#I think I was a better person because of the people I watched...

[tbaluver]

S/O With ADHD- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested: by a couple anonnies ♥︎ a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i just want to mention a disclaimer about this. while i do have adhd, everybody experiences things differently so what might be common for me, can be completely different to another person! these symptoms presented here are only what i’ve experienced and what my friends have experienced and what people have requested! do not refer to this to diagnose yourself. if you suspect you might have adhd, please refer to a professional! there will be a part two to this because theres more to add but anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He didn’t fully grasp the idea when you tried to explain your adhd to him, your thoughts would jump from one thing to another and he tried to keep up. He would do his own research to understand better what you were going through. He would notice the little things, the way you would say you 're going to do something but never actually start or how tasks seem to take you forever to finish.

No worries about being late or rushing to go on dates or hangouts with him, there’s no set start time. Often times the dates and hangouts are flexible. He’ll wait until you’re ready as long as he gets to spend time with you and eat yummy food together, he’s happy

Indulges and learns your hyper fixations and your current obsessions. He’ll learn more about them on his own time so he can talk more about them with you

If you’re okay with it, he’ll join you whenever you need to rest and watch your comfort shows whenever you’re feeling drained or overstimulated. He’ll make the atmosphere in the room feel more cozy either by giving you space, adjusting the lighting and closing the curtains, tucking you in your blankets, so you can recharge

Praises your smallest victories even if it was just cleaning your room or finishing a simple task in under an hour without thinking or worrying about it. He knows that even the simplest tasks can feel overwhelming so when you manage to do something without thinking or bed rotting before doing something, he’s genuinely proud of you.

Zayne:

He would truly listen when you go off on a tangent of your hyperfixations, letting you ramble about them without interrupting you. Even if you branch off too many topics that you swear relates to the main topic, eventually forgetting what the point was, he patiently brings you back to the main point.

“..wait what was I talking about?”

“you were talking about how ___ and __”

He’s very organized, constantly tidying and rearranging things for you without needing to be asked. He doesn’t mind it at all. He organizes in a way that he knows would help you but if you ever forget where something is, he’s quick to help you. lost your keys? by the dining room table. your jacket? in the laundry basket. your phone? you’re holding it

Tries to keep his explanations short and easier to understand. He’ll give you just enough without getting lost in any unnecessary details

When he’s not around, he helps you by texting you on specific times to check up on you or to help shift your focus

Separate calm activities alone but together with him. You could be doing your own thing while he reads his book(s) or finishes up any medical reports

Calculates how long it usually takes you to get ready, so he’ll plan dates with reservation an hour or two ahead of time, sometimes maybe even more depending on the date, just to avoid overwhelming you. He’s always patient and understanding, sometimes he’ll help you get ready to take the weight off your shoulders

Rafayel:

In the beginning, he’ll notice you can run late to things but once you explain that it’s because of your adhd, he’ll be more understanding. Still, he can’t help but tease you just a little but he means well. He’ll just plan more hangouts that don’t require any set start time, just as long as you two are together at the end

Yap sessions with him take up an ungodly amount of hours. You both branch off to different topics, each one you both swear is just as important as the last, so the conversation goes in different directions. It takes forever to circle back to the original point.

He loves hearing about your hyper fixations. You can tell him everything, every little fact and he’ll ask you a million questions, indulging in your passion for it as well.

Loves to spend time with you but he is mindful and lets you have the space to unwind whenever you might feel overstimulated or just need to recharge

Shows so much encouragement whenever you show your creative and passionate side. He’ll recognize and appreciate the things you’re good at, even if you’re not able to see it in yourself

It’s canon that he sends you separate messages instead of big blocks of texts but its not because that’s how he feels more comfortable texting but also because he knows that long paragraphs can feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want you to miss anything or feel pressured to read through a lot at once

Sylus:

Lets you hold his hand whenever you want, no need to ask. He knows how much you fidget and he loves how you rub circles on the back of his hand, melting under your touch. If it helps you feel better, then go ahead. He’d even buy you rings to fidget with, ones that maybe match and also just so you can have something to twist and twirl when he’s not around

He adores listening to your obsessions and your hyper fixations, letting you ramble your latest interests or the new trinkets you’ve added to your collection. He’ll even surprise you with little trinkets he remembers from past conversations, knowing they would make you smile

Enjoys spending time with you even if you were focused on your own thing, whether it was hobby related or just unwinding in your own way while he’s also doing his own thing.

When you need help focusing and he’s not around, he’ll reach out at a certain time to check in and help refocus your attention

Doesn’t really send you paragraph lengths of text messages but sends you shorter messages so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. He’ll mostly send voice messages that are short and the right length so it doesn’t let your mind drift away

Online shopping with him can help so you can control yourself from impulse buying so many things. He doesn’t mind you buying the entire world with his card but sometimes he has to stop you from buying things you absolutely don’t need

Caleb:

It’s easy for tasks to slip through or become overwhelming. You might start one thing but your mind jumps to something else and it takes a while before you can get back to what you were originally doing. Caleb would help by breaking down your chores one at a time or with more manageable steps or most of the time he’ll step in and take care of things for you so you don’t feel burdened.

If anything important was coming up the day after, he’ll leave little sticky notes for you all over the house, each one with a tiny apple doodles. They’ll be on your mirror, bedroom door, anywhere else he knows you’ll see them

Ever since you were a kid, he’ll still help you go over any of your works or anything you were unsure about when you feel like you missed any details. He’ll make sure you don’t miss anything

Never judgemental at all if you cut him off mid-sentence. He understands that you need to get your thoughts out quickly before they slip away so he lets you speak freely without worry

Sometimes you might forget to reply to a message or forget to come back to the conversation, so he’ll send a follow up message like, “whaddya think pipsqueak? :o” or he’ll send you a post to bring you back to the convo

If you’re struggling to focus on something, instead of pushing you to keep going, he’ll encourage you to take a break. He’ll help you ease back into it whether it’s breaking things down further or offering some encouragement

[cvt2dvm]

There are very very few instances where the sex of an animal matters and in cats it doesn't matter unless you're breeding and occasionally if you're managing samesex or intersex aggression between cats, and if you invest in the relationship with your pets you're going to find that they're going to express affection and love in fairly obvious ways. Too many people aren't approaching their pets as individuals and don't pay attention to the cues of their animals. The breeding/temperament genetics and the individual relationship work you've done with an animal are what determine how, how much, and how often they're affectionate.

My adolescent male cat is very clingy but playful. He prefers offering and asking for play, sucking on fingers while not being pet, and following you around and playing hide and seek over settling in for a cuddle. My older adult female used to be the same way, now she prefers lounging on the porch bird watching while I read or a dry groom or curling up under the covers on cold nights. My male prefers to be at the other end of the bed on one of my sheepskins or his shark plushie. My male is a nibbler and barber my female gives kisses.

The reason I went for a male malinois as a working dog was because of him and his 2 sisters, he was the most handler sensitive and he was the best fit personality wise. His one sister was too laid back for what I wanted, shes thriving now as a diabetic alert dog, his other sister had more aggression than he did, and if I had been looking for a straight PPD or bite Sports dog, I honestly would have chosen her, but since I was looking for a dual purpose dog, I took him, and the more aggressive sister is now a suspect apprehension K9 in florida because of the 3 in his litter that just weren't quite right for bomb work (2 of the 5 that they imported were) one was better suited for strict service work with her soft mouth, one could have gone either way and been okay, or both and be truly fulfilled as long as he had his person, and the other was destined to either be destroyed or have a job where her desire to sink her teeth into something was an asset rather than a liability. His 2 sisters were also significantly more dominant with other dogs than he was, and since I was living with my ex at the time, I needed to think about how he would integrate into our existing 1 cat, 2 dog household.

This recent obsession with boys vs girls in dogs is such fucking BS, like... the only things that determine sex choice for me is how my current pet pack exists.

My female cat doesn't tolerate other female cats in her space, my male mal likes male dogs that are 10-15 lbs but feels pressured by males that are his size or larger, and gets along with females all around. So, realistically, I'll probably be adding a female dog next to the pack since, again, realistically, my older terrier male is in the worst health of my pets. I also may not be adding another dog to my pack for a while too, so that I have more travel flexibility.

The whole "boy cat" thing is so annoyingggggg your cats gender has nothing to do with how they feel about you i literally cannot imagine being so brain rotted by patriarchy that you somehow think your neutered male cat has special male love for you that female cats don't have the capacity for. Is there something wrong with you

[nilla03]

𝘼𝘽𝙊𝙑𝙀 & 𝘽𝙀𝙔𝙊𝙉𝘿𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 : 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊!

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔: 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑖 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔, 𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑥

𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒕: 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊 დ

His Tinder pictures had been dangerous enough—a few casual shots, a grainy gym selfie, one where he was holding a stupidly big fish. But in person? Toji Fushiguro was something else entirely.

Broad, thick, and lounging in the dim booth like he had nothing better to do than watch you lose your mind over him

Because it wasn’t fair how effortlessly attractive he was, how his black button-down strained around his biceps, how his forearms flexed when he adjusted the sleeves. He’d ordered a whiskey neat, barely glanced at the menu, and then spent the next twenty minutes watching you toy with your straw like a nervous little thing.

“You always this quiet, sweetheart?” His voice was deep, gravelly, and way too amused.

You forced yourself to smile. “I talk.”

“To who? Your little dating app matches?” He smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “How many you got lined up after me?”

You scoffed, but your fingers were tight around your drink. “You think I’m a serial dater?”

“I think,” he drawled, eyes dark under heavy lashes, “you’re a cute little thing who has no idea what to do with herself right now.”

You could barely eat, barely sip your drink. The way his gaze kept dropping—lazily, knowingly—to your lips, your chest, the hem of your little dress riding up your thighs. It was all too much.

You weren’t even sure how it happened, who broke first.

One minute, Toji was tossing a couple of bills onto the table, the next, you were pressed against the sleek leather of his car, panting into his mouth as he dragged you into his lap.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he rasped, fingers digging into your thighs. “Knew you were all worked up. You been dripping since we sat down, huh?”

You whimpered against his lips, rocking forward instinctively, and he groaned, big hands sliding up your ass, gripping tight.

“You shoulda just said somethin’, baby,” he murmured, licking into your mouth like he was starving. “Woulda bent you over the table.”

The mental image made you whimper, nails clawing at his shoulders.

He chuckled, teeth grazing your jaw as he shoved your dress up, rough palms kneading your bare skin. “Yeah? That what you want? Me playin’ with you in public, makin’ a mess of you in front of all those people?”

You shook your head quickly, but the way your hips rolled against him betrayed you.

Toji groaned, dragging you closer, letting you feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your soaked panties. “Lyin’ little thing,” he muttered, pulling the flimsy fabric to the side, thick fingers slipping through your slick folds.

“Shit,” he hissed, middle finger teasing at your entrance. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“Been—been like that,” you admitted, voice shaky.

That earned you a dark chuckle, his hand slipping lower, pushing one thick finger inside you.

You gasped, walls fluttering around the intrusion, but Toji just groaned, lifting his hips to grind against you.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he muttered, adding a second finger, stretching you open, his thumb rubbing messy, slow circles against your clit.

You were a mess already, clinging to him, legs trembling as he worked you open, his mouth hot against your neck, teeth scraping your skin.

“Gonna let me fuck you in my car, princess?” he murmured, curling his fingers just right, making your breath hitch. “Gonna let me wreck this pretty little pussy?”

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, gripping your hips and grinding you down against him, letting you feel the full, thick press of him through his slacks. “You know what you’re doin’, sittin’ all pretty in my lap, whimperin’ like that.”

You barely had the sense to shake your head, eyes hazy, lips swollen from his kisses. “N-no, I—”

“No?” He smirked, pressing you down harder, making you keen. “This little dress, these pretty panties—” his fingers toyed with the lace before snapping the waistband against your skin, making you jolt. “Come on, sweetheart. You think I don’t know a needy little thing when I see one?”

You shuddered, hands fisting in his shirt, and Toji growled, impatient.

“Take ‘em off.”

You barely managed to lift your hips before he was yanking your panties down, shoving them into his pocket like he was collecting a prize. Then, strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide over him, letting the cool air kiss your soaked folds.

“Fuck,” he murmured, one big hand dragging up your thigh, thumb grazing the messy slick coating your skin. “Look at you.”

You whimpered, face burning, but he didn’t give you a second to get shy. His hands gripped your ass, guiding you forward until your bare pussy was sliding along the thick bulge in his pants.

The friction was too much—too hot, too good. You moaned, clutching his shoulders, hips moving instinctively, chasing the sensation.

Toji groaned, head tipping back against the headrest, his hands tightening on you. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, voice rough. “Use me.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t think. He was so thick, so hard beneath you, and the slow drag of his clothed cock against your bare, slick folds was driving you insane.

You sobbed, hips rolling in desperate little movements, thighs shaking.

Toji groaned, watching you with half-lidded eyes, his jaw clenched. “Goddamn,” he muttered, voice low, thick. “Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on me like a needy little thing.” You whimpered, burying your face in his neck, overwhelmed.

But he wasn’t having that. One big hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. “Nah, pretty girl. You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted to get all worked up over dinner, let me take you out here and make a mess of you.”

Toji smirked, dark and mean, and suddenly, he was undoing his belt. “Alright, baby,” he rasped, shoving his slacks down just enough to free himself.

Thick. Heavy. Leaking at the tip.

Toji caught the way your thighs squeezed together and chuckled, rubbing the fat head of his cock against your dripping folds.

“Go on, princess,” he murmured, guiding you up, his tip catching against your entrance. “Sit that pretty pussy down on me.”

Your breath caught as Toji’s thick head pressed against your entrance, teasing, stretching, the barest push making you tremble. He didn’t rush, didn’t force—just held you there, gripping your hips, watching with dark, hooded eyes as you struggled to take him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough, laced with hunger. “You can do it. Just a little more.”

You whined, nails digging into his shoulders, overwhelmed. He was too thick, too big, and the slow burn of him stretching you open had your thighs shaking.

Toji groaned, pressing a hand to your lower belly, feeling the way he was sinking into you, inch by inch. “Shit,” he muttered. “So tight, baby. You feel that?” He gave the lightest push, and you gasped, clenching around him. “Feel me deep in there?”

You nodded frantically, eyes glassy, mouth parted on a whimper.

He chuckled, dark and low, gripping your hips and pulling you down another inch.

You sobbed, thighs squeezing around his waist, toes curling in your heels.

Toji groaned, head tipping back against the seat, his hands flexing against your soft skin. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice raw. “This pussy’s a goddamn dream.”

Your head was spinning, legs trembling as he filled you, splitting you open in slow, agonizing inches.

“Breathe, baby,” Toji murmured, soothing but smug, stroking a rough hand up your spine. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

You tried, tried to steady yourself, but the stretch was so much, the pressure so intense—your walls fluttered around him, struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him.

Toji let out a low, satisfied groan, his fingers digging into your ass. “There she is,” he murmured, eyes dark, hooded with lust. “Knew you could take it.”

You barely had time to adjust before he shifted beneath you, planting his feet against the car floor.

You choked on a gasp, hands flying to his chest, nails biting into the fabric of his shirt.

Toji grinned, mean, before doing it again, forcing a desperate moan from your lips. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, dragging you forward, making you take him deeper. “Look at you, baby—sittin’ on my cock like you were made for it.”

You could barely think, barely breathe. Every inch of him stretched you so full, pressing into every sensitive spot, hitting deep, so deep—

Toji groaned, rolling his hips, slow and deliberate, watching the way your body trembled. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how good I stretch this pretty little pussy?”

You whimpered, nodding weakly, and he chuckled, dragging his thumb down to your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

Your hands clawed at his chest, desperate, overwhelmed, hips jerking as he kept you trapped, held you there, letting you feel every thick inch of him.

“Gonna make a mess on me already, baby?” he murmured, pressing you down harder.

You sobbed, thighs shaking, the coil in your belly tightening too fast, too much-Toji growled, fingers tightening on your hips. “Go on, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the pace, fucking up into you with slow, deep thrusts. “Cum on my cock”

Your whole body tensed, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips as the pressure inside you snapped. Your vision blurred, head tipping back as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching down around him.

Toji groaned, teeth gritted, his grip bruising as he fucked you through it, dragging every last tremor from your shaking frame. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice thick, his pace turning rougher, sloppier. “Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—”

“Gonna fill you up, princess,” he muttered, thumb pressing into your swollen clit, making you jolt. “Stuff this little pussy full—“

With a deep, shuddering groan, Toji buried himself to the hilt, his grip on you unrelenting as he spilled inside, thick and hot.

You barely had the strength to move, panting against his shoulder, body trembling, slick and sweat-damp against his chest.

Toji huffed a low chuckle, one hand smoothing up your back, the other gripping your thigh possessively. “Shit, baby,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your temple. “Next time, we’re skipping dinner.”

[seasidefallenangel]

she's got those evil eyes

bllk boys and their mean girlfriends ft isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, reo mikage, alexis ness, bachira meguru

notes: reader is a BITCH! (not to the boys), actual horrible shit being said by reader but our boys are too in love to notice or care, suicide mentions, i'm not condoning what reader does the point is that they're feral

༄ isagi:

✣ you’re his precious angel who can do no wrong, so of course he’s defending you tooth and nail. when you’re at his games flipping off the opposite team he thinks you’re too adorable for words. during practice, kaiser is ragging on him as usual and you’re there before isagi can blink, telling kaiser that no wonder his dad hit him with a shitty personality like that. insanely harsh, but you’re so cute to have his back!

⁀➷ “you need to stop getting yourself hurt like this, princess,” isagi murmurs as he gently applies an antiseptic to your knuckles. he wasn’t expecting you to punch rin in the face after some off-handed comment during practice (mostly stemming from rin’s own insecurities, but you’re not tolerating any disrespect towards your man.) isagi had stepped in right as rin was about to retaliate and you had gotten kicked off the field anyway, leading to the impromptu patch-up in the locker room. 

with a final piece of medical tape, he kisses your bruised hand and smiles softly at you, cupping your cheek in his palm. “thank you for being my knight in shining armor, baby,” he says gently, all the love in the world filling his voice. maybe you’re not the most ethical about it, but your desire to protect him more than makes up for it in his eyes.

༄ sae:

✣ always assumes you’re correct in every single situation. he looks to be nonchalant about your dating life, but he is easily your number one shooter. you’re on twitter telling his fans to kill themselves when they talk about how attractive he is or how he should break up with you and he’s in the kitchen smirking at his phone watching you go to war. never once in his life has he ever gave a shit about what people think about him, but the second something about you is viewed in a negative light? all bets are off. he’ll get just as toxic as you are.

⁀➷ the reporters are crowding him the second he’s getting off the plane. he already knows exactly what it’s about yet it still pisses him off. in his opinion, people are at fault for provoking you in the first place. in an irritating attempt to get his attention, one of the interviewers calls out, “sae! what do you have to say about your girlfriend tweeting ‘if i was your mom i would’ve killed myself too’ to one of your fans?!” 

yeah, he saw that one, and he thought it was funny. someone had been trying to rile you up by saying how re ai would be better off without sae on the team. unfortunately for them, they had “rip mom🩵🕊️” in their bio, giving you the perfect ammo to shoot back with. he clears his throat and simply says, “she’s right,” before walking off, leaving the paparazzi stunned.

༄ reo:

✣ you are so awful for the mikage image and reo loves every second of it. having such a stagnant and pre-planned upbringing versus your unhinged nature was just what he needed. barely a week can go by without you trending online for something heinous you said or did. in turn, you have quite a large following for simply how funny your antics and toxicity towards others is. reo must have the most heavily tinted rose colored glasses ever, because he always talks about how sweet and kind you are. the fans are still searching for the person he’s trying to describe, because it sure as hell isn’t you.

⁀➷ you’re lounging in bed, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when reo approaches you. like clockwork, you shift into his arms as he climbs into bed and relaxes next to you. his fingers are running through your hair when he finally asks in the most soft and gentle voice, “my love, why are you being called out on twitter again?” of course, you’re always sure to voice how it isn’t really your fault and that people should stop pissing you off if they don’t want you to come for their necks. 

quite honestly, he’s not really listening ; not because he’s not interested, but because you’re just irresistible when you defend yourself. regardless of whether or not you’re actually at fault (you are), he still sees you as his precious and adorable lover. he simply nods and leaves feather light kisses up and down the side of your neck, mumbling something like, “how dare they?” or “you’re so smart, angel,” every so often. if you ever were to get in any real trouble, the mikage fortune would be there to bail you out - so he sees no real reason to stop your tirades. 

༄ alexis:

✣ “me and my girl don’t argue she tells me to shut up and i do.” ness is honestly thankful for how much of a raging bitch you can be. not only does he never see anything wrong with it, but actively encourages it as well. you’re cussing out the mcdonald’s worker for putting pickles on his burger while he’s behind you with a dopey smile on his face, clinging to you like a lifeline. the only time he had to tug you away is when you were half a second away from clawing kaiser’s eyes out and had his neck bruising beneath your fingers for insinuating ness was more of a dog than a person. the german is still terrified whenever you accompany your boyfriend to practice.

