#but i still want to do it how do i get myself to fucking stop

[dynamo-of-fake-twin-brother-fame]

So my brain doesn't make the chemical that gets you to SIT STILL while asleep. Or at least.... It does make it, but not nearly enough. So while some people with the same sleep issues as me need railings to keep them from rolling out of bed, I just kinda... Wiggle. Rotate like a rotisserie chicken. Burrito myself. Un rotisserie chicken. Un burrito. Wiggle. End up (sometimes) with my feet up where my head is supposed to be. This is why I tend to collect a lot of stuff down around the foot of my bed. Boxes of magic cards, clothes I've only worn once so far, for an hour, so they're still clean, extra blankets and coats, boxes of mtg cards, journals.... They trick my brain into not flipping around the wrong way when I'm sleeping. I'll still curl and uncurl like a demonic pill bug, but I don't end up with my feet on my pillow.

And for the longest time, I didn't know that was a thing. I just thought that's how people slept. Evolution's way of keeping us safe at our most vulnerable. Cuz if you keep moving around when you sleep, things that want to eat prey in it's sleep will think we aren't. It wasn't until I went on a trip with a young girls group back when I was still in it and we shared beds in the hotel that my bedmate (I think her name was Angela. Or Amelia? I can distinctly remember her face and the dress she wore for meetings) mentioned I 'moved around a lot in my sleep'. Like, I noticed she DIDN'T move around a lot, and I thought that was something humans tried to do when they shared a bed (I'd never had to share a bed with anyone before, that I can remember, outside of maybe sleeping with my parents when I was really small and had a nightmare) so I did try to stay... More still. Until I fell asleep properly and lost control of the unconscious urge to spin.

I'm wiggly when I sleep. I wobble. I spin. I rotate like a jpeg in a PowerPoint presentation animation. And this means that during the time your brain is supposed to be recharging... Mine just kinda half-asses it. Like a charging cable that's old and bent so you gotta hold your phone *juuuuuuuust* right to charge it. And I have found out (with some outside help) that the anxiety (that crazy anxiety that's so bad I have to medicate) makes it worse. If I'm anxious, I'm more wiggly than usual. If I'm calm, I'm less wiggly. I also find I'm less wiggly in the cold months when I've got eighteen pounds of blanketry on me.

(I do think it's kinda funny that the original state of our brains is WIGGLE. Like, our brains evolved to produce a chemical that stops WIGGLE, but if you've had a traumatic brain injury or your brain just doesn't produce that chemical, it'll reset to WIGGLE MODE. And WIGGLE MODE is the less optimal setting. Humans were badly designed in a high school engineering class, and the four students keep having to fuck with the code to fix things, but every change to the code fucks up something else.)

But all this to say -- there are some days I wake up, and I'm just bone-tired. I want to immediately go back to bed. Because the wiggles were with me the night before. It sounds funnier talking about it like it's some sort of old-timey affliction like Victorian wasting sickness rather than saying my brain is more caveman-y than normal. Because that's... Kinda what's going on. The original, caveman brain had WIGGLE MODE ACTIVE. And it's exhausting. So it's understandable why life expectancy wasn't as long back then. Our bodies just... Ran outta juice faster back then.

Whenever I take a long car ride I end up exhausted afterwards, and I’m always like “why am I so tired? I was just sitting around doing nothing all day.”

But the answer, it turns out, is I was doing something. Riding in a car jars your body in many directions and requires constant microadjustments of your muscles just to stay in place and hold your normal posture. Because you’re inside the car, inside the situation, it’s easy not to notice all the extra work you’re doing just to maintain the status quo.

There’s all sorts of type of work that we think of as “free” that require spending energy: concentrating, making decisions, managing anxiety, maintaining hypervigilance in an unfriendly environment, dealing with stereotype threat, processing a lot of sensory input, repairing skin cells damaged sun exposure, trying to stay warm in a cold room.

The next time you think you’re tired from “nothing”, consider instead that you’re probably in situation where you’re doing a lot of unnoticed extra work just to stay in place.

