#Why the fuck is everything such a struggle

[spatialwave]

pairing: namgyu x fem!reader x myunggi word count: 2.2k tags: mdni, nsfw, smut, p w/o plot, oral (f/m receiving), rough s-x, unprotected s-x, sub!reader. notes: written for this post by @fleshrtten

Obsessed didn’t cut it. Namgyu was infatuated with you—all that you were: your smile, your voice, your body. The moment he laid eyes on you that first day, he knew that his heart was jumping headfirst into everything about you. You made his stomach swirl like a schoolgirl with a crush.

That’s why once he and Myunggi found you in a room, trying to hide away from the other players, he had you pressed to the wall with your legs spread wide and his head between your thighs, tasting you and savouring you like a starved man.

You were just as obsessed with him, but Myunggi? Well, it’s not like you were going to say no to the idea of having both of these men have their way with you. You were deranged and needy, but not as desperate as the man who whined as he ate you out. He was pathetic, so pathetic, and you loved it. 

Your knees dared to buckle as you held onto his black hair, hard enough that your knuckles began to turn white. You focused on only him, shuddering when he’d flutter his thick lashes and look up at you with those fox-like eyes with blown-out pupils. His tongue delved deep into your cunt, lapping at you as his nose bumped your swollen clit that had been begging to be touched.

“Namgyu,” you whined, toes curling in your white shoes. He responded by pulling your right leg over his left shoulder. The position made it so he was able to spread you further—smiling against your cunt as you nearly toppled over and it wasn’t until Myunggi caught you that you remembered he had been watching the door.

Your mind was so fuzzy with pleasure that you hadn’t been aware of the words they exchanged—some sort of bickering until Namgyu pulled away and went to the door to keep watch. 

It was then you found yourself on your knees, hands on the clothed thighs of Myunggi as he guided your mouth to the tip of his cock. Long, slender fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tight as you took all of him in without a struggle.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, looking at you with parted lips. For once, he was glad he listened to Namgyu.

Your hands on his thighs tightened, fingernails scratching at the fabric as you buried your nose into the tuft of hair on his skin. Myunggi let you do the rest of the work, watching as you bobbed your head up and down slowly, savouring his taste. Your tongue swirled, saliva dripped out of the corners of your lips, and your mouth watered because of him.

“Isn’t she a pretty girl?” Namgyu’s voice cut through your daze, closer than you had anticipated. He’d forgotten about the door. “Be grateful I’m letting you share.”

He was kneeling behind you, greedy hands pushing under your shirt and blue vest. Bloody fingers pinched your nipples, and you gasped around Myunggi’s cock, and he cussed.

“Don’t stop,” he spat angrily.

Namgyu kept his touch on your tits, squeezing and fondling to his liking. He pushed past your hair, lips pressing kisses to your skin—growing harder with each passing second at the filthy sounds of you sucking off Myunggi. 

“If you didn’t let me make her cum, she doesn’t get to make you—” Namgyu snapped, looking up at Myunggi and wrapping a hand around your throat to pull you from him. Your lips parted from his cock with a soft pop and he growled deep in his throat, forced to stroke himself as his temporary partner indulged in you instead. “I like you more,” he whimpered in your ear, guiding your back to the floor, hand still on your throat.

You looked at him with heavy eyelids, and he eyed your puffy, swollen lips. 

Fingers hooked into your sweats, and he tugged them down until the fabric hung around one ankle, allowing him to spread you as freely as he wanted. You whimpered, exposed to both him and the eyes of Myunggi who stood with his back to the wall, a hand stroking as you watching beads of precum leak from the tip and god you were so fucked out because all you wanted was to crawl to your knees and get a taste.

“Pretty girl,” Namgyu whispered, hands on the backs of your thighs as he pushed your knees to your chest. Shifting, soon one hand held them in place together, blocking your view of everything except for the dark ceiling.

A sudden intrusion made you mewl, his middle finger pushing in until you felt the cool metal of his ring. His narrowed eyes fixated on your cunt, watching as you coated his fingers with a milky white fluid that he wanted to taste. Though, he was more pleased by the soft sounds you were making as he fucked you with his fingers. Adding a second, then a third until you were squirming at the stretch.

“S’too much,” you gasped, reaching around your thighs and trying to grab at his wrists, but they were soon pinned back above your head by Myunggi, who’d grown bored of watching.

By now, Namgyu had knelt closer to the floor. His voice muffled as he lapped at your clit, “You can take it, pretty girl. I know you can.” he whispered, continuing the slow motions of his three fingers pushing in and out of your wet pussy. It was so tight, and his cock was twitching in anticipation of being able to fuck you like he’d been dreaming for days. 

Myunggi knelt by your head, looking down at you with half-lidded, glossy eyes that made you shiver. He released your wrists, watching with a slight smirk as you reached for his exposed cock and stroked with your hands that felt a hundred times better than his. A rumble came from his throat, eyes fluttering closed as you arched your back up so you could tilt back further, enough that your outstretched tongue lapped up the precum that left a salty taste in your mouth.

“What happened to taking turns?” Namgyu grumbled, giving up on keeping your legs pressed to your chest. He sucked on your clit as your legs relaxed. The walls of your cunt still tight around his fingers, but loosening with each push of his bundled digits. “No fair—”

“Shut… up….” Myunggi groaned, stroking near the base of his cock as your perfect pink lips tried to wrap around it.

You were overstimulated—your nerves lit up at every end. With Namgyu fucking your pussy with his fingers, sucking on your clit, and Myunggi trying to push his cock further down your throat, you realized you’d never been so devoured in your life.

Namgyu curled his fingers as best as he could, finding that spot buried in your cunt that he knew would make you want more of him. You briefly gagged on Myunggi’s cock when he did, whining out as he took your opened mouth as a chance to bury himself in all the way. You let him, feeling the way he hit the back of your throat, his bloody hand feeling the expanse of your throat stretch as he pushed as far in as he could.

After a few more forwards thrusts, he pulled out and stroked himself, pathetic moans coming from him strings of hot white cum splattered over your face and blue vest.

Your throat was raw, and still, you stuck your tongue out and ignored the sting.

“My turn,” Namgyu hissed, and you had only realized then that your cunt was empty and aching for more. Over the rough flooring, Namgyu tugged you until you were pulled far enough from a recovering Myunggi that you couldn’t reach him even if you tried. Leaning forward, you whimpered when he licked off a string of cum over your chin. “You’re mine, right now, yeah? No looking at him, just me… okay? Tell me, pretty girl, please—”

You saw the desperation in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“Just yours,” you managed to say. 

“Again,” he begged, hands pushing up your shirt until until your perky tits were exposed and he licked up the rest of the cum from your cheeks and chin. “Please, one more time, pretty girl. One more time so I can fuck you better than Myunggi ever could—”

“Watch it,” he huffed from the door. He’d back sprawled back against it, his cock limp and twitching. Stroking the overstimulated erection in hopes that he could steal you from Namgyu before the timer went off.

Namgyu smiled against your neck, teeth sinking into the skin and sucking a deep-coloured bruise. 

“Yours, all yours,” you groaned, the pain of his sharp teeth making your cunt ache more at the emptiness. “Fuck me, Namgyu, please—”

You heard the sounds of shifting as he moved atop of you, hands pushing down his sweats and pulling out his cock that wasn’t much longer than Myunggi’s, but from what you could see, was thicker. Your toes curled, and you were right. 

Namgyu let out an egregiously vulgar sound as the head of his cock pushed in. He knelt back, sitting upright as he gave himself the best view to watch your tight pussy contract around him.

“Ah, fuck!” You let out a sharp gasp, the stretch unlike anything you’ve taken before. You didn’t notice the proud smile on his face from your reaction; he was now focused only on relaxing enough to make this more pleasurable and less painful. Namgyu liked you enough to make sure he wasn’t being completely selfish, his thumb finding it’s way to your clit and starting a rhythm of circled motions.

“Tell me,” he murmured, half-way inside, “tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.”

“So bad,” you whined, your legs wrapping lazily around his hips, hands grabbing at your tits as a distraction of the fiery pain of the stretch, “Don’t stop.”

Namgyu bottomed you out, breathing heavily as he got used to the tight feeling of your cunt squeezing impossibly hard around him. He rutted against you, grinding, milking out those sounds from your throat that were so sweet.

You felt like you were going to pass out when he started fucking you—a relentless pace as he pressed a hand flat to your stomach to keep himself balanced, the other hand still focused on rubbing quick circles on your clit. When you tried to close your eyes, he’d grab your face. Fingers pinching at your cheeks as he’d ask you so nicely to keep looking at him.

That was the difference between him and Myunggi. Namgyu liked you too much; you were the only person he had a soft spot for. He wanted to beg for you. To ask you nicely and make sure that everything he was doing was to please you. Myunggi didn’t care about you; he didn’t care if he was too rough or too selfish.

“Shit—” Namgyu choked, having been leaning forward against you, face buried into your neck where he left more hickeys. 

He had kept up the relentless pace, his cock stretching you so deep with his thrust. He was close—his whimpers in your ear were evident of it. After one hard thrust, and a tight squeeze of your walls, his cock twitched and he came inside you so much it leaked. He rutted into you with an erratic rhythm as you clawed at the back of his red vest, tearing the fabric slightly with your nails. You weren’t far behind, his circling thumb causing a fire to build so deep in your tummy that it snapped right as he pulled out—and you were left clenching around nothing, mewling like a cat in heat as your thighs twitched.

Myunggi wasn’t ashamed of how hard that made him. He’d crawled closer to you, grabbing your hips roughly and pulling you to him. As Namgyu’s cum leaked out of you, Myunggi used his cock to push it back inside with a rought thrust, fucking you as you came.

“Oh god,” you gasped, thighs squeezing tight together, but he forced one away. The other hand pressed to your clit, four of his fingers brushing over the nub wildly and just as your climax ended, another one snapped and you felt yourself coming undone by him. You released, your squirting juices wetting the sweats clinging to his thighs, and even up onto his red vest. “S-sorry—” is all you managed to sputter out as you arched your back, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Myunggi didn’t say anything, nor did he let up. His cock stretching you with each sharp snap of his hips.

That’s how you spent the next fifteen minutes—having either one of them tag team you every few minutes. You’d never come so much in your life, your pussy abused and raw. By the end, you were full of so much cum it hardly stayed and instead coated your thighs and the floor of wherever they fucked you. 

You were so goddamned glad that they were the ones to stumble into the room.

[cricket-reader]

Carving Skin Until My Bones Are Showing

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.

Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)

word count: 4,059

A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying

{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”

Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.

“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”

You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”

You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?

Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?

“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”

Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.

A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.

You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?

You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?

The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.

And could you even blame him?

You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.

A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.

You could fix this.

You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.

You just had to be better.

You would be better.

When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.

It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.

Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.

You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.

You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.

Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”

Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”

“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”

“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.

You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.

You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.

There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.

You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.

“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.

Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.

“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”

“Sounds great,” you replied.

The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.

For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.

It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?

The bed felt colder than usual.

You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.

Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.

You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.

Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.

You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.

Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.

Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.

You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.

It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.

>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?

>>>We really need to talk.

The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.

After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.

You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.

The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.

You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.

“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.

Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.

“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.

You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.

“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I�� I should go.”

“Doll-”

You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”

Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.

—

“Doll?”

You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.

“Sweetheart, please!”

Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?

Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”

“Oh,” you eloquently respond.

The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.

Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.

Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”

“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.

“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.

“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”

“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”

“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”

Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”

“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.

“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”

“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”

“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”

Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”

“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”

Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.

“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”

“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”

“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop,”

Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”

You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”

“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”

“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”

And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.

“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.

“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”

“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.

“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”

“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”

Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”

“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”

“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”

“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”

“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”

Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”

“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.

“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”

“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.

You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.

“Yes! Okay, I got it!”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.

That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.

Taglist: @hallecarey1 @harleycao @filmsbyblair

[greenpolicelight]

Roommate - Satoru Gojo

Summary : You're Gojo's childhood friend, and roommate. Which leads to chaos or perhaps utter bliss.

Warnings : Smut, choking, body worship, size kink, over-stimulation, thigh fucking, fluff and smut.

Word count : 10k

Your former roommate moved out to live with her stoner boyfriend, leaving you to pay all the bills and responsibilities of maintaining a two man apartment.

You hear a banging on your door. A sneer forms on your lips as you swing the door open, a scowl already on your face. You assumed it was your roommate who returned, but instead, it's your childhood friend stands before you, taller and a lot hotter since the last time you saw him.

One thing leads to another, and now it feels like there was never any distance between the two of you with how easily you both fell back into a comfortable rhythm and routine of being each other’s roommate.

He’s definitely a lot more enthusiastic and fun to be with now that both of you have grown up. His maturity reversed backwards because it feels like you’re taking care of a little kid.

Fortunately for him, you love him, and you both leave for work at the same time. You started to wake up earlier to prepare breakfast so you’d both have the energy – although you highly doubt there’s really anything that depletes his endless source of one.

It’s been an absolutely shitty day. Your shitty boss blames you for something you didn’t even do, all because his stupid secretary lost this month’s report and claimed she handed it to you last week when she never did. You boss would publicly humiliates and scolds you, calling you all kinds of names until tears are streaming down your face.

You slam the door shut the moment you get home, kicking your shoes off and head straight to your room. You don’t bother taking your makeup off, you change into a loose shirt and floral cotton shirts, heading to the kitchen after seeing Satoru is well nestled into the couch.

At least someone’s had a good day.

Seeing as the sink is empty, he probably hasn’t eaten dinner. This makes you sigh, because when will he ever learn to cook and look after himself?

Satoru pauses whatever he’s watching before he hovers over you, head tilted to the side as he gazes at you. You ignore him and begin to set down some bowls and chopsticks for dinner. “Bad day?” he concludes.

“Hmm.”

“Bad day it is then,” he nods to himself. “I can cook dinner, if you want.”

“And have you burn my apartment? No thanks,” you scoff, pushing him aside to get the pans when you see that he’s placed them above, even after you’ve reminded countless times to just leave it lower. “Ugh, why do you keep putting the pans in this shelf? You know I can’t reach this.” You snarl and hop over the counter to get the pans, trying your best to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall. “You’re really bothersome, you know that?”

“Then why don’t you kick me out?” he challenges, completely oblivious to how you’re struggling. “You always complain about me being a nuisance here, but you’re not really doing anything to keep me out.”

“Because where else would you go?”

“Technically, I have a room back at the Institute.”

“Yeah, but because you’re so stupid and reckless that you got kicked out of your own home,” you spat out. Banter is common between the both of you, but something about the intensity of your gaze lets him know you’re serious this time around. “I don’t even know how Yuuji puts up with you. That poor Megumi is right when he says you’re insufferable. You’re good for nothing!”

Satoru scoffs, “Fine, if you hate me that much, why didn’t you just say so? I could easily pack my bags and go since I’m just making everything harder—” Satoru doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying when your hand over the counter that acts as support slips under you, and you fall, legs bent awkwardly while you scream, preparing yourself for the impact. The pan is long forgotten, your only thought was oh my god, so this is how I die.

But it never came, and you keep your eyes shut tight even as warm hands cup your ass. Satoru is breathing hard under you. Finally gaining the courage to crack an eye open, your breath halts when you see that he’s sitting on the floor, with you safely nestled between him.

Satoru has always had pretty eyes, but it’s rare he takes off his blindfold off even when he’s home. This is one of those rare occurrences that he seems like a normal human, dressed in a gray sweatshirt that hands low from his collarbones and magnetic blue eyes staring right back at you. His touch is gentle, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt you, and his voice that is usually loud and teasing comes out breathy and hesitant.

“Are you okay?”

Your gaze drops down to his lips. He’s close, so close, that if you just lean a little closer you could – you snap out of your daze. “Get off me.”

“Cupcake, you’re the one who’s on top of me,” his voice falls lower, eyes flitting down to your clothing – or rather the lack of it – before Satoru takes a deep breath. “Did you really have to wear that?”

“I have the right to wear whatever I want in the comfort of my own home.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he raised a brow. You see nothing but the way one corner of his lips tilt up, he looks so much like a shit-eater that you feel heat crawl down your spine.

You push yourself off him but your bent foot behind you slips, and you fall forward with your hands clutching his shoulders. Satoru catches your leg behind you, drags it forward until your knee is pressed in between one of your warmth.

“Careful, cupcake. This isn’t a slip and slide.”

“I hate you so much,” you bare your teeth at him, slapping his chest until he finally lets go of you. Turning your back to him, you pick up the pan and begin preparing your dinner, “I’m kicking you out tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Eat your damn dinner first.”

Dinner was awkward. Although Gojo is someone who can wolf down his meal in three seconds, he took his time eating to start conversation with you. Sometimes he asks decent questions, but he’s quiet the whole time. He even volunteers to do the dishes before retreating to his room, coating the house in silence.

It almost feels like you’re all alone over again.

You’ve gotten so used to him being an utter mess everywhere that when he’s not trying to piss you off, he actually giving you the much needed peace, you begin to hate it.

How are you supposed to apologize to Satoru now?

The answer doesn’t come until you stare at your walls, wide awake at midnight. The house is still eerily silent and you don’t stop moving around your bed in discomfort. Many times, you wished that Satoru would shut up and leave you alone, but now that he’s actually quite, it feels weird. Uncomfortable. It feels wrong.

With a grunt, you kick off the sheets and carefully walk to his room, knocking lightly in case he’s already sleeping. “Satoru?” you call out, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Are you awake?”