⁀➷ in all the plans alexis had for his future, standing in front of the two people that crushed his childhood fantasies in facts and testing wasn’t one of them. he had left on a bitter note when he joined bastard münchen yet hadn’t found the courage to voice his true feelings on the matter. luckily for him, you had no shortage of guts to lay into his parents without fear.

for the first time in their lives, they’re stunned silent at your vicious words and mockery of their profession, upbringing, parenting, even going so far as to point out his mother’s physical imperfections and saying the only worthwhile thing she did was give birth a child that wasn’t nearly as ugly as she is. they can’t even get a word in before you grab alexis’ hand and drag him out, kicking a dent in his father’s car for good measure. even though your display was nothing short of pure evil, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to god than when you cradle him in your hold, whispering words of love and praise into his ear. being a crybaby was something he was told he should be ashamed of, but the sensation left behind when you wipe his grateful tears is worth it to him.

༄ bachira:

✣ might honestly be the biggest enabler on this entire list along with alexis. he absolutely lives for chaos plus he’s too sickeningly in love with you to ever question a move you might make. he can hear you arguing with ego on the phone about bachira being overworked and while normally nothing phases blue lock’s director, the death threats you sent to his office were incredibly convincing and contained information that should’ve been impossible to obtain. he’d probably hire you if he wasn’t positive you’d pipe bomb the entire structure if anyone even gave a dirty look to your boyfriend. 

⁀➷  “whatcha doiiiinnnn?” bachira asks while plopping on top of the couch - in the exact spot while you were resting, mind you. you let out a light ‘oof!’ as his weight crushes you for a moment before leveling out. the second his head falls to rest on your stomach, you're carding one hand through his hair while the other angrily taps on your phone. he doesn’t really think to ask as he’s on the verge of falling asleep, but the sound he has set for your tweets dings from his phone (because of course he has notifications for you on.)

he lazily unlocks his phone and clicks onto the app only to bust out into laughter. whatever useless no-name had decided to say bachira’s playstyle only hinders his teammates was met with your quote retweet stating to ‘go take a long walk off a short bridge.’ in his overly happy splendor, he blows raspberries onto the soft skin of your tummy while you squeal and try to push him off. stubborn as he is he just refuses to let up until you're curled up in laughter. behind his silliness, he’s eternally grateful to have someone so devoted to him after years of isolation from his peers. he can’t help but think he’d do anything to keep you in his grasp - regardless of the consequences that might follow.

[sterredem]

Unexpected

Ferrari!driver!Reader x Jason Todd/wayne

Summary The world hates Y/n, but she loves Jason.

Warning slut shaming, hate, not proofread, spelling mistakes

A/N Sorry for the hiatus! Also I guess this kinda turned into a DC crossover? Been kinda into it and then I got this request sooo…… there is no mention of the superhero’s but you can imagine what you want! (Jason’s last name os Wayne)

This was a request!

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Liked by ScuderiaFerrari, Charles_Leclerc and 583.726 others

Yourusername Almost the start of the season! I’m so exited to finally get in the car and do what I love.

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User1 why are all het posts so dry??

User2 Ugh why is she even in f1?

User3 huh why? This is so random??

User2 well she’s not even good and the only way she got here is cause she slept with one of the higher ups

User3 huh???!!!

User4 this feels so pr scripted…

User5 she’s so cute tho…

User6 Points!!!

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Instagram

Liked by Bsfuser, WayneJand 62 others

Y/nPriv wknd dump: 1. Should I post this on main?? 2. Baking for the engineers cause they lovely 3. Readingg 4. My new hat😄 5. Watching Harry Potter 6. A bts from my car!

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Bsfuser 1. YES 2. You are too nice 3. Always 4. It’s cute! 5. Why wasn’t I invited :( 6. If you invite me than I can see it fr….

Y/nPriv 1. Okayyy 2. No.. 3. Yes 4. Thx love 5. Sorryyyy… 6. …….

Sisteruser y’all are so weird

Sisteruser can you come over and bake for me……?????

Y/nPriv do you only want me to come over so you can have free food?

Sisteruser ………..no…….

Friend1 cutie

Friend2 wait when are you gonna tell me how the gala went??

Y/nPriv soon my love. We should get lunch when I’m back and I’ll tell you about it!

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Podcast

Vironica: Hello everyone, and welcome to a nee episode of Formula One talk!

Sara: Hi guys!

Vironica: So today, we will talk about something that you guys have waited for for quite a while.

Sara: Yes! We will talk about Y/n Y/l/n! She is, currently, the only female driver on the grid, and we don’t know a lot about her, but today we will begin this episode with discussing her and her performance on the track!

Vironica: I couldn’t have explained it better! So if you slept under a rock, or if you are new to f1, this year is the first year in a very long time that a female driver on the grid. That female being Y/n Y/l/n. She made it where she is now quite fast, she is currently 21 and this is her first year on the grid.

Sara: Yes, and that is also basically everything that we know about her. She is a very private person, so the only thing we know is her age, how she got up to f1, a few of her close family, and the things she shows us on instagram. Which is not a lot, and a lot less than that we know about the other drivers.

Vironica: Yes, and I think that that is what started the negative opinion on her. With not a lot known about her, people are, obviously, going to think things. And that is what happened. Because Twitter immediately began spectating a lot of thing, and Sara, you have a few examples.

Sara: Yes, alright, I won’t say who tweeted it for privacy reasons. So here we go! ‘The reason that Y/n is so private is 100 percent because she did some shady things or whatever’ and ‘the only reason we know nothing about Y/n’ real stop shops is cause she never had a real one and only has one night stand like a sl*t’ the next one is ‘Y/n is so weird to me, like she loves all these nerdy things and loves all these geeky things, so how could she possibly be good at driving?’ And the last one ‘there finnaly being a woman on the grid and it being Y/n is such a disappointment, like we finally get some one that can maybe make a difference and it is the girl that is too scarred to say anything, yet alone stand against an entire group of people and speak up’

Victoria: Okay so there are some very mean things said, but there is also a layer of truth to some of it. And also, the only other thing that is known about her is that she loves movies, reading and baking. Which is totally different than formula 1 racing, so that raises the question of if she is really fit for her spot and this life. And a lot of people see her as wierd, we included, because how in the world can a girl that for not care at all about her public appearance, is now a very public figure, more than the other drivers because she is the first women in many years to be on the grid.

Sara: exactly! And then to top it all off, we haven’t really seen her interacting with the other drivers, so it could go both ways, either they all hate her, or there is something going on behind the scenes that we don’t know. And fans have been speculating about how the WAG’s thing about her, with them not saying anything, so would they be jealous, and is there a reason to be? We will be going further into it in this episode along with other things F1!

Comments

F1Fanatic valid tbh

User I think it is kinda mean but some points are valid, because why enter F1 if you don’t want anything from your life public?

User7 I hate girls being mean to girls

Y/nfan why are people so mean tho??

L4fan cause she deserves it…

Hshsh I think this may go a bit far…..

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Yourusername Thank you so much to the Wayne family for inviting me to the gala! It was such an honour to be there

View all comments

WayneEnterprises We are happy that you were there!

User7 WAIT WHAT???

User8 Insane that she was there!!

WayneJ Great to have you here!

User9 crossover from the century

User10 Does this mean they are now a sponsor ooorrr…..

User11 Probably now because otherwise Charles and other Ferrari people would be there…

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Instagram

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Yourusername first race of the season! I am so grateful for this amazing opportunity, and we already have points! This was such an amazing week and I am looking forward to more weeks like this!

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User12

User13

User1

User2

User3

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Article

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Liked by Alexandrasaintmleux, Lillymhe and 988.625 others

Yourusername I heard a little rumour….

View all comments

Alexandrasaintmleux I want what you have tho

Yourusername honey you have everything I want

Lilymhe I think I may want to hear it too…..

Yourusername I think I may want to tell you suddenly

OllieBearman wait what. Am I late??

LilyZneimer cant wait to see you!!

Francisca.cgomes DM me please right now

Kimi.antonelli uuuummmmm what is going on??

Kellypiquet I also heard something…. Not sure what it is…

User0 I love how this is not only her confirming the rumours between her and Jason but also silencing the haters and those podcast people and also the other WAG’s backing her up!

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Instagram

Liked by WayneJ, Ferrari and 1.012.523 others

Yourusername @WayneJ sooooo secrets out I guess….. happy anniversary Jason

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User4 OMG IM DYING WTF

User5 She a gold digger 100%

User6 bro she’s literally a f1 driver that basically means she’s a millionaire

User7 already a power couple

User8 IM FERAL THEY ARE SO HOT HEBHDGWHSBB

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Instagram

Liked by Yourusername, Bruce_Wayne and 2.624.143 others

WayneJ @yourusername already our first anniversary….

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User9 THEY ARE SO CUTE

WayneDamian bro’s a simp

Bruce_Wayne Be nice to your brother

Timdrake This is how I find out???

Dickgrayson congrats? How could you keep this a secret for one year tho???

User10 ALL THE WAYNE FAMILY IS HERE!!!

User11 OMG FINALLY SOME MORE CONTENT FROM MY FAVOURITE DRIVER!!

User12 I ALREADY LOVE THEM!!

User13 this is actually soooooo cute I CABT ANYMORE

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It might be a bit mixed up but I started writing when the last season was still going on, and I changed it to the current season…

[mythalism]

You seem to be both a solavellan and mythal fan so maybe I won’t get shot for this question lol

Veilguard was my first game. I kept default settings, which meant solavellan world state.

I genuinely wonder: what makes people think Solas loves Lavellan? Or that if being with Mythal possible, he still would choose Lavellan?

He is so clearly not over Mythal. Last game is filled with references to their connection, she herself confirms that both still love each other. He is very protective of her while arguing with Elgarnan. Statues of them everywhere, him painting and playing songs about her, his very own room having statues of Mythal… In the end he discloses he does it all for her, refuses to stop after Lavellan’s appeals, and only does so after Mythal shows up.

In comparison, Solas describes what he had with Lavellan as “entanglement he selfishly grow close to” he both regrets and cherishes. Most of the romance is carried on Inquisitor’s shoulders, as she both explicitly tells what he means to her, reaches out to him and ultimately shares his burden of atonement.

I couldn’t understand why this ship was so popular, so I watched solavellan romance in DAI. And while it was beautifully done, having the context of Veilguard, I just keep seeing Mythal in every “we shouldn’t”/his face after balcony kiss/ultimately abandoning her in the end. It feels almost unfair and cruel for him to enter another relationship while his heart isn’t free. And to visit Lavellan’s dreams afterwards

What am I missing?

a lot of people would shoot you for this. but dont worry i am not one of them. be careful out there tho

i think the first thing i would say is that instead of watching a video, you would need to do play a full solavellan playthrough of the game if you do want to genuinely understand the relationship and why it is so beloved. im not sure which compilation you watched, but even one that includes all their conversations (rather than just the cutscenes, of which there are very few) cannot do the relationship justice. so much of understanding solas as a character and how he loves people, by extension, is wrapped up in how he reacts to the world at large, its people, its history, its institutions, and its metaphysics. assuming you're new to DA and wouldn't know this, solas's romance in inquisition is the shortest, most sparse romance in the game, and was added later in development. as a result, much of his essential characterization happens outside the bounds of romance content, but still adds deeper meaning, context, and depth to the relationship. even in terms of romance specific content, some of my favorite content occurs in banter that probably was not included in the video you watched. the solas romance is less a standalone love story, in the way many of the romances are, and more of a big juicy delicious cherry on top that helps you better understand the overall dragon age solas plot/cake you're eating.

theres a couple non-romance specific scenes that shed significant light on solas & mythal's dynamic from his perspective that i am not sure if you have seen and honestly i wouldnt recommend watching them because, again, i think you should just play inquisition and experience them in the proper context. but solas's companion personal quest is directly about his corruption at the hands of mythal, though we didn't know that until veilguard came out and contextualized it. and this quest pretty explicitly demonstrates how he feels about what she did to him: rage, beyond forgiveness, deserving of death. he also comments on her at the temple of mythal, and his comments are mostly neutral but verging on judgemental, and do illuminate that while he may have loved her, he certainly did not trust her. it is he who first clarifies that she was a goddess of vengeance, rather than justice. which i cant think about too long or else i'll get angry that they ret-conned it to benevolence -> retribution or whatever the fuck and erased the anders/justice/vengeance parallel... anyway

but i think more telling is his absolute refusal to drink from the well if asked, and most telling; how he fears for an inquisitor who drank.

he specifically calls mythal dangerous, arrogant, and fickle, absolutely refuses to submit to her will once again via the drinking of the well, and begs an inquisitor he loves not to do the same lest she suffer the same fate. he loves mythal, of course, but he also fears her. he is critical of her behavior and wary of her motivations. his love for her exists alongside his recognition of what she was.

another fairly vital bit of information is how according to trespasser (cole banter), solas used to wear mythal vallaslin until he burnt it off his own face when he developed his vallaslin removal spell. its how he got the little scar above his eyebrow. meaning, if vallaslin were slave markings, that solas was effectively enslaved to her. this is... pretty important context, obviously. but we never find out what it might have been like for him. veilguard.... didnt forget but rather deliberately ignored this because it wasnt willing to interrogate the issue of slavery which had been vital to solas as the leader of a slave rebellion. ugh. anyway.

this leads into my next point which is that veilguard really drastically changes solas's motivations to be far more mythal-centric than what was set up in inquisition/trespasser. we always knew something was up with them, and people always wondered if they might have been lovers, but veilguard goes in on this idea in a way that many people would actually call out-of-character compared to how he behaves in inquisition. veilguard itself though does present their relationship as rather complex though, in my opinion its one of the best parts of the game. the two moments that i chew on most frequently are the letter from felassan in mythal's weird little dragon pit that reveals how he made that island for her but locked it away when she was killed. and my ultimate fave is how she reveals that in the literal thousands of years she has been sitting there alone since her murder, many of which he was alive and fighting a rebellion partly in her name, and in the 12 years since he woke up from uthenera, he never went to visit her. not once. its giving jane eyre and i fucking love it. in this same conversation, she also says that when he killed flemeth, he wept. this, i think, is the crux of how he feels about her. he can barely look at her. he resents her. he will use her like he did anyone else. he loves her. he feels lost without her. he will never forgive her. he misses her. all of these things are true at once, and mythal seems to feel similarly; she loathes him. she understands him better than anyone. she resents him for betraying her and abandoning her. she calls him a pathetic little crybaby pussy ass bitch. she loves him.

i dont think anything you said in your message is necessarily wrong. i do think he loves mythal still. i think he always will. i think mythal is valid when she says that they have a bond that no one will ever understand. i agree he is protective over her. i also interpret their relationship as romantic though a lot of people do not. i just love drama. but i think you are misinterpreting his reluctance to be with lavellan as coming from his attachment to mythal as a person, rather than his attachment to his duty to what mythal represents - the world he ruined, everything he's ever done wrong. to say that solas would actually consciously choose mythal over lavellan if they were the final two contestants on the bachelorette is honestly, absurd. sorry. because actually he would choose neither, he would dramatically let the rose fall to the ground and run off to restore the elven people while chris hansen (felassan) dramatically runs after him. both women are secondary to him when it comes to the good of the entire world, and fixing what he broke. he has had plenty of moments to choose mythal and run away with her if he wanted. he has literally had her bertha-ing out in his crossroads attic for 10 years. he also literally does kill her via flemeth. which isnt to say that he wouldn't kill lavellan if forced to, i think he would. but the point here is that its not mythal vs. lavellan. its mythal vs. the world, and lavellan vs. the world. he should have chosen the world over mythal. he didnt. he created the blight instead. he destroyed everything. he cannot make the same mistake again, so he will choose the world every. single. time.

regardless, every time solas turns away from lavellan in the romance, he is not thinking "i wish you were her". he is thinking "if i do this to you, i have become her". prioritizing his own desires over the good of the world, stringing her along, using her as a tool to do his bidding (getting the orb back), are all things mythal did to him. he told her he would follow her anywhere. and when he begins to realize that lavellan would follow him anywhere (as she says in veilguard), he freaks out and has to end it. he knows he will have to continue to kill and cause destruction to bring his world back, so if he did allow her to join him in walking the dinan'shiral, or did anything other than break her heart and leave her, he would be corrupting her the way mythal corrupted him; a weapon to achieve his goal. but he refuses. in his mind, he already destroyed the world for love once; at mythal's behest. if he abandons the world for lavellan, he is destroying the world for love again, and making her an accomplice. so, every time he leaves her it is an act of love.

the way the inquisitor is the driving force of their romance is partly just... gameplay lol but its also consistent with the overarching theme of consent in a relationship that is fundamentally unethical and unequal. lavellan has to be the initiator or else solas becomes a predator. some would say he is anyway lol, but its clear much of the writing was designed to avoid this with the way he is constantly denying himself, backing away, trying not to give in. it might have been juicy, but for him to knowingly romantically and sexually pursue a young woman 10,000 years younger while lying to her about his identity and using her for his plans would make him an entirely different character. a character that would be a hit on romantasy booktok, but not solas. consent and ethics are so central to not only the relationship thematically, but to solas himself, and some of that is because of mythal and the inequality of their own past dynamic. solas is so passive in the romance not because he doesnt like this weird clingy bitch who wont leave him alone, but because he does not want to recreate the same dynamic that corrupted him into pride and uhhhh literally destroyed the world. i'll leave you with another essential quote that you may not have encountered yet:

Cole: It isn’t abuse if I ask! Solas: Not always true.

in trespasser, solas's duty to bring down the veil was more unambiguously to the elven people and the alleviation of his own crushing guilt, while mythal was collateral damage in his way and he used her like he would use anyone else (including lavellan loool) as a tool to achieve his goals. we see this when he kills flemeth and takes mythal's power. in veilguard they had to obscure this slightly to make him "less sympathetic", to use the devs own words. and they did this by shifting the crux of his motivations to mythal. i dont think his lap dog devotion is out of character, i adore it, but i hate that it came at the expense of his more complex and sympathetic motivations of saving the elven people and spirits from the damage of the veil. as a result, when looking at his behavior in the context of inquisition + trespasser + veilguard, i interpret it as mythal being symbolic of the destruction of the world at his hands. and not to toot my own horn but trick's interpretation that they shared on bluesky does support this, when they said that to solas, mythal represents the past and lavellan represents the future. ive written about his statement that it was all for mythal, and the tldr is that i think it is also supposed to be interpreted as symbolic and reflective of his psyche. but even if he did do it all for her, i dont think that necessarily negates his relationship with lavellan. he needs mythal to break the cognitive dissonance, alleviate his guilt, and release him, because she is the source of all of those things in the first place. lavellan could never break them because she is frankly irrelevant to those things. he is so caught up in his sunk-cost fallacy that he feels the only way is through. lavellan may not be able to break the hold the past has on him because she is separate from it, but she can offer him another path once it has been broken, a fork in the road he thought was straight; her, their future.

i think to say solas's heart is not free is a misunderstanding. he denies his heart's desire over and over, we see this clearly in the letter he sends to lavellan in veilguard that expresses how badly he wanted to put down his burden and stay with her. in his expressed reluctance to leave her in crestwood, how he refuses to lie and tell her it meant nothing. in "no matter what happens, i want you to know that what we had was real". his indulgent final kiss in trespasser. in "i will never forget you". its especially apt that you worded it this way and that vhenan means "my heart". if anything, his heart is the most free part of him. it is everything else that belongs to mythal: his body, created at her command. his path of destruction and ruin, which she set him on. his purpose, which she distorted from wisdom to pride. she, then, is the only one who can give it all back to him. and as soon as she does, he is free to prioritize his heart. and he quite literally does.

tldr; play inquisition <3

[dreamingpichu]

I'm noticing a consistent problem cropping up related to Legends Z-A and that's the fact that people don't seem to realize that the rivals and player characters are in fact the same person.

I keep seeing people begging to play as the female protagonist and have Taunie as their rival not realizing that the female protagonist IS Taunie. Same thing goes for the male protagonist being Urbain.

This has been done before as well, it's just different this time because the rival character does look different from their player character counterpart. This has never happened before.

In X&Y the Calem you play as vs the Calem that acts as your rival look identical. Same hairstyle, same outfit. His rival appearance perfectly matches one of the three appearance options you pick at the start of the game if you were to pick him as the player character.

But Urbain and Taunie do look very different from their playable counterparts. It's a pretty noticeable difference too, so much so that the details that clue us in that they're the same as the protagonists are barely noticeable when you're watching a speedy trailer during a livestream.

Now, I am totally on board with AU selfcest shenanigans, but I feel like this is important for us to realize because I'm betting that GameFreak thinks we already know when in fact a majority of us do not. I've seen plenty of Rival Taunie x Player Taunie shippers that don't realize that they're shipping selfcest.

If you look closely you notice it:

Same eye shape, same brows, same haircut (that one is easily missed because Player Taunie is wearing a hat which covers up her bun and ahoge)

It's a lot more noticeable on Urbain. The swoop in his hair is so recognizable that even though Player Urbain is wearing a hat it's still visible.

I'm going to assume this is a Brendan and May situation. Where if you pick May as the player her father is Norman and Brendan's is Birch. But if you pick Brendan, his father is Norman and Birch is May's father.

It's a weird AU thingy where the characters are born to completely different parents depending on who you choose to play as. Only this time GameFreak gave their rival counterpart a different appearance to better match their parents so it doesn't feel as weird as the Brendan and May situation.

