moan. “Yeah? But maybe Patrick’s right,” you murmur, lips trailing over his jaw. “Might be too much for you, baby. If we get you too worked up I don’t know if you’ll last when you’re inside of me.”

He whines. Really whines. It has to be one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard. “It’s not that I can’t, just… maybe I’m impatient.” You and Patrick share a look and grin. Sure. Impatient.

“I know you are,” you tell him, lips twitching as you fight an amused grin. “Just get me ready for you. You know how to do that?”

Patrick shakes his head behind Art, but you get the impression that maybe Art knows more than Patrick is willing to give him credit for. His hand slips under your dress, rubbing you through the cheap lace thong you’d bought at Wet Seal. Your eyes flutter shut as you gasp softly— his thumb rubs against your clit, but his eyes are locked on your every reaction.

“That’s good?” He murmurs softly. His index finger teases over your dripping entrance, barely concealed by hot pink lace. “It is, isn’t it? You’re so wet,” The words escape him mindlessly, like he’s accidentally verbalizing his thoughts. His cheeks go red and Patrick smiles like this is the proudest he’s ever been.

The tips of his fingers catch on the wet fabric and tug it to the side, just enough that his fingers can tease over your dripping pussy. His thumb maintains its pressure on your clit as he sinks his middle finger inside you to his second knuckle. A soft puff of breath like a gasp slips past his lips as he feels your walls squeezing around him.

“He’s really good,” you gasp out, looking at Patrick over Art’s shoulder as he stretches you on his fingers. Patrick’s big hand splays over his lap, squeezing at the hard length of his cock in his jeans as he watches. “Better than you, maybe.” Patrick laughs softly, rolling his eyes as he leans back against the headboard.

Art likes the praise, you know he does because his lips twitch into a cocky smirk as he sinks a second finger alongside the first, curling them until his fingertips press against a sensitive spot that makes stars dance across your vision. He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, he’s driven by the need to be praised and desired. The silent, unspoken competition in his mind against Patrick driving him to do anything he can to keep you pleased and happy.

Each pretty moan and gasp from your lips is lapped up like the sweetest honey. He nuzzles against your jaw as he fucks you with thick fingers, like your body is a pretty little piece of equipment he’s been trained to perfectly use. He moans against your skin when you come, cunt fluttering and squeezing around his fingers, like he’s feeling it every bit as much as you are.

You’ve forgotten to spare a glance at Patrick— it’s too easy to get lost in the ways that Art can play with your body. His jeans are tugged down just enough for him to free himself— and his hand works over the length of his cock as he pumps his fist in time with Art’s fingers. You squeeze Art’s arm once, twice, to get him to stop and he obeys, withdrawing fingers slick with your juices and licking them off like you’re his favorite meal.

“Are you sure he’s a virgin?” You murmur as you push Art back against the sheets, his pretty golden curls fanned out against his pillow like a halo.

Patrick nods, watching hungrily as you undress the pretty boy beneath you. His fancy dress shoes and socks, his jeans and button down, then his boxers. Until Art’s naked and flushed pink beneath you, drooling precum onto his tummy as his cock jerks with weak little pulses. When he looks at you, his pupils are so dilated they swallow up the pretty blue. He’s so pretty and debauched it makes you feel a little dizzy.

You slip off your dress, then your panties, and watch the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat as he looks at you. “Are you okay with me on top?” You ask as you straddle his hips. You’re so close that he can feel the heat emanating from your body, from your cunt.

He swallows again, glancing over at Patrick like he’s asking for permission. “She’s good at it,” Patrick tells him. “You can just lay back and let her do all the work.“

You’d tell Patrick not to be a dick, but, well, he’s kind of right. You don’t expect Art to do anything— it’s his first time. But Patrick fucking loves laying back and making you work for it, like you’d have to earn the right to come. Art’s not that kind of guy— at least, not yet. But you can sense that smug confidence beneath the surface, lying dormant.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, flushed red and slick with precum. You give an experimental pump in your hand and watch as more dribbles out. Needy boy. You sit up, lining him up with your entrance when he grabs your thigh. “Wait, don’t I need a condom?”

Patrick reaches into the bedside drawer, but you just shake your head. “It’s fine,” you tell him, teasing his tip through your folds, getting him even wetter. “I’m on the pill, and I know you’re clean. You can cum in me.”

As soon as the words slip past your lips, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain. You can feel his cock pulsing in your grasp and you have to bite back an amused grin. “Hold on, wait—“ he gasps out, gripping your hips like a vise, dimpling the plush skin there. “Don’t do it yet, just… give me a second. Just a second.”

It’s a pretty sight— his full lips parted as he pants softly, the little furrow in his brow where his eyes pinch shut. He takes one deep breath, then another, and nods. “Okay,” he pants. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You have to go slow so you don’t overwhelm him, sinking down inch by inch by inch. He groans, head tiling back against the pillows, the fine muscles of his neck taut. His hands grasp onto your hips, squeezing tight like it might ground him in reality, like it’s keeping him from slipping into a dizzy, mindless euphoria.

When you’re finally flush against him, he takes a shaky breath and opens his eyes to look at you. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he gasps. “And you feel— oh, god— you’re so warm, and wet, and you’re so fucking tight.”

Patrick moans at the sight of Art falling apart beneath you, hand squeezing around his cock as he pumps his length. The sight makes heat bloom in your tummy, and you feel yourself squeezing around Art’s cock. He whines, panting out hot puffs of breath.

It’s easy to forget how strong he is when he’s beneath you like this. But he grips your hips and pulls you forward, encouraging you to glide along his cock. “Please,” he says weakly, looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “I can take it.”

