#but i didn’t even want that car in the first place and then it just grew on me a ton so hopefully the new one will too

[eowynstwin]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[simpjaes]

✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed.  or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute. 

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader  

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

LAST UPDATED: 12.22.24

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 5.4k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: ask to be on my perma tag list!

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined. 

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going. 

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people. 

Do things without you clinging to him all the time. 

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so. 

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.  

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror. 

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now. 

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face. 

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you. 

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice. 

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned. 

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.” 

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life. 

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need. 

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number. 

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead. 

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.” 

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college. 

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time. 

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days. 

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course. 

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.” 

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges. 

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak. 

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest. 

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that�� maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated. 

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes. 

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.” 

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it. 

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?” 

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value. 

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.” 

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now. 

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester. 

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay. 

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.” 

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm. 

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore. 

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm. 

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up. 

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college. 

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…” 

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top. 

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles. 

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away. 

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.” 

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does. 

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.” 

   ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame. 

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake. 

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo.  But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent? 

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father. 

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood. 

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind.  ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[mrs-hatake]

jjk men and their toxic traits

warnings: love bombing, obsession, silent treatment as punishment, purity culture, possessiveness, mentions of drug and alcohol addiction, self harm, suicide attempt, self loathing, stalking and younger man x older woman.

a/n: idk what to tell you besties. i did have fun writing nanami's tho, and i think sukuna's the most accurate lol tell me what y'all think :D

Toji: Indifference 

after dating Toji for years, putting him with his recklessness during his assassination assignments, watching him bleed on the bathroom floor while shiu poorly stitches him up, having to move apartments every few months because someone with a grudge or an enemy hunts him down. 

dealing with all of that crap, you’ve exploded once you’ve reached your boiling point.

as much as you love toji with all of your heart, want him to see the beauty of the world and feel alive again, you simply cannot stand by while the man you love kills himself.

that’s why you gave him an ultimatum; change careers and he fixes his life  or you walk out.

you’ve known from the start that toji’s a stubborn mule but you didn’t think that he’d choose his job over you. 

though heartbroken at first, you eventually end up packing your things. maybe now that things have gotten serious and toji sees you slowly removing pieces of yourself from his life, it’d serve as a wake up call.

toji doesn’t even bat an eye.

he’s lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching a baseball match from the television set he’d stolen from his family.

even when you block his view — hands on your hips and all — he just scoots aside and continues watching.

“you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start.” comes toji’s monotone voice after your yelling, “i’ve warned you and you accepted who i am.”

silence fills the room. you stare at him, hoping that once toji sees the heartbreak, rage, frustration and that little bit of moisture glistening your pretty eyes, he’d see the error of his ways.

but no such thing happens.

instead, toji continues to sit on the couch with his mesmerizing forest green eyes, the very ones that made you fall in love with him, are glued to the screen.

when you march to your bedroom to drag out your luggage, toji doesn’t even offer a goodbye. he doesn’t even watch you leave. toji doesn’t bother to chase after you when you’re halfway down the stairs.

Satoru: Love Bombing and Obsession

having been born as the blessed one, nothing really impresses gojo satoru. 

he has mountains of money in his bank account, a stream of endless good luck and women kissing the ground he walks on. with a snap of his fingers, he can have whatever he desires at the palm of his hand.

yet, once you reject him, something inside satoru snaps. no one, no one has ever rejected gojo satoru. it’s always the opposite. 

when you reject him for the fourth time in less than a week, satoru draws up a plan that will surely win you over.

it starts off small. he sends breathtaking bouquets of flowers to your work place with cute little notes praising your beauty. whenever he sees exquisite jewelry, he’s sending them to your house, asking you to wear them. when he’s feeling very d̶e̶s̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶  determined, satoru will wire you almost 8 million yen. satoru is then showing up to your work place with the excuse of wanting to take you out for lunch. embarrassed by the glances not so subtly thrown your way and the loud whispers haunting your ears, you agree.

and, honestly, satoru isn’t that bad. he’s got that boyish charm to him, he can be pretty funny and he’s intelligent. maybe you were too harsh with him…is what you initially thought until satoru’s true colors started to show.

he will call you throughout the day asking you what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, what will you eat, who are you with, who were you with, who did you talk to, who are you talking to, who will you talk to and you get the idea.

satoru goes as far as installing tracking devices in your car, home and work place just to stay updated. he even threatened your male co-workers, relatives and friends from talking to you as he strongly and firmly believes that he’s the only one you need.

gojo satoru is like a disease you can’t escape.

Kento: Silent Treatment

nanami kento’s biggest hatred in life aside from the corporate tyranny is adults who are quite immature.

and you know this. but sometimes your emotions get the best of you.

like the other night, you had a pretty nasty fight with kento. you had accused him of flirting with another woman at the end of the year party the company kento is working at hosted. when kento defended himself and explained that the woman was all over him, you yelled that he did nothing to get her to back off.

it was a heated argument which consisted of you yelling your head off and kento constantly defending himself.   

“i’ve had enough of this.” kento mutters as he snatches his pillow and blanket from your bed to go sleep on the couch in the living room. 

come the next morning, you realized your mistake. you barely slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning at your immaturity. guilt lodging itself deep into your soul as you accused kento of infidelity when that man is crazy over you. he works a job he hates just so he can provide for you and for your future family.

with a clearer head, you send him a text.

wanna grab lunch after work?

my treat 🥰  

hopefully, the warm and cozy ambiance of your favorite restaurant will remind you of just how loyal kento is, which will then allow you to apologize and trust him even more.

you go about your day; showering, eating breakfast, cleaning the penthouse. all the while you keep glancing at your phone. you’ve worried your lips so much that they’re bruised and cut, metallic flavor dancing on your tongue.

when kento doesn’t return home, you call him about twenty times until it goes to voicemail.

kento only returns at around nine in the evening. he doesn’t greet you, doesn’t even glance at you. it’s like you’re a ghost. 

you convince yourself that kento is still angry and probably needs some time to cool off but when this behavior continues for almost two weeks, you’re at your wit’s end.

“baby,” you stand in your walk-in closet, reeking of desperation, as kento is busy tying his tie for an important ceremony at his company later that evening, “talk to me.” you plea but he’s silent as the dead.

tears blur your vision as kento continues to ignore you while adding the finishing touches.

“please.” you stand in front of the mirror, obstructing the view of his reflection. “don’t ignore me, kento. please. i was wrong. i shouldn’t have accused you and i shouldn’t have doubted your love for me. i let my insecurities get the better of me. i’m so sorry.”

for the first time in weeks, kento looks at you. actually, looks. his hands tightly grip your waist and lift you off the ground to place you away from the mirror.

dejected by his rejection, tears are crashing down your cheeks like an angry waterfall. 

you try to sand in front of the mirror but kento stops you. just as it feels like the last piece of your heart is about to shrivel up and die, kento leans in and kisses your cheek.

you’re so surprised by the gesture, you don’t notice kento leaving.

it’s only when you hear your phone buzzing on the nightstand that you’re brought to your senses.

i’ll be home late. don’t wait up.

tonight is the first night you’ve had a well rested sleep since your fight.

Sukuna: Purity and Possessiveness 

purity is everything to sukuna. he’s in a relationship with you because of your innocence, how you’re blissfully unaware of the carnal desires of man. having to rely on sukuna and be taught of one’s sexual desire is a huge power trip to sukuna. he guides you every step of the way; teaches you what he loves and shows you what you need. 

it’s such a euphoric world to live in that it’s difficult to leave it. yet it’s something you have to do. sukuna’s licentiousness is overwhelming. his malevolent behavior frightens you and you no longer feel safe in his arms like you used to.

you’ve managed to hide from him for almost three years but sukuna never stopped searching for you. when he finally finds you, it’s with a grin of victory and of mania glowing in his ruby colored eyes.

until his eyes land on your stomach, that his. instantly, he is sneering at you in disgust. sukuna’s insides curl in protest at the repulsive fact that not only are you with another man, mistakenly believing he can ever satisfy you better than he did, you let him plant his seed in you. 

you are–were sukuna’s possession and he doesn’t like to share what rightfully belongs to him. 

why should he take you back when you’ve been spoiled, polluted, by the dirty hands of another man? sukuna doesn’t go for sloppy seconds. and there’s no way in hell he’d raise another man’s child. 

as quickly as sukuna has reappeared in your life, he’s out of it. 

Suguru: Self Sabotage 

the road to recovery is a long and arduous one. but geto suguru is proud of his accomplishments. the challenges he had faced were insanely difficult but meeting you has made things much easier. 

it has taken a while but, eventually, suguru doesn’t feel his fingers twitching for his next fix. he no longer drinks himself to sleep to silence chaotic thoughts. suguru also managed to throw out all of his blades and his arms and inner thighs haven’t been marred in quite some time. 

yet all of suguru’s hard work goes to waste when the two of you had your first major fight. it was cruel. it broke both of your hearts. it forced you to leave suguru’s apartment for a few days to calm down. had you known that your fight, that you leaving suguru, would come with major consequences, you wouldn’t have left. 

you receive the call at around three in the morning. suguru’s in the emergency room after a drug overdose and slitting both his wrists. you’re in no condition to drive as you can’t stop crying, wailing your lover’s name, so your best friend had to drive you to the hospital. 

the doctors inform you that suguru’s chances are slim and you believe their words because you’ve never seen suguru so pale. even when he first met him, he wasn’t as ashy. his face wasn’t sunk in like it is now.

it’s your fault!

you broke him! 

you ruined him! 

you killed him!

you don’t deserve him!

you don’t deserve anyone!

menacing thoughts abuse you throughout the early morning. by the sun comes out and the nurses stop by suguru’s room to check up on him, you’re dead on your seat. 

thankfully, you’ve been rescued from your torturous thoughts by none other than suguru. he stares at you with a haunted expression. his tongue darts out to moisten his chapped.

“y/n,” he croacks your name and you hurry to silence him lest he irritates his throat any further but one glance from suguru has you sitting back down, “i’m so sorry.”

suguru’s voice is so low that you have to lean in to hear him.

“please don’t leave me. i can’t live without you.”

a sickening wave of terror welling up from y/n’s belly at each word suguru uttered. how could she have been so stupid? why did she fight suguru when she knows just how sensitive he is!

shame washes over y/n like tidal waves.

“i’m sorry, baby.” y/n whispers as reaches for suguru’s hand. she places a gentle kiss on the gauzed wrapped around his injured wrist. “it’s all my fault. i won’t do it again.”

y/n searches suguru’s amethyst eyes for forgiveness.

“promise?” suguru asks, sounding so scared.

“i promise.”

Yuuta: Stalking

dating yuuta is like dating an overgrown puppy. 

he’s so loyal to you that one might actually call it blind devotion. yuuta will jump through burning hopes to please and satisfy you. in his eyes, you’re the most beautiful woman blessed on earth.

dating yuuta can be exhausting as well. since he’s five years younger than you, he’s quite energetic. which is exactly what you’ve been searching for after being married to your lazy husband who barely lifts a finger to scratch his ass.

and it was fun at first but now you’re exhausted to the bone and can barely keep up. that’s why you decide that it’s time to hit the gym. you need to build up your stamina if you want to keep up with your good little boy. 

“good luck with gym today!” yuuta is standing at the apartment genkan to send you off. the tail only you can see is wagging in excitement, ready to hear a compliment for doing a good of packing your gym back.

“thank you, my little puppy.” yuuta beams at the baby voice you use and is as light as a feather when you peck his lips not twice but four times.

“be a good little boy while mommy’s gone.” yuuta fervently nodding his head sends you into a fit of giggles at just how adorable he is. 

yuuta waits about ten minutes before he’s sprinting into your bedroom to quickly change his clothes, yank the apartment door open where he takes the stairs by twos and hops on his bicycle, cycling as fast as his legs can allow him. 

he’s stopping right across the street from your gym just as you drive into the basement parking lot. state of the binoculars at the ready, yuuta enters the abandoned building next to your gym and makes his way to the rooftop.

yuuta isn’t stalking you. really, he isn’t. he just…follows you around to make sure nothing happens to you. 

it’s just like he did before he started dating you. yuuta would follow you around town, patiently waiting for him to plant himself in your world like a may flower. he knows all of your favorite places; restaurants, cafes, stores, etc. yuuta knows where you like to go when you want to be alone and he even knows where your parents live despite the fact you’ve been dating for only two months and you have yet to bring up your parents. 

Yuuta’s grip tightens on the binoculars. he despises the fact that there aren’t any male instructors at your gym. he has to watch from the side as your male teacher comes closer and corrects your posture. yuuta’s eyes zero in to make sure that the instructor’s touches don’t linger. 

after about an hour, yuuta receives a text that you’re going to grab coffee with the girls from your pilates class, girls yuuta has pulled up all and any information on them to ensure they aren’t harmful, that they won’t corrupt you.

okay mommy ♥️

yuuta will a good boy and wait for you 😇

yuuta’s on his bicycle, subtly following your car to your favorite cafe by the riverside. 

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day eight ❆ spanking

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

a little mishap at the company christmas party has you subjected to punishment—directly from the hand of your boss. 2.9k

❆ pairing: boss!price x assistant!fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; inappropriate workplace conduct; slight dom/sub dynamic (use of "sir"); spanking (obviously); fingering

Working as the assistant to the head of one of the biggest companies in England invited stress that few could understand. Add in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, and that stress increased tenfold. Then add in a Christmas party that said corporate head expects you to both organize and attend on top of your regular holiday duties, and the stress might give you a heart attack before the week ends.

It was a miracle that the whole thing managed to go as smoothly as it did. The decorations turned out good, everyone was pleasantly surprised by the secret Santa turnout, and the food was nice. Even the most introverted interns stopped by to chat. By all measures, it was a success. Which meant your boss would happily wear the success and (hopefully) give you a nice bonus for all the hard work.

Until the celebration started to wind down and you spilled nearly half of your wine onto him. Onto his very nice and no-doubt-expensive dress shirt—a white one, at that. You could hear the notice of termination being typed up as soon as you realized who you had bumped into. 

Ever the charmer, he took it like a champ in front of the gaggle of people. Not for your own sake, you imagine; the man had to save face in front of his employees whether it was your fault or not. Still, that didn’t stop you from feeling positively mortified. Cursing yourself for even pouring a drink when you should’ve been making sure everything stayed perfect. So much for a little alcohol to alleviate the mountain of stress on your shoulders.

Everyone else seemed to forget about it rather quickly. And as the festivities died down and people started to filter out, there was no unwanted attention brought your way. But, seeing as the party was your responsibility in the first place, you knew you’d have to stay after and clean up. The few moments alone would’ve been nice…if only you truly were alone.

You couldn’t be mad at John for being a good boss. He stayed over nearly every damn day, worked later than most just to make sure things turned out right. He showed up to the office party because he cared about his employees. Surely you couldn’t damn him for that. But when he sidled past you with a quick “can I see you in my office real quick?” in your ear, you wished he were the careless type to leave early and forget that you even existed. 

You wasted as much time as possible just to avoid seeing him. Mingled with every last person who hung around until they had no excuse left to stay. You tidied up counters and swept the floor best you could. You figured maybe you could walk someone to their car and get yourself out of a reprimand that way. Alas, you realized that it wouldn’t be a good look if the assistant didn’t fulfill all of her boss’s requests. 

You stand outside the door to his office for a good minute, just staring at the wood before you. You’re fully prepared to be scolded. To be ridiculed and belittled and insulted. Not that John had ever done that before—he wasn’t the type to act that way—but you felt so worthless that you figured he might as well.  

Mustering the last of your courage and a hint of apathy, you knock on the door. When you hear his voice invite you in, you hesitate before turning the knob and slinking in. It wasn’t a conscious choice to move slow; it was like you wanted to make yourself seem small and meek as if it’d convince him to take pity on you.

There he was at his desk, pushing a paper to the side in favor of looking your way. The blotch of red wine staining his shirt was painfully obvious. You silently prayed for whatever washing machine would get overworked trying to clean it out.

“You look terrified.” John’s voice cuts through the silence and nearly startles you. You hadn’t even realized how tense your shoulders were. “Everythin’ alright?”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “I…I dunno, sir. Is everything alright?”

“Just fine. The party was nice. Very well done.” He leans back in his chair and you cringe when more of that wine stain comes into view. It almost felt like he was taunting you with it. “Though I shouldn’t expect anythin’ less from you.”

You nod, more out of relief than agreement with his statement. Muttering a small “thank you”, you shift awkwardly on your feet. You expected a scolding, but he was pleasantly warm. There was no anger or upset in his eyes. He didn’t even seem disappointed. 

“What’s wrong?”

The question is surprising, but it’s the tone of sincere curiosity that bewilders you. Not annoyance, or inconvenience. He wanted to know what was wrong, wholeheartedly. It takes you a minute to swallow your pride and give him a half-assed shrug.

“Nothing, sir. Just…stressed, is all.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was probably the mildest way to say you were frustrated and tense and angry and just about every other feasible human emotion.

John makes a sound at that. He shifts in his chair, inching it back from his desk. “‘Course you are. You poor thing…I’ve asked a lot of you lately, haven’t I?” You didn’t know if the smart thing was to agree or deny, but you wanted to sigh with relief that he finally seemed to notice. “That's not very fair of me, huh?”

Did he want you to agree? You decide not to chance it. Instead, you stare at your feet like they’ve become the most interesting thing in the world. Anything felt better than looking him in the eye right now. 

“So, what do you do with all that stress? How d’you manage it, I mean?”

It was a miracle he thought you handled it at all. If you came off well-put together, it certainly didn’t reflect the worry that consumed your private life. “I…don’t, really. I just sort of deal with it, I suppose.”

He snorts, an amused shake of his head. “Well, that’s not very healthy, is it?” Definitely not. But he didn’t know the half of it. “Someone ought to help you manage that stress. I can’t have my assistant on edge all the time.”

Unless he planned on including therapy in your benefits, you didn’t see that working out any time soon. You give him a tight-lipped smile, awkwardly nodding along. Was this what he wanted to talk about..? Scolding you for being stressed was certainly preferable to bringing up your blunder at the party, but that didn’t mean you felt comfortable with it. 

“C’mere,” he beckons you closer with a gesture and a cock of his head. You take a few hesitant steps towards his desk, but he grumbles and gestures again. “Closer. Get over here.”

You freeze for a moment before complying. Why John could possibly want you so close was unknown to you, and your slow steps betrayed your hesitance. You stopped when you stood just before him, mere inches away from his body. It wasn’t unlike him to get close—he seemed to like crowding you—but it felt different this time. 

“Listen,” he starts, reaching out to rest a hand on your waist. “I need you at your best. Your job is very important, and I can’t accept anything less than perfect.” You don’t even notice the slight nod of your head. It was a reflexive response to agree with him, even if it meant agreeing to your own faults. His heavy palm slides down to your hip, squeezing you gently. “And if you don’t give me your best, consequences are in order.”

Your heart sinks. You expect him to dock your pay or pile on ten extra responsibilities to your work load—something that’ll make you feel even worse, no doubt. But when he looks up at you, there’s no sincerity or disappointment in his eyes. Instead, there’s something…eager. Almost like he’s excited when he starts to speak again.

“Seein’ as you’re my assistant, I think a heavy handed approach should suffice.” He squeezes your hip to further his emphasis as he leans forward. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your waist, his lips nearly brushing against you. “Somethin’ a little more personal.”

Oh.

You swallow thickly, your heart beating so hard you fear it might burst out of your chest. Too many emotions conflicted with each other—relief that he wasn’t angry, worried about the implications, excited that he’s propositioned you. It wasn’t rare that you got a little excited thinking about John. He was an attractive man, and the authority only added to the appeal.

HR be damned, you’d think yourself a fool if you never took the offer. “Whatever you think is best, sir.” You didn’t intend for your voice to sound so breathy and coy, but you didn’t fight it. You rest a hand on his shoulder, gripping his shirt tight when his hand suddenly moves to grope your ass. 

“Oh, I know what’s best for my assistant." He leans back, his hands falling away from your body in a movement that almost makes you whine at the loss. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt before patting his thigh invitingly. “She needs bent over and taught about consequences, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out in a squeak before you can stop yourself. One last look in his eyes and you were ready to give him whatever he wanted.

Taking his implication as your instruction, you bend yourself over his lap, bracing your hands on his thigh once you’re in place. You can hear your own heartbeat, pounding in your head and mingling with every thought telling you this is a bad idea. But then you hear him groan and feel a heavy palm skirt along your back and every doubtful thought is drowned by something much more desperate. 

“This is my favorite skirt of yours, you know that?” John mutters while splaying his thick fingers along your backside. Of course you knew he liked this one—he was never very subtle about it. It’s why you wore it to the party in the first place, only now you wish you’d wore something more flattering than a Christmas sweater to go with it. 

He tugs your skirt up and over your ass without ceremony, scrunching it at your waist until you’re fully exposed. He runs a hand over your soft, pliant skin, squeezing just enough to see the fat spill over his fingers. You gasp at the rough touch but make no effort to move away. If anything, you find yourself arching into the needy movements. 

Then, his hand pulls back and comes down in a sharp smack that takes your breath away. He groans again, watching your body recoil. “Yeah, this’ll do just fine.” He punctuates the thought with another spank. “We’ll see how many you can take before you learn your lesson.”

Another sharp smack of his palm makes you whine. You nod in agreement, but you don’t think he’s much concerned with your input at this point. Two more harsh spanks hit and you hiss when he runs his palm over the spot of impact. The dull sting already throbs under your flushed skin, aching more when he gropes your ass in a tight squeeze. The next spank draws a moan from your lips, the sharp impact sending an unexpected wave of pleasure directly between your legs.

John hooks a finger under the seam of your panties, pulling the fabric to expose more of your flushed skin. “You’re doin’ good, takin’ it well.”

You pause, waiting for a spank that never comes. “Thank you, sir,” you manage to stumble out.

Smack! You jerk at that, biting your lip to stifle a pathetic sound. “You know I’m not mad at you, right?” His movements are as soft as his voice, gently massaging the welt forming on your sensitive skin. “I can buy a hundred more shirts, but I can’t replace you. Certainly not when you’ve shown me how well you can take what I give you.” You whimper at the next sudden spank. “Such a good assistant for me, and I haven’t given you the break you deserve have I?”

You’re not quite sure what the right answer is, but you hesitantly shake your head. The next strike motivates you to verbalize your answer. “No, sir. I haven’t gotten a break.”

“You poor thing…” You barely notice the movement of his hand as it slides off of your battered skin. It’s not until he slides his fingers over the center of your panties that you react, gasping at the sudden (and much needed) pressure. You hadn’t even realized how wet you’d gotten, and judging by his excited groan, neither had he. “You need a break from all that stress, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pulling the sodden fabric to the side, John exposes your wet cunt and hums in satisfaction when he sees the slick glistening on your sensitive flesh. He grabs you on either side, using his fingers to spread you apart. One hand pulls back to spank your ass a final time, and he watches you clench at the impact. Two thick fingers run up and down your slit, gathering your wet arousal, before prodding at your entrance.

He sinks in with a groan and the sudden fullness takes your breath away. You curse and arch your back, rocking your hips onto his fingers. Your nails dig into his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to pay it much attention. He buries his fingers to the knuckle before pumping them in and out in a steady pace that makes your knees weak. 

“Christ, love, you are tense. This cunt’s fuckin’ squeezin’ me.” His fingers press deep on each thrust, curled and angled just right to make you push against his intrusion. “Is this what you needed? Someone to stuff this pussy full?”

You hum a soft “mm-hmm” and nod your head. But John isn’t satisfied with that; his free hand comes down in a sharp spank that forces a surprised yelp from your lips. “Fuck—yes, sir,” you sputter.

“Yeah, you just need a proper fuck to keep you goin’ huh?” His free hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your head back until he could see your face. “Fuck, I’ll keep you late every day, bend you over my desk and fuck you as much as you need. Is that what you want?”

Hearing him say it was one thing, but seeing those filthy words come from your boss’s mouth made you clench around his fingers. “Yes…yes, sir,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading as you look up at him. “W-want you to fuck me.”

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Your head lolls forward when he releases your jaw. His hand fucks into you rougher, quick and sharp pumps that make you keen, almost like he’s too impatient to keep going slow. He bullies that sensitive spot inside you until you start to tense and quiver on his lap. His heavy palm brushes over your welted skin, kneading your ass just to hear the whimpers it draws from you. 

You hold onto his thigh, nails digging into his pants as you try to hold yourself steady. “J-John, m’gonna…fuck…” It’s near impossible to squeak out the words with the constant pressure filling your cunt. 

“I know, love. You’re gonna cum for your boss, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm—”

“Yeah, gonna soak my fuckin’ lap with it? Make another mess on me?”

It sounded filthy when he put it like that. And while getting reminded of your embarrassing blunder at the Christmas party was the last thing you wanted to think about right now, you couldn’t deny that it certainly motivated you to make another mess. Especially when he was so eager for this one.

You couldn’t even form the words to properly warn him. You were sure he could tell by the tight pull of your slick walls around his fingers that you were toppling over that edge fast. Between his encouragement and the perfect fit of his digits, he was coaxing out all of your pent-up energy. And it hit you hard.

You were a quivering, dripping mess on his lap. Gushing around his fingers, clenching tight like you were trying to suck him in deeper. Your knees were so weak you weren’t sure you could stand back up. John slid his fingers out and delivered one final spank to your flushed skin. You think he mutters a soft ‘good girl’, but you find it hard to hear him properly as you catch your breath.

Raising off of his lap, you adjust your clothes and pull your skirt back into its proper position. Your legs are weak and your ass stings with every movement. You aren’t sure whether to thank him or apologize—so you settle for neither. The silence sits heavy in the room as you trudge to the door to take your leave. You could worry about facing him next week when you were alone, in the comfort of your home, and thinking straight.

Then, you hear him call out your name as soon as your hand touches the doorknob. You turn just enough to see his figure in your peripheral. Still sat with his legs spread and his sleeves rolled up, but now with a rather obvious hand palming himself through his pants. If you had any less restraint, you might’ve walked yourself back over to him. 

“I’ll see you Monday, yeah?” You nod at the sound of his gruff voice. “Do me a favor n’ wear that skirt again, sweetheart.”

You smile, mainly to yourself. “Yes, sir.”

[seosracha]

⸻ SAINT MATTHEW'S ACADEMY II (preview)

- "i haven't quite moved on from who you were before"

SYNOPSIS ⸻ heeseung at the start thought he wouldn't mind if you forgot him. but now with his best friend fighting for that sacred position in your heart, he can't help but try to make you remember.

PAIRING ⸻ lee heeseung x fem!reader x park sunghoon

GENRE ⸻ love triangle, exes to ??, friends to ??, private school au, angst, smut, fluff

TAGS ⸻ tba.

EST. WC ⸻ 20-25k

PREVIEW BELOW CUT ->

No more words, you said no more words after his confession. You stayed silent, and that pain flooded you today. The silence stayed with you.

Every night you’d spend on a phone call with him, laughing because no matter how hard you begged him he wouldn’t hang up first, was now filled with the darkness and tranquility of your room, the only sound being the cars that sped past your window or occasionally drunk people who’d loudly call out to taxi’s.

A tall figure towered over you, casting a dark shadow on your papers. An intense scent radiated off of them and you knew exactly who it was.

“Did Sunghoon come to school today?” Jay asked, just like he has every single day.

There was also Sunghoon. Another person you hadn't spoken to. Another person that just disappeared.

His presence in the situation felt so foggy, confusing. Your growing feelings for the boy also confused you.

Did Heeseung tell him to kiss you like that, touch you in those places?

You tried calling him, once, then twice and you’d call again a third time just in case the other two didn't go through. But he didn’t answer anymore. You didn't know if you wanted to speak to him so badly to find out what happened before the party or because you missed him.

Maybe it was both.

Jay chose to stick by Sunghoon almost immediately, which was appaling considering he knew Heeseung much longer. He claimed that Sunghoon just gave into his manly desires and Heeseung is wrong for punching him over nothing. ‘I’d do the same to her if I were him’- Jake forwarded a couple weeks back.

You were no longer mad at Jay, you’d no longer get annoyed at his snarky, degrading remarks. You just accepted the fact that he’ll never get better.

“No, he didn’t” you replied, turning around to face him “Just like he didn’t yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that one too” you added, a sarcastic smile on your face.

He dyed his hair, the blond locks no longer complimenting his sharp features. He looked much softer with the brown dye.

He sighed “Can I sit?” Jay eyed the seat next to you, and you looked at him amused.

“You want to sit next to a woman? Won’t my female aura disturb your studying?” you scoffed, a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

He rolled his eyes “Very funny” he looked over to Jake who has finally caught a whiff of him “Jakey, what you say?” he tilted his head.

The relationship between them used to be strong, but that’s probably because Jake pretended to be someone different, someone much ‘cooler’. Cooler as in a lame pig who liked to shove alcohol down innocent girls throats.

Oh you’d never let him forget that.

“Do whatever you want, I don’t care honestly” he replied, avoiding eye contact with him.

That’s how it was most day’s at school. Jake and Jay pretended to hate each other, not care, even though deep down, they still had so much left to say. Jay would come down to the study hall with an excuse of looking for Sunghoon, just so he wouldn’t be lonely.

[konigofmyheart]

christmas prep with könig

gn!reader, fluff with one innuendo/suggestive comment

zimtsterne: little cinnamon star cookies ⭐️

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

setting up for christmas with könig is truly a special experience. it’s always been one of the nicer memories from his childhood. it wasn’t anything grand, but his mother always made sure they had a little magic, be it in the form of a little wooden toy, slightly burnt cookies, or little snowmen that left könig with stinging hands from the freezing snow. that magic is something he’s always held on to, and of course he’d want to share it with you, too.

it starts early. before you even wake up, he’s already made his homemade hot chocolate, and his zimtsterne are freshly out of the oven, cooling on a rack on the counter, and he’s hauled all 13 christmas storage boxes out to the living room. you pad into the kitchen, drowsily and halfheartedly complaining that he started without you. it’s hard to be even pretend annoyed, though, when his eyes are sparkling with excitement like that. plus, “that’s the boring part, liebling, i only want you to have fun!” he insists as he places a loaded mug of hot chocolate (a giant dollop of cream with cinnamon dusting the top floating in your mug) and warm zimtsterne stacked on your favorite holiday plate. he’s easily infecting you with twice the christmas spirit, the way he eagerly goes on and on about all there is to do today: picking up the tree, dressing it up, then decorating the entire house top to bottom so everything sparkles and glows.

the moment you finish your breakfast he’s at the door, almost wiggling like a dog eager for a walk. after you pass inspection (i.e. his excessive bundling where he layers your coat, then gently slides your gloves onto your hands, then wraps your neck and half of your face with your scarf, and thennn fixes your hat onto your head to keep you warm for the arduous five second walk to the car), you’re on your way to the christmas tree farm. you two sing along to christmas classics on the drive, obviously dedicating “all i want for christmas is you” to each other. as you walk up to the lot of trees, you’re still smiling at the way könig always attempts the high note just for your amusement, and he gives your gloved hand a squeeze, hoping you forget his creaky high note as quick as possible.

he swears he doesn’t like the way the old lady who owns the lot gushes over him, saying how “such a big boy must be so helpful, so good to you”. his ears flushing pink tell a different story though, even more so when you agree with the lady before the two of you walk over to the rows of trees, and there’s only a handful that are taller than him. she playfully shouts out a “gosh, if only i was 40 years younger and 10 times luckier… ” and practically cackles at the way he pretends not to hear, stepping behind some trees (that definitely don’t obscure him) as he flushes even further. he’d have convinced you he didn’t like the compliments, were it not for the way he makes even more of a show than usual of loading your tree (the biggest on the lot, naturally) on top of his giant suv. he’s practically puffed up with pride as he helps you into the car, earning even more hoots of praise from the tree lady (“they don’t make them like that anymore! you hold on tight to him now, ya hear?”) and some giggles from you.

now in your driveway, you go in first so as to guide the tip of the tree through the door, with könig doing the heavy lifting. all’s well until the tree gets a bit more than halfway in, the branches so full that they catch on the doorframe, even with it being wrapped up with netting! your worried “hm, I don’t think it’s gonna fit, baby” gets instantly answered with a determined “it’ll fit, schatzi. i’ll make it fit” from könig. now, of course you’re a grown adult and not some immature 14 year old, but come on, you’re only human! you look at each other over the stuck tree, your eyebrows raised meaningfully and a dumb smile tugging at your lips. he really can’t stop himself from flushing yet again, huffing a “don’t say it” as he rams the tree through the doorway, thiiis close to toppling over onto the tree with his momentum. only his quick reflexes saved your tree from becoming a pancake.

this isn’t your first christmas together; you have the process down to a perfect rhythm. you get a head start while he reheats his chocolate, bringing your mugs over to the coffee table to serve as your tree decorating fuel. together you make quick work of the ornaments, tinsel and lights (he handles the upper level while you access the bottom level far better than he could). step ladders become irrelevant as long as he’s around. like always, your favorite ornament and his are right next to each other, front and center. “my star placing the star” he lovingly murmurs against your ear before picking you up so you can place the star at the very tip top of your tree. you laugh at his cheesy line, his fingers totally accidentally tickling your sides as he turns you around against him, his eyes crinkling in that special way reserved just for you. he swallows your giggles with a reverent kiss, and though you’re both covered in pine needles, tinsel scraps, and glitter, your mouths taste of chocolate and warmth and love. <3

[forbebeandjam]

Your Fan | Bada Lee x Fem Reader | fluff, flirty

Summary: after some trauma. You’ve never been a fan of dance or music but your friends convinces her to go to a dance concert for your youtube channel. The video ends up being a big success becuse of Bada’s flirty eyes.

Word Count: 986

No warnings.

Prompt by @chloebebewebe I really hope you like it!! 🤍 it’s kinda simple 🥹

“I can spot you amongst the crowd…”

-

It was a bright sunny day. Many would take this opportunity to go out and have fun. You however, were stuck inside of your dark room slumped on your couch.

You let out a loud grunt and another scrunched paper flew across the room. As a content creator, you were expected to upload content weekly or biweekly but the week had drowned you with school finals and social events you had to attend to and you completely forgot to plan something for the week.

You heard your door open and you tired to look at your friends staring at you from the door frame.

“Y/N, we told you to be ready by six. What are you doing?” One of your friends said as she started to pick up the papers from the floor.

“You’ll have to go without me. I am really struggling right now. I think I need a nap,” you said as you flung another balled paper across your room.

“What’s the matter? Still struggling with this week’s video??” Your other friend said as she picked up the wrinkled paper.

“Yes! And I need to film today or I’ll be doomed!” You said trying to sink further into the fluffy black carpet.

“Try not to laugh challenge? Y/N, these ideas suck…” you friend said

“I KNOW!! What do I do?” You kicked like a child.

“I have an idea!!” Your friend said.

“We could take you to that dance concert you refused to go. You film for content and then post that. You’ve never done a vlog before!” She said.

You grunted. You were never a fan of concerts and music. You had never been fond of any because you were forced to do recitals and competitions as a child and you grew to hate it.

The only reason you would tolerate music was to pick the perfect sounds for your videos and even then, your friends usually did that for you.

“I don’t think I’d wanna go to that place. I really hate things like that,” you said.

“Oh, come on! This will be great for your channel. If it gets too overwhelming, we can leave and we’ll help you film something else,”

You thought about it for a few seconds. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all. So you took the opportunity and as soon as you said yes, your friends got to work.

They ended up dressing you in a pretty dress and shoes. They fixed your hair and forced you to do your makeup. You packed your vlog camera and started to make your way to the car.

“Before we get there, how is this going to work?” You pulled out your camera and started to film.

“We’ll get there and get our bands. Sometimes we get a little souvenir and I got us front row so we’ll get a good view of all the dancers,” one of your friends said.

You began to do your work and filmed clips of anything and everything. You got to the place and did just as your friends told you to.

Suddenly, the concert started. You never stopped filming and you tried your best to enjoy it. The dancers were absolutely amazing and you obviously cheered them on but you couldn’t help but feel a gaze on you.

Every time the dancers would stop and talk to the crowd, a certain girls gaze would fixate on you. At first you thought you were going crazy but as the time passed it became more evident.

The camera always switched between you and the stage but her gaze was never lifted off you. After the concert, both of your friends wanted to greet the dancers and send them off. Of course they dragged you with them making you hold on to the railing.

Soon enough, the tall woman that was once looking at you from the stage, immediately spotted you in the yelling crowd as if hypnotized my you. She walked right up to you and held your hand.

You were taken aback by her actions and you didn’t know if it was the warmth of her hand or her sweet smiled that made your heart flutter.