[jilyandbambi]

Everything about how Coach Ben's Trial plays out just makes me feel so sad and devastated for all of them. I can't even hate them for what they did or are about to do. They're just kids, man.

Shauna is grieving and angry and postpartum and scared, and she's got nowhere to put any of that except onto Ben, the grown up--who didn't burn the cabin down but who did turn away from her when she needed him most. It's a powerful thing when you're that age and angry/sad/frustrated about everything (bc you're a kid) and to have a safe adult to be pissed at: an adult who cares but isn't perfect (no one is, and you're a kid so you're still learning to accept this), who let you down right at the exact moment you needed them to be the Grown Up with all the answers, and maybe their fuck up was only one of 254884113 things going wrong in your life at that point but you're 17--old enough to know that adults don't have all the answers and young enough that it still feels like they should, and when they don't, that's their fault too.

It's irrational, immature, and dangerous (Thy name is Shauna Shipman), which is what kids are, and what each of these kids are, to varying degrees; and why Shauna gets her way in the end.

It isn't their coach's fault that their plane crashed, that they starved for months, that they resorted to eating their team captain, that they let Javi drown so they could gut him and eat him, that Shauna's baby was stillborn, or that their cabin burned down. But they're kids and everything is awful and in between all the awful the adult in the room dropped the ball when they needed him, and now the trauma, and guilt, and shame, and pain, and rage has to go somewhere, and Coach Ben is a more tangible target than an invisible wilderness god. It doesn't matter that he clearly didn't set the fire and doesn't wish them any harm, the lie is too convenient.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Mari doesn't have to own up to the fact that she didn't tell the truth when she got back to camp, that she let the others continue thinking their coach was out there still hunting them.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, there's no need for Travis to rock the boat and stand up for the only other person besides himself to be as disgusted and horrified at what the others did to his little brother.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Van (the only other person besides Shauna and Melissa to vote Guilty every time) doesn't have to worry about the others taking a second look at what her sleepwalking girlfriend could have been doing the night of.

If Coach Ben didn't set the cabin on fire, Tai might have to poke deeper at Van's insistence on his guilt despite all evidence to the contrary, and she might not like the answer. Add to that, if Coach Ben is innocent, then Nat was right to keep what she knew from the rest of them and Tai was wrong to collude with Shauna to her call her out in front of everyone, and maybe that makes Nat a better choice of leader than Tai would've been after all.

If the wilderness says Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, then maybe it's finally starting to speak to Lottie again, maybe she hasn't completely lost her connection to it after all.

And it's so, so fucked up because beneath all of them rallying behind this cruel, vengeful, childish decision to blame Coach Ben anyway is an understandable desire to have a say in all the uncertainty and turmoil that's taken over their lives by this point. That adolescent need for control--not just over your environment but your emotions, especially the negative ones--can make kids living in the best circumstances lash out. Here, with everything the Yellowjackets have been through and have already done, it was always going to have the worst possible outcome. And watching it all play out as an adult is just--ughhhhh. Heartbreaking.

Because that adolescent turmoil that makes you an angry freakshow who lashes out at the right people at the wrong times, or (more often than not) the wrong people at the wrong times--sometimes knowingly? That's normal. This is the time to be that way. You're supposed to have the space to get it all out and grow past it.

But the Yellowjackets don't and won't, and it'll ruin them, especially the ones that make it out alive.

Yeah, Shauna, taking your rage and grief out on Coach Ben feels good to you now; taking any action, even if it's clearly the wrong one, feels powerful and right in the moment, but it won't last. The rest of you lemmings letting her have her way for your own reasons feel justified for now, but that won't last either. By the time the full weight of what you've done hits you, it'll be too late. When the regret comes you won't know how to face it and you never will, and so you'll be stuck. You'll be 17 and haunted at 20 and 30 and 45, still getting in your own way and not realizing it until it's too late. You'll get older but you'll never grow up, and you'll never understand why.

[nanavn]

[ID: second post by @petrichara has a photo and a cartoon; third post by @ink-the-artist has a MRI scan and four screenshots of text from the link; fourth post by @illuminatedpopcorn has a screenshot of tags.

In the second post, the photo is of a mother holding her small child up in an embrace, both seen from the side and looking at Van Gogh's painting 'Madame Roulin and Her Baby' which depicts a seated woman with a baby standing on her lap. The mother in the painting is in three-quarters profile whereas the baby is looking straight at the viewer. The child in the photograph is looking intently at the painting.

'I’m not sure how to look at art' by Lynda Barry is a four-panel cartoon. It's a line drawing and shows a humanoid, larger figure in a dress and a smaller, potato-shaped companion - presumably a mother(-figure) and a small child - looking at a painting on the wall. It depicts a seated figure, tenderly embracing a smaller one on its lap - they appear content and happy.

The few details of the background indicates that the cartoon's setting is a museum or possibly a gallery.

In the first panel, the mother holds her arms in front, crossed at the wrists - perhaps not exactly anxious, but not relaxed either. She is looking at the painting and says: "Im not sure how to look at art."

The child is also studying the painting and says: "Whats sposta happen?" [What is supposed to happen, asked by someone not fully mastering the language - like a child might]

In the second panel, the two are looking at each other. The mother is holding up her arms in front of her chest and, in three speach bubbles, says: "Something big. A revelation. Suddenly you just understand."

The child's mouth is open, as if taking this in.

In the third panel, they both look at the painting. The mother's arms are crossed in front again and she says: "Not sure how to make it happen."

The child now stands between the mother and the art, and says: "How bout lift me up so I can see better?"

The fourth panel has the mother holding up the child in her embrace, mirroring the painting as they look at it intently.

The small child again has its mouth open, and they both seem to feel a connection - like they "just understand."

In the third post, the MRI scan is of an adult person and a small child in profile from the shoulders up and facing eash other. The mother is kissing the baby on his forehead, her lips tenderly touching her child. The four screenshots of text are from the linked article, which also describes the image:

A mother and her child are curled up together inside the tube of a 3 Tesla magnetic resonance imaging scanner in April 2015. The scanner bangs and beeps, shudders and screeches. The baby is finally sleeping, pressed firmly against his mother’s chest, and so is still enough for the MRI to see inside his head. A single MR image, like this one, takes several minutes to capture. Moving just a millimeter leaves a blur on the screen. The mother and baby must hold their pose, as if for a daguerreotype.

While they lie there, the scanner builds up a picture of what’s inside their skulls. Often MR images are made for physicians, to find a tumor or a blocked blood vessel. Scientists also make the images, to study brain function and development. In my lab, at MIT, we use MRI to watch blood flow through the brains of children; we read them stories and observe how their brain activity changes in reaction to the plot. By doing so, we’re investigating how children think about other people’s thoughts.

This particular MR image, though, was not made for diagnostic purposes, nor even really for science. No one, to my knowledge, had ever made an MR image of a mother and child. We made this one because we wanted to see it.

To some people, this image was a disturbing reminder of the fragility of human beings. Others were drawn to the way that the two figures, with their clothes and hair and faces invisible, became universal, and could be any human mother and child, at any time or place in history. Still others were simply captivated by how the baby’s brain is different from his mother’s; it’s smaller, smoother and darker—literally, because there’s less white matter.

Here is a depiction of one of the hardest problems in neuroscience: How will changes in that specific little organ accomplish the unfolding of a whole human mind?

As for me, I saw a very old image made new. The Mother and Child is a powerful symbol of love and innocence, beauty and fertility. Although these maternal values, and the women who embody them, may be venerated, they are usually viewed in opposition to other values: inquiry and intellect, progress and power. But I am a neuroscientist, and I worked to create this image; and I am also the mother in it, curled up inside the tube with my infant son.

The fourth post's screenshot of tags from the previous post:

#it’s not exactly the same as what the post describes but I think it’s the same in spirit #it’s just so… #there’s an edited version of that image that’s been spread claiming it shows chemical reactions in the brain from the kiss #like parts of the brain are edited to look like they’ve lit up as they release oxytocin #made me pissed tf off on Rebecca saxes behalf lmao #thats so much less interesting and beautiful than ‘we made this one because we wanted to see it’

End ID]

Tags from https://www.tumblr.com/ink-the-artist/776580876213649408/why-i-captured-this-mri-of-a-mother-and-child

saw a tiktok of a mother taking her very tiny daughter to an art museum and she’s just walking around going “whoooa” “woooaah” to everything but then they got to a marble statue of a nude woman lying on her back and the girl points and goes “mommy🫵” and i just immediately welled up with tears and all the comments are just laughing about it and of course it’s funny but how are you not insanely moved by the way art connects everyone on earth from a centuries-old sculptor to a toddler in 2023

[kunareads]

always, forever

choso x reader

obsession is just another form of devotion. and no one is more devoted to you than choso is.

masterlist

wc: 6.8k

um. i apologize in advance. this version of choso is very special to me and so is this reader, which is why it took so long to finish. i love them!!

content: stalker!choso, obsession, toxicity, dark romance, power dynamics, yandere in many ways, unchecked limits but not dub/noncon, choking, slapping, biting, bruising, spitting, restraints, praise, ownership, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f! receiving), religious undertones, worship/devotion, subspace, u and choso are NOT normal about each other like at all

18+ please <3

choso has always been good at paying attention.

people don’t expect that from him. he’s quiet, watchful, the kind of presence that blends into the background. most people assume it means he’s not listening, that his stare is vacant instead of calculating.

they don’t understand. he notices everything.

he notices when you use a new mascara. he notices how you reach for your phone when you hear a notification, even when it’s not yours. he notices the way your lips part before you laugh, how you tilt your head when you’re listening, the way your eyes linger on someone when you want them to stay.

he notices because it’s you. and you make it easy for him. you’re open, unaware.

it’s normal, the way he watches you.

he’s your friend. you trust him. you say his name when you see him.

morning, choso.

his chest tightens every time. it fits there, in your mouth, like it belongs to you.

would you still say it like that if you knew what it did to him?

your friendship is easy. you text him late at night when you can’t sleep. you pull him into conversation when he’s too quiet in a group. you lean against him when you’re tired, press your fingers to his wrist when you need his attention.

you let him in.

so it only makes sense that he knows you better than anyone.

he doesn’t think it’s strange that he watches you leave your apartment every morning. or that he walks the same route. or that he knows how long you’ll pause before crossing the street. this is part of his day, too.

he doesn’t think it’s odd that sometimes, he gets close enough to touch the loose thread on the back of your coat. or the nape of your neck.

once, you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. if you had turned around then, he would’ve been right there. standing too close.

but it’s not stalking. he’s not obsessed. he’s just making sure you’re okay.

+++

choso likes keeping things.

it started small. innocent.

a receipt left on the table after lunch. a pen you let him borrow. a candy wrapper, the foil crinkled between your fingers when you pressed it into his palm. he didn’t mean to keep them. he just…never let them go.

then, a bit more personal.

a cherry chapstick left in his car. an earring you thought you lost—he remembers watching it fall, small and shiny and delicate. a tissue, blotted with lipstick.

none of it was on purpose.

but you leave so many pieces of yourself behind. you’re careless, in a way that only makes sense to him. he had to start paying attention.

the things he keeps now are less accidental.

a bracelet you thought you lost. a nearly empty perfume bottle. strands of your hair, pulled from his hoodie after you borrowed it. a bloodstained tissue, from the time you cut your finger cooking for mutual friends.

your voice in his head hours after you’ve spoken. your fingerprints burning his skin like you meant to leave them there.

a photo of you sleeping. that one’s his favorite. a little secret, tucked between pages of a book. a moment you don’t remember, but he does. proof.

he knows things about you that you’ve never told him.

he knows your passwords. your wifi login. how much money is in your bank account.

he knows what you search for late at night, when your body is warm and restless. he knows what you watch twice, what you turn the volume up on, what you come back to later. sometimes, he watches with you.

at the bottom of his drawer, there’s a single zip tie. red and sturdy, waiting. it isn’t yours.

but it makes him think of you.

it’s not wrong. he’s just keeping you safe.

+++

afternoons are harder.

your lunch breaks are less predictable than your mornings, but even your unpredictability follows a rhythm. sometimes you run an errand. sometimes you meet a friend. others, you stop into a cafe, settle by the window, scroll through your phone between bites.

today, it’s the latter.

he leans against a brick wall across the street, observing you through the glass. you’re alone, stirring sugar into your drink, the sleeve of your sweater pulled over your hand.

then some guy slides into the seat across from you.

choso doesn’t recognize him. doesn’t care to.

the guy says something. you laugh and tilt your head, play with the edge of your napkin as you talk.

he’s seen you like this before—warm, engaged, giving. he knows it’s nothing. he knows that. but the sight still twists in his chest.

it’s not about fear. he doesn’t worry about losing you. that’s impossible.

it’s about keeping you.

about being on the receiving end of that smile. your attention, your laughter—they belong to him. no one else deserves them. they don’t know what to do with them anyway. they don’t hold them the right way, don’t understand how dangerous it is to waste them.

if he walked into the cafe right now, crossed the room, took your wrist—would you let him?

he imagines it. leaning close, lips brushing your ear. let’s go home.

your breath catching. your body tilting toward him on instinct. your little nod.

but he won’t do that. you have to come first.

he remembers the last guy. the one who texted too much, who made you laugh too easily. the one who stopped showing up.

he got the message. you didn’t even notice he was gone. but choso did. he noticed every second that passed before you stopped checking your phone, before you moved on like he never existed.

how long before this one needs a message, too?

his hands flex in his pockets. he takes a step forward. but he exhales, lets it go. he turns before the thought can take root, before the want takes shape and he can’t push it down.

he walks away, but the feeling doesn’t.

+++

when evening comes, choso’s right back where he belongs—watching your apartment from a distance, waiting for your windows to light up.

you should be here by now. he’s been standing here long enough for his body to register the cold. long enough for his pulse to slow.

he waits. this is easy to do when it’s for you. when he knows that, eventually, you’ll come home.

it’s fine.

maybe you stayed late at work. maybe you lost track of time. maybe you ran into someone.

it happens.

his fingers tap against his thigh once, then again. then again. a pattern, his body tracking the time even if he doesn’t mean to.

twenty minutes.

a car passes. the street lamp flickers.

his jaw tightens, but his breathing stays even. it’s not impatience. not paranoia. just an understanding of how things are supposed to be.

thirty minutes.

the cold bites at his knuckles. his fingers flex. the rhythm on his thigh picks up.

forty minutes.

his hand stutters.

something’s wrong.

he doesn’t decide it. he doesn’t even process it. the knowledge just settles, heavy and absolute. instinctive. like sensing a storm before the clouds roll in.

his hand slips into his pocket.

your key fits nicely between his fingers.

he crosses the street.

+++

your apartment smells exactly like you: floral, a little sweet, undeniably familiar.

he moves through your space, cataloging. your blanket on the couch, waiting for you. the unopened mail stacked neatly on the counter. a single glass in the sink. everything is where it should be.

but something’s wrong.

his eyes flick to your bookshelf. the order is off. books are misaligned, there are gaps where there shouldn’t be. choso’s not even sure you’ve touched these shelves before—they’re always perfectly neat, always the same.

his gaze dips lower. a box, tucked away. not well enough.

he hesitates.

then he crouches, pulling it out, fingers ghosting over the lid. he doesn’t know why he holds his breath he lifts it.

the first things he sees make him smile, just a little. a matchbook from a bar you both went to. a concert wristband, still looped closed. he carried you on his shoulders that day. a pin he gave you once, the clasp slightly bent.

his hand skims over them. he’s always known you were sentimental, but seeing it like this—seeing himself in it—makes something in his chest loosen. he thinks you’re cute.

then, a polaroid. the two of you, smiling. a moment he remembers. he runs his fingers over your image.

underneath it, another. just him.

he stares for a second before setting them aside.

the hoodie string he thought got lost in the laundry, coiled in the corner. a cigarette butt, flattened at the tip. his brand.

when did you find out he smokes?

his hands move slower now, pulling each item from the box, laying them out beside him.

a receipt—his, not yours—crumpled, then smoothed back out. a lock of his hair, neatly tied with a ribbon. his scalp tingles like he can feel where it was taken.

more photos. him again, but he’s not posing this time. stepping off a curb. shopping for groceries. sleeping.

his heartbeat pounds in his throat.

his fingers graze a slip of paper, the ink faded but still legible.

choso is restless today. he doesn’t talk much, but his weight shifts when he gets impatient. his breathing changes when i touch him. he watches me more when he thinks i won’t notice. i always notice. i wonder if he knows how soft his voice goes when he says my name. i could listen forever.

his fingers press into his thighs, his breathing slows, his mind splintering at the edges.

it’s not the same as him. it’s not.

he reaches the last few items in the box.

a mirror, small enough to fit in his palm. his name in lipstick, smeared over the glass where a finger had brushed.

a knife. the one that should be at the back of his nightstand drawer.

the room presses in around him. his body stills. his thoughts feel slow, thick.

he’s missing something. he must be.

before he can decide what to do with it, the door unlocks.

choso stays frozen where he is. his breath pulls in his throat.

you step inside, closing the door behind you. your movements are easy. fluid. unbothered.

there’s no shock, no fear when you see him. no gasp or startled jolt. you don’t even hesitate.

you walk to the living room entrance and stop there.

and instead of asking why he’s in your apartment, looking through your things, you just look at him expectantly.

his fingers tingle.

you shouldn’t be this calm.

his gaze moves over you, searching for a flicker of guilt, a flash of panic—something.

but you’re steady. unblinking. he feels like prey.

is this a test?

the silence stretches, taut and thin, and something inside him bends with it. part of him already knows where this is going.

he should say something. ask something, demand an explanation. how did you get those pictures? his knife? his fucking hair?

but his breath is caught somewhere between inhale and exhale.

you tilt your head. the corners of your lips curl upwards.

and then, lightly, “you found it.” your voice is sweet, but underlined with a tone he’s never heard before.

his stomach clenches. his fingers tighten around the box.

“i left it there for you.”

his mind fumbles for an answer, a reason this isn’t what it looks like. but nothing comes.

it’s exactly what it looks like.

you left it there. for him.

he should be horrified. he should recoil. but the pieces fit too well. the truth clicks too easily.

you’re just as bad as he is.

realization winds through his ribs like smoke. relief follows soon after, dark and cool.

he places the box down beside the scattered items with an exhale. his arms are looser now, his muscles relaxing.

he understands.

he stands and takes a step forward. then another, tilting his head, voice low. “say it.”

amusement glints in your eyes, your lips parting slightly.

“you first.”

him first.

choso doesn’t move, neither do you.

but something shifts—*pulls—*like gravity bending around you. his hands flex at his sides, his jaw tightens against the weight of the moment.

then, finally, he reaches for you.

one hand cups your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb grazing over your cheek. the other slides down, curling around the delicate skin of your wrist. he presses your pulse, just enough to tell you he’s here.

he lifts your hand, turning it, bowing his head in quiet worship.

his lips brush the inside of your wrist, featherlight, careful.

warm breath fans over your skin, then his teeth, sending a tremor through you.

the scrape of enamel blurring into the glide of his tongue is overwhelming.

he feels the way your fingers twitch against his palm, hears the sharp inhale you try to bite down. his thumb rubs slow circles into your cheek.

he lifts his head, moves in, and then he’s kissing you.

it’s needy. built from tension too thick to hold any longer. heat and teeth and hands—one pressing your wrist behind your back, the other sliding to the base of your skull, pulling you close, closer.

you give it back to him—your free hand tangles into his hair, nails scraping. his hair ties come loose one by one, and you slip them down over your wrist. a quiet keepsake. for later.

the moment is raw and unsteady. his mouth explores, breathless against your jaw, then lower. his teeth scrape below your ear, testing, waiting for a reaction.

you press forward, not willing to stop this.

he exhales against you, then moves, walking you backward until the edge of your desk presses into your spine.

his belt slips from his waist in one motion. the leather slides over your skin, smooth as his hands work, looping, tightening, adjusting.

he pulls it snug, your wrists now pinned behind your back, the press of leather holding you in place.

he thinks of the zip tie in his drawer. red, uncut, waiting.

not tonight.

then he lifts his gaze, eyes searching.

“you could stop me.”

it’s a door cracked open for you. you could stop him. he’s telling the truth. if you pulled away right now, if you said no—he’d let you go. because taking was never the point.

but the thought of stopping him doesn’t even form properly.

how could you?

you don’t pull away. you don’t resist at all. instead, you tilt your chin up, watching him.

and then, a smile.

something inside him aligns, seamless and final. everything before this was waiting. his mind quiets. the constant restlessness, the gnawing hunger—gone.

you’re his. you always were.

he tightens his hold for just a second before taking a step back.

the sight of you, wrists bound, waiting for him—he just needs to see it. needs to convince himself it’s real, to prove that this isn’t just another fantasy unraveling in the dark. that he’s not imagining the way you’re looking at him right now.

he drags his gaze over you, memorizing. you look exactly how he imagined you would. better.

you shift, testing the belt. not to escape, just to feel it.

his eyes track the movement, feeling the pull of you. he exhales, slow and controlled, and moves back in.

his hands travel over you, pushing your shirt up, fingers pressing, tracing. his lips aren’t far behind. he takes his time, dragging heat and teeth and intention over you*. marking you.*

his fingers slide lower, brushing your inner thigh. he watches the flutter of your lashes, the pull of breath in your throat.

then softly, “i should keep you like this.”

a pause. his fingers move higher.