The door swings open, revealing an equally tired-looking Satoru. At the sight of you peering up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes the door wider and steps closer to you, his large hands cupping your face as he leans down in worry. “Cupcake,” his brows pinch together, “Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to apologize for everything I said,” you blurt out, “I was just tired from work and my boss was being shitty, I’m really sorry I took my anger out on you. I didn’t mean it when I said you’re insufferable and that I’m kicking you out so – yeah,” you breathe out, trailing your gaze downwards to stare at your feet. When you finally gain courage to speak again, it barely comes out as a whimper, your hands tugging at his shirt. “Please stay. I like having my best friend around here.”

Satoru doesn’t answer.

You’re about to look up at him just in case you’ve said something wrong, but then – “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t kick me out. You’re too much of a darling to say no to me.”

Sigh. Satoru laughs when he sees your shoulders deflate, absolutely shattered in exhaustion. You’re beyond elated you’re both fine now, and you shyly gesture to his big, warm bed that suddenly looks so comfortable. “Can I stay here for tonight?”

“You want Satoru’s bear hug?”

“Yes, I do.” There’s no hesitation in your words and you don’t complain anymore when he easily picks you up like a ragdoll using only one arm. He’s surprisingly gentle when he places you both down on the bed, sheets warm and soft as it blankets over you.

Gojo’s long limbs are everywhere. Your face is pressed into his chest, both your legs tangled together. His arm is sprawled over your hip, his hand nearly grazing your ass that’s barely covered by the thin material of your shorts.

He seems to be stuck in the same position because you’re so small, and your knees are grazing his groin. Had he known you’re going to sleep with him, he would’ve worn underwear or even boxers under his sweatpants.

He’s never told you before, but he prefers to sleep in the nude. Satoru only picked up the nearest pair of pants when he heard you knock, and even then, he didn’t have the time to wear a shirt.

Satoru clears his throat awkwardly, shifting until his arm lightly holds your back instead, but then he pulls away as if he’s touched fire when he’d unknowingly fiddled with your bra clasp instead. It’s so painfully awkward that Satoru chuckles above you, while you scrunch your nose, silently praying to the heavens above that he won’t hear how loud your heart is beating right now.

“Why is it so hot in your own room?”

“Maybe it’s time you get me an AC.”

“You wish, Satoru,” you mumble beneath him, making yourself as comfortable as you can with your cheek resting on his bicep. “You’re really not going to put on a shirt?”

Satoru sighs, a long and loud one that is extended for dramatic purposes. Suddenly, he pushes your knee off of him, grimacing and thanking the darkness that you can’t see how much he’s struggling right now. “Cupcake, this is hard for me as much as it is for you. You’re barely wearing anything.”

“Since when have you cared about what I wear?”

“I’m a man, Y/N,” is what he reasons with, “You’re lucky it’s me. Had it been someone else and you crawled into their bed wearing these—” Satoru pinches the waistband of your shorts, and you squeal in protest, only making him laugh. “—poor excuse of what you call shorts, I can’t guarantee they’ll give you a peaceful night.”

It’s not that you feel you’re unattractive. You know you’re pretty and have been out on many dates, but it’s easy to feel that you’re not sexy when you have the height of a thirteen year old.

Satoru’s not-compliment compliment has your heart skipping a beat, and you scoff in response. “Shut up,” you warn lamely, “I want to sleep.”

“Then let’s sleep, cupcake.” You don’t know if it’s because you’re utterly exhausted that you doze off or if Satoru’s words just held power in them, his arms keeping you close.

Hot. It’s extremely hot.

You crack an eye open to try and find the source of this uncomfortable heat, but you freeze when you realize you can’t feel your muscles from the chin down. Panic rises in your throat once you see the current predicament you’re in, and a scream rips through your throat so loud that the birds outside scurry away in a flurry.

You’re wrapped in Satoru’s blanket and comforter, rendering you unable to move because of how he’d treated you like a burrito wrap. Only your head is able to wriggle side to side.

“Satoru!”

The culprit comes out of the shower a split second later, his hair dripping wet and only a towel hanging low from his lips.

Satoru bends over in laughter as he whips out his phone, jumping from angle to angle and side to side to take photos of you. “Fuck,” he howls, slapping his thigh while you snarl in an attempt to break free. “You’re a lot cuter than I thought you’d be.”

“Satoru! Get me out of here!”

“No, this is way too gold. I’m sending these to my students.”

“Satoru, I’m serious!” The devil incarnate himself falls deaf to your please.

The platinum haired man is still laughing to himself, too distracted in scrolling through the best photos to send to his students that he doesn’t notice you escaping and zooming straight right at him.

The momentum is enough to catch him off guard until you end up on top of him. Satoru yelps when his phone lands out into the living room and your hands come down to choke him. You don’t have plans to kill him, but you want to hurt him enough to remind him you’re not someone he can fuck with.

You’ve just about had enough of this man and you’re so sick of him!

Satoru yells out a “Hey!” when you let out a battle cry, using your legs to kick him back when he tries to sit up. Your plan backfires when your hands slip down his wet skin and you fall face forwards, hands barely touching the ground for support when your lips come crashing down on his.

He stills underneath you. It takes a moment for you to realize that holy shit, you’re kissing him, but Satoru doesn’t let you.

His large hand comes up at the back of your neck to pull you forward. The sudden movement makes you gasp, and Satoru slips his tongue inside when you.

His hand cups your buttcheek almost possessively, a low growl emanating deep in his throat when your tongue eagerly intertwines with his. It’s clear both of you can’t get enough of one another as you moan in his mouth, shamelessly grinding on his crotch, suddenly thankful that you’re always wearing thin clothes when you feel him harden underneath you.

“Fuck, baby,” he pulls away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. “Yeah, just like that,” There’s something empowering about the way he pants at your ministrations, especially when you roll your hips faster across his erection. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing – fuck – so well.”

You smirk at his praises, latching onto his neck to suck marks on them. Satoru groans at the same time you muffle your moans through his skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to tug the cups of your bra down. He pinches your nipple, bolts of electricity running down your spine at the contact. A moan breaks through your lips just as you come right there , the wetness of your sudden orgasm barely hidden in your flimsy underwear.

“Feel good?” he teases and drags your shirt down to the other side.

Fuck. You just came from Satoru’s simple touches. Suddenly, you grow lightheaded as you push yourself off him, fixing your bra while ignoring the confused and hurt look on his face.

“I gotta go to work,” you run out the room, feeling your body tremble as Satoru runs after you. “Make yourself breakfast. I’ll eat on the way out.”

“Y/N, wait!”

You know you’ve just ruined everything – that nothing will ever be the same after that – but you’re scared.

You’ll never forget the way Satoru’s face fell when you left.

Just as you thought, nothing is the same after that. The tension is so thick around the apartment you make an effort and go out of your way just to avoid him and the apartment completely.

It’s cowardly – you know this much – but do you ever try to fix the friendship you cherish but shattered completely? You don’t. You don’t because it only crashes down onto you now that maybe your feelings for him aren’t just platonic, after all.

It’s even worse because you touch yourself at the thought of him filling you up when he’s asleep, all because you want him so bad and the mere presence of him has your brain malfunctioning.

It isn’t entirely sexual either. Yes, you want to fuck him badly, but it scares you down to the core even more because you want so much more than that.

Now you understand why you always say he’s a bother but never asked him to leave. It’s because you like him, actually romantically interested in him. It makes sense now why you always felt so annoyed whenever your co-workers asked for his number. You always chalk it up to an excuse you just hate how he can’t keep in his pants, but it isn’t true at all.

It’s because you actually like him – and you’re at a loss on what to do or how to deal with it.

The next few days feels like hell. Satoru isn’t stupid; he knows you’re avoiding him. He stops teasing you eventually and even buys takeout all the time when you lock yourself up in your room right after work, refusing to cook dinner or even eat all so you’d be spared the torture of looking at him.

You’re alone the whole ride, as well, and it only dawns on you how lonely you are when Satoru isn’t always annoying you all the time.

Satoru is a man. He was probably turned on at that time, but after giving some thought about it, he probably wants to keep his distance too. He’d be insane if he ever actually wants to date you.

You don’t care that you’re a coward.

You don’t care that Satoru is sad to see you this way.

You don’t care because you know he’ll reject you, you know he’ll be weirded if you admit your feelings for him. You just need some time to get over your feelings for him, and when you’re confident you won’t fall for him again, you’ll mend your friendship.

You just need time.

“So, Y/N, you still don’t want to give us your friend’s number?”

“Yeah, Y/N, you should share it,” your co-worker encourages by jabbing her shoulder to yours. It’s a lazy Friday night and the staff went out for dinner. You don’t usually come to these hangouts since dinner with Satoru is always much more fun. Now, though, you’re starting to regret ever coming here. “If he’s really single like you said, then it shouldn’t be a big deal to ask for it.”

“Well, since you want it so badly, why don’t you ask him directly for it instead?” you snap, feeling anger begin to trickle. All you wanted was just one day where you don’t have to think of him. It’s also annoying how they can never seem to get the message across that you don’t want them dating him. “Why do I have to be the messenger?”

“We haven’t seen him much. Doesn’t he always walk you to work?”

“He’s been busy with his job, that’s all.”

“He’s a teacher, right?”

“Oh, come on, guys, don’t be so dense,” your senpai chugged her drink rather loudly, catching the attention of your nosy co-workers. “Look at how uncomfortable she looks. It’s obvious she doesn’t want you guys to be involved with her friend for a reason. Think of how weird it is for her too if ever her co-worker and best friend dated. She’s going to feel like a third wheel.”

“I’m not—”

“That makes sense,” your co-worker nodded beside you, “Are you sure you just don’t like him though?”

“Ew, why would I?” the food began to taste bitter through your lies, “He may be tall and attractive, but as his roommate, I’ve seen his ugly side. Satoru is a complete slob and can’t even cook to save his life.”

“I don’t mind cooking for him all the time if I were to be his little housewife.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” your words came out harsher than it was, and you laugh it off with a wave of your hand when your co-workers’ eyes widened. “I’ve been living with him for six months and he’s never brought anyone home or told me he’s going on a date. I told you already, he’s a no strings attached kind of guy. He’s nothing but a one night stand.”

“You have to admit he’s still sexy though.”

You hide your groan through another shot because there’s no way of convincing them otherwise.

They start to leave one by one when it starts to get late, leaving only you who’s still desperate to avoid Satoru. Nothing prepares you for when the sky darkens and a storm comes pouring just as you’ve left the closing shop, the rain drenching and soaking your clothes through and through. Running under the nearest tree for shelter, you shiver. You curse yourself for not bringing a darned umbrella.

The nearest bus stop is like what, fifteen to twenty minutes away? Your teeth are chattering and your legs are shaking, and you fumble through your phone as you dial a number you know by heart before you even realize what you’re doing. “S-Satoru?”

“Y/N,” the surprise is unmasked in his voice, something shuffling in the background before it falls silent. “Is everything okay?”

“Uhm, are you busy right now? It’s fine if you are, I’m just—”

“I’m training with Yuuji, but what is it?”

“Listen, I,” you shiver and press yourself closer to tree to get away from the rain. Above you, thunder crackles before the rain grows heavier and angrier. “I forgot to bring an umbrella and I’m absolutely soaked right now. The nearest bus stop is fifteen minutes away and all the buildings here look so shady—”

“I’ll be on my way. Text me where you are,” You nod and thank him, too cold and numb to realize you’ve just broken days of silence. You lose track of time under there, hugging yourself until your lips turn blue. It doesn’t take long before Satoru shows up minutes later, his hair equally drenched and sticking flat to his eyes free from his blindfold while he pants, hand on his knees. “Thank goodness you’re safe. I rushed here so fast I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

After seeing Satoru drenched like that, something snaps within you. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact the rain is unforgiving as it slaps the pavement, and your heart breaks when you see that he’s more concerned for you “You idiot! Now you’re soaking wet too, you’re going to get sick!”

“Highly unlikely,” he shrugs. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“But what about—” Satoru suddenly carries you before draping his coat over your head, running until he found a cab to hail. He asks the driver to turn up the heater while you tremble on top of him, not caring anymore.

Satoru doesn’t let you go all the way inside the apartment. He sets you down on the couch where you take off your wet clothes in haste, too cold with teeth chattering that you silently take the hoodie and boxers Satoru offers you, making sure to keep his gaze averted the whole time.

Once fully dressed, you snuggle back into the sofa’s comfort, stiffening when the couch dips beside you.

Not a moment later, Satoru towel-dries your hair. Even after you’ve unnecessarily been a bitch to him, he’s still so kind with you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Satoru…” you twiddle with your thumbs just as he starts to ruffle the towel in your hair, making sure to squeeze water out of the strands as he dries it. “About what happened the other day—”

“It didn’t happen if you don’t want it to,” his voice is cold’ monotonous and so emotionless you’re rendered speechless. “You can forget about it.”

“I…”

“You regret it, right?” he finishes drying your hair, and he stands up to place the wet towels away as you watch him stride. He’s changed his clothes too; looking comfortable in a plain white shirt and some grey sweatpants. “It’s fine. We can forget about it and go back to normal,” to emphasize his point, Satoru winks at you.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” your voice is small; hesitant and wavering with fear. “What if…the only reason I pulled away is because I wanted more of you?”

Satoru’s back freezes as he sets the towel aside. At this point, your nails onto your thighs when Satoru sits down next to you. He’s silent the whole time; eyes piercing through yours. Your breath hitches when his hands that are burning hot against your cold skin.

“And what if I said I felt the same way?”

“I,” you gasp, closing your eyes because it all feels so surreal. “I like you, Satoru. I like you a lot and I—” he doesn’t let you finish. Soon, you find yourself in his lap with his hands cupping your cheeks while he smashes his lips onto yours.

Satoru is the definition of feral. He’s breathing hard and almost angry, even, with the way his teeth are biting down to nibble on your lips. You moan when he drags you closer, your clothed centre rubbing on his thigh with delicious friction. “You have no idea,” he rasps down on your lips, “how much I’ve fucking liked you ever since we were kids,” Satoru pushes his hoodie aside, revealing your sweet neck to him, and he doesn’t waste his time in sucking and abusing the poor flesh so he can mark you as his. “I’ve always wanted you, Y/N, it’s always you, always you.”

You fist his hoodie as Satoru sinks his teeth down into the juncture of your neck, his hands curious and exploring every inch of your body. He knows you’re naked underneath, but it’s a different thing when he actually feels your breasts right on his palm. Satoru tweaks the hardened bud in his fingers, growling when you moan at the contact and use his thigh to get off.

“You—” you gasp as you expose your neck to him, wild and needy as you keep rubbing your heat over his thigh. “—talk way too fucking much,” you scold, finally pushing his lips away from your neck. Satoru chuckles at your eagerness but you silence him by flinging his boxers off of your body and somewhere far away, exposing your heat slick with arousal right in front of him. His pupils blow in excitement, hands coming up to grab at your hips, but his attention is taken away when you nibble on his ear to whisper, “Shut up and fuck me.”

The simple command is enough to make his patience snap. In a flash, you’re pinned underneath him, whining and moaning when his finger meets no resistance as he slips it inside. “You’re that needy, huh?” he laughs even louder when you lose it, humping yourself on his finger because it’s not enough.

“Satoru,” you beg, clutching his bicep when he adds another finger in. “More.”

His fingers are long, hitting places that your small ones could never reach. He begins to scissor his way in, his fingers rubbing against your velvety walls while pumping them inside and out in a speed that causes you to squelch around him.

It’s absolutely lewd how you’re eagerly spread out before him, but your head is clouded with lust, no longer hindered by shyness out of your need to cum. Your chest is rising heavily, his thumb now rubbing against your clit as he coaxes you to cum. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he kisses your cheeks, eyelids, nose, anywhere but your lips, his voice so gentle and innocent as if he’s not knuckle deep inside you. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Inside,” you whine, gasping when he brushes against a really sensitive spot that has you clamping down on him. “‘Toru, fuck, just fuck me.”

“Beg for it,” he smiles against your skin, relentless and harsh as he keeps pushing inside you. You feel him everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Another finger adds in until you’re dripping enough on his palm and staining the couch, but neither of you care. “I said, beg for it.”

“No,” you hold back, nearly crying out when he pulls your fingers out of you. That sudden emptiness is back again, but you don’t want to beg. You’ve never begged another man before, and this won’t be the first time you’ll be doing so either. You refuse to let him have the upper hand despite the crystal clear fact you’re already soaking wet for him, but because you’re stubborn, you only fumble with his sweatpants to spring his cock free.

He’s already dripping with pre-cum from the slit, his cock hard and angry. Despite his arousal, Satoru stops you from going further, using only one hand to trap both your wrists. “Beg for it,” he demands again, his other fist already pumping down on his shaft.

You nearly cry at the sight. Both of you are aware that Satoru is capable of pleasuring himself, but it’s not that easy for you. Your small, dainty fingers will never be parallel to the pleasure his long cock could give you. All you had to do was beg for it. He’s right there, within reach, if only you’d just –

Impatient for your answer, Satoru takes you by the hips and discards your hoodie in the process, sinking you down his cock, inch by delicious inch. You don’t hold back from the sensual and high-pitched moan that leaves your lips. He’s long, and the tip of his cock just about brushes your cervix when he bottoms out. He feels so good, so warm and huge and filling you up right where you want him to be. Your head falls down on his shoulder as you begin to roll your hips, but Satoru has had enough.

“Fuck, look at you,” he presses on the bulge of his cock visible through your abdomen. “You’re so fucking small – how do you take me so well? I could ruin you. Do you want that? Do you want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck.”

“You think you can just leave me hanging like that, huh?” he slaps your ass, eliciting another moan from you and making you clench around his cock. Satoru falters for a moment. Before you can react, he stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist with nothing but his tip hitting inside you. “You’ve been so fucking mean – leaving me wanting you like that and ignoring me for days. Do you think you deserve this, huh?” Satoru kicks his door open at the same time he loosens his hold around your ass, making you slide down his length the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out just as Satoru begins to bounce you, your breasts following the motion of him fucking deep into you. “Fuck, Toru, that’s too—”

He’s so eager to fuck you, to make a mess out of you and have you losing your mind over his cock that he doesn’t even wait until you’re both on the bed. You no longer register when your back hits the pillow, or how your arms are frozen when he pins it above your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises as he watches you clench around him. You’re so small and his eyes zero in on the way your abdomen bulges then flattens again every time he pounds into you, rolling his hips in a way that has you screaming and thighs quaking. “Beautiful, beautiful, perfect,” the moment his hands grip at your hips to pin you down, you know he’s not going to stop. And you don’t want him to.

Satoru latches his lips around your right breast, gently grazing his teeth over it while his other hand pinches and rolls the pebbled nipple between his fingers. He feels so good – and you’re crying already by the time you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer.

The room is filled with the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with his breathy grunts and your moans like heaven on his ears. Satoru wants you to feel how much he loves you – how much he adores you – and the pace he sets is torturous. He snaps his hips against yours and presses down on the bulge of his cock through your belly, chuckling when you tighten more around him.

Your head lols to the side, tears falling down your pretty face because of how rough he’s being. But you don’t complain, not when he’s filling you in so deep and he’s kissing you everywhere, touching you everywhere, making you feel nothing else and nobody else but him.

“You’re amazing,” he rasps, watching the way your tight cunt sucks him in greedily as if you don’t want him to go anywhere else. “You take me in so well – you really want me to destroy you, huh?”

“Satoru, please,” you finally plead, “I-I’m cumming, I want you, I need you, oh,” you squeal when he finally lets your arms free. You look so precious, so innocent, and he doesn’t let up his pace. He plants his feet into the ground and his strokes begin to grow sloppy, your tight walls encouraging him to go faster, go deeper.

If possible, Satoru is only even more fuelled with the way you look so precious and innocent in that moment. His touch is gentle in comparison to the way he’s mercilessly plowing into you, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He knows he’s too big for you, that much is obvious from how much you’re already overstimulated just by his size, but your nails sink down on the flesh of his ass as a silent plead for more.

“Fuuuuck, I’m so close!”

“Yeah?” He fondled your clit, loving the sight of your small body creaming down on his cock. “Come for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you coming on my cock. Come on, tell me you’re mine. You’re made me for aren’t you?”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck,” you squeal, throwing your head back for a second when he keeps hitting your g-spot that has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your hands fist the sheets behind you as he keeps impaling you with his cock right then and there.

You looked perfect; so perfect to him that he’s basically using you for his own pleasure at this moment. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, back arching and nipples brushing against his chest.

In that moment, you grow needy to have him even closer, tilting up to blindly search for his lips. Satoru complies; leaning down and leaving open mouthed breathy kisses that’s a mix of you moaning and crying around him, while he struggles to do so when he’s cursing at the feeling of you coating his cock with your juices. Satoru looks down at your tiny frame trapped in his arms, his voice husky as he groans once he saw both of your arousal absolutely leaking out of your wet cunt.

He’s so close but you’re already over the edge, scratching at his back at the overstimulation. You’re still so sensitive from when you came and Satoru doesn’t slow one down one bit. He loses his rhythm as his thrusts go sloppy, and Satoru buries his face in your neck as his cock twitches inside you until he bursts with his cum leaking out of your hole.

Satoru’s arms give out beneath you, his chest colliding with yours but not enough that he’s crushing you with his weight. You’re both breathing hard and panting, his dick softening inside you.

He pulls back a moment later to slide out his sensitive cock, wincing while he watches pools of cum gather in your pussy before it drips out. It isn’t until he’s witnessing the mess he’s made he realizes how you’ve been so good for him; taking him all the way in despite your quivering frame. It dawns on him now just how tiny you are when he pulls you close to him; you’re practically hanging off his chest with how small your body is.

He wonders how you’re able to fit all of him, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Satoru shows his appreciation by peppering kisses all over your face, his hand snaking down to caress your inner thighs.

“Hmm,” you moan into the kiss, jolting when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit. “Satoru, no,” you whine while pushing his hand away, and he shushes you with another kiss. “’M too sensitive, please…”

“It’s fine, cupcake, it’s fine,” his nickname for you is back again, and you lean closer to him just as he begins to massage your sore legs. “You did so well for me, cupcake, you know that? You’re such a good girl for me,” too fucked out to have a comprehensive answer, you only nod in response, spreading your legs open again and ignoring the warm stickiness between your thighs as Satoru kneads your abused flesh. You feel him kiss your temple before he leaves to get a towel and cleans you up. Meanwhile, you’re so tired you’re about to doze out in his bed.

“Hey,” he soothes, bundling you up in his arms until you’re tucked in the safety of his body. So small, he coos inside his head, watching as you fold yourself even smaller while your eyes flutter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh into his shoulder, “I feel good. Thank you.”

Satoru doesn’t really know what you’re thanking him for. He feels like he’s the one who’s mostly indebted to you after everything you’ve done for him. You’ve already fallen asleep before he gets the chance to tell you how he feels, so Satoru only covers you both under his blanket, making sure there’s no more space between you out of fear you’ll distance yourself from him again.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that because you’re right next to him, and you’re never out of reach.

[formulafanfics13]

lewis and max hook up after AD21. I said it. thank you in advance muah

okay so please remember this is not my personal opinion of who deserved the win. i will not be sharing my opinions on this, and 'there will be a mention of max 'stealing' the championship for the plot.

Driver x driver - you won. so take it - LH44 & MV1 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: After winning the championship in Abu Dhabi, Max Verstappen shows up at Lewis Hamilton’s hotel room in the middle of the night. Tension explodes into a furious, desperate hatefuck that turns into something far more raw and confessional. Both men break, fuck, and confess things they can’t say out loud in the daylight. By morning, Max is gone — but neither of them will ever forget it.

Warnings: explicit sex, hate sex, enemies-to-lovers energy, emotional repression, power struggle, obsession, degradation, praise kink, rough sex, wall sex, oral sex, unprotected anal sex, light manhandling, emotionally charged intimacy, post-race trauma, toxic chemistry, unresolved tension, implied infidelity (emotional), angst, ambiguous aftermath.

He shows up at the door just past 3am. No cameras. No entourage. Just Max, in a hoodie too big and socks half-drenched from the rain outside. Lewis doesn’t even ask how he found the room. Doesn’t care. Not tonight.

He just stands there, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, jaw tight. Looks at Max like he’s a ghost. “You won,” Lewis says. Flat. Cold. Like he’s daring him to fucking say anything else.

Max doesn’t.

He just walks past him. Into the suite. Dripping silence like blood.

Lewis shuts the door behind him. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. “Why are you here?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. Just walks toward the window and stares out at the city, the neon halo of Abu Dhabi still humming in the distance.

Then, quietly- “I don’t know.”

Bullshit.

Lewis laughs. Bitter. Cruel. “So what, you came here to rub it in?”

Max turns around. “No.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know,” Max says again, voice harder this time. “I just-couldn’t sleep.”

Lewis scoffs. “Poor baby. Can’t sleep after stealing a world championship?”

That gets a reaction. Max’s jaw twitches. His fists clench at his sides. But he doesn’t bite. Instead, he walks toward Lewis slowly. Steps measured. Eyes sharp. And Lewis watches him.

Because they’ve never been this close without a camera in the way. Without a mic. Without a fucking script. And now they’re standing face to face, two inches apart, and Lewis can smell the rain on Max’s clothes. Can feel the weight of everything unspoken between them. The betrayal. The obsession. The need.

“You think I wanted it like that?” Max asks, voice low.

“I don’t give a fuck what you wanted.”

Max steps closer. Barely a breath between them. “Liar.”

Lewis doesn’t flinch.

“Admit it,” Max says. “You want to hate me. You need to.”

Lewis laughs again, a soft, broken sound. “I don’t need to hate you.”

Max’s voice drops. “Then why are you still letting me in?”

Lewis doesn’t have an answer for that. So he kisses him.

It’s not soft. It’s not kind. It’s teeth and anger and two years of tension all crashing into one brutal, breathless collision. Max kisses back like he’s drowning. Like this is the only thing keeping him alive.

Lewis grabs him by the hoodie and slams him into the wall, mouth never leaving his. Max moans, low and wrecked, grabbing at Lewis’s waist like he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do.

“You won,” Lewis snarls against his lips. “So take it.”

Max freezes. “What?”

Lewis pushes him harder into the wall, hand on his chest, chest heaving. “Take what you came for. You want the whole fucking thing, don’t you? The title. The glory. Me. You’ve always wanted it all.”

Max swallows. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re obsessed.”

Max fists his hand in Lewis’s hair and drags his head back.

They lock eyes.

“You think I came here to fuck you?” Max growls.

“I think you came here because you can’t stop thinking about me.”

Silence. And then Max kisses him again. Harder. Dirtier. Desperate.

They crash backward toward the bed, tearing clothes off like they’re trying to erase the last two years from their skin. Lewis rips Max’s hoodie off. Max yanks Lewis’s sweatpants down and palms his cock like he owns it. It’s insane. It’s pathetic. It’s perfect.

“Get on the bed,” Lewis commands.

Max smirks. “Make me.”

Lewis shoves him.

Max lands on his back, grinning like the arrogant little fuck he’s always been. Lewis climbs on top of him, straddling his waist, hands pinning him down.

“You like this?” Lewis hisses. “Being under me?”

“You have no idea.”

Lewis grinds down. Max gasps. “Fuck, Lewis-”

“Say it again.”

“Lewis.”

“No. Say it like you mean it.”

Max lifts his hips, grinding against him. “Lewis.”

“Good boy.”

The praise hits harder than a slap. Max shivers.

Lewis leans down, mouth at his ear. “I should hate you.”

“You do.”

“Not enough to stop this.”

“No.”

Lewis pulls back. Stares down at him.

“Do you even feel guilty?”

Max swallows. “Every fucking day.”

Lewis kisses him again. Slower this time. Like maybe he believes it. Maybe.

He slides down, mouths over Max’s chest, his stomach, then takes him into his mouth without warning. Max’s hands fly to his hair, head tipping back, mouth open.

“Jesus-”

Lewis works him over like it’s a punishment. Like he wants him ruined. Like he needs him silent for once in his fucking life. Max whimpers, grips the sheets, begs.

When he’s close, Lewis pulls off and pushes into him in one smooth, devastating thrust.

Max screams. “Fuck-Lewis-”

Lewis bites down on his shoulder, fucking him slow, deep, punishing.

“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s mine.”

Max chokes on a moan. “All yours.”

Lewis grins, teeth sharp. “Say it louder.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m fucking yours, okay?”

Lewis fucks him harder. Max wraps his legs around his waist, takes every inch, every thrust, every broken breath like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. They come together. Max first, wrecked and gasping, Lewis right after, moaning into his neck like he hates himself for it. Then silence.

Just the sound of their breathing. The weight of everything unsaid.

Lewis pulls out, rolls off, lies beside him. Max stares at the ceiling. “You hate me?”

Lewis exhales. “No.” Pause. “But I wish I did.”

Max nods. “Yeah.”

They don’t speak again. In the morning, Max is gone. And Lewis never talks about it. But he never forgets.

[rainrot4me]

new to your blog and saw your lgbt headcannons for the creeps (eating up all your posts lol)

can we get more of bi jeff

sincerely gay anon

My beautiful bisexual disaster, oh how you sing to me.

๑ Warning: Vaginal, anal, threesome, oral

── .✦

Bi Jeff doesn’t label himself, really, but he absolutely notices all genders and does not even question why. If you asked him, he’d say, “I’ll fuck who I wanna fuck,” and leave it at that. There’s a deep impulsivity in him, and he follows attraction wherever it goes.

If he looks at someone and gets hard, that’s answer enough for him.

He’s the type to have had his first same-gender hookup way before he even realized it was “a thing.” Middle school sleepovers, random drunken makeouts in high school—to him it was just fun, he didn’t question it, but there’s a lingering shame from his home life, from the way other kids called him “fag” growing up. That stuck in his ribs a bit.

When he does admit to liking men and women (and nonbinary folks too), it comes out aggressive, defensive, almost picking a fight about it:

“Yeah, I like dick. You got a fuckin’ problem with that?”

He still struggles to own it without bracing for a reaction, because he’s so used to being judged for everything else that he forgets sexual orientation is the least of his problems.

He flirts in the absolute most unhinged, horny way possible—complimenting your ass while also trying to steal your lighter, threatening to kill you if you break his heart but also saying “you’re cute” with his knife to your throat.

His attraction is a bit chaotic and all-consuming: if you’re beautiful to him, you’re beautiful, period. Gender presentation does not factor. He genuinely does not give a shit. He’ll go feral for a pretty goth guy with eyeliner as quickly as he’d drool over a hot femme.

If you’re bi too, he’d probably find that sexy, in a twisted sense of solidarity—but also get jealous as hell. Like, “You better only be lookin’ at me.”

When it comes to sex, he’s very… curious. Jeff is 100% the guy who would want to try everything. Pegging? Sure. Letting a dude choke him out? Fuck it, why not. He’ll experiment with a grin and then brag about it later.

He still carries a bit of internalized “guy culture” that makes him overcompensate. Like, he’ll get so macho after hooking up with a man, calling himself a “pussy slayer” and flexing for no reason, trying to bury that small voice of what if I’m not man enough? under the violence and bravado.

But when he trusts someone? When he feels safe? He’s incredibly affectionate, starved for connection, and open about how much he loves all kinds of bodies and how hot he thinks people are. A bi king with a killer streak, basically.

With a masc partner:

Jeff loves the roughness of another guy. It gets him going, seeing muscle, stubble, the scent of cologne mixing with blood and sweat.

He’ll mouth off the entire time—biting, growling, egging you on to fuck him harder or letting you pin him down. He’s not going down without a hard-won fight, but the reward is very sweet.

Likes mutual marks, bruises, scrapes. Will brag about them afterward, showing off the scratches on his back like trophies.

If you pull his hair or choke him out, Jeff will see stars. He craves that power play, going from threatening to begging in seconds, and will absolutely get off on being handled roughly.

One minute he’s the predator, next he’s biting his lip and whining under you— “Fuck, harder—don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop.”

With a fem partner:

He’s a bit more possessive with femmes, leaning into that aggressive, protective energy. Grabs your hips so hard you bruise, makes you repeat you’re his while he pounds into you.

Has a filthy mouth. Absolutely loves hearing a whiny moan and gets cocky about it— “Yeah? You like that? Bet nobody else can fuck you this good.”

Worships tits, regardless if they’re big, small, on T, off T, doesn’t matter—he’s a tits guy, will bite, suck, bury his face in them. All for sucking your nipples raw while he fucks you silly.

Would get off on seeing you ride him in a mirror, praising how pretty you look while he slaps your ass.

Bonus, bi Jeff mmf threesome:

Jeff is the type to see a couple making out in some divey club bathroom or a dark party corner and wedge himself right in. He’s that guy—smirking, all attitude, dirty laughter, sizing them up before he even says a word. The girl’s pretty, the guy’s rough and masculine—Jeff wants both.

He’d kiss one, then the other, biting his lip and egging them on. “Fuck, look at you two. Wanna get out of here?”

Jeff is equal opportunity filthy. He’ll get on his knees to suck the guy off, messy and aggressive, while palming the girl’s ass or fingering her until she’s shaking. He has zero shame about getting everyone off at once, seeing who he can make cum the fastest.

Loves to watch—will pull back and just stare while the other two fuck, stroking himself, then dive in again when he can’t stand waiting.

He’s got that unhinged energy, switching partners constantly—making out with one while railing the other, then swapping. It’s messy, it’s nasty, and the other two are lucky if they can even barely keep up.

Loves spit, loves bite marks, loves rough hair pulling. You’d hear him cursing under his breath the whole time, “Shit, you feel good. Don’t fucking stop.”

Mutual marks are a must. Scratches down his back, maybe the girl leaves hickeys on his neck while the guy fists his hair and pushes him deeper. Jeff lives for that overstimulation.

Position-wise, Jeff would absolutely volunteer to be in the middle, cock sunk deep into the girl’s cunt while the guy slams his hips behind him.

Threesome daisy chains? Yup. He’s happy to suck one off while someone pounds him, growling deep and throaty with a mouthful of cum and drool.

He’d also get off on double oral—he’d hold the girl’s hair while she goes down on the guy, then get in there with her, their tongues meeting while the guy moans. Jeff is nasty.

The more people fawning over how good he fucks, the happier he is.

꩜ .ᐟ

[emberphoenixisgoingtolive]

PLEASE READ IF YOU EVER WANT OR DO HAVE KIDS

dear parents,

for disability pride month, here are some prompts for how to react if your child tells you they think they might have a disability

thanks for telling me

i can tell it was difficult for you to say and it's super brave of you to tell me

i love you so much, and i will love and support you no matter what

i'm so sorry you've been in pain/sick/dealing with these symptoms. if there's any way i can help you cope with them, please tell me

i believe that you're struggling and in pain and i trust your perception

you're a whole and wonderful person with or without disability

im proud of your disabled identity and all the parts that make you who you are

i don't know everything about this but i'll learn for you, and we can learn together!

if you think [solution/treatment/mobility aid] might help, it's worth looking into

if you're up for it, we'll research this now

do you want to see a doctor about this?

i can tell you're tired, we can talk more about this another time; right now would you like to [insert fun thing your child likes to do]

would you like to continue talking about this?

and here is how NOT to react and what NOT to say (starring things hoes (my parents) have said):

…a mobility aid? /somewhat disgusted

i don't think that will help your joints get stronger

won't it decondition you/make you worse?

*ignore your child and look into other treatment options before considering what THEY think could work best*

*listen to a doctor over your child. doctors are not always right*

*imply you don't want a disabled child, or you'd prefer they weren't disabled (key note: being disabled for a lot of us is a very important part of our identity and there is deep history, culture and solidarity in the disabled community. and even if we don't like being disabled, what message does it give us that YOU don't like a part of us? what happened to unconditional love?)*

assume that it's mother fucking psycho somatic, ahem, DAD

ADDITIONS FROM @slut-4-remuslupin:

"you think this is hard for you? How do you think *i* feel? I have to watch you like this and take you everywhere, and do xyz, and I was supposed to have my own life again after you turned 18. This is way harder on me.” how the fuck do you think WE feel being in pain/having horrible symptoms all the time????

are you sure you’re not just faking it for attention?

I think that you’re exaggerating your symptoms, there’s no way you could feel like that all the time and still do (xyz)

your problem isn’t that you’re disabled/sick, it’s that you’re lazy and you don’t exercise enough

if you just got up and exercised like a normal person you wouldn’t have these problems

If you’re really so sick that you need that [mobility aid], then you have no business going out and doing stuff, so either you do those things without [mobility aid] or you don’t do them at all

*when your child says they feel really sick, or that they’re in a lot of pain* Oh, here we go AGAIN. It’s always something.

there’s no reason why you should need prescription pain medication. When *I’m* in pain I just take Tylenol and it works fine for me

maybe we should just put you in a care home if you’re really so sick that you can’t do these basic things everyone over the age of 7 should be able to do”

EXERCISE IS NOT ALWAYS THE ANSWER!!! OFTEN TIMES IT WILL MAKE US WORSE ESPECIALLY IF WE DON'T EXERCISE IN A WAY THAT SUITS OUR BODIES!!!

ADDITION FROM @disabled-planet

don't assume it's anxiety. often times it is something completely different that gives similar symptoms (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, for example), or it can be something completely separate from anxiety symptoms. either way, trying to convince us it's anxiety and invalidating our problem is NOT the way to go

[bm571158]

Right Where You Left Me- OP81

Previous Part Next Part

Oscar's POV

When Oscar woke the next morning, the bed beside him was empty. Nearly made and the sheets were cold. If it wasn't for the smell of her perfume on the pillow beside him then he might've wondered if he'd imagined her being there at all.

There was no note, no text or any explanation. Just one minute she'd been there, and the next she was gone.

The more it happened, the more confused he became. The first time in Jeddah, he'd chalked that one up to being a mistake, the two of them hadn't been alone like that in a long time and they'd just got caught up in a moment. But the more frequently he found her in his bed, the more he was struggling to come up with excuses to justify their actions even to himself.

He wasn't sure why she kept coming back. He knew why he kept letting her in though, that one was a much easier riddle to solve. He'd never stopped loving her, never wanted to leave her in the first place. He'd spent the last couple of years kicking himself over and over for the mistake that he had made in leaving her in the first place.

He'd panicked, that was probably the simple way to put it. The pressure that had been put on him that he needed to deliver in his rookie season, the constant reminders of what a gamble McLaren had taken on him by snatching him out from underneath alpines noses. It had all been piled on, with constant reminders that he needed to prove that he was worth it and he was only going to get one chance. The reminder that he should only have one focus- proving to Zak and Andrea that they had made the right decision. No room for anything else.

He'd been told at the time it was the right thing to do. Being with him was going to impact on Daisy's career as well, he'd been warned. She'd never get the job as a motorsport reporter like she had always wanted if the world knew she was dating a driver, they would think she wasn't capable of giving an unbiased account. Then had come the suggestions that the team wouldn't like it from Oscar's end either, that they couldn't have her in the garage supporting him if they'd been worried about what she might see ending up in the news. She'd have to pick, they'd told him, Oscar or her career.

So in the end he had made the choice for her, for both of them.

A choice that he'd been living with the consequences of ever since.

He'd sort of got his head around what had happened, accepted and told himself that it had been something of a necessary sacrifice to get to where he was. But having her back there, seeing her every weekend... it was a constant reminder of everything that he used to have and was now missing.

It left him reconsidering what could've been, if he'd made a different decision.

He was still mulling it over when his mum called him that evening. He'd put her on speaker and carried on sorting out his laundry, needing to get things washed and ready to head to Spain for the final leg of the triple header.

"Hi, Mum." He greeted her.

"Hey, Osc." She said softly into the phone. "Just checking in, you've been pretty quiet this week. You okay?"

"Uh... yeah... yeah, I'm alright I guess." Oscar mumbled. "I'm just packing to go to Spain."

"You must be tired, it's been a long couple of weeks, hey?"

"Yeah." Oscar yawned. "I'll be glad when this one of over and I get a couple of weeks off."

There was a long pause before she spoke again. "Are you sure you're okay, Oscar?"

"I.... I fucked up." He admitted with a sigh, still quietly folding his laundry as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Are you going to tell me what actually happened so I can help?" His mum asked. "Or just leave me with this very vague statement that means nothing at all and leave me to worry about what you might've done?"

He paused for a moment, unsure if he really wanted to tell her. He could only imagine what his mum was going to have to say about the whole thing.

"I uh... Daisy's been in the paddock the last couple of months." He admitted quietly.

"Daisy? As in Daisy?" She asked, unable to hide the surprise in her tone. It had been a long time since he'd spoken that name.

"Yeah, that Daisy." He sighed. "She uh... it's confusing, having her there."

"Have you spoken to her?" His mum asked curiously.

Oscar couldn't stop the nervous chuckle that escaped him in time.

"I'll take that as a yes." His mum commented when he still didn't say anything.

He figured at this point she already knew that there was something going on, and he may as well at least partially confess.

"It's uh... it's a mess." He sighed.

"Use actual words and explain to me, Oscar." She encouraged. "Or I'm getting on a plane and I'll come and find out for myself in Spain."

"That's a pretty long flight just to come and interrogate me." He commented sarcastically.

"Yeah, well... needs must and all that. Start talking and then maybe you'll save me the trip."

"She uh... her and Lando were... I don't know, you know what Lando's like." Oscar mumbled. "And then he uh... he got drunk and ditched her in a club and I gave her a lift back and we started talking..." he paused trying to consider his words, not willing to even think about telling his mum what had actually gone on.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess that talking is code for something else... but carry on."

"It's messy." He admitted. "Lando really likes her, he's got no idea who she is though. I've got no idea how she feels about Lando, but then she keeps turning up here and we're just kind of... I don't know, not really talking about what happened or what it means."

His mum was quiet on the end of the phone for what felt like a very long time.

"You know, you never did tell us what happened on the first place." She asked curiously. "One minute everything was fine, the next minute you're telling me that you're driving for McLaren and Daisy's no where to be seen."

Oscar paused for a moment, halfway through folding his shirt. "I uh... I did something really stupid. That's what happened." Was all he could offer.

There was another brief pause on the end of the phone. "Alright, that's it. I'm coming to Barcelona."

"Mum..." he protested. The only thing worse than having Daisy and Lando in the paddock and all the rest of that drama, had to be the thought of adding his mum to it as well.

"Don't say it like that." She laughed quietly. "I don't see you nearly as often as I'd like, and it sounds like you need someone to talk to about this. Maybe you can even win the race for me to see while I'm there."

"You're not going to change your mind, are you?" He asked with a sigh of resignation.

"Nope." He could hear her smiling through the phone. "So sort me a pass out, I'll see you Thursday!"

"What's wrong with you today?" Lando asked, rushing into the car that was going to take them to the track at the last minute, after they'd sat there waiting for him for at least fifteen minutes.

"Nothing." Oscar shrugged.

"Mate, you're even more grumpy than usual. We haven't even started the media stuff yet." Lando laughed.

"My mum is coming this weekend." Oscar admitted with a groan. "I'm just... I don't know, thinking of all the way she's going to interrogate me."

"Nice!" Lando grinned. "What's the special occasion? We don't see her on this side of the world that often."

"There isn't one." Oscar shook his head. "She's just... I don't know, I don't know what she's doing. Doesn't matter."

"You might want to try and look a little bit more excited to see her when she does show up." Lando suggested.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Oscar muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm hoping she got in late enough that she won't show up at the track until tomorrow and I can have a day of peace."

"Yeah, then you can help me try and win Daisy back." Lando suggested.

"What?" Oscar's head snapped around to look at his teammate in surprise. "I thought... did you not tell me a week ago that she didn't want anything to do with you?"

"Yeah, but..." Lando shrugged. "I've been thinking about it and clearly her ex was a right idiot for letting her go. I just need to show her that I'm not the same."

"You literally forgot you took her with you and left her in a club on her own in a foreign country a few weeks ago." Oscar pointed out. "That's hardly boyfriend material."

"Yeah, but I'm a changed man now." Lando said confidently. "You know me, I never make the same mistake twice."

"I'm sure you'll find plenty of others to make instead." Oscar muttered. "Why her?" He asked curiously.

"What do you mean why her?" Lando asked with a frown.

"You heard me." Oscar told him. "There's been so many girls and you're never bothered about any of them. They don't even stick around for long enough for me to learn their names half the time and now, the one woman that doesn't want you and you decide that you're committed?"

"It's all part of the fun." Lando answered with a smirk. "I like a challenge."

Oscar let out a sigh. "You really need to get some new hobbies mate."

The paddock was fairly quiet and he wandered along beside Lando, the conversation having thankfully turned towards the race weekend rather than Lando's pursuit of the woman Oscar was in love with.

And then the two of them had walked into the McLaren hospitality unit to find his mum already standing there waiting for him, and Oscar had contemplated just running away.

"Good to see you again, Mrs P." Lando grinned, giving her a hug. "I'll catch you guys later, I'm going to buy a coffee and see if I can find Daisy."

Lando was gone before anyone could answer him, Oscar turning to his mum who was giving him a knowing look.

"Don't." He sighed, shaking his head and walking up the stairs to go to his drivers room to put his bag down, his mum hot on his heels.

"Are you really never going to tell him?" She asked curiously.

"Daisy would've told him by now if she wanted him to know." Oscar pointed out. "Maybe she does like him? She obviously doesn't want him to know about me and her so... I don't know, I told you on the phone it was a mess."

"Yeah and then I just saw your face when Lando mentioned her... you're going to have to say something, Oscar."

He tossed his bag down, turning around to face his mum as she closed the door to his drivers room behind her, leaving the two of them alone in the small space.

"I've tried, alright." He sighed miserably. "But I don't know what to say, don't know how to explain why I did what I did... I'm not even sure that it was the wrong decision to focus on my career, and I'm not sure that things are any different now. I'm leading the championship and I should be focused on that not... I don't know, whatever this is. I don't think anything's really changed, even if I wish it had. I can't give her what she wants, or what she deserves, and I don't know... maybe Lando can. She deserves to be happy."

Daisy's POV

The heat in Spain was stifling. She'd had to go back to London to go to the office inbetween Monaco and Barcelona, and that in turn had meant getting a 4am flight out that morning to get to the track in time. She hadn't made it as far as her hotel to get changed, she was exhausted and hungry, hadn't even managed to get a coffee and her patience was wearing thin.

The big story of the weekend? Which one of the McLaren drivers was going to walk away with the lead of the drivers championship at the end of the  triple header.

Daisy had been quietly hoping for something, anything else, to happen during the course of the week. Another team to replace a driver, a shock resignation... anything that might give her something else to write about.

But no, it was all eyes on McLaren this weekend.

And as if she'd summoned him by thinking about it, Lando appeared out of nowhere.

"Hey!" He grinned, holding out a takeaway coffee cup. "I brought you this."

"Thanks." She looked at him in surprise, taking the much needed coffee. "Does this mean I look as tired as I feel?"

"I always think you look gorgeous." Lando winked, and she felt herself blush. "I just... you know... I've been looking forward to seeing you all week, I thought I'd surprise you."

"That's very sweet of you." She smiled. "But Lando, I meant what I said in Monaco."

"I know." He nodded. "But I'm pretty sure that eventually you'll change your mind, and I can wait."

"Lando... it's not..." she trailed off, taking a sip of her coffee. "It's not that simple, and I meant it. We can be friends, but that's it. I'm not... I'm not out to get my heart broken again."

"You don't need to make your mind up now." He offered again. "I didn't bring you a coffee to trick you into anything, I just... I wanted to come and say hi."

"Thank you for the coffee, Lando." She said softly.

"I'd uh... I'd better go." Lando mumbled. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, I'll be there to interrogate you in the media pen later." She joked.

"My favourite part of every weekend." Lando called back with a wink, heading off into the paddock.

Daisy was still mulling over the conversation with Lando, trying to figure out in her own head what she really wanted, when she heard a familiar voice behind her, one that she hadn't heard in a long time.

"Nicole?" She turned to look at Oscar's mum in surprise. She didn't know why it hadn't occurred to her that she might run into his family, it should've been obvious that they were going to be around, they'd always been around back when she used to be the one in the garage cheering him on as well.

"I thought it was you!" Nicole smiled, walking the last couple of steps to catch up to Daisy. "You've cut your hair."

"Yeah, I guess it's been a while since I last saw you." Daisy mumbled.

She knew exactly how long it had been since she had last seen the Piastri family. It had been the Christmas before Oscar left her, when they'd spent a couple of weeks laughing and joking with his family as though everything were completely fine.

"How are you doing?" Nicole asked. "Oscar told me you're here working?"

Daisy nodded. "Filling in for a colleague for a few months, his wife is pregnant and he couldn't do all the travel. He needed to be at home with her."

"I see, well... that's a great opportunity for you." Nicole smiled kindly. "It's good to see you doing so well."

"Thanks, Nicole." Daisy smiled softly. "It's uh... it's been weird being back, seeing Oscar... I still don't, I don't really know what I'm doing here to be honest."

"Oscar told me that Lando's got a bit of a thing for you as well." Nicole raised an eyebrow and Daisy felt herself blushing.

"That's not... I'm not going to start anything with his teammate. That wouldn't be fair." Daisy shook her head. "You don't need to say it."

"I wasn't going to say it." Nicole shook her head. "I still don't really know what happened with you and Oscar, he still won't tell me and to be honest I'm not sure it's any of my business. But whatever it was, as much as I loved the two of you together and I can still see that look on his face when he talks about you... you deserve to be happy, Daisy. And if you think that's with Lando, or Oscar or someone else entirely.... You should do what makes you happy."

"It's all.... It's all so complicated." Daisy sighed miserably. "Lando's lovely but... I don't know. I've been thinking about telling work I need to go back to my old assignment. It's been... being here has been a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. If I'd known it was going to be like this I don't think I would've ever agreed to come in the first place."

Nicole was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "Well, you've got to do what's right for you. But I know for one that my son might not say it, but he'll really miss having you around every weekend if you do decide to go."

Daisy glanced down at her watch quickly, before shooting Nicole an apologetic smile. "I'd uh... I've got to go, sorry. It's been lovely to see you though."

"I'm here all weekend, I'm sure we can find some more time to catch up properly." Nicole called. "And Daisy?"

"Yeah?" Daisy paused for half a step to look back at her.

"For what it's worth, whatever he did... I really don't think he ever meant to hurt you like that."

[gmasttin]

Win a Date With Mbappé! | Kylian Mbappé fic

|Summary: You never expected to win a dinner with Kylian Mbappé — especially since your best friend Nora actually won it and had to give you the chance instead. Suddenly, you’re thrown into a world of flashing cameras, elite football stars, and endless self-doubt. Between your chaotic office life, a complicated present with Javi, and the magnetic pull of one of the world’s most famous athletes, you have to figure out if this unexpected date is just a fleeting fantasy. Or the start of something real.

|3.6k words

|A/n: I lost all I had written for my bbys from my previous fic. I got a little sad and mad, to be honest didn’t feel with the energy to rewrite everything again. So I decided to start a new one, this one is already finished and secured. And omg I’ve grown to love these kids. Based on Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!, saw it a Sunday with my friend and thought “why not?”

CHAPTER 1

You have one foot halfway into your pants and the other dangerously close to slipping on a shirt that's been abandoned on the floor for two days. The fabric catches your heel; you make a movement that, in another life, would be an acrobatic feat, and the word “fuck” slips out of your mouth in a tight whisper, like someone is secretly recording you, and you’re desperately trying to keep your dignity.

“Are you alive?” Nora asks from the speakerphone, her voice echoing from the dresser in your room, with that morning enthusiasm fueled only by chaos or way too much caffeine.

You manage to pull your pants up while regaining your balance, swallowing hard as if the universe could hear you stumble through your own life. You walk over to the phone, set it down more securely, then step back, now searching for the least wrinkled shirt hanging in your wardrobe. Nothing like a Monday.

“Do you know what time it is?” you ask, struggling with a sleeve that’s on backwards.

“Do you know the news I have?” she replies, like she just discovered life on Mars.

There’s a three-second silence. Three seconds in which you decide that the striped shirt is decent enough to survive another workday without HR intervening.

“What happened? Did you win the lottery?”

“Almost,” she says, and you can hear her smile. “I won a giveaway.”

That explains the excitement in her tone. Nora is the kind of person who responds to every “tag three friends” on Instagram, genuinely hoping that this time it’s for real. She once won a trip to Lisbon, though it was canceled due to “logistical problems.” In her defense, Lisbon still exists.

“Another giveaway? What was it this time? A year of free bread? An air fryer?”

“A dinner.”

You stare at her—or rather, at the phone as if it could look back at you—while you search for the socks that were definitely there five minutes ago.

“A dinner? Where? Here in Madrid?”

“With Kylian Mbappé.”

You freeze. Not because you’re cold, though you don’t rule out that the floor of your room might be contributing to your temporary paralysis. You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard right. Dinner. Mbappé. The football player. The real deal, not a wax figure at Madame Tussauds.”

“I know who Mbappé is, Nora,” you say, your tone louder than necessary. Your fingers fumble with your shoelaces, and you’re sure that if you have a meltdown now, your body will curl up fetal-style in front of the closet.

“Well, I won a dinner with him! Some Nike campaign or something! You had to tag people in the comments, and I tagged my entire family tree! I even tagged my grandma. Literally.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, still half barefoot, trying to process the information.

“And…?”

“And I can’t go,” she says, her voice dropping in volume. “I have a double shift the night of the dinner, and if I ask for the day off again, Raquel will kill me and then fire me.”

You stare at her like she can see you through the phone. What she says next is like throwing a Molotov cocktail into a birthday party.

“So you’re going.”

A second passes. Then another. In your head, you hear the classic Windows error beep. And then:

“I’m… what?”

“You’re going. To the dinner. I gave you all my info when I filled out the form for that weird job, so technically you could be me for an hour without the world collapsing. Besides, who’s going to notice the difference? We’re just as pretty!” she says with that irrational enthusiasm only people have when they truly believe a plan will work out just because.

“Nora, you’re crazy!”

“And you’re single, no plans on Thursday, and you still use that foundation you stole from me two months ago. I don’t see the problem.”

You get up, cross the room again, grab your bag, and leave the phone on the bed while you stuff things in without looking. Your brain trails behind. Kylian Mbappé. The Kylian Mbappé. The one from Real Madrid. The one who moves millions with one leg.

“This is crazy.”

“So what?” she answers. “Isn’t that exactly what you need? A good kind of crazy. Or do you prefer to keep drinking instant coffee in front of your laptop, wondering if Javi will text you after work or not?” 

The name makes you purse your lips unwillingly. Javi. The last thing you need is for him to come up before eight in the morning.

“It’s not that simple,” you answer, lowering your voice.

“You spend your whole life waiting for things to happen. Well, something happened. Don’t mess it up.”

Silence. You look in the mirror, seeing someone still with a messy bun and dark circles from a week of Excel sheets and pointless calls. It was just a dinner. One night with someone who will probably never see you again. 

You sigh.

“What should I wear?”

Nora’s victory scream almost deafens you.

You chuckle softly as you hang up. Nora has that ability to shove you out of your comfort zone with the enthusiasm of a toddler overdosed on sugar. You leave your phone on the bed, finish adjusting your pants, and gather your bun with an elastic that miraculously survived the night.

On your way to the bathroom, a thousand questions flood your mind. What’s a dinner with Kylian Mbappé really like? Do you eat from normal plates? Does he talk like he does in interviews, or like a regular person? What if there are other winners and it’s a group dinner? What if you have to pretend to know football and end up saying VAR is a type of drink?

While you brush your teeth, you look at yourself in the mirror, half asleep, with yesterday’s mascara smudging beneath your eyelids. You don’t look particularly dazzling. You don’t look like the kind of person who dines with superstars. You look exactly like what you are: a girl with an office job, a friend who’s a little too convincing, and a romantic history best summarized as “bad timing”.

An hour later, you’re leaving the house with a half-eaten energy bar, headphones on, and that typical unnecessary rush of someone who always arrives three minutes late even though their place is ten minutes away by foot.

The sky is gray but not threatening rain. For some reason, that cheers you up.

Your office is on a street where every business seems ready to shut down. A sad stationery store, a café that opens whenever it feels like it, and a dog grooming shop that smells like cheap shampoo from the doorway. You work on the third floor of a nondescript building for a company that does things as unexciting as data management and report analysis. A job you don’t hate, but wouldn’t brag about on a dinner date with, say, a Real Madrid striker.

When you enter, you greet the receptionist with a nod and take the stairs because the elevator has been making noises that probably aren’t legal for weeks.

Your desk is in the corner. Computer, a dying plant, and a pen that won’t write. Home sweet home.

Javi is already at his spot, two desks down. He’s wearing his headphones and looks very focused on his screen, though you know he’s probably watching recipe videos or old matches. He has that kind of face that seems genuinely interested in what you do, even when he’s not. You like him. Sometimes too much.

“You’re late,” he says without looking up but smiling.

“I’m on time. The universe is slow, not me.”

You sit down, turn on your computer, and hear him take off his headphones. He does it slowly. He always takes his time with everything. That makes you nervous.

“What’s with the mood?”

“My best friend won a dinner with Kylian Mbappé.”

Javi frowns, then lets out a little nasal laugh.

“Sure. And you’re Beyoncé.”

“No, seriously. It’s a Nike giveaway. She won, but she can’t go. So... she wants me to go.”

Now he looks at you. Eyes wide, one eyebrow starting to climb up his forehead.

“You? Dinner with Mbappé?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And you know who he is?”

“I know who he is! I’m not a hermit! He plays football. Runs really fast. Good abs… Nora sent me a picture once.”

“Very helpful, Wikipedia.”

“I don’t need to know more. I’m not arguing offside with someone who makes millions scoring goals.”

“And you’re going?”

The question hangs in the air. You realize you don’t have a definite answer. Part of you still hopes this is an elaborate joke from Nora.

“I think so. I mean… why not?”

“Because it’s Mbappé.”

“Exactly because it’s Mbappé.”

Javi looks at you with an expression you can’t quite tell if it’s jealousy, concern, or that weird mix of both. He crosses his arms and nods but says nothing else. Neither do you. You turn back to your monitor as if this morning’s Excel could give you answers.

Throughout the day, you get three messages from Nora. One with a screenshot confirming the giveaway, undeniable proof that this is no joke. Another with the restaurant’s address—a place whose name alone makes you feel out of place just reading it. And a third, a passive-aggressive threat: “If you don’t go, I’m deleting you from everywhere and my will. By order of Nike.”

You don’t reply right away. You shove your phone into a drawer like you’re locking away a wild cat and force yourself to focus. But it’s useless. Every blink of the cursor on your screen becomes a reminder of how surreal all this is.

Meanwhile, Javi behaves with a suspicious kind of cordiality. He doesn’t make any of his usual jokes, doesn’t peek at your screen with an “Are you working or just pretending?”, nor does he leave you a post-it with a sad face when you go to the bathroom. He’s acting weird. Too nice. Like he’s waiting for something that never comes, or holding back from saying what he really thinks. At first, you tell yourself maybe he’s just having a bad day — maybe he didn’t sleep well, maybe he argued with his sister, or maybe he fought with the oven again. But as the hours pass, while you keep glancing at him from the corner of your eye as he pretends to focus completely on an empty Excel sheet, you start to suspect that’s not it. He doesn’t look distracted, nor bored, nor annoyed with the world. He looks… tense. Like he’s got something stuck in his teeth he doesn’t dare spit out.

And that, coming from Javi, is unusual. Really weird. Because Javi is the kind of guy who always has something to say, even when it’s not the right time. He’s the one who lightens the mood when everyone wants to jump out the window, who fills silences with nonsense and mediocre jokes that somehow still make you laugh. But not today. Today, he’s… restrained. Controlled. Like he doesn’t want to let even one extra word out, afraid that all the others will follow. If joking with you hurts him a little. Like something has changed.

And worst of all, you notice it, too. You notice it in how you type slower, how you triple-check every email before sending it, as if your inbox could somehow reflect you. How, for the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say to him. And that pisses you off. It pisses you off because he’s supposed to be your usual refuge, your constant. The guy who helps you ignore the absurdity of your days. But now he seems part of the chaos. Or at least, a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit like before.

When you get up to refill your water bottle, you do it almost with relief. You want to move, do something physical, distract your body to shut up your head. 

Crossing the narrow hallway between your desk and the tiny communal kitchen feels like an expedition, and just as you reach the door, you feel his presence behind you. No need to turn around. You know. Javi has that way of approaching silently, without imposing, but making himself known. Like a warm breeze slipping in through a crack in the window. You pause for a second, hoping it’s just coincidence. That he wants to make coffee or grab a snack from the machine. But no. He leans on the door frame, hands in pockets, head tilted. And that half-smile you’re not sure is his or just a badly worn mask.

“So, a dinner with Mbappé?” he says quietly, like he’s talking about something more intimate than it is, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

You keep your back to him, filling your bottle from the faucet that drips lightly and shudders when you close it. 

You can’t help but notice how shabby everything is: the tape-stuck sign saying “Wash your cup” with a hand-drawn smiley face, the microwave that’s survived three office moves, the coffee maker that never works right. The contrast between all that and the phrase “dinner with Mbappé” is so big it almost makes you laugh.

“It’s not like he asked me himself,” you reply without turning, trying to keep your tone neutral, though you know something in your voice vibrates a little higher than usual. “It was a giveaway. On Instagram. The ones you never win. But Nora did. It’s not a date.”

“Sure. But still… it’s pretty intense, isn’t it?”

Then you do turn, lean your back against the counter, and look at him. Javi’s a step away, that body that isn’t huge but takes up space, that look that fakes indifference, but has never fully fooled you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, though you already have an idea.

He shrugs, like he always does when he says something he’s not sure if he wants to say out loud. That gesture of his, making him look more boy than man, though you know inside he holds a tangled mess he rarely shares.

“Nothing. It’s Mbappé. And you.”

“And me what?”

“Nothing,” he says again, and that word, repeated, annoys you more than if he’d said something horrible. “Just… it’s weird. Suddenly. Do you want to go?”

He asks in a soft, sincere tone, so unguarded it throws you off. Because he’s not being sarcastic. He’s not joking. He’s… genuinely asking. Like he wants to understand. Like the answer matters to him.

And that, coming from him, is unusual.

“I don’t know,” you answer after a pause that feels longer than it should. “What would you do?”

“I wouldn’t go have dinner with someone I don’t know.”

“And if it was Beyoncé?”

“If it was Beyoncé, I’d faint before dessert.”

This time you smile, barely. He does too. But the smile doesn’t last. It fades quickly, like it doesn’t have permission to stay. Because underneath still beats something. A discomfort neither of you knows how to say out loud. And there, standing in that tiny kitchen with fluorescent light and the smell of burnt coffee, you feel something like sadness. Or maybe guilt. Or both.

You don’t say anything else. And neither does he. You just cross your arms, shift the bottle from one hand to the other, and then slip back down the hallway to your desk without looking back. Not because you’re angry. But because you don’t know what else to do with everything that just happened without being said.

The rest of the day becomes a silent set where you pretend to work, while your mind keeps replaying that scene on loop. Each time with new interpretations, new possible meanings. Was he annoyed? Did he not care? Is he jealous? Did you hurt him? And you? Why does what he says or doesn’t say affect you so much? Since when do you actually care about Javi this much?

At six, you grab your bag without saying goodbye. Javi stays in his spot, headphones on, eyes lost in something you can’t see from your angle. For a second, you hesitate, hand on the door, hoping he’ll say something. Stop you. Throw a dumb joke or a passive-aggressive comment your way. Something to bring back normalcy. But he doesn’t. He just turns the music volume up a notch, and you leave without looking back.

Your feet carry you to Gran Vía without you even trying. You walk on autopilot, surrounded by people rushing by, couples whispering heatedly, tourists taking pictures of everything. The sky is still dyed a gray that won’t rain but threatens to. A Madrid gray — one of those that doesn’t apologize for existing.

You step into a clothing store. An expensive one. One you normally just walk past because you don’t need more reminders of how tight your budget is. But today, you don’t care. Today, you want to do something that breaks the logic of your usual decisions.

You sift through racks smelling of new clothes. Looking for something that resonates with the fancy name of that Madrid restaurant where the dinner will be. Nothing too expensive (your wallet wouldn’t handle it). Nothing too bold. But nothing that screams “Monday to Friday filing spreadsheets” either.

And then you see it: a black dress, no unnecessary frills, with a soft drape and a neckline elegant enough not to look forced. You grab it like you found it by accident, not quite sure if it’s your size or your style.

You try it on. The fitting room has a huge mirror and unforgiving light. You look at yourself. You don’t look like someone else. But you don’t look like your everyday self, either. It’s a version of you with a little more faith. One that’s not that afraid of everything.

You buy it. Without looking much at the price. Without justifying it.

You put it in the bag like it’s a secret you’re willing to keep until Thursday. And head home.

At home, you hang it up with a delicacy you didn’t know you had, slowly, almost respectfully, on the wardrobe door handle. The dress falls with silent elegance, letting the fabric form a perfect curve against the chipped white wood. 

You step back a little and watch it from your bed, lying on your side, as if facing a wild, shining creature you don’t know if it’ll let itself be tamed or if, at the slightest attempt, it’ll devour you whole. It’s there, hanging like an irreversible decision. Like a promise or a trap. And you, unmoving, barely blinking, look at it feeling small, almost like an impostor, like any moment someone will burst into your room yelling you’ve made a mistake, that it’s not for you, that you should give it back.

You try to distract yourself with the usual. You open a book you can’t read because the words slip past your eyes without leaving a trace. Start a series you’ve wanted to watch for months but get bored of in five minutes. Then you get up, not really knowing why, and start sorting the sock drawer. Folding, pairing, tossing the ones without matches. It’s a mechanical, absurd task that doesn’t need brain or heart — just what you seem to have too much of right now.

But your mind, even in the middle of this senseless choreography, doesn’t stop. Ideas fall on you one after the other, like someone left a window open during a storm.

You think about the dinner. How it’ll be. If he’ll speak Spanish or if the whole encounter will take place in awkward English, your English even worse, full of uncomfortable silences, of sentences that don’t sound the way you want. You wonder if he’ll be kind, if he’ll know how to break the ice, if he’ll expect you to talk about football or if he’d rather you not mention it. If you’ll get nervous and drop your glass of water or if, for once, you’ll manage to act naturally. You wonder if all of this is overwhelming you, and you just haven’t realized it yet.

You think about Javi. Not about what he said, but about what he didn’t say. That lack of words that weighed more than any of his careless jokes. You think about his face, how he looked at you in the kitchen, with that mix of surprise and distance, as if suddenly you were someone he didn’t recognize. You wonder if he cared. If he felt pushed aside. If he wanted to tell you something and swallowed it. And, above all, you wonder why it hurts you so much. Why his silence affected you more than this whole absurd situation.

Then you think about Nora. How she burst into your morning like an earthquake with mascara. How, barely letting you choose, she pushed you into something you would never have sought out on your own. And, weirdly enough, you’re glad. Because if you had had to decide alone, you would have said no. That it was madness. That it didn’t suit you. That it was for another kind of person — people who don’t trip putting on pants or buy dresses with the tags still hanging in case they change their minds later. Nora knows you well enough to know you don’t trust yourself as much as you should. And she makes up for it by trusting twice as much. Always.

[ghouljams]

Hope this isn’t weird but I struggle a lot with writing horror. I’m trying to take a crack at it but I don’t think I’m writing it as scary and well… horrific as it should be. Is there any genre that you struggle with as well? I’m watching YouTube to listen to other authors but it’s just not clicking for me. I can see the scene in my head but writing it is like

It’s night. He chased. He had knife. She saw, she screamed and ran. Scary laugh.

I wish I could just beam the scene from my head onto my screen. Any tips in general would be extremely appreciated!!!! Maybe it’s my verbs and adjectives that are off… fuck if I know.

My best tip for writing horror is this "Get rid of the 'and then' in your head"

This goes for all genre writing but is something I see a lot of people struggle with in horror specifically. When you're writing a scene you know the progression of events, so the struggle is in the "how." As in how are you going to make those events seamlessly blend together? Every effect should have a cause.

It's night. He chased. He had a knife. She saw, she screamed and ran. Scary laugh.

How do you make all of that blend? How do you get rid of the "and then?" My go-to is diving into descriptors. Hard. I mean over describe everything you can think of and then clean it up in editing.

The night is dark and cold, a mist is starting to settle over the pavement. Jacket weather, but she'd been hoping that taking the dog out would be quick. The air nips at her exposed skin and she shivers.

Oooooh, aaaaaaah, atmosphere and perhaps a lead into the building suspense?

She paces the block with her dog, one arm tight across her chest to try and keep the chill at bay. The dog turns the corner at the end of the street a fifth time without peeing. She eyes her building's front door longingly before letting her gaze dart down the alley. Afraid of the darkness the broken streetlight provides, she's formed a nasty habit of looking where she shouldn't. A flame bursts through the dark to light a cigarette, one of her neighbors out for their last smoke before bed. She hopes.

Just like build and build and build. Why does she notice the man with the knife? What started the chase? Why is she out at night in the first place? Everything should feel like it has a place in the story and not just because it happens next. We've introduced a fear, we've established why our woman is out alone, maybe the reader will assume she's in a dangerous part of the city from just a few dropped words (her building's front door, the alley, broken streetlights) and that will give reason to suspect that the person in the alley could be dangerous.

You know why you would be afraid in the scene, so put your fear and emotions out there.

[daily-dusttale]

Day 102 - cringe is dead and everything I do is self-indulgent have a DustDust

Dusttale by Ask-Dusttale

You might be wondering why mother funking Blueberry is there. I will get to that.

Anyways, I was going to make a kinda cool, fabulous drawing with DustDust, but then I struggled so hard with making the design enough that I scrapped that. That will be done the day after tomorrow(hopefully) because I wanna draw HK!Dusttale tomorrow.

Now onto this kitty’s design. I’m calling him a cat because on my first pass(which you can see in the upper right), his eyes looked so wide and adorable like that of a cat. And I always associate DT!Sans(and honestly Sans in general) with cats, sooooooo self-indulgence won. He is my little meow meow. All Dust/Murder Sanses are.

Now actually onto his design, I used his more popular design to base this off of. He doesn’t have black bones tho. He does keep that Cheshire-like face, because that’s what it looks like, I don’t make the rules. He has a hoodie and not a jacket because like…I like it. Duh. Just like a Swap!Paps, lamo. And I gave him boots because those are easier for me to draw :)

And now onto the bow! There is a bow because I draw a little bell on him, and I couldn’t just leave it like that. And it makes him look cute and I am a sucker for cute things.

Now let’s talk about BlueBerry!Sans here.

I thought it would be funny if the only “friend” DustDust had was that creature.

That’s it.

Also because of the memes where BBS is just a menace to the multiverse is extremely funny to me. I am doing that too. BBS is mostly harmless, honestly, but he just has the ability to make everyone around him fear him as a defense mechanism. He teams up with DDS because he’s actually powerful. Also, BBS isn’t actually a Sans, but his code does shove him under the category of one. He did that to his code intentionally. Actual menace. Also blueberries are fucking purple(randy feltface reference(but they kinda are tho)).

Also the Racist DustDust meme. Found out about it while researching him. It’s so stupid it’s actually a bit funny. He’s not actually racist.

I um. Think that’s all I wanna say. Tell me what other popular Dusttale!Sans variants there are you want me to draw or like talk about. I vaguely know of D+? I think he’s a a DT variant? Eh, just ask me about Dusttale shit and I’ll probably answer xD

[kiefbowl]

Re: the bonding post, I thought it was just woowoo at first but babies believe their mother is a physically part of their body for at least the first 3 months. attaching the baby in skin contact helps them with healthier, faster development. But being separated is linked to infant mortality and other less dire issues, like they forget breathing, swallowing, pooping, etc because mom was doing that for them. It's like getting suddenly unconnected from bluetooth lol. It's why newborn adoptions and surrogacy babies have so many inexplicable health/psychological issues and why babies who are worn 24/7 are stronger and healthier mentally/physically.

That post was not about doubting bonding, or how important it is. It was about how that information is put into the world, how it's received, and how it's used to make women feel a certain way about motherhood and their own abilities and perceptions of reality. Of course bonding with a baby is important, no....fucking shit. duh. like no fucking shit lmao.

I said I don't think immediately bonding is a dire emergency that is going to determine absolutely her relationship with her child, especially when her life is dynamic and has other factors, like a potential dead-beat partner. Obviously if a baby is ripped from its mother forever, that is extremely different than a woman who can't hold her baby right away because of some sort of unexpected event, who then gets to hold her baby, like, idk...a few hours later. It might be extremely upsetting for her (or not), but that's not going to change the trajectory of her baby's life all that much. And I think, as a feminist, it's important to see mothers' struggles with motherhood as not necessarily some scientific goof up where something went wrong in the micro seconds of her pregnancy or labor or immediate bonding of her child, but as actually rather expected and pedestrian at best, and at worst systematic. I'm saying mothers can have a hard time mothering, and is it useful (as a feminist, not a scientist who is explicitly studying the bio-mechanics of this shit) to say "well that's generally normal, and also maybe you are not being supported and the expectations are too high for you to be experiencing this as some magical transformation, and maybe you just need some help with laundry and your husband sucks ass actually." And I think a lot of mothers are encouraged to needlessly self-deprecate and see everything as their own failures.

I am a little annoyed at these responses because I think I wrote that post clear, despite its casualness. Like I didn't at any point call bonding "woo", and so it's annoying that you think I did.

[benz12313]

Letters From Home pt.2-Ridoc x Reader🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You are struggling to deal with the lingering emotion from after being tortured and those stupid letters from home. Ridoc gets tired of watching you, and decides to take matters into his own capable hands.

Warnings: ‼️(MDNI) 18+ explicit content‼️, talk about extreme violence and torture, pain seeking behavior, self-harm thoughts? (not quite sure if this counts or not), abusive/shitty parents, talk of death, talk about friendship angst, mental health struggles, grief, dom!Ridoc, slight chubby!reader, use of pet names (babe, baby, princess, Good Girl, etc.), rough spanking and subsequent emotional release, p in v, dumbification (not sure if this fits, but also it fits, just not degrading her about it), this is just pure filth, okay?, okay

Author's Note: So I'm ovulating and like why not come back to tumblr with a bang now that I'm feeling better. 😅🤣 In all seriousness though, I loved writing this part of this mini-series. He's so sweet to the reader, I can barely believe I wrote this. 🥹🥹🥹

Part One

Word Count: 6,438

I sighed, twirling my pen in my hand as I sat through history, Ridoc on one side of me and Sawyer on the other. It’d been a few weeks since our…fight? Confrontation? He’d apologized the next day, and so had I. In fact I apologized to them all, after Ridoc explained everything in more detail. Something that he did begrudgingly, wanting to spare me from the truth, but I’d begged him to tell me everything.

I had either blacked out or gotten a concussion that knocked the sense out of me, but I’d begged her to keep hitting me, using my signet to manipulate her emotions so she wouldn’t stop.

Ridoc had lost his shit, realizing that I wasn’t all there. That even though I had nearly lost consciousness my signet hadn’t stopped. So he’d yanked at his chains, destroying the skin on his wrists until his thumbs had broken, allowing him out of his cuffs.

He’d then beaten the interrogator, until the other one came in and he shifted to protecting me instead. They stopped their assault on me, but chained him up again, cuffs tighter this time so he couldn’t slip through. Then Varrish was called in, hours later, and it wasn’t long after him that Violet had passed out and Nolan was called to mend Ridoc, Violet, and I. 

But during that time where the exercise continued they’d had to just watch my limp body lay on the ground. My breaths shallow enough that they didn’t know if I was alive or dead.

They spent eight hours like that. 

Even though Violet and Ridoc had assured me that it wasn’t my fault, that I’d been in shock and thrust into a hard situation with no good outcomes…I could still feel Rhiannon and Sawyer’s disappointment.

Even when Violet tried to explain that they just didn’t understand, that they’d been terrified; I still felt like I’d fucked up. I should have spoken up. I should have told someone. I shouldn’t have pretended like everything was fine.

I shouldn’t have dived headfirst into the pain, like it was a fucking lifeline. 

I’d been quiet since, and while I wasn’t on Violet protection duty…one of the others was always nearby. Usually Ridoc, unless it was his turn to protect Violet from Varrish, then usually Rhiannon. Occasionally Sawyer, but the guilt pulled at me too much, my outburst had terrified him the most, or at least, he had been the loudest about his fear. Rhiannon had expressed similar fear, when we’d said our sorries. Violet understood, but had been scared too. Ridoc hadn’t spoken of his feelings about it at all, but he’d obviously been shaken.

Thumbs don’t break every day after all.

But he hadn’t spoken of his side of things, only opting to be a steady force for me to turn to. Not that I had to ‘turn to’ him when he hardly left me alone. I’d spent two nights in his room until my door had been fixed. (Luckily Dain hadn’t asked too many questions, probably made aware of the full situation.) Then I practically had to unattach Ridoc from my hip so I could have my own space again. Even if it was concerningly lonely sleeping without my best friend by my side, it was still nice to have alone time. 

Even with my friends surrounding me, I’d been struggling. Yes I was still grieving, but with that, the urge for pain…persisted. Even when I wish it wouldn’t. The urge to lose my thoughts and fears and feelings became too much, too often. I’d been working with Rhiannon on the mat, or joining Violet and Imogen in lifting weights; working out until Ridoc would have to help me back to my room so I could pass out. But nothing really brought me out of my head for more than an hour or two afterwards. 

I always came right back to wanting a fist in my face. Wishing I was chained back in that room. It terrified me. I didn’t want to get hurt, I just wanted to forget. Pain was the only thing that had made me actually forget. 

“You coming?” Ridoc asked teasingly, standing next to me as I realized our friends were watching us at the door. His curls were getting longer, almost blocking his eyes which were carefully taking me in. Definitely needed a trim. 

“Yeah, sorry.” My voice came out quieter than normal, and I cursed myself as his eyes softened further. Damnit. Now he definitely wouldn’t be leaving me be to study this evening. 

“Go ahead guys!” He called over his shoulder, breaking his gaze for only a moment as I gathered my things. His eyes were on me by the time I was done, just in time for him to pluck the bag out of my hands. 

It was just us in the classroom, as he threw my pack over his empty shoulder. His chocolate eyes focused on me as he bit his lip. “You lost time again?”

“Yeah.” I muttered, gesturing for him to get going but he didn’t move. 

“Okay.” He said, looking at me another moment before he nodded to himself. “You’re coming back to my room tonight.”

“What? No! I told you already, I need some alone time still.” I protested. 

He stalked forward slowly, leaning down into my space, the warmth of his body seeping into my skin. His hot breath brushing against my neck as he muttered quietly in my ear, “I’ve given you time Princess. You aren’t managing it. Those stupid workouts aren’t enough. We do it my way now.” He leaned back, and I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. He had a mischievous grin on his face, and his eyes were dark and focused entirely on me. I turned pink under his stare and he licked his lips, before grinning wider. 

“W-what do you mean?” I asked, curiosity blooming in my chest. I ignored the ache between my thighs. 

“Pain and pleasure mix very well together if you know how to do it right Beautiful. And luckily, yours truly is very well versed on that subject.” He said, eyes dancing with mirth at the increasing blush across my face, neck, ears, and chest. 

“Sex?” I hissed out the question, even though the room was empty I still didn’t dare get louder than a whisper. 

“Only if you want to. I was thinking more along the lines of bending you over my knee to start with.” He winked and turned, so I couldn’t see him. “If you wanna try just come with me. Promise I’ll get every thought out of that pretty little head of yours. ‘Cept my name of course, can’t have you forgetting that.”

Warmth pooled in my core, my breathing faltering as panic and excitement brewed in my mind. Panic because Ridoc Gamlyn was probably my best friend here and best friends don’t sleep with…or spank… each other. And excitement because, fuck, imagining Ridoc bending me over and slapping my ass red, then maybe fucking me after was getting me much more hot and bothered than it really should be. My mind raged only long enough for Ridoc to leave the classroom. My heart lurched in panic as he went out of sight, and my feet followed after him quickly, my body answering for my head. 

I dashed down the hall and settled beside him, slowing down again. He looked down at me, a smug grin on his face. “Hey beautiful.”

“Hey.” I blushed again, averting my eyes as he chuckled lowly. 

He didn’t speak until we’d made it into his room, and he shut the door behind us, locking it with lesser magic before he dumped our packs on his armchair in the corner. Nerves were pulling at me and he must’ve noticed, because he sat on the edge of his bed, and motioned me forward. 

I hesitated, and he gave me a soft, encouraging smile. “C’mere, it’s still just me. Just your Ridoc.”

Your Ridoc.

What did he mean by that? Or am I just overthinking and it didn’t mean anything? Either way my feet were moving to position me standing between his legs, as he looked at me. “You sure you wanna cross this line? Not gonna lie to you, even if we don’t have sex, and it’s completely up to you whether you wanna do that or not, it will change things between us. I will always be your friend though, so don’t worry about losing me or ruining things. I just want you aware, don’t wanna push you to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“Do you…wanna…?” I asked, suddenly shy as hell. He grinned wide though as he pulled me closer by my hands, and he held my legs in place with his thighs. 

“Have sex with you?” He provided and I nodded. His eyes darkened and he licked his lips. “Princess, I’ve been wanting to fuck you since having to stare at that pretty ass of yours the entire way across the parapet. Only more after getting to know you. Don’t you worry for a second if I’m a willing participant or not.”

He wasn’t lying, I could tell by the sincerity in his eyes, which made me clench my thighs as my arousal heightened. He was so…blunt about it, it was refreshing.

Another question rang through my head though, something that terrified me to ask but I knew I would have to. 

“What about after?” I asked, voice quiet. “Would we…just go back to being friends? I don’t really want to just use you.” His eyes flickered with shock as he assessed me, gaze softening as he pulled me down to straddle his waist. 

“It’s okay if you do. I’m…used… to this kind of thing.” He assured, but his eyes were still guarded, so I shook my head. 

“No! I like you more than that.” I said, surprising myself.

Sure, Ridoc had always been special out of my friends, and he’d definitely been a thought while pleasuring myself late at night, but I’d never really considered a relationship with him. I didn’t think he’d want to be tied down. 

Hope blossomed in his eyes for a split second but he smothered it with a grin as he wrapped his arms around my waist tightly. He jerked me forward and I braced my hands on his chest to catch myself and he kissed my cheek, leaving it burning and butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “How about we worry about that later yeah? If you decide you wanna keep me, then I’m yours. If not, no worries.”

Noncommittal, even now.

Even when I could feel the hope in his gaze, in the way he was holding his breath. I was starting to think that maybe it was a defense, never letting anyone close enough to hurt him. To break him. 

Mine. I’d make this man mine. Then he’ll never feel unworthy again. 

“Okay Ridoc.” I nodded, sending him a soft smile as my hands traveled up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “Where do we start?”

“Well what’s your experience level? Ever had a safe word? Spanking? A Dom? Anything along those lines?” He asked and I shook my head. 

“Most I’ve gotten to personally is a boyfriend who wanted me to call him Daddy. But…I do read romance books involving all those things.” I blushed at the admission and he looked pleased at that answer. “So I know…roughly what..can happen.”

“Okay Princess, just know a lot of those books don’t involve a lot of the care side of things and many of them aren’t good at showing healthy sexual relationships. It’s important that you’re comfortable, always. It stops the moment it gets to be too much. Understand?” His smile may have been teasing but his eyes were serious. I nodded, and his eyes narrowed, smile straightening into a thin line, making me gulp. “Verbal answers Y/N. And while we’re at it, while we’re playing, I want you to call me Sir. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes Sir.” I chirped back at him eagerly, nodding a little and he chuckled, his hands beginning to rub up and down my back under my jacket. 

“Oh I’m gonna enjoy this.” His voice was husky and low, laced with arousal. “You didn’t answer my question from before baby. You understand it’ll stop if you’re uncomfortable?”

“Yes Sir.” I said, tightening my thighs around his waist in response to my increasing horniness. 

“You familiar with the color system?”

“I am, Sir.” I nodded. 

“Good, remind me what it is baby, then I’ll give you your first reward.” He grinned, one hand traveling up my shoulder to rest on the side of my neck, rubbing my jaw with gentle strokes. 

“Green for keep going. Yellow for check in. And red for stop.” I said, and as soon as the last word left my lips he surged forward, his hand sliding to back of my neck and pulling me to him at the same time that his hand on the small of my back pulled forward, my clothed core grinding deliciously on the growing erection in his leathers. But I could barely focus on that with the way he was claiming my mouth, wholly consuming me. 

Moans rose to my throat but he swallowed them whole as his tongue slipped into my mouth, the taste of apple, fading mint, and Ridoc overpowering my senses. His hand on my back moved and hooked onto the squishy skin of my hip, grinding me into him harder. 

I could barely breath, hardly think, hardly fucking register anything beyond the absolute fucking bliss that Ridoc was giving me right now. And it was getting hot, too fucking hot. 

When we separated I whined, chasing his mouth as he chuckled at me. “Patience Princess.” His voice was rough, husky, and made me whine again. “We still gotta lay out boundaries, don’t get ahead of things.”

“But Rid-“ A harsh slap to my ass stopped me, making me gasp as pleasure and pain erupted along the soft skin. Even through my leathers it felt absolutely delicious. 

“Not my name right now sweetheart.” He growled out, eyes narrowed, and mouth in a tight line, trying to stop the quirking of his lips, no doubt fighting off a smirk at my reaction. 

“S-sorry Sir.” I gasped out and he smiled, hand smoothing over and massaging the spot he slapped. 

“Hmm. I’ll forgive you this time. Next slip-up is two, and we’ll add another for every subsequent slip-up. Sound fair Princess?” He asked, slowly pushing the jacket off my shoulders, leaving me in my tank top. 

“Yes Sir.” I replied and he smiled. 

“As I was saying. Boundaries.” He ran his thumb over my mouth, before meeting my eyes again. “I need to know now if you wanna have sex. And if you do, do you want that during our playtime or after?”

“Yes, I do. And during? I don’t really know how that’d work…” His grin was immediate, smug almost. Definitely mischievous. 

“Oh I can think of a few ways.” He bit his lip, looking contemplative as he stared at his thumb as he continued rubbing over my lips. The increasing pressure of the sensitive skin pinched between his thumb and my teeth making me squirm a bit in his lap. He groaned, hands moving back to my hips to tightly hold me still. His eyes met my own again. “We’ll keep it to after for today. Is there anything I need to know? Anything that might be triggering?”

“No Sir, please I-“ I whined….fucking whined?! What the hell was he doing to me? I’d never been so hot and bothered in my life. “I don’t want to think anymore. Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” He grinned, eyes sparkling for a moment, before they went serious again. “Before we get started, I do have one boundary Princess.” He paused and I stilled, making sure I hold on to every word.

“I can bring you pain. I can take away all those shitty thoughts swirling in your head all day. But I’m the only one. I don’t trust a single fucker in this place other than me to lay their hands on you and not truly hurt you. To care for you properly after, in the way you need. We don’t have to be exclusive. Or together. It doesn’t mean I have to be the only one you have sex with. But this part? The part where I smack your ass raw until it hurts to sit. For hours or days after? Where we might decide to do other things someday to make all those shitty thoughts fly away. Things where you could get seriously hurt if someone doesn’t know how to do it right or gets carried away? Only I get to do that. Because I’ll probably kill someone if I learn that they raised a hand to you in any way. Consensual or not. Understand?”

“I understand.” I whispered, heart aching as my fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt, but for the moment, not with pain. “Only you. I only trust you Ridoc.” He smiled, forgiving my intentional slip-up, probably only because we were having a serious moment. 

“Okay Princess, you ready?” He cocked an eyebrow, his gaze turning challenging. 

“Yes Sir…green.” I tacked on at the end, grinning as he chuckled. 

“No more slip-ups now.” He kissed my nose, before gently lifting me off his lap, setting me back so my feet are on the floor. “Now, I want you to get undressed for me pretty girl. Leave on your underwear and bra. I wanna see exactly how wet your panties get as I smack your ass raw. And I need something to hold onto you with. Quickly now Princess.”

“Okay Sir.” I quip, quickly backing up so I can bend over and unlace my boots, fumbling for a minute due to nerves, my brain fried between lingering guilt over messing up with my friends, the pain from losing my family due to my selfish choices, and the growing need between my thighs because of Ridoc. So many conflicting emotions spurring me on, giving me a damn headache as I finally removed my boots and stood straight. 

The wind was immediately knocked from my lungs, seeing Ridoc there, shirtless and muscled, his belt gone and boots unlaced, ready to be kicked off at a moments notice. His messy locks falling in his face, and brown skin seeming to glow in the candlelight, making him look like some sort of sex god. The sight made me wet my lips, and he grinned smugly up at me. 

“I know I’m gorgeous Babe, but you don’t need to drool.” I scowled and busied myself with removing my clothes, trying (and failing) to avert my eyes so I could focus on my task. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious once I was naked, I wrapped an arm around my waist, trying not to feel out of place now that I was in my simple black bra and panties. Nothing fancy or intricate, just normal. “Fuck. Don’t hide that beautiful body of yours now. C’mere.” 

I looked up to see that he was the one damn near drooling now, eyes reverent as they slowly scanned my body, his hands forgotten where he’d outstretched them to reach for me. His eyes wandered over my full breasts, to the thick tummy, and my wide hips with just a bit too much fat (that even after hours of training, never seemed to go away) like I was a goddamn meal he wanted to devour. Then he groaned when his eyes made it to my thighs, which were huge compared to most of the other women here. I’d never had a thigh gap in my fucking life. Then down the rest of my short legs, licking his lips as he took in my toned calves; pretty much the only part of me I could get to cooperate with how I wanted it to look. 

His eyes jumped back to mine when I didn’t move and his eyes hardened. “Don’t make me come get you, Princess. I won’t ask again. Come. Here.” A sick thrill blossomed in me at the idea of defying him, of making him chase me and take what he wanted and punish me for being a brat, but I shoved it down, stepping back toward him. 

Once I was within reaching distance my world was suddenly tilting. In a flash of movement I found myself laid on my stomach, resting across Ridoc’s thighs and feeling a bit dazed at the sudden shift in my equilibrium. 

And then before I could do anything I let out a quick yelp, that leveled out into a moan, not because he’d spanked me, but because Ridoc just bit my ass. Hard. Then immediately soothed it over with his tongue, groaning himself. “Fuck Princess, this ass. It’s always done shit to me. Can barely focus when you walk around, acting like you don’t know every set of eyes in the room is watching you. Like you don’t know I’m watching you.” I moaned at the thought. Was that why he was always behind me? In class, walking down the halls, always nearby when I was mounting my dragon? 

“F-fuck.” I hissed as a hand finally came down on the back of my thighs. Sweet stinging burst across the skin as his hands morphed from pain to pleasure as he started soothing the skin he’d smacked, like he was trying to train my brain and body into knowing that any pain he brought me would be soothed over. That he wasn’t a threat in any way. 

“Sweet, innocent, little Y/N…already have you swearing huh? Didn’t know your pretty little mouth could speak like that. Makes me want to hear more.” One hand slid up my back slowly, before wrapping his hand around my bra, effectively keeping a firm grip on me as I clung to his thigh. “Hold on tight Princess, I’m not gonna go easy on you. I want you to count each one, understand?”

“One, Sir.” 

“Good Girl.” I gasped as his hand immediately came down on my ass, jolting me forward, and if he hadn’t had such a hold on my bra I probably would have been thrown off his lap. 

“Two, Sir.” I hissed after every slap, holding in loud moans, and counting. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven and Eight was the back of my thighs again. 

Hisses turned to moans that I could no longer hold back as I trembled in his lap, pain blossoming over my ass and thighs in the most delicious ways. Nine. Ten. He stopped then, hands turning cool as he massaged my skin, which must of been red as hell by now. He surely wasn’t holding back at all. 

“Color?” He asked, the hand on my bra moving my hair out of my face and hooking on my chin, moving my head so he could meet my gaze. Tears welled in my eyes as the fears and sadness and guilt came inching back. It had been working. Working so fucking well. 

“Green.” I whispered, voice cracking as my desperation started to leak through.  “Please don’t stop yet. Please Sir.” The last part was a downright plea and he nodded. 

“I’m gonna wrap my hand around your pretty little throat now. And you’re gonna keep counting for me. Okay Princess?” He asked, licking his lips as his eyes quickly ran over my body before meeting my own again. 

“Yes, please Sir.” I begged and he grinned down at me. he was smug, masculine, and pure male pride dripped from his gaze as he stared down at me and he moved his hand to gently squeeze my throat.

“I’m so proud of you Princess. Trusting me with your body like this. Don’t worry, we’re just getting started.” Slap. But he wasn’t pausing this time.

“We’re.” Smack. “Gonna.” Smack. “Get.” Slap. “Every.” Slap. “Thought.” Smack. “Out.” Slap.

“Fu-fuck.” I whined as his hand tightened in warning. What he was warning me of? No fucking clue. Because my thoughts had all zeroed in on the aching in my ass as I struggled not to move to relieve the aching in my core. 

“Princess.” He growled at me, eyes narrowing. “You’re forgetting the wrong thing.”

“W-what Sir?” I asked and his hand tightened as he smacked my ass the hardest yet, immediately followed by a second smack, just as rough. Stars flashed in my vision as all breathing was cut off for a moment as I was sent careening into the fist at my throat. But as quickly as it was gone I was breathing again, and Ridoc was still glaring down at me as I was reduced to a moaning mess beneath him. 

“You lost count Princess.” He growled. But he was already messaging the sting away, and I melted into his touch. “And your eyes are already getting that haunted look to them again.”

The sting was fading too fast and he tutted.

Then smirked.

A dull fear sinking into my stomach as that smirk widened, evil plans surely forming in his mind. “Since you’ve lost the ability to count for me. And since it’s going to be a…while… before these slaps really start effecting this pretty ass of yours…I want you to thank me instead. I want the only words coming out of that pouting mouth of yours to be 'Thank you Sir’, until you can’t speak at all. Understand?” He smacked my ass, lighter…testing me.

“Thank you Sir.” I whimpered, wanting to beg him again, but simultaneously not wanting to disappoint him. 

And so we continued. The stinging morphing into a warm ache and my desperation for him increasing with every slap. The hand at my throat grounding as I watched him bite his lip and stare at my ass hungrily. A chorus of “Thank you Sir,” echoing throughout the room between my moans. Somewhere in the last five smacks I’d started shaking harder, feeling on the precipice of something I couldn’t name as the coil in my core wound tighter and tighter. Surely I wasn’t going to cum just from him spanking me right? Right??

“Color.” He said suddenly as I blinked at him through…tears? When had I started crying?

“Green.” I whispered, hurriedly. “Please. Green. Green. Green.” My voice was desperate. Frantic. In a tone I’d never heard come out of my mouth before. 

“Five more.” He leveled at me. “You’ll only need five more. Care to know why?”

“W-why Sir.” I gasped, tears flowing unashamed. 

“Because.” He smacked my ass, hard, and I moaned loudly at the beautiful ache. “After four more slaps you’re gonna cum on my lap. Untouched and aching for me to finally sink my cock into that soaked pussy of yours.”

“T-hank you.” I choked out as my chest heaved. “Sir.”

He spanked me again and my whole brain short-circuited for a moment. “After three more slaps your ass is gonna be so sore that you won’t be able to sit for a week without remembering everything I have done, and will do to you tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.” I moaned as we stared into each other’s eyes, the coil pulling tighter and tighter as he spanked me again, jolting me forward into the hand around my throat, tears streaming down my cheeks. 

“Two more pretty girl. It’ll take only two more.” Was he promising me, or threatening me? It was so hard to tell when I could barely think and he was staring at me so seriously. 

“Thank.” Sob. “You.” Shake. “Sir.”

His hand came down so hard this time I wailed. Honest to gods, wailed. But gods did I want that last one. Wanted it with every fibre of my miserable fucking being.

“Thank you Sir.” It sounded more like begging and moaning than thanking but oh well. He was lucky I could speak at all.  

“You know why it’s only gonna take one more Y/N?” He leaned in like he was sharing a dirty secret and I felt like my entire existence was hinging on what he said next. “Because you’re gonna be fucking selfish and take it like a Good Girl.”

My brain reeled at the word. Selfish. But before I could be sent into a full panic his hand tightened around my throat and he spanked me, hard. The coil in my core snapped and my vision flashed white as I tumbled into sweet oblivion, pleasure coursing through me as I simultaneously fell off that emotional precipice. I shook. I cried. I moaned. I think I even begged. For what I don’t know. Everything going deliciously blank as I rocked in his lap, rutting into his…hand? I think?…as I chased that pleasure selfishly, just like he wanted me to. 

Like a Good Girl.

His hand pulled at my underwear before sinking into my heat with two fingers, making me moan deliciously, even though it only slightly eased the ache between my thighs.  

Ridoc’s POV

Gods.

Holy fucking gods.

Her ass and thighs were bright red, nearly purple in spots, despite me trying to go easy on her and soothe between the harder smacks. She was lying limply in my lap, cheek pressed into my thigh and a look of pure bliss on her face as I slowly pumped my fingers into her spasming cunt.

She was still rocking her hips, chasing the high I’d just brought her to. The high she was still coming down from. She was crying too, but I tried not to think about that, knowing it was more from the emotional release she’d experienced rather than the potential pain in her ass. 

“Color?” I asked softly. Checking in anyway, trying to soothe my own worry that maybe after trying so hard to make sure the beautiful girl beneath me was okay, I’d still managed to take it too far. 

“So..fucking…green.” She moaned, sounding so fucking out of it. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I pulled my fingers from her pussy and she whined, her face pulling into a pout. But she didn’t even bother to lift her head. 

“Don’t worry Princess. I’m still gonna give you my cock. Just gonna get you real comfortable, okay?” 

“K…sir.” She softly murmured the smile returning to her plump lips and making my chest ache. 

“Just Ridoc now Beautiful.” I reminded her, playtime officially over. Now just to take care of this beautiful woman on my lap. “I’m gonna move you now.” 

“Mmm.” Was all I got in response and I chuckled as I gently lifted her up. Moving her so she was facedown in my pillows, and ass up so I could soothe her more easily. She moved her head to the side, watching me with something akin to adoration in her eyes as I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, which she returned, albeit lazily. “Want you Ridoc.” She was whining now, which was honestly a first for me. 

Asking for it. Sure.

Begging for my dick. Sure.

Fuck, I’d even been commanded to give someone dick before. 

But I’d never had someone whine for it, like their whole night would be ruined if they didn’t get it. She’d been whining half the fucking night for me, and to be honest, it was really doing something for me. If my painfully hard dick in my pants was anything to go by. 

I mean, everything about her made me painfully hard, but the whining reaaaally did it for me. 

“It’s okay babe. I’ve got you.” I said, my voice hoarse as I pulled back, lazing wet kisses across her collarbone and then down her spine. Until I reached her ass, which was still red, hot, and sore looking. I sighed, cooling my hands with my signet and began massaging over the skin, making sure to gently work out the tense muscles so at least the pain tomorrow wouldn’t be as bad. She’d still ache, for at least a week. 

I kissed and licked all over her perfect ass and then down between her thighs, and she moaned a guttural, almost animalistic moan as I licked a stripe up her cunt.

I echoed that groan of hers as the taste of her burst across my tongue. Sweet and heady mixed perfectly with something that was just so her that I immediately dove in, unable to help myself as I devoured her. 

She moaned such sweet, pleasure filled moans that I silently begged the gods that she’d let me make her mine, officially. I thrust into the bed to soothe my dick at least a little as I slipped two fingers inside her and continued to soothe her ass with my other hand. 

“More.” She gasped, “I- I need more Ridoc.”

“How much more?�� I teased as I reluctantly pulled back from her pussy, sitting up as I continued to slowly pump in and out. Gods, she was fucking drenched for me. “A finger, two?”

“Y-your cock.” She whined again and my dick throbbed painfully at her lewd wording. “Please Ridoc. Please don’t make me wait anymore.” She was crying again now and I gently shushed her, my hand slipping from her pussy as the other gently soothed across her back. 

“Awe don’t cry pretty girl. I won’t make you wait any more, I promise.” I hushed, kissing her jaw and then grabbed an unused pillow and sliding it under her hips. God knows she wouldn’t be able to hold them up in the state she’s in right now. I quickly stripped after that, anticipation making me move quicker than I ever have in my life. I paused, looking down at this beautiful girl, silently thanking whatever god who allowed her to end up in my bed tonight, before I leaned over her. 

“Ridoccc.” She moaned as I rubbed my dick through her folds, getting my dick wet with her slick as I groaned into her shoulder, kissing and sucking her neck as I went, marking her as mine unashamedly. At least this way I’ll leave a lasting mark so I’ll know that tonight wasn’t some fever dream. So even if she wants to walk away tomorrow and never speak about it again I’ll know it was real. 

“You ready babe?” I asked and she moaned my name again, wiggling her ass a little, pressing against me harder. 

I’ll take that as a yes. 

I gently pressed inside her, almost losing my mind with every inch I sunk into her. Carefully, rocking back out and then back in again so I could make some headway. Once I filled her to the hilt, her pussy was clamping so hard on my dick that it felt like I wouldn’t be able to breath without cumming. “Fuuuuck Princess.”

She moaned my name again. 

I’m starting to think that’s the only thing she can remember how to do right now. Maybe I really did spank her stupid. 

Y/N POV

Ridoc. Ridoc. Ridoc. 

Ridoc’s dick was too fucking good. He’d just started thrusting into me, movements gentle but precise, still managing to piston me into the pillow beneath my hips, and reaching spots within me that no other had ever been able to reach. 

I mean, his monster fucking cock probably was the cause of that. But you won’t hear any complaints from me. 

Probably won’t hear anything except me chanting his fucking name like a mantra right now. It’s about the only thing I could manage to get past my lips other than moans. 

I’m boneless, and I can’t think of anything but Ridoc, Ridoc, Ridoc. And his dick is hitting all the right spots, pulling me closer and closer to my next climax. 

It’s bliss, pure fucking bliss. And I never want it to end. 

It’s too much and not enough and I’m fucking whining his name again as my entire body tenses. 

“That’s it Princess. Cum on my fucking cock.” I can finally hear his babbling again as my brain focuses entirely on him, clarity coming back to me the higher he winds my pleasure. Like my brain knows I want to take everything he’s giving me, even his pussydrunk babbling. He’s pounding into me now, precision gone but it doesn’t matter because he’s still winding me higher as he pins me with his body between him and the mattress, his head falling on my shoulder as I moan beneath him. 

Everything feels so intense, like he’s consuming me wholly as he ruthlessly pounds into my pussy and hips slamming into my pour abused ass. “F-fuck I’m not gonna last much longer princess. Please be a Good Girl and cum with me. Can you do that for me? Please, please be a Good Girl for me one last time. You’ve been so good for me all night. Please Y/N.”

I don’t know why he’s begging me now, but my pussy clenches anyway at his words. A few thrusts later I’m seeing stars and moaning, his mouth finding mine and swallowing my cries as he shoves his tongue in my mouth and thrusts. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

Before he stills and warmth fills my core, and satisfaction soars through me as he groans into my mouth as he kisses me deeply. Kisses me until both of us still completely and my eyes blink open, though lidded and I’m sure showing my desire. 

He’s looking down at me with adoration and awe, his own eyes lidded as he gently slips out of me, and we both hiss at the loss of connection. I still can’t think about anything but how amazing that was, all of it, and how handsome Ridoc looks all fucked out like that. 

My eyelids get heavy, and I blink, trying to keep them open, wanting to burn the image of post-sex Ridoc into my brain. He smooths some hair out of my face and gives me a soft look. “Sleep Princess. I’ll take care of you while you rest. You’re safe here with me.” 

“Mmm Ridoc…” Whatever I was about to say died on my tongue as my eyes drifted shut, and sleep over took me as I fell asleep to him murmuring something to me as a cool hand massaged my ass again. 

~ I'm taking requests as well, just submit them to my inbox and I'll get to them when I have time.

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@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @worldsanna @uneducatedraccoon @nicksolemnlyswears @binksbrewcrew @eyes-capone @dangerousbirdmagazine

[thevalkyriecrash]

lol

a true reading of captain america (not solely mcu, but the 616 as well) would show that steve is disillusioned with the modern u.s. military and even fought against them in the vietnam war, alongside the viet cong.

steve does not fuck with imperialism. he is about protecting those who need it no matter what, and especially if he can sense that there are bigger powers at play. the us commited definitive war crimes in the vietnam war (my lai massacre) and continue to do so in what white american liberals call the "third world", or countries who are poor and struggling as a result of u.s. imperialism. you cannot tell me in good conscience that steve supports any of that.

to do away with the "bad apples" take, the presence of the united states in any country is a threat to that nation's sovereignty. it is not providing security. they are not helping. they only make things worse.

the modern us military is full of child murdering war crime committing freaks who believe that it is their right to go to the middle east, and gun down children because it will pay for college. even the non combatant positions. it is all cogs in a wheel.

please do not try to fight me on this. i wish i did not have to get personal, but i choose to share in an effort to educate. both of my parents were forcibly removed from their home countries at young ages. the u.s. had acquired my nations through the treaty of paris, and have since been occupying the land via us military bases, control in the government, and control of the entire economy. puerto rico is the oldest colony in the world, and the fact that some people would rather have the government forcibly make it a state instead of granting independence makes me sick. i think of my dad, the youngest of 13 kids, leaving at 11 years old to move to the us because my abuelo had lung cancer, and there were better medical opportunities in the us.

they had a farm, and my dad tells me stories of chasing chickens and cats and climbing trees and eating the fruit that they grew, and i'm sad that it was taken away from him.

my mom, who left the philippines when she was 6, only tells me that they left to have a "better life." but why does a better life mean moving to the us? because of labor. 7,000 filipinos leave the country every day to find work overseas, because the control the us has on our economy and government has made it unfeasable to survive.

my parents met in the us. they started a family, and i was born. if it was not for us colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism, i would not exist. it has a direct impact on me and the people i love and the stories i hear every single day organizing are horrible. but libs in america blame this on the current administration when the entire system is fucked. it breeds war crimes and exploitation of labor from everything, just to seep up capital.

in 2014, trans filipina jennifer laude was brutally murdered and left to die in a motel room by a u.s. marine corps lance corporal. because, and you wouldn't know this, but any area that has a u.s. military base, has a redlight district around it. child prostitution and other violent sexual crimes are committed every single day because the girls know that the white men pay them well and they need to support themselves. i do not blame them.

the us has funded a modern genocide and continues to do so. they have always been like this. like, hey, remember when the us bombed a baby formula plant in iraq and they justified it by saying it was a biological weapons site?

they invade and provoke countries and ruin their economy and fund murder under the guise of protection. like i fear the enemy is in the mirror.

i do not believe that sam wilson would have been in afghanistan. making a character who in the source material is a social worker in harlem a piece of their war machine is psychotic. one of the only black people in the mcu period and they choose to do that to his character to make him more likeable to a white american audience. i just do not accept that characterization. marvel studios has contracts with the department of defense and they are not allowed to portray the us in a bad light.

the captain america fandom at large has had this problem since the inception where they make steve like... liberal. like that boy wasn't in the youth communist league. when he finds out about the atom bomb, i imagine he stares out of a window for 4 hours not moving maybe not even breathing before throwing up violently. even in steve's war, the us soldiers were not the heroes they claimed to be. when the war in the pacific got to the philippines, which was occupied by japan, the us, who was also occupying the land, would just bomb entire cities to get rid of the japanese. where indigenous people lives. where families lived. and where they died.

steve is disgusted at what has become of it. he does not want to associate it. he spends his time going to countries the u.s. has ravaged and spending time and helping the people there. integrating. just because he is a veteran does not automatically mean he would stand for genocide and imperialism.

so yes. he would say How did you stepping on an IED protect this country.

steve rogers talking to modern veterans

[an-angel-from-heaven]

~Prisoner Sukuna~

You’re a nurse at a maximum security prison and help take care of both male and female inmates. Ryomen Sukuna is the most feared gang leader in and out the prison. But when Sukuna comes to the infirmary and sees you for the first time, what will he do? What will you let him do? 😏

A follow is greatly appreciated plz!

*Reader pov*

My alarm goes off at 6am as usual and I really don’t want to get up. I guess I have to, so i get up and do my morning routine and get ready for work. Working at a maximum security prison was not an option, but I couldn’t turn down how much they were offering to pay me for a 3 month contract. They really needed someone and I thought It’s only 3 months I can do that. I’ve been working there for 3 weeks and I’ve been hit on more times than I can count, threatened, and even had a patient masturbate in front of me. Fantastic. 3 months can’t come fast enough. Well I guess I should go before I’m late.

*At the prison*

I clock in for the day and head to the infirmary. When I get there Dr. Monroe already has 2 patients here. “Goodmorning doctor” I say. “Goodmorning y/n, I put some coffee on if you’d like some”. He says. “That’s alright, what do you got?” I ask. “Bed one, Rodney Walker has a superficial stab wound on his left lower abdomen i already bandaged him up. Bed 2, Nicki Wesley is having vomiting and diarrhea, could you swab her so we can test for the flu?” Dr. Monroe says. “Yes sir.” I head over to Nicki who can’t be more than 20 years old and put on my gloves. “I’m gonna swab your nose Ms. Wesley so we can run some tests.” I gently swab her nose making sure to get a good sample. I set that to test and go and check on Rodney’s wound and change the bandage.

All of a sudden I hear yelling come from the hallway doors. Dr. Monroe and I are looking at the doors waiting…and then we hear a faint yell “Get out of the way 3 inmates coming through!” Upon hearing that we start to prepare the beds and supplies we may need. They slam through the door and help put them onto the beds, me and another nurse Judy help asses and begin to treat one each. The first thing I do is check for a pulse, but it’s too late he was already gone. I go to help Judy with her patient who looks like he was literally beat to death. We finally get him stable when I hear someone yell. “Get off me you fool!” I hear a deep voice say. I turn to see two guards holding a man down and Dr. Monroe trying to check his wounds “I don’t need that those idiots are far worse than I am, they thought they could catch me off guard.” Dr. Monroe looks up at me and asks me to bring him a sedative. I bring over the sedative and look down at the most handsome and dangerous looking man I’ve ever seen.

*Sukuna pov*

I hate ignorant people, especially in this shit hole. I was just minding my business trying to pee when suddenly two guys try to jump and kill me. Of course it didn’t go their way when I beat them to a bloody pulp, not enough to kill them though. I wouldn’t want to catch another stupid charge. As I struggled to get these people off of me the doctor called someone over to give me a sedative, FUCK NO. But then…she comes into view. A girl with (hair color) hair and mesmerizing eyes. Her puffy lips just asking to be kissed. She’s gorgeous and I’m officially interested. “Give him the injection y/n!” as he holds my arm down. “Listen to me doll, if you sedate me I’ll make you regret it when I wake up” I say. She looks at me wide eyed and looks back at the doctor. “Do it!” She injects the sedative into my arm and I’m looking straight at her. God she’s so fucking hot I think to myself, then my vision starts to blur. “You have no idea the things I’m going to do to you…” I say to her and then everything goes black.

*Readers pov*

Everything has finally calmed down, Judy’s shift ended at 7 and I’m here for four more hours. I’m sitting at the desk thinking about what HE said to me. His name is Ryomen Sukuna. It was scary but why am I also curious? What did he mean by that? I look over at him across the room, he’s still sedated but it should wear off in another hour. “Hey y/n, I’m going to the cafeteria to get something with the warden. Do you want something?” Dr.Monroe says. “I’m okay thanks” I say. He leaves out the door. I’m finishing up charts just hoping we don’t get another patient. Once I finish my charts I go to check on the all the patients, all of them are sleeping at the moment. Making sure vitals are stable and changing bandages if needed. I get to bed 4 which is the one Sukuna is in. I check his IV bag and go to check a stab wound on his shoulder. Before I can take off the bandage a hand grabs me by my scrub top and pulls me down to come to face to face with…..him.

*Sukuna pov*

I can feel myself coming to, the lights are dimmed and i can tell I’m still in the infirmary. In the corner of the room is that pretty little nurse. The one who gave me the fucking sedative, she’s so gonna pay for that. She finishes what’s she’s doing and gets up to check on the other punks, making her way right to me. I’m pretend I’m still out, she’s checking my arm where they inserted the IV. Her hands are soft and her touch is delicate. She goes to check my shoulder but I couldn’t stand it anymore, I needed her. The look on her face when I grab her shirt and pull her to me is priceless. “Hey doll, I’m up and looks like I have you here all to myself.” She’s trying to pull away, I use my other hand to grab the back of her hair and push back so I can fully stand. “HE-“ she tries to call for help but I put my hand over her mouth. Her voice is muffling underneath my hand, I pull out the IV in my arm with and look around the room. She’s still struggling against me, “Stop fighting me, you’ll only make it worse for yourself.” I tell her. She calms down and tears start to fall down her cheeks. “What’s the matter doll? You think I’m going to hurt you? That all depends on you.” Her brows furrow, I can tell she’s trying to figure out what I mean. “You gonna be a good girl for me?” She looks at me innocently and I slowly remove my hand from her mouth. God she looks so fuckable right now I don’t know how much longer I can wait, but she’s just so fun to play around with. Her eyes and nose are red and her face is stained from the crying. “Please don’t hurt me” She asks in a small voice. “Then you’ll do everything I tell you to.”

*Reader pov*

I can’t believe this is happening right now. He was supposed to be out for another hour, but now that he’s standing over me he’s a lot bigger than I thought he was. This man covered in tattoos is holding me against my will and I’m soaking wet. Oh god, why me? He pulls me into the supply closet and pushes me against one of the shelves. His hand runs up my thigh to my hip…..then my waist….over my shoulder…..and cups the side of my face. I’m quivering under his touch and he’s enjoying every second of it. “You’re not as innocent as you seem doll. Let me tell you what’s gonna happen. I’m going to do a lot of nasty and lewd things to you and you’re going to enjoy every second of it like the slut you are” My breathing starts to quicken and I need to get my self out of here as fast as possible because I’m so ashamed that he’s right. I try for the door but he stops me, taking off my scrub top and pants to reveal my matching set. He looks at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Fuck baby, those scrubs hide this perfect body of yours.” He starts to make out with me and leaves kisses down my neck and breasts. “I can’t take it anymore, I need you now”. He takes off my bra and underwear in seconds He takes his shirt off and picks me up on top of one shelves. My legs wrapped around his waist and he’s leaving hickeys over my breasts. I let out unintentional moans and I can feel him smirking against me. Fuck, what is he doing to me?

*Sukuna pov*

I’ve got her right where I want her, completely naked and at my mercy. I push her legs back and I can see she’s already soaking wet. “Look at you, you’re already soaked and I haven’t even started.” She starts to blush. “I’m not going to stretch you out doll, you’re going take me straight on for what you did.” I push down my pants and she lets out gasp. “I don’t think it’s going to fit Sukuna.” The way she said my name almost made come right now. “I’ll make it fit, don’t worry you can take me right pretty girl?” She looks at me doe eyed and nods her head yes. I line myself up at her entrance and slide into her slowly. She winces and whimpers a little. I almost feel bad for hurting her but at the same time she did sedate me. “Ow” she says. I stop and let her adjust. “You’re doing so good doll.” I encourage. “Is it almost in?” “Baby it’s not even halfway in.” I smile. She sighs and I push into her more…and more…and more. She’s a crying little mess and I wish I could take a photo so I can have with me. I thrust in and out faster, it’s cute how she’s trying to push me away. I push her hand away and say “Nuhh uhh doll. This is for that fucking sedative.” I start to fuck her harder. Her moans and whimpers are like music to my ears. “You’re taking me so good baby, it’s like you were made for me.” She’s trying to talk but can’t cause I’m drilling her sweet little cunt. I put my hand around her throat and squeeze a little. She gasps for air, I lower my face down to hers and slow my thrusts. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight” I pick up my pace again. I put my hands on the back of her neck to make her look down. “I want you to see my cock destroy your pretty little cunt” She lets out a loud moan looking down at our skin smacking together. She hangs onto my biceps for support. “Wait I can’t take it please…” she says as puts her hand against my stomach again. She’s trying to get me to slow down or push me out from how deep I am thrusting into her but I’m not letting her. She feels so good. “You’re gonna have to take it like a good slut cause I’m not stopping.” I say to her. I pick her up and her legs wrap around my waist. I bounce her up and down on my cock. “Ahh fuck.” She moans. “ You like that baby? You like it when I’m destroying your little pussy?” “Yessss please don’t stop Sukuna I’m going to cum.” I smirk, she sounds so good begging. “Go ahead baby come on this cock.” She comes shaking and squirting I had to pull out from how much she squirted. I put her back down and rub her pussy to keep it going, “That’s a good girl.” She still hangs onto me trembling. “I’ve never done that before” she said. “What? Squirted?” I ask. She nods her head shyly. I smile, “Good, nobody will ever touch you again.” She looked at me confused but shrugged it off. “Can you help me down?” She asks. “Help you down? Baby I’m not done yet. You caught me by surprise when you squirted I didn’t come yet. I’m going to come all over your pretty little face” I say. She looks at me shocked with those doe eyes but she has no choice but to accept her fate. “Turn around…”

Hi sluts, hope you enjoyed this little smut, sukuna certainly did😏.

A heart and follow would be greatly appreciated please! I could make a part two if you like or message me a suggestion 🫶🏼

[gomzdrawfr]

Getting creative with recognition

[sapphiresaphics]

We really need to bury this “season 1 writers were better than season 2” bullshit because Amanda Overton was brought in season 1 to help clean it up after it was struggling and she STAYED ON for season 2. The people let go between seasons were the ones who were holding the series back. Everything you guys love about Season 1 is likely a result of her interference. This myth that they “fired the competent writers between seasons” is just that. A myth. It’s a conspiracy theory fabrication concocted by people who don’t understand how media is made or how credits work.

That line about Vi needing to get over her anti-cop mindset is LITERALLY ABOUT SEASON 1. The season 1 you guys LOVE SO MUCH! Like this weird Hypocritical bias you guys have where anything negative applies to season 2 and everything positive applies to season 1 needs to STOP. You can’t bemoan Amanda saying that and then turn around and praise season 1 when that was VI’s character arc in season 1 to begin with. wtf?

Also you guys seem to misunderstand that this is a story. It is not real life. It is not bound by real life rules. Story and narrative decisions happen to push themes and character growth, not follow real world events.

Also, Vi is anti-cop at the beginning of the show because the cops are the ones she interacts with the most. But as the show progresses and she gets older, it becomes apparent that the cops are a symptom of the problem, not the source. The real source are the people in positions of power, like the council, or Silco. And she actively turns her attention away from the cops and onto those people in power. That’s why she teams up with Jayce and takes on Silco’s goons. IN SEASON 1 BTW.

Your hatred of Amanda Overton and Season 2 is so extreme and so STUPID that it’s blinding you to the fact that she’s talking about Season 1 here and that everything she’s talking about applies to VI’s arc in Season 1. It has nothing to do with Season 2, so this weird obsession with blaming her for Season 2 is just that… a weird fucked up conspiracy theory obsession based on misunderstandings and deliberate misinformation.

Normally I try and keep negative stuff off here about Arcane but like. What the hell Amanda Overton. Her tone deaf takes on Vi and her character assassination of her. I wish the season 1 writers would've continued into season 2.

Who the hell says Vi just needed to get over her anti cop mindset to be able to "see Caitlyn for who she really is". Do you......do you hear yourself? Agh I try and keep my nose out of what the writers and creators intended for the show and focus on what is. The more I hear about it though it feels almost like an accident Arcane was as good as it is. They aren't the only ones, far from it, to have actually made the show happen but good god man.

Imagine a season 2 where people didn't try to trample over and beat the shit out of S1 Vi. Imagine them trying not to gaslight us as to WHY VI IS ANTI COP in the first place and WHY IT MAKES SENSE. Not really something people "get over". What an absolutely abrasive thing to say about a character who represents so many people in real life who have been in her situation.

"Once she was able to get past her all cops are evil thing." That is the actual verbatim thing she said btw. Whateverrr Amanda