“Thank you for coming out to support us. It means a lot to have such a star like you here,” then it hit you. That wasn’t any dancer. That was Bada Lee. Renowned choreographer and winner of Street Woman Fighter 2. And she knew who you were.

Your face turned a soft shade if pink and butterflies filled your stomach.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. I really enjoyed every bit of it. Thank you for having us,” you said. Her hand never leaving yours and she started to caressed your hand with her thumb.

You felt your knees almost buckle at her actions and you swallowed the knot in your throat.

“Hope to see you again soon,” Bada said before slowly walking away not letting go of your hand till she was far away and finally had to let go.

You took a deep breath and smiled.

“Looks like someone is starting to grow fond of dance, huh?” Your friend said.

“More like growing fond of the dancer,” they giggled and you pushed them aside.

But they were right.

You didn’t want to admit it but something about Bada… more like everything about Bada made you want more. You wanted to find a way to be closer to her even for a few seconds more…

You ended up editing and uploading the video to your YouTube channel as a vlog and in a matter of hours it had tons of views and shares.

Your clips were all over Bada’s fan pages on Twitter, TikTok, instagram, and much more. All crediting you and using funny captions or imagine captions.

All you could do was giggle and hope that you’d get to see the tall girl again.

Thank you for reading!🩵

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

rafe sees you lying on a bus bench with your bag, the rest up to you!

COLD

Word Count: 0.8K

Pairing(s): Reader x Rafe x

Warnings: Family Conflict, hypothermia

Summary: Rafe finds you on the bus bench freezing

The night was frigid, colder than you expected when you stormed out of the house. Your parents' voices echoed behind you, their yelling only growing louder as you slammed the door.

You hadn't even thought to grab a proper jacket, just a thin cardigan thrown over your tank top and shorts. Your vision blurred from tears, the cold biting at your exposed skin. In your haste to escape, your foot caught on a loose stone in the driveway, and you went down hard, scraping your hands and knees against the icy pavement.

Snow began to fall, light at first, but it quickly picked up, the flakes sticking to your hair and soaking your clothes. Shivering uncontrollably, you tried to stand but felt dizzy, the adrenaline from the fight fading and leaving you weak.

-

Your fingers clung to the strap of your bag as you stumbled toward the main road, each step heavier than the last. Your legs eventually gave out, and you collapsed onto a bus bench, the cold seeping into your bones as darkness edged into your vision.

The last thing you remembered was the sound of tires crunching on gravel, then a deep, familiar voice calling your name.

You stirred faintly, the hum of an engine and a blast of warm air pulling you from unconsciousness. Your body felt heavy, your limbs too stiff to move, but you could feel the heat of the car’s air conditioning washing over your frozen skin. The faint scent of cologne filled your senses, and you caught snippets of a voice—low, urgent, and soothing.

“Y/N, stay with me. You're okay. I've got you.”

You tried to open your eyes, but they were too heavy, your head lolling against the seat. A large, warm hand brushed against your forehead, a brief tether to reality before the darkness pulled you under again.

The next time you woke, it was to the comforting warmth of blankets cocooning you. Your eyes fluttered open, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You recognized the space immediately: Rafe Cameron’s bedroom. The faint smell of tea and cedarwood lingered in the air, and the weight of the blankets felt grounding.

You tried to sit up, but your body protested, still sore and weak. That’s when you noticed your clothes had changed—a large, soft hoodie and sweatpants replacing your soaked and freezing outfit from earlier. Confusion swept over you as you pushed the blankets down slightly, your voice hoarse as you croaked, “Rafe?”

“Hey.” His voice came from the doorway, and he appeared moments later, carrying a steaming mug. He placed it on the nightstand before crouching beside the bed, his piercing blue eyes scanning your face with concern.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, relief flooding his features. “You scared the hell out of me, Y/N.”

“What... what happened?” you whispered, your throat dry and voice barely audible.

“I found you,” Rafe said, his tone gentle but serious. “You were lying on a bus bench, freezing. You weren’t even fully conscious. I got you in my truck, blasted the heat, and brought you here.”

Your mind tried to piece together fragments of the night, but it was all hazy. “How did I get—” You gestured vaguely at the hoodie and sweatpants.

Rafe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Don’t worry. Sarah changed you. I wouldn’t... I didn’t want you to wake up and feel uncomfortable.”

You nodded slightly, grateful but still dazed. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, his broad frame towering over you but his presence oddly comforting. “Here.” He reached for the tea on the nightstand and handed it to you. “It’s peppermint. Figured it might help warm you up.”

Your fingers wrapped around the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands. You took a small sip, the minty aroma calming your nerves. “I’m sorry,” you said after a moment, your voice breaking.

“For what?” Rafe asked, his brows furrowing.

“For... showing up like this. For being a mess,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes.

Rafe shook his head, his hand resting gently on your knee over the blankets. “Don’t ever apologize for that,” he said firmly. “You’re not a mess, Y/N. You’ve just been through... a lot.”

The way he said it, so certain and without judgment, made your tears spill over. Rafe didn’t hesitate, pulling you into a careful hug, his arms wrapping securely around you. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against your cheek made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

The sincerity in his voice broke down the last of your walls, and you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through your tears.

“Get some rest,” he said, adjusting the blankets around you. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

As you lay back down, your body still aching but your heart a little lighter, Rafe stayed beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair until you drifted off.

[oikarma]

left my message!

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

summary: you’ve heard about the legend but you’re not quite prepared to meet him in real life.

a/n: first part is like a smau companion i guess? but this is the actual interaction which makes the twt posts make more sense!! 

part one / two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

two days ago

you still can’t believe it. the paddock pass is smooth under your hands, so smooth it might just slip out and away. you’ve never been so close before, despite having watched many of the races on a grainy screen or far, far up into the grandstands. it didn’t make sense, really. when you were younger, your mother disapproved of flouncing around just to go to a racetrack—she certainly wouldn’t accompany you, with the engines roaring past, when your music on 70% volume was already deafening to her. but now, early decisions had come out, very much in your favor. mother was pleased, and that left you to go wherever you wished over easter.

so you’re here, standing in the ferrari paddock. it’s a gift on both guanyu and your brother’s part, flying you out at last minute’s notice when charles’s surgery was confirmed. an extremely generous gift you’re not sure you can repay anytime soon. it makes you feel a bit guilty, until you see how happy both of them are to see you. with college applications, you haven’t had much time to facetime your brother—he was overseas working—and the same went for guanyu. late family reunion, you decide. 

lando walks pass the ferrari garage and waves at you. it turned out you had rooms on the same floor after bumping into each other in the elevator. it wasn’t the first time you’d met him: you’d been present at a few of his karting competitions when you were younger. you weren’t “friends,” you’d argue, but you’d talked enough to be good acquaintances. he was also a familiar face in the uk. that is, before he moved to monaco. 

you grin at lando and turn back to guanyu, inside the garage. he’s trembling, even though his smile is wide and back is straight. charles has done well this season, and lewis is in the other seat. of course he would be nervous. you still remember how he sobbed when sauber released the news. formula one was the pinnacle of motorsports. being there was an achievement in itself, anyone knew. but when you were constantly outperformed by other drivers in other cars, it was hard to keep track of the fact.

you place a hand on his arm. “hey, you good?”

“yeah, i’m fine.” he reaches out for a one-handed hug. “glad to see you here. just a bit different from last year.”

“hey, come on. this is for everyone here for you. seeing you race is enough.”

zhou massages his temple. “what if it’s not? i don’t want to disappoint them again.”

“you won’t. your practice times are great! and if people think they do, they should try driving themselves.” you squeeze his hand. “where’s my brother? let him talk some sense into you.”

to that, he laughs. “oh, he did. told me that i should be happy i get the opportunity to drive and i think he’s right.”

you wince. sounds a bit harsh, but you know your brother means well.

“yeah, he usually is. probably a bit salty that he’s not a driver, too. but g’luck out there, okay? don’t crash.”

“i’ll try.” 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

one day ago

once the sprint is over, you can tell a weight has been lifted off his back. fourth is great. fourth is amazing. max leads in first, lewis in second, lando in third, and guanyu in fourth. it’s not a shabby place in a lineup like that. points have been scored for ferrari and everyone is all smiles when they come to congratulate him.

lewis pats him on the back. “good to see you out there, zhou.”

“thanks. nice work today.” his data analyst taps him on the shoulder and guanyu is being led away. he waves goodbye at you.

the brit turns to you and offers a hand. “hamilton, lewis hamilton. i don’t think i’ve seen you around before.”

lewis! hamilton! is shaking your hand! meeting lando is less crazy because you’ve seen mini him stumbling off the track. but this is seven-time world champion, sir lewis hamilton. his braids are sleek and he’s perfectly polished: glowing, even. it should be illegal to stand around in a half-zipped race suit.

you shake his hand, making sure your grip is strong because your father said that’s the way to make an impression. “i’m yn. i’m guanyu’s friend.”

“oh, i see. you watch racing, much? i suppose you do.”

“yeah. he got me into it and i never stopped.”

lewis gives you a coy smile. “tell me, who’s your favorite driver?” he leans against one of the floating tables.

“i hate to break it to you, but it’s max.” 

his eyes widen dramatically. he teases, “oh dear, we’re starting off on the wrong foot already.”

“if it makes you feel any better, i meant current driver.”

“okay, okay. no restrictions. favorite driver of all time?”

“kimi.” 

he raises a thoughtful eyebrow. “you seem to have a type.”

“so who’s yours?” and you want to hit yourself right there because you just asked lewis hamilton who his favorite driver is. stupid, stupid, stupid. it’s probably senna. he’s too polite to say himself and you think you’ve heard that somewhere before.

“senna.”

bingo! quite the genius, you are. it’s hard to think around him, so that’s practically twice the achievement.

lewis sees your smile and asks, “why, do i have something on my face?”

“oh, no. i was thinking.”

“...about? nevermind, i won’t pry. tell me, yn, what else do you like to do?”

how conversational. if he does this one more time you might be convinced you’re friends. he’s probably just bored. 

“sorry, excuse me?” you see a couple of fans outside the garage. the pit lane tour guide is surprised to see lewis still there. “could we get a few photos, please?”

lewis turns to you, surprisingly apologetic. “see you around?”

“alright.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

(a/n: 1st of the convo is post-meeting lewis & 2nd part is post-gp)

[captain-hawks]

oh well... I mean... how about oliver x snowed in? do we manage not to punch him in the face by the end of it?

over easy 🎀 oliver aiku x f!reader

In which domesticity creeps into the all the cracks in you and Oliver's casual arrangement as you find yourself snowed in at his apartment.

1.4k — fluff, soft oliver, fwb, mentions of sex

It’s no good for your stupid, reckless heart—this predicament.

“Over easy? And two sugars in your coffee, right?” Oliver’s voice calls out from the kitchen.

It’s so fucking domestic, the way he says it. 

Like you’re not just some girl he fucks into his king size mattress in the middle of the night twice a week.

Like you’re not just going on your third morning of being stranded at his apartment because your car’s buried under several feet of snow that just keeps on coming down.

Like it’s okay that your heart fumbles meekly behind the confines of your ribcage whenever he tugs you back into his bed to stay the night. 

(That beats so hard it aches when he spins you around to kiss you in the doorway on your way out.)

You’re not dating.

You can’t date him.

Oliver doesn’t date.

But he’s handsome and charming and polite and funny and the sex is so good that you’ve never come so hard in your life and—

There’s no fucking Oliver out of your system unless it’s with Oliver himself.

And if you have some inconvenient feelings dangling on the sidelines, that’s your cross to bear on your own time when he’s not fucking you stupid in the backseat of his car or eating you out on his kitchen counter.

You don’t ask Oliver what he does on nights that he’s not with you. And you tell yourself it’s because it’s none of your goddamn business, not because you know his answer would probably hurt you too much to hear.

You assume, anyway.

But now it’s Christmas Eve, and you’ve lost any and all hope of digging your car out by tomorrow for your family dinner—not that you really wanted to go to that, anyway. 

And Oliver’s humming a Christmas song under his breath while he makes you breakfast, while you stand in his living room wearing nothing but one of his practice jerseys while perusing his bookshelf. 

It feels dangerously, terribly, awfully domestic.

And part of you thinks you’d be better off trudging across town home on foot than bearing the full weight of this walk of shame when the snow melts.

