#and figure out how to say ‘do you really not get this’ in a way that is at least polite

[kaisentine]

compression shirts and itoshi rin needs to be listed as a cause for heart attacks.

some might say they’re a deadly duo.

and you most certainly could agree with that statement since you’ve experienced first hand.

rin walks past you and you notice from the blurry figure that he’s wearing an unfamiliar shirt that looks way tighter than what he usually opts for. as per usual, you call out to him, “where you goin’?” you ask, still not looking up from your phone screen.

he almost scoffs at the stupidly obvious question. “where you do you think?” he rolls his eyes, turning to face you—that’s where you get the full image and oh my word.

stupid ass grey sweatpants he always wears and that unfamiliar tight shirt that was on your mind—a freaking compression shirt!

“i—oh…” your mouth widens to an ‘o’ shape once you finally comprehend everything. it’s almost surreal but you could imagine him wearing it one day—but not this day! “what?” “when did you get that?” “it was just in my closet.”

he shrugs. HE SHRUGS.

like no big deal, he’s off to wherever.

you can’t help but roll around after he’s already left you alone with you thoughts—your thoughts of how him being a gym FREAK and an athletic fuck really has an impact on you.

oh yeah, you’re totally gonna die soon.

and why the fuck did he never tell you he had a black compression shirt in his closet.

sticky note. this man is a walking heart attack cause

[specialgradefckr]

Satoru Gojo who thinks you're only with him for the money.

He's pretty insufferable, after all. And a shitty boyfriend to boot - always bailing on dates, showing up at weird times, telling you vague stories about his work that don't make sense.

Honestly he's surprised you've stuck around this long.

That you still read every message he spams you when he's bored and lonely fighting special grade curses.

(after all, he always has to go on those missions alone. there's no one who can go with him.)

You still text him back. Open the door to let him in. Smile when you see him, like it's the very first time and he can tell you're just so star-struck by his eyes as he tugs down his blindfold with a grin, "Do I look blind to you?" "Blindingly handsome!"

He'd laughed at that. You're shocked by his appearance, but you're earnest, and so obviously smitten, and he loves a woman with a little humor.

Satoru Gojo who didn't expect you to text him back after the first night, but you did.

cutie pie: omg, those look so good! what flavor? satoru: my favorite, the edamame and cream~ cutie pie: bring some for me next time you visit <3 i'll feed them to you ;)

On a lesser man, that might have sounded presumptuous. To Satoru, it's the perfect come-on. Casual, flirty, and easy to do - all the makings of a great hookup.

He hadn't expected to spend half the night on his knees like a dog, licking at your fingers. Watering over a thumb pressed down against his tongue while you drooled your mochi-sweet saliva straight into his open mouth.

Unexpected, but amazing! Satoru knew then that you were going to be a treat worth savoring.

It was just a shame that he could only enjoy you for one night.

Not even that much, really. He'd been called away in bed; one arm wrapped around your darling naked form, holding you pressed against him.

Left while you were asleep without a word. He'd texted you on the way, a blase little "sowwyyyyy smth came up! u were gr8 last night." and no real expectations of a return.

If you were (reasonably) upset with him, he'd block you - his one act of kindness to a woman he couldn't treat right.

Instead he gets "thanks! you weren't so bad yourself haha" and your enthusiasm is obviously a bit defused, but he can work with this.

He lays it out to you, next chance he gets. Tries to text you often enough to make sure you don't think he's ghosted you.

"I know this might sound like the kind of thing married men say," He says with a big, sardonic smile, "But I have a very demanding job. I don't have time for a relationship. And for personal reasons, I can't agree to be exclusive, either."

There's a look you give him that makes him wonder what exactly you think of his job. Satoru vaguely wonders if you think he's a sex worker.

He hopes you try to find him on porn websites later. Maybe he should film himself jerking off real quick sometime so you can watch it.

"That makes sense," Is what you say, instead of any of the ridiculous thinks he'd imagined.

You don't seem thrilled about it, but you don't look immeasurably disappointed, either. You're a smart girl. You'd probably already figured he couldn't commit.

"But!" He chirps, "I am very very interested in seeing you again. Multiple agains. And I'd like to come to an arrangement that makes that easier for you, since my schedule is so tight..."

For a moment, you stay quiet, and Satoru wonders if he should just offer you cash upfront. But you're receptive, and things go well.

Worryingly well, to be honest. What type of girl are you, exactly? Naughty thing. Get money from a lot of men, do you?

You laugh when he tries to bring it up in bed, "You're one to talk, Mr. can't-promise-exclusivity," you tease, running a hand through his hair while you smile at him.

He likes it when you do that. He likes a lot of things you do.

The real wonder is - although he is absolutely spectacular in bed of course - how much do you like it?

The whole relationship has to happen on his shitty, inconsistent schedule. He can't commit to a relationship or tell you about his job - you're better off that way. Even if you don't know.

Satoru Gojo who pretends to go on dates with other girls sometimes just so that no one watching him thinks he's serious about you. He can't have the Higher Ups thinking of you as a tool to use against him.

He can't even offer you exclusivity. Even if he wants to. Even if he struggles to get it up with those girls - his heart just isn't it in - when he's making sure everyone who's watching him knows you're just one of several people he's having sex with.

After all, the only thing that could be worse than people thinking you were the strongest sorcerer's weakness, was if they thought you might be pregnant with the strongest sorcerer's child.

But if he's fucking around, if he's the whore his so-called superiors make him out to be - then you're safe. Just another girl.

And god, does he take advantage of it.

Texting you late at night. Early in the morning. Times don't mean a lot to him these days.

The most sleep he ever gets is the rare night he spends with you, maybe once or twice a month, five hours in your arms before he pulls himself away and slinks out of bed while you're still asleep like a guilty dog.

He doesn't deserve your warmth or your bed. But he'll take it while you're offering. Eat it all up and beg shamelessly for seconds.

He makes up for it with money, or tries to. Leaves you treats and sweets and other gifts. Spam texts you and facetimes you constantly - when he can.

To be perfectly honest, he's kind of expecting to be dumped any day. He'll take whatever he can get.

If paying your rent or buying you a house makes you feel guilty enough to stay a few days longer with him, that's a good use of his money.

He arranges for you to receive an offer for a remote job, something flexible that will let you meet him whenever he comes calling.

His gifts get more lavish. He's always generous in bed, makes sure you have a good time.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sometimes he just stares at you when you're asleep. It feels like a waste to spend his precious few hours with you sleeping.

Look at you. All peaceful in his arms. Cuddling up to him.

He can admit, in the dead of night, with no witnesses but himself; the sight makes his heart tug.

If he could, he'd stay. Wake up next to you in the morning. Make breakfast, flirt, joke, maybe even take a little ~morning shower~ and have some fun in there.

It's so clear in his head. How you'd joke back. Smile and giggle and playfully bump against him. Give him a little kiss, a little hug before he leaves for work.

You would kiss his forehead when he got migraines. Hug him when he talks about his difficulties at work.

Your soft smile, your warm lips, your tight hug. It's all so vivid in his head. How you'd look in the morning light, staring at him while you think he's asleep.

Would you stare? What would show on your face, then?

He tries, very hard, not to imagine what your face must look like when you wake up alone every time you sleep with him.

What you think about when he's not there.

Do you wonder if he's with other women? Do you see his flirty texts - "sorry kitten daddy's gotta work late" "babygirl you're not my dad, he goes to bed at 9." - and wonder if he's said that to a hundred other girls?

Because he has. And that's what hurts, really. He could message a hundred girls and get a hundred vapid responses, all those notifications could build up in his phone and he wouldn't care.

But when it's you messaging him?

When you tell him about your day, or text him a picture, or pick up on the rare phone call he gets to make - Satoru's heart skips a beat.

What about you? He thinks about you checking your phone constantly to see anything from him, and it hurts.

You don't show any unhappiness about the arrangement. Every gift, every little arrangement or donation he makes, you accept it all with grace. Everything money can buy is yours, he makes that clear.

As long as you're with him, he'll spoil you rotten. And you were starstruck in the beginning, he could tell.

Expensive hotels, exclusive restaurants. First class flights everywhere, even a private jet if you want it. He brings you custom made jewelry worth more than people make in a year, pulls it out of his pocket and clasps it around your wrist like a passing trinket.

You get used to the constant spa days, the shopping trips. Ordering food for every meal. Living in a city center in a beautiful penthouse with brilliant fixtures. And you're happy like that. At least you look like you are.

But every time he sees you, you're with him. He can't tell if you miss him, if you're sad when he's not there.

He... he sort of doesn't want to know.

Satoru Gojo who loves you. And he hopes to god you don't love him back.

After all, if you did, then you'd want things from him he can't give. Shouldn't give.

But if all you love is his money? He's got tons of it. You can have as much as you want. He can make you happy. He can buy the love he can't afford to earn. He'll never run out of funds.

As long as it's only his money you love, he can have you forever.

[whosmariaaa]

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 !

college! sukuna spend that same night in his bed, searching for your instagram. your account was a hard find. it took him 60 minutes of his life to even find one of your friends, who had coincidentally tagged you in their recent photo dump. in that same photo dump was a cute picture of you and your friend. you were glowing, a pretty smile on your face, and sukuna immediately took a screenshot to save for himself.

then, he went to your account. you hadn’t posted a single thing, and your profile picture was black. he had spend 30 minutes searching for basically nothing. but, he still followed you.

the notification “r.sukuna is now following you” popped up on your screen around 1 AM. how the hell did this guy find you? you were genuinely confused.

you didn’t have any classes with him the next day, so you came up to him at lunch. not caring about the girl placed in his lap, kissing his neck. sukuna looked awfully disinterested in her.

“did you do your part of the project?” you asked suspiciously. he turned his head to you, and rudely pushed the girl off before getting on his feet. the girl looked at him in shock, and then shot you a glare, as if you stole her man. that girl could definitely have him, for all you care.

“nah, but you don’t mind, do you?” sukuna replied condescendingly, “besides, it’s only due in three weeks.”

you simply sighed. you can not with this man. he was purposely getting on every single one of your nerves. “it’s due in three weeks because it’s a big project half our grade, you massive dick,” you scowled. a stupid smirk made a way on his face.

“so? you’re smart, right? you’ll figure it out,” he responded.

his comment somehow doubled your irritation. “you’re either helping with this, or i’m asking the professor to kick you out. take a pick,” you hissed back. then, his smirk disappeared ever so slightly.