“He can take it,” Patrick echoes with a grin. There’s something about the thinly veiled amusement in his eyes that tells you he wants you to unmake Art entirely— to take the sweet, needy boy and make him something unrecognizable. Something primal, something pathetic. “C’mon, look at him. He’s a big boy, he can handle it.”

You begin to move, palms splayed against his chest as you rock your hips, nice and slow. He groans, head tipping back, eyes rolling so you can see the whites of them.

"You feel so good, Art," you gasp as you begin to move a little faster. He whines, eyes locked on the sight of your tits bouncing as you ride his cock. "So perfect."

Art wants more. He inches his hands a little higher, so his fingertips brush against your breasts, almost nervous to just grab. Patrick scoffs. "Just grab her tits, Art— Jesus— she likes it."

And he does. Big, rough hands gripping your tits, squeezing as you ride him. He bucks his hips up, seeking the tight warmth of your cunt as you move, just wanting to hold you down and stay buried there.

"Move faster," Patrick says. You can hear from the gravel in his voice, that tiny hint of whininess, that he's getting close. Of course Patrick wouldn't want to finish first and have to sit there watching Art have all the fun.

And, technically, Patrick is your boyfriend (or, at least, you think he is, and Art thinks he is, and Patrick... is a mystery), so you decide to indulge in his request.

"Wait—" Art pants, hands flying down to your hips as you ride him harder. "Oh, fuck— wait, wait— you're gonna— nghh, god—" He squeezes his eyes shut, chest heaving as you bounce on his cock. He squeezes, fingers dimpling the plush fat of your ass as he tries to slow you down, or maybe just hold on for some sense of grounding as you bring him closer and closer to a sweet release.

"C'mon, Art," you gasp, nails digging into his pale pecs. "C'mon, we want you to cum, baby."

He tries to hold out. He really does, but you want him to cum, you're asking for it. You and Patrick. He cries out, bucking up into your cunt as he finishes, pumping a warm load inside of you. He whines, eyes fluttering as his cock twitches, dribbling out his last drops of cum.

Patrick's chest is splattered with his own release, drying messily in his chest hair, Art Donaldson is beneath you— sated and deflowered. You glance over at Patrick while Art's eyes are still squeezed shut and make a face that says I didn't even cum. You owe me.

He just grins and nods, like it's a given that he'd get you off after. But honestly, you figure it's 50-50 that he'll follow through. Maybe you can just ask Art.

[mia-maybank]

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted: Part 1 - George Clarke

George Clarke x Fem!reader ( 1.5k words)

The sidemen charity match , a gorgeous ex-boyfriend with a mullet and his entire friendgroup scattered around the stands to avoid ... what could ever go wrong?

warnings: lots of angst (it gets happier I promise) , hints of poor mental health but it's not a heavy focus

series | masterlist | next part

This is my first fic in a while so sorry if it's not the best :) I've had this idea for a while and then I'm gonna start on everyone's requests this week too! <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The roar of the crowd only increases as the players slowly filter onto the pitch, shaking each others hands and waving to the crowds. I clutch my drink tighter in my hand as I watch one player in particular laugh and joke with Chris and Will.

I don't know quite how I ended up in the stands of the Sidemen Charity Match. Perhaps the impulsive decision stemmed from the knowledge that it would allow me to set my eyes on George for the first time in 2 months, or perhaps it was just the intense loneliness that has followed me around like an unwanted weight, caging my heart in a murky fog of isolation ever since that one Tuesday night.

It's not like our shared group of friends have ever explicitly stated that they were choosing his side or had ever given me any form of grief; yet when I kept my distance in the days following the breakup, fearing their anger, their lack of messages or calls had given me an answer enough.

I sit towards the back of the stands, well away from the friends and family section where I know the Arthurs, Bach, Liv and various other of my old friends will be sat. My hoodie is drawn up, shielding my face from any spectators that may recognise me and blow up my whole plan of 'slip in, watch the match, slip out and avoid any social interaction at all costs'. I doubted I still had much relevance in the YouTube scene these days anyway, as my channel has remained untouched and been left to bury in dust and the weight of my heartbreak. I truly had tried to keep up my career independently, but filming with the absence of George's warm touch, Chris' gremlin-like laugh and Arthur TV's random historic facts didn't feel right. Therefore, I had just avoided social media entirely for the last 2 months, finding it easier than scrolling through the pictures and videos of George and the others partying and filming like I had never even been a part of their lives in the first place.

The match passes by in a blur of mullets running around the pitch, an impressive amount of goals being scored, and a growing pain in my chest that I tried my best to swallow down, although this proved harder with every passing second of watching the people who my world once orbited around carry on existing and living so vibrantly without me. When George scored, I couldn't help but let out a loud cheer; I knew that playing in this match was something that he had never even dared to dream of, so I couldn't help but feel an abundance of pride settle in my chest as he celebrated with Tobi.

As the final whistle blows , conceding the all stars team as the winners following an intense round of penalties, I slip out of my seat, intending to make it out of the stadium long before the boys left the pitch. I had time after all; they still had to celebrate and be presented with the trophy.

However, it seemed fate had other plans, as the throng of people who similarly were trying to leave early was overwhelming, and impossible to push through. Eventually, I found a more private stairwell that looked like it wasn't open to the public and slipped past security, figuring I could make a dash down the stairwell and escape quickly.

In my rush, I didn't notice a blur of red bouncing up the stairs until we collided, the impact sending the other person stumbling into the rail whilst I slipped fully, crashing onto the hard floor of the stairs.

"oh shit, I'm so sorr-" the person began, before cutting of abruptly. I soon discovered why when I looked up at the person and find myself staring directly into the equally as shocked eyes of ChrisMD.

Well shit, there goes my plan of avoiding everyone.