[chimerafeathers]

the concept of intentional boredom/tedium in video games is very much a "your mileage may vary" kind of thing and i go back and forth about it in different situations. where does it work? where does it feel earned/worth the mental toll? why am i gonna play a game that is trying to make me miserable?

i can understand this not being the case for everyone (ymmv, after all) but for ISaT i was so fucking fully on board with the repetitive tedium of it all. rubbing my grubby little hands together and going yesssss, yesssssss, make my immersive gameplay experience directly emulate the exact frustrations and anxieties and mind-numbing breakdowns of the player character. remind me, at every turn, the toll this would take on the person living it. make me live their inner monologue before it's ever verbalized on screen.

how strong you feel, compared to the party you're inevitably leaving behind, how weak they seem now. how annoying it is to cut down these same enemies again and again, always pointlessly getting in your way (oh, how convenient that Siffrin feels the same way so intensely that you can get an item that lets him scare them off by sheer force of will before they attack you!). since when was the King's battle--so terrifying, so impossible before--so easy? can't this go faster? you've heard this all before.

let me skip ahead, loop around, treat my character my body Siffrin as disposable, take the fast and easy way to reach the next goal when you're on the verge of an exciting breakthrough, this loop doesn't matter anyway. but ohh, this next loop might be The One, better do this one right and follow the script to perfection. make all the jokes and say all the right things to get the lovely bonding dialogue so you can carry the Best Version of Everyone through to the end. that'll give you the Good Ending, right? can't hurt to try, right? you don't really believe it but this time will fix everything, right?

how generous and wonderful to have so many shortcuts at hand! dissociating zoning out to skip repetitive dialogue, splitting your head open on a rock slipping on a banana peel in the town to loop right to the floor you need, suuuuurely all of this stuff is purely for the Player's Convenience and won't have any psychological impact on our dear protagonist such that it gets slammed back into the player's face as a stomach-dropping reminder that someone's moment-to-moment experience in this time loop still matters, still carries over, still gets riddled with scars even if they can't be seen!

i've played & watched enough games that trivialize/hand-wave game mechanics that it's pretty easy to detach myself from the minutiae of video game decision-making. "this input gets the Good Response" -> "i will continue doing this input." "this option will be more efficient" -> "might as well save some time then." but this game would not let me stop thinking about consequence.

picking Siffrin's favorite food makes them happy! :) it's also the option that makes Bonnie the happiest! yay! -> i keep picking their favorite food -> Siffrin gradually grows sick of something that once brought him joy -> oh. right. that...makes sense, huh.

okay i asked the King what i needed, mann there won't be any tears after the fight is over so i'll have to do the whole ending scene again and that takes a while and i reeeeally wanna talk to Loop, maybe i'll just lose on purpose this time -> OH. RIGHT. THIS IS MAYBE THE MOST PAINFUL WAY FOR SIFFRIN TO DIE BOTH PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY HUH. -> never gonna do that again actually!!!!! the ending isn't that long!!!!

banana peel time! we've got places to be and mysteries to solve! -> (you're a living comedy sketch.) (you wonder if you'll ever be able to smell bananas again without wanting to vomit.) -> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry

it's always cute to see Isabeau's reactions! pick the options that make him blush :3 -> (disgusting. manipulative. it's no wonder he thinks he likes you, you made him feel that way.) -> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry siffrin NO he liked you before any of this happened please don't think of yourself that way--

maybe it won't hit the same for every player (what game can expect to do that?) but holy fuck it hit for me. the way the mechanics let you fall into familiar gamey rhythms but constantly, constantly remind you that this is Siffrin's life you're playing with. the way you end up perfectly in step in the worst ways. muscle memory and habit built up so well that you both stumble when something changes. devastating and delicious

[ieetbeez]

Small Rant About RE

Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.

tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion

Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).

I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!

Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.

BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??

There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…

And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.

These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3

Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...

Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.

Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…

That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3

[dustpages]

Nanana

I've had long hair since I can remember, but it felt like the right time to trim it. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my face looked so different with this new haircut.

The hairstylist seemed to be at a loss for words. "Ma'am, this cut suits you incredibly well." 

I smiled at him, paid up, and headed home.

When I got back, my baby boy was at home studying. He's always been such a good boy; he never gives me trouble. He just needs some motivation to keep going.

I approached him and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed and said, "Mum, you look astonishing."

I blushed and lifted him in my arms, he weighed light a leaf.  "Thank you, darling."

He was still red as a tomato; he didn't even know where to put his hands. I slowly undressed until I was down to my underwear.