You’ve spent hours on his couch over the past few days, and he can’t seem to stop touching you. He scoots closer if you sit down too far away, places a hand on your ankle if it’s in reach, tucks your feet under his thigh. He puts his head in your lap or tugs yours down into his when you start yawning. He plays with your hair and your fingers—

And the two of you have been making your way through your favorite show, one that he’s never seen, one that you didn’t even think he would like. But it was his idea.

You even went down to his apartment building’s gym last night—something which didn’t feel strange in and of itself until Oliver kept appearing out of nowhere any time a guy tried to strike up a conversation with you, going so far as outright making out with you while you were on one of the stationary bikes. 

(The two of you barely made it through the door back up in his apartment before he was fucking you right there on the floor in the entryway.)

And you’ve yet to examine the feeling that stirred in your gut when you found oat milk in his fridge, knowing full well he doesn’t drink it. 

“Oh yeah, almost forgot to tell you. That’s for you, I picked it up the other day. I know you hate using regular milk in your coffee.”

—and the bag of mini dark chocolate bars you spotted in his cabinet last night.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right. Dark chocolate’s better.”

—and the brand-new, full-size bottle of your body wash that was staring you in the face when the two of you climbed into his shower the first morning, a mirror to the tiny travel bottle that you’ve taken to keeping in your purse for accidental sleepovers.

“It doesn’t make sense for you to have to carry soap around in your purse—”

You hadn’t even realized he knew you did that.

And yet now, as your eyes stray to the Christmas tree that sits in the corner of his living room between two large windows that overlook the city below, it’s the sight beneath it that promises to be your undoing.

Nestled between several gifts addressed to his parents and sisters is a box wrapped in gold paper with a blue bow on it. Your name is written carefully in his handwriting on the white tag stuck to the top of it. 

Your heart catches in your throat.

—and oh god you’re going to kick his ass if it’s some stupidly expensive piece of jewelry that he probably didn’t even pick out himself in there, one that’ll make you feel like you’re his even if you’re really not.

And you didn’t even get him anything because this is fucking casual—

“Wanna open it now?” You jump as Oliver’s voice comes up beside you, his chest against your back while he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” you stall, your noses brushing when you turn to look at him, but he spins you back toward the tree. 

“Yeah, I’m too impatient though,” he sighs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he reaches past you, arms hugging your sides while he places the package in your hands.

It’s oblong and light.

You’re glad, if nothing else, that he’s not directly facing you to see your uneasy facial expression. Slowly, with the tip of your finger, you begin to peel back the wrapping paper.

White bristles and bright green plastic greet you beneath it.

A toothbrush.

“Be my girlfriend,” Oliver whispers, nose brushing against your cheek. 

You choke out a laugh as your heart swoops. “You got me a toothbrush?”

Girlfriend.

“You would have thought jewelry was a tacky way to ask,” he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You tilt your face into the kiss, murmuring against his mouth, “I didn’t get you anything.”

You almost did.

Several times, actually.

But nothing screams casual hookup gone rogue like a fucking Christmas present—and that was the last thing you wanted him to think.

And yet—

Oliver shrugs, spinning you around and cupping your face, the toothbrush still clutched in your hands. “You’re my gift.”

There’s no hiding the ridiculous smile that creeps across your face as he kisses you, tugging you with him as he walks backward into the couch, pulling you into his lap.

His lips are warm and soft as his mouth engulfs yours, kissing you in a way that you know now is far too familiar to be casual. Far too easy and gentle and intimate as he cups the back of your head and feathers a thumb against your hip bone and nips your bottom lip and laughs and—

He stops kissing you and looks at you seriously. “Oh, I also got you that dough mixer you kept looking at videos of when we were laying in bed that one night, but it’s going to be late because of the storm. I don’t want you to think I actually only got you a toothbrush.”

You blink at him.

“Oliver!”

He grins. “What?”

“I’m leaving right now to get you a gift,” you grouse, trying to hop out of his lap.

The room spins as he lifts you up, and you find yourself caged in beneath him on the couch.

“We’re snowed in,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“I’ll walk,” you frown.

“Nope,” he counters, hands sliding to pin your wrists above your head. “I’ve got the perfect gift already. Have you met my girlfriend yet?”

He reaches down into his pocket to pull out his phone, and you’re met with a photo of you laughing that you hadn’t even realized he took.

And it’s his wallpaper, for fuck’s sake.

Girlfriend.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs as he puts down his phone and cups your face, lips brushing against yours. “And smart.” Kiss. “And funny.” Kiss. “And—”

“I didn’t say yes.” 

Oliver stills, blinking several times as he looks down at you with a serious expression.

You roll your eyes as you thread your fingers in his hair and tug his mouth back down against yours.

“Yes.”

A pleased sound of satisfaction rumbles in his throat as his mouth skirts away from your lips, leaving a chaotic, hot, messy trail of kisses across your face, down your neck, across your collarbone—

The smoke alarm goes off somewhere in the kitchen.

[misshoneyimhome]

Since it’s Christmas season, Inexperienced reader felt like being a brat and wanted to test William’s patience with Alex living with them and family coming to visit she decided she wanted to be on the naughty list. She decided her to leave her panties and little pictures of herself and leave in his suite case, car, and his space in the locker room to remind him what’s he’s missing after she’s his good girl but sometimes she’s needs a reminder who’s in charge.

Happy holidays, love! 🥰

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure how this piece would turn out, but I decided to just go with the flow 🙈🎄 Because, of course, Inexperienced!reader and Willy deserve both a loving and slightly naughty Christmas 😘💋

I hope you enjoy this little chapter, and once again, happy holidays to everyone! Sending you all lots of love ❤️

Tropes & warnings: 18+ smut, Inexperienced!reader x Willy, naughty photoshoot, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, sex toy (magic wand), unprotected sex (p in v), cum inside

Word count: 3.8K

➼｡ﾟ

A Nonsense Christmas I Inexperienced!reader x Willy

The sound of holiday classics drifted softly through the apartment as you straightened a sprig of mistletoe over the kitchen threshold. Outside, snow dusted the city, blanketing everything in a hush. Inside, fairy lights twinkled, gifts waited under the tree, and the scent of cinnamon and pine wafted through every room. It was Christmas season—cosy, lovely, and oh so warm. But beneath all that sugary sweetness, you’d decided to stir up something a little spicy.

You’d caught wind of his photoshoot—William’s—just last week. A sleek magazine spread had left your cheeks warm, your heart fluttering, cunt dripping, and a wicked little idea forming in your mind. After over a year together, this was your chance to be a holiday tease, to see what happened when you tested William’s patience in your own cheeky, festive way. You wanted to be his good girl, truly you did, but sometimes a holiday needed a little naughtiness to make it truly memorable.

The apartment you shared with William was a merry chaos this December. Family was due to arrive in a few days—parents, siblings, a few cousins—and Alex, his brother, was already living with you both for a while. The space was full of laughter, good food, and the comfortable bustle of the holidays. But it also meant privacy was scarce, and that made your plan all the more thrilling. If William wanted to stay calm and collected, well, you were about to see just how far you could push him.

You started small. The first surprise was a pair of delicate, lacy red panties, tucked subtly into his training bag before he left for practice. When he opened it to grab a spare hoodie, he’d find that little gift waiting, a silent, provocative message. You imagined his face—slightly flushed, brows raised, that crooked smirk tugging at his lips—wondering what you were up to.

Later that afternoon, while he was gone, you dressed up in a dark green satin robe trimmed with faux white fur at the collar—festive, yet undeniably sensual. Underneath, the lingerie set you’d chosen—a daring dark red number—hugged your curves. You adjusted your phone’s timer and took a few playful selfies in front of the Christmas tree: a suggestive tilt of your hips, a knowing smile, the twinkle of lights across your bare skin. These photos were just for him. The playlist on your phone danced through holiday tunes, and right then, “A Nonsense Christmas” hummed softly, the silly, flirtatious lyrics fuelling your courage. If William’s shoot had inspired you, your own was going to leave him speechless.

You picked the best snapshot, printed it out, and placed it in a tiny envelope adorned with a candy cane sticker. That evening, when you knew he’d head out to his car to pick up Alex from wherever he’d wandered off to, he’d find that photo carefully slipped inside the glove compartment, waiting like a secret treat.

And you didn’t stop there. The next morning, while humming under your breath and sipping cocoa, you snuck into the closet where his game day suit hung. His locker room routine was sacred and placing another little Polaroid—and a pair of black lace panties—tucked inside his jacket pocket would guarantee that when he got to the match, he’d have a reminder of exactly what he was missing at home. It was risky, but that was the point. You wanted him thinking about you while trying to keep a straight face around the guys. Would he blush? Would he grin? You could almost see him pressing his lips together to hide a smirk as he discovered your latest surprise.

By the time the evening rolled around, you’d delivered those three gifts—training bag, car, and suit jacket—and you knew William’s patience was fraying beautifully. His texts had become peppered with suggestive hints and thinly veiled threats like, “Just wait until we’re alone, älskling,” and, “You’re playing with fire.” And when he came home after the third discovery, you caught a glimpse of something dark and wanting in his gaze before Alex burst in from the kitchen, cheerfully oblivious.

That night, after Alex yawned and went to his room, you found yourself finally alone with William in the dim glow of the Christmas tree’s lights in the living room. Your heart fluttered when he approached you, every step controlled, his eyes locked onto yours.

“What,” he asked softly, voice dripping with amusement and frustration, “do you think you’re doing?”

You batted your lashes, feigning innocence. “Spreading holiday cheer?” you offered sweetly. You were again in that festive robe, tied just loosely enough that he could see the barest hint of something lacy beneath. You watched his gaze drop there, then return to your face, a slow grin forming.

“You’re testing me, aren’t you?” he said, his voice low, his accent more pronounced than usual. “First my bag, then the car, and now… the game day suit, really?” His tone was incredulous, but also thrilled. He loved this side of you, the secret part of you that dared to be bold for him.

You shrugged, lips curving. “Just wanted you to remember who you’re coming home to. Maybe I wanted to make sure you keep your head in the game. Maybe I wanted to imagine how you’d look trying not to blush in front of your teammates.”

He stepped closer, catching your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. “You’ve been very naughty,” he murmured, and heat pooled in your belly. “Leaving your panties and pictures everywhere—did you think I wouldn’t take my time teaching you a lesson when we’re finally alone?”

Your breath caught, words momentarily failing you. This was exactly what you wanted: the push and pull, the playful tension, the promise of a delightful punishment for your mischief. You arched a brow, still holding onto that last shred of bravado. “Who says I don’t like lessons?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and placed a firm hand on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “I guess we’ll find out.” His breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in, trailing the faintest of kisses along your jaw. “You know what happens to brats at Christmas, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded. “They get coal?” you teased, grinning.

A wicked glint appeared in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll get something better than coal,” he promised softly. “I’m going to remind you exactly who’s in charge here.”

The surge of heat and excitement that washed over you was undeniable. You were craving this; the rush of his reaction, the tender but authoritative way he planned to show you your place in the best possible way. You had learned quickly how to push his buttons—and how gladly he would answer.

Slowly, he guided you further into the shadowed intimacy of the living room, the soft glow of the Christmas tree casting flickering patterns across his face. The faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, but all you could really focus on was him—his steady grip on your waist, his breath warm against your skin, the way he commanded the space without even trying.

“Better than coal, huh?” you murmured, trying to keep a hint of that playful confidence, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. Your voice sounded breathier than you intended, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

His fingers toyed with the edge of your robe’s sash, knuckles grazing your belly. “Oh, much better,” he assured you, words rolling out in that low, accented purr that made your toes curl. “You’ve been pushing me, älskling. Leaving me those little surprises—in front of my teammates…” His tone turned wry. “Do you know how hard it was to keep a straight face in front of the guys? Making sure they weren’t looking over my shoulder…”

A shiver danced along your spine as you imagined him discovering your naughty gifts, struggling to hide his reaction. The thrill of it surged inside you again. “I just wanted to keep you on your toes,” you said softly, tilting your head back as his body pressed closer.

He hummed, and the sound vibrated through you. “You wanted to fucking taunt me,” he murmured, slipping one finger under the robe’s tie, pulling it loose with languid precision. “To see what I’d do when you kept teasing, kept tempting, kept acting like a brat…” He paused, the robe falling open just enough to show the lacy lingerie underneath. His gaze darkened as it swept over what you’d chosen—something festive, black, so very sheer. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, your breath catching as his fingers skimmed along the curve of your breast, just above the lace. “Maybe,” you whispered. “Depends on what you have planned.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending another rush of heat through your veins. “Such a brave little thing,” he said, tilting your chin up again so that your eyes met his. “Don’t worry. I won’t disappoint you.”

In that gentle light, he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a slow, claiming kiss. His hand slipped lower, curling over your hip, drawing you against his body so you could feel exactly how much your antics had affected him. You gasped into his mouth when he pressed closer, the friction making your head spin, as your hands instinctively grabbed his shoulders.

“Since you wanted to show me what I’m missing,” he murmured between kisses, “it’s only fair I return the favour—show you just what happens when you push me too far.” His breath was hot against your ear now, his voice a low rumble that made your knees weaken. “We have all night. Which means I can take my time.” He let that sink in before trailing his lips along your jaw, down your neck, making you arch into him.

You were trembling, caught somewhere between daring him on and melting under his touch. Your bravado faltered as his hand trailed upward along your thigh, slipping beneath the silky robe to explore the lace edges of your lingerie. Every subtle shift of his body, every quiet hum of approval, reminded you that you were no longer in control—if you ever really had been. You’d handed over the reins the moment you decided to test his patience.

He coaxed your legs apart just enough so he could press closer, each subtle movement deliberate and sure. “So,” he said, voice low, “do you think you’ll be leaving little presents like that again without expecting payback?”

Your heart fluttered wildly as you remembered the naughty photos, the panties hidden away. You thought of his flushed cheeks when he found them, the way he must have scolded himself silently, waiting until the moment he could have you alone like this. “I—” You tried to form a witty comeback, but all that came out was a shaky breath and a quiet moan as he skimmed his fingers lightly against the lace covering your core.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction and something warmer—affection, pride, maybe even amusement at how easily he had unravelled you. “That’s what I thought,” he said softly. His thumb stroked over your hipbone, soothing and possessive all at once. “You’re mine tonight, älskling. All mine. And I’m going to make sure you remember exactly what that means.”

He claimed your mouth again, this time deeper, hungrier. The kiss tugged you into a haze of sensation, each slide of his tongue coaxing you away from any clever remark you might have made. A small shrug of his shoulder and your robe slipped free, floating to the floor. William’s soft, appreciating groan told you he enjoyed the view you’d curated just for him—festive, tempting, and just a touch bratty.

Without a word, he then hooked an arm under your thighs and another around your back, lifting you effortlessly. The room spun briefly as he carried you into the bedroom, and in the gentle glow of the holiday lights from down the hall, he tossed you onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight, springs sighing softly.

He surveyed you with hungry eyes, your chosen lingerie swiftly becoming a tattered memory scattered on the floor. The lace he’d just ripped away lay abandoned, and you could feel your pulse hammering at the base of your throat, both shocked and thrilled by his boldness. The way he’d smirked, the way he’d said “Oops” without an ounce of regret—it all sent a delicious shiver down your spine. He was completely unapologetic, and that made your stomach flip with excitement.

“Don’t worry, I’ll replace it,” he promised, voice rich and low, like he was thinking of all the ways he could compensate you—maybe with something even skimpier, more luxurious.

Your cheeks warmed at the thought, heart racing as you realised, he was already plotting future moments like this one. His fingers slid over your exposed skin, his touch deliberate and slow, a calculated assault on your senses. His knuckles grazed over your stomach, then dipped along your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast so lightly it made you arch for more. He never rushed, never forced, but he knew exactly where and how to touch you until you were squirming, trying to keep quiet with Alex asleep just down the hall.

The tension of maintaining silence only heightened your arousal. Every time you let out a stifled moan, William’s smirk deepened, satisfied with your struggle. He was taking pleasure in this secret game—knowing he had you at his mercy, that you had no choice but to stifle your cries into the pillows. The illicit thrill of it all tingled through your veins.

When his kisses trailed down your abdomen, each press of his lips and rasp of stubble sending sparks skittering along your nerves, you struggled to keep your breathing steady. He paused at your hipbone, letting his warm breath fan over that sensitive spot, before moving lower. The anticipation tightened in your chest, and when his mouth finally found the slick, heated place between your thighs, you nearly bit through your bottom lip.

He was merciless in the best way—gentle yet relentless, circling your clit with agonizing precision, his tongue working in tandem with a deft finger that simultaneously curled inside you. Your entire body sang with tension, thighs trembling as you tried desperately not to cry out. He played you like an instrument, each lick and stroke tuned to your soft gasps and whimpers. The orgasm built so quickly it shocked you, pleasure cresting like a sudden, rolling wave you couldn’t outrun. You pulled the pillow to cover your face, burying yourself into it and muffling the sharp, desperate sound that escaped as you came. William groaned appreciatively, the vibration making you shudder as you rode out the pulses of ecstasy, gripping the sheets for some sense of grounding.

When he pulled away, your thighs still shook, your breath choppy. A soft whimper of protest escaped you at the loss, and he just chuckled under his breath. It was a dark, amused sound, as if he’d barely begun to play with you and had so much more in store.

So, naturally, he reached over to the bedside table, retrieving something you hadn’t expected tonight—the good old magic wand. Your eyes went wide at the sight of it, fear and excitement tangling in your chest as you realised how easily he could push you over the edge again. Your mouth opened, a little plea escaping before you could stop it.

And he answered you only by pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, an almost tender gesture, before turning on the toy. The soft hum filled your ears, as he moved it to your swollen, sensitive clit. You jerked at the contact; the wand’s vibrations already too intense after your first orgasm.

William kept going, though, eyes fixed on your face as you buried it into the pillow again, desperate to stay quiet. The sensation soared through you at dizzying speed, and in what felt like seconds, another release claimed you—this one sharper, more demanding. You clenched around nothing, toes curling tight, a muffled cry caught in your throat as you came once more. The sheets beneath you were soaked, and you knew it only spurred William on.

As you breathed out heavily, William finally set the wand aside, looking smug as ever, while you tried to catch your breath. Your body hummed with aftershocks, limbs heavy and pliant.

Now it was his turn. As he practically tore and tossed his own clothes aside, your eyes followed down to the bulge straining against his boxers, his desire evident. He stood at the foot of the bed and shed the last bit of fabric in one fluid motion, his cock standing hard and flushed, ready for you. But you knew he wouldn’t just hand it over. He wanted you to work for it—wanted to see that you were just as eager to please him as he was to break your composure.

“Come here,” he said softly, voice holding that firm edge that made your stomach tighten. Still trembling, you moved onto all fours, grateful your arms held you steady after those two overwhelming climaxes. He guided you with a gentle hand in your hair, bringing you close to him.

And instinctively, you opened, hollowed your cheeks and welcomed him into your mouth, determined to make him lose some of that smug control. He groaned low in his throat when you swirled your tongue just right, and you felt a surge of pride at the sound. Each muffled hiss of pleasure was a victory, proof that you could unravel him too.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice roughened by pleasure. That phrase sent warmth spilling through you, made your heart flutter. You knew he loved having you like this, compliant and dedicated, yet still carrying that spark of mischief that had started this whole game.

But then, with a gentle push, he instructed you to turn around, urging you to press your cheek into the pillow, your knees sinking into the mattress as you raised your ass for him. The anticipation was maddening. He knelt behind you, one large hand on your hip, the other skimming down your spine. You let out a quiet gasp when he brushed his thumb over you other entrance, just a hint of pressure that made you whimper. He didn’t push further, only reminding you who held all the cards.

Then, finally, he filled you up with a powerful thrust, claiming you with a sure, steady movement. The fullness made you moan softly, muffled by the pillow. He set a slow rhythm; each inward push followed by a careful withdrawal that left you aching for more. With each roll of his hips, he angled himself just right, brushing sensitive spots that made your vision blur.

Occasionally, he applied a hint more pressure with his thumb against that other, tighter place, not entering. It sent electricity through your nerves, reminding you just how easily he could control your pleasure.

Your muffled cries and soft whimpers were a soundtrack he savoured. He leaned over you, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder blades, murmuring your name like a prayer. The bed creaked softly beneath you, the scent of sex and the faint pine of the Christmas tree drifting through the apartment. You were both keenly aware that Alex slept down the hall—that, in the morning, family would fill this space with laughter and cheer. But right now, it was just the two of you, lost in this secret, intimate world of desire and trust.

William pressed in deeper, his body trembling with the effort of keeping his pace steady. The world beyond the bedroom door seemed to recede, the faint glow of Christmas lights under the doorframe the only hint of the festive setting outside. In that moment, nothing mattered except the heat of his skin against yours, the glide of sweat at the small of your back, the sounds and scents that wrapped around you both like a secret.

Your cries, half-stifled by the pillow you bit into, were music to his ears. You arched under him, toes curling into the mattress, the duvet bunching beneath your knees. You could feel him shudder, could almost taste how desperately he wanted to let go.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, voice tight, on the edge of control. His grip on your hips tightened, fingertips pressing into your flesh. He angled himself just right, each deep thrust fanning the flames inside you both. You answered with a choked moan, head turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to remain as silent as possible.

He whispered your name once more, voice cracking with need. “Mmm, I’m gonna fucking come,” he groaned, as if confessing a secret sin. You could hear the strain, feel the tension coiling in his muscles as he hovered at the brink. Each ragged breath he took warmed the skin of your back. The slick sound of your bodies meeting and the rich scent of sex filled your senses.

And when he finally surrendered, it was with a shudder that racked his entire frame. He buried himself as deep as he dared, spilling hot and thick inside you, voice reduced to a strangled gasp of relief and pleasure. The force of his climax echoed through you, every aftershock rippling against your quivering muscles. He stayed like that for a heartbeat longer, body slumped, forehead resting between your shoulder blades, his breath hitching as he tried to steady himself.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, too wrapped up in the haze of post-climax bliss. Your heart pounded, your limbs heavy, as you savoured the sensation of being utterly claimed. Then, as the urgency faded to a gentle hum, he withdrew carefully, easing you onto your side. The sudden coolness of the room’s air against your heated skin made you shiver, and he was quick to pull a cover over you both, sealing you together in warmth and comfort.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his voice a soft, affectionate murmur that contrasted with the raw desperation of moments before. Outside this room, the world waited; snow falling silently, Christmas approaching with all its family chaos and bright laughter. But for right now, in the lingering scent of sex, you were two souls bound by secrecy, pleasure, and trust.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, low and fond. He brushed damp hair from your face, fingers lingering in the curve of your jaw. “I love you so fucking much” he whispered, as if afraid to break the spell. “Thanks for all the little surprises.”

You turned, meeting his gaze, the corner of your mouth lifting in a lazy, sated smile. “I love you too, Willy. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

[metyouinthehallway]

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

Hockey!Matt x fem!Reader

Summary: Matt teaches the reader how to Ice skate!

Warnings: fluff, use of pet names.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Matt glides with ease across the ice rink, as he circles around the perimeter once, he chuckles when he sees you still struggling to balance yourself.

“C’mon, you got it pretty.” He smiles at you, holding out his hand for you to take. Your gloved fingers intertwine with his as Matt leads the two of you around the ice rink.

“It’s like riding a bike, gotta find your balance.” He slowly lets go of your hand and your first instinct is to cling onto the side walls. The cold air of the indoor arena tints your nose red and you can bet that you’ll need to moisturize thoroughly tonight.

“Not as good as you are, Matt! Hold my hand again.” You squeal, not daring to lift your hand from the stability of the wall. Matt chuckles at your plea, gliding over to you again.

“Here, I’ll lead, you let go when you’re ready, yeah?” He takes the lead, skating backwards as he pulls you along with him. You look down at the ice you’re cutting through, watching the way Matt’s skates move, how they effortlessly coast along the shiny surface. You try your best to mirror his movements, weaving your legs in and out.

“Hey, I think I’m getting it!” You smile at him, proud of yourself, you decide to let go of him only to skate right back over to the wall that you were previously gripping on.

“It’d be even more fun if you came out to the middle, ya know?” He tries to convince you to stray out of your comfort zone. You slowly push off the wall, wobbling across the rink with your arms out at your side.

“Okay, shh, I think I’m doing it.” I silence him, even though he barely said a word to me. Matt does a few circles around me before coming up behind me, placing his hands on my hips to help balance me.

“There ‘ya go, doing so good.” He coos at you, helping to guide you across the ice rink. It was just the two of you, the cold atmosphere making his touch feel so much more serene and intimate.

“How did you do this for four whole years?” You inquire, genuinely curious as to how he didn’t fall on his ass multiple times throughout his high school hockey career.

“It’s call practice baby,” Matt lets out a breathy chuckle at your comment, maybe he’ll teach you how to play a bit of hockey next time. “You’ll get used to it, promise.” He slowly lets up from your hips, watching as you skate across the ice, growing more confident in your movements.

After a mere hour of skating around, you mutually agree to call it a night, Matt helping remove your skates. The two of you stop for hot cocoa on your way out before he starts to drive back to his house.

“Have fun?” He asks, turning his attention to you for a moment.

“I think I’m ready to compete in the Olympics for ice skating actually!” You joke, sipping on your cocoa. Matt reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and resting on the center console of the car.

“Mm, I’d support you every step of the way, pretty girl.” He gives your hand a light squeeze, brining your knuckles up to his lips for a chaste kiss.

It’s little dates like this that make the best memories with him, you didn’t want to imagine a world without Matt in it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[wastemee]

i think that i would die

jimmy grant (?) + fem reader

content warning . noncon/dubcon , toxic relationship , painal , barely legal reader

note: very unedited!!!! I’m lazy this is bad

When your eighteenth birthday has finally come , you had never been happier. You’re an adult (in the eyes of the law , at least)! Late night clubbing and cigarettes , here you come. Although you don’t have much friends , at least you have your trusty ID on you and your car (which is really your parents). College is definitely an option , your parents would provide you the money if you asked. But for now , you’re just working at some job that’s mundane and boring. The only reason you go is because your parents have connections , got you a job so you can buy all the stuff you could ever want. Given it’s in your paycheck budget.

Nothing or anybody interesting happened to catch your eye during your shift , until a few months ago. Your now boyfriend , Jimmy. He’s tall , handsome , and although he’s a bit dark , he’s yours. If your wish was to get an extremely morally gray boyfriend who definitely has personal issues , you won the lottery.

Your family doesn’t approve , but who would? He has very.. “controversial” opinions and strange comments on modern things that he claimed , “I didn’t have in my day”. His thoughts on feminism are bleh. Whenever you ask for him to elaborate , his response is always something like , “This word has gone to shit” or “Women think they have so much power”. He has very traditional beliefs about women , he still thinks that the only place women are needed is the kitchen and on their male partners dick. And honestly thinks you’re an idiot for still dating him.

Dating is a funny word to him. He wouldn’t consider your relationship ‘dating’ , he just likes you because you’re young , conventionally attractive , and a little bit naive. If he told you the roof said gullible on it , you’d look up because you trust him that much. Fresh meat. That’s what you are. You’re barely legal , what more is there to like?

He has you tag along with him to get togethers with his former coworkers , people he was working with in space! Amazing. He went from working in space to fucking and dumping girls from eighteen to twenty. When he first told you about his former job , you couldn’t believe him. He’s a sleaze , a sleazy astronaut.

Curly , his best friend , is chatting it up with him in his dirty apartment. Stubble frames his nice skin , lips curled up into a grin. He’s cute. But in a dog kind of way , not like a grown man. He has nice , blonde hair and his eyes are full of promise and kindness , unlike his best friend. Anya’s a young lady with sad looking eyes and a shaggy haircut , who for some reason , seems a bit uncomfortable with Jimmy. She doesn’t say much , Jimmy told you that. He also said she was extremely incompetent and utterly incapable of doing anything on the ship , but he says that about a lot of people. Then there’s Daisuke , who is just a ball of joy. Jimmy seems irritated by his painfully optimistic behavior whenever he interjects in conversation or talks.

Any idiot knows that if someone talks to you about another , then obviously they’ll talk about you as well. Unfortunately , you don’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for all the things you found out Jimmy says about you when snooping through his phone , and his little friend doesn’t even say anything. Usually if someone were to call their girlfriend an idiot , or ‘meat’ , the average person would feel disturbed. But Curly shrugs it off with no reprimands for your boyfriend’s icky comments.

And of course , when Jimmy found out about your sneaky little habit , he was pissed for sure. A quick slap to your face , or shoving his dick down your throat when you definitely don’t want it , obviously does nothing for your behavior. Instead of forcing your head down on him , maybe fucking you so hard you feel like your guts will fall out could fix your behavioral issues.

He’s really pushing the limits of his flimsy bed frame with the way he thrusts into your ass , one hand on the headboard and the other gripping your already bruised hips. Pained moans slip out of your throat and into his hot room’s space , stubby nails scratching against the cheap wood. “Jim— Jimmy—“ you barely manage to gasp , tears pricking at your eyes and your stomach churning from both the pain and the unfamiliar feeling of him tearing into your body. He ignores your pleas , only pressing your face into the headboard harshly.

He groans under his breath , gritting his teeth and burying himself into you , chest pressed against your back like he’s trying to merge your sweaty bodies together. All he can think about is the way you clench around him and squirm like a wounded animal , and it’s the only thing keeping him going. The thought of molding you into what he wants and dumping you on the side of the street back at your house after he loses all interest in you makes his head spin and his dick hard.

“Please,” you whimper , pained tears rolling down your face and soaking into his dirty sheets. Your teary eyes squeeze shut , because if you look at him , you might just hurl all over yourself *and* the pillows. His hand moves from your hip and to your warm face , nails digging into your puffy cheeks and forcing your face to his. He doesn’t even need you to open your eyes and see his face when he’s fucking you like an animal , rough and hard.

“It’ll be over,” Jimmy mutters , hot breath making contact with your face and making your nose scrunch up instinctively. Cigarettes and booze , it sickens you. “ ‘cause you’ll shut up and take it , right? Let me cum in you without a word?” His words are harsh and teasing in a way. Teasing you because he knows you’ll never say no , teasing you because no matter what your friends and family say , you’ll let him do whatever he wishes.

Callously hands drift down to your tight throat , squeezing lightly. Not enough to kill you , but enough to make you feel light headed and sick to your stomach. Your hand overlaps his , urging him to take his rough hand from your windpipe. Listening to you is the last thing he’ll ever do.

All of this banging you against was practically foreplay , and his orgasm is the main event of his rape-y affection. He moans through his gritted teeth , hips meeting yours and spewing his seed into you , not bothering to pull out or check up on you with a simple , “You okay?”.

Just because you’re used to it , doesn’t mean you like. It definitely doesn’t mean that.

Jimmy’s hands slowly fall from your neck , lips pressed against your temple and his lips curled up into a cruel smirk. “Shit,” he murmurs into your ear , knocking against your head with his fist. “Think I’ve emptied you all of you’ve got. Don’t think there’s anything in here”. He chuckles , voice just as condescending as ever. You’re starting to think he’s right. Maybe there isn’t anything in your head , not anymore , you wouldn’t doubt it. From hopeful and optimistic , to drained all in the span of a few weeks.

You’ve made your bed , and now you must lie in it. For however long Jimmy deems fit.

[asarajaa]

Hiiiii Sarah, I'm one of your new followers and I just wanted to say that, I LOVED the Wally West x Reader angst fic (it had me screaming into a pillow) you wrote a while back !!!

I do have request tho , would you maybe be willing to write a part 2 of that fic? It was just sooo good and I couldn't get it out of my head

Tysm my love!! I wasn't very sure about how it turned out but your comment really hyped me up 💗. Of course! ty for following me and I hope this reach your expectations!!

Warnings: fem!reader, angst romance, forbidden love, reincarnation (?) Words: 2338 Disclaimer: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

You always liked cats.

They were cute and fluffy, but what you liked the most was the myth that cats were able to live 9 lives.

Of course, your logical and trained superhero mind knew that such a thing as reincarnation had very little chance of happening and much less with cats, but you liked to fantasize about it anyways.

You would catch yourself constantly thinking about it, 9 lives. 9 different whole lives, what would you do with those? The answer, for you, was obvious.

You would plan your 9 lives, thinking about what you would do and with who. Maybe you weren’t a superhero in one, maybe you were just a normal civilian, maybe you liked to do snorkeling and once and for all stopped fearing the ocean.

Yeah, that would be what you’d do in your first life. 

You would spend your first life snorkeling, feeling all the different textures of sea animals and organisms. Maybe you would get bitten or harmed by one and needed medical attention and as you would be lying in the hospital’s bed, sedated with medication, you would no longer fear the sea and lived near to it for the rest of your first life. 

And then, after your accident, maybe you could even have a date with the cute doctor that laughed but thanked you when you said— high as a comet— that his eyes were the most beautiful jewels you’ve ever seen, they reminded you of emeralds. 

In your second life you would be born in a word without any type of powers or superheroes, you would decline your mothers wish of being model and choose a peaceful and quiet life, studying mechanical engineering because your dream job  would be to be a F1 driver— but you would settle for being the person who designs the cars they’d drive, if being a driver didn’t work out.

At night, when the world was supposed to be asleep, you would sneak into the underworld and spend your nights racing illegally, a big smile on your face— because you never knew why or how, but going super fast without any other feelings besides adrenaline made you feel happy and free.

You would laugh while you drove at full speed, the tires would squeal and the car would give off a toxic smell of CO₂ that would seep into your lungs. You would love the feeling of the adrenaline running through your veins and your heart racing as much as your car, the air brushing your hair because you’d like to leave the car windows open while you’d drive.

Then, one night, for the first time, you would be defeated by a new guy that just moved into your town. He would be the new Drift King that would make you eat the ground for the first time in a long time. The thought of your next race would make your face lighten up because since that day, you wouldn't stop thinking about new techniques to defeat and take your place as the Drift Queen back from that damned new guy who’s hair looked like a forest in the autumn season.

In your third life you would be an absolute fan of superheroes. You would help your twin brother, Dick Grayson, to fight at night being his computer specialist. You would also help your father figure, Batman, and whoever he asked you to help to.

You loved superheroes, but you could never be one, never. The job was too risky, you needed to be the one who would take care of them from the comfort of your house, being a type of online vigilante that even though it technically could train and fight goons, would never try to. 

You would help Alfred with the cooking and assist your brother and father figure when they would train, handing them towels and bottles of water when necessary. You even learned medical assistance under the wing of Alfred, being too afraid to lose your new family member like you did a time ago in a circus.

You would help your family and some years later, when the death of your younger brother and the moving of your twin one would be too much to handle, you would find yourself moving too.

You would escape far away, leaving all the things you’ve known behind and trying to create a normal life with normal acquaintances. 

But it couldn’t be that easy, could it? What was the saying? Once a vigilante, always a vigilante. It seemed like troublesome things would be attracted to you like magnets.

So, taking that into account, you weren’t very surprised when a robbery attempt happened in your local bank.

You would act calm—the teachings of Bruce sunk in your mind like roots—as you followed the criminals orders, all the time tricking them into perceiving you as submissive as you would subtly protect the rest of the civilians. Technically you were a civilian too, but it wasn’t the same, you had more than basic training that Batman taught you that you followed since a kid.

But before anyone could get hurt, The Flash entered the building, saving all of them in a flash. You would observe him, Wally West, the new Flash and your twin brother's best friend save all of you.

Wally and you have never been that close, the only reason you guys got along was because of Dick but when he moved to Bludheaven and you moved to Central, at some point, the calls and the messages stopped. 

You tried to brush it off but the truth was that you missed your twin brother, you missed your father father figure, you missed Alfred and you were secretly excited to meet the new young boy—Tim, if you recall—that entered the family.

You sometimes envied Wally, since your brother always hung out with him and for some years, Wally West has known most things about your brother than you, even know, he probably still talked and meet him while you would only stare at your shared chat—one that has been silent for some time—in silent, waiting for a magical text to appear.

The Flash came into your way, not even looking at you as he moved his hands to untie your hands, your heart raced as you thought if he would remember you.

“You okay, ma’am?” he would ask calmly in a i’m-comforting-a-civilian voice.

“Yeah, thanks” you would answer, your heart skipping a beat when his head raised quickly, eyes wide open as he looked at you. His eyes comparing you to the version of you that he remembered, surprised written all over his face like if he didn’t expect to see you.

You would thought that he reacted like that because he didn’t knew you moved here, which made you ask yourself why Dick didn’t tell him. Maybe he stopped caring for you after all?

He stumbled over his words but the only thing you had in your mind was—

Oh, he still got a constellation drawn in his face.

Months passed and after encountering him a lot of times because of superhero type of problems, he finally would ask you to grab a coffee with him to "catch up". 

In your fourth life you probably would run away.

You would travel the word and meet places you never thought they would exist until you landed on them. You would block all of the persons you once knew, breaking the expectations your family had for you—maybe you would listen to them in another life, who knows.