“you’re really a fucking bitch about this, y/n,” sukuna huffed. he broadened his shoulders slightly, narrowing his eyes in irritation. you rolled your eyes back at him, “go cry about it. take a fucking pick.”

he watched you a for a few moments in silence as he straightened his back slightly, seeming even taller. he looked threatening, sure, but you were too pissed off to care.

“…fine, but don’t expect me give a shit about it,” he decided. another beat of silence, of the both of you glaring at each other. you decided now would be a good time to mention him suddenly following you, since the silence was getting a little too intense for your liking.

“oh yeah, why did you follow me on instagram? how’d you even find me?” you asked.

his smirk returned, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. “just came across your account. am i not allowed to, sweetheart?” he taunted. he spend an hour looking for it, but you didn’t need to know that. you just scoffed, “weirdo.” and then walked off, making sure to shove him with your shoulder.

sukuna stared at you until you left through the doors of the cafeteria. the girl that was in his lap before, got up from her seat. “who was that?” she asked in irritation. he returned his eyes to her, but then a disgusted scowl added to his expression.

“mind your own fucking business, you bitch. and why don’t you get the fuck out of here while you’re at it?” he snarled. the girl flinched slightly at his harsh words, but then muttered something under her breath before getting up and leaving.

“damn, what crawled up your ass and died?” toji asked. sukuna stared at him, his expression dangerous.

“i think he’s still down bad for that girl. what was her name? y/n?” gojo laughed, “y’know what, if you don’t get with her, i will,” he added tauntingly. for some reason, him saying that made sukuna even more pissed off than before. why the hell was he suddenly in his business? you were off-limits, he had made that very clear before.

“watch your fucking mouth, gojo. i won’t hesitate to make an end to your pathetic life,” sukuna threatened.

“man, you’re pussy whipped. what’d she do to make you all in love like this?” gojo teased. sukuna just scoffed and sat down again, ignoring his infuriating friends while in thought.

yeah, what did you even do?

──★˙🍓̟!! hi guys, i’m so sorry i’m still figuring out tumblr, but maybe in the future i’ll be doing a taglist!! ☺️ and @elizabeth-von-winken-universe in my inbox, yes i’ll definitely be doing more parts for sukuna, thank you sm!!! and for the other person in my inbox, i love you to death may God bless u too and keep u and ur family safe💗

[yanderedrabbles]

This is a thought I’ve had ever since i read your yandere outlaws story: what if you (try to) run away with one of the outlaws…could you even do that…. Would the poor guy even survive if you two get caught

Which of the yandere outlaws would run away with you?

CW: noncon, violence, knife play

You can't exactly ask the boss to run away with you. He's got responsibilities, authority. His men rely on him. If he wasn't the boss though? Yeah, in that case his loyalty would stretch very far at all.

The gunslingers absolutely would. But is it really a good idea? Without the boss around, there's no one keeping them in check. How much tighter will their grip be, with no one to scold them for the bruises?

They're the type to make you earn their help, and then force you to keep paying off that favour for the rest of your life.

"Mighty dangerous thing you're askin' pretty."

"How you gonna compensate us for our trouble?"

The wrangler absolutely wouldn't. Which is a real pity, since he's probably the only one with the skills to evade tracking. But he's also loyal to a fault.

"I wish I could beauty, but there are some debts that can never be repaid."

The kid, hmm. Yes. Maybe. It depends on how much time they give him. The outlaws know he's still soft, so I don't think they'll leave him alone with you for too long. He's young and guilty. You can definitely manipulate him.

"I'll...I'll do it. Just don't tell anyone, 'kay?"

The second in command, the man who claims to love you. You'd think all it would take is batting your pretty eyes and asking him to take you away from all this. And you'd be partly right. If it was any other gang, he'd be gone with you by morning.

But despite all their flaws, these outlaws are his brothers. He owes the boss his loyalty.

He's also a practical man. He knows it will be considered a betrayal. And the boss isn't one to let that slide. Even if he did make it out with you, he'd spend his whole life looking over his shoulder. And what kind of life is that?

"No. You belong here. Nowhere else."

But let's ignore all of that and assume you do manage to run away. How will the outlaws react to you and the traitor?

The boss will shoot them. It doesn't matter who. And then he'll bend you over the nearest thing and fuck some sense into you. Rough this time. Not holding back. You've proven kindness is wasted on you. Anal probably, dry and unprepped.

You realise for the first time exactly how thin his patience is. How cold and terrifying his anger. He'll be clipped and curt the entire time. "Move it." "C'mere." "Suck it." No sweet pet names this time, no treating you like his little girl. You want that softness? You're going to have to earn it back.

The gunslingers will make a game of it. Say whoever finds you gets to have you all week. They'll kill the traitor slow. Maybe leave him out for the ants and coyotes. And then they'll tell the boss you need to be punished.

They're the kind of bastards who'll slap a knife against your pussy just to see you shiver, scrape the tip against your inner thighs. Never drawing blood but always getting oh so close. 

Double penetration too, until you're too cock drunk and hurt to even think about running.

The wrangler is the one who can track you down the fastest and also the first one to figure out if you're plotting something. He won't tell the others. He'll just follow you and come out of the dark like a ghost. Shotgun levelled right at your heart. He won't kill the traitor, but the cold glint in his eyes shows you exactly how close he is to doing it.

When he gets you home, he'll make you sleep in his bed. So if anyone mentions your absence, he can say you were with him.

He won't be angry with you. Instead, he'll just hold you. His chin on the crown of your head as you sob into his chest.

"I'm sorry beauty. But there really is no way out. Wherever you run, I will always find you."

If it's the boy who finds you, it's a toss up. He might let you go, might remember how much you cried that first day. He might still be a good person at heart.

Or, he might see this as his opportunity to finally earn the rest of your body. That's what the gunslingers said, remember? If he wants to fuck you, he needs to earn it. And what better way than to bring you home?

The second in command almost never gets angry, but this time? He doesn't even bother with a gun. He kills the traitor with a knife. Rips his throat out and leaves him to bleed out on the desert sand.

He's explosive. Grabs you by the jaw and throws you against the wall. Kisses you before you can fall, ripping your clothes off with one hand. He's the worst of them all when it comes down to it. His anger making him twice as cruel and thrice as callous.

He fucks you with the other man's blood still splattered across his face.

"You wanna be like that? Don't like it when I'm nice? Fine."

He'll fuck you dry, his hand around your throat the entire time. His lips just the tiniest bit away from yours, just watching the fear and the tears. Revelling in them. When you're done, he shoves you down on the bed.

"Open your fucking mouth."

He'll make you suck the blood and come off his cock, pulling your hair so hard it gives you a migraine.

He'll grab your jaw so hard the bones ache, and yank you up to his lips.

"I'll fucking kill you next time."

You believe him. 

[lbjeff]

The Bats noticed Danny poison his drink immediately because the thing he put in it is radioactive and it sent alerts to the Batcave’s system.

At first, they think Danny is an assassin has been hired to kill someone at the party. So, Tim and Damian come to talk with him to cause distraction while Bruce watching from a far, the others at the Batcave do the investigation on his background. But before they could figure out anything, Danny drink his own poisonous glass. So they think this guy may not even know what in his drink.

After drink his glass, Danny notices both Tim and his brother are looking at his glass: What’s wrong?

Tim: Oh, I just find out the color your drink look different from what the gala offer. May I try that?

Danny: Oh, that cause I add my medicine in it. You know, health problems. But it’s not for healthy (living) people

Damian: TT. And where did you get your “medicine”? It looks more like poisonous to me

Tim: Dami! Sorry Danny, but I kind of curious, too

Danny: It’s okey! I used to have an accident when I was 14, after that my heart rate and body temperature kind of slow and cold. So my godfather give me those medicine to keep my temperature normal (those poison make his heart race and raise his temperature, the normal people eat it will die like having a heart attack, no trace left).

Damian: Your godfather really “kind” to you

Danny: Yeah, he kind of an asshole the first time we met but after Dani leaving and Dan’s birth, he’s getting better

Tim: Oh? Dani and Dan, are they your siblings or your godfather’s kid?

Danny: Oh kind of, they are our children

He smiles and drink his glass, doesn’t know how his sentence makes Tim and Damian’s faces paled. Even Bruce, who stand far away but still listening to their conversation, lose the smile on his face for a second. Dick and Jason, who also listen at the cave, trade a worrisome look.

Danny, nearly finish his drink, look at his glass and says: Those drink used to be Dani’s favorite, she usually drink a little secretly whenever I didn’t pay attention. Sadly, she didn’t stay in the living world to try it again (she is traveling at the Ghost Zone)

Before Tim could dig more information, an middle age man comes near them, pull Danny’s hand and giving a toddler into his arm.

Vlad: Where did you go, Danny? Dan is looking for you.

Dan: Mom, Mom! Hug me!

Danny, giving Vlad his glass so he could hold Dan with both hands, look at Tim and Damian: I am making new friends, like you alway say. By the way, there are Tim and his brother, Damian. Tim, Damian, there is my godfather, Vlad. And there is our child, Dan

Vlad nods at them then look at the glass he just takes from Danny: Danny, what I said about drinking your medicine in public? At least not when Dan is around, he may try it like Dani, and he is too small to try anything new

Danny holding Dan, whose eyes is closed and ready to sleep: I know, Vlad. I will be more careful next time. Goodbye Tim, goodbye Damian, as you see, Dan is tired so we may leave the gala now.

Tim: It is okay. Hope I could see you the next charity party next week

Danny: Oh, I not sure I could go but thank for asking

Then he leaves with Vlad and Dan, look like a happy family of the elite

Later at the Batcave

Jason: So, run me through the information about the guy so I could shot him in the eyes

Dick: No, we won’t shot anyone, yet

Bruce: Hmn. Tim, what we can get about the Master’s couple?

Tim: So, apparently, Vlad is Danny’s godfather and his parents’s college friend. They first met when Danny is 14, not long after the accident Danny did mentioned. After his parents move to Europe to do their research and his sister left for study abroad, he is Danny’s guidance

Damian: A guidance that gives his poison for medication and two children?

Tim: Well, due to the birth certificates that I could find on government’s data, Dani was born when Danny was 15, before he live with Vlad. And Dan is few year after, when Danny was 17, after he lived with Vlad for a year

Jason: So we all agree to kill this Vlad guy, right? He sounds creepy

Bruce: Calm down, Jason. And that didn’t explain why Vlad want to kill Danny, after having their children

Tim: I think I know the reason. Danny has a heritage from his far relatives that he refused but that heritage will be given for his kids when their grow up. There are two possibilities. First, the poison was for the conflicts the first time they met but it didn’t work on Danny due to his accident in the past. Then Vlad got obsessed with Danny and now they live together as a family

Damian: TT. Then one of their children drink the poison her dad gives to her mom, died while her mom still has no idea about that? Why he still give Danny “medicine” if they’re good now?

Tim: Well, as far as I know, they didn’t have a marriage certificate, which means they’re just godfather and godson, no more obligation or rights. And if Danny die now, the heritage would be given to his only living child, Dan, who is 4 years old. And due to the law of Amity Town, a rare town that still have some significant rule that could apply for anyone born at it, the parents could be the representative for their under 5 year old child to accept, invest or borrow with no interest with their children’s heirloom.

Jason: So if Danny die, that scumbag could use his heritage through their child?

Tim: Yes. Which mean there may be a year for he to try killing Danny, if he figure out the poison isn’t working

Bruce: Hmn. Tim, are Dani 6 years old now if she didn’t died?

Dick: B, you didn’t mean..?

Damian: that Vlad kill his own daughter when she was old enough to decide what to do with the heritage she may get after her mom died

Tim: That could be possible! According to my investigation, Dani stoped show up in Danny’s album after her six year old birthday party

Dick: Do you think Vlad will do the same with his son if he get old enough?

Jason: Well, it isn’t too late to kill him now

Dick: Calm down Jason. We need more information than that to acting. And killing isn’t the answer.

Tim, look at his phone: Maybe we have less time than we think

Damian: What do you mean Drake?

Tim: Danny just sent a message to invite me and Damian to Dan’s 5 year old birthday party. And he suggested we shouldn’t bring anything sensitive cause he is having a third child, as his quote “Dani regenerate into his belly again”

Dick: So Vlad could kill his son, due to his age and may continue to kill Danny, after his child’s birth?

Damian: TT. That is if the child could be born. Don’t forget he drink poison as medicine for daily basis

Danny can't taste- DCxDP Prompt

The problem with being half dead is that so are your senses. While certain foods are still as tasty as ever they are relegated to food found on offering plates like bread, fruits, cheese and wine. But Danny just wants to eat a good burger and unfortunately, those aren't offered to the dead.

This has led to Tucker and Sam burning food offerings for Danny in the past, but there has been another solution.

Danny just adds copious amounts of extra stuff to his food to satisfy his numbed tastebuds.

20 sugar packages to his coffee, a flood of hot sauce on his burgers and anything else he could get his hands on.

One afternoon after class Danny ended up meeting Tim at the Batburger on campus. There Tim watched in horror as Danny filled a cup of Sprite, added blue raspberry sour Death Ball candies to it, added citric acid, added plutonium 9 hot sauce, and extra sugar. It was the most horrifying baby blue concoction Tim had ever seen. It looked like a normal soda but it was liquid death.

And Tim wanted to try it next.

(A drink that would cause a small Victorian child to disintegrate)

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. brother's bestfriend!jeno x fem!reader

| warnings. noncon, period sex, unprotected sex, jisung's reader's brother, implied small age gap.

you’ve been in there for far too long and jeno is starting to lose patience. what’s taking you so much time?

jeno sighs and knocks on the bathroom door louder this time, hearing shuffling from the other side. “1 minute!” you yell and he can’t help but roll his eyes. you said the same thing when he knocked the first time. 

you quickly wash your hands and a few seconds after you’re finally opening the door. you find yourself face to face with jeno and you feel blood rushing to your cheeks. you look away almost immediately and exit the bathroom, passing by him to go to your room down the hall.

jeno watches you scurrying inside your room, pushing the inside of his cheek with his tongue, thinking. he catches on the way your shorts cling to your ass, notices how your thighs look a little bigger than what he remembers. 

you get inside your room before he can stare any longer. he glances at jisung’s closed door, noting that the sounds of gunshots haven’t stopped, meaning that he’s still playing the video game they put on earlier. he knows that once jisung’s playing, he’s in for a while. he won’t notice jeno’s absence as long as he’s focused on his game. 

jeno doesn’t go to the bathroom and walks to your bedroom instead. jeno looks through the small gap between your door and the frame, seeing you wrapping your arms around your stomach as you slip into your bed with a scowl on your face. 

he pushes your door open and you look up at the unexpected figure entering your room. you’re confused when you see jeno making his way to your bed, closing the door behind him. 

“jeno? what are you… did jisung forget something?” you ask, sounding so clueless. 

“no,” he simply responds, getting closer to you until he towers over you, his eyes fixated on you. “he didn’t forget anything.”

you swallow, curling up on yourself. he can see the swell of your breasts through your top, your skin looking so soft, so supple. you look scared of him and he likes that. he likes how your eyes seem so sad and helpless, how you don’t scream but keep quiet, how you let him handle you easily.

he grabs one of your ankles and brings you right under him with one quick pull. you let out a surprised gasp, trying to push his hands off of you, but to no avail. you’re too weak and he’s too strong. 

you clasp your hands around his wrists as he attempts to slide both your shorts and panties down, tears falling from your eyes. “no, no, no,” you say in panicked breaths, “jeno, don’t, please.”

but your pleas fall on deaf ears. 

you’re embarrassed when jeno pulls your clothes all the way down your legs—not bothering to remove your socks—revealing the obvious. he can smell the blood and also see the pad in your underwear, explaining why you took so long in the bathroom. 

he looks up at you, and you expect disgust, maybe mockery, but there’s none of that. he has no reaction. 

your shorts and panties fall to the floor and jeno crawls on top of you, his knees dipping into the mattress on each side of your hips. you push on his chest with your hands, but he rapidly swats them away. 

you keep your thighs together, hiding from him. “jeno-” you whine, but he ignores you, forcing your legs open, pushing your knees up so he has a better view of you. 

you can’t handle his stern gaze on you so you cover your face with your hands, already giving up. your shield soon breaks down as you feel him prodding at your entrance, moan after moan slipping past your lips when jeno gradually pushes into you, the blood making it all slippery and sticky. 

he really likes how it feels. 

“fuck,” he breathes out, throwing his head back. 

your cramps pain you and you whimper, crying both at the stomach ache and what jeno’s doing to you. you can’t really process it, as if not realizing. 

when he looks back down at you, his hips pick up, setting a steady but strong pace, his cock sliding between your bloody walls. it feels strange, but not unpleasant, and the cramps disappear little by little. 

jeno glances at where your two bodies connect, his cock entirely coated in your fluids, thrusting back and forth in your pussy. he grunts, frowning as he feels his balls tightening, your cunt squeezing him so tight. he really can’t get enough of it. 

“feels good, doesn’t it? filthy girl,” he moans, his pink lips parted as he lets out erratic breaths. 

when jeno pulls out, having released himself deep into you, he looks at his cock almost in admiration. he’s never fucked any girl on her period before and he regrets he didn’t do it sooner. 

he eventually cleans himself with tissues, stuffing himself back into his jeans. before he gets out, he looks at you still laying on your bed, quietly sniffling, wipping your tears with the tip of your fingers. 

“let’s keep it between us, yeah? wouldn’t want jisung to think his lil’ sister's a dirty slut, huh?” jeno smiles.

[leyavo]

🐞Bug x TF141 previous parts here: [one] & [two] (I just keep thinking of this)

Bugs get crushed, so mind where you go. Wouldn’t want to step on you.

It had been drilled into your head since you’d earned the call-sign, Bug. Sure the names were never something nice, but yours was given you to remind you of your place. That no matter how good you were, there was always someone bigger trying to crush you.

So you tried your best to stay under the radar, never going above and beyond what ever orders were sent your way.

After one particular training session though, Captain Price pulled you aside. The guys winding down on the opposite side of the training ground, stretching their aching limbs. Roach, however trails close by as if he’s trying to listen in.

“Are you a dog or a bug?” Price said, his hands raising to cross over his chest.

You tense, bracing for his knuckles to drive into your shoulder, but nothing.

“What am I, Captain?” You don’t even bother picking from the lot, knowing that he’ll tell you exactly what you are either way.

Is this the question he’ll ask each time you do something he’s not fond of? Or whenever you mess up. Just like your previous captain asked you, what are you? Are you to say you’re a dog now? Someone made just to follow orders no matter the task.

Anything to make your life a little easier. You’re tired of trying to dodge your superiors anger and let them have at it.

The Captain sighs, dabbing the sweat dripping down his brow with the cuff of his fleece. “I don’t want ya to be a dog, there’s more to this task force than following my orders, Bug.”

You’re not sure if this is some kinda test, something for you to slip up on. So you remain silent, waiting for him to tell you what he really thinks. Used to the verbal lashings from anyone superior to you.

“Why do you think I put you with Roach?”

He’s hard to kill. Hard to kill, that’s why you’re with him. Someone to drag you out if you ever fuck up. Your gaze wanders to Roach and he looks away as soon as your eyes connect with his. Turning his attention the dirt beside his boot, toeing the gravel beneath it.

“He’s good at thinking on his feet, adapting and bending the rules in his favour to get the job done. He listens to his orders, but is also in tune with the variables around the situation.” The Captain’s voice lowered, he’d never outright compliment Roach as he gets a mixed bag of emotions. Doesn’t want to add to the weight he already carries, so Price leans in for just you to hear.

He knows his team, knows who needs encouragement or praise, but also knows that sometimes it’s not always practical.

A pat on the back and a nod of the head from the Captain is enough for Roach.

“You want me to ignore a direct order, Captain?”

“No,” he scoffs, “I want you to embellish them, think of them as a guideline. The nitty gritty details are down to you, Bug.” The captain lifts his hand, but drops it deciding not to give you a reassuring pat on the arm. He balls his fist and shakes it, a symbol for strength.

“Yes, Captain.” You watch him walk across the training ground, falling in line with Ghost as they make their way back to the main building. Soap and Gaz have disappeared, just a lone Roach kicking the gravel a couple feet away from you.

Your legs tremble, the last few training drills settling in your aching muscles. The sun burns your scalp and coats a thin layer of sweat all over you. You don’t care how you look though, your knees crashing to the ground. The shuddering rise and fall of your chest, faltered breaths easing as a flask wiggles in front of your face.

Roach’s gloved hand grasping the neck of the flask. “Tougher than we seem us bugs,” he said, crouching down in front of you and poking your t-shirt. He lifts his finger, showing a red little lady bug perched there before it flies off.

You’re a bug, not a dog.

Bug’s still trying to figure out what type of Captain John Price is and doesn’t have a past superior who was good to compare him to. So she’s thinking the worse (which is what she’s used to).

[wendichester]

omg let me just say I LOVE your writing, you inspired me to start writing

can you please write more teen!dean x reader

luv ya <3

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so cool,

summary. dean stumbles upon a hunter his age. he's... well... shocked.

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 725

notes. let's all chant together teen dean! teen dean! teen dean!

Dean Winchester has seen a lot of things in his sixteen years—things most people wouldn’t believe even if they saw them with their own two eyes. He’s fought monsters, patched up wounds, taken on responsibilities way beyond his age. He’s faced down things straight out of nightmares, but nothing—nothing—prepared him for you.

You stroll into the rundown diner like you own the place, all confidence and purpose, a hint of dried blood on the sleeve of your worn-out jacket. You don’t even look around, just march straight up to the counter and order a coffee like you’re twice your age. The lady at the register doesn’t even blink, probably too tired to care that some teenage girl is ordering black coffee like it’s a school night and not past midnight.

Dean’s sitting in the corner booth, elbows on the table, nursing a half-empty soda while Sam sleeps against his duffle bag across from him. Dad’s out on a hunt—left them here with instructions to stay put—and Dean had every intention of doing just that.

And then you happened.

He watches as you lean against the counter, tapping your fingers on the cheap Formica surface, eyes sharp as you scan the diner. You look... tough. Not in the way that the girls at his school pretend to be when they talk about how they’d totally punch someone if they had to. No, you look really tough, like you’ve seen the same kind of crap he has, like you know things. Your jacket has a tear near the shoulder, your jeans are streaked with dirt, and there’s something tucked into the waistband at the small of your back—he’d bet anything it’s a knife.

You’re a hunter.

And you’re his age.

Dean swallows, trying not to let his brain short-circuit over that fact alone. He’s spent his whole life surrounded by adults in this job, trailing after his dad and Bobby, occasionally meeting older hunters who treated him like a kid no matter how many hunts he’s been on. But you? You get it.

He should probably say something. Introduce yourself, Winchester, he tells himself, but his body doesn’t seem to be getting the message.

Then, as if the universe is hell-bent on making him look stupid, you glance his way—and catch him staring.

Dean whips his gaze down to his drink like it suddenly contains the answers to the universe. His heart does something weird in his chest, something that definitely has nothing to do with the fact that you just looked right at him.

When he chances a glance back up, you’re smirking. Smirking.

Oh, he’s so screwed.

Pushing off the counter, you grab your coffee and make a beeline for his booth like you’ve already made up your mind about something. You slide into the seat across from him—right next to Sam’s sleeping form—and raise an eyebrow.

“You got a staring problem, Winchester?”

Dean blinks. Wait, what?

“You—I—how do you—?” He fumbles, the easy confidence he usually carries with girls suddenly nowhere to be found.

Your smirk deepens. “Your dad’s kind of famous in the hunter circuit. John Winchester’s kids aren't exactly a mystery.”

Dean clears his throat, straightening up like that’ll somehow make him look cooler. “Yeah, well. Guess that makes two of us. Who the hell are you?”

“You can call me (Y/N),” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. “Just rolled into town. Heard there was some vamp activity nearby, figured I’d check it out.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “On your own?”

“Duh,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. And I don’t do babysitters.”

Dean huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. That makes two of us.”

For a second, there’s a beat of silence. And then you tilt your head at him, eyes flicking over his face like you’re studying him, and something about that makes Dean’s stomach flip.

“You’re not what I expected,” you say.

Dean squints. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Thought you’d be taller.”

Dean sputters. “I—what—I’m six feet tall!”

You grin over the rim of your cup. “Sure you are.”

Dean groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, but he can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him. You’re something else. And he kind of likes that.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

[dappled-sunlight-dap]

AO3 author here. I don't normally blog about fandom issues (or anything really) but it hit me close to home so I figured I'd share my two cents.

This actually happened to me! I put a work on hiatus for roughly nine months for multiple reasons, but a big part of choosing that one to shelve for a bit was because it got the least engagement.

I WRITE for myself, don't get me wrong. Everything I post is what I want to see. That's why I write fic! But I POST for community interaction. I wanna talk to folks about my fandom and get all excited and freak out with somebody. Otherwise, what's the point of making it public? Why not keep it to myself?

When you post and get no engagement, it can make you question why you're posting if you're getting the same result as you would from keeping it to yourself. It also makes one feel like slaving over it to make it as good as can be is too much effort for no return - why should I bother making it look nice when I can post a sloppy rush job and get the same result? It's also easy to lose confidence in yourself - do people like it? Hate it? Who knows? And it's just depressing and lonely. Fandom is a community!

I was a new author when I had this dilemma, and at the time I didn't realise that this was just a normal thing, so I took it personally and lost my confidence. That got combined with unrelated problems until I figured the fic was just too much trouble to deal with. I only posted for it again last month because a mutual told me they liked it and that made me happy.

Now that I'm more experienced, I know not to expect much engagement because that's simply how fandom is these days. I happily post my stuff knowing that probably nothing will happen, and I'm okay with that now. I'm just happy to post it! It's more peaceful, in a way - but that doesn't mean it shouldn't change. I can understand not leaving comments - maybe you're anxious/shy, or you're a guest on a fic where only registered users can comment. However, there is no excuse with kudos. Giving kudos is literally as easy as pressing a button. If you cannot be bothered to press a single button for a fic you love, why should an author bother to give you that fic in the first place? We will not know you are there otherwise.

Also, I've seen some folks say they don't leave comments because they're afraid the author will find it weird or get offended or that they feel like they have to post an essay. No! We LOVE comments! We love ALL comments! I have a reader who posts mostly heart emojis on every single chapter of another longfic of mine and I treasure every single one of those comments! This person takes the time to leave something that tells me they're having a good time, and it makes me happy to have somebody to engage with and freak out about a ship with! That is what fandom should be!

And every time they leave another string of heart emojis, a fire lights within me because somebody is enjoying it and telling me about it. I'm happy, they're happy, we're HAPPY!

What I'm trying to say is: fandom is about community. If there's no audience acknowledgement, there's no point in sharing in the first place. So tell your favourite authors how much you like their work! Press that kudos button! Leave that comment, even if it doesn't contain a single word! Hell, just leave a keyboard smash! They will love you for it, no matter how small the gesture is! And you'll love it even more when they make more of that work you cherish! Everybody wins!

"You have to become comfortable with the fact that most people who enjoy your fic will never bother to kudos or comment on it."

Shockingly, I am comfortable with this fact. Lack of kudos or comments doesn't bother me.

That doesn't mean it shouldn't change.

If you enjoy a fic, leave a kudos or a comment.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ

fluff, childhood friends to lovers, pet-names, awkwardness, flirting, unresolved feelings, nostalgia, "pretty princess", cute, awkward boy energy, 12 years of teasing

based off this request by @throatgoat4u !!!

word count - 1k

She was a princess. That much was obvious.

Matt decided it the moment he saw her that day, twirling in one of those shiny, puffy dresses, the kind with too many layers and a scratchy tulle skirt. The kind that came with a matching plastic tiara and sparkles that would end up clinging to his skin for weeks. It was just for dress up day in first grade, but none of that really mattered—because to six year old Matt, she was a real princess.

“You look like a real princess,” he told her, because it was the truth. She beamed at him, cheeks warm, hands smoothing over the puffy skirt like she wanted to believe it too.

From that moment on, he stuck to it.

“Princesses don’t have to carry their own backpacks,” he announced, puffing out his chest as he wrestled it off her shoulders and threw it onto his own.

She stared at him, confused. “What?”

“Princesses get the last cookie too.” He handed it over without hesitation, completely serious about it.

Her fingers tightened around the snack, but she didn’t take a bite. “Why are you being weird?”

Matt blinked at her, as if she was the one who didn’t understand. “Because you’re a princess. That’s just how it works.”

And that was that.

He took the title very seriously.

“Princesses shouldn’t have to run,” he said another time, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along when the school bell rang, like some noble knight leading her to safety.

“Princesses get to pick the game,” he told their friends when she hesitated on the playground.

“Princesses don’t open doors by themselves,” he added, dramatically pulling open the classroom door and bowing like the boys did in the books his mom read him and his brothers.

And worst of all—worst of all—he kept saying it.

“Here you go, princess.”

“Need help, your highness?”

“Be careful, pretty princess.”

Because his mom told him that’s what you call a princess, and Matt always listened to his mom.

She didn’t know why, but she hated it. And she loved it. But she still didn’t know what it meant.

One day, Matt stopped her while she was playing with her friends, looking at her like he was thinking really hard about something.

“Your hair’s all pretty, like a princess’s,” he said, his face turning pink. “Like, it’s all shiny, and it looks soft, like the princesses in the movies. You know, the ones with the crowns.”

She blinked at him, confused. “Huh?”

Matt scratched his head. “I just mean, your hair’s pretty. Like a princess.” He seemed kind of nervous, but he kept staring at her like he wanted to say more.

She looked away quickly, but she felt all warm inside. “It’s just hair,” she mumbled.

Matt pouted. “No, it’s princess hair.”

She didn’t know how to say it, but that made her feel kind of good. Weird, but good.

The next day at recess, Matt sprinted at her from across the playground, her legs dangling from the swing.

“Princess!” he said like he just figured something out. “You look pretty even when you don’t have your dress on.”

She tilted her head. “What?”

“You’re always so careful,” Matt said, swinging his feet back and forth. “Like, you’re looking at everything, even the clouds and the flowers and stuff. Princesses do that. They look at everything and think it’s all special.”

She didn’t really get it, but it made her feel funny in a nice way. She started to walk away from the strange boy.

“And you’ve got a princess face,” Matt added quickly, like he didn’t want to forget. “Your eyes are warm, and your cheeks are blushing!”

She didn’t get it. Every time he said it, something squirmy and warm settled in her stomach, and she didn’t know why. She folded her arms tight against her chest and scowled, but Matt only grinned like he was proud of himself.

“You don’t have to call me that,” she mumbled, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk.

Matt blinked at her, genuinely confused. “But you are a princess.”

She stomped her foot. “I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

She hated it. She loved it. And she had no idea what it meant.

She turned and looked back at him once more, before running off to play in the sandpit.

The princess thing had faded, buried under years of growing up and forgotten playground games.

Now, they’re just good friends who have grown up together. Having a normal night, him dropping her off after a group movie night at his house. 

But as Matt pulls into her driveway, she doesn’t expect it. The way he glances at her, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he says, almost casually—

“You always were pretty, princess.”

It’s like a wave crashing over her, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. She blinks, trying to catch her composure. “What?”

Matt shrugs like it’s nothing. “What?”

Her stomach twists, and she glares at him. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Matt.”

“Like what?” His lips twitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m just saying. You do look like a pretty princess. Six year old me knew what he was talking about.”

And now she’s thinking about it. Thinking about everything he said back then. For a second, she tries to brush it off. Tries to convince herself it’s just the same old teasing, just the same old nickname. But it’s not. Not anymore. Her heart’s racing, and she can’t make it stop.

All of a sudden, he jumps out of the car, speeding quickly around to her side. 

Matt opens the door with a grin, leaning against it, slightly out of breath, like he’s done this a million times.

“Go ahead, princess.”

She hates him.

She hates him.

And her hands are shaking when she unbuckles her seatbelt.

creds to rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: i hope u like it nini this one was a struggle but she's cute. also semi-inspired by this blurb by @snoopychris

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @hazedsturns @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz

till next time !!

[reverieblondie]

Bad Dream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, Mysterious passes, Breaking and entering, Panic attack, Breaking washers, Bucky touches your underwear (whoops...)

Summary: You and Bucky are not only neighbors but friends for months now. You two are close... but are still finding out new things about each other...

Word Count: 2,613

A/N: This was inspired by an amazing request got from an anon. I loved the idea so much that I can see this being turned into a full series if enough people like it! Just let me know! I look forward to feedback like always! and request are always open!

"So... What am I eating?"  

Bucky says almost suspiciously as he looks at the macaroni noodle on his fork.

"I can not believe you are so picky," you say, rolling your eyes before taking a delightful bite of the casserole dish you made. Once swallowed, you point your fork accusingly toward Bucky. "It's called tuna mac. It's cheap to make but delicious. Now you can either eat it, or I will stop being such a friendly neighbor and stop sharing my dinners with you."

Bucky chuckles before giving you his signature smirk, "If that's the case, don't come knocking on my door when something of yours breaks again." 

You huff, he doesn't play fair. 

He watches as you pout and sigh before he takes the macaroni and tuna mix into his mouth. When he eats it, his eyes bulge slightly. "That's actually really good?"

"See, you just need to trust me, neighbor. It's something my mom used to make. Boil noodles, mix up the sauce, and top with cheese. It tastes better than it sounds." 

Bucky smiles as you ramble on. When you look over at him, he looks back to his plate, mixing it around as he makes a face before eating more. "That's true. This is way better than that chicken we had last Thursday."  

"Hey! We agreed to forget that monstrosity!"

Of course, Bucky laughs at your dramatics, and you can't help but echo it back. Thursday night dinners have become your favorite tradition since moving in; no matter how shitty your week could have been, this always lifts up your spirits, even just a little bit. Most people in your building seem to avoid Bucky; they won't join him in the elevator or even greet him in the mailboxes. They judge his past... but who are you to judge? Though getting to know him didn't happen instantly, it happened because of an accident you might have caused…

You have been fighting with these washers and dryers since you moved in. And now here you are fighting again with the washer. The stupid thing won't spin, and it's starting to flood with water. You paused the cycle and knew that you should just ask the maintenance guy for help, but that has the risk of being blamed for it being broken.

Distracted, you don't notice someone walking in to use the other machines. Honestly, it's surprising someone else is up this late just to do their laundry. So much for not running into anyone while you're dressed in your lazy day pajamas—no bra just to add to the pending embarrassment… Trying your best to keep your head down and fix the machine as silently as possible, you didn't realize that your rattling around has definitely drawn attention. 

Until a shadow is cast over you. Turning slightly, you look up at the imposing figure and see your next-door neighbor. James Barnes... Ex Winter soldier and a current Avenger... 

His head tilts as he stares down at you, "Problem?" 

This is the first time you have really seen him up close… he's much taller than you thought, and his eyes are the clearest shade of blue… While you're silently coking, Bucky shifts on his feet, his scowl deepening as he continues to stare. Mentally, you chastise yourself for being rude and pull your hand from the filled drum to offer him a handshake, stumbling out your name in the process. This was a mistake, however, because you ended up splashing the super soldier with washer water… -Shit… 

"I'm sorry, and yeah, I'm just trying to get this washer to work… they never want to act right… old machines acting wonky, what's new?" You huff a laugh, but Bucky keeps looking at you unamused… ah yes… he's an old machine, you idiot… 

You quickly take another step closer in panic mode, "Oh! But not all old machines! My grandma had a vacuum for like 20 years, and it never crapped out on her!" -what are you even saying? 

Buck just further scoles you, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Honestly, it's a bit intimidating—his intense stare locked onto you. Then there's the fact that his glare doesn't roam—it's just set on your eyes. Plus, you're just rambling on, and he's just watching you like you have lost your mind! You can't afford to move again… 

"Why don't you just call for maintenance?" he says in a confused tone, his brows knitting together.  

You give him a gentle smile, "I don't want to be blamed for breaking it…" 

He doesn't seem too impressed with your excuse as he rolls his eyes, but to your surprise, instead of walking away, leaving you to struggle, he places his laundry down and begins to investigate the machine. 

You step closer to him, "So you're going to help me?" you chirp.

"I'm going to try, but if it breaks further, that's on you…" -Okay can't really blame him for that..

"Fair enough, neighbor." he only seems to hum at that before continuing his investigation. 

He does his diligence checking everything out; while he does that, you're doing your own checking out. It's not like you're trying to be a perv.... but curiosity always gets the cat in the end, so you allow yourself to check him out a little. His back faces you, and it's incredible how sturdy it appears; you can even see how the muscles ripple with every move despite it being hidden underneath his t-shirt. Then his narrow waist that draws your attention down the length of him, and his arms bulging with every move as it roots around on the inside of the drum. The dark metal arm is so eye-catching you can't help but stare even though you know you shouldn't... If you were caught, you would be modified by how rude it would be. But you can't help yourself from admiring how pretty it truly is… and the craftsmanship is impeccable… 

"I think something is just caught if I can unwrap it…" With another pull and a slight groan, he rips out what was caught. Surprisingly, it's Small... red and- 

Bucky holds up the dripping wet material, and now that he has it unscrambled, you are mortified... Of course, out of everything to get tangled up and caught, it had to be your thong. Turning it about, Bucky looks at the material confused, unsure, until he meets your mortified eyes and flushed face. It must suddenly click for the man that he's holding a stranger's underwear because, with the inhuman speed, he's met with realization and he's practically throwing your underwear at you like it would bite him. 

The flush of his neck and the way he suddenly does not meet your eyes tells you he's thoroughly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am…" Ma'am? Wow, now he's talking to you properly; he really is embarrassed...

It's quiet for a moment as Bucky awkwardly shifts on his feet. Then you can't help yourself any longer, and you laugh. You laugh so hard you all but fall over yourself, and to your shock, Bucky breaks from his mortification and joins in on your laughter.

The moment lasted for a while until you were both on the verge of tears. As you wipe away your tears, you catch him smiling, and it's like looking at a completely different guy. If people saw this, they wouldn't be avoiding him, that's for sure. 

With the washer fixed, you could finish your laundry cycle as Bucky moved to start his. As you're turning to thank your helpful neighbor, he is gone? Scanning the room, you see him leaving, shit! 

"James!" You shout without thinking. He pauses before turning back with a small smirk. 

"Don't tell me you broke something else." 

He's… teasing you? A grin spreads to your face, "I wanted to thank you for helping me out." 

He shrugged, "It's no problem. But call me Bucky; when you say James, it makes me feel old." With that, he walked off. 

Days later, you were still troubled by the feeling you didn't get to properly thank your neighbor for saving your panties from doom. So you did the only thing you could think of. Making him food. Make sure debts and gratitude are always paid... it's something you picked up from both your parents, but where your dad made sure to do it with favors and money, your mom would always pay by making desserts and meals. So, in your situation, you decided on a platter of brownies.

The look on his face when you knocked on his door was priceless. Of course, he accepted, and thus, the cycle between you two started. You would have a favor, Bucky would help, and then you would make him a meal or dessert. Over time, Bucky's grumpiness was replaced with friendliness, and your friendship got stronger. Even though you had fewer favors, you two continued the tradition of eating a home-cooked meal together once a week until suddenly, it was odd if you were not seeing him.

Like now...

It's been three weeks since you last saw him. It's honestly so lonely in the building without him around. Sure, he's not talkative all the time, and there are still things you know you two have not shared, but it's undeniable this closeness you feel to him.

You just hope you get to see him soon, or you will be forced to break something and force him to come back…

It's another quiet night. It should be a night that you rest easy, drifting far off into dreamland. But you just can't seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it's the fault of a certain super soldier's absence. As you lay pondering whether you should just force yourself to rest or get up and do something until you're tired…

Then, loud bangs from the neighboring wall interrupted the stillness. On instinct, you freeze and try to listen to where the crashing is coming from. 

Bucky's place... but that's odd; he's not home. Or did you just miss him? Another crash makes you second guess that it could be a break in… 

But who would be dumb enough to break into a super soldier's apartment?

Apparently, you are...

It is technically breaking and entering, but is it bad if you do it for a good reason? What if someone is wreaking his place? What if he's in danger? What will you do if you actually run into someone? You will deal with that once you encounter it…

You ignore that for now as you concentrate on picking the lock... You hated it then, but you're now thankful for the skill at times like this. It clicks with a few more twists, and you're now sneaking through the threshold.

It's the same place you have been in multiple times, but tonight, you see the crumble of blankets on the living room floor, the flipped furniture, the mess of wreckage. Then you see the more heart-aching sight in the room's darkness. 

Bucky usually stands tall and has that sly smirk for you with some greeting. Now, he is crouched so small, disheveled, and trembling. Those ocean-blue eyes clenched tightly...

A step towards him immediately has him on the defense, ready to pounce.

But he pauses at the sight of you, confused, rightly so. But you're more distracted by how the outside lights reflect on the streams down his cheeks.

You're about to say something, but his hoarse voice cuts you off before you can, "Get out!".

You should really listen, but as he sinks back to the floor, your feet feel like lead. With a swallow and a steadying breath, you step closer. He should understand by now that you're not one for listening. 

Closer now, you can take in his sweat-drenched body and matted hair and how he tries to stop shaking... Thousands of questions flock to you; you just swallow them down. Slowly, you sit close enough to be noticed but not enough to touch him…

Settled beside him, you hold your hand towards him on the floor, making a silent offer. "I'll stay for as long as it takes..." 

It could take minutes or hours. There is also the chance of him lashing out, but you will just be silent and patient and let him feel your presence and hear your calm breaths.

You're there for a couple of minutes until a clammy warmth touches your hand. Looking down, you can tell the shaking has stopped a little. You spread your fingers and let him lace them with his own. 

"I... don't know what to say..." he mumbles, but you shake your head before meeting his eyes.

"You don't have to explain... We all have scars... Bad dreams. "

"Every night I have bad dreams... Sometimes, I just randomly shake awake."

"Other times, you just lay there waiting for the sun to rise."

The look he gives you tells you he's shared the experience. You shrug and look out the window, "Like I said... bad dreams."

As you two sit there, his shaking slowly stills, but your hand's grip only tightens. 

"I'm sorry..." It was such a silent whisper that you almost didn't hear it. Bucky, tired, and a wreck, brought back memories you thought were packed away. 

"Don't be sorry. Let's just work on getting you cleaned up. Are you good enough to rinse off?"

Bucky nods before standing up... He walks towards his bathroom but pauses just short... He has his own set of questions he wants to ask... One of them is clear to you... are you going to stay... 

"I'll clean for a bit and will brew some tea for, when you get out. Okay?" 

He gives a short nod before disappearing. You start placing what you can remember being placed before. It takes you a minute to get everything back in its place. Sure, this place was a mess, but you have had to fix the fallout of worse. Once done, you move on to the kitchen to brew the tea. As the water heats, you just listen to the muffled sound of the shower. Does this happen often? And if so, how have you never noticed before?

Bucky takes longer to wash off than you expected, but ultimately, it's a good thing he took the time for himself. When he finally comes out of the bathroom, he's only in pajama bottoms, a towel resting on his shoulder, and fixing his metal arm back into place. His hair is still dripping wet when he finally plops down on the couch. For a long moment, he's still thinking of what to say, but you just slide the peppermint tea over to him.

Bucky gives a small thank you before he lifts the cup, letting the smell waft to his nose and the cup warm his hand. When he finally takes a sip, you feel like you can breathe again. While he works on his tea, you notice the drops falling from his hair and landing on his skin, causing him to shiver. He didn't even bother to dry his hair, huh? Carefully, you take the towel from his shoulder and softly start to dry his wet hair away. Bucky looks at you curiously as you focus on the task before you. 

"Why are you so good at this?" 

"Like I said, everyone gets bad dreams. Some worse than others." 

He hums before slightly chuckling, "Is that also why you know how to break into apartments?"

The playful tone in his voice makes your heart squeeze, and you can't help but grin, "You're not the only one with secrets, soldier boy." 

[nadvs]

nads .... can we pls get make up sex w rafe :'(((( him all but cooing in ur ear as he fucks u within an inch of ur life like he's really being sooo sweet about it :'(((((((( 💔💔💔💔 Yeah i'm thinking thoughts ....

the way i’m obsessed with desperate makeup sex with ex-boyfriend rafe... combined this ask by @abrellareads 💘 college au. fratboy!rafe. explicit smut. 18+!

it happened so fast.

rafe was across the crowded room, in the throws of yet another party, wearing that charming smile that made you fall in love, holding the same power over you that you wish you never gave him.

it’s been a month since. after a ruthless cycle of different versions of the same fights, you went over to his place and told him you couldn’t be with him anymore.

earlier tonight, you were watching him from the other side of the party, thinking about how long a month feels and how your ex-boyfriend still owns every piece of your heart.

a fight broke out. if you weren’t already watching him, you wouldn’t have to guess he was involved. whenever there’s commotion, he’s often in the middle of it. attracting chaos.

you left. you were unable to take any of it anymore. you’d broken up with him to rid yourself of the stress that came with loving him, but even as a supposed part of your history, he pulled you into his storm.

you made it home. you got ready for bed. something came over you before you turned out the lights. you’ve missed him so much it hurts.

your fingers went from the lightswitch to your phone and you found his name and texted him asking if he was home.

rafe replied quickly. he figured a simple yes would’ve been good enough. but because he’s hurting for you, because he’s painfully desperate, he added come over to the end.

and you’re here. you’re at his doorstep, as tense as you were the night you broke up with him.

the house he lives in is hardly ever quiet, but when he swings open the door, you’re certain he’s the only one home. the rest of his frat brothers must still be at the party you left, while he’s by himself with a red, swelling splotch on his cheekbone where he’d been hit in that ridiculous fight back on the other end of greek row.

“hey,” he says stiffly.

“hey.” you motion to your cheek. “that hurt?”

“i’m fine.”

it’s a lie. he hasn’t been fine since you told him you couldn’t do this anymore. you pushed him into a hole and he’s been too hopeless to even try to crawl out.

“is that why you came here?” rafe murmurs. he hates himself for asking. he just wants to feel you against him and questioning you at his front door won’t get him there.

it’s a defense mechanism. he’s trying to act careless when he’s anything but.

he steps back, a silent way to beckon you in. warm relief floods him when you close the distance to come inside.

“partly,” you reply. wordlessly, you follow him upstairs, each step creaking the way you remember. you’ve been here so many times, rushing to rafe’s bedroom, lips on his the second the door shut.

this time, when the door closes, the soft thud is a harsh reminder of the last time you were here. you were sure it would really be the final conversation. you were done with him.

“why, then?” he rasps, standing across from you in the middle of his small, cluttered bedroom.

muscle memory. instinct. an involuntary reflex. you can’t help but step forward, finding your fingers in his hair, pulling him towards you.

“one last time,” you say in a strained whine you weren’t expecting. “we never said goodbye.”

rafe’s body tightens. you did say goodbye. you said you’re better off out of each other’s lives and you didn’t start crying about what that really meant until he did. nothing he said was enough to convince you to stay.

he looks at your lips, at the pleading look in your eyes. fuck, how good it’d feel to tell you no. to tell you to get out of his house.

but it’s feel so much better being buried deep inside you again, listening to you breathlessly groan his name, hearing your bodies meet over and over.

clothes are tugged off hurriedly and clumsily and every bit of his skin that you get to feel again is an electric shock that zips through you. your heart races as he buries his face into the crook of your neck to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses.

your knees weaken as he grips your ass once your pants are on the floor, and like he used to, he reads your body, senses your loss of strength, and guides you to his bed.

everything smells like him. his detergent, his cologne, his musk all envelop you in the soft duvet beneah you. you’d been in this bed so many times, clung onto the sheets, tiredly laughed with him when the bed frame would hit the wall with your rushed movements.

rafe hovers over you, still kissing your neck. he hasn’t felt your lips against his yet and when he shifts to finally taste your tongue, he grunts in pleasure.

you run your hands down the curve of his firm, bare back. you stop at the band of his boxers and surrender to him, spreading your legs so he can settle between them.

“fuck,” you breathe when you feel his hard length, only two layers between you now. he’s already at that point and the aching at your core pulses with the same desperation.

“what’d you expect?” he whispers against your mouth. his words make the air thicker and the room spin.

rafe can pretend he doesn’t care, but his body can’t. it burns for you, and you only. no other girl comes close. no other girl makes him act the way you do, makes him gaze at her while she’s not paying attention and leads him to wonder what he did to deserve to be alive at the same time as her.

you. only you.

“take this off,” he rasps, fingers looping beneath your bra strap. you move to unhook it, but he does it for you, taking over like always. like before.

he doesn’t wait for the next part. he pulls your panties down, groaning a quiet oh my god when he sees you. your breath’s caught as you watch him sit up to tug his boxers off, springing out, every inch of him as perfect as you remember.

his throat tightens with something that feels like the threat of tears when you pull him down to you. it’s overwhelming to feel loved again by someone who once looked like she was bothered by his very existence.

but you said this is goodbye. one last time.

rafe’s never been one to think of what’s next. impulsiveness runs through his veins. consequences are an afterthought.

but he can’t do it. he can’t feel you wrapped around him to know you’ll just leave him cold yet again, leave him to lick his wounds and continue living as if he isn’t shattered.

blue eyes meet yours, his hard desire for you nudging against your entrance. his hands are on the bed, framing your pretty face, hovering over you as he pants.

“this isn’t goodbye,” he says. “you’re my girl. say it.”

you gaze up at him, the weight on your chest almost debilitating. you’re afraid you don’t have it in you. loving him is hard. it hurts. he’s a beautiful disaster of a man and choosing him to be in your life is a game of roulette.

“i’ll be better,” he whispers, his heart breaking even more from the way you’re silently staring at him.

you’d heard it so many times. i’ll change. i’ll get my shit together. i’ll be the man you need me to be. and it claws at your heart, wondering if you should’ve been telling him you’d be the woman he needed you to be, too.

“so will i,” you finally whisper. you’ll try again. because living without him is agony.

his face twists with sadness, with longing, with relief, and he leans to kiss you as he guides himself in, exhaling pure elation.

you quietly groan from the sweet pressure. he feels you stiffen. he pulls back, regretful, but your hands splay over his lower back to push him back inside.

you wrap your legs around his hips and he gives you every inch, head swimming from how hot and tight and wet you are.

“fuck, i missed you,” rafe breathes.

“me, too.” the knot finally loosens. the stress of pretending like you’re okay, like ending things was the right choice is gone now.

you kiss his lips as his thrusts start to get harder, and you know he’s the right choice. he always was.

“i’m sorry,” you say, voice strained again.

“stop,” he whispers. his forehead presses against yours as he rocks in and out of you, stretching and filling you perfectly. “all i care about is that you came back, alright?”

“yeah,” you say shakily. “i love you.”

your heat, your softness, your everything make him reach his peak faster than he ever has, whispering i love you against your mouth and begging you to say you love him again as he tightens and trembles and shifts to touch you exactly the way you need to be touched to meet your climax.

your head is on his chest moments later, shallow breaths overlapping in the humid air. every thud of his heart felt against your cheek.

you watch as he plays with your fingers on his stomach, chest still rising and falling quickly. his arm is around you as you lay tucked into him, back home where you belong.

rafe’s brows furrow as his fingers trace yours, tense you’ll take it all back and leave him to lie in this bed alone again, doomed to know he can only have you in his dreams.

“can i sleep here?” you ask meekly, and his lips pull into a grin. he breathes a chuckle, hopeful again, out of the hole you’d pushed him in, feeling sunlight on his skin.

“you better,” he says.

[thegoblinpit]

Probably getting my ass blasted for this, but please understand: Americans are indoctrinated from birth. I’m not saying it’s a good excuse. I’m not saying it’s not possible to unlearn what we are propagandized with (I “got better”). But you asked *why* we are like this. It boils down to a few things:

1. Our education system is abysmal. Most Americans I know are just fucking dumb. The ones who are really smart were, like me, raised in fear-mongering, abusive, isolationist, victim-but-simultaneously-savior mentality environments. It is very, very, VERY hard for the average American to acknowledge that the abuse they went through in school was wrong and so was half of their poor quality education. I grew up in a cult, and breaking out, even 10 years after, is an ongoing un-learning process that is extremely painful. A lot of Americans don’t have the heart to undergo that, even if they have the wit to see it needs to be done.

2. We are media illiterate. Hell, a large percentage of us are just fully illiterate. How do you reason with people who only operate on blind faith? How do you explain complex problems and the nuance of countries they can’t comprehend to people who never, not even once in their lives, have had to use critical thinking? Brainwashing is easy when people are not taught to think, and our underfunded and heavily biased education was by design.

3. Americans are terrified. We are constantly inundated with absurd “news” and made to feel helpless. People with a caved in roof have a hard time thinking about their neighbor’s yard. Rampant individualism conditions us to believe that our suffering is our own moral failure, so many Americans project that onto other countries. Eg, “if Spain and Italy can’t figure their differences out, the fuck do I care? They’re weak and dumb if they can’t do it themselves.” (This is ONLY an example, please don’t jump me. I don’t agree with isolationism).

4. Tbh, the common folk are not intended to be informed. Informed people care about other countries. Informed people care about what oligarchs do. Poverty is such a pervasive threat, and 50+ hour work weeks so demanding, and media so bought and paid for, that the average person in the US is clinging to the proverbial driftwood of “taking care of me and mine” out at sea, that becoming informed is never going to be a priority. That’s the way our elites want it.

Once again, I’m not defending USAmericans. I’m fucking embarrassed to be one. It’s absolutely mortifying to meet someone (online or irl) from another country and them know I’m from the laughing stock of the world. But as someone who always asked, “why?” (and was abused for it) in a cult growing up, and then figured out for my own damn self that what was going on around me was evil, I can empathize. To be an American is to be extremely lonely, extremely afraid, and extremely angry, desperate for a scapegoat. Not everyone is introspective enough to break out. Not everyone can bear to see their perception of the world turn to ash in their hands, and then be called an arsonist by their closest loved ones.

But I hope that more Americans find that strength and learn to bear that pain, because the world fucking matters. It’s so much bigger than we can ever understand, and I hope that USAmericans stop fearing being small.

[crowborn666-writes]

Squeezed

(You know, at first thought, being squeezed until you may lose feeling doesn't sound too pleasant. But all I can think about is how grounding that could be when in an panic attack)

Floyd Leech x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Platonic/Romantic