His eyes widened. "Mum, what are you doing?"

"Relax, baby boy, we are going to take a shower." I affirmed. " Tonight your mum will head out with some of her friends." He nodded his head; he knew he had to stay alone sometimes.

I got him dressed in his pyjamas and kissed him on his forehead. He went downstairs to watch something while I got ready to leave.

I opted for a black set of bra and panties that would accentuate my curves, along with some high heels and a skirt that showed off my legs. My outfit made me feel sexy as hell; I couldn't wait to go out tonight.

I called my son upstairs to give him a goodbye kiss. He walked into my room and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued onto my cleavage.

"Mum... You look amazing," he whispered. His eyes wandered from my tits to my hips, then to my legs.

I smiled at him and patted his head. "You're such a sweet boy; thank you, darling." He was still looking at me with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mum, I don't want you to go." He confessed. His voice trembled as he wrapped his arms around my naked legs. He was rubbing them gently; I was sure he didn't realise what he was doing. I cupped his cheeks and tilted his head up to meet my gaze.

"Baby boy, I have to go. But you can sleep in my bed so we can cuddle all night when I come home," I proposed. He smiled at me and agreed.

I kissed him one last time on his lips; he held it for a little longer than usual, but I let him; I was his mother after all.

I left my flat and headed to meet my friends for dinner. The evening was quite nice; we laughed about silly things and enjoyed each other's company.

We ended the night by going clubbing. I danced like crazy and drank far too much alcohol. As predictable as a guy hitting on me, he was quite handsome. He was called Yuki; he was toned and tall; he had messy brown hair and brown eyes. He had a cute smile, and he smelt incredible.

We danced glued together, and his hands groped my waist and my ass; he tried to touch my tits, but I slapped his hand away; it wasn't the time yet. He did get discouraged and moved his lips on my neck, exploring every inch of it.

I was getting horny; I took his face between my hands and brought him close enough to lock our lips together. Our tongues intertwined, and I moaned into the kiss.

Yuki was shocked; he hadn't expected a woman like me to be so forward. We broke the kiss, both of us panting hard. He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the exit.

Once outside, he asked."Want to go to my place or yours?"

"My place." I answered quickly. I wanted to fuck him before I forgot how he was done.

The cab ride was a crescendo of tension and anticipation. We were kissing each other without any shame.

I unlocked the door and walked in first when we got to my apartment. Yuki followed behind me and locked it again. He pushed me against the wall and resumed his assault on my mouth.

I felt like a teenager again, not caring about anything except him.

He pressed his body on mine, making me feel every inch of his muscular build. He started sucking on my collarbone and moved lower and lower until he reached my tits.

He pulled my top down, revealing my breasts. He gasped in awe, taking a breast in his mouth and starting to suck and lick it. It was absolute heaven, I moaned in delight as he switched between my two nipples. My pussy was soaking wet at this point.

Yuki grabbed me and hoisted me up; I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me into my bedroom.

Before we entered, I got off of him and proceeded into the room first. My baby was sleeping in the middle of the bed, looking like an angel.

I crawled on the bed, leaning on my side. He didn't flinch at my presence; he was sleeping soundly.

"Yuki, come inside." I whispered. In the meantime he had gotten naked; I gasped at the sight of his cock. It was huge and girthy; my pussy clenched in anticipation.

He lay beside me, giving me a sweet kiss. "Can I ask, who is he?" He said, pointing at my child. He wasn't awake yet, thank God.

"He is my son." I admitted shyly. Yuki smiled and said nothing more, instead opting for kissing my lips passionately.

I felt my son moving behind me, I hoped he wouldn't wake up yet, I really needed this release.

I rolled on my other side, giving Yuki my back. "You know what to do with my underwear." I mumbled. 

He unhooked my bra and slid it off my shoulders; he caressed my back softly and slowly started to pull down my panties. He threw them on the floor and resumed kissing my back.

His lips travelled from my shoulders down to my ass, which he gave a soft smack. He licked and sucked my ass cheeks, giving me goosebumps everywhere.

After he was satisfied with my butt, he leaned down behind me in a spooning position. He rubbed his cock against my pussy, teasing me. I tried to reach behind me to grab his dick and guide it into my pussy. But he blocked my hands.