"y/n" Chris breathes out, his voice surprisingly gentle and void of the anger I had anticipated. "what are you doing here?"

"I'm not trying to make this a thing I swear!" I stammer out, panicked. "I just wanted to watch you guys play, I was planning on just slipping out".

"Without even saying hello?" he frowns, and I'm majorly thrown off by the lack of confrontation or resentment in his tone and how he seems offended at the idea of me actively avoiding them.

"Well I mean, it's George's big day, not mine and I knew you guys wouldn't want to see me so I was just going to stay hidden-".

"y/n" Chris interrupts softly, looking genuinely heartbroken now, his eyebrows drawn together in a mix of frustration and pity. "of course we would want to see you. I mean, we were practically joined at the hip at one point, and the other boys miss you too, you were a part of our friendship group just as much as George until you vanished. We thought you just wanted to move on and distance yourself from George so we left you alone."

"what?" I choke out, tearing up despite my best efforts to keep a lid on the emotions that aroused the second I realised the person was Chris. "of course I wouldn't just abandon you guys, I thought you guys were upset with me when nobody messaged and I didn't want to force my place in the friend group if you guys didn't want me there anymore." My voice wavers, my vision warped from tears at this point as all of the unspoken hurt I've kept firmly buried since the breakup finally pours out.

"This is the first time I've left my house since the breakup and I just wanted to cheer you guys on in secret, I thought you guys hated me".

"y/n hey hey it's okay-" Chris steps towards me now as if he is approaching a scared deer, his face lined with concern as he reaches out towards me. The moment is interrupted by the sound of laughter from below us, and Chris' expression drops as he mutters "oh for fucks sake not now".

It's too late to do anything though, as the footsteps have now approached the flight of stairs that Chris and me are currently frozen on. "Chris where did you get to why do you look like you've seen a ghost- wait y/n?".

I finally dare to look up at the mention of my name, giving up any pretence of disguising my presence and make eye contact with a shell-shocked Simon, who was the person who had spoken.

My eyes fall behind him to see Ethan, Will, Max, Tobi and Harry all looking equally as caught of guard. However, my attention is captured by the man staring at me with an unreadable expression behind the rest of the group, as stiff as a board and as pale as a ghost.

George.

Well, fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

@the-internets-girlfriend

[runningincircl3s]

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Eleven

masterlist

chapter warnings: OHHH LORD... this is where it takes a turn (NSFW MDNI!!)

I'M SO EXCITED TO FINALLY POST THIS CHAPTER!!!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had finally happened. The guys had finally sent off their album, over a year full of hard work, sleepless nights, , headaches, arguments, laughter, pain, suffering and dedication had gone into this project, so it was definitely time to celebrate. 

All the guys had come over for the hot tub party Folio had promised, but there was one problem,

“Yeah I don’t think it’s working.” Folio frowned, staring at the hot tub with his hand on his hip. 

“What’s wrong with it?” You asked, standing by his side as you both inspected it. 

“It isn’t heating up.” 

“Have you tried turning the temperature up?”

“You can do that?” 

“Seriously?” You glare at him, “You’re telling me you haven’t-”

“So is this all I have to do?”

He adjusted the temperature, and before you knew it, the water began to warm up. (Because this just happened to be a super fast heating hot tub.)

“Finally!” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to get this working for hours.”

“You’re welcome.” You laughed, turning to walk back inside, but paused before you got to the door, “I’m going to get changed, I’ll be right back.” 

“Cool,” Folio smiled, “Could you bring me a beer out when you come back?”

“They’re right here in the fridge, Nick, get one yourself.” You chuckled, before disappearing into the kitchen. 

As you passed the living room, you let everybody know you had fixed Folio’s problem, and the hot tub would be ready soon, before rushing to your room, giggling to yourself as you pulled various swimsuits and bikinis from your drawer. 

And there it was. 

The one that left very little to the imagination but was still super cute, it fit your body so perfectly and was more comfortable than the others you owned, there was no downside to it.

It made you look hot as fuck.

You were going to get your own back tonight, after Noah had walked out of the bathroom of the hotel, nothing but his towel hung low on his hips, knowing very well what that would do to you, and this would work perfectly.

You stood in front of the mirror, grinning to yourself as you adjusted the straps. You looked so damn good. 

And you knew he’d think so too. 

Once you shoved the rest of your swimwear back into your drawer, you grabbed a hoodie, slipping it on before heading back down the stairs. 

By the time you got outside, everyone was already out there, drinks in hand, laughter filling the air as you gently pushed the door shut behind you.

“Took you long enough.” Folio grinned, reaching for the beer you held out to him.

“Didn’t realise you missed me that much.” You smirked, sliding your shoes off.

Noah barely acknowledged you at first, his focus on his drink, until you shrugged off the hoodie.

And you felt his eyes on you.

You weren’t looking at him, but you just knew. That fraction of a second where his shoulders tensed, where the rim of his glass lingered against his lips just a little longer before he took a drink.

You climbed into the water, making sure to stretch just a little more than necessary, arms raising above your head, a soft sigh slipping past your lips. You weren’t trying to be obvious, but you weren’t not trying either.

As you settled in, you finally stole a glance at him.

And, boy, Noah was staring. He caught himself a second later, looking away with a slow sip of his drink. 

You almost smirked.

...

The next hour passed quicker than you realised. Everyone was celebrating their work, so the air didn't feel heavy for once, and there were no tense moments between you and Noah. You were all just friends, happy to be around each other.

Until...

All of a sudden you felt something brush against your ankle.

Your eyes snapped open.

Across from you, Noah’s gaze met yours, a slight smirk on his face. His arm was still draped over the edge, his posture completely relaxed, like he hadn’t just done that.

You swallowed, trying to convince yourself it was an accident. The hot tub wasn’t that big, after all.

And then it happened again.

This time, his foot barely skimmed yours under the water, slow, deliberate.

Your breath caught.

Noah’s lips twitched, just slightly, but enough for you to know he was messing with you.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

Oh, so this was how he wanted to play it?

Fine. You'll play too.

You shifted, stretching your legs out just a little- innocently, of course- until your foot brushed his knee. Not enough for anyone to notice, not enough to be obvious, but enough for him to feel it.

Noah inhaled sharply, his body stiffening. 

“You okay?” You tilted your head at him, feigning innocence. 

His jaw clenched. 

“Mhm.”

You hummed in response, letting your foot drift away, giving him the illusion of mercy, before it returned, barely grazing his leg this time.

Noah exhaled slowly, shifting slightly like he was trying to get comfortable, but you saw the way his fingers flexed around his glass.

Oh, you had him right where you wanted him.

He had started this game back at the hotel, but you knew you were going to win. And you would go to any lengths necessary. 

The guys were having a conversation, but you couldn’t tell what it was about as your focus was on Noah. You bit your lip, the tip of your toes gently grazing his thigh as you looked away, sipping your drink. 

You moved again, your foot barely skimming further up this time, brushing over the outline of his length under the water.

And Noah went rigid. His hand tightened around his glass as his body tensed.

You risked a glance at him, his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark.

Good.

He shifted, subtly trying to move away, but you didn’t let up. Another slow, deliberate brush of your foot, and you could feel him hardening under your touch.

His fingers twitched like he was this close to snapping, his jaw was clenched and he sent you a look as if to say 'stop it.'

But the corners of your lips turned up into a smile.

And before he could do anything about it, you let out a soft sigh, stretching your arms above your head like nothing had happened.

“I'm gonna get another drink.” You announced, setting your empty cup on the tub’s edge before climbing out and quickly drying off. 

You could still feel his stare burning into your back as you sauntered inside, swaying your hips just enough to drive him insane.

The door had barely just shut before you heard it open again, followed by heavy footsteps. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” You smirked, drink in hand as you turned to face him.

Noah was already right there, stalking toward you, eyes dark with frustration and something even darker, hair slightly damp and messy. 

His tongue darted out, running along his bottom lip as he shook his head.

“You know exactly what,” he muttered. “You really wanna play innocent?”

You sipped your drink, tilting your head. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Noah let out a sharp, humorless laugh, stepping closer.

“Do you like pushing me?” His voice was quieter now, almost dangerous.

Your heart pounded, but you refused to let it show.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, “Do you like being pushed?”

For a moment, you thought he might break. That he’d snap, close the gap between you, finally give in. 

“You’re such a fucking brat.” He murmured, though his voice dripping with lust.

You felt your stomach flip.

“I bet you get off on this, don’t you?” His voice was low, dark, so sure of himself. "You just looove to push me."

You scoffed, tilting your chin up. 

“No.”

He hummed, stepping closer. His fingers ghosted along the counter beside you, not touching you, but boxing you in. His head tilted slightly. 

“You sure about that?”

You refused to back down. 

“Yes.”

Noah let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. 

“Bullshit. I bet you’re soaked right now,” he murmured, almost mocking.

Your breath hitched, but you forced a glare. 

“I’m not.”

He licked his lips, eyes locked on yours like he was daring you to keep lying.

“So, if I were to just touch...” Before you could protest, his hand dipped down, skimming over your hip, his fingers teasing along the edge of your bikini bottoms before cupping your heat. “Here…”

Your breath caught.

“Noah-”

And then he pressed his fingers harder against you, right where you ached the most, pulling the fabric to the side so slightly to just dip his finger in and…

“Holy fuck,” he murmured, voice full of amusement as he smirked. “You’re soaked.”

Your face burned.

You should have pushed him away, should have denied it, but you couldn’t. You were frozen, heartbeat pounding in your ears as he traced slow, teasing circles over your clit through the damp fabric.

You didn’t want him to stop. 

“Told you.” He taunted, voice all low and mocking.

“Shut up.” Your breath came out shaky. 

Noah let out a sharp laugh. 

“Make me.”

Your nails dug into the counter behind you as Noah kept up those slow, teasing strokes.

Then he leaned down a little, his lips hovering just over yours, you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he murmured, all smug and infuriating as he pulled his hand away. “You were so confident a second ago.”

Your throat tightened. 

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Noah chuckled, low and dark.

And then, he pushed the fabric aside again, and your thighs instinctively tried to press together as his fingers skimmed through your slick heat.

"Don't run now, angel." His knee slipped between your thighs, keeping you open, and you bit back a whimper.

But Noah heard it.

“Ohh,” he grinned, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you still. “You like this, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction.

Noah wasn’t having it.

“You wanna act like a brat?” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

And then, he slid a single finger inside. Anyone could walk in right now and see the two of you, and maybe the thought of that turned you on more than you'd admit.

“Fuck, so tight.” Noah groaned, slipping a second finger in.

Your head fell back, your legs trembling.

“Noah, we could get c-”

His thumb brushed over your clit, and your words died.

“What was that?” he taunted, his pace slow, almost agonising. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Your fingers curled around his wrist, but you didn’t pull him away. You couldn’t.

 “You gonna admit I was right?” His mouth ghosted over your jaw.

Your nails dug into his skin.

“No.”

He let out a sharp breath, half laugh, half groan.

“Jesus christ, you’re impossible… I know just how to fix that…”

He added another finger.

Your whole body jerked, your hands flying to his shoulders as a moan threatened to spill from your lips.

Noah just smirked. 

“Yeah... There it is.”

Fucking asshole.

He was taking his time, drawing it out, making you suffer just like you had in the hot tub.

This was payback.

Pure, delicious payback.

And although you wouldn’t let yourself admit it just yet, you loved it.

His fingers curled just right, hitting that spot that had your breath shaky, your hips moving against his hand before you could stop yourself.

Noah felt it, saw it, and it destroyed whatever little restraint he had left.

His free hand grabbed your jaw, tilting your face up so he could see you. Your lips were parted, pupils blown with need, your body begging for more even as you stubbornly held onto your pride.

“You love this,” he murmured, his thumb dragging along your lower lip. “Don’t you?”

You shook your head, but it was so weak, barely convincing.

Noah smirked, pressing his fingers deeper, forcing a strangled moan from your throat.

“Lying to me?”

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"Fuck you." You barely managed to whisper.

“Oh, you’d looove that, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to react, not to show how badly you needed him. But Noah saw everything.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. 

"You’re dripping, baby. So much for not being turned on...”

His fingers stopped moving, and instead, he slowly pulled them out.

“Noah-”

He held them up, glistening with your arousal.

"See that?"

Your stomach plummeted.

He watched your face closely, his lips curling into a smirk at the way your eyes widened as he slowly brought his fingers to his lips.

He sucked them clean.

A soft groan left his lips, like he was tasting the best thing he’d ever had. And that was it. 

You grabbed him by the back of the neck and crashed your lips against his. You couldn't hold back anymore. You wouldn't hold back anymore.

Noah growled into the kiss, pushing you harder against the counter, his hands gripping your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, the hard press of him perfectly nestled against your soaked heat, you rutted your hips, chasing the friction against your clit. 

You moaned against his mouth, your nails raking through his hair, and he swore under his breath.

“You drive me fucking insane.” He rasped, rolling his hips just right, “You always have, one way or another.” 

Your head fell back, a whimper escaping before you could stop it.

Noah grinned.

“Oh, now you’re shy?” he teased, kissing down your throat, sucking a mark just below your ear.

Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan.

“I’ll see what’s taking them so long, make sure they haven’t killed each other.” 

You froze.

Noah tensed, his hands still gripping your thighs.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Before either of you could pull away, he was there. 

Jolly stood on the other side of the glass door that led out to the garden. 

He stood there, arms crossed, brow raised. Looking way too entertained for someone who just walked in on his best friends this close to fucking in the kitchen.

Noah’s grip on your thighs tightened before he gently stepped away just enough to make it look innocent.

You were still trying to catch your breath, heat crawling up your neck as he swung the door open, stepping inside to stare between the two of you, the corners of his mouth tugging into a knowing smirk. 

“I came to see what was taking you both so long,” he said, way too casual. His gaze flickered to Noah. “Didn’t realise you were… Busy.”

Noah glared. 

“Shut up.”

Jolly just grinned. Then, he looked at you, taking in your flushed face, your messy hair, the way you were gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“It took you both long enough, personally I thought after Amy left you two would-.”

“Dude.” Noah exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. 

You swallowed, fighting the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“What?” Jolly held up his hands, pretending to be innocent, but the absolute shit-eating grin on his face said otherwise. “I’m just saying!”

“And I wish you wouldn’t.” You groaned. 

“Okay! I’ll leave you guys to it! Stay safe! And use protection! We're not ready to be dad omens just yet.” 

Noah muttered a string of curses under his breath, raking a hand through his hair before looking back at you.

You bit your lip, still breathless, still aching, and still very much not over what happened just minutes ago.

His eyes darkened again, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“We should get back to the others... But this isn’t over, y’know.” He murmured, stepping closer again.

Your stomach flipped.

“I know.” You smirked, “But what are you gonna do about it?”

His jaw tensed.

And you walked away, leaving him standing there, still hard, still frustrated, and certainly not done with you yet.

---------------------------

oh you're not ready for next weeks chapter...

@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami--gami @bluehairpunklol @darknightstarryeyes @xxkittenkissesxx @renegadebirch @ichoosetenderomens @formula1loversstuff

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Grim - Striped Ribbon Vignette

"The best time we can possibly have!"

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

Grim: Wooooah. Ramshackle's all festive lookin' now! Take some pics with the ghost camera, [Yuu]!

Grim: When Ace and Deuce came over with the other first years this mornin', at first I was all, "What's goin' on!?"…

Grim: But looks like they were just puttin' up decorations for "Founding Day." What a bunch of kids, all super excited over somethin' like that.

You don't like Founding Day, Grim?

Grim: I-I didn't say that.

Grim: Night Raven College's a big-shot school that only lets chosen mages in. That means it's a huge deal to go to school here, right!?

Grim: There's no way any student here wouldn't be celebratin' Founding Day!

Well, so, it's great that they decorated everything so nicely for us, then.

Grim: …I guess.

Grim: But it was so crazy with how noisy everyone was. At least everything got done alright, thanks to my awesome leadership, though.

Grim: Didja see how Ace tried to skip doin' actual work, even though he's the one who came all on his own? He tried pullin' pranks on me again today, too!

What do you mean, "again"?

Grim: C'mon, you! Didn't you see him pickin' on me during flight class yesterday!?

Grim: When I was trying to fly on my broom, he tried to get in my way by using his wind magic to tickle me. He's so annoyin'!

Grim: He's obviously just jealous of my magical genius. I'm gonna show him who's the real boss one day!

Grim: Deuce was at least focusing on putting up the decorations, but he kept hanging the letters out of order… He's no better than Ace.

Grim: Oh yeah, that reminds me, the homework answer he gave me the other day was completely wrong and it got Crewel on our case, big time.

Grim: In the end, me 'n Deuce had to stay after for Crewel's special lessons. That guys should really do better on his studies.

I don't think you're one to talk.