Summary: The reality of your situation finally hits you, but you definitely don't need the other students taunting you for something out of your control. Thankfully(?), you have Floyd.

~~~~~~

"Henchman?" Grim's worried call barely registers, your heartbeat creeping into your ears as you quickly speed walk out of your last class. "(Y/n), what's wrong? You're not really bothered by all those chumps are you?"

Your feet stutter, your body falling into the wall of the empty hallway, having been going the completely wrong direction. Your arms wrapped tight around your chest. Your breathing speeds up, vision narrowing as thoughts fill your head.

You were gonna either die here or be stuck here forever, weren't you? Stuck in a world of magic, unable to tap into any of the mystical power. Has Crowley even been looking for a solution???

You barely register Grim saying something about getting help, barely see him rush off. Your ears ring, gaze darting around you yet focusing on nothing.

You blink, trying to take in a steadying breath. You just needed to focus, identify colors or shapes to reset your head, calm yourself down before you truly lose it. You try to focus on something to begin, but your brain is too scrambled to give a name to any shape or color.

You don't hear the sing-songing lilt of someone calling your name, barely registering the figure now in front of you.

"Shrimpy?" It's Floyd, his toothy grin on display. "You're breathing awfully heavy there, you know. What's got you so worked up?"

He leans into your space, trying to see if you'll react. Had you been lucid, your blood would've ran ice cold at the way his grin drops. "Shrimpy?"

He takes note of the tight grip on yourself, the way you seem to look through him. He bends down a bit more on your level, one hand gently resting on the top of your head. His expression twitches at the way you're trembling.

Well, this isn't good. Not with the way you flinch at the mere brush of his hand on your hair.

"Hey, Shrimpy... (Y/n)?" he tries calling out to you again, bi-colored eyes locked onto you. When you don't react, he figures he has to resort to other methods.

His hands grasp yours, prying them off your arms and towards him. He ignores the startled gasp that leaves you, quick to wrap his arms around and squeeze.

You sit there, completely trapped, for a few long, tense moments. You blink, the blurriness in your vision coming back into focus as you register his heartbeat against your ear. Slowly, you relax, regaining control of your breathing, the dull ringing in your ears fading.

You feel him grin into your hair. "There you are Shrimpy!"

"F... Floyd?" you mumble, voice cracking as you reach up to wipe at your watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"I found you here against the wall, panicking like a beached fish. Where's your little beast, hm? Did he leave you here alone?"

You hum, leaning into the stupidly tall eel as he starts playing with your hair. "Ah... he said something about... about going to find help."

Floyd hums back, cheek pressing to the top of your head. "What got you so worked up?"

You explain the situation, the whispers of your crueler classmates, your own fears, and the fact Crowley hasn't done anything.

Floyd catches your emotions before you do, squeezing you a bit more to calm you back down. For as scary as he can be, you're finding this extremely comforting, pinned to reality and shielded from your wandering thoughts.

"I'll take care of it."

Had you been in any other situation, those words would've sent the fear of the Seven straight through you, but right now they were simply comforting.

Thankfully, you aren't looking at his face right now, otherwise you'd find a very murderous looking eel. Instead, you press into him, smiling.

"Thanks, Floyd."

[x-ang3l-x]

- You sure your not a virgin? (E.W)

cw: mean!readerx loser!ellie, high school bully x ellie, degration, porn with some plot like really really mean, virginity mocking, enemies to lovers, hate sex, homophobia, d slur used,!NSFW, mdni.

A/N: This is based off a script from scriptbin which I also think is an audio on soundgasm- If I find them i'll add the links <3

reblogs appreciated

"I'm gonna go look around, I'll catch up with you." I slur before making my way out of the bar area and into the arcade. I walk into an overstimulating sea of lights and sound and geeks slouched over some consoles spending their wages on video games. I silently wished to myself we would had gone somewhere where I could've taken someone home tonight, but I don't think that's going to happen at the barcade.

I have a couple spare tokens in my back pocket, I fish them out and relecantly sigh as I find some random shitty game and stroll next to it. Theres a girl sitting on one of the stools. I couldn't really make out her face under the strobe lights, but I could make out a malnourished figure hunched over the arcade game, her nose buried in the screen. Auburn hair shagged just at her shoulders, glasses peering off the tip of her nose.

I strut up to her and wait a few moments for her to look at me. She doesn't. "Anyone sitting here?" I ask reluctantly

The girl does not turn her head, but responds. "Isn't it obvious?"

Okay, well fuck it. "I'm sitting here anyways. Whatcha gonna do about it?

"As long as you leave me alone, nothing."

God this bitch was blunt. For a moment she started to remind me of somebody I once knew but I brushed the feeling off before I continued. "So, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be going out to like, real bars?"

"Isn't this a real bar?"

I scoff. "This is barley a bar. You don't even have a drink."

"I'm not here to drink."

"You know what, I’m feeling charitable today, how about I buy you one?" For a brief moment the girls hand on the joystick faulters before continues her game.

"It's okay, don't waste your money."

"Yeah, come on, you pick. Whatever you want, baby I’ll get it." I seductivley say with a slight tilt of my head. The girl fails to conceal a small chuckle and softly bites her bottom lip when she does.

And I can't even lie, it was fucking cute.

But I still couldn't shake the feeling like I knew her from somewhere.

"Hey.. can you look at me really quick?" I ask. She pretends to not hear me. "C'mon, even I know you can pause that. Turn your head." I'm met with a bewildered expression plastered on a pretty face. Pink, pouted lips, huge glossy eyes staring at me from behind her glasses. "You look familiar." I mumble.

Wait, hold on a second.

"Nooo fucking way."

No way this girl didn't know who I was the second I started talking to her. This theory was solidified after she flushed beet red right after I said her name.

"Ellie Williams. Oooh My god, how have you been? You look- You look great, actually, seriously."

Ellie doesn't say anything, just silently staring at me with her mouth slightly agape. "What, can't take a compliment?"

"Didn't you like.. bully me? All of high school?"

Okay, yeah, that is how I knew her. I tormented this poor, friendless, loser every day for four years straight.

"Well..I mean, yeah, I did. But that's high school, literally no one cares about that!" I laugh. Well, except you, obviously."

Ellie scowls at me. "Whatever, see you haven't peaked since then."

"I'll actually have you know that I'm getting a promotion next week, so suck my dick."

"Promoted to what? Bosses least favorite?"

"Whatever, dyke." I cross my arms and give her a bit of an evil smile. "Least I’m not spending my Friday night playing fucking video games from the 80’s."

“70’s, actually”

"70's, actually!" I mock with a lisp.

Ellie just keeps glaring me down and spitting rebounds out. "I don't see you holding any high scores."

"Yeah, because I grew up, Williams. Let me guess, you spend every single Friday night here making sure no one takes away your precious fucking numbers on a screen."

"And what did you grow into, scoring bodies?"

What is wrong with this bitch? "Did you just call me a slut?" I dour.

Ellie stands up, seemingly prepared to walk away from the conversation. "Yeah, I did. Gonna do something about it?"

I also rise, meeting her height and overpowering her skinny frame. "Okay, you know what, fuck you and fuck this attitude that you have. I don’t need some fucking loser who hangs out at an arcade every night because she can’t help but have a little pity party because they were too fucking nerdy for anyone to like them telling me that they’re somehow better than me!"

Ellie doesn't walk away, she just lets out an offended grunt before eyeing me up and down. I decide that maybe it's time to have some fun with this. Just like back in high school. How I used to berade the girl every single second I could get to, and how i'd catch her holding back a smile as I did so.

"You know, I bet your sorry little ass that I could fuck this attitude right out of you."

Ellie's head whipped up, eyes meeting mine and holding a glimmer of hope. "W- what?" she stuttered.

"Aww, that got the little loser blushing." I say striding towards said blushing mess. "What, does this dumb little dyke get wet when some mean bitch tells her they could ruin her?" I lower my voice and place my lips next to her ear, barley grazing it as I spoke. "I bet you probably get off on that sort of shit, pervert."

I swear to god I could hear a moan in the back of Ellie's throat as I challenged her.

"Wanna put your money where your mouth is?" She whispered.

My breath hits her ear hot and hard."Fucking...Yeah. Yeah, I do think I can put my money where my mouth is. What, are you trying to get me to take you home with me?"

I'm only met with a shit eating grin spreading across her face.

"I'm gonna fuck that look off your face- let's go nerd."

___________________________

"I take it that you like my bedroom?" I ask as I lead the victim into my room. "Sorry that I don’t have a bunch of geek shit on the walls, I normally bring cool people over."

"To sleep with?" Ellie asks.

"Yeah, so?" I respond. "I’ve only slept with a few of them, so what? Least I’m not still a fucking virgin like you"

"I- I'm not a-" she starts, tripping over her own words.

I kick my shoes off and Ellie follows, watching my every move as though I was about to murder her. "Yeah fucking right, You don’t have to lie and tell me that you’ve slept with someone, I can tell you haven’t."

"How can you tell?"

"How can I tell? How can I tell?! I can tell by the way you’re shaking in your fucking shoes right now, bitch. Look at you. You don’t know whether to piss your pants or go blind." And I wasn't lying, the girl seriously was fucking pissing herself right now. Cute, but awfully pathetic. "It’s okay hun, everyone is nervous their first time! But it’s not like you’ll be doing any of the work."

Ellie lets out an awkward laugh."W- why?"

" I invited you over here because I’m gonna fuck that snarky, know it all, superiority complex right out of you....

... only if you really want me to."

"Do you want me to?" I ask, my hands softly feeling around her belt buckle. I get myself as close to her face as I can, inches away from shoving my tounge down her throat.

"Yes.." She softly whispered against my mouth, leaning in to kiss me before I pull back.

"You can be louder than that. I know you’ve got some big words in that head of yours, fucking use them."

"Pleaseee, please mommy please fuck me- fuck all this goddamn attitude right out of me- please."

My palm lightly slaps her cheek. "Good girl." I praise before kissing her, our lips interlocking and quickly moving into a deep passionate movement, our younger clashing against one another as she desperately maoans into my mouth. "This your first kiss, loser?" I ask as I pull away, latching myself onto her neck. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" And by the way she moans I can tell she does.

"You like when I kiss you neck... what about when I bite it?" I mumble before sinking my teeth into her flesh. She lets out a pornogroahic moan, head snapping up as she bites her lip to hold back another one. "God, listen to you... I could listen to you whine all day."

"Please..." Ellie groans against my skin.

"What was that?"

"Please touch me.."

"You want me to touch you...down here?" I say before lightly tracing my finger over her clothed slit. Ellie bucks her hips up in pleasure, trying to get more. "Keep still. I think I’d rather have you beg before I even think of laying a finger down there."

Ellie only reponds with incoherent phrases and moans as she tries to plead with me.

"My god, you are one desperate little loser, arent you? I'm not touching you until you beg for it like a little depraved loser."

"Please, please, I need you so fucking bad, my pussy needs you, I- I'm so wet- please.."

"That’s just not good enough, dyke. C’mon, you know I’m out of your league. And yet here I am being kind enough to stand in front of you. You should be on your fucking knees for me-" And in not even one second Ellie has immediately dropped to her knees and is softly pleading as she looks up at you with such sad, begging eyes.

"Woah, okay, taking that literally I see. Hm, I don’t know. I don’t think I should forgive you so easily, not with how much of a fucking brat you were being.

That being said, it is nice to see that you know your place. Begging me to touch you, It’s reallyyyy cute."

At this point Ellie looked like she was going to cream her pants, whimpering and panting like a fucking dog in heat. At any moment in looked like she would start humping the ground beneath me. "Your sooo pretty" is the only thing to come out of her mouth.

"God, you’re such a fucking loser. But you have such a pretty mouth, it would be a shame not to put it to good use.." I take a handful of her hair and pull it down so she could look at me better, admire me better.

"I'm gonna make you a deal, i'll let you eat me out." At this Ellies face radiated. "And if you do an especially good job, then maybe I'll touch you. If you don't- your not gonna fucking come. Okay?"

Ellie's head vigorously nodded up and down in acceptance, excitedly staring directly at my pants as I pull them down, revealing my glistening wet cunt to her. "You like my pussy? Quite the view isn’t it, nerd? You got me wet. Be proud of yourself.

And once I concluded with that scentence Ellie dived in, her tounge licking a stripe from my ass to my clit before stopping to softly suck on my bud.

"Oh- oh my fucking god.. fucking work that mouth whore.."

Her tounge lapped at me hurriedly, like it was her last meal. Like she was a woman starved. Maybe her malnourished figure was just a physical representation on how much pussy she was eating. Zero. Until now of course, until now where I have to tell her to slow down for a minute because she has no patience, just greedily slopping up my pussy juice like the stupid gay bitch she is. "Look at me, some fucking nerd is getting my fucking legs shaking. Guess anything really is possible, isn’t it?"

"Stupid fucking loser."

And with that I pulled her head off of my pussy, right before I could reach my climax. "Aww, look at that poor face. Did you want me to come all over your face? Poor girl." I fake pouted.

"Too bad, slut. But don’t worry. You did a good job, you get to make me cum while I fuck you. Oh, that made you smile, didn’t it?" Ellie shakes her head again without saying another word.

"Take your clothes off then, slut."

Ellie was sprawled out on the bed, pieces of baby hair clung to her sweat covered skin as she despratley moaned like the whore she was.

"Hollyyyy shit, your soo fucking right, brat." I breathed out as I shoved one finger and and out of her hole. "Look at you, squirming from just one finger. Your such a pervert."

Ellie can do nothing but agree, nodding her head and moaning. "More- please, I want more-"

"Hm? Touch you? You want me to touch you here baby?"

"You want me to just rest a finger on this pretty little pussy?"

"Wow, you’re eager. I guess you want me to touch it more?"

And with every single phrase you used meant to humilate her, Ellie simply build up her orgasm more and more. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.." she mewled.

"How does my hand feel, nerd? It feels good? It feels sooo good, I know." I can't help but laugh a bit maniacally as I thrust another finger inside her. "I wanna hear you say it."

"It.. feels.. so.. good..

.. so. good."

My fingers rapidly fuck into her cunt over and over again, making a mess drip down my hand. "What a pathetic little pervert.." with that comment Ellie's pussy sucks my fingers in so well, I can tell the phrase really got to her.

"Don’t pretend I didn’t feel this pussy twitch. You do love it when pretty girls are mean to you, don’t you?"

Don’t you?

"Yes-"

"God listen to that...You’re such a desperate loser. A desperate loser having the time of her fucking life. You’re sure you’re not a virgin, dyke?"

"Oh, god, that got you going didn’t it? Look at those hips move. You must really like it when some pretty girl makes you do whatever she wants. Is that what you want? To just do whatever pretty girls tell you to do and have them make fun of you? "

"What a stupid little dyke. I think that’s exactly what you want."

"Aren’t you glad you ran into me?"

"Fuck, me. You’re a loser, but my god are you one good girl."

And with that she snapped, coming completely undone as my fingers were completely drenched with her fluids, but I wasn't going to stop yet, I just couldn't.

"Maybe it’s not just any mean girl. Maybe it was me. Just me. You’ve probably wanted me to screw the brat out of you for such a long time. You’ve wanted me to fucking use you. To own you. Is that it baby? Is that what you want?"

Say it. I know you want to.

----------------------

a/n wait i lowk rlly like this

[kdgts---zooperz]

a lot of really good points here. Was thinking of a few of them myself but lost the wind in my sails near the end. It's what i touched on with "and getting lucky, as, just because your putting in effort, it doesn't guarantee others will notice/agree"

But yeah, I wasn't really taught that crap as a kid, I was taught to -wear a belt, -to wear jeans, anything else means your a lazy piece of garbage, and to have the same haircut as my dad, which is to say a very basic and generic one. It WASN'T till I started doing things like my newsboy hats, wearing collars under sweaters, etc, that I got a few more. Still only went from what i'd consider 1 good compliment (one i still think of today) from years 0-17 to 3 (total) from 18-21 (cant speak after that, because I started getting way more after both getting a boyfriend and a female bff)

but yeah, while it is technically true that it's tied to the correct kind of effort, most young'ns aren't actually taught what that is, at least I wasn't and neither were my friends. (and from what i've seen growing up in my area it seems to be true or 85% of boys i've seen. then 7% were all cowboys. I think they were both made fun of quite a bit and complimented quite a bit too, from what i recall) The rest were assorted varieties of people.

I was specifically told the things i liked -hounds tooth, newsboy caps, etc- don't look good and NOT to try them, even! I had points deducted for wearing a (minorly) Hounds-tooth Suit jacket while on the debate team! (well, not deducted, my opponent just got points added for wearing a "nice suit" and I didn't (they were just wearing a black suit, and mine was brown & houndstooth. Mine wasn't ill fitting, or dirty, or ripped. (neither were theirs) Pisses me off. I hate when speech judges get drafted into judging debate. (after talking with the them after, they also were a little disgrunted on my behalf, not that they didn't appriciate the compliment, but they thought it was BS that that was scored, especially since it implies I look bad. Ugh. Still mad.

But yeah. Hard to put in good effort, when you gotta figure out how first.

I just know that the dudes who make those "girls get 500 compliments a day vs. guy gets one compliment once and cherishes it for the rest of his life" memes put zero effort into their appearance. Like what exactly do you expect people to say? Wow nice plain ill-fitting hoodie, goes great with your basic-ass blue jeans and nondescript haircut. Got some real cool Grey Man vibes going on, you could seamlessly blend into any crowd ever without being seen at all.

Like nobody has any obligation to look any certain way, but you can't expect to be praised for doing something you're not even trying to do. I dress like I got tarred and feathered in a Tim Burton film costume department discard scrap pile, and someone saying they like my style is a biweekly occurrence.