“tied up.”

a flick of his fingers through layers of clothing.

“waiting for me.”

how long would you last like this? how long before you’d beg?

the longer your wrists stay bound, the deeper the inevitability settles into you. you lean into it, let it take root.

he drags a thumb over the waistband of your pants. he undoes the button. lowers the zipper.

you don’t help him. you can’t—and that’s the point.

his fingers press into your hips as he works the fabric down. your panties follow. you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket and drops to his knees before you.

his hands settle against your thighs, and choso lets himself feel the gravity of this. it’s hypnotic, the way you open up for him, the way you let him take what’s his.

he’s craved this. dreamt of it. and now you’re here. bound, vulnerable. every version of this moment was different—except for one thing. you always looked at him like this.

he half-expects to wake up still standing across the street, waiting for the glow of your windows.

but this isn’t a dream.

he dips down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss above your knee. then another, and another.

you want to touch him. to twist your fingers in his hair, to pull him closer, to feel his shoulders flex under your hands.

he takes his time. works his way up, teeth scraping, tongue flicking against sensitive skin. he closes his eyes as he breathes you in, but he doesn’t give you anything.

a sharp nip to the crease of your thigh. a lazy drag of his tongue there. he kisses right above your clit—so close, so fucking close, but not enough.

you whine. you need him.

he smirks. “you open up for me so easily.”

his tongue presses flat against you, slow at first, moving through the heat of you. you let out your first unrestricted moan.

then deeper. more.

he groans into you. “shit—” he drags his tongue through your slick again, his mouth starting to water. he savors your taste, taking his time, patient and thorough.

his mouth covers you completely, sucking, dragging you higher, working you open. you’re moving, pressing closer, needing more. the slow build makes you dizzy.

but just when your breath stutters and your thighs start to shake, he pulls away.

your head jerks, a whimper slipping out, raw need spilling over.

but he just slides his fingers through your opening, coating them, spreading it.

“you shouldn’t let me do this,” he says, but he’s already lifting his fingers to your face. his lips curve. “but you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

when you take his fingers into your mouth without hesitation, fire surges in his chest*.*

his pupils blow wide, his breath catches. he pulls his fingers out, spreading them over your lips, your jaw, rubbing wetness in, watching it shine under the dim light.

“so fucking pretty like this.”

he buries his face back between your thighs with a moan. his tongue moves rougher now, making up for all the time he’s spent wanting and waiting.

you can’t move, can’t do anything but sit there and let him have you.

the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp, and you realize—he’s dragging you over the edge whether you’re ready or not.

his hands, his mouth, his breath—you swear you can feel him everywhere. on your skin, under it. in your cells, unraveling you from the inside out.

he keeps you spread open, his tongue fucking into you until you break.

you come undone, sharp and shattering, your body arching and your vision flickering. he growls against you, greedy, drinking in every sound you make and every drop of your release.

you tremble, breath coming in jagged, desperate pulls, aftershocks rolling through you.

he doesn’t stop until he’s done. until he’s sure he’s tasted everything you have to give. only then does he pull back, breathless, flushed, his face slick with you.

his hands don’t leave you. one stays firm on your thigh while the other drags up your body—slow, possessive, tracing the marks he’s already left behind.

his lips follow the same path. butterfly kisses at first, soft and fleeting. a press of his mouth to your hip, your stomach, your ribs, his breath warming your skin.

by the time he reaches your chest, he’s standing again, crowding you. his mouth teases each of your nipples, then moves up to your collarbone, your throat, then your lips—deep and heady, like he’s sealing something in place.

you taste yourself. it should be filthy, humiliating. but the way he does it, the way he runs his tongue against yours with so much care, like it’s meant to be this way—you shudder, melting into it.

his hands move behind you. he unfastens the belt, unwinding it with slow precision. your arms drop, the tension leaving so suddenly that a tremor runs through them. before you can move, he catches your wrists, holding them gently.

“you okay?” his thumbs smooth over the tender marks.

you nod and smile, just slightly, but it’s enough. he takes in the gesture, tucks it into the little box in his mind reserved for you.

his grip on you changes—firmer, more intent. the next kiss is messy, the way he presses into you, the solid weight of him between your thighs.

you feel him, hard and thick, putting pressure on your core through his jeans. he rolls his hips once, and the friction pulls a moan out of you.

your fingers twist into his hair, pulling so tight it must burn, but he keeps moving against you. he whispers your name, a quiet, broken sound.

does he even hear himself? does he know how much weight it carries, how needy he sounds when he says it? what it does to you?

you push.

your teeth catch his lower lip, biting down hard. enough to hurt, enough to bleed. you drag your tongue over it, tasting him, wanting to thank him for giving this to you.

he moans, growing desperate and grinding into you again, gripping your thighs, holding himself back. “you make me insane.”

before you can answer, he moves.

he lifts you effortlessly, walking you through your apartment like he’s lived here forever. his mouth is everywhere—kissing, biting, tasting—as he presses you against a wall, a doorframe, and then the bed.

he sets you down. his hands move to his shirt, pulling it over his head in one motion, muscles shifting under his skin. his pants follow, and then he’s back, sitting and reaching for you, drawing you into his lap and guiding your legs around him.

he moves one hand down to run his length through your slick, wetting himself up before easing you down onto him.

he’s thick, almost too much to take, and you whimper softly as his fingers slide up your sides, grounding you.

“you’re okay,” he coos. “you’re doing so well, pretty girl.”

he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t move at all to speed the process. he just watches you, takes you in, drags his hands over your skin like he finally has what he wanted.

his arms wrap around you when you eventually sink all the way down. he wastes no time rolling his hips, feeling you, reveling in the way you whimper at the stretch.

the position is deep, intimate, almost tender. but the way he holds you, the way he grips and takes and owns as he drags you down and snaps his hips up to meet you—there’s nothing soft about it.

you pull back enough to look at him, really look, and it makes your stomach churn.

he belongs to you. you love him. you love him too much. more than is reasonable, more than is safe.

you want him to know what this feels like—the unbearable ache, the madness, the constant need that grips you so hard you don’t know what to do with it.

before you even realize what you’re doing, your palm cracks against his face.

his head jerks to the side, his jaw tightening as something dark flickers in his eyes.

he stares, breath measured, holding something in his throat. the red on his cheek spreads like watercolor, stark against the black ink on his skin. a smile tilts at his lips.

”again.”

so you do it again.

his hand slides to the back of your neck as he lets out a breathless laugh, his other arm locking tighter around your waist, forcing you up and down, over and over again.

he’s fucking lost in it. in you, in this, in the way you give and take and ruin.

your body is stretched open, raw and aching, so fucking full, drunk on the way he claims you, the way he needs you.

then, lower, slurred against your skin, “*please—*baby, spit in my mouth.” half-lidded eyes lift to yours, and you realize he’s not just asking. he’s offering himself up.

you’re pulling his head back by his hair before he’s even done speaking.

his lips part, tongue barely peeking out, ready and waiting.

you let it drip into his mouth, and he groans like you’ve blessed him as he drags you into another desperate kiss.

it’s not enough. it’s never fucking enough. you need more.

“tell me you love me.”

it tumbles out, raw and unguarded. you both know it’s not a request—it’s a demand. a life sentence. a tether neither of you will be able to break.

his answer is instant. “i love you.” it lands like a vow, like a promise. like knowledge he was born with.

it floors you. tears brim in your eyes, and before you even process what he’s just given you—”i love you, choso.”

you love him. you love him. and that destroys him. his name belongs here, with you. always has.

his arms crush you, a vice around your body. like he could break you open and crawl inside, stay there forever. his thrusts turn brutal, desperate, unhinged, carving you into his shape.

he wants to say something, but nothing comes. just you, just this.

because the realization is too much.

because he never thought he’d hear this from you. never expected to be allowed to have this, to keep this.

because he’s been content just knowing you, quietly keeping you safe.

but this? this is something else entirely.

his grip tightens, almost desperate as his rhythm grows rough, erratic. your name spills from his lips like a prayer, over and over, his body going tight.

he moans freely against your skin, holding you flush to him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you. he’s locked around you, unyielding, trying to hold the moment in place, trying to stop time itself.

and it undoes you.

the warmth of him pressed into you, the way he swells inside you as he releases, the way he stays, like he belongs there—it sends you spiraling.

you tighten around him like a vice, gasping his name, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as your body locks up. your nails rake down his back, desperate, needing to mark him, keep him, to ruin him the way he’s ruined you.

his breath stutters, still drowning in his own pleasure, but he cradles your head, fucking you through it. “that’s it, pretty girl. let me feel it.”

and you do. you give him everything. every wave, every pulse, every broken sound as the feeling rolls through you. your body trembles in his arms, spent, oversensitive, but he just holds you, smoothing a hand down your spine, pressing slow, grounding kisses to your temple.

he pulls out of you, a slow retreat. the absence leaves you aching, still open for him, your combined juices leaking out.

time slows. your heart pounds against his. the heat between you lingers, warm and hazy. his fingers trace lazy patterns over your skin, letting you relax into him as you both come down.

once you’ve both settled, he lifts you off of him carefully, reluctant to let go. his hands guide you, breathing you in, smelling sweat and sex and something unmistakably yours.

his thumb drags down your back. he watches the way your body responds, still trembling, still open. he fits a pillow beneath your hips, shifting you into place.

he hovers, kissing you—over your shoulder, your spine, the side of your ribs, soft but weighted. his body follows, pressing you under him, where you belong.

“you’re not done yet.”

a shudder moves through you.

his lips press between your shoulder blades, lingering, exhaling before he pushes back into you.

the position lets him sink deeper than before. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, and you let out a low moan into the mattress.

his groan is rough, his voice wrecked. “you take me so fucking well.”

his pace builds—deep, ruthless. he’s everywhere, taking you apart, remaking you in his image.

you feel his teeth on your shoulder. his teeth on your neck. his tongue dragging fire over your skin.

you’re too sensitive. it’s too much. you reach back, trying to slow him down, but he’s faster. he grabs your wrists and pulls them behind you, dragging you upright into him like a puppet on strings.

your body bows into his. his breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing over your jaw, your cheek, your throat.

his hands pull you down onto him again and again, pushing you beyond yourself.

fingers trace your collarbones, his thumb finding the soft dip in your throat before he wraps his hand around it. he doesn’t squeeze—not yet. but he feels the way you clench slightly around him.

“you like this?”

a whimper escapes you—not an answer, but enough of one. your hips rock back, body moving on instinct.

slowly, methodically, his fingers flex around your throat, measuring, testing.

then he closes his hand, cutting off everything but him.

your breath is gone.

everything stills. the world narrows—collapsing to the points where his hand meets your throat, where he’s buried inside you.

you clench around him hard as your limbs go weightless. a slow, creeping quiet drags you under, like slipping underwater.

you can feel your own pulse weakening under his hand. you can feel the numbness creeping up your spine, feel your eyes roll back, feel how completely you trust him to guide you.

he could kill you like this. is that what this is? a kind of offering? if he asked, would you give him even that? you both know the answer. he could demand your life right now, and you’d hand it over. just like he would if the roles were reversed.

he’s studying you, observing every reaction, watching you slip, mentally recording the sounds you make as you fight for air. his thumb strokes your jaw, coaxing you deeper.

and in the haze, you think:

he’s made you something sacred, something holy. a body to bow down to, a name to whisper between gasps. if this is devotion, you’ll kneel. if this is love, you’ll let it kill you.

everything is soft—your vision, your breath, your body. he’s siphoning the world away, tightening his hold even more. the floor drops out, and you’re falling, though you don’t know for how long or to where.

he lets go.

your body seizes as air floods your lungs, a shuddering inhale that rattles in your chest, half sob, half plea.

an orgasm overtakes you without warning or control, tearing a ragged cry from your throat. your vision flickers, your body spasms around him, but he doesn’t slow down.

“oh, fuck—” his voice is ruined. his hands keep you open for him as he fucks you straight through it. “keep fucking cumming for me, pretty girl.”

you try to squirm away, the pleasure making you hot, blinding you, too much.

“no—no, stay here,” he grits out. his palm spreads over your nape, forcing you down, shoving your face back into the mattress to take it.

he fucks you like a punishment, like a gift, dragging more sounds from your lips and tears from your eyes, letting you feel everything—every thick push, every deep stroke, every pulse of him inside you.

you were made for this. you were made for each other. shaped by each other’s hands, bound by each other’s will.

your body can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough, because somehow—somehow—you’re cumming again, clenching so hard around him he’s nearly forced out of you.

your body breaks open, pouring out and soaking the sheets, soaking him, feeling the delicious release as the force of it drags you under.

his breath stutters, his grip bruising as he chases it. he buries himself, spilling inside you, filling you and leaving something permanent behind.

his forehead presses against the back of your neck. his body stills, but his arms tighten around you, sealing you in the moment with him.

because this is it.

if you ran, he’d find you. if you fought, he’d break you down, drag you back, make you forget why you ever wanted to leave.

his fingers slide into your damp hair, pushing it off your forehead. he tilts your face just enough for his lips to brush your temple.

his breath is soft, warm when he whispers, “thank you, pretty girl.” you don’t know what you’ve done.

+++

you’re drifting. the world is muffled, distant, like sound traveling through water. your limbs don’t work, your mind doesn’t move. you just exist—empty, light, gone.

somewhere, you know choso is holding you. you can feel his warmth at the edge of your consciousness, an anchor you can’t quite reach.

but you’re safe here. his.

his hands shift, adjusting you away from the mess on the bed. you hum—more of a breath than a sound—pliant in his grip.

“baby?”

no response.

his thumb presses lightly into your jaw, trying to coax a reaction, but there’s nothing. your body is slack in his hold, breath coming too slow.

his stomach dips, sharp and visceral. his hands are calm when he cups your face, but his breath isn’t. his heart isn’t.

his fingers press against your wrist, searching for your pulse. still there. slow but steady.

but you don’t move. you don’t even look at him.

“baby, you with me?”

a hum, noncommittal, far away.

it’s not enough.

his throat tightens. his hands shake, just barely.

what if he went too far? what if you don’t come back?

the realization curls like smoke under his ribs.

he smooths your hair, tilting your chin up, a thumb stroking your cheek. “i need you to look at me, pretty girl.”

nothing.

“please.” his voice breaks on the word. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, breath shaky, exhaling slow. grounding himself before he grounds you.

“okay,” he murmurs, softer now, steadier. “okay, baby, i got you.”

his lips rest against your temple. he breathes you in.

your breath, shallow and warm against his skin. the quiet rise of your chest against his. your weight, soft in his arms.

his stomach clenches. he shouldn’t love this, not like this, not while you’re gone. but part of him does—how tender you are, how easy you are to hold, how completely you’ve let him have you.

his thumb brushes over your parted lips. something possessive curls inside him, unshakable.

“you’re so fucking beautiful.” he kisses the words against your skin, the bruises on your neck, the fading heat where his grip had been. his lips ghost your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

“need to clean you up, baby. can you move?”

nothing. you don’t even try.

you just burrow closer, pressing your face deeper into his chest, a quiet little sound slipping from your throat.

his breath catches. something pulls. twists.

you don’t want to move. you don’t want to leave him.

his fingers splay across your stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath. he strokes a hand up your side, cups the nape of your neck, presses his lips your pulse point.

“you don’t have to.” he exhales. “i’ll take care of you.”

he lifts you, cradling you against his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. the warmth of the room contrasts the cold counter when he sets you down, but you don’t seem to register it.

unease tugs at his ribs, but he tamps it down, turning the faucet and watching steam rise from the bath.

when he settles you into the water, you lean into the warmth lapping at your skin.

something sharp lingers in his chest. he wants you back.

he strokes your hair back. his voice is soft, but there’s something dark beneath it.

“stay with me, pretty girl.”

choso washes you like he’s caring for something fragile. strong hands smooth over your arms, your back, your legs. each touch is a silent plea.

“breathe, baby.”

the words feel distant, like they’re coming through a thick fog, but something in you listens. you inhale, slow and deep.

“just like that. you’re safe.”

the haze clings to you, wrapped around your limbs. but beneath it, you feel him.

“you were so good for me,” he says, almost to himself. “so perfect.”

he wraps a fluffy towel around you, pulling you into his chest. your head tips forward, resting on his shoulder. a small shift, a silent seeking.

his stomach tightens. “i got you,” he says, voice softer now.

he carries you back, setting you on the bed. the world fades in and out, but the weight of your body is returning. the first thing you register fully is him.

he dresses you—clean panties, soft shirt. his touch is attentive, reverent, but his mind is restless.

he needs you back.

his hands are calm as he pulls the fabric over your head, but when your fingers twitch against his bicep, the lightest touch, something in him holds its breath.

“that’s it, baby.” his voice is raw, aching. “come back to me.”

the haze thins, peeling away in pieces. awareness pulls you in slowly, settling, anchoring.

you exhale. stretch.

choso watches, still, silent, breath held.

your lashes flutter. your gaze lifts.

and then you meet his eyes.

his whole body exhales, something releasing inside him.

“there you are.”

it’s quiet, almost a whisper, but his voice is full of something raw and undeniable.

the weight of what just happened settles in his chest.

it’s not regret.

it’s proof.

that you need him. that you trust him. that you belong to him.

you always have.

and when your fingers curl weakly into his shirt, holding him there, he wavers, unsteady.

you’re back. fully. you feel the soft fabric of the shirt against your skin, the scent of clean laundry, the steadiness of your own breath.

and him. always him.

choso watches you, unmoving, like you might disappear if he blinks.

your lips part, about to speak, but you don’t get the chance.

he’s kissing you. slow, deep, and final.

his lips move against yours like he’s sealing something permanent, like he’s branding you. a promise. there’s no hesitation, no question or room for doubt.

he feels it now, how irreversible this is. you were supposed to run. even if you wanted him, even if you eventually let him, you were supposed to pull away just once, just enough for him to know that there were lines between you. but there aren’t. you didn’t. you never even thought about it.

his fingers drift over the marks on you, pressing gently on them like he can make them deeper. “mine.”

you tighten your hold on his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, and when he pulls back, you whisper—”say it again.”

his breath hitches. then, lower, rougher, “you’re fucking mine.”

he kisses your jaw, your cheek, following the words with his mouth, speaking them into your skin like a prayer.

you exhale and nod, soft and small. you don’t even have to say anything. he sees it in your eyes.

you’re his.

something breaks inside him. something desperate, something he’s been holding back for so long that he didn’t even realize it had slipped.

he presses his forehead to yours, breath shaking, and then—

“you’re never leaving me.”

it’s too dark to be sweet, too honest to be a threat.

his eyes sting. and you see it, in the way his hands tighten around you, like he’s holding onto something fragile, something precious. not just you, but the knowledge that he has you now, that he can’t ever lose you. he’s afraid.

you could still ruin this. you could say something else, shift the balance, make it so he has to do something drastic.

but instead, you smooth your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, curling around his neck, grounding him.

“i never wanted to,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

his grip tightens. “you mean that?”

it’s a question. but you both understand that he’s not asking if you mean it.

he’s asking if you understand what happens if you don’t.

[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Chapter II: “Dancing with fabric (and glances).”

WARNING: Panic attack

Masterlist

I was on a stage, too big to be a normal one or at least that was my perspective. I was wearing my suit, with the fans in my hands as the fabric touched the floor.

There was no one by my side, I was alone.

There was no one in the seats in the audience either, not a single person to watch me dance at that moment.

I let out a sigh. I started dancing.

The music in my head started playing but now it also started to be heard on the stage. slowly. Little by little. The music continued to grow.

I moved with the fabric of the fans that slowly became longer and longer.

I reached a point where I could no longer appreciate what was in front of me, I could no longer feel the cold floor of the theater.

But the lights. They were getting brighter as the music came to an end.

They wrapped me up in such a soft way, it was so suffocating.

I always wanted to be in the spotlight, to be the leader, to be the one leading the dance.

Why does it feel so different now?

I fell to my knees at the same time that the music slowly stopped along with that voice that made me remember that everything was a dream.

I hadn't realized how big the fan fabric was now, so long that it reached to the ends of the stage, The skirt also grew now it was so long and big that I couldn't stand up because of the weight of the fabric on my waist.

It shouldn't have been heavy, but it was.

It's too big for me.

When the fan fabric stopped, I fixed my gaze on the audience.

The only lights were above me, they moved where I was going but never where I wanted.

I couldn't shine light on them. I wanted to shine light on them to see their faces.

What expressions will they have? Are they waiting for me to keep dancing? Even though I can't get up, they want me to continue with the show?

Just talk, say it.

I will, just please...

Stop

Looking

at me.

[Name] immediately gets up from her bed feeling her heart beating quickly and painfully, her feet were numb as were her arms.

While she was sitting in her bed, she tried to relax. Is this what people call "lucid dreaming"?

When she finally felt her legs and arms move just a little to get used to it, it felt like a million ants were walking on her limbs.

She sighed and then tried to get up, she managed it but a little wobbly.

She grabbed a towel along with a set of clothes to go to the bathroom.

She loved her new room, I think it would be more accurate to call it her fiveteenth room.

Compared to the previous one, which was already starting to be quite small for her and too childish, in an attempt to free up her room a bit as she ran out of space.

She found a not so small door in the ceiling, she could barely open it and saw the enormous space that had moved to that hidden part of the mansion.