"Not yet." He whispered. He kept rubbing himself against me, making my pussy drip with arousal.

Suddenly I felt my son waking up; he stretched and yawned, giving a big sigh. Yuki held still, his breath halted on my skin. I waited for what felt like hours to see if he woke up completely, but he settled back down.

Yuki exhaled in relief; I could feel his heart pounding on my back. He continued his tease, sliding his cock between my thighs, but not entering my pussy yet. He massaged my clit and played with it until I came hard.

I covered my mouth with my hands to avoid waking my son. He whimpered in his sleep.

Yuki wasted no time; he aligned his cock with my entrance and shoved it in with one thrust. I stifled another moan, biting on my fingers. I felt so full, his dick bottomed inside out with ease.

He stilled, letting me get used to his size; one of his hands roamed over my tits, squeezing and playing with them.

I tried to rock my hips backward, wanting him to start fucking me, but he didn't move.

 "Please..." I begged quietly. His other hand hovered over my vagina, moving his digits on my clit. I came once again, feeling my orgasm wash over me like a wave.

Finally, Yuki started pumping in and out of my cunt. His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure I felt his entire length.

 My tits jiggled with each thrust; I felt my pussy eating his dick with hunger.

He sped up his rhythm, fucking me like his life depended on it. His hands on my boobies tightened, squeezing them harshly. I moaned loudly, unable to hold it anymore.

Yuki slapped his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries. He fucked me faster, ramming his dick into me brutally. I was screaming behind his palm, quivering under his ministration, my orgasm rolling through my whole body.

Yuki grunted; he kept fucking me with all his might. "Ahhh." I moaned into his hand. 

The bed was shaking like crazy; my baby stirred once more. This time he sat up, rubbing his eyes confused. He opened them and found his mother being fucked mercilessly by a stranger. 

My son's eyes grew wide in shock, and his face paled. My mouth was still covered by Yuki's hand, preventing me from talking to him.

I bite on his palm, hoping to make him remove his hand. He finally understood and released my lips.

"Mum!" My son exclaimed, tears forming in his eyes. "What are you doing?" He asked hurtfully.

"Honey, I'm sorry." I whispered while Yuki didn't budge and continued fucking me.

The situation was getting embarrassing by the minute; my son was staring at me horrified.

I sighed. "Baby boy, this is Yuki. He is a friend."

My son looked at Yuki with confusion but didn't say anything. "Go back to sleep; I will explain everything in the morning." I reassured.

He shook his head. "No, I want to stay." He insisted.

I pouted. "Okay then, sit on the edge of the bed and watch." I told him.

Yuki withdrew his length. "Let's switch positions,” he said, pulling me on my knees. I leaned my chest on the mattress, my ass facing upwards.

Yuki smacked it with force, making me cry out. "You naughty girl." He growled. My son's eyes were fixed on my buttocks, his mouth hanging open.

"You liked it when I did that, didn't you?" Yuki questioned. I nodded enthusiastically.

He positioned himself behind me and plunged into me deeply. My pussy hugged his length eagerly; he grabbed my ass and fucked me rougher than ever.

My tits swung freely, slapping on the bed. My son stared at them intently; he was licking his lips unconsciously.

I cried out in pleasure; Yuki kept ramming inside me, his balls smacking loudly against my pussy. He groaned, grabbing my ass harshly. "You feel so good, you slutty bitch." He grunted.

My son's eyebrows furrowed; he looked offended at those words. I smirked and wiggled my butt enticingly.

Yuki spanked me again, eliciting a squeal out of me. "Dirty girl." He muttered.

I rocked back to meet his thrusts, my tits bouncing wildly. My son looked hypnotised by their movement, he was stroking himself through his pants. I winked at him; he turned bright red in embarrassment.

Yuki was getting close.” Turn around, I miss your lips," he panted.

I flipped over, allowing him to continue fucking me while lying on my back. He bent down and kissed me passionately. His tongue danced with mine, making love to my mouth.

I could feel his cock throbbing inside my pussy, stretching me out. I squeezed his length tight, trying to milk him dry. He moaned and picked up pace, his hips snapping fast.

"Ahhh." I screamed out as the most powerful orgasm hit me. "I'm cumming." I screamed at the top of my lungs.