In your fourth life you would be in every city for a while but you never stayed long enough to make stable friends, you would be surrounded by different people from different cultures, cities and personalities but you would be completely and utterly alone cause none of them would be a person you would trust your life with.

In your loneliness you would adopt a big and fluffy dog and raise it by yourself, making it travel the world with you and stay by your side to the point where it would watch you take your last breath on this earth. 

In your fourth life you would never be able to find him, to find the right person and who was meant for you. You weren’t ready and since being ready is a decision, you would decide that you’d never be. You wouldn’t even give anyone the chance to approach you in the fear of disappointing them so you always left before they could get the chance to do it.

In your fifth life you listened to your family’s advice.

You would  take your family out of poverty, you’d retire your parents after you studied a career you didn’t like at all, fulfilling the dream they asked your older brother to do before he runned away .

You would get a job that would make you work from 8 to 6, you would make a stable income and settle down with a man you’re not very sure you’re in love with but he would be a good father to your children.

You would buy a house near the beach, where you would take your children to do snorkel under your teaching while your husband would reading a book as he laid down in the sand after he took your children to collect ‘sea treasures’, as they liked to called them, before you took them to do snorkel.

You would forgive some infidelities for the sake of your family and would kill yourself yourking to make sure your children had everything they needed, unlike you did when you were their age.

You weren’t completely happy and you were sure your younger self would feel a little disappointed of you, but you didn’t have a bad life and some women had worse family issues.

Sometimes, when your kids were swimming in the seashore and your husband went for a walk when his phone began to ring, you would stare into the little golden sea star necklace your childhood best friend gave you for your birthday right before you moved from Central City to Star City.

You would smile at the memories of that little boy who always was up to a race with the other kids, remembering how you promised to marry each other at 30 if none of you had a couple for that time and how you exchanged gifts, he’d gave you a golden sea star necklace and you would gave him a  golden thunderbolt bracelet because he always said something like—“I’m as fast as a flash!”

You’d wonder who that little boy was nowadays, what his job was and what happened to his life.

In your next 2 lifes you would be lost.

You wouldn’t know what to do with your life or with whom. You would have a nostalgic, beautiful but painful feeling everytime you walked into nature because the color green meant something to you, reminded you of someone you just couldn't make yourself remember to who.

You would have the same feeling everytime the sun would express itself through sunrise and sunset, because the mix of those warm colours would remind you of a love you weren’t capable of remembering having felt before.

It would happen everytime you would see a ginger, no matter if it was a boy or girl. Your heart would begin to race for no known reason as you would wait for them to turn around, feeling disappointed when they weren’t who you expected them to be—but it wasn’t like you knew who you were expecting either.

You would feel empty because you desire something with all of your heart but you never knew what it was.

In one life, you would find it. 

In the another one, you wouldn’t.

Then you would reach your eighth life— the one you prayed you were living.

In your eighth life, you and Wally would find a cure to the reaction of your abilities combined.

You would cry tears of joy when time passed and none of you could feel any difference from the first minute you guys started to be near each other.

Wally would kiss you all the time he could, a smile on his face because no matter how many minutes he would be by your side, his body didn’t slow down.

You would make your relationship public, receiving blessings from all the people you’ve known and approving smiles from both of your mentors.

In your eighth life you two would marry each other properly, a big ceremonie for all your known ones and then a little dinner for the closest ones. You would wear your ring proudly in your finger instead of hiding it in a necklace under your shirt.

You would travel the world together for a year after your marriage before settling down on the outskirts of  Central City, leaving behind the apartment on the second floor you guys shared before in the centre of the city.

You would have children, two twin boys that were as handsome as their daddy  and a little girl that was as beautiful as her mommy. 

In your eighth life, your self being wouldn’t be a threat to the other one. You know your eighth life is like this because sometimes you dream about it, and it feels so real that you almost start to think "this is the bad dream" but that is your reality.

But you don’t have 9 lives, you only have one.

This one.

So I guess you will pass it sneaking around, always close but never close enough, always fearing the consequences of being loved by someone who isn’t supposed to love you back,

You only had one life, this one, but you like to think that the universe couldn’t be cruel enough to not allow you and Wally a happy ending in at least one.

You only had one life and you would spend it praying for another one.

Hope you liked it 💗 If you prefer to be a happy ending, you could just imagine like the 8th life was the current life 😽alte

Remeber that if you wanna get tagged everytime I post something, go to my pinned post>taglist>chose the fandom you want to get tagged in!

© asarajaa — Please, do not copy, translate or reuse my work without my permission.

[misaerabl]

Off The Ice : Part 2 (Christmas Special)

SUMMARY: Off The Ice part 2! Your hockey star player, Abby teaches you how to ice skate! WARNINGS: none A/N: i made this because I'm very much yearning for Abigail rn. might post multiple stuff today cuz my band will be performing tmrw and i'll be vv busy! ENJOY THIS SHORT POST!

word count : 0.8k (click here for part 1)

The snow fell lightly as Abby’s car came to a halt. You glanced out the window, noticing the glowing sign of the local ice rink. Suspicion brewed as Abby hopped out, her excitement barely contained.

“Why are we here?” you asked, stepping out reluctantly.

She grinned, her hazel eyes alight with mischief. “You’ll see.”

You shivered slightly as the cold air nipped at your cheeks. It had been a few months since you met Abby— Covering her championship game had been your golden opportunity to prove you had what it took to be the new editor. Back then, Abby’s reputation as cold and unapproachable made her seem like just another challenge to overcome.

Now, as you stood outside the rink, that icy exterior was long gone—at least with you. Abby wasn’t just warm; she was a fire that thawed the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built.

Abby grabbed your hand, lacing her fingers with yours as she pulled you toward the rink entrance. “C’mon, editor-in-chief, don’t tell me you’re scared of a little ice.”

“I’m not scared,” you muttered, though your voice betrayed a flicker of doubt.

She laughed, the sound rich and genuine, sending a ripple of warmth through you despite your growing nerves. “Sure, you’re not. Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”

Inside, the rink was almost empty, save for a few stragglers gliding effortlessly across the ice. The faint scent of hot chocolate and the sound of blades scraping the rink filled the air. Abby handed you a pair of skates, her grin widening as she noticed your hesitation.

“Are you seriously going to make me do this?” you asked, frowning.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, tying her laces with practiced ease. “Besides, I can’t date someone who’s never skated before. It’s a dealbreaker.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” she teased, already lacing up your skates for you.

You huffed but sat down anyway, letting her work. “This is blackmail,” you muttered under your breath.

“Call it what you want,” she said with a wink. “But you’re not getting out of this.”

When the skates were snugly in place, Abby led you to the rink’s edge. Your hands gripped the barrier like a lifeline as she stepped onto the ice, gliding effortlessly before turning to you with an expectant smile.

“Alright, your turn,” she said, holding out her hands.

You hesitated, glancing at the slick surface. “Abby, I’m going to fall. Like… a lot.”

“Probably,” she said with a shrug. “But I’ll catch you.”

With a deep breath, you stepped onto the ice. Instantly, your legs wobbled, and you clutched Abby’s arm like your life depended on it. She burst into laughter, the sound echoing around the rink.

“Oh my God, your face,” she said between gasps, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

You scowled. “This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” she said, her voice thick with amusement.

“I hate you,” you grumbled, though the heat in your cheeks wasn’t entirely from embarrassment.

She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress another laugh, but the effort failed miserably.

“I’m going to leave,” you threatened, turning awkwardly toward the exit.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing your hands to stop you. Her eyes softened as she added, “Seriously, I won’t laugh anymore. I promise.”

You sighed, letting her guide you back onto the ice. “You better not,” you warned, though your tone lacked bite.

The first few minutes were a disaster. Every attempt to move felt like a battle against gravity, and your frustration mounted with each stumble. Abby stayed patient, holding your hands tightly and offering encouragement, but her lips occasionally twitched like she was fighting back another laugh.

“Abby,” you snapped after a particularly graceless fall that left you sprawled on the ice. “If you laugh, I swear—”

“I’m not laughing,” she said quickly, though her eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth as she helped you up. “You’re doing great.”

“Liar,” you muttered.

Eventually, with Abby’s steady guidance, you managed a few shaky laps around the rink. The initial terror gave way to tentative excitement, and by the third lap, you were almost enjoying yourself.

“You’re a natural,” she said, pulling you into the center of the rink.

“Liar,” you repeated, but this time there was a hint of a smile on your lips.

She shrugged, her grin softening. “Maybe. But you’re still my favorite skater.”

The lights dimmed slightly, and soft holiday music began to play. Abby pulled you closer, her arms wrapping around your waist as she swayed gently on the ice.

“Merry almost Christmas,” she murmured.

“Abby, this is so unfair,” you said, though your heart raced at her closeness. “You’re using my love for romance against me.”

She smirked. “Guilty as charged.”

As the snow continued to fall outside, you found yourself laughing and skating, Abby’s warmth chasing away any lingering chill. The ice wasn’t as terrifying as you’d thought—at least, not with her by your side.

LMK IF YOU WANT MORE!

[peaches2217]

So, uh… tonight was cathartic as hell. Remember how I was raised in a church that became a cult and how it’s left me with thirteen metric tons of religious trauma, which I’ve only recently been able to start working through?

Tonight, I did something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time: I went back one last time to say goodbye.

We had a Blue Christmas service this evening at my church. I planned to attend just because it seemed like it would be peaceful, but it ended up opening my eyes to a loooooot of pain and grief I’m still holding onto. Today was the church I was raised in’s annual candlelight communion service in honor of Christmas. My whole family was there, except for me. I invited them to the Blue Christmas service and our own candlelight communion this coming Tuesday, and they rejected the offers, just as they’ve rejected every other invitation I’ve extended to them. My dad always said he wanted nothing more than for me to seek God with my whole heart, and now I’m finally in a place where I feel safe enough that I can… and it’s driven a wedge between us, because he’s convinced God could never reveal Himself to me so long as I’m openly and unrepentantly trans. This isn’t the first Christmas I haven’t gone to church with him, but it’s the first Christmas I’ve spent in church alone, and I didn’t realize until tonight how heavy my heart is as a result.

I ended up planting myself at the alter and just praying for a good twenty minutes after the service proper ended. There wasn’t any divine revelation, I just gave up all my fears and concerns and sorrows. About halfway through I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it stayed there until I finally got back up. It was one of my pastors, and he prayed with me until I was done; he offered me a hug and told me quietly that “God delights in you,” and that, no matter what I face, I won’t have to face it alone; God is always with me, and he and his wife (who’s the head pastor) will always welcome me. Talk about not even knowing what you needed to hear until you hear it. I was choking up. 😆

I sat outside and watched the stars for a bit because I just… didn’t wanna go home. I never do when I’m at church. I felt like there was more that needed to be done or experienced. Ultimately I decided to drive around for a little bit and just let my thoughts run wild. And as luck would have it, the path I chose took me past the church I was raised in… which was completely abandoned. They usually have evening service, but since it’s the last Sunday before Christmas, no service tonight.

I’m not really sure what compelled me to pull in, much less to get out of my car. But I did, and then my feet just started moving, and once I started, I didn’t wanna stop.

I visited as many places as I could without access to the inside of the church and just remembered. “This is the door that led to my dad’s Divorce Care class. I’d always poke my head in on Wednesday nights to see if I could nab some candy from the crystal bowl.” “This is where the swing set used to be. I’d play sick so I could swing instead of having to sit through sermons. Lots of lectures happened here.” “This is the AC unit I hid behind one of the last times I attended a service here. I hid here and cried and prayed someone would find me there and assure me I wasn’t as alone as I felt. No one did.”

Once I finished circling the outside of the church, I stood on the bridge overlooking the fish pond in front for a bit, because that was one of my favorite places to linger growing up. The rocks, the planks, everything was exactly how I remembered them. Then I waved at the nearest security camera, hopped back in my car, and pulled away. It seems kinda silly recounting it now, but I thanked the church and said “goodbye” out loud, then I was off down the road and I didn’t look back.

I don’t know if this will actually be helpful in the long run or if it truly gave me lasting closure. But for tonight, there’s peace. I’ve said my goodbyes on my own terms, and now I’m moving ahead, and for tonight at least, that’s enough.

(I also got this cool picture of one of the crosses on the side of the church. A cult it may be, but it’s a well-decorated cult. 😂)