But obviously being a attic, it didn't have a bathroom, that was the only thing [Name] regretted.

Once she could feel her arms and feet much better she opened the attic door and carefully went down the stairs.

"What are you doing up there, little one?"

[Name] almost fell down the stairs from the fright, she immediately looked back even though she was on the stairs to...

"First with the child...and now with the hypocrite." [Name] thought, trying not to frown, well, not so much.

"Dick, you scared me!" She did her best to fake that squeaky voice she remembers.

And thank goodness it worked. Except for one small detail.

Dick frowned.

"Dick?"

"Did something happen? Or why that face?" She finally came down from the stairs and with a little force, she pushed the stairs up and in turn closed the attic door with a small 'click'.

"What face?"

"Well, you know, that confused face..." She smiled slightly, but inside her head she was analyzing him, exactly his expression.

Dick genuinely had a face of confusion hidden, he was smiling and using his body to express otherwise.

But his eyes narrowed for a few moments before she asked about his expression.

"Oh! Don't worry little one, It's just that I've never seen that attic, and with good reason."

Dick walked past [Name] and checked the entrance to the attic better, either tensely or intentionally the entrance was very well camouflaged.

[Name] nodded. "I thought you'd be in Bludhaven by now."

"I decided to stay a few days, mostly to rest." [Name] nodded again, keeping that small smile. "And you didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

Dick laughed at her confusion.

"What were you doing up there?"

[Name] opened her mouth slightly and then closed it instantly, What the hell could she say?

"Umm, well, I was looking for some things for my dance classes!"

"Your dance classes?"

"Yep! When I found that place I started using it as a place to store some clothes or supplies that they sometimes ask us for in class." This time the tone was a little shriller, it was a mix between the voice she was faking and the nervousness of being caught.

Dick only looked at her for a few moments before instantly lowering the attic door without breaking his gaze.

"First, it's bad to lie to your brother and second, you're a very bad liar, little one." Dick smiled before carefully climbing the stairs, frowning at the unsteady ladder.

[Name] just sighed in frustration. "Let's see, how the fuck did Dick fucking Grayson know I'd be here?" She didn't say anything, nothing came out of her mouth.

Dick on the other hand was greatly surprised by what was inside, two mattresses one on top of the other, a nightstand, two not so large trunks accompanied by drawers to store clothes.

There were some hand-painted colorful bottles hanging in the higher parts of the attic, surely her creations.

The only lights illuminating the place were the skylight, a row of light bulbs, and the lamp on the nightstand.

It was a room.

Why would his sister sleep here?

Why didn't he know this?

Why...she didn't tell him about this?

"[Name]" He called her but there was no answer.

He turned around and with a leap landed in the hallway of the mansion, leaving the attic.

Only to realize she was gone.

"Shit..." He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up a bit. "Was this always her room?.."

Of course not.

And that was what was causing him an uncomfortable stomach ache.

He glanced at the attic that was still open, his curiosity got the better of him again, he went back in.

But this time he looked more closely at the "room."

The lights were off leaving only the skylight as a light source, it felt quite comfortable actually.

The orange and yellow light of dawn began to stream even further through the skylight, starting to flood some parts of the room with its light.

But the moment the light reached a certain angle of the room, everything lit up with colors, distracting Dick a little.

The lights from the bottles illuminated the rest of the room, which was still dark.

Now the whole room was illuminated without even a single artificial light switch on. Dick stood admiring for several long minutes the little light show his sister had created.

That admiration turned into something else when he noticed that on top of one of the trunks was a medium-sized box.

He walked over slowly, grabbed the box and sat down on the makeshift bed.

A long skirt and a very long fabric was the first thing she saw, but what caught her attention was the only colored fabric that was in that box.

Two fans with gradients of warm colors, yellow, orange and red. Red was what remained the most on both fans.

"This is what Alfred gave you...I don't think it's suitable for a girl of your age-"

Wait.

"How old are you?."

[Name] arrived at the bathroom tired from running, well, now she has to get away from Dick, how ironic.

"Oh. My. GOD." She immediately leaned against the bathroom wall and slowly lowered herself until she ended up sitting.

She brought her hands to her hair, ruffling it quite a bit.

"Will this affect anything? I mean, technically do I travel back in time, or am I reincarnated? IT DOESN'T MATTER." She jumped back up and began pacing back and forth.

"Actions have consequences, allowing Dick into my room will surely change something..." [Name] stopped instantly.

"In fact... he, no, no one, found that place, at no time during my childhood until I left...What did I do?-"

Her breathing gradually began to become more agitated than before.

She felt her palms getting sweatier than before, she felt like she had been punched in the stomach and all the air she had been knocked out of her but she couldn't get it back no matter how hard she tried.

Gradually her legs as well as her hands began to shake, she didn't feel it because she was so lost in her head until she fell to the floor.

Her legs gave out as she trembled and she brought her hands to her chest. She felt dizzy.

Ten minutes passed, she still felt the trembling in her hands but her legs stopped shaking, she was still kneeling on the floor.

The dizziness disappeared but the result was a sharp headache.

"Shit...and I have to go to school." She muttered as she tried to stand up with the help of the sink. "Please, just for today, no more surprises."

"Whoever is behind this, leave me the surprises when I find a way to get back and leave here..."

If there is any way. Safe.

NOTES: Heyyyyy guess who's back? Well I genuinely hope you all like it.

You know, if you want to ask questions, ask them, and if you want to be on the taglist, let me know in the comments.

In the end! I love you muak muak muak💋

TAGLIST:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864 @eyeless-kun @welpthisisboring @saiichai @leeiasure @shycreatorreview @bat1212 @vanessa-boo @midnightgrimoire @thereeallink @c4xcocoa @jsprien213 @stargirl404 @chericia @a-lurking-fae @kye-chen-r @alittletiredcry @lfiee @mishkapi @cxcilla @alittlelostmoonchild @ocean-mochi @randomlyappearingartist @thegothamsiren @lilithskywalker @gmwtsw @deathbynarcisstick @wizzerreblogs @mariadvorak @stardustnightfall @cristy-101

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 6

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: making out sessions getting interrupted :(

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 |

..

When the convocation of Australia, England and Spain came out Y/n was alone in the physio room at Arsenal while her other teammates were out on the pitch training,

It felt bittersweet.

She saw the names of her dear friends, and she saw Kyra’s name, which made her so proud, but she didn’t see her name. And she wasn’t going to. It would take more than just getting back into shape after her tibia had completely healed.

Y/n would have to work harder and train harder to prove she was even better than before to have another chance of being called into her national team.

Before, being in the squad had been a certainty in her life because of her great performance as a defender.

Now it wasn’t.

But she realised she wasn’t as sad as she thought she would be. Seeing Kyra’s name on Matilda’s squad was enough for her for now.

Y/n just had to learn to stay on the sidelines and, for the first time in her life, enjoy the football experience without being a player. Y/n would now begin her work as a hyper girl. As soon as she finished her exercises in physio she would look for Kyra and wish her–

“Oh, there you are!”

A voice said from the door of the physio room, ruining Y/n plans.

Y/n turned her head to the side and saw a man with a camera in his hand. It was Greg, the head director of Arsenal Media. He was a sweet middle-aged man, but the look on his face said he wasn't having the best day.

“Oh, hi, good morning,” Y/n said, tilting her head at him. “Can I help you, Greg?”

Y/n looked around the empty room, and then back at Greg.

“Oh yes,” he said bluntly. “We’re filming some content today, for YouTube and Instagram.”

“Okay? I think all the girls are out doing drills, they’re not here–”

“The team’s filming a Q&A with Russo, Williamson, and Wälti today,” he continued, completely ignoring Y/n.

“But the Wälti’s cat died so–”

“Lia's cat died?!” Y/n interrupted, her eyebrows raised as she sat on the physio bed. “That’s terrible.”

Damn, Lia loved that cat. Y/n should call her and ask if there’s going to be a funeral.

“Yeah yeah, whatever” Greg waffed. “She said she’s not coming to Arsenal today, so that's why we need you.”

“Me?” Y/n swallowed and pointed at herself.

“Yeah, Williamson said you'd be a good fit, she said you liked being in front of the cameras.”

Fuck you, Leah.

Y/n had been pretty ‘low profile’ since her injury. She hasn’t given any kind of interviews or statements. She hasn’t been to any Arsenal games to watch the girl. Nothing. She hasn’t even posted on her Instagram stories.

She used to like it. The cameras. The interviews. The attention. But not anymore. Y/n didn’t want people to see her injured, to think that she was any less of a player now. She didn’t want people to feel pity or sorry for her.

“Plus, we don't have anyone else,” Greg said, pinching his nose.

The man was stressed.

“How can you not have anyone else? There are about 25 people on this team.”

“We need someone with a personality, and you’re the least bad option I have at the moment.”

Y/n pointed at her leg. “I can guarantee to you, Greg, I’m not much fun to be around right now.”

“Yeah but–”

“Come on Y/n, don't give Greg here a hard time” Leah walked unexpectedly into the room and patted Greg on the shoulder.

Alessia was standing next to her.

“She doesn’t want to do it,” Greg said.

Snitch, Greg, that’s what you are.

“Of course, she doesn't want to. But she will,” Leah said smiling. “Because we need our charming, funny, and charismatic defender back on media day.”

“Are you on drugs right now? You’ve never complimented me before.”

“I'm trying to be nice,” Leah said, the smile on her face changing to a frown. “Alessia told me to be nicer to you.”

“It's scaring me,” Y/n said.

“See Alessia, I told you, being nice isn't our thing,” Leah said, pointing at herself and then at Y/n.

“Can't you two interact without bumping heads?” Alessia asked, looking like a mom who was tired of seeing her children fighting over and over again. “Just for one day, please?”

“No,” Y/n and Leah said in unison.

Alessia rolled her eyes and ignored them.

Alessia sat down by the physio bed, next to Y/n and wrapped her arms around her. “It’ll be fun, Y/n, I promise! It’s just me, you and Leah.”

“I just know one of the questions will be about my recovery” Y/n said, looking down. “I don’t feel like talking about it yet.”

“It’s been what? 2 and a half months since you got injured?” Leah asked. “You can dodge the questions forever, it’s better to talk about it while we’re doing some stupid card game rather than to give an interview. You can’t hide forever.”

Leah was right. But Y/n wanted to hide forever, at least until her bone grew back, at least. If it wasn't for Kyra and her patience and support, Y/n wouldn’t even be leaving the house.

“I just hate looking like this,” Y/n said, pointing at the cast, “I don’t feel like an athlete… I feel useless.”

Guess it was time to talk about feelings. Uhg.

“You’re no less of an athlete because of an injury,” Alessia said, patting her back. “If people didn’t see you as a player anymore, they wouldn't be asking for you to give interviews, or for you to come to our matches.”

“You make it sound like people only care about you when you’re active and playing, and that’s not true,” Alessia continued. “You mean something to Arsenal, you’ve been here for years. Not as much as Leah, of course, she’s been here since the year dot–”

“Hey!” Leah huffed.

Alessia ignored her. “What I’m trying to say is, that the Arsenal fans miss you, you pretty much disappeared from the public eye after your injury.”

Again, Alessia was not wrong.

“Come on, let’s go, I'm not as patient as Alessia and I miss having you at media day.” Leah nonchalantly picked up Y/n’s crutches that were leaning against the wall and handed them to her.

“I. Don't. Want. To” Y/n said slowly, marking each word as she pushed the crutches away from her face. “Get Kyra or Vic to do it.” Y/n pointed her finger in the air as if she had a eureka moment. “Get Beth! Beth loves to talk.”

“I don’t like listening to Beth!” Leah bit back. “She never shuts up”

“It’ll be fun!” Alessia, said, interrupting the bickering again. “It’s just a questions game like we used to–”

“She’s literally one of our best friends, Leah,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes. “You should try to be nice to her, not me–”

“Before I broke my bone?” Y/n completed.

There was a moment of silence.

“Yeah!” Alessia said innocently, smiling.

Alessia took the crutches from Leah, wrapped one hand around Y/n’s body and helped her to her feet. Y/n had no choice but to take the crutches so she wouldn't fall.

“Russo.” Y/n said in a warning, standing up and squinting her eyes at the blonde. “You’re even worse than Leah. Traidor.”

“ filming starts in 15 minutes,” Greg said impatiently from the corner of the room. “Wear your full kit, please.”

The man left the room. Poor Greg, he had to listen to her, Leah and Alessia yapping non-stop. His day had probably just got worse.

“I hate you all,” Y/n muttered but followed the girls as they left the physio room and headed for the changing room, just a few doors to the left. “Just wait till I get my leg back together, I’ll destroy you both in training…”

The two players ignored Y/n.

They entered the changing room and each of them went to their own lockers to pick up their change of clothes.

“They just want an update on how you’re doing, ” Leah said, a few lockers on her right, putting on her Arsenal shirt and looking in the small mirror on the wall “It’s not that hard.”

“They could just read my medical report, then,” Y/n said, picking up her own shirt.

She hesitated for a moment. She hasn’t worn an Arsenal shirt since her injury. It felt wrong, somehow, wearing it and not playing. Especially as the shirt had been in her locker since her injury, she hadn’t brought it home to wash it, it had a faint smell of dust from being in the locker for two months.

Y/n ignored her rambling thoughts and finally put the goddamn shirt on. Red always looked good on her, but today the colour felt off as if it was mocking her.

“Why are you being so difficult? It's just another video for media day,” Leah said again. “Nobody likes media day, we just have to do it”

“I like media days,” Alessia chimed in from the corner, putting her hair in a low bun. “At least we get to skip some parts of practice.”

“Why do you care if I’m in the video or not,” Y/n asked Leah, ignoring Alessia’s comment. “When you were injured you weren’t on media day duties.”

“Of course I wasn't, I was so snappy they gave up on trying to film me,” Leah said as she sat down and put on her boots.

“Oh, so that’s how you got away with it!” Y/n said, “I guess I’ll be snappy too!”

Y/n remembered when Leah got injured some seasons ago. The woman was completely impossible to be around. For a whole month, she could only talk to Leah on the phone because she refused to meet in person. Of course, Y/n, Alessia and the other girl stayed by her side until she got better.

Now it was Leah and Alessia’s turn to stand by her side. Y/n wasn’t so sure if she liked it.

“If Lia’s cat had just held on a little longer, I wouldn’t have to do this,” Y/n mumbled, “How old was he anyway? I feel like she had that cat forever”

“15 years,” Alessia said. “Poor thing had a whole life ahead of him,”

“No, it didn't. It was a geriatric cat,” Leah said. “But don’t tell Lia I said that she’s very sad it died.”

“Don’t call him it, Leah!” Alessia complained.

“Maybe we could come to Lia’s house later today,” Y/n suggested. “Check up on her, see how she’s doing.”

Lia was a sweetheart to her, it was the least Y/n and the other girls could do.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alessia agreed. “We can stop somewhere and bring her some food, too.”

“Alright, sounds nice!” Y/n said. “Kyra can drive us, we just have to wait until she’s done with the drills and training.”

Y/n didn’t even ask Kyra if she could drive them to Lia’s or if she wanted to go to Lia’s, but Y/n was sure she wouldn’t mind.

“You know, I was living for the day I would see you as a passenger princess,” Leah teased. “Now tell me, is Kyra that much of a good driver?”

Y/n took a boot from the cubby next to her and threw it playfully at Leah.

“Shut up, man!”

Leah nudged the boot and threw it back at Y/n. She aimed it at Y/n and it hit her right on the head.

"Wow. Hitting a disabled person. New low, Leah." Y/n pouted, patting the sore spot where the boot had just hit.

Leah shrugged, “You started it.”

“Can you two stop throwing things around?” Alessia asked, picking up the boot from the floor, scared Y/n would retaliate. “And that's Kim’s boot, she hates people touching her things.”

“She shouldn't be leaving her stuff scattered around, then,” Y/n said, chin up.

“Bro you took it out of her cubby,” Leah chimed in.

The door suddenly opened and one of the girls from the media said they had everything ready to start. The girls nodded and said they’d be right out.

“Wow, I thought that was Kim for a second,” Alessia said, putting her hand on her chest.

“Me too, I was afraid I was going to get hit twice today,” Y/n said, smiling as Leah nudged her shoulder playfully.

“Come on, the quicker we do it the quicker we finish it,” Leah said, helping Y/n on her crutches as they headed for the media room.

“Here we go,” Y/n said, not very enthusiastically.

..

Y/n, Alessia and Leah sat at a table with cards in the middle. The mediator of the dynamic was behind the camera, telling the girls that he would chip in when needed.

Arsenal had asked for a natural, chatty video, so that’s what the three girls would do.

The camera was rolling and Y/n was nervous. But she didn’t want people to know that, so she played it cool.

Alessia read the first question on the card and aimed it at Y/n and Leah.

“Y/n, how does it feel to be off the pitch for so long, and Leah, how do you feel as a captain when a player gets injured?”

Alessia gave Y/n a sad look, knowing the girl didn't want to talk about the injury, yet it was the first question that was drawn on the card.

Y/n hesitated, she opened her mouth, but no words came out.

So much for playing cool.

Y/n looked at Leah, a silent cry for help.

Y/n gave Leah a grateful look and nodded as the captain spoke.

“I’ve been in Y/n’s shoes before with my ACL, as you guys know. I was out of the pitch for 9 months, so a whole season and it was very hard,” Leah said, patting Y/n’s leg behind the table as if saying I got you.“Surgery is hard, physio is hard, being off the pitch is hard, seeing yourself without football is hard.”

“It’s more mentally challenging than people think it is,” Leah continued, as Alessia nodded at her as well. “And as captains, we have to help our players by being a safe place for them to talk when they need to, and of course, give them a little push if necessary,” Leah smiled at Y/n.

“When I got injured, having Kim as a captain by my side was very important for my recovery. She pushed me more and more and that’s one of the reasons why I’m here today, so yeah, we captains are annoying but I’d say we’re necessary.”

“And Y/n, do you think your teammates are a vital part of your recovery process?” The man behind the camera asked, clearly wanting Y/n to address her injury somehow, not just Leah.

Y/n hesitated again, but this time she pulled herself together and formed actual words and sentences.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Y/n said, her hands shaking slightly.

Why was this so hard to talk about?

“They’re more than my teammates, they’re my friends,” Y/n continued. “Leah and Alessia have been a big part of this recovery, they always try to push me so I can be in the best mental and physical state possible.”

“We’ve seen you get closer to other teammates as well after your injury too, right?” The man asked.

Fuck, that was one of the few questions Y/n absolutely wasn’t prepared to answer. She had to turn this around somehow.

Y/n blushed, she just hoped it didn’t get on camera. But for the looks Alessia and Leah gave her, her embarrassment was very clear.

“Hmm, yeah, I mean, they all are all my support network at the moment, since my family is in a completely different country.”

Y/n tried to dodge the question. She knew exactly the answer the man was looking for, but she didn’t know if she should be mentioning Kyra. Again, it was not a secret they lived together, but Y/n didn’t want everyone to pry too much into their lives.

“But there’s one particular teammate who’s been helping you out more. You even moved in with her? Cooney-Cross?” The man continued.

Y/n could kill this media guy.

If Y/n’s blush had been subtle, it wasn’t now.

Y/n went silent, but the man behind the camera urged her to speak.

“Yeah, I mean, I needed someone to help me around, and my mum couldn’t come live with me, so Kyra offered and—uh—she drives me to physio, and we watch films sometimes—uh, a lot actually—like, not all the time, just—uh—yeah… and we cook sometimes, but not in a weird way, I mean, obviously not weird, just…”

“This is painful to watch, you’re embarrassing,” Leah murmured under her breath, enough so that only she and Alessia could hear.

“Medicines! She reminds me to take my medicines and she—uh—makes sure I don’t fall over in the shower.–”

“What she’s trying to say is that Kyra is very supportive,” Alessia said finally, looking at Y/n, her eyes screaming ‘Shut up, right now you’re making a fool of yourself’.

Leah was a decent friend and cut Y/n’s suffering short by picking up the next card.

The camera continued to roll. The next questions were less personal and more professional, based on actual football rather than Y/n’s private life, so she relaxed more and answered the questions without sounding stupid.

When they were finished the man behind the camera said they were free to go on with their day.

“Was that bad?” Y/n asked the girls as they left the media room.

“It was horrible,” Leah said.

“I bit, yeah. Sorry.” Alessia said.

“You and Kyra need to figure out whatever it is you guys have going on, you can’t freeze up and start rambling nonsense every time her name comes up!” Leah said, rolling her eyes.

Y/n blushed, again.

“Me and Kyra have nothing going on– we’re just good friends and– best friends even and we–”

“See! Rambling!” Leah pointed out.

“Look, I know you’re private about your love life, and I get it, and so do I,” Leah continued. “But me and Alessia have known you forever and we can tell that you’re in love, so there’s no need to try and keep it from us.”

“Besides, Kyra kind of told me she liked you a few weeks ago, so there’s no need to hide that from us,” Alessia added.

There was a moment of silence.

“Kyra said she liked me?” Y/n asked, trying to sound casual.

Y/, and Kyra had been living together for two months now, they had a well-established routine and from the outside, it looked like they had been dating for years.

They kissed and made out all the time. But still, they haven’t had the talk about what they are, because it just didn't feel necessary. Maybe they would never have that conversation and that was more than okay for Y/n. They were just living in the moment.

But to know that Kyra liked her enough to go and tell Alessia? It felt amazing. As if she was sure now that it wasn’t one-sided. Kyra felt something for her, she liked her.

Kyra wasn’t kissing her or spending time with her just because she felt sorry for her. She actually liked Y/n.

Kyra liked Y/n, and Y/n liked Kyra back very much.

Y/n wanted their relationship to be private, not a secret, so it was nice that at least Leah and Alessia knew about it, even if only superficially, so she didn't have to sit down with them and have an awkward talk about it.

Especially with Leah. The girls were closer friends, but they did have a hard time talking about feelings. The last time Leah had told Y/n she was seeing someone she had said she felt like someone was squeezing her chest. Y/n had told her it was love.

“You’re grinning,” Leah said. “Keep that to your lover girl, please. It's disgusting.”

See? Feelings.

Y/n and the other girls walked down the corridor of Arsenal, and when she turned left, Leah and Alessia turned right.

“Where are you guys going?” Y/n asked, confused.

“Oh– we have pitch training right now with the defenders and other forwards,” Alessia said softly as if she didn't want to upset Y/n. “The midfielders just finished their training so–”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Y/n said, faking a smile. “Go on, good training.” She said before turning around and heading for the changing room.

It didn't matter how hard they tried, Y/n still felt like an outsider because of her Injury. She felt like the only kid whose mum wouldn't let her go to a sleepover when the girl had to go to the pitch to play.

Y/n opened the door to the changing room and was more than surprised to see Kyra sitting on one of the benches with her back to her.

Y/n’s sad face quickly turned into a grin when she realised that Kyra was shirtless, just wearing her sports bra and training bottoms.

“Oh hello there,” Y/n said as she walked closer to Kyra. “It’s so hot in here, isn’t it?” Y/n said, waving herself cheekily.

Kyra turned around, smiling. “Hey, gorgeous. Come here.” Kyra patted her own tight.

Y/n put the crutches on the bench and carefully Sat cross-legged on Kyra’s lap. Y/n kissed her face.

“You smell like grass,” She said

“Good thing it's grass and not sweat.”

“Well since you bought it up, sweat too, I was just trying to be nice,” Y/n laid her head on Kyra's shoulder.

“You’re never nice to me,” Kyra said, a fake pout on her face.

“I am, I'm always very–” she kissed Kyra on the lips. “–very nice to you.”

“Try harder,” Kyra said, enjoying the kisses.

“Okay,” Y/n kissed Kyra more deeply, slipping her tongue into her mouth.

“It's it nice enough?”

“I'll think about it and I'll let you know,” Kyra teased.

“You're annoying, no more kisses for you,” Y/n mumbled but still pecked Kyra’s cheek.

“Please? A few more just because I’ve called to the Matildas?” Kyra asked.

Ym smiled and kissed Kyra's nose, then her chin. “Just because you got called up and I'm so proud of you.”

“I was so nervous I wouldn't get in,” Kyra said, stroking Y/n's good leg. “I was in the gym when Steph and Caitlin told me we were all in, it was like I could breathe again.

“You deserve it, baby, Y/n said, wrapping her arms around Kyra's shoulder to balance herself. “You've worked very hard.”

“How’s your day so far? I haven’t seen you on the bench on the pitch today,” Kyra said. Y/n’s breath was warm against Kyra's neck, her fingers tracing small circles on her back.

“I was at physio, and then I had to do some media bullshit,” Y/n mumbled. “Just so you know, don’t watch the next YouTube video on Arsenal’s channel, okay?”

Kyra laughed. “Why? Why did you say that?”

“Well, they brought you up and my brain just froze and I started rambling, but Alessia and Leah pulled me out of my misery as soon as they could.

“Oh? You rambled? Kyra said teasingly, kissing Y/n’s cheek. “You get nervous talking about me? That’s cute.”

“Don’t say it like that, come on” Y/n blushed. “I just wasn’t prepared for them to talk about living together, it caught me off guard.”

“I'll watch the video, just so you know.”

“No, you won’t not.”

“I will, we will be watching it together actually, I wanna see you squirm.”

Kyra’s hand slipped up Y/n’s leg, now almost to the end of her tight. The touch sent shivers down her spine. She pulled back slightly pulled back, her lips brushing Kyra’s ear.

“There are different ways you could make me squirm, you know.” she said against Kyra’s mouth. “fingers, tongue, str–”

Y/n wasn’t a sex freak, but oh God did she want to take the cast off completely so she couldn't finally have sex with Kyra.

Kyra put her palm over Y/n’s mouth. “How are you so blunt?” she said whisper-yelling and looking around the room.

“I just am,” Y/n whispered-yelled back. “why are we whispering there’s no one here, everybody’s…”

The door to the changing room cracked open, and for a split second, it seemed as if the universe was playing a joke on Y/n and Kyra. The girls’ heads turned at the sound of the doorknob.

Beth walked in, her innocent eyes trailing the room until they landed on Y/n and Kyra.

Kyra went pale as Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Beth froze when she saw Kyra and Y/n, a grin on her face replacing the innocent expression from before as she examined the position Y/n and Kyra were in very carefully.

“Am I interrupting something?” She said, wiggling her eyebrows. “You two look very comfortable.”

Y/n and Kyra looked at Beth like a deer caught in headlights.

“I got a cramp in my good leg,” Y/n said quickly and defensively while trying to leave Kyra’s lap. “so I had to– hm– sit down.”

“And there weren’t enough benches so she had to sit –on, hm– my tight,” Kyra finished, blushing hard. “Yep, that’s pretty much what happened!”

Beth looked at them like they were idiots.

“One, two,” Beth counted, pointing to each bench available in the room. “Three, four and five. Five branches available for Y/n” She said, smirking. “You’re a bad liar Cooney-cross, it causes me physical pain.”

Y/n struggled but was eventually able to sit down next to Kyra, but she kept a very safe distance.

“I’m not lying!” Kyra stammered, blushing even more. “I just offered my injured friend a place to–”

“Injured friend?!” Y/n turned to Kyra. “Are you serious?”

“What?!” Kyra shrugged in confusion.

Before Y/n could open her mouth, Beth was already speaking.

“You know what, I’m going to spare you both from whatever the hell that was,” Beth said, walking straight to her cubby “I just wanted to grab this,” she pointed at her shin pads now in hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a private moment.”

Y/n wanted to slap the grin off Beth’s face. She was enjoying herself far too much. The girl breathed in and out, trying, trying to think of how to handle the situation or rather, how to handle Beth.

“We can just never mention it again,” Y/n suggested, trying to sound chill.

Yn looked at Kyra out of the corner of her eye and it pretty much looked like Kyra was silently panicking. She was looking at the ceiling, not making eye contact with either Beth or Y/n, while her hands tapped anxiously on her own tight.

So much for trying to act cool.

“Oh no babe, I’m never letting this go.” Beth replied with a mischievous smile “I’m saying I’ll spare you both now because I'm late for the drills.”

“But we’ll talk about this on the way to Lia’s house,” she continued, the grin on her face stronger than ever, “ Leah tells me Kyra is driving you all to Lia’s, do you have a seat for me?”

“Yes, we got one last spot,” y/n mumbled, looking hopelessly at Beth.

Her plan to keep her relationship with Kyra on the download had just gone down the drain. Beth was an amazing friend, but the girl couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. She would eventually let it slip what she had seen in the changing room to the other girls. Beth just couldn’t help herself.

“Great!” She walked to the door. “Bye, lovebirds!”

Kyra's hands immediately shot up to cover her flushed cheeks “Oh God, that was so embarrassing!”

Kyra didn’t mind being seen with Y/n. To be honest she wanted the whole world to know it already. But at the same time, she wanted to keep what they had private. She wanted the affection and the sweet touches to stay in between them.

The less people knew the less they could pry on them. Although Kyra knew it wouldn’t last long, the Arsenal team was very close, they were more than a team, they were a real family.

Fortunately, there was no taboo about dating among players, especially at Arsenal, one of the clubs with the most couples.

Y/n smiled and reached over, gently pulling Kyra’s hands away from her face. She kissed the back of Kyra’s hand. “It’s okay, baby.”

“They’ll know eventually,” Y/n said softly but firmly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

Kyra’s tensed body slowly relaxed at Y/n's touch.

“Hey,” Y/n said, lifting Kyra’s chin so she was looking at her. “It’s not a big deal, okay?” She planted a gentle kiss on Kyra’s cheek.

“But you were straddling me,” Kyra murmured.

“So? It still could be a lot worse, trust me.” Y/n said with a warm smile, trying to reassure the girl. “Katie and Caitlin were much worse, don’t you remember?”

“Oh yeah, and Beth and Viv didn’t know what personal space was,” Kyra chuckled, before turning serious again as the realisation set in.

“Bloody hell Steph and Caitlin are going to tease the hell out of me, just like I did when they started their relationships.”

Kyra looked devastated. It was cute.

“Karma, baby,” Y/n joked, trying to ease Kyra’s nerves. “You’ll get through, yeah?”

“Whose side are you on?” Kyra asked grumpily.

“Yours, always.”

Y/n leaned back against the bench and picked up her crutches. “Don’t worry about it, yeah?” her tone was reassuring. “We'll figure it out. But now I have to go to my medical exam, I think the doctor is already waiting for me… you make me lose track of time,” she grinned at Kyra.

Before Y/n could walk away, Kyra grabbed her hip. “Hey, what was Beth talking about before? About going to Lia’s house?” Kyra asks, confused.

“Well, as my favourite driver, you were chosen to drive me, Less, Leah and, now Beth to Lia’s, her cat died,” Y/n said, patting Kyra’s cheek.

“Her cat died?!” Kyra asked, eyebrows raised. “Oh damn, I’ll have to pay Katie.

Y/n furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“I bet the cat would last another year,” Kyra admitted, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Katie said it would be dead within a few months.”

Y/n was silent.

“It was Katie’s idea!” Kyra said, holding up both hands defensively.

“You bet on Lia's cat’s life?” Y/n said, her mouth hanging open. “That’s like so fucked up, mate.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Of course it was, and you just went along with it, didn’t you?”

Kyra gave her a cheeky smile. “That’s correct.”

“Hm, you pest,” Y/n muttered, giving Kyra one last kiss. “We’ll go after the drill is over, yeah? We can meet in the car park.”

“Okay, I’ll wait by the car,” Kyra said.

“You don’t mind driving us, do you?” Y/n asked just for the fun of it, she already knew the answer. “I didn’t even ask you.”

“Nope, I don’t mind as long as you sit in the passenger seat,” Kyra said teasingly, her thumb caressing Y/n’s skin.

“Good girl,” Y/n said with the same teasing tone. “Now please put your shirt back on or else I won't answer for my actions.”

“You are a pervert,” Kyra said, rolling her eyes, but doing as she was told.

“Yes, that's me!” Y/n said, before blowing a kiss and leaving the room. “See you later, babe.”

..

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 |

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Brat by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Spanking, Choking, Dom!Terry Richmond, BDE, Bisexual Female Partner, Compersion Fetish, BDSM Play, Urophilia/Watersports.

Summary: Sasha is a brat. On purpose. Now Terry is mad. Big mad.

Word Count: 6.7K

"I'm still, I'm still wet here tonight

So I will make you cum through the night

Will you touch me? Will you go deep in me?

I will in the sheets

I will, I will, I-I-I will"

Teyana Taylor – "WTP"

The cops were called to his home

Terry worked overnight duty on base, and his desk phone rang at ten-twenty. His neighbor Roderick, a fellow marine, hit him up with news that a noise complaint about his apartment brought out the local police. It was the second one that month.

"Your girlfriend has a bunch of women in your place again…the music is blasting and the cops are talking to her right now."

Terry rubbed his forehead. His jawline tightened. Sasha knew better than to have a bunch of people in his place when he wasn't there without letting him know about it ahead of time. He'd recently given her keys to his apartment six months ago as a reward for being a good girl. Here she was, fucking up the privilege already.

You see, Sasha is a brat.

On purpose.

It's a quality that titillates Terry, and yet it frustrates him, too. Sasha can't help it. Her nature is to be desirable, a supreme fuck, and well…a rule breaker.

Terry met Sasha at a wedding in Bayagoula Parrish, Louisiana. Both were part of the wedding party, he as a groomsman and she as a bridesmaid. He wore his military dress blues to match the groom. Sasha's beauty angered the bride who felt she eclipsed all the other women in the wedding party. He appreciated it because they'd been paired with different people to walk down the aisle, and he had the opportunity to watch her stroll in after him. Sasha displayed her shapely figure, which could be quite distracting. Her legs were fantastic, especially in heels and a high slit dress. She was top heavy too, and the off-the-shoulder dress made every attracted eye dart back and forth between thigh meat and the big juicy melons bouncing as she approached the altar. The tangerine orange of her dress enhanced the warm cognac color of her skin. He couldn't pull his eyes away from her. She was pure fap material for guys who couldn't pull her, which happened to be many at the reception. Samuel, who partnered walking down the aisle with her, strutted around thinking he was the shit with her displayed on his arm. But it was a wrap once Sasha lined her gaze with Terry's at the altar. Fireworks.

The two of them together oozed sex appeal and thoughts of sex. They complimented each other's energy. He had an assertive, domineering personality shaped by his years in the marines. Equal parts controlling and nurturing, he could overwhelm the ladies within seconds of meeting them. He already had the women there swooning over his voice. A gaze from his alluring eyes in any direction set hearts fluttering. Even the older women tee-heed with girlish enthusiasm interacting with him. He knew his power to attract and weaponized it as needed.

Sasha was a natural pleaser. Not to be mixed up with an overall people-pleaser, or a tiresome PickMe, her desire was to satisfy her lover, and they in turn would naturally gift her the moon, with a necklace of stars to match. She came off bubbly, warm, and endearing…the type of woman receptive to romance from an Alpha type. Male or female. He sensed she needed a little bit of spoiling with firm discipline to keep her in check. Pleasure and punishment. A heady combination he wanted to offer.

One bridesmaid joked about Terry and Sasha looking like human versions of Scar and Nala from The Lion King. His devilish green eyes and her equally cat-like eye shape gave testament to it. Their instant chemistry was like an electric current running through a socket. Everyone around them sensed the incredible magnetism they carried in proximity, like static electricity zapping them.

She sat down at the same table and immediately started flirting with Terry. After a few drinks, a deeper connection blossomed. Her voice turned him on. Everything sounded erotic the way she enunciated certain words, as if she wanted to make love to his ears. They chatted each other up, lightly touching hands and arms, whispering in each other's ears. Her breasts kept brushing against his arm, turning him on further as he fantasized about sucking on them with her sexy legs thrown over his shoulders. She brought out a feral competition in a lot of the men who interacted with her on the dance floor. What impressed him the most was how she complimented women there constantly, hyping them on their clothes and make-up. She was a girl's girl and danced with some who men passed over by streaking to the dance floor because the DJ was excellent. Sasha rallied a group of women into doing the YaYa, a Creole line-dance making a resurgence in those parts because of Beyonce's Cowboy Carter album.

He didn't want to get sweaty in his military uniform, but Terry couldn't resist a good, soulful line dance with a bunch of Black people. Bayagoula had some slim pickings for Black women since it was a majority white town, but since the bride was Black, Terry and a host of other Black soldiers hoped she had enough Black female friends coming to town available for some good times. He silently thanked the wedding planner for placing Sasha next to him. They shared a slow dance, and he loved having her breasts resting against his chest.

As the evening continued, they cozied up even more.

Sasha kissed him first right at the table. The lights in the venue had lowered for after-dinner partying, so Terry took advantage, purposely grazing his fingers against her right breast where he'd thrown his arm around her shoulder. Their table was empty and the dance floor was full tilt boogie. Nibbling on her earlobe, he whispered filthy things he wanted to do to her. He lowered his hand and slipped them up the slit in her dress, sliding her panties aside, fingering her with shallow thrusts. She let him finger fuck her, begging for him to go deeper.

Sasha started playing with Terry's dick under the tablecloth. Everyone else was too drunk and too occupied with dancing. No one paid attention to them. She got his dick so stiff that he dragged her to the nearest restroom and fucked her. Lifted her onto the sink, hiked up her dress, unfastened the upper part of her dress and released tits he now adored. It didn't take long for him to spill into the condom. Their foreplay at the table had them rearing to go.

His dick was too big and heavy to fit all the way inside her pussy. The last two inches, visible at the root, moved up and down as he ejaculated. He loved how she handled his meat. He packed so much length that her pussy squirted from the pressure of being stretched to capacity. She peed on him, too. He pinched her big nipples, obsessing over them already.

"I'm taking you home with me," he said.

His dick kept pulsing cum, and he shivered as the last orgasmic surge pushed through his dick. Even his nut sack jumped at the pleasure of release. Sasha gave off soft babygirl energy, and he wanted a woman like that. He'd only known her for five hours and already claimed her as his.

"Okay," she said, with her legs draped over his arms.

Terry turned her around and lifted her breasts. He watched his reflection in the mirror bounce them in his hands, getting off on the weight and size. His dick finally started going down, and Sasha peeled the condom off. He turned to urinate in the toilet and she held his dick for him, guiding the stream into the bowl.

"You like watching me do that?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Hmmm, into watersports?"

Her sloe eyes twinkled with delight.

"I used to watch my brother's college friends pee in our backyard when they were drunk. The sight of dicks out in the open like that…squirting everywhere…yummy. I get wet just thinking about it."

"What if I pissed on you? Would you like that?"

"Yes, Daddy…I would play with my pussy while you did it."

He grinned. She already understood his expectations. He whispered in her ear that he wanted a good girl, an obedient one, and she knew exactly what he meant. A submissive that catered to her man.

She shook his dick and used one of the soft paper towels to clean his tip. Then she dropped to her knees and sucked him off for a final cleaning. He wanted to bust a load on her face, but they'd been in the restroom long enough.

He scooped her up and drove back to his apartment.

They began a committed relationship soon after.

Terry dominated her life. Told her what to wear, what to cook for them when he worked hard all day supporting them both. Sasha flitted from part-time job to job like a bee gathering pollen whenever she was bored, not in a rush to find a career like Terry had done. He was a big bad marine with a jacked body, a tatted sleeve down one arm, and a sculpted face. He liked her being home, and she liked being there spoiled by him. His pay grade and rank allowed him to provide a comfortable life for her.

There were other rules, of course.

The apartment had to be pristine clean and her pussy had to be ready when he came home. He dealt with loud, tense, funky, gritty, and abrasive men all day. His home had to reflect the opposite vibe, and he needed to sink into her softness in the evening.

She greeted him at the door after work, looking dreamy in heels and clothes he liked to see her in, like short skirts and sexy dresses to show off those legs. With a cocktail in hand and deep welcoming tongue kisses, Sasha played her role. He brought home flowers every Friday, and at least once a week he bought her presents. She liked bracelets and expensive perfumes in fancy little bottles. He bought her books on whatever new hyper-fixation she had. One month it was soap-making. Another month it was origami, and he suffered through an apartment full of little flying cranes and odd-shaped butterflies. It made him feel good to bring her something special just to witness the sparkle in her eye and the squeal she let out each time. That was often more arousing than foreplay.

On the weekends, when he had to stay on base or travel out of state for additional work-related training, they agreed that she could have a female lover over for girl time. They'd brought other women into their bedroom on various occasions, and Terry sat next to Sasha as she had sex on the king-sized bed. He never indulged in the other women with her, preferring to watch and jerk off. Some might say he was a cuck, but that wasn't it. He had a compersion fetish. Sasha's happiness at having him as a boyfriend and still indulging in sex with another woman gave him pleasure mentally. It stimulated him, no doubt, to watch his woman go at it with another beautiful woman, but he never did a threesome by sticking his dick in someone else. Sasha was enough woman for him, plus, not every outsider was into the things that he liked to do to her. Like breath play with choking, and of course, the golden showers.

Sasha played the submissive well, pampering herself during the day in preparation for his coming home. Terry gave strong Daddy energy, and it brought out the softness in her. His father raised him to be a stern patriarch and southern gentleman. Women were to be taken care of and the expectation was for them to please their men like sweet southern belles.

Sasha was sweet and one hundred percent southern…but a brat, nonetheless. And brats don't always do what you tell them.

She'd purposely leave crumbs in the kitchen for him to find after work. Or she'd forget to make the bed the way he liked. Sometimes she ordered take out instead of making him the home-cooked meals he expected. That's when Terry would fume and take off his belt, lifting her up and taking her into the bedroom to get spanked until her ass cheeks were a deeper shade. When he finished striking her backside, he'd rub cooling blue gel all over her rump, simultaneously soothing her and chastising her.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he'd lament. "You know I don't like punishing you. I want to come home and have peace. You're my peace, Sasha."

Those searing green eyes would narrow and his brows stayed furrowed, correcting her behavior.

She loved that shit.

However, on the day he had to leave for a weekend base stay several hours before Roderick called him about the police at his place, Sasha (purposely):

1. Forgot to pick up his dry cleaned dress blues on time the night before when he asked.

2. Tossed his clean clothes in drawers without folding them.

3. And God forbid, mixed his unpaired socks in his underwear drawer.

His jaw grew rigid, and he spoke to her through gritted teeth.

"Didn't we talk about this?" he said with an exasperated tone.

"Who cares? Everything is clean. I'll get your dry cleaning today. Don't have a cow," she said, scrolling through pages of fashion on her tablet, hoping he'd snap.

He always took the bait.

His hand went gently around her throat, and he pushed her against the wall.

"What did I tell you about talking to me like that?"

A dangerous smirk twisted his lips to the side. Sasha pouted.

"It won't kill your clothes to not be perfect. I washed and dried them and put them away. That's good enough. Deal with it."

"You know we have to have order in this home. I tell you this every day, Sasha, an orderly home denotes an orderly mind. Fix it."

"You fix it."

He sighed and glanced over at the clock on the wall. His work day started in thirty minutes. He had to be on base in fifteen or risk being late. That was simply a no-no.

"Go straighten out those drawers," he insisted, with more bass in his voice.

He pushed her toward the dresser and hurriedly went to their walk-in closet to grab and fold his old dress blues. He liked to have them on him in case the upper brass needed him to appear ready at a moment's notice for any occasion. His new uniforms needed cleaning before he would wear them. Sasha strolled past their bureau.

"Sasha, I'm not playing!"

He buttoned up the shirt of his duty uniform. She sashayed toward the bedroom door, switching her hips in her babydoll nightie, big titties bouncing, not having any plans for the day except eating chocolate bon bons and shopping online or doing whatever she wanted at her whim because he wanted her to.

"Sasha!"

She ignored him. He snatched her up, throwing her across his lap on the bed. Yanking her nightie up, he pulled the matching panties down and swatted that ass. He gave an even number of spanks on each cheek, careful to soothe as well as punish so as not to her harm her tender skin. She yelped and refused to apologize for back talking, making him more upset…and his dick hard.

He added some harder smacks under the jiggling booty cheeks, and she got the message, jerking on his lap and hissing from the sting of genuine pain settling in. He held her down with one arm and heated that ass up, stopping before she needed their safe word. Her disobedience and disrespect resulted in an unscheduled spanking session today, although they had scheduled sessions for weekdays and weekends.

He refused to use the cooling gel on her. She needed to feel the pain of punishment for at least an hour. He'd give her more after he returned home from work.

Terry looked down at his protruding dick nearly blasting a hole through his work pants. Sasha stared at it too, licking her lips. This was what she wanted. He'd ignored her earlier in bed when she wanted dick at four in the morning. The night before, he'd dragged home exhausted from combat drills. He chose to crash out instead of pleasing her. Her hand rubbed on his muscle-toned thighs and traced lines on his tatted bicep, but he was not in the mood.

She chose to make him late. Just to get back at him. He came harder when he was angry or irritated. Down went his zipper… and her knees. He fished out his dick and stroked hard and fast.

"Selfish little brat," he barked. "Making me fucking late!"

She pulled down her nightie, revealing his weakness, and he stared at her breasts. He moaned out loud when she plucked at her nipples and circled her pretty manicured nails around the edges of her dark areolas, reminding him visually of how big they were, and how much he loved that about her.

Pre-cum spilled out of his deep slit, and she used it as a lubricant to tease around her sizeable nipples that stood out like fat, juicy blueberries. His sack was heavy with cum. Sasha licked her lips. Smacked those big melons together, and he blew his load all over her pretty face. She brushed back her wild, wavy hair and continued shaking her titties for him.

He panted and shot another hot rope across her tongue. She jumped up and placed herself on the bed, spreading open her labia for him to see the wet pink of her dripping pussy.

"Fucking slut!"

His eyes became mere slits of angry jade. He grabbed his cell and called his boss while shaking off his pants. A credible lie fell out of his mouth as he plunged into her. He bought an hour pretending to have a dead battery in his car. Tossing the phone on the bed, he fucked Sasha as deep as she could take unsheathed. He grunted, and she threw her arms across his shoulders, satisfied that she got what she wanted.

Anger guided his thrusts. When he started getting too aggressive, he switched to eating her pussy. That helped calm him down. She was insatiable. He should've paid more attention to that quality about her after the first night he fucked her. Sasha loved his dick and craved it at all hours.

Terry sucked and licked her clit, forcing breathy moans out of his woman. She rocked and rolled her hips, her vulva laid out like a summer nectarine: smooth, juicy and sweet. Sasha soaked his lips and chin. His facial hair became a sticky mess with her excess.

He spooned her on his side and parted her cheeks with his dick alone, sliding in and stretching her properly. Terry fondled a breast and pounded her down until that juicy pussy clenched around him. He kept fucking because he knew she needed more.

"Oh, Daddy! I'm sorry! Don't punish me like this!" she screamed, clutching onto the covers.

She wasn't sorry. She wanted that deep Daddy dick.

Sasha said it like a mantra over and over, "Oh Daddy…I'm sorry! Oh, Daddy…I'm sorry! Oh, Daddy…"

He groaned and hit the side of her walls to really make her feel it, and spurt a geyser of cum, still angry that he was late. But busting a nut that hard was worth it in the end. She gasped, her legs jerking wildly at the intensity.

Rising from the bed, he looked down at his brat. She took her fingers and peeled back her labia, letting him see the big creamy mess he made inside of her.

"Wait until I get home Sunday!" he snapped, lifting his pants from the floor.

She pissed him off.

And he let her.

He grabbed his small work duffle, and the garment bag he stuffed his old uniform in and slapped her thigh.

"Fix those clothes in the drawers," he grumbled.

After he left, she teased him mercilessly with several bathroom selfies of her voluptuous breasts and pancake areolas. Her big nipples stuck out hard, and she knew he would suffer at work seeing them all weekend and unable to touch them. During his lunch break, he went into a restroom stall and recorded himself urinating. Using his pelvic muscles, he made his dick twitch and spill urine on the seat. His penis was still big while flaccid, and moving it as he splashed into the toilet would excite her. He shot off the clip to her and later, during another break in his car, she sent him video clips from her smartphone of herself fingering her wet pussy and sucking on her nipples while she watched his video on her tablet. Sex was their shared passion. Their best form of communication.

"You were mean to me today," she texted afterward.

He jerked off in the car, re-watching her squirt all over herself. His dick was the object of her affection when she watched him piss. To her, it was just as sexy as watching him ejaculate semen. It came from inside of him, therefore it was precious to her.

She sent more photos of herself looking down at the phone with her breasts hanging with her tongue partially sticking out. He fucking loved her, and immediately sent her a sweating face emoji with hearts, and couldn't wait to fuck her like a goddamn wild man.

Back at work, he did some emergency drills and then took his place at the duty station, overseeing lower ranked soldiers.

Roderick's phone call shattered the routine of his evening. He couldn't leave work to deal with her, so he had to suffer the entire weekend.

Sasha didn't know that Roderick notified him of the cops. She kept sending him loving texts. Asked him what he wanted for supper on his return home.

"I picked up your uniform, and I organized the drawers properly, Daddy," she texted.

He ignored it, pretending to be busy.

She never mentioned having a gathering at his place that weekend. Technically, it was their shared residence, but his name was the only one on the lease. That meant any problems that occurred with the cops reflected on him in the complex. It wasn't a rarity to have the police called around there for noise ordinances. It was predominately military living there, so close to the base. Lots of parties occurred. But he'd never had them called on him until Sasha moved in. He didn't want that reputation, and he didn't want to dump her like he did his last girlfriend, who stayed out of pocket with him until he had enough. She was disobedient in other ways, but not enough to bring the authorities his way. His reputation and moral character around town was everything to him. He'd hate to let go of amazing pussy and fat titties. Terry was already thinking of putting a ring on Sasha's finger after only six months of being together. Babygirl was that perfect.

Except for when she acted out in ways he didn't like.

Sunday couldn't come fast enough.

He'd have Monday and Tuesday off. Plenty of time to course correct Sasha.

After showering and shaving on base, he drove to his complex in the early evening without telling her the exact time he was coming back.

He crept up the stairs to his second floor. The onsite apartment manager taped another yellow noise complaint notice to his door. He pulled it down and read the warning while sliding his key in. Stepping inside, the living room lights were off, but the bedroom and hall lights were on. She'd cooked something because the odor of something good still wafted in the apartment. He kicked off his shoes, already upset that she wasn't there to greet him.

Dropping his bags and the warning notice on the couch, he padded to their master bedroom.

Sasha was sucking down another woman's box on his bed.

Jasmine.

Both women were oblivious to him being there.

Terry sat down on the side chair in the room facing the bed and watched them go at it. Sasha had a small vibrator inserted into her vagina that also stimulated her clit. It was a cute little pink toy that hummed along to their sex play. His irritation from the notice simmered in the back of his mind. It took him a few minutes to settle into watching his woman and her side piece. Their moans and soft murmurings lulled him into arousal.

He started playing with his dick, pulled it out all the way along with his balls. Smearing pre-cum all around the bulbous head, he took slow strokes up and down, staying underneath the thick ridge. Sasha's pussy looked so pretty, with the pink toy snug inside of her. Her lover thrashed her head back and forth. He fisted his dick faster, smacking on his balls, wishing her pussy could go all the way down on him.

Jasmine came in Sasha's mouth and his lady love's pussy throbbed with a powerful orgasm. Sasha smacked her lips and moaned as her pussy took the internal vibrations. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Daddy," she sputtered, shocked to see him sitting in the room.

Jasmine lifted on her elbows and grinned.

Terry stood and dragged Sasha by her foot to the end of the bed. He pulled out the small vibrator from her pussy and jammed the tip of his dick against her vulva and nutted all over it. Sasha squealed with delight at the man-handling and Jasmine stared with envy. She longed to suck and fuck him, but that would never happen.

"Come lick up his cum," Sasha said.

She smeared it all over her clit and Jasmine settled between her thighs, lowering her head to lick like a cat lapping up milk.

Terry pulled off the rest of his clothes. Sasha kept her eyes locked on his, ignoring Jasmine licking her way to glory. When most of his semen went down Jasmine's throat, he climbed onto the bed. Jasmine scooted over, giving his large body precedence. His dick bobbed and Sasha whimpered in expectation.

"So glad you're home," Sasha said.

Terry carefully placed his thumb and fingers on the sides of her neck. She relaxed under him.

"Jasmine, I think it's time for you to go home," he said.

Sasha blinked twice and her eyes darted over to Jasmine, disappointed that he didn't want their favorite voyeur staying for their lovemaking.

"Now, Jasmine."

Jasmine quickly left the room. They heard her scramble into her clothes and leave the apartment.

"What's wrong?"

He liked the hesitant tone in her voice. It threw her off.

"Do you enjoy living here with me, Sasha?"

She tried to sit up. He held her down by the throat. Still gentle, but gripped tight enough to let her know she wasn't getting up. Pushing his tip into her, she sucked in a breath and he squeezed the sides of her neck, careful to count out the seconds she could handle before easing the pressure. The opening of her pussy throbbed around him. He slowly pushed in, each inch parting her slippery walls. Jasmine made Sasha frothy and wide open for him. He stopped and squeezed her neck again, giving shallow thrusts and counting to her limit before releasing the controlled grip.

"Can we keep going? Do you need a break?"

"No Daddy, I can take it a little more. I'll tap you when to stop."

He pushed in to her limit, thick and heavy. Her pussy lips looked like a swollen vise around his girth, with the last of his inches unable to go in. Each time he pushed forward or pulled back, she gripped him with her walls, giving him the friction he dreamed about all weekend waiting to come home.

He began fucking her slowly, his hand clamped on her neck.

"Ready?"

She nodded and he pressed his fingers in again with gentle pressure, heightening her pleasure. Her eyes went glassy with lust. Although he choked her with their breath play, her pussy choked his dick and he released her neck to rock his hips into her with a steady rhythm.

"You feel so fucking good…taking care of Daddy's dick…"

He started kissing her, thrusting his tongue in her mouth, letting hers slide against his until the erotic sensation of their lips feeling raw and sensitive to the connection overtook him. Kissing her was life itself. He pulled back from her, still stretching her pussy, but not pumping into her.

"Roderick called me about the cops being here again. There was a warning notice on the door. What do you have to say about that?"

Her eyes widened, and she bit her bottom lip.

"How come you didn't tell me before I left about having people over here?"

"It was impromptu. A few friends, and then…a few more friends of friends…it was a wine and cheese thing and then…the cops showed up."

Terry pulled all the way out of her and left the bed.

"Do we have to talk about this now? Can we finish this and talk later?"

She breathed heavily, upset that his dick wasn't plowing her.

"What do you think will happen if I get another notice?"

She pressed her lips together for a second.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

"You said that last time two weeks ago."

"You won't have to worry. If I want to have a gathering again, I'll do it at Jasmine's. Please, Terry, don't be upset."

"What do I like more than anything at home?"

His hard dick pointed toward her and Sasha's eyes kept losing track of his face by focusing on his erection she wanted back in her guts.

"Peace and calm."

"My neighbor shouldn't be calling me about you. That means it disturbed him, too, and probably a lot of other people. If I get a third notice, the manager will break my lease. You know what that means? He can ask me to move. I picked this complex because it's close to my job. The job that takes care of you, and allows you to be my good girl. You've put our housing in jeopardy. Before I left for work, you were acting out and I didn't have time to really put you in your place. I've been super busy this past month and I think I've been letting you get away with too much. But I'm going to get back to proper discipline. No physical contact at all."

Her mouth dropped open.

"What?" she said.

"Spanking won't do this time. You don't get to have me until I think you get your behavior together."

He walked to his side of the bureau and pulled out lounging pants and a t-shirt. He strolled into the bathroom. She followed with panic in her eyes. He stretched his back and stood in front of the toilet. She reached for his dick to help him urinate, but he slapped her hand away.

"No," he said. "You don't even get to watch."

He arched an angry eyebrow, and she pouted. He ignored her breasts and the fat pussy he'd just been inside of that enticed him to cave.

"Out!"

She scuttled away like a little crab who sensed danger on sand.

He relieved himself and changed into his house clothes.

"I would like my dinner in half an hour," he called out.

He went into the spare bedroom where he set up a mini-gym and desktop computer. He checked sports updates before opening a porn app. His balls ached wanting to cum inside Sasha, but he searched for Black women masturbating and found one using a vibrator with large pussy lips that excited him. Fisting himself, he left the door open so Sasha could hear him and seethe. She slammed the kitchen cabinet doors and let some silverware clatter onto the table to show her anger at not getting his dick. He chuckled.

"Fix that attitude. This is your fault for being irresponsible," he called out.

His porn play pal had nice tits and a soft belly. He came into his hand.

"Your dinner is ready," Sasha called out.

He cleaned his hands in the bathroom and walked into the dining area with his mouth salivating. Smothered chicken and rice with French green beans drenched in garlic butter. Homemade and piping hot.

"This looks good, baby. Thank you."

He sat down and she sat across from him. They said grace together, and he stuffed his face, licking his fingers and complimenting her cooking. That perked her up, and yet she still stared at his chest in the tight T-shirt, and admired the sleeve tats.

He punished her for a month.

Sasha stayed on her A-game. Clean house. Clothes put away properly. Bed made so perfect that he could bounce a quarter on it. Uniforms pressed and already placed in his garment bag. She'd gone to the apartment manager and explained the situation with the loud party. Sasha claimed to be his house sitter who didn't know the rules about no loud noises after nine at night. Terry was pretty sure she jiggled her tits and flirted with the male manager. Her legs in some stiletto heels would do the trick easy. The manager actually ignored the second noise warning…and the first, clearing Terry's apartment record.

In bed, she suffered from wanting to curl under or around him, but he stayed on his side with his back to her. She knew better than to seek out Jasmine for respite. It wouldn't be a satisfying, playful romp when she yearned only for her man's affections. She thought it best to accept the dry spell.

Meals…impeccable.

Cocktails at the door…refreshing.

Terry slowly started showing her physical affection with a kiss on the cheek goodbye in the morning. He brought home flowers and gifts again with kisses on the forehead.

He ended her punishment by walking into the bathroom as she smoothed unscented body butter all over her naked body after a shower. She stared at him in the mirror as he stood behind her. He circled his hand around her throat, forcing her to turn her face to the side so he could kiss her.

Sasha moaned into his mouth and broke into tears of joy.

"I won't disappoint you gain," she whispered into his mouth.

"That's all I want from you, baby. Follow my rules."

He continued kissing her, lifting those glorious breasts.

"Will you fuck me now?" she pleaded.

"Of course."

Sasha whimpered at the deep rasp of his morning voice. She leaned forward, and he entered her. Cupping her breasts, he fucked her hard and fast. Her pussy squelched, and she cried, her tears of happiness wetting her face.

"I'm sorry, Daddy…sorry, Daddy…sorry, Daddy…!"

"Pussy so fucking good…I missed these big titties…tight pussy…oh babygirl…fuck Daddy's dick!"

He studied her expression in the mirror.

"Want Daddy to punish this pussy?"

"Yes!"

"Take this dick then…take it…take it babygirl…oh you're taking it deep…oh shit! Oh, shit!"

She still couldn't take him in all the way, but it truly felt like he got in deeper than he'd been before. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling, then rolled back. She squirted everywhere, soaking his dick.

He ejaculated hard enough to make him lift onto his toes. He dropped to his knees to smother his face in her ass and pussy, wanting to feel the back rush of his cum dripping out of her.

His bladder poked at him. He drank an extra glass of water for the occasion.

"Get in the tub, baby," he said.

Sasha yelped with excited anticipation. She climbed into the tub and he handed her a towel that she folded as a knee cushion. Once she was comfortable, he rested his balls on her mouth and she sucked them while playing with her clit and pussy lips.

"Let me hear that wet pussy, Sasha."

She flicked her clit and used her three middle fingers. He stared down at her, reaching for a heavy breast.

"You ready, baby?"

She hummed with his nuts in her mouth.

"You'll be my dirty little slut? Huh, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy…yes, I'll be your dirty little slut…"

"Oh, let me hear that pussy talk, Sasha!"

Sasha whimpered, and her tone was on the edge.

"Daddy's 'bout to give you what you want…get ready…oh…get ready…"

"I'm still your good girl!"

Her tongue slid up and down the underside of his dick, her words warm on his skin.

"Sasha…baby…fuck…dirty little slut letting me do whatever I want!"

Terry took a step back, and Sasha kept pleasuring her pussy. She tilted her head back. A hot stream of urine flew out of him and splashed all over her breasts. Holding his release for a longer period made the sensation of voiding his bladder sweeter. It felt almost as good as an orgasm soaking her.

Sasha's glassy eyes looked far away. She was in her pleasure zone, cumming so hard she couldn't even speak anymore. He drained himself all over her tits, and she slumped back with loud pants.

"Goddamn, that was fucking good!" he shouted to the ceiling.

His aftercare was tender with her.

He used the shower nozzle to rinse her off first before he cleaned her with honeysuckle body wash. Helping her stand up, he rubbed her vulva, thighs and backside, then lathered up her tits. He rinsed her off, then stuck the nozzle back up high and joined her in the shower for a long rinse with hotter water. They kissed as heat steamed around them, his arms cradling her.

"I don't like punishing you like that. It hurt me not to touch you for a month, baby," he hummed in her ear.

She hugged him tight.

Back in their bedroom, they made slow love on the bed. She rode him and he praised her…worshipped her body.

"I love you, Sasha."

"I love you, too, Terry. I want to make you happy."

"I want to make you happy every day. You're really the boss of me. Everything I do is for you."

"I know. I'm yours, Daddy. Let me take care of this dick."

He held his legs wide open, and she rode him backward, perched between his thighs at an angle. He let her slide up and down to the depths she could take and watched her pussy work his length. She slid back to sit on his face, where he slathered her folds with a wide, wet tongue.

They finished with him on top of her, declaring his undying love. He came all over her breasts, and hugged her tight under the covers, playing with her nipples and making plans for their future.

Terry cooked them a late brunch and cleaned the kitchen himself. Sasha washed clothes and looked up a movie for them to go see. All was well until he went to his sock drawer and found unmatched pairs with underwear mixed in.

"Sasha!"

She sauntered in, carrying one of his belts folded in her hand.

"Shall I assume the position?" she teased.

"Once a brat, always a brat," he said.

He chased Sasha around the room until he caught her, snatching the belt away and pushing her down on his lap.

Terry taught her a new lesson.

And, of course, she loved it.

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[scribesynnox]

Bored

Kef's post here, specifically the art at the end, is haunting me. It is fucking with me bad. I wouldn't wish boredom and lack of mental stimulus on my worst enemies, and here Jazz is. Stuck and trapped.

Aimless.

So I decided to write a little something because OOF. Do you know what it's like to be bored? Constantly? Because I do and it SUCKS.

For @keferon's apocalyptic ponyo au.

There’s nothing to do.

This isn’t anything unusual. Jazz regularly finds himself bored out of his mind every day. He’s exhausted every avenue of entertainment he can and then some. He already knows this human dialect, English, so he can’t entertain himself trying to puzzle out words and letters. The people at this aquarium haven’t given him any toys to mess around with either. It’s always a toss up whether the aquariums he ends up at give him toys or not. He prefers it when they do. It’s demeaning sure, but what isn’t in his situation? At least with a beach ball, he could do SOMETHING. It’s night and usually, Jazz would escape his tank by now to explore the building, but the aquarium was setting up some new policy, something about frequent tank escapes and trying to prevent them. It’s not from Jazz’s end, he’s too good at this by now to get caught, but the octopi weren’t exactly being subtle when they went to throw rotten clams at their caretakers. What this means for Jazz though, is that the aquarium is busy tonight, and there’s too many humans around for Jazz to risk it.