My juice flooded his dick, making him slippery and allowing him to move easily. Yuki fucked me wildly; I came multiple times while he ravished me. My tits bounced violently; my son looked entranced by them.

Yuki tensed up; his moans turned into growls. "Ahhh, I'm going to cum." He announced. 

"Do it outside." I ordered him. I didn't want my pussy overflowing with his semen.

He groaned in frustration but obeyed my command. He pulled out of me and sprayed his cum on my belly and tits. He shot rope after rope, covering me completely in his load.

Yuki collapsed on my chest, panting heavily. "Fuck." He cursed.

"That was amazing." I giggled and gave him a peck on the lips. "But now leave. I need to handle this situation."

He stood up and gave my son a nod. "Goodnight." He wished him well and left the room.

I sat on the bed beside my baby, looking at his flushed cheeks. "Are you okay, baby boy?" I asked.

He nodded and whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be; I love you whatever you do." I cooed. He sighed and snuggled into my arms.

"Did you enjoy watching me and Yuki?" I questioned.

"Yes." He mumbled. "And no." He added. He looked conflicted.

I squeezed him. "What did you not enjoy?" I probed.

"The things he said to you." My son whispered. "They were mean; he shouldn't talk to you like that." He explained.

"Oh, baby, don't worry about it. He meant those as compliments."

My son frowned; he wasn't convinced. I kissed his head. "Come here." I said.

I scooped him up in my arms and brought him to lie on the mattress. I cleaned myself with a bunch of wet wipes in front of him; his blue eyes were eating me up.

"Lie next to me." I demanded. He did so hesitantly, his eyes wandering from my boobs to my crotch.

I took my breasts in my hands and squeezed them together. "Like these?" I asked him.

He nodded enthusiastically; he was practically drooling. I brought a tit close to his mouth and whispered, "Taste."

He latched onto my nipple, sucking it like he was hungry. I groaned loudly as he played with my breasts.

"Baby, please." I whined. I felt like he was awakening something inside me.

He sucked and licked my tits with gusto, switching between the two enthusiastically. My pussy started dripping again; his innocence was turning me on so much.

I pushed my tit further into his mouth; he started to gag but kept sucking. I shuddered and came on him; his spit dripped down my breast.

I pulled him up for a kiss. "You're an amazing kisser." I complimented.

He smiled at me shyly, his lips red from my lipstick. He got bolder poking his tongue in my mouth. I moaned and allowed him to explore my mouth thoroughly.

I wrapped my arms around his small frame; his body was on fire. His chest rubbing against mine was setting my pussy on fire.

I broke the kiss. "Is there anything else you'd like to do?" I offered.

He stared at me with more lust than I could expect; his fingers moved my hair away from my eyes. "Anything that stranger did to you."

His words sent chills down my spine; I smiled seductively. "Okay, baby boy." I consented.

I rolled on the bed and showed my bare pussy to him. "Look at how wet you made me, you little scamp." I teased.

His eyes were glued to my cunt; he swallowed thickly. Mum,"" he said. His voice was shaky. "Please..."

"What is it, baby?" I cooed.

He pointed at my pussy, his cheeks burning. "May I touch?" He begged. His voice sounded almost pitiful.

"Of course you may." I encouraged.

He scooted closer to my crotch, his finger hovering on my folds. He dipped his finger inside, making me gasp.

"Oh baby, that feels great." I praised him. "Keep touching me." 

He explored my cunt slowly, learning every crevice of my pussy. "How does this feel?" He asked curiously.

"It feels amazing, like you're caressing my soul." I praised. He chuckled and kept fingering me.

My son's fingers were clumsy but perfect; he hit every spot inside my cunt perfectly. My tits wiggled as I rode his fingers; I grabbed my breasts and squeezed them tightly.

"Mum." He whispered, his eyes looking at me adoringly. "May I taste?" He asked shyly.

"Yes, baby." I replied without hesitation. 

He lowered his head in between my thighs and licked my slit. His tongue was clumsy at first, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly.

He sucked my labia in his mouth, flicking his tongue over my clit. I was so sensitive to Yuki, it didn't take much to send me into oblivion. 

"Ahhh, I'm cumming, baby." I cried out. "Suck harder." I urged him.

My son hummed in agreement; his mouth worked its magic on my pussy. My juices dripped on his chin, but he didn't mