#against oncoming cars

[muskpunk]

yooooooooo 5am ptsd flashback gacha pulls just dropped wooooooo yeah lets go gamers!!!!!

[doodle17]

I WANT TO SCREAM AND CRY INTO THE VOID

I WANT TO DIE

SOOOOO BADDDD

OKAY SO AT MY WORK WE WERE CLEANUNG THEATRES, AND ONE OF THE GUYS SAID THAT THERE WAS A SPILL ON ONE OF THE ROWS AND I NEEDED TO GET A MOP

SO I was like: "sure!" So I went to get the mop, but it was empty, no big deal, just needed to fill it up with cleaner. Anyways, that was a bit if a hassle because I didn't immediately remember what button to press for said cleaner. But I got it

I went to the theatre and as I checked all the rows, I couldn't for the life of me find any kind of spill anywhere! One of our DLs came in and helped me look for it but we found nothing, and my broom and dustpan were gone, and I assumed my team grabbed it for me when they moved to the next theatre.

The DL told me once I was done with the mop, to put it away and go home early because they were over-staffed. So as I was walking out I saw my team, andi asked them this...

"Hey, did you guys get my Broom and dustpan for me?"

"What?"

"From theatre 4? With the spill?"

"The spill wasn't in 4."

"... what"

"It was theatre 1..."

Y'all... I WANTED TO DROP DEAD RIGHT THERE

I WAS IN THE WRONG THEATRE AND I DIDNT DO ANYTHING AT ALL BECAUSE I WAS BEING A DUMBASS

HAAAAAAGHHHHHH I WANT TO SCREAM UNTIL MY THROAT BLEEDS I FEEL SO BAD AND STUPID AND IM SUCH AN IDIOTTTT

I WANT TO GET FIRED OR QUIT BECAUSE HOLY SHIT THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST EMBARRASSING THINGS TO HAPPEN TO MEEEE

[confinesofmy]

came incredibly close to a head-on collision on my own damn road this morning because some idiot came around a curve not particularly in their lane. nearly fucking ditched to avoid them, went two tires off the road on a section of road that's like an immediate 6 inch drop off the asphalt then a slope. no shoulder. he was close enough to me i wouldn't have been foolish TO ditch. which just goes to show no matter how much i work on my defensive driving or my city driving, i'll never avoid distracted or drunk drivers going 25 miles over the limit on my own fucking road.

[raccooninapartyhat]

There are two main kinds of reactions people have to seeing someone using a white cane walking towards them: fearful and aggressive.

The fearful are the ones who press themselves flat against walls as you pass by, the ones who see you coming and cross the street to not walk by you, the ones like the guy who walked into my path and then, upon seeing me, leapt two feet backwards shouting, "Oh shit!"

The fearful are an annoyance, but they're not usually dangerous. They don't seem to grasp that the path is generally wide enough for both of us, that my cane only takes up two more inches either side of me and isn't going to kill them. They're the ones that my friends remark on most, because once you realise what they're doing you can never stop noticing that people do this.

The aggressive, however, are a different story.

The aggressive are the ones who stare you down as you walk towards them like they're playing a game of chicken, the ones who wave and say hello and when you reply they use it as evidence you're not blind. They're the ones who try to hopscotch over your cane. They're the ones who will kick your cane and try to trip you up for fun. They're the ones that deliberately slow down, giggling as they look back at you, because they want you to walk into them and to hurt yourself. They're the ones who you'll walk by and, even though neither you nor your cane even brushes them, they'll get angry at you because don't you know you could hurt someone by walking around with that thing? Don't you know you should have someone with you at all times to make sure you don't hit someone?

There's a different kind of aggressive, too, and I don't know a single blind person who has not encountered this kind. This is the kind of aggressive who tries to "help" you, the kind who grabs your arm and drags you across roads without talking to you or asking. The kind who pull you into oncoming traffic and expect you to be grateful. The kind who pick up your cane to lead you. The kind who will get you hit by a car in the name of helpfulness. This kind does not realise or even care that it is terrifying to have an unseen person grab you and start dragging you away, who don't get that the cane is your contact with the world around you and they have stripped you of knowledge and safety by picking it up off the ground. This kind does not realise or care that it is still kidnapping, still assault, and they expect you to be grateful that they deigned to "help" you.

All three kinds don't see you as a person. The fearful see you as an obstacle, the aggressive see you as an idle amusement or a threat, and the helpful aggressive see you only as a way to feel good about themselves.

The second you hold a white cane you are unpersoned.

Do your local blind person a favour and cut that shit out.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Comfort ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Summary: You and Lando have dealt with anxiety separately, but now you have each other.

➻ ln4 x reader ⋆˚✿˖°

➻ fluff + comfort ⋆˚✿˖°

one of the first things that you and lando had bonded over was anxiety. the two of you had separate reasons for it, but it did not change the fact that the two of you had very similar processes on dealing with it. it did not take much time for the both of you to have each other on speed dial for when there was an oncoming panic attack, or when the mind began spiralling with no intentions to stop. 

over the years, the friendship grew into something more, and your responses to your increased anxiety changed with that. at first, it did not include other human beings at all, and instead focused on pets or music or even purposely tiring yourself out through exercise. now, it included each other. 

the first time you got overstimulated around him was when he had sneaked you in the McLaren paddock. you were excited to be there for lando, and he was excited to have you there. you knew how serious lando was about driving and understanding the car himself, so you steered clear as much as possible so as to not distract him. what you were not expecting though, was the amount of people there. 

obviously, you were aware that there were going to be a lot of people present, but you had underestimated just how much. someone was constantly bumping into you or brushing against you. there were too many hands and bodies and they were all too close. you could feel the itch under your skin to get away. to find a place where no one could touch you in any way or form. you felt uneasy and uncomfortable, and you wanted to scrub your skin to remove all the stranger skin feel. 

“y/n, love, i’m going to-“ lands voice was loud in your ears. he was too close. his skin felt weird. you needed him close. what was happening? 

“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” your eyes focused on his shoes. his toes were touching yours. too close. his voice was loud, but everything else was louder. someone bumped into you, and you fell into lando. his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist. you cringed at the feeling. 

“love, what’s wrong?” he asked again.

“overstimulated. too many people touching. i don’t like it. i can’t-“ you broke off. you wanted to cry. you shouldn’t. you did not want to cry in the paddock. 

lando took a step back, and your heart slowed down a little. he stared at you for a second, and you worried that he was going to be disappointed. and then, his pinky finger reached out to you. you stared at it. he waited patiently. slowly, you wrapped your pinky finger around his, and your body relaxed a little. 

he did not say a word, and instead just led you to a deserted corner. you tried not to wince at the feel of people, and instead focused on lando’s pinky finger and the small part of your skin that was connected to someone else, connected to lando. 

keeping his finger interlocked with yours, he whispered, “no one’s going to be too close if you stand here. you can still watch the race from here, and i’ll get a chair for you to get comfortable in. i’ll come see you before i have to go, and i’ll come see you as soon as i’m out of the car. okay?” 

you nodded. “thank you. i’m sorry i’m ruining this-“ 

“never apologise for something like this. thank you for telling me that you were feeling overstimulated. thank you for trusting me.” 

you wanted to hug him. god, you wanted to hug him so desperately, but the mere thought of his body pressed against yours made you uneasy. instead, you squeezed your pinky finger around his and smiled at him. he smiled back at you, his lips spreading wide, and his eyes sparkling. he left a featherlight kiss on your forehead, before turning and leaving. 

he understood you. 

and just like he understood you, you understood him. 

it was a couple of years later when it happened in the paddock again. except, it wasn’t you who got overstimulated. lando and you had been public for only about a year, and you were sitting with the headphones on, watching the race. 

lando hadn’t been feeling so well that morning, and you knew it was just nerves. he hadn’t eaten and was solely surviving on water. you had been worried, but you also knew that this was every race weekend. 

as you watched on, the entire area was silent as everyone focused on the way lando and george drove wheel to wheel. everyone watched with bated breath as the next turn came up, and you watched in shock as lando lost control of the car and hit the wall. his front wing had been crushed completely, and the red flag alert was sent out. you watched with nervousness that you had never experienced before as lando got out of the car and into the safety car. 

removing the headphones, you ran to the driver’s room, where you knew lando would isolate himself, at least for a few minutes. you waited, pacing the room, when suddenly the door opened. lando looked at you with red eyes, and his fingers were twitching by his side. 

quickly locking the door, lando took three steps towards you and crashed into a hug. his breathing was fast, and you could feel his heartbeat through his fireproofs. 

“lan, what’s wrong?” you asked softly. 

“can feel it everywhere. it’s too loud. it’s ringing in my ears.” he whispered against your neck. 

you shifted the two of you, lando still holding onto you tightly. you sat down on the couch, pulling lando with you. 

“what can you feel everywhere, baby? your heartbeat?” you asked softly. 

he nodded, his arms tightening around you. 

grabbing one of his hands, you shifted it and placed it against your heart. you whispered in his ear, “breathe with me. in, and out.” 

lando followed your instructions, mentally counting your heartbeat and matching your breathing. slowly, his heart rate went back to normal, and his breathing evened out. “i’m so tired.” he said. 

running your fingers through his hair, you replied, “you can sleep for a little while. i’ll wake you up when someone calls you for something.” 

“thank you,” a gentle kiss was pressed against your collarbone. 

“i love you.” you said. 

“i love you more.” 

you scoffed, smiling, “that’s not possible.” 

he hummed, “watch me.” 

you smiled against his hair, and tightened your hold on him. 

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

i've had this idea for a while, and I finally wrote it! i hope you guys enjoyed it! i've also got a link for my taglist that you can find here!

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: Protective Simon. For the beautiful and talented @lethalchiralium

Simon’s phone is ringing. 

Price raises an eyebrow from the end of the table, pausing mid-sentence, confused. Simon’s phone never rings. It’s always on full volume, because he never gets phone calls, except for ones from the 141, and they’re all here. At this briefing.  

His fingers find the ringer, ready to silence what he’s sure is a nuisance call, some telemarketer or robot, when he reads your name across the screen. 

You’ve never called him before. Unease tightens across his chest, and without any explanation, he excuses himself from the room and the bewildered looks being cast his way. 

“Hey, you-“

“Simon?” You sound off. Like you’re trying to be calm, but there’s something lingering on the edge of your voice, something scared. His spine goes stiff. 

It’s enough to propel him into action, his fist thumping against the window of the brief room, jerking his head south. I’m leaving, the motion signifies. Emergency.

“What’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing. Just… there’s this guy that’s been like, half a block behind me since I got off the train.” He closes his eyes. The fucking train. He wants you to stop taking the train. He needs you to stop taking the train. 

“He followed you from the platform?” 

“Well, he could be walking this way too…” 

“Where are you?” His keys are already in his hand, and he’s running down the hallway, past bewildered administrative staff and everyone else, bursting through the back door and into the truck. His phone chimes with multiple text messages, Price, Johnny, Gaz. All wondering where the hell he ran off to. Only Johnny’s text scratches the surface: Is it your neighbor? He waits another second in silence, hoping you’re trying to get your bearings. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m… I think we’re coming up on seventh and Warsail. ‘m not too sure. I’ve kind been walking in a roundabout way.” We’re coming up on seventh… we. 

The baby is with you. 

His foot slams the accelerator onto the floor, counting his breaths as he maneuvers each turn in the road. Do you have the stroller? Are you carrying her? Did this guy peg you as an easy target because he knows what Simon knows, that women are more likely to go along with instruction if their child is threatened? That you’d never leave Emmaline behind? That you’d do anything to protect her? 

He feels sick. 

“Are there other people around?” He’s calm on the phone, trying to visualize the street, the buildings, the alleys. Easy spots where cars could reach the highway in seconds, and then be gone. Cramped alleys that connect to others like tangled webs, able to swallow a human being easy, disappear them into the darkness. It makes his stomach turn over. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard; it hurts.

“Yeah, it’s close to the end of the day, so-“ 

“Stay where others can see you. Are you sure you’re on seventh and Warsail?” 

“Yeah. We’re in that park. I-I… wanted to take Emma to see the ducks.” Your voice wavers. “Simon he’s still behind us.” He’s turning the corner now, a block from your cross streets, and instead of yielding for oncoming traffic like he should, he floors it through an intersection, abandoning the truck still on, half parked in an empty street spot.  “Stay where you are, sweetheart. Okay? I’m coming.” 

“You… wait, what? You’re what?” He doesn’t hang up, but keeps the phone against his ear, and takes off down the street in a sprint, fully subscribed to the worst-case scenarios that have been building in his mind, images of you and Emmaline bloody and bruised, or worse. He gets them confused for a moment, memories mixing with the present, two things swirling together until they become indistinguishable, noise and panic roaring too loudly in his head. 

It all comes screeching to a stop. 

He spots you in the park. You do have the stroller, and you’re by the little pond, headphones in, Emmaline in your arms, her little beanie pulled down over her ears. You’re glancing around, nervous, saying his name into the mic. He scans the rest of the faces, passing over anyone who doesn’t strike him as a creepy git, until he finds his target: a skinny, younger guy lurking on the edge of the fence line, watching you. He hangs up the phone and moves across the park involuntarily, rolling his shoulders, and he vaguely sees you from the corner of his eye, mouth dropped open in shock, faintly calling his name. 

“Hey, mate. C’mere.” He shouts, half the people in the vicinity startling in his direction. Everyone seems to move away, like a magnetic force, pulsing outwards as he overtakes the guy with an easy grab to his upper arm. “You like stalking women with babies?” He hisses in his ear, voice low with barely contained rage. The guy is younger than him, but rail thin, and coked out. Probably looking for money. Simon jerks him closer, and he actually yells for help, like he’s a victim. It’s enough to ground the situation, making Simon realize he has an audience, and he grits out a final warning before shoving him away. “I ever see you around my girls again… I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Piss off.” 

“What did he say?” You’re frantic, rubbing Emmaline’s back in a circular pattern, over and over like you’re trying to calm her, even though she’s perfectly content. It’s you who needs soothing, he realizes, and he takes your hand without questioning it, letting his instincts guide him in regard to you without overthinking it. 

“He was high, love. Looking for money.” He doesn’t want to scare you but… he doesn’t despise the idea of instilling some hypervigilance. Maybe this will convince you not to take the train. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Think I scared him off for good though.” He looks around, and then slips off his mask, wide thumb stroking a soft touch on Emma’s cheek before giving you a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright now.” You visibly relax, but don’t let go of his hand, tilting your face up to his, all bright and beautiful, still coming down from the adrenaline of your fear with a whisper on your lips, meant for only him to hear. 

“Our hero.”

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, toxic relationship, possessiveness

♡ fem reader

You’re not sure why you ever let it drag out this long…

In the beginning, it could be blamed on things outside your control. You were a pretty girl, and he was a bad boy – of course, that garnered tension – plus, the oncoming of puberty and its additional whirl of hormones – leaving you in the turmoil of strange feelings neither of you could understand – making you both panicked, embarrassed, confused and, most of all, in dire need of an outlet for it all.

One of which you surprisingly found in each other.

You’d been but foolish teenagers at a silly house party at the time – your first-ever shots of vodka buzzing through your system as you shared a kiss like none other. 

You’d stumbled up the stairs and gotten frisky in the bedroom while the family pictures of your shared friend witnessed you tearing at each other until the skin of childhood had shed and left you both as grown-ups.

You remember it well… how you’d practiced putting condoms on a banana and brought a few along but had no prior intention of treading one on him, of all people. 

But fuck, his hands were so big, and his tongue was so hot… and you hadn’t known he could look so pretty… cinched bushy brows and parted lips glossed with your name as he fucked you against the wall until all those onlooking family pictures came crashing down.

You woke up with a new special understanding of yourself and each other, one with a strange respect and newfound curiosity for the other’s body.

But why he hadn't grown bored of it since and why you’d never put your foot down and ended things was beyond you.

Sure, a drunk one-night stand with a person you’d otherwise avoid at all costs is life – opposites attract, after all – but to keep coming back to each other?

He’d explained it once, one of those times he'd come stumbling into your apartment, drunk and in the midst of buckling up his pants while pawing at you. Kissing you sloppy, he’d mumbled out something along the lines of how no one else knows him like you do. 

And you suppose that had mainly been the reason – that you just knew each other too well and had known each other too long, to which point everyone else just seemed alien – that there was a certain comfort, if one could call it that, in the familiarity of each other that just couldn't be replaced by anyone else. 

You thought it would go on forever like that… Not that you’d ever bothered to give it much thought. 

That is… until you had that very flirty encounter at the café where you worked – where in between being sweet-talked into a stuttering blushed mess and being asked out for coffee someplace where you wouldn't have to serve it yourself – you’d come to question your current relationship and started doubting your true obligations toward him as a partner.

You didn’t go on dates. You didn’t live together. You didn’t text or call one another. You didn’t eat dinner or plan things or visit each other’s parents. 

You didn’t have anything in his apartment, nor him in yours. You’d never washed any of his clothes. You’d never worn any of his clothes. You’d never even driven his car. 

You’d never given each other presents. You didn’t tell people about your relationship. You didn’t talk about work, your day, or your feelings. Actually… having given it a long thought… you didn’t really talk at all. 

In fact, when it came down to it, the only thing you’d been able to think of that you’d ever done together… was sex.

Sex and nothing more…

You don’t know if things would have ever changed if he hadn’t asked you what the number scrawled in blue ballpoint pen on your arm was...

But nevertheless, that’s when he started acting strange.

You’d never expected he’d get so upset by it – but you ended up apologizing that night while promising him that next time, you’d make it clear you already had a boyfriend.

You remember thinking how the way he fucked you that night had been nothing short of desperate. Having given you nearly no room to breathe with how tightly he’d held you, his face nuzzling into your neck with lovebites, thrusting into you in such a way he was barely even pulling out, pounding your womb more than your cunt to the point you’d feared it bruised, having had to pat his shoulder to tell him to calm down. 

He’d held your face then, and you’d realized that you hadn’t really had too much eye contact before. You remember that even then, you couldn’t really decide if you liked it or not. 

Or rather... you’re sure you’d found it unpleasant, though just hadn’t had the guts to give the feeling much thought. 

You regret it now that it’s too late. Maybe if you’d done or said something back then, you wouldn’t be in the situation you were trapped in now.

For lack of a better, more suitable word, you’d have to say he’d become clingy if only it didn’t sound too sweet and childish for someone so much larger than you. But maybe you’d just feared calling it what it had been.

And what it had really been… was threatening.

Overbearing and possessive, and needlessly protective. He’d quickly become paranoid with jealousy. Portraying strange obsessive emotions you hadn't known he harbored for you at all until then.

You hadn’t really been able to put your finger on it at the time.

It started out small – or small in comparison to now. Small pleasantries he’d never bothered with before. Small niceties you’d never imagined the two of them would do together. 

Thinking back, the first deviation aside from the triggering night he’d initially seen the phone number and felt the threat of you slipping from his graspwas the time he’d come and visited you at work when out on patrol. And though he hadn’t really asked, you’d come to realize rather hesitantly that he’d come there to eat lunch together with you.

Maybe you’d been too swept up in the embarrassing buzz to notice, caught in the paparazzi of hushed whispers and judgy stares – all of them asking who the Plain Jane thought she was, eating lunch with the up-and-coming pro-hero Dynamight– you hadn’t really the time nor mind to pay attention to him and all his newly awoken instincts regarding you.

It seemed fucking silly now… How you’d foolishly thought the bizarre lunch was an isolated incident that wouldn’t ever happen again, only to be schooled the next day and the day after that – coming to understand you were to expect it as a regular thing. And soon, it wasn’t even the strangest thing anymore.

Soon, he was driving you home every day, coming inside, eating dinner, watching the news until late, and staying the night. Soon, you found yourself waking up in his apartment alone, coming downstairs to find he’d made you breakfast before leaving, combined with a little note telling you when he’d be back. Soon, you weren’t spending a single week or weekend without him. Soon, you couldn’t find anything to wear that didn’t either remind her of him or smell like him or that downright didn’t belong to him completely.

And he’d started taking you places too – on dates – broadcasting your relationship to anyone who could snap a picture and send it to every gossip magazine in Japan. He’d introduced you to his colleagues – who you knew to be “friends” from some rather upsetting stories he’d told you when he was in a less and less rare mood for talking – and they’d seemed to know who you were just as intimately, giving you the sneaking suspicion that he’d been running his mouth and saying private things he ought not to.

But that had all been child’s play.

It got out of control when he’d ordered a delivery truck to pack down all your things and move them all to his apartment before you got home from work. Sure, he’d introduced the idea of living together in passing, but you couldn’t remember ever committing to it or being at all close to an understanding of where and when.

Thinking about it now, that was probably your last chance of escaping before things got ugly.

But then, it was already too late. You were living with him suddenly – sharing all his space while unable to shake that awfully crippling feeling of just being another medal or trophy up on the mantle. Just a decorative doll he’d locked behind glass.

You’d felt as though your head was in a cloud. And not in a nice way, but in the utmost hollow way. As though you’d put yourself on auto-pilot and just gone with the stream like jellyfish.

And now… now he was down on one knee, asking – no, demanding – that you give him everything. 

For life until due death.

Just the two of you. 

Together.

Forever.

You swallowed thickly, feeling your head prickle as though it had fallen asleep without taking you with it. 

Your lips are dry, your eyes are dry, feeling more sober than ever.

You took a breath and, on the next exhale, spoke, “No.”

You both just stared at each other for a while as though neither could decide who was more shell-shocked and had the right reserved to remain still the longest. You left – deciding it was the person on the floor with the expensive ring weighing down his hand – and walked towards the mudroom.

“What are you doing?” He asked then, hesitantly at first. Shaken from his spot, he’d resumed his full height again, loudly stomping across the floor to reach you.

“I’m sorry- I- I can’t stay here- I need to go.” You rushed, head spinning, only able to understand how you wanted to put shoes on and leave. Maybe get a drink at a bar by yourself and figure your shit out without being suffocated by him.

“Don’t do this.” He said then, sounding desperate and somewhat feeble if it weren’t for how he had you pushed against the wall in the same second.

You nearly decided against yourself when seeing the look on his face – warped into something truly fragile. Plead had his brows pinched together while his sharp red eyes, now doe-like, had glossed over and looked nothing short of hopeless and scared.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart twist and ache and feel a little guilty.

But nevertheless.

“I can’t marry you….”

You couldn’t keep doing this.

“I’m sorry- I don’t love-” 

You didn’t get to finish. The word taken, stifled, strangled in a fist closing around your throat.

“You do love me.” He refuted quickly, as though terrified to have let you finish. “You’ve always loved me.” Trembling while he said it, as though trying to force himself into believing it too. 

Shaking your collar in unstable hands – bearing down on you until you couldn’t be pushed flatter against the stone behind you, until his forehead rested against the wall, and his lips brushed the shell of your ear in hot, heavy, strained breaths. 

“You’re just confused.” He rasped, voice light and breathy and nearly amounting to a giggle or a sob – you weren’t sure which.

But you couldn’t care much when you couldn’t breathe. Head burning into wet cotton that was no longer able to tell you to push him off and instead let your hands go limp against his chest, knees going weak beneath you. 

You were convinced he’d kill you before the tiniest slither of air was allowed back in through your windpipe, gasping for it like a glutton until coughing it all up again when choking on your own desperate gulps. 

You held your throat in an act of soothing it from the forming bruises and shielding it from further attack. But he was ahead of you and had his sights on attacking something else.

He took you by the hair and started pulling, dragging you from the door and further into the apartment.

“Stop- stop it-” You gasped between hiccups and coughs, your hands clawing at his in an effort to free his grasp from your scalp. Your shins dragged to burns against the cold marble as your legs kicked in the struggle, hitting the floor in a series of sporadic thuds until he stopped.

He’d crossed the threshold of your bedroom and was now throwing you down on the mattress, pinning you in the same second with a hand gripping your jaw and eyes a searing cold that seemed to lash out at you like unstable fire, glaring at you with a look so blank and empty you felt it like the chill of death creep throughout your bones.

“If you want me to be nice, you should shut up.”

You knew you ought to listen, but still, one last prayer slipped off your tongue against your better judgment before you could think twice about it. “Please don’t do this-”

“Don’t do what!?” He barked – spit flying and teeth bared just like a rabid rottweiler – louder than you’d ever witnessed, loud enough to make you wince. “Break your heart!?” His voice cracked on the cry, and he paused, giving another gruesome and gut-wrenching chuckle. Head ducking to your chest with spikey hair nipping at your throat like a million needles. 

His hand tightened even more, clawing into your cheeks.

“I’m just making things even.”

You’d never realized just how hopeless you were if you’d ever needed to fend him off. But you’d never needed to before, never wanted to until now.

Now that he had you so helplessly beneath him, where the reality was slowly dawning on you and making you ever more hysteric, slowly settling upon you like dust. The ensuing violation and your utter defeat in fighting it, your failure in doing much more than make it worse.

He tugged his tie loose and threw it off his head, wrapping your wrists in the loop and tightening it into restraints.

Spreading your legs by positioning himself between them. Only now noticing just how brittle you were. So much smaller than him. So much so that tying your wrists to the bedpost seemed like overkill.

You were sobbing, gasping for breath with your chest rising and falling on beat with the deafening drums of your racing heart. You seemed less than nothing beneath him – just a defenseless pile of plush flesh soft against him and all his muscles.

You tried pulling your thighs shut, but it hardly mattered. His hands buried in the fine plume of the cakey fat had them both spread again with nearly no strength put into it at all. 

It was all right there – taken with no effort – only a cute pink cotton panty stopping him. 

His heart clenched at that, flickered and tugged with misery at the look of you crying into your own arm, trying to comfort yourself while your chest heaved, already tired of screaming and bawling – having resorted to soft sniffles and weak snivels while tiny quakes shook through you still, goosebumps adorning all your exposed flesh, which was every part of you sept for what your pretty silk dress kept hidden.

You were so beautiful… Precious and just… too good.

He knew that. He knew that you were too good for him and had always been too good for him – part of the reason why he used to act as though he hated you – when, in reality… he actually…

“I love you.” He cried. “I’ve always loved you….”

Hot tears splashed in big droplets, staining the silk with splotches that seeped into larger flecks on your stomach. 

“I can’t live without you-” He continued, his hands shaking where he held you apart while his body sagged forward, bowing down, donning soft kisses to your neck and jaw, upon the tears staining your cheeks with streaks, whispering in a voice close to breaking. “I can’t- I won’t-” Choked and pitiful, raw from shouting only a moment earlier.

One of his hands detached from its bruising grip, whilst the other loosened and slid higher – pulling your dress up with it– before rubbing loving circles into your midriff. 

You heard his buckle go undone a second later and offered another whimpering sob, your own hands jostling in their bonds on beat with your shaky breaths while trying to angle your face further away with the aim of avoiding the attack of his wet teary kisses.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, but I can’t… I can’t let you go.”

You felt him press against your clothed cunt with the weight of his swollen thickness and let out another whimper – your nose stuffed full of his breaths and eyes full of unyielding tears. 

His hand reached for your panty, hooking the trail and pulling it to the side, making you sink your teeth into the plump of your lip to suppress yet another whimper while you cringed with discomfort and the unanswered wishes for him to stop as he nibbled on the corner of your mouth with more teary proposals.

His fingers soon prodded your slit like they’d done nearly every day for years since they were but teens. Touching you with a perfected skill he’d learned would have you shiver with arousal. 

You yielded quickly, your sex turning puffy and wet sooner than you had the time to be embarrassed about it.

“No one knows you as well as I do. No one loves you as much as I do.” He chanted against your skin, entering you with both his longest digits, pumping them deep and scraping them in a cruel curl into that spot he knew had your toes doing the same. Smiling once your hips made an involuntary jolt in response. “No one else but me.” 

He pulled his hands to himself once you’d left three of his digits warm and soaking with slick, lathering his own arousal with it before nudging his cockhead against your opening in a sticky kiss and breaching it.

You stiffened, and he groaned into your neck at the feel of you clamping down even tighter as he bottomed out into your already taunt choke.

“No one else would know how to love you.” He hissed, setting a sweet tempo, lips still close, grazing on the peachfuzz of your cheek, ghosting your skin with hot breaths and even hotter words.  “No one else would know the first thing to do with you once they had you.”

You shook her head, more so in askance of space than anything else – needing air free of him – needing to clear your head off the building warmth you felt spread from your core – needing to shake the coil loose before it could knot itself further. But it seemed the more you tried fending it off, the faster it neared its end.

You always shook so prettily when cumming – when spilling over and moaning all flushed and cute for him with your hips riding it out against his until it left you panting, blushed, and adorned with a shiny sheen of dew, making you look golden in the glory of the after high.

You were his, and not even you could deny it. It almost makes him pity you, watching you writhe, unable to keep even this from him… laid completely bare to accept what he gave and give what he decided to take.

“You’re mine…”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Thinking about Jealous Baby daddy! Miguel O'Hara who seems grumpier during the next custody swap the following week. A permanent scowl etched on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest while leaning against his car. Only answer in a grumble when you asked what’s wrong, wanting to see if you’d mentioned anything about the date you went on, acting as if he didn’t know about it. You didn’t.

Jealous baby daddy!Miguel starts to probe any info about your new suiter from Gabriella whenever he can during his weeks with her, wanting to see if it was only a fling or if it had any potential to turn into something serious. Huffing when his daughter starts to tease him about it when she notices he starts to be asking about it too often, denying her claims of him “having a crush” on mommy again, him trying to defend himself to the 10 year old by saying he only wanted to make sure that the guy wasn’t a jerk.

It didn’t matter if he was the nicest man on earth though, Miguel wasn’t gonna like him either way.

Jealous baby daddy!Miguel who finally cracked and “casually” mentioned to you that Gabi has been making comments about you seeing someone as of recently during one of her games and “accidentally” forgot to mention that he’s been basically interrogating your girl about him. Purposely leaning in a bit closer as he whispered into your ear while you both sat on the metal bleachers, fighting off an oncoming smirk from his lips when he noticed your shoulders tensing up and your cheeks growing warmer even if your eyes stayed on the field.

Jealous baby daddy!Miguel who purposely starts to get more touchy. Not in an inappropriate way, but in a smaller strategic way. Letting his fingertips linger a second too long against yours when he hands you Gabriella’s school bag, his thighs brushing against yours the whole time during a soccer game. Small things that he can dismiss if you try to confront him by saying you’re being silly, but he knows that it driving you crazy.

Jealous baby daddy!Miguel who suddenly starts sending you photos of you both in college when you were both dating before you had Gabi, saying he “stumbled across it” while cleaning.

—

“Okay, go get ready for bed, amor.” (Sweetie.)

“Si mami!” (Yes mom!)”

As the pitter patter of Gabriella’s blue crocs make their way over to the bathroom, you got up and off the couch to tidy up the mess of Barbies off from your living room carpet floor. While putting away the skipper doll back in the toy bin, you heard your phone vibrate on the couch, quickly placing it in the bin before standing up straight and dusting your hands off to go see who texted you, expecting it to be the guy you're talking to.

To your surprise though, Miguel’s name was popping up instead, with a raised brow you go to open the message. Your face of mild confusion turns into one of a small look of nostalgia.

“Look what I found while cleaning up my computer storage.” Was the message that accompanied the photo, you and Miguel, around 19 you’d like to say, in a candid shot one of your friends took of you both, you playfully smuggling some ice cream on the side of his cheek while you both laugh.

“Mom! I’m ready!” Your daughter’s sudden call quickly took you out of your state of reminiscing, snapping you back to present time. Telling her you’d be right up as you close your phone and placed it back on the coach, but not before liking the message.

—

Part 1<

Part 3<

Not proofread

Word count: 600

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

[norrizzandpia]

I absolutely love your writing, I am obsessedd! Could you do a story where yn is in a car crash (or something along those lines), and then a scared Lando? And I would love you even more if yn doesn't immediately wake up or immediately is ok

Kissess

Is it mentally ill for me to love this trope?

What Died Didn’t Stay Dead (LN4)

Summary: Y/n’s close to fatal car crash and the epiphanies that followed.

Warnings: detailed depictions of a car crash, mentions of death, lots of angst, happy ending

Note: GUESS WHO’S BACK AND READY TO WRITE OVER THE SUMMER

There was a distant memory of Lando going ninety in a forty-five as Y/n drove his McLaren to work. Her hands on the wheel and mind elsewhere, she giggled to herself when the image of him pouting at a ticket and its astronomical price sat in the forefront of her mind.

“Could you, for one second, respond to what I’m saying?” The voice of her boss rang through the car’s speakers.

Y/n rolled her eyes. She hated this woman. “I am responding to you. I just have nothing more to say.”

The woman coughed on the other side of the phone, phlegm prominent in the sound, “What you need to generally understand here is that we, as a company and a branch, cannot have you dating someone with such a high profile. Especially when he continually goes against vehicle regulations and laws. We are a law firm, Y/n. One that helps clients who have been involved in car accidents. Lando Norris, Formula One Driver and known speeder, dating someone who handles cases such as ours.”

Y/n nodded to herself, “I get that, Ann. But, I don’t know what you want me to do? You can’t fire me due to my personal relationships and you can’t demand me to separate from him. This is an empty issue, which you have brought to my attention without a concise and cohesive solution. When you can figure out a way for me to continue to date my partner and keep my job as it is without this supposed issue, come to me. But, for right now, it sounds as though this is empty complaining.”

Ann scoffed, “Between me and you, Y/n, it would be in your best interest to part ways with Lando Norris.”

Speechless and shocked, Y/n’s eyes averted to the screen with Ann’s name and number presented. She couldn’t believe the suggestion, much less the blatant disregard for professionalism. With the massive distraction, she failed to see the aggressive driver approaching her right in the rear view mirror.

A sentence she began to speak fell short when the car attempted to move into her lane, one that had no more space to accommodate his large truck. He hit her front bumper with such force she spun out into oncoming traffic. With the rush hour and the lack of free area to miss an out of control car, the McLaren was smashed to pieces after being hit at every angle and every speed.

The shredded mound of parts smacked the shoulder of the road, ending its violent rampage. Ann stayed quiet on the other side of the call, having heard Y/n’s screams and the dwindling of them as crunching metal continued on.

“Y/n?” She whispered into the speaker, but there was no answer.

—

“Oscar! That’s not the way you do it!” Lando screeched, looking at the phone screen and the comments popping up in outrage over the way Oscar was trying to mold his car.

The Australian just scrunched his nose at Lando, “I do things the way I want to!”

Raging laughter from Lando met the ears of everyone watching the stream just as Oscar’s clay car fell apart moments after he uttered his rebuttal.

His pale hands came up in defense, “How was I supposed to know?!”

Lando just continued laughing, “‘I do things the way I want to!’ Dumbass.”

Oscar scoffed and the words formed on his lips just as the door burst open. Adam stood at the threshold, eyes red and phone clutched to his ear as he stared at his son.

“Lando.” He said, his voice breaking.

Maybe it was the tone or the fact the syllables couldn’t quite leave his mouth because of the sobs emitting from him. Lando thought it had to have been the look on his father’s face, the pain etched into his eyes and his soul, that told me what he needed to know.

HIs face dropped, remnants of laughter completely destroyed by the suggestion of Adam’s sorrow. Lando grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair and in a haze, he muttered, “Is she dead?”

Part of him wished Adam would’ve given him a definite answer. Part of him thought the answer yes would’ve been better than the I don’t know he was given.

I don’t know meant Y/n was almost there. I don’t know meant Y/n was fighting for her life and what everyone knew her to be. He hated the idea she was fighting for the existence of her memory and the achievements he knew she was bound to make in the future.

When they left the room, running to the car outside and waiting for them, Lando hated the idea that Y/n was fighting for the future they had always wished to share together. Marriage, kids, settling down, and going gray with her was almost completely out of his reach and that dread prompted the vomit that spewed from his mouth into his backpack as they rode to the hospital.

—

Lando’s phone blew up so much, he had to shut it off, so the silence he was forced to endure in the chair of the hospital’s waiting room was brought about unwillingly.

At that point, his nails had been bitten so far down, he was bleeding. Blood only spurred the picture of Y/n dosed in it as she was lifted from his wrecked car.

The insurance company and McLaren had both agreed it was very clearly not Y/n’s fault and they would cover the cost of his beloved, customized McLaren.

Beloved.

He thought it had been funny when one of the McLaren engineers had said that to him, promising his “beloved” car back to its original state. Funny because “beloved” didn’t describe how he felt about that car. He loved that car. It was everything to him. He remembered getting the car, feeling as though his life had changed completely for the better with the presence of this beauty in his life. He cherished it, he took care of it, that car would always hold a piece of his heart.

Then he realized that the sentimental thoughts he was having surrounding the car was just an allegory for Y/n.

He loved Y/n. She was everything to him. He remembered meeting her, feeling as though his life had changed completely for the better with the presence of her beauty in his life. He cherished her, he took care of her, she would always hold a piece of his heart.

Losing her was not an option. It never would be.

Please, to anyone out there, do not take her from me, he pleaded out to the emptiness of the universe. An empty universe that was trying to take his happiness from him. A cruel universe that was trying to strip the world of her impact.

Please was the only word on his mind when the doctor appeared from behind the swinging doors that led to the operation rooms. A tired look on his face was warranted for the hours of work he had just put into trying to save Y/n’s life.

He stopped in front of Adam and Lando, his tall frame making them stand up. On wobbling legs, Lando began to cry.

”Please tell me she’s going to be okay. You have no idea who she is, what she has done. Please, Y/n has gone and could continue to go so far. This cannot be it for her. She has so much left to do. Please, tell me-”

“Lando,” The doctor interrupted, his hand on his shoulder as a comfort, “Her injuries were extensive, but she pulled through. The recovery will be long and painful, but there’s no permanent damage. She’s incredibly lucky and one of the strongest people I have ever helped.”

A loud sigh of relief left Lando’s mouth, his body slinking down into the chair behind him. He held his head in his hands, his fingers clasped together as he said a silent prayer to a God he thought he didn’t believe in.

Thank you, he gave over and over in his mind.

—

“Do you think I could see her now?” Lando caught up with the doctor’s steps as he seemed to be rushing to another room.

The man stopped, turned to Lando, and then cocked his head. He stared at him for a moment with the wheels turning in his head.

A curt nod and smile had Lando rushing off to the room number he had made the nurse repeat back to him so many times just so he could memorize it for when the time was right.

Now was his time.

Pulling open the door, he stopped himself. He prepared himself for the battered and bruised Y/n he was bound to see. Lando’s mind flooded with vivid videos of her laughing, sleeping on his chest, looking at him like he had single-handedly given her the world and more. He wanted to remind himself of that Y/n, not the one he was about to see. She would always be the same to him and he knew she would come back to him, but, for the time being, he knew he would have to rely on the memories of her where she was truly electrictrified with life.

He finally stepped through and the sight of her in whatever comatose state they had put her in made his teary eyes leak.

His body fell into the chair by her bed, his hand coming to clutch hers. Her skin was cold when he brought it to his cheek, but the red tint to her cheeks was still there.

Her lungs falling up and down grabbed his attention, “Baby,” He breathed, “I love you.”

Silence responded and he continued, “When you wake up, I promise you I will not continue to make the cowardly decision of chickening out of asking you to marry me. I know you know I have the ring. That night when I came home to you elbow deep in my sock drawer was a dead giveaway. I know you know it’s taking me so long to gain the courage and I thank you for being patient, but I cannot go another waking moment with the idea floating around in my head that there is a possibility you will never share my last name. I need you to be a Norris if it is the last thing I do.”

Her body stayed in its place and her hand stayed still in his clutch, but he knew she was in there. She needed her rest, just as the nurses had explained to him and he agreed. The bruises on her face, the casts surrounding her body, he didn’t want her to wake up to this.

—

And she wouldn’t have to. When she woke up weeks later, the bruises had healed, the cuts had become skin once more, and the casts had dwindled down to one. Lando was there too when her eyes squinted open and she groaned out. Groggy and confused, Y/n’s face turned to Lando’s. The two met each other’s eyes and the rest was expected. The rushed words of gratitude, love, and adoration accompanied by Lando’s repeated statements for her to marry her were all seemingly written in the stars. Cliche, maybe, but the way they held each other in the soft sunlight of her hospital room, the now fiancées happened upon the thought that whatever was meant to happen was going to happen.

And they were meant to happen.

[friedchickenluver]

n2deep | full-length smut | modern!adult!zuko x f. reader

warning(s): sloppy oral sex (f. receiving), 69 position, mating press, rough sex, light spanking, squirting, dirty talk, car sex, implied recording, belly swells, dick imprint, cervix kissing, choking, ghetto ass bondage, breeding, overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), rimming, anal thumbing, not proofread and I can barely write dialogue without cringing

wc: 2k+

notes: yeah i decided to post it on here.

•𑁍•

Zuko is the type of person to have and take you anywhere, all he needs is you and your body and the both of y'all were all set. Currently, your pussy is now being scrubbed over the landscape of his face, eating you out like some starved man. He had you upside down, face down and buried against his own burning arousal, hands gripping the middle of the console to keep you from falling forward, knees kneading into his toned chest and your feet being thrown over his shoulders. A familiar sensation of his smooth tongue slapping itself raunchily in between your lips, licking a prolonged stripe up from your very front making it to the very middle of your ass. He sucked in his cheeks rimming around your hole carelessly sucking in your muscles with help of an eager mouth slurping back up and reusing his bubbled up saliva.

You made a screwy noise once he slapped the sensitive flesh of your ass, every pop of his mouth going straight to a throb in your dripping clit. Your stomach churned up the heat of an oncoming orgasm, subtly mouthing at his dick to lap up the stream of precum spilling from the crest of his tip. It didn’t really have a taste, but you were so intoxicated on the aroma of his expensive cologne. It mingled on the inside of your nostrils, and so did his cum that burned down in there also.

He couldn’t help but to make a variety of content noises, continuing to drink up every drop of your ejaculation against his face, feeling a mouth sucking in the heat of his veins. The clashing temperatures between her seemingly cold mouth on fire that raged throughout his cock caused the man to buck up erratically to meet her mouth for more of the gratifying effect. Zuko pushed his thumb into the taut slot settled below her bottom, planting it there inside to lick back down into her actual nub of nerves. Biting it roughly triggered your head to shoot back up from her ministrations, coughing up a loud noise of pain into the muffled interior of the car.

A lip was pulled to be bitten down in the middle of two rows of teeth, humping back on his thumb made your eyeslashes flutter rapidly, throwing your eyes to the darkness of the back of your head. Clenching so hard around the digit made you squirt violently, coating his face with your intense finish. Everything you felt in that moment mustered up altogether in a drawn out moan of desperation. This is the third time you did that tonight and your body was basically convulsing from overstimulation, legs burning and going numb from the exhaustion of your muscles working tirelessly in one position to support yourself.

Sliding your legs from straddling his head, he instructed you silently to lie down onto the slightly damp leather seats below. You watched with your lips slightly parted and mouth drying up from overuse, Zuko grabbed the specific pair of panties you had worn that evening, tearing them apart to reduce it down to one long piece of cloth to tie your ankles together with. An involuntary flinch shook up the nerves running across her body as she gazed at him tearing up her underwear.

Legs instinctively holding themselves up in the air for him, a hand of his grasping your ankles to throw the ruined pair of underwear to bind up your legs along the shape of your ankles, kissing the sides of your feet soothingly to lull your nerves. The kisses were slow and calculated, his still damp right thumb massaging one of your feet as he kissed back up to your wiggling toes. Arousal pressurized within her body just by watching Zuko reciprocating the deep stare of blatant desire, in this small intimate exchange the air shifted slightly as he pulled your legs back with the grip on your panties with the ankles within them.

“Here, keep these in your mouth for me, so you can hold your legs back.”

Zuko took a few hurried intakes of breath watching her struggle to lurch forward to bite down on the thin fabric of her undergarments. All of her hamstrings ignited in a fire of stretch bringing her legs down in the mostly uncomfortable position he guided her into, wincing in acute pain, not noticing how a hand pushed her feet back to lift up her lower half to properly angle himself up to her gaping entrance. He cursed sliding straight into nothing but tightness, he had to ground your hips to keep from jerking away from the renewed connection.

Lumps balled up amongst the canals of her throat, she braced herself for his experimental movements at the edge of her pussy. Zuko had to place his hands digging into the seat on his left side in order to back up his starting pace up into her. Sinking down into her from above, reclining on one foot that dug into the carpet interior of the humid car, the other knee profoundly rubbing into the groaning material of the leather.

Throwing his head back with a long noise of satisfaction, he dipped your thighs back further until they were flush in contact with your contracting abdomen. His thrusts had you fumbling your words and choking on your drool, deep sighs excused as hushed whines. Syllables of all sorts fell from the corner of your mouth with the small starter trail of drool seeping out from your mouth. Suctioning slaps filled up the drums of your ears, easing their way to a faster pace. Zuko was known to have such impatience but god did his impatience know how to please you.

With each and every plop downwards, he exhaled nearly laboriously as sweat condensed around his hairline. Windows began to fog up from the heat of their bodies melding together deliciously, getting more and more reckless by the second he scooted his other foot to prop himself up on the creaking seat.

“That’s right, take this dick pretty girl.”

Nothing but an array of exaggerated moans and whines filled the silence of the car, and sobs that accented his hips landing down to drill through the gummy barriers of your sex. Your breasts bouncing around lewdly created another sight for Zuko to bask in as he never let up plowing inside of her.

Surely, the car had started to rock from his pace ricocheting throughout the entirety of the situation surrounding you two.

“Fuuck me!” You snarled out despite your underwear restricting your mouth, hands flying to scratch at his forearms possibly drawing blood from your nails burrowing past the thin layer of his milky skin. A slimey mixture of your wetness and his blossoming precum combined into a bubbly, translucent blend, his aggression splashed the fluid all over the contents of the car and themselves.

He’d fuck it so voraciously you couldn’t differentiate if you were peeing or squirting actively, whatever, the only thing on your mind was telling him how good his dick is. How his dick is the only one ever meant for you, each time you reassure that what he was doing was perfect, his length would hammer in your walls so good as physically possible. Zuko reached through your open legs to push downward on your throat to let him stand up a little more on his feet to beat down in your soaking wet pussy.

Instantly, the makeshift bound flew from your mouth as you screamed his name like a thousand times over, gritty noises of wailing cries from your soul itself as you tried to shove him out of you. Head slamming down on the door handle from him nailing down on your cluster of nerves just up behind your clit, you could’ve cried from the view of your juices spraying all over his gorgeous body. Your insides felt mixed around, reaching new depths you had no knowledge of being there. The swell of your stomach came from the sheer girth of his massive fucking shaft, rearranging the layout of your guts with such vigor.

“So fuuucking wet, so fucking- good. Cum on it f’me doll.”

His dick’s print bulging out on the inside of your stomach caused your vision to churn, unrhythmic moans in obscene noises displaced from his plunges forward. Zuko sped up impossibly faster, spanking down the underside of your ass with his pelvis viciously. It’s obvious there were some bright red mark down there, you’re now at the peak of your overstimulation twitching and jerking your body around the sticky leather from your sweat and never ending fluids. The jerks came in sprodiac groups, legs shaking violently in the air from sheer muscle exhaustion.

Deciding that you were literally at the crest of passing out, you rapidly tapped on the seat beside you to signal to Zuko that you were trying to tap out this round. Before you could even sit upright to remove yourself from him with slight movements, he hooked your legs with the aid of his powerful arms to pin you down altogether with most of his body weight.

“No, don't run now, I’m not finished with you yet.”

Oh if only you could even grasp at how pitiful of a wail that was punched out from you was, you were genuinely burning from a plethora of emotions, sensations, thoughts, words. It was crazy how he had you at his mercy and his will, if heat wasn’t already there it definitely came to wash in another wave over you. It all felt absolutely amazing on the precipice of an orgasm so great you’d think you died and went to heaven for the first time.

The blood that circulated throughout your veins ran freezing cold, eyes shooting open with your pupils narrowed and thin, back arching up into something practically inhumane. Your body spasmed out vehemently, yet nothing fell from your mouth, just silence for the moment of your climax. And so you officially collapsed back down onto the backseat, limbs all going into a limp jelly feel.

She continued to loudly moan, regardless of her finish, Zuko still hasn’t had his own fill yet. He rutted into her body to fuck her deeper against the material of the seats, thrusts growing reckless and overwhelming in pure force. The pure white ring of her finish accumulated around the base of his cock as he drove it a good inch further every single time he rocked back inside. Their combined fluids grew sticky from Zuko churning them into a disgruntled pulp, the micro-strings of ot all sticking to their bodies, mixing with sweat.

It wasn’t long until after a few more strokes that he came wholly, pressing down on your stomach to cave in his cum in the depths of your womb. Zuko groaned rather quietly, but loud enough for you to hear. The couple’s noises of gratification in sync as she squirted another few times.

Your eyes glittered as you checked out the state of the car in all of its glory, the windows were well fogged over, clothes thrown anywhere haphazardly, and the seat was completely covered in a puddle. The way your entire body quaked rapidly as he withdrew with a loud suction noise, a quiet chuckle came from above you, gaining your attention as he reached for his phone left in the driver’s seat.

“You mind?” Zuko said with a gentle, tired smile. You returned the warm visage, flipping over on your stomach to arch your lower half up in front of him. The flash flickered on illuminating the internal dark aesthetics of the Bentley they were currently in, preparing themselves for another senseless round. His essence leaked down the innermost parts of your thigh as he positioned himself up at your entrance, grabbing a handful of your ass.

────bloopers

“You owe me a shit ton of Chick fil a for what you just put me through.”

“Why not Wendy’s? It’s ch-“

“Don’t play with me Zuko.”

[valtsv]

fitzjames declares that crozier loves his men "more than god loves them" in the same episode where he later asks crozier to go against the will of god to grant him a more merciful and loving death. which he does. [hits post, throws my phone out of the car window, and floors the accelerator as i approach the oncoming brick wall

[haikyu-mp4]

For cartwheels

word count; 1062 – gn!reader, inspired by my desperate dream of doing a cartwheel

Tsukishima Kei was so happy to get home after a long day at the museum where he worked, desperate to spend the evening inside in your company. Unfortunately, he married you, so he could never get the peace he wanted for free.

You were standing awkwardly on the lawn in front of your house when he exited the car. Your husband walked closer slowly as if approaching a dangerous animal. “Why are you out here, brat?” he asked affectionately, but then he saw the tear trickling down from your eye. “What’s wrong?”

With a sniffle, you lift your arm and wipe at the tear before pouting at him, shoulders shaking a little but he wasn’t sure if it was sobs or oncoming laughter because it seemed like a mixture of both. “I so desperately want to do a cartwheel,” you explained, letting another tear fall.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, wondering if he heard you right as he straight up stopped and just stared at you.

“I suddenly got this intense urge to do a cartwheel, but I can’t do a cartwheel!”

“Have you tried, are you hurt?” he asked, this time wondering if maybe you had tried already and that was why you were crying.

“I just told you, I can’t do cartwheels. I’m stuck walking around like some lame person.” you insisted, walking around in a circle as if for emphasis. He covered his mouth with his hand, acting as if he was thinking and even putting the other hand on his hip for the act, but really he was just trying not to laugh at you when you were feeling so emotional. He didn’t understand why this made you cry, and he probably never would. There are many times in this marriage where you tested his patience, but he never loved you any less.

After basking in this weird energy for a minute, he put his bag down and started rolling up his sleeves. “Just try it.”

You wrung your hands and swayed your body a bit like a little kid who is about to ask their parent for something. “Will you try with me? I’m scared that the neighbours will see me do it alone and think I’m weird.”

“God forbid they think that,” he mumbled sarcastically, making you lightly slap his chest. He blinked in disbelief, so close to just saying no, but there was something about the way you looked at him like he could save your entire day. “I can call Yamaguchi and ask if he wants to come over for a playdate?” he asked, bratty as ever despite his affection for you.

“I want you! This is what I married you for,” you said, always turning overly dramatic when Tsukki fought against you.

Once again, he deadpanned as he looked at you, silently asking if you were serious. “You married me to do cartwheels together in our garden?”

You grinned innocently and shrugged your shoulders. “Amongst other things.”

His eyes fell closed, pinching between them with his pointer finger and thumb. Tsukishima actually couldn’t believe he was about to agree, except yes he could. He was so smitten with you that there was no doubt in his mind he would eventually agree anyway. “Fine, but you have to make dinner after I break both my arms and legs.”

Completely ignoring his dramatics, you clap your hands excitedly. “You’re the athlete, you have to go first.” His eyes were cursing you, but he still got ready, breathing in and out as his eyes measured the space he had. You giggled and stood at the side, cheering for him like a cheerleader. “Go, Tsukki!”

“It’s Kei to you,” he said, breaking his concentration again because nothing was worth his time more than bickering with you.

“Do the cheerleaders at your games call you that?” you argued with a scrunched nose, reminding him you could be just as stubborn.

“No, but I’m not married to them!” he said, finally reaching the level of exasperated.

You giggle, always happy to hear him say you’re married. “Let’s go, baby, while the sun is up.”

It’s such a bratty line that he considered refusing again, but he finally got ready so that the two of you could get it over with. If you hadn’t been cheering for him, you would have heard him mumble a quick “Lucky I love you” before he finally lifted his arms and tried to do a cartwheel across the grass.

It wasn’t that bad, honestly. He did just fine at first but then forgot to steady himself and one leg just followed the other and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground with his glasses askew. You cheered loudly as Tsukishima straightened up his glasses and huffed. “Was it exhilarating?” you asked, holding out a hand to help him up.

“I’m never doing it again,” he insisted while you pulled him up. He squeezed your hand and gestured with his free hand towards the open space. “Your turn.”

An excited giggle left your mouth as you moved to where he stood previously, but your face fell abruptly when he just watched you silently. “Are you not going to cheer?”

He pursed his lips and lifted a hand like the Statue of Liberty, followed by a weak “Go, go, let’s go!”

That was more than enough to satisfy you, as you put up your hands and skipped for a step or two before tumbling across the lawn. It didn’t last for long, and you weren’t particularly good at it. But your laugh when you landed was enough of a sign to Kei that his mission succeeded. You were happy.

He helped you up and pulled you to his chest. The neighbours were totally watching you. “Was is exhilarating?” he asked you back.

“My butt hurts,” you complained, but it was still mixed with laughter.

He chuckled. It sounded like music to your ears. The soft kind of chuckle that caressed your heart and reminded you he was the one. “Mine too, honey.”

As you started making your way inside, Kei had his arm over your shoulders and yours was stretched across his back while he told you about his day. All you could do was stare up at him in wonder. That’s the man you married. In sickness and in health, for cartwheels and other things.

masterlist

/I got to the part where the reader asks him to join and suddenly realised I had no idea what character I was writing for, so I started imagining every moody haikyuu character doing cartwheels.

[artist-issues]

Christians, start talking about why homosexuality is a sin. Stop avoiding the topic. If we can’t talk about it with people who disagree with us, it only says something untrue. It’s just a sin, like all the other sins. It’s just a twisted desire, just like all the other twisted desires. “Such were some of us.” It put Christ in the cross, it condemns the person who sells their soul to it to eternity without Him. Don’t make it any less or any more than that by avoiding the topic. The Bible doesn’t treat it like a taboo topic.

Honestly so many people are deconstructing or dropping away from the faith because they don’t know how to be loving and talk about how the Bible is right when it says homosexuality is a sin. So they don’t talk about it, but everyone who disagrees with the Bible does—so no truth is coming in, just lies, and no wonder that one thread unravels the silent “Christian’s” whole faith.

Because listen, listen, marriage is a picture of the Gospel, and love is Christ. So when they twist those two things, and you decide they’re right, everything else falls apart because they’re all connected.

So yes, it’s too not-special-at-all, just another twisted desire, for you to be afraid to talk about it. But it’s also too important to know the truth about it, and replace the lies about it, for you to be silent about it.

Just tell ‘em it’s like every other sin. Your desires are twisted and you can either choose to identify with them, or you can submit them to Christ and identify with Him while he untangles the desires. You can be god of your own life until it’s time to spend eternity without Him, or you can admit He’s God. That’s it. By making it “special” you’re feeding into the lie that homosexuality is some special, unique, sacred part of a person’s psyche that has to be treated as such. Even if you’re against it. No, it doesn’t. The Gospel conversation is the same, whether the sin they embrace is homosexuality or not.

You want to be with someone of the same gender romantically, sexually? Well, I want to turn my car wheel into oncoming traffic. The difference between me and you is, I agreed with reality—my life isn’t mine, so my desire to end it isn’t right, and I won’t live by it. I’ll give it to the God who made me. You, on the other hand, aren’t there—yet. You’re still living out the lie that you were made for you, and every passing twisted desire that doesn’t line up with reality is your governing authority.

But the answer is the same. Jesus took the punishment for me, and you, committing cosmic treason against the loving God who made us to be god, ourselves, and twist up the love He invented us for. He took the punishment for all that, and He can straighten out the scoliosis of your soul. The answer’s the same. So why’s the conversation taboo? Because Barnes & Noble put a whole celebratory bookshelf out? Because Instagram shows you reels of people wailing when it’s brought up? Get over it. Stop treating people who celebrate their sin like their sin is more powerful than whatever sin Christ saved you from.

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Breathe It In

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Daryl takes you out on his bike for the first time.

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

“Y’ever rode one before?” Daryl asked. 

You shook your head, attention running over the hot, glinting chrome and black metal. Every inch of the motorcycle was covered in dust but you knew it was an impressive piece of machinery, especially in Daryl’s eyes. And it was big. Longer and taller than you ever really noticed, now that you were the one about to climb on top of it. 

“No,” you said to Daryl. “Never even seen one up close before you got this.” 

“Ya don’ haf’ta come with me. Once we git another car, we can-“

“No, it’s fine. I’ve done scarier, right?” you said, thinking just of the past week and all you’d faced. 

He gave a curt nod. Then he swung his leg over the motorcycle, the toe of his big boot finding the kickstarter immediately. His jeans hugged his body as he hiked his knee up unnaturally high before putting all his weight on the lever, slamming his leg down and starting the bike on the first try. He twisted one of the handles as the engine revved to life as he settled in the seat. 

He looked at you, gaze cutting over his bare arm, thick with muscle. “I’ll hold it steady. Foot rests are there,” he said, pointing low on the bike to the small pegs you would use. “That’s the engine-“

“That’s the engine? The whole thing is just… right there?” 

“Where else would it be?”

You shot him a glare. “I don’t know. Enclosed somewhere maybe.”

He huffed a laugh. It made his hair fall in his face, but you could see his blue eyes studying you as he continued his explanation. 

“The exhaust pipes are down there too- careful a’ those. They get hot.” 

“Okay, so butt goes there,” you said pointing, “feet go there and don’t touch anything else.”

“‘Cept me.”

You straightened, shooting your attention back to him. “Hm?”

“Gotta hold onta somethin’. Come on, let’s go.”

You wondered if you had flushed as red as he did at his words. He was looking at his fingers wrapped around the handlebars, knuckles turning white, but you saw the pink wave crawling up his neck from his vest and landing around his ears. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’,” you said, sidling up to the bike. You tried to sound teasing, but you just sounded nervous. And it wasn’t just the heavy machinery making adrenaline rush through you.

He held his hand out flat for you to grab and support yourself as you flung your leg over the side of the bike. The moment your bottom landed on the back of the seat, you felt Daryl’s wide hand around your calf, moving one of your feet into place on the pegs. It was only then you realized there were only two foot pedestals for four feet. You’d have to share. 

Once he’d moved you into place, he tapped your knee, signaling you to stay put. A cold rush of air kissed the spot his hand had just kept warm. 

Your legs pressed against the back of his body as you sat behind him, your feet on the outside of the pegs, while his thick boots stuck to the inside. Nearest to the hot exhaust pipes, you noticed. He was keeping you away from them. 

“Good?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

The motorcycle growled loudly at the will of his hand. Just a twist of his wrist and the bike was primed to speed off. 

He turned his head, not quite looking at you, though even then you could see his smirk. “Better hold on,” he said. 

You took the back of his jacket in your hands, balling up the leather around his hips into your fingers. “Kay,” you said, bracing yourself a bit. 

His foot rocked and his fingers squeezed, releasing the clutch and picking the gear. He twisted the handlebars, revving the engine and making the bike shake under you. To you, it was just a lot of noise and practically unnoticeable movement. To someone with motorcycling experience, it was a warning of oncoming power and swiftness. But you had no idea.

Without warning, the bike jolted forward and sped off so quickly it almost left you alone in the dirt, your grip slipping from Daryl’s jacket. 

Before you could fall off though, you hugged close to Daryl, palms open and sprawled over his chest and belly in panic. After the initial shock, however, the bike was a smooth ride as it kicked up dry Georgia dust behind its tires. That’s when you realized Daryl’s shaking and trembling wasn’t from the rattling of the bike, but from his chuckles. 

You heard his laugh even over the buzzing bike and rushing wind. It was a rare sound. Low, but free, like the rumble of an engine on a long, twisting summer road. In half mock, half true indignation, you lowered your hands to rest around his waist, meeting in the middle around his belt. Leaning up to his ear, you called to him. 

“You’re a real dick sometimes, Dixon!”

“Told’ya ta hold on,” he answered, giving your clasped hands a pat. 

“No kidding.”

He shook again. Though this time you couldn’t hear the soft chuckles that emanated from him, you knew they were there. You felt it. Just like you felt the affection radiating from him as he twisted his fingers in yours until they were interlinked. 

Before the outbreak, you never would have ridden a motorcycle. They were too dangerous. In fact, the thought of even looking at a contraption like this one, something Daryl had practically made with his own hands, without a safety helmet would never have crossed your mind. 

These days, things were different. Every day was a threat. But this, being with Daryl and sharing his pride and joy felt like the safest thing you could ever do. He was holding your hand and your arms circled him tight as you rode safely past anything questionable. 

You laid your head on the back of his shoulder and breathed it in- the freedom, the safety, the gas smell on his jacket and the smoke in his hair and you closed your eyes. And you felt his hand squeeze yours as if he was doing the exact same.

[hoe4hotchner]

Unpaid Balance

Pairing: Debt collector!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Words: 5k

Warnings: 18+, dark nature, the mob, Spencer is evil in a weirdly sexual way, hair yanking, maybe it counts a little as waterboarding reader's head is submerged in water for a second or two, fingering, kissing? Dom/sub dynamic, Sex is there but not described that well, Teasing, Hunter x prey dynamic, fear, fainting.

I think that's it but let me know if I missed something.

A/N: I'M BACK BITCHES!!!! I made myself so feral writing this, what the fuck. Also, Rossi makes an apperance :)

"You can't hide from me forever! There's nowhere to run." His voice echoed through the nearly empty warehouse, a chilling reminder of the footsteps that drew closer with every passing second. You regretted sneaking in here, realizing too late that hiding from him was the worst decision you could have made. His taunting voice carried a sinister edge, and you could almost picture the smirk tugging at his lips. All of this because you answered your phone this morning. You kicked yourself mentally for being so stupid, you knew better, but now wasn’t the time for that. You needed to find a way out of here.

It all started this morning. You knew time was running out. The stack of letters piling up in the mail painted a grim picture, one you desperately wished you could escape. The bank had sold your debt weeks ago to the most notorious collectors in the city, and how you'd managed to stay off their radar for this long was a mystery. But the moment your phone rang, dread settled in your stomach—you knew you’d messed up royally when you mindlessly answered the call.

"Ah, Miss (L/N), I'm glad to reach you finally." His voice was smooth, almost soothing, the kind of voice you could listen to for hours if the circumstances differed. But this wasn't a podcast, and Spencer Reid was far from a comforting presence. There was an unsettling familiarity in his tone, despite never having met him before. You knew exactly who he was and that was the problem.

"Well, If that's how you'd like to play-" You quickly cut off the call, knowing fully well that you were in deep trouble now. If only the bank had sold your files to anyone else, you would've been able to survive, but this was truly the worst outcome you could think of. Not even five minutes passed by before the buzzer rang. Panic surged through you, your heart racing faster than you thought possible. You felt sick, your vision blurring as his words echoed in your mind. It had to be him at the door.

With no time to waste, you bolted for the fire escape, scrambling down and out onto the street. You ran, pushing yourself to move faster, not daring to look back. But curiosity got the better of you. You glanced over your shoulder and there he was—Spencer, standing calmly at the end of the street, hands in his pockets, his black suit making him look even more imposing. He was too calm, given your desperate flight. He gave you a slight nod before getting into his car as if this were all just a game to him. Panic surged again, and you kept running, taking the first turn you saw, desperately trying to shake him off your tail.

Somehow the streets seemed empty, almost too empty, something was wrong and you knew it. Your steps echoed through the streets as you made your way further and further away from him, or so you hoped. Despite the sun brightly lighting up the sky, each step you took seemed to guide you further and further into darkness.

The sound of a car door slamming yanked your attention, and you knew instantly that Spencer was close. His disapproving tutting echoed down the street, a harsh reminder of your failed escape. Spinning around, you spotted his towering shadow cast ominously against the building at the next street corner. Without a second thought, you darted back the way you came, barely dodging an oncoming car. There was no time to heed the rules of the road—stopping could mean getting caught, and you weren't about to lose everything without a fight. Determination surged through you as you sprinted down the street, your heart pounding with every step.

Somehow, you found yourself in a narrow alley with no way out except to retrace your steps. Just when you thought you were done for, the sound of footsteps drew closer again. As if answering a desperate prayer, you spotted a tiny opening in the wall, partially obscured by wooden planks. It looked like a tight squeeze, but it was your only chance. You dashed toward the gap and threw yourself behind a dumpster, clawing your way through the narrow space. The rough edges of the broken planks scratched at your arms, sending stinging pain through your skin. You gave yourself a quick once-over, checking for any serious injuries, before realizing that you’d only traded one danger for another. You had squeezed into one of the abandoned warehouses near the docks, and now you were even more trapped.

You were far from home, no familiarity whatsoever in these corners of the city. The silence was loud, dripping water splattering onto the floor filled your ears as you scanned through the building to find a hiding spot. He couldn't be far away. You had a hunch that Spencer knew this city better than you, wondering just how many people had been in your situation before. How many people have experienced the sheer amount of fear that his voice shocked your system with?

Despite being nearly empty, there were still a few scattered remnants of activity: old wooden crates piled in one corner, a rusted metal shelving unit leaning precariously against a wall, and a cluster of large, dusty tarps draped over what looked like abandoned machinery.

Behind the crates, there was just enough space to squeeze into a narrow gap, shielded from view by the stacked boxes. The shelves, though unstable, provided a potential hiding spot if you were careful not to make a sound—one wrong move, and the whole thing could come crashing down over you. The tarps were the most tempting option, covering enough ground to allow you to slip beneath them and blend into the shadows they cast, but they blocked your vision. Each hiding spot had its risks, but they were your best chance to stay hidden in this desolate place.

You decided on the crates, quickly squeezing into the narrow gap behind them. The smell of dust and old wood filled your nostrils as you settled into the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest. You could just barely see through the slats in the crates, giving you a limited view of the warehouse floor.

Moments later, a figure appeared in the dim light of what must've been the main entrance to the building. He strolled in with a casual confidence that sent a chill down your spine, his silhouette tall and imposing. As he moved further into the warehouse, he began to whistle—a slow, haunting melody that echoed off the walls. The sound was unnervingly cheerful, completely at odds with the tension that crackled in the air.

"You can't hide from me forever! There's nowhere to run." His voice echoed through the nearly empty warehouse, a chilling reminder of the footsteps that drew closer with every passing second.

You held your breath, trying to stay as still as possible, peering through the slats to keep an eye on him. The melody continued like a twisted lullaby, it made your skin crawl. Spencer’s head swiveled slightly as if he was listening for any hint of movement, his pace unhurried as he drew closer to the crates.

Every instinct screamed at you to stay hidden, to remain perfectly still, but the fear gnawing at you was almost unbearable. Spencer’s whistling filled the empty space, making the warehouse seem even more desolate, even more inescapable.

Your muscles ached from staying so still, but you forced yourself to remain motionless, watching Spencer’s every move through the slats in the crates. His whistling continued, the eerie melody twisting in your mind. You tried to control your breathing, to keep it slow and quiet, but fear had a way of making even the smallest actions feel impossible.

Just as you shifted slightly to ease the tension in your legs, your foot brushed against a loose piece of wood. The small creak it made seemed deafening in the silence, and your heart skipped a beat as Spencer’s whistling abruptly stopped. The sudden quiet was more terrifying than the sound itself.

Spencer paused mid-step, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard something. You could see his eyes narrowing, his focus sharp as he scanned the warehouse. You held your breath, praying he would dismiss the noise as just the old building settling. But instead, he started moving again, slower this time, his eyes sweeping the area around the crates.

Then, just as you thought he might pass by, Spencer suddenly changed direction, heading toward a spot where you couldn’t see him through the slats. Panic surged through you—if you couldn’t see him, you couldn’t anticipate his next move. You strained to hear, but the warehouse was filled with overpowering silence, your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears.

You remained frozen, every nerve on edge, until suddenly you felt a hand seize a fistful of your hair. Pain shot through your scalp as your head was yanked back, forcing you to look up. There he was, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and filled with a twisted amusement. The smirk you had dreaded seeing was there, curling at the corner of his lips as he stared down at you, triumphant.

“Found you,” he whispered, his voice low and menacing, sending a fresh wave of terror through your body.

Your breath hitched in your throat, panic flooding your senses, overwhelming every rational thought. The room began to spin, the edges of your vision blurring as the reality of your situation closed in on you. Spencer’s grip tightened, his smirk deepening as he watched the fear consume you.

Your heart pounded erratically, each beat growing fainter as a cold sweat broke out across your skin. The world around you faded, the warehouse and Spencer’s terrifying presence becoming distant, shadowy shapes. You could hear his voice, low and mocking, but it sounded far away as if submerged underwater.

Then, all at once, the fear became too much. Your body couldn’t take it anymore. Darkness crept in from the edges of your vision, and before you could register what was happening, your eyes rolled back, and everything went black.

“Guess it’s time for you to meet the boss,” he murmured, his words laced with cruel amusement as you started slipping. The last thing you felt was the cold, unforgiving floor as your body slumped forward, unconscious, completely at the mercy of the man who had hunted you down.

You were jolted awake by the sudden, shocking cold of your head being plunged into a bucket of water. Panic surged through you as you flailed, gasping for air when you were finally pulled out, only to be hoisted off the floor by two large men. Your body was weak, limbs heavy from fear and exhaustion, as they dragged you across the room. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision, but the disorientation lingered.

When your eyes finally focused, you found yourself in a dimly lit office. The centerpiece of the room was a massive wooden desk, polished to a dark sheen. Behind it sat Rossi, the mob boss, lounging in a big leather chair that looked close to a throne. He was idly playing with the rings on his fingers, twisting them around as if deep in thought, though his cold eyes were fixed on you. His presence was commanding, exuding power with every casual movement. He leaned back, observing you with cold, calculating eyes.

Spencer was there too, standing behind the desk, his eyes not on Rossi but on you. He seemed relaxed, casually admiring the various knick-knacks that decorated the shelves behind the boss. But something was unsettling in the way his gaze kept drifting back to you, lingering a little too long. His dark eyes were filled with a growing hunger, a lust that made your skin crawl. As he licked his lips, you could feel his desire radiating off him in waves, and it made your stomach turn.

Rossi’s voice cut through the tension in the room, smooth and authoritative. He spoke about the debt you owed, laying out macabre options for repayment, each more horrifying than the last. His tone was casual, almost bored as if he were discussing mundane business rather than your fate. But despite his nonchalant demeanor, Rossi was not one to miss anything. He noticed the way Spencer's gaze was fixed on you, the way his lips curled in anticipation.

Without breaking his stride, Rossi’s sharp eyes flicked to the two henchmen holding you. “Take her away,” he ordered, his voice calm but commanding. “Lock her up in the back room.”

The henchmen didn’t hesitate, dragging you out of the office and down a dark corridor. Fear absorbed you as you realized what was coming next. As they pulled you further away, the last thing you heard was Rossi’s voice, low and authoritative, addressing Spencer.

“She’s all yours, boy.”

The words echoed in your mind as the door slammed shut behind you, leaving you alone in the cold, dimly lit room, with only the sound of your rough breathing to keep you company.

What felt like hours had passed since you were thrown into the dim, cold room. The only light came from a small, grimy window high up on the wall, barely large enough to squeeze through. Desperation gnawed at you as the reality of your situation set in. You couldn’t just sit here and wait for whatever plans Spencer had in store for you.

With renewed determination, you climbed onto the rickety table beneath the window and started pounding on the glass with your fists. The sound echoed in the small space, but the window refused to give. Frustration and fear fueled your efforts, each strike harder than the last until your hands ached and your hope began to weaken.

Then, just as you were about to strike again, a voice, smooth and taunting, cut through the silence. “You really think that’s going to work?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you turned to see Spencer standing in the doorway. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that same unsettling, predatory gaze. His presence filled the room with an oppressive weight, and your heart sank as you realized how long he might have been standing there, silently observing.

Your eyes flicked to the open door behind him, Spencer instinctively followed your gaze, as you calculated the distance, wondering if you could make a run for it. But before you could move, Spencer’s lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, his tone laced with dark amusement. “The guards are right outside. You wouldn’t get two steps before they'd drag you back.”

He stepped inside the room, locking the door behind him with a soft click that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound was final, cutting off any last hope of escape. Spencer’s eyes were fixed on you as he slowly closed the distance between you, each step deliberate, predatory.

When he was close enough, he reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His grip was firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you flinch. His face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and the power in his eyes was almost painful.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, as if savoring every word. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a mockingly tender gesture that only made the situation more terrifying. “You belong to me now.”

Until now, your fear and the dim lighting through the streets had kept his features in shadow, but with him this close, every detail became starkly clear.

He was tall, standing over you with an imposing presence that seemed to fill the entire room. His brown eyes, sharp and intense, locked onto yours with an unsettling focus. There was a calculating glint in those eyes as if he was dissecting every aspect of your fear and desperation. His stubble was neatly groomed, giving him a rugged, but carefully maintained look. It was clear that he put thought into his appearance, despite the rough edge it conveyed.

His hair was curly, styled in a way that looked effortlessly messy but was clearly intended to appear that way. It was a deliberate disarray, a chaotic yet tidy arrangement that only added to his imposing aura. The overall effect was one of calculated carelessness—a style that spoke of someone who was both meticulous and unapologetically confident.

You found yourself unable to look away, forced to take in every detail of his face as he studied you with that predatory smirk. The harsh lines of his stubble, the casual sweep of his curls, the sharpness in his gaze—it all added up to a man who was in control, a man who was used to getting what he wanted. The realization of how meticulously he crafted his appearance only heightened your sense of dread. This was not just a random enforcer; he was someone who took pride in his role, someone who thrived on the power he held over others.

"I… I'm not scared of you." You stuttered, although your heart was racing. You tried to appear in control of the situation, yet you weren't.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You know,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing purr, “it’s not just about fear. There’s something else I can sense.”

You shivered at his words, the combination of his tone and the physical closeness making your pulse race. Spencer’s thumb brushed lightly over your lips, the touch surprisingly gentle yet filled with a predatory intent. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, to make you squirm without ever laying a hand on you.

His lips curled into a smirk as he continued, his voice a seductive whisper. “It’s almost like you’re enjoying the attention. Isn’t that interesting?”

Your face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and confusion, the intense gaze from his eyes only amplifying your discomfort. His teasing manner was almost more torturous than if he had been more overt. The way he spoke made it clear he was playing a game, one where your emotional reactions were the reward.

Spencer leaned back slightly, giving you a moment of peace before leaning in again, his face close enough that you could see the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, almost sympathetically, “this is just the beginning. I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

He stepped back, still holding your chin firmly but allowing you some space. The smirk on his face was unmistakable—he was reveling in the control he had over you. The room seemed to close in as you were left to process his words, the heat in your cheeks a testament to the psychological game he was playing.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. “You’re so easy to read,” he whispered, his voice low and seductive. “I can see the way you react to every little touch, every word.”

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path from your chin down to your collarbone, each movement designed to provoke. The sensation was both electric and maddening, his touch lingering just long enough to drive you wild. He seemed to take pleasure in your reactions, savoring the way you tensed and shivered under his touch.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice a tantalizing tease. The question was rhetorical, meant to deepen your sense of helplessness. His eyes remained locked on yours, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

Spencer’s touch moved to your shoulders, his fingers grazing the skin with a feathery lightness that was almost unbearable. He was so close that you could feel the heat from his body, a constant reminder of the command he held over you.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued to speak in that same low, seductive tone. “You’re not going to get any relief from me unless you let me see exactly what I want to see. Until then, I’ll just keep playing.”

Spencer’s smirk widened as he continued to test the boundaries of your resolve. His fingers, which had been exploring the more exposed areas of your skin, moved with deliberate intent. He leaned in closer, the heat of his breath mingling with the growing sense of vulnerability you felt.

His hand drifted lower, and you felt a jolt of anxiety as his fingers brushed against the waistband of your pants. The touch was teasing, a reminder of how completely he had taken control of the situation. His movements were slow and calculated, each brush against your skin designed to provoke a reaction.

You flinched as his hand inched past the waistband, the action crossing a boundary that made your heart race. Spencer’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt the fabric of your underwear beneath his fingertips, his touch both maddeningly faint and unsettlingly deliberate.

“Just a little closer,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I want to see how much you can take.”

The sensation was overwhelming, creating a surge of conflicting emotions—fear, discomfort, and a desperate need for relief. Spencer seemed to revel in the control he had, his touch a constant reminder of how he could manipulate your reactions.

His hand lingered just enough to make you squirm, every brush of his fingers designed to heighten your sense of exposure. He maintained a close proximity, his face only inches from yours, ensuring that you were fully aware of his dominance.

As he continued his teasing exploration, his gaze never left yours, studying your reactions with a predatory focus. The psychological impact of his actions was evident in the way he played with your sense of control, leaving you trapped in a whirlwind of emotions and tension.

Without warning, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. His kiss was insistent, a claim that spoke of his control and authority. His lips moved over yours with a fierce hunger, as if he was trying to consume every part of you. The kiss was both intense and electrifying, a physical manifestation of the power he held over you.

You felt a mix of helplessness and intrigue as his kiss deepened, his dominance apparent in the way he controlled the pace and intensity. His hands roamed over your body with an assertive confidence, making it clear that he was in charge of this moment. The kiss left you breathless, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer force of his passion.

But as the kiss continued, something shifted in Spencer’s demeanor. His initial control and dominance seemed to give way to a more primal urgency. He pulled back abruptly, his breath ragged, eyes dark with a mix of frustration and desire.

In a sudden, almost desperate motion, Spencer seized you by the waist and threw you onto the bed behind him. The movement was rough, almost as if he couldn’t contain the intensity of his emotions any longer. You landed on the bed with a jolt, the impact leaving you momentarily stunned.

Spencer stood over you, his chest heaving, the earlier dominance in his gaze replaced by a raw, unrestrained desire. He looked down at you with a mixture of frustration and need, his body tense as he tried to regain control of the situation. The shift from controlled passion to uncontrollable urgency was palpable, leaving both of you in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension and the aftermath of the intense kiss.

He undressed with a practiced ease, his gaze never leaving you. The room was filled with a tense silence as he removed his shirt, then his belt, his movements methodical yet charged with an underlying urgency. His actions were slow and deliberate, each piece of clothing discarded adding to the intensity of the moment.

As he finished undressing, Spencer’s gaze remained locked on you, a mix of desire and dominance evident in his eyes. He approached the bed with a purposeful stride, his confidence unmistakable. The sight of him, now fully exposed and moving with a mix of control and raw desire, only heightened the tension in the room.

Spencer crawled onto the bed, his movements predatory and deliberate. He positioned himself above you, his body pressing down with a commanding presence. His touch was firm but carefully controlled as he began to undress you. His fingers moved with skilled ease, undoing buttons and slipping fabric from your body with a mix of precision and urgency.

Each movement was calculated to assert his dominance, his hands brushing over your skin with a mix of intent and intimacy. His eyes were focused, studying your reactions as he worked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he took in the effect of his actions.

Despite the forcefulness of the moment, there was a clear sense of control in Spencer’s actions. He took his time, savoring the power he held over you, ensuring that every touch and movement was calculated to maintain his dominance.

“You look incredible,” Spencer murmured, his voice a low, sultry growl. His fingertips traced a deliberate path from your collarbone down to the edge of your waist. “Absolutely breathtaking.” He moaned.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice barely a whisper. “What are you—”

Before you could finish, Spencer silenced you with a fierce, demanding kiss. His lips moved against yours with a heated haste, his hands roaming over your body with a mixture of tenderness and assertiveness. His touch was electric, sending waves of sensation through you as he explored every curve.

When he pulled back, his gaze was intense, almost searching.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I need to hear it.” Your heart pounded as you met his gaze, the vulnerability of the moment making it difficult to find the right words.

“I want… I want you,” you finally managed, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and fear. Tears threatened to fall from the mix of confusing emotions.

Spencer’s smirk widened, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Good,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction.

You responded to his touch, your body arching and shifting beneath him. The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of your connection, each movement and kiss amplifying the sensation of being completely and utterly desired.

When Spencer finally eased himself into you, his movements were measured and deliberate. He looked down at you, his expression a mix of passion and concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with genuine care. You nodded slowly unable to form any words, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

He began to move with a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate. His eyes never left yours, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. “You feel incredible,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “I’m never going to get tired of this.”

As the rhythm between you and Spencer grew more intense, the room seemed to pulse with the energy of your shared experience. Every touch, every kiss, and every movement was charged with a profound sense of connection and desire. The air was thick with anticipation, and the world outside felt like it had faded into a distant echo.

Spencer’s movements became more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched your every reaction. His hands gripped your body with a mix of tenderness and need, guiding you through the waves of pleasure that were building with each passing second.

“Look at me,” Spencer said, his voice a low, commanding whisper.

You locked eyes with him, the intensity of his gaze mirroring the intensity of your emotions. The pressure inside you grew, a rising tide of sensation that made it hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure. Your breaths came faster, each gasp and moan a testament to the climax that was building.

With a final, deep thrust, the release hit you like a tidal wave. The pleasure surged through you, a powerful crescendo that left you gasping and trembling. Your body arched in response, the intensity of the moment overwhelming your senses. Spencer’s grip tightened as he held you close, his own release following closely behind.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his voice soft as he pulled you into his embrace. You nodded.

As the room settled into a quieter, more intimate atmosphere, Spencer's intense gaze remained fixed on you. His breathing was heavy, but his demeanor shifted slightly, a subtle return to the commanding presence he had exhibited earlier.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes still smoldering with a mix of satisfaction and dominance. “Good,” he said, his voice a low, throaty rumble. “I’m glad you enjoyed that.”

You looked up at him, your breaths coming in soft, shaky gasps. The intensity of the moment was still fresh in your mind, but Spencer’s words brought a new layer of complexity to the encounter. His smirk held a touch of the predatory edge that had marked his earlier actions.

“Because,” Spencer continued, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone, “you still have a lot of debt to pay.”

His words hung in the air, their impact as sharp as the bite of his earlier touches. The shift in his tone was stark, the reminder of your precarious situation a jarring contrast to the intimacy you had just shared. It was clear that, despite the physical and emotional connection between you, the underlying reality of your debt and his control over you was never far from his mind.

“You think this is over?” he asked with a chuckle, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your reaction. “This was just part one of the payment. You owe more than that.”

The reality of his words hit you with a mix of dread and resignation. The pleasure you had experienced seemed to clash with the reminder of your situation. Spencer’s dominance was evident not only in his actions but in the way he asserted his control over your circumstances once again.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m going to make sure you understand exactly what it means to be in debt to me,” he whispered. “This is just the beginning.”

Thumbs up to you for making it this far ;)