What it means is that there is nothing to do, and Jazz is bored.

Bored bored bored, he is so BORED, there is nothing to DO!!

He bursts into an agitated swim, circling circling and circling, trying to burn off the restless energy, or maybe to get dizzy just to feel something, anything, but he’s done this too many times, it’ll take more than that to get him dizzy. The apathy and numbed anger quickly comes back, stealing his energy and hollowing him out. He hangs in the water, bored.

There is nothing to do.

More notes on being Bored!:

when you spend all day every day almost always always always BORED, you start creating your own entertainment

Jazz zoning out a LOT because there just simply isn't anything for him to do. Sure there's the training and there's the performances and the checkups and the people watching, but they can only take away the boredom for so long.

Oh! By the way, off tangent, but I finally thought up of a reason for why Jazz hasn't tried talking to the humans in an attempt to get them to realize that he's sentient and that he has a home and he wants to be free. Or to get them to make his tank more, you know, hospitable. Or at the very least not claw at the walls inducing.

Uh, simple reason: he physically can't. Like, merfolk just Do Not have the vocal cords to pronounce human speech. Humans don't have the vocal cords to copy a lot of noises! We can do a lot, sure, but we can't do everything! I say it's the same for merfolk! They may look like humans, but humans look a lot like mers too, and so I say: while both of them can learn the other's language, they're gonna have a difficult time actually speaking it.

so like, Jazz DOES try to talk to the humans, tries to get them to realize that he's a person and he just wants to go home, please please PLEASE-!

but he is clumsy with human speech and they just think he's like a clever parrot. He has intelligence, sure, but that's it. They think his cries are because he misses his home and his pod, sure, but they also think he's better off in captivity since he is so small and alone. They know better. Poor little orca, so scared and hurt. But they know better. It's for his own good. It's okay because it's for his own good.

ANYWAYS I'm digressing, back to boredom notes.

Jazz loses time a lot. There's just.. so little for him to do. And so little reason to do it. He tries to keep himself busy but sometimes he's just.. tired.

He swims because he's bored of staying still, and then he stays still because he's bored of swimming.

haha, wait, oof, ya boi probably has depression honestly.

He probably gets moments of mania too. You know, ACTUALLY clawing at the walls, throwing himself against the tank because he hates hates HATES how small and cramped it is! How it's only big enough for him to swim in small circles! HE HATES IT

The buzzing in his skin, the restlessness, the need for something, ANYTHING, to make him think, to make him FEEL. He’s going to claw at the walls, this is torture.

The reason why Jazz knows so many human languages isn't just because he was passed around a lot and was exposed to them, it's because he was actively trying to learn them. At first, it was to try and tell someone that he just wants to go home, but when it became clear it wouldn't work, he still kept learning anyways because that way he could overhear conversations, read information from maps and leftover textbooks/papers, and try to escape on his own. Can't escape from the aquarium if he just gets immediately lost once he's outside. (don't think about how he wouldn't be able to escape even if he can read and listen. That path leads to numbness and Jazz has had enough numbness, he needs to focus.)

There's also just.. nothing else for him to do. And if he wants to stave off the boredom and Empty Hollow Fog, then he has to do something.

Honestly, when Jazz and Prowl escape, Jazz is going to have one HELL of an adjustment period outside of just learning mer culture and the ocean world. Going from being bored every day to NEW EXCITING DIFFERENT CHANGES is going to be exhausting. Like, yes, it's all very new and very exciting, and Jazz is going to be a little too preoccupied with staying alive and being terrified to really feel the crash, but man oh man, when there is a lull in all of this? This mer going to crash a LOT.

He's going to have to take a lot of breaks, not just because his tail is weak and undeveloped, but also because he's never had So Much happening All The Time before. It's a lot to adjust to!

(Not that Jazz will let himself have those breaks because uh oh, he's kinda lowkey ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED that Prowl will leave him behind if he can't keep up and Jazz is tired, but he can not go back to being alone.)

Jazz has so many made up games and tricks and stories and music and and and in his head. Because, and I can't stress this enough, there is nothing else for him to do! And when there is nothing for you to do, you start making shit up because the only other alternative is to zone out and lose time, or hit something. And Jazz gets bored of zoning out too, and the last time he hit something, they restrained him and sedated him, so uh. No. No more of that.

Jazz spent a lot of time tinkering with the locks on his tank and practicing moving himself on dry land. He's gotten good at escaping, and very good at doing neat tricks, like doing pull ups to haul himself up the stairs by using their railings, or waddling over the itchy carpet by lifting his tail in the air and keeping it there, or doing a semi cartwheel where he flips himself head over tails by using his tail to help himself roll over (okay that last one is just for fun but come on, he's allowed to have fun.)

Sometimes, when he gets too good at sneaking around, sneaks around while giving himself a handicap just to give himself a challenge. Is it a good idea? Probably not. But he's so bored.

He's gotten some close calls, but he is now very good at sneaking around.

Jazz watches people, just like they watch him, and makes up stories for them. The lady with the screaming toddler is actually secretly a spy, and the child is their cover story! But the spy lady is regretting everything in her life now. She can hack into any computer ever, but she can not hack a child and tell them to behave. The man lingering by the penguins is staring at them because he's thinking about a lover who was lost at sea! The kid popping bubblegum in the corner has parents who are going through a very messy and very dramatic divorce, and they came to the aquarium to escape the fighting. The lady in the giant hat is having a secret affair!

He is so bored.

Jazz also observes, and notices people. Notices their behavior, their motives, their patterns. The caretaker with the Tuesday shift get nervous with loud sudden movements, so Jazz is careful to be small and gentle when it's his turn to feed him. Because if he is small and gentle, then the Tuesday Caretaker will give him a small smile back and sometimes, he'll spend a little extra time talking to him while feeding him, telling him about his classes or about whatever game he's playing for the week. The teenager regular, who must be one of the staff's kids to be able to come so often, loves it when he puts on a little show, playing up his cuteness, and acting playful. She stays longer when he does so, and that means that she stays long enough to meet with one of the cleaning staff members that she's friends with. THIS leads to them greeting each other, and the janitor leaving his cleaning cart unattended, and if Jazz is verrrrry careful, he can snatch one of the chemicals from the cart before the janitor notices. The night guard on Fridays is lazy and always leaves his shift a little early than he should, which means Jazz has less time to get back to his tank on those days.

Jazz notices it all.

There's little else he can do BUT observe.

Jazz probably fidgets and stims a lot too. Idle tapping of his fingers, splashing his tail into the water absentmindedly, humming notes to made up music, or snatches of songs he's memorized, making nonsense noises to himself, tearing up bits of his environment, like peeling paint or crumbling plastic rock.

He tries to stave off the Empty and the Fog, he DOES, but it doesn't always work. Some days, the Fog wins and he just.. floats. Listlessly. Bored. He's so sick of it all, and he's so tired.

He's heard about depression from the college interns and he's pretty sure that's what he has. Lack of stimulation, isolated, and bored bored BORED. Plus, there's that small deal with him being FUCKING TRAPPED AND HELPLESS TO THE WHIMS OF A PEOPLE WHO DON'T SEE HIM AS A PERSON. So you know. He's probably depressed. The Empty is probably the depression. Yippee.

He just wants to go home.

please.

[234moon]

I’ll admit a thing. Prior to Haikavetham I thought that Hoyoverse wasn’t interested in developing MLM ships too much. I was okay with that too because yuri gets less attention anyway and HYV was obsessively focused on it. But there was always that fear in me that their obsession with WLW ships was likely somewhat inspired by fetishisation.

But then Haikavetham came along and shattered that assumption for me. I thought no other MLM HYV ship could possibly come close to it but Phaidei is actually insane. You can see that this company, with their limitations even because of censorship, is trying pretty hard to make a good MLM ship that fans can decipher easily.

3.1 spoilers up ahead. And this post is absolutely an excuse to collate “evidence” for how gay Phaidei is

1. Phainon and Mydei being parallels to Kephale and Nikador (respectively), and also possibly being inheritors to their coreflame (Phainon left but it’s almost confirmed). Where Nikador allegedly fell in love with Kephale, who is their rival and fought them. A very direct parallel to Phaidei

2. But it’s less about their parallels and more about what they do at present in the story. The most conspicuous incident of this is the last part of 3.1’s quest, where they’re parting. Firstly, Phainon is the last person Mydei met. He was the last farewell Mydei wanted to give before he left. Secondly, when they do talk, Phainon asks this

To which Mydei first replies that the Kremnoan philosophy can never be encapsulated in a dictionary. And then he says this

Don’t tell me this doesn’t read like Phainon worried that the word for romance really doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language but hoping that it does. Because language makes culture. And as a Kremnoan, that should mean, at least in theory, that Mydei is not fully capable of romance. But this reads like Phainon knowing they have feelings for each other, and teasing Mydei about it. Like “hey I know you say romance doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language but you definitely like me so you’re probably lying”. Because why would this be one of his parting sentences? It’s too irrelevant at the moment.

Add to this what Mydei says in the end. Don’t tell me this doesn’t read like the most classic doomed gay ship trope! Because it is!! It is!!!!

(Also I don’t know how many people noticed this but when Mydei says the last sentence, his tone is uncharacteristically soft)

3. This GIF.

I can’t stop thinking about it. Phainon knows Mydei has his back (and vice versa because… lol). Phainon feels absolute relief knowing Mydei is with him, and they will fight together. Phainon trusts him, and Mydei trusts Phainon even more.

There is also this scene.

Since my post is getting long I’ll recommend reading a small breakdown of it here (much better explained than I could). They have each other’s backs, and they trust each other with everything. Also the way Mydei says “found you”. I cried.

4. Including their lives!

What an insane scene man. Reveal your proverbial Achilles heel to one man and one man only, who coincidentally happens to be the man who you trust watching your back.

5. They help each other get better. Not much explanation needed but Phainon and Mydei understand each other deeply, and they understand the other’s desires and even masked feelings. Phainon helped Mydei make that final decision that he needed to change the lives of Kremnoans and be a better king (by recommending he go to Chartonus, to whom Phainon had relayed details about Gorgo’s signet ring)

And Mydei helps Phainon with this

There is, of course, a lot more “evidence”. The smallest of expressions (like damn Mydei smiles a lot around Phainon lol) to it being heavily implied their comfort zone is each other. My point, though, is that I’m very impressed by a Chinese company willingly making so much implied gay content despite censorship restricting them. Phaidei has become another one of those iconic HYV ships for me at least.

Btw, if you see this post, please don’t add “but they could be friends-“ I’m aware and it’s a redundant argument. There is a very thin line separating platonic and romantic love. Yes this could be an example of a beautifully higher level of platonic love. But I choose to read this as romantic because I trust in a game company known for making heavily implied gay couples to have made another one.

And please do not treat this as discourse despite how I started it!! This is about Phaidei and I wanted to give a background about why I think they’re pretty gay

[amarriageoftrueminds]

The problem with all this is of course that it straight up ignores what Sebastian Stan said: that, of course, he doesn't remember them.

(And even if he weren't lying, what does 'remember' even mean in that context, to Bucky? Because it could mean remember as in memorialise or honour. Like Bucky means he intends to memorialise them all, not that he literally does recall them all. And, as Seb also pointed out, how would Bucky even know that he remembers them all, if he can't remember what he doesn't know?)

I take Seb Stan's word over whatever Spellman or whoever comes out with; he knows the character better than them and it was him playing that beat!

(I don't regard tie-in books as canon either because they're not the canon films and frankly I don't trust whoever writes those for Disney to do a competent job. (Yeah they can go in depth but they can also take things at superficial face value, without thinking -- like that line from CACW about remembering all of them, as mentioned in that book excerpt up there.) Likewise, whatever the real-life state of neuroscience is and how that would affect Bucky's brain if they were following those rules isn't relevant, IMO, because the MCU writers aren't putting that much thought into how they portray Bucky's memories! This is Markus & McFeeley and Spellman under Feige's interference. They aren't working that hard. They're not that conscientious!)

It's also treating the fact that TFATWS said Bucky remembers missions as solid canon when:

a) the people 'writing' that didn't give a shit about characterisation consistency and have been very open about the fact that they didn't even bother to watch the movies Bucky's in. 😒

So whatever their 'take' on Bucky's memories is, we can pretty definitely state that it's incorrect = most likely to be completely wrong and diametrically opposite to canon, as you'd expect from someone who doesn't even know what Bucky's canon is. (All they care about is that "he" killed people.)

Textbook example of this 'getting Bucky exactly 100% wrong': that line from Spellman there about Bucky having a piece of the Winter Soldier inside him and that means he's an awful person.

That's complete bullshit and an exact misunderstanding of what the WS is.

The WS is NOT a monster lurking inside Bucky, not even a piece, because the WS was the complete absence of Bucky's personality, of any humanity at all. As blank as an Iron Man suit.

So he's not a dark hidden Jekyll-and-Hyde piece of Bucky's psyche that was always waiting to come out, (as the show posits), like the Hulk is to Bruce. In fact, the Winter Soldier is the exact opposite of that (ie. a monster with a good man inside). He's more like an Iron Man suit that is being remotely controlled, that Bucky has been locked inside and has no control over.

The show creators have stupidly taken that one single line from CACW at face value, ignoring everything else, (I get the feeling they're Tony stans tbh), and fixated on it as 'proof' of Bucky's innate buried villainy that he needs to grovel about.

If this is the sort of rubbish they mistakenly believe to be true about Bucky, we can certainly discount whatever else they say about his memories. In fact, if it's the writers of TFATWS who said X, I can't think of a stronger argument in favour of the opposite! 😬

.

b) the events of TFATWS also happen years and years after Bucky is in the situation where he, eg. wakes up from being triggered and doesn't remember what he just did as the Winter Soldier and has to ask Sam and Steve, lied to Tony, etc.

It might be that Bucky has, since treatment in Wakanda, reacquired all his missing memories. Which sucks for him.

The state of his memory is not a monolith that has always stayed the same and has not altered: just because his memory seems to be in a certain state in TFATWS, that doesn't mean it was in the same back in CACW days.

Watsonian explanation: this shoddy characterisation from TFATWS could mean that Bucky was lying to Tony when he said he remembered the mission to kill his parents.

That could've been completely untrue at the time Bucky said it, but has since become true only because Bucky has recovered more memory -- as a result of receiving bad writing proper treatment, longer to heal, etc.

Another HUGE thing people always totally ignore about that scene in CACW:

Bucky has just watched a friggin' video tape of his mission!

I imagine that's not standard Hydra procedure, to show him tapes of his own performance!

So even if 'I remember all of them' is resigned-abuse-victim bullshit to goad Tony, it's possible Bucky has literally just seconds ago recalled the Starks for the first time ever... because Zemo just reminded him!

Oh! Another detail:

Think about the way we see the story of the Starks' murders sequentially, throughout CACW.

In fractured pieces, bit by bit.

Whose POV are those scenes supposed to be coming from?

I think it's Bucky's.

(ie. it's what Bucky can remember of that story at the moment -- ie. just being taken out of cryo, put in the chair and given a mission… but not what the mission itself was.)

And we don't see what the end of that little mystery is until Bucky himself sees the video, which completes the missing puzzle for him?

So it still seems to me that Bucky remembered the inbetween-missions things?

IE. He clearly remembers procedures.

In CATWS we see him preparing to open his mouth to have a mouth-guard put in, before he is asked to, and leaning back into the chair before it reclines. And in CACW he doesn't look surprised by anything that is happening to him while he's in the Siberian base, in the chair, etc.

So he knows what happens to him when he's back at Hydra HQ (and where HQ is) and doesn't need to be re-taught it every time.

Similarly, all the brain damage aimed at his pre-Hydra memories hasn't destroyed his ability to shoot, which Bucky acquired during WWII, not under Hydra. Bucky still has the skills he got in the chunks of memory Hydra are targeting hardest of all (ie. his personality-forming years).

As per CATWS he also speaks Russian, a language Bucky canonically is not shown having any knowledge of pre-Hydra. So skills acquired during Hydra time are also retained, despite the fact that they're damaging his brain repeatedly all the time, including wiping him of Hydra periods of time.

He's like Jason Bourne; he can do things without remembering when he learned how to!

This may be impossible in real-life brain damage terms, but I think MCU canon looks like Bucky doesn't remember missions for most of his screentime (up until TFATWS started ineptly fannying about with his backstory), but does remember the in-between missions bits necessary for the efficient handling and wiping of of the WS.

(In CATWS they treat it as risky to keep him out of cryo for too long between wipes, that he'll become erratic and start attacking technicians, as his memories start to regrow. But despite this, 'erratic' Bucky -- who is asking questions! and speaking English! -- is still retaining knowledge of being wiped and how he has to behave... even when he can't remember meeting Steve earlier on in the same week.)

Maybe it's repetition that's the key?

He remembers skills learned, and being given mission briefings, and what is done to him, over and over and over again, because that's all repetitive...

but he can't recall missions because they're one-offs? No new skills acquired?

(And his missions have no emotional impact because... the WS doesn't have emotions. Only Bucky Barnes can look back in horror.)

It's curious that Zemo tries to trigger Bucky and then command him. But Zemo isn't Hydra. He's not official. I think that's why there was that chaos in the room, when Sam and Steve got to where Zemo was and found the WS out of his cage.

I think the WS attacked Zemo once he realised this wasn't an official Hydra handler & this wasn't a proper Hydra procedure.

(Also curious that Sam and Steve have him sitting down, in restraints, which also mimics a Hydra procedure set-up. Maybe that helped Bucky's recall too? 🤔)

As you said, Bucky was able to recall what Zemo asked him about because Bucky hadn't been wiped.

Likewise, maybe he can recall fighting other WSs either because Zemo told him about them, AND/or because he was 'ordered' to remember it (if you think about it, that's a very very unusual order for someone to give him!)

And... fighting the WSs wasn't an official off-base-assassinating mission, it was standard 'training in between missions' stuff. Plus the other WSs skill set is intel the WS would need to retain about his colleagues in order to function as a team, if Hydra intended to send them out on missions together.

It's repetitious skill acquisition and mission-critical intel, so it's necessary that the WS be allowed to recall it? 🤔

Another possibility: Bucky had been KO'd just before he recounts things about the other WSs and what Zemo asked about, to Sam and Steve.

Maybe that head wound shook up his brain status quo too?

(Magical fairytale thinking: maybe it's also different because it's Steve...

He was able to break through Bucky's conditioning with the Power of Twu Wuv in CATWS, so maybe the fact that it's Steve who gave Bucky the head wound by dropping a helicopter on him that shakes loose some more marbles? 🥰)

You could posit that Bucky does usually remember all his missions and procedures, and it's the head wound (acting like a mini-wipe) that prevents him doing so immediately after waking up to Sam and Steve.... except that Bucky consistently displays this post-wipe amnesia of missions, more than once (ie. doesn't remember Nat even after years of healing... doesn't remember previous missions after wipes in the same week in CATWS, more than once, etc.)

And this is including times when he hasn't just received a head wound / been KO'd / had any other head trauma equalling or approximating a wipe before becoming WS.

IE. in CACW he fights Steve exactly as if he doesn't remember him at all, when we know that isn't the case. Once he wakes up, the WS is always a blank slate.

...That's an interesting distinction, actually:

what does Bucky remember, and what does the Winter Soldier remember?

Because, even after years of Bucky's brain healing, and even though he hasn't been 'wiped' of Steve since CATWS, once activated by Zemo ... the WS doesn't remember Steve.

But Bucky does.

Maybe that's the crucial distinction:

Bucky can recall missions, but the Winter Soldier can't?

(The WS wouldn't see missions as emotionally significant, things that stick in the memory, because he is emotionally stunted, and these people don't mean anything to him ... no more than the Nazis Bucky shot during the war. (Despite subsequent attempts to whitewash Howard (because of his Hydra connections), he and Bucky were not friends in any way in the main MCU; they're never even shown meeting!) So Steve breaks the pattern because his is the first and only time the WS has been sent after someone who actually matters to him emotionally.)

So he only recalls procedures? 🤔 And he can only recall missions, by -- much later on down the road -- becoming Bucky Barnes once again?

(I mean, the Doylist explanation here is that the writers are just shoddy and inconsistent even within the same movie. (IE. The WS being blank again in CACW to me smacks more of 'oops we forgot he's supposed to be electrocuted for that memory-wipe to happen.')

But hey, we have to work with what we've got here! 😖)

In any case, I'm sticking by what SebStan said because he's the Bucky expert: if he said Bucky specifically didn't remember the Starks, at the time he said that to Tony, then I believe him. (And if that later changed because Bucky healed, well that still doesn't contradict what SebStan said!)

“That line was an interesting moment. At the time, the choice I was making is that [Bucky] had realized there was no way he was getting out of there, and someone was gonna die, whether it was gonna be him, Steve or Tony. When he says that line, to me, it was a turning point — he was, like, ‘Okay, I know what you want me to say, and I’m just gonna say it.’ When someone comes at you over and over again, and they can’t hear you, they can’t see you’re pleading with them, you’re trying to figure out how to get through to them and they just won’t accept it, at some point you just give in, and you go, ‘that’s right, that’s what you want.’ Of course [Bucky] didn’t remember them all.” —  Sebastian Stan