Grim: Urgh… H-Hey, I've totally been taking my classes more seriously recently!

Grim: But in History of Magic, whenever Jack sits in front of me, I can't see the blackboard at all.

Grim: Plus, he's always sitting as straight up as he can despite him already being so huge, sayin' he needs to exercise his back muscles even in class.

Grim: If I say somethin' to him, he just says "Sit on [Yuu]'s shoulders" and doesn't budge one bit. He's such a muscle-brain.

Grim: Epel's gotta have the worst of it, seeing as he's in the same class as such a stubborn guy.

Grim: …Actually, Epel'd probably just snap back and pick a fight right away, huh.

Grim: He's a gutsy kid that hates to lose, after all.

Grim: We were sneakin' some food outta the cafeteria together the other day, too. We promised not to tell anyone, either… Boy, that sure was fun…

Grim: …Ah! Shoot, I just told you! That right now is a secret between us, okay!?

Grim: Speakin' of sneakin' food, Sebek's hard to deal with too! He's so stubborn, there's no use talkin' with him!

Grim: A little while ago, I tried just the tiiiiniest bit of some of his food, and he got super mad, yellin' and chasin' after me!

Grim: He just kept coming and he was shoutin' so loud my ears were starting to hurt real bad.

Grim: It was just one bite of his deluxe minced cutlet sandwich… Or was it five? Maybe ten bites?

I should probably apologize to him later…

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

You look like you're really enjoying your time here at school, Grim.

Grim: Your little grin's creepin' me out, stop it. Well, what about you, then?

1. Every day is a blast, thanks to you.

Grim: Myahaha! Well, that goes without sayin'! Grim: And that's 'cause I'm here watchin' over and takin' care of you every day! Grim: …Good, good, you're enjoying yourself. Eheh.

2. I think I'm exhausted by all the trouble that happens every day…

Grim: My-Myaah!? Grim: What, does that mean you ain't havin' fun hangin' with me every day? I can't accept that! Grim: You'll see just how much I've been doin' for you! Just you wait!

Grim: …But hey, I guess I've gotten used to living in Ramshackle like this.

Grim: We're really doin' pretty good for ourselves in this run-down dorm.

Grim: That downpour the other day caused a huge mess the other day with all those leaks, though.

Grim: The bed and blankets were soakin' wet that I thought we'd have to sleep on the floor…

Grim: But luckily, one of the sofas made it through dry, so that was good. It was small and cramped, but way better than the floor.

Grim: We were able to patch things up with the help of the ghosts, but one day we definitely gotta get the school to cough up some dough to fix everything!

Definitely!

Grim: Yeah! We gotta make sure bein' here at this school's the best time we can possibly have!

[knock, knock]

Grim: Oh! Is that Ace 'n them?

Grim: We promised we'd all get together to celebrate Founding Day outside. I bet there's a feast planned, too!

Grim: Let's go, [Yuu]! Time for an outdoor party! Myaha!

Grim, let's keep at it together.

Grim: !

Grim: …Yeah! I'm definitely gonna keep lookin' after my little hench-human forever.

Grim: You just stick with me, [Yuu]!

Requested by @sweetdelightknight.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

alright guys so important announcement...!

i'm probably going to be writing for blue lock way less now. don't get me wrong; i still love blue lock and it's still my 2/3 favorite manga series ever (tied with wind breaker), but i just think that now that we're finished with the nel and there'll be a barricade of new characters that we won't know much about, i don't want to write for one of them and look back on my fic a few months later when more of their personalities and background and egoist bible profiles are revealed and realize that i've mischaracterized them. as a writer, mischaracterizing a character is one of my greatest fears as a writer.

not only that, but i think that since characters like kaiser and nagi are both leaving blue lock and will likely not return until a few years later during the serialization of blue lock, it's a bit harder for me to write for them. they are both some of my favorite characters to write for, and having to constantly reuse and embellish my ideas for previous fics because we have such little content of them would be exhausting to me. i thrive off of new ideas and content; constantly using old content will drain me.

i also feel like i've just been losing passion for blue lock a lot. this could be because i just caught up to a manga i really enjoy and recency syndrome is catching up to me (wind breaker is the manga if you're interested) or because it's on breaks so often these days--which i do not blame kaneshiro and nomura for; their health is important--or because i know that the u20 world cup arc is going to be an excruciatingly long arc or maybe it's just because i'm complaining for no reason. i still really love blue lock, and it's always going to be special to me. i just think that at this current moment, blue lock is probably at it's lowest.

and i don't blame the authors nor the actual manga for it. i think that after such a series-defining arc such as the neo egoist league ended and so many characters are going to be leaving soon or have already left, blue lock is just really empty right now. and this is mostly a me problem; i tend to get pretty bored and irritated easily, and since this is the current state that blue lock is in, i'm just really having a hard time writing for blue lock. i've scraped wips after wips because of it.

with that being said, i'll still write for blue lock. not as often as i do right now, but still enough for you to see me every once in a while on the blue lock x reader tag. i promise; i won't disappear. if the manga has some sort of exciting update or a new volume of the egoist bible or some sort of big series development, i'll probably come back and start writing more often for bllk again. probably. no guarantees. i'll still try to be as active as i can with my writing (as many of you might know, i tend to disappear for a few days then come back for a few days then disappear again and the cycle continues), but i'll be in different fandoms. i'm currently thinking of focusing on wind breaker.

so don't get too sad; it's just temporary until my passion for blue lock comes back. and i'm so sorry to anyone who is upset about this! also btw, please don't see this post and get scared to send me any bllk asks or requests. i love all of your bllk asks and i think some of them are great ideas and really entertaining.

i love you all,

helen

[mimimoou]

Breakin' Dishes II

Pairing: Nate Jacobs x Reader

Summary: You get sent to Cal Jacobs' house after your mom finally manages to get a hold of him after years of trying to send you back to your father. "He's shit, but you don't got no other choice kid, get the hell outta here." There you meet your not so shit Dad..? A resentful step-mom. An older step-brother who doesn't give a shit about you. And another step-bro who absolutely hates your guts.

Content Warning: Incest {at first, but becomes stepcest w absolutely no blood relation cuz lore, cuz real incest is a nono. Promise there's sum lore between Cal and your supposed mother.}⌇ Alcohol⌇ Drugs⌇ Smoking⌇ 18+⌇ Bullying⌇ Toxic⌇ Blackmail⌇ Very strong language⌇ Nate⌇

Notes: Don't Like, Don't Read Policy. As said in the warnings, there is incest here, if you're uncomfortable reading or even looking at this, please refrain from interacting. With that said, I hope I can finish this series cuz I'm hella itching to write one like this. Enjoy!

What surprised you was how peacefully they ate after that. Marsha offered you steak which you reluctantly accepted on your plate. Cal was talking about his newest project to Marsha while Aaron was hunched on his plate.

Then the topic changed to you and school quickly. East Highland High School was where you were going, along with Nate.

You almost had a hard time swallowing the piece of steak in your mouth, recalling his crash out not long ago.

You just can't get it out of your mind. Because how could you? No. How could they act like nothing happened? Assuming this was normal for them and unnecessary, it was such a terrifying experience for you, an uncanny valley.

"Right?" You accidentally drop your fork on your plate, the loud noise making everyone snap their heads to you.

Cal raises his eyebrows, waiting for your answer. "Oh, uh— Sorry, what was that?"

"Cal said you wouldn't mind taking the bus right?" Marsha pauses, her eyes flicking to Aaron then back to you.

"Oh, uhm, yeah. Why not?"

"Well Nate usually uses his car.. but," Marsha clicks her teeth. "Well, you see.."

She pauses, leaving an awkward silence to fill the room. She almost takes too long to find an answer so you decide to interject and get it over with.

"No I'm uh, alright with the bus thank you."

"Oh thank you for understanding, Nate—"

"Nate drives his girlfriend to school and mom doesn't want you near her cuz she thinks you'll rub something bad off of her."

"Aaron!" She hisses. "That is not what I meant. What I wanted was to—"

"Enough. It's dinner," Cal successfully shuts everyone up, you can feel anger simmering underneath. You hear Aaron scoff beside you, quiet, but loud enough for you to hear. "And we're gonna have one like a normal family."

This time Aaron's snort was loud for everyone to hear.

"What're you laughing at, son?"

"Nothing," you can hear him trying to stifle his laugh, he shoves a mouthful and covers his mouth but to no avail, he spits everything out of his mouth and unto the table.

"Fucking— Aaron!" It was Cal's time to slam the table, he stood up, the chair screeching on the ground. "What the fuck do you think your doing?!"

"I-I'm sorry, I—" he doesn't stop laughing, some of his spit landed in your arm which you hurriedly wiped your arm from, you abruptly stood up from your chair to make space between you and Aaron. You swear you're about to actually convulse at the mess on the table.

You wanted earth to swallow you whole, the dinner table was a mess, Cal was shouting at Aaron, Marsha having to physically stop Cal from going near their son.

"Are you out of your mind Aaron?!"

Aaron was pissed, he scoffs and rolls his eyes at his father.

"Really dad? A normal family? Since when have we—"

"Don't you fucking finish that or I swear you are gone from this house."

"Cal! Stop it!" Marsha begs, you can see her eyes glistening, but the tears won't fall. Marsha leans near Cal's ear, whispering something before letting go. Cal huffs and steps back, you see him approach you, putting his hand on your shoulder.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry—"

"I'm okay." You say, fiddling with your fingers. You're eyes flicker behind Cal, you see Marsha comforting Aaron who looked like he was about to cry, Marsha wraps her arms around her son's head, pulling him close.

Then your eyes flicker back to Cal, you gave you a worried look. "Really. I am."

He chuckles. "Alright, alright. Didn't need a confirmation though."

You grin. "You should go rest in your room okay?"

"Okay," you nod, but before you could take another step back, Cal pulls you in for a kiss on the forehead, then he lets you go. "Now you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cal."

Without wasting a second, you half jog half sprint upstairs and into your bedroom.

Days pass by without a hitch since that night. You woke up early since you didn't wanna be late on the first day of school, especially when you're a newcomer.

The whole week of staying in the Jacobs house consisted of being ignored by Aaron and Nate. Mostly by Nate. Aaron only talks to you only when needed but not so kindly. Marsha is good, small talks and all, and Cal.. well he isn't the asshole your mom told you about, maybe some anger issues but nonetheless good to you.

Aside from that nothing bad happened, except for the fact that you're anxious for school. You're new, no friends, a high schooler, what's the worse that can happen?

You hear the bus honking outside the house, you hurriedly grab your things and sprinted downstairs, plucking a banana from the table and skipping in a hurry for the bus.

When you climbed up, the seats were already filled, save for the ones beside the weirdo looking ones. You gulp, you're standing awkwardly at the center of the bus, feeling like everyone was looking at you, then you heard whispering.

"There's a new girl!?"

"Dibs!"

"Boohoo"

Gosh, was that hard to whisper? If you want to gossip, then gossip better!

Your eyes scan in a panic then it lands on an empty seat, you don't spare a glance at the person beside it, you're just relieved to finally hide from all the stares.

You yelp as the body beside you jerks. She stares at the ceiling with her mouth open, her frizzy hair tickles your face, you scoot a bit to the left.

"Ughhh," she clutches her head, groaning and massaging her neck and shoulders. You know it's rude to stare but you're genuinely worried about her, she either looks like she's about to explode or pull out a machine gun.

"Are you.. alright?" You can't help but ask. For a second you think she didn't hear you because she remained in her position with her elbows on her knees, her hands on her head.

"Hey. Are—"

"Suup. Names Rue," you take her outstretched hand as you mumble your name.

"Nice. You new here?"

"Yeah. I just moved with," you pause. "With my dad."

"Uh-huh. That's nice. How 'bout mom?"

"Well, yeah her too, step-mom,"

"Ohhhh," she pauses as she sits upright. "Sorry— didn't mean to ya know.."

"It's alright, no biggie." You say, a pregnant pause filling the air. After a minute, she speaks up.

"Soo, ya got anyone here?" She sighs into her seat, her arms folding behind her head. "L-like a what?"

"Pfft, a friend duh," She laughs, loud. Is she high or sum?

"Yeah, no. I've never been here before."

"Shit?! You seryose?" Her eyes widen, you can see her blown pupils in 4k. Uh-huh, high.

"Are you high, Rue?" You gasp, but whispering it. "W-what?! No, nooo"

You chuckle. "Liar."

"Hey. No noob is gon' harass me like this," your chuckling turns to laughing, then she laughs with you too.

"Noob, really? O. M. G, you play roblox or sum?"

"The fuck is roblox, bitch,"

"No way you don't play roblox bro," you scoff. "I'm telling you, I ain't know no roblox or high"

"You're funny, Rue,"

She bows, tipping her imaginary hat. "Gracias, mademoiselle."

You grin, then turn your attention outside the window. "So how far is the school? We've been driving for like forever."

"Not that far, 'sides we'd have more time to talk, you're very weird yourself, noob."

"Noob?"

"That's what you are."

"You're def playing roblox,"

"em not!"

"You are," you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. "Who cares, nooblet. I'm like, your only friend here."

"So you're my friend now?" You smile. "Why not? I know your name, you know my name. Fair trade."

"Well, I'm grateful to have a crackhead for a friend."

"Hey! I'm not a crackhead!"

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"You're high. You wouldn't even be talking to me if you're not. You actually look unapproachable from afar."

"But you're beside me."

You stifle a laugh. "Shut up."

"Eyyy, she's laughing. You're laughing. C'mon, laugh at my joke."

"You're the joke,"

"Ouchie! That hit..me..aghhh," she feigns an arrow hitting her chest, you snort and hit her arm.

"Thy highness might think to spare thee."

"And prayeth bid wherefore shouldst i spareth thee?"

"Hoooly shit. You speak Will?"

"Speak will?

"Yeah. Willson Shakespeare."

"Wilson?" You snort. "Yea! Not only does you play roblox, you're also a nerd."

"It's William Shakespeare,"

"Yea, yea, willhim whatever."

[lulualuana]

Games over Chatter

I'm like, itching for a saucy idea to write and I just don't have enough in my brain to make one .. except this one

wc: 599

cw: leon is a douchebag ofc, emotional manipulation, crying in the sexy and not sexy way, not much of note idk yall

enjoy?

Leon had to know that eventually everything he did would come back to bite him in the ass. The world loves to throw karma in his face at the worst possible moments. 

Like now, in which he’s sitting face to face with you, his dear girlfriend who won’t stop talking and partially crying after Leon had gotten fed up and told you to just shut up for a little while. What was he supposed to do? He was just trying to catch up on some random sports game on TV and you had the nerve to sit right up against him and start chatting his ear off about your stupid fucking friend group again. It’s not his fault that he snapped, you should’ve read the room. 

You don’t seem to have the same sentiment. No, instead you’re pacing back and forth in front of Leon (and the TV, much to his dismay), rambling on and on about how you’re sorry for interrupting him but that as your boyfriend he needs to be there for you because no one else is. Like hell he does! And unfortunately, he is bold enough to say it to your face too. 

“I’m sorry, princess, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck over whether or not Stacy and Anna invite you out for lunch or not,” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you freeze in place, looking over at him with wide, glossy eyes. It’s the first time he’s ever spoken to you like that and it stuns you that the man who’s been so good to you (not really) could talk to you like that.

Now for Leon? There’s something so satisfying about seeing a little bit of light die within those sweet eyes of yours. It almost makes him hard, as sick as it is. Maybe that’s why it does. “I’m trying to watch something here, or at least I would be if you weren’t standing in front of the fucking TV and wasting my time. Mind moving?” 

You can’t help it when more tears pool in your eyes at his sharp tone, your mouth opening to protest before closing abruptly, unsure of what to say after having your feelings so aggressively dismissed. It reminds you all too similarly of your parents and your friends, and all you can do is sniffle and move away from the TV as a part of your heart breaks. 

Leon is fairly pleased when you move though, a smiling gracing his face once he can finally so the oh so important game. “Good girl, now how about you go clean up your tears, yeah? It’s not a pretty look. Go on. I’ll come talk to you later.” The whiplash from his tone is enough to render you obedient, leaving him to his game to go cry and eventually clean up your tears in your bedroom. 

Just like Leon promised, after the game was over, he came into the room to console you. Though, you’re not sure how comforting it is given that he lets you cry on his shoulder for a few minutes before he decides the remedy you truly need is his dick buried inside you. You start to wonder if it’s a remedy for your sadness, or if he just wanted to get his rocks off and not deal with your emotions. You don’t dwell on it for too long, not when he makes you come hard enough to start crying from the pleasure.

What’s there to dwell on, really? He’s not that bad of a boyfriend, right? 

~~~

thinking so many thoughts right now, its just that NONE of them are helpful

@klittykissy (i think that's the right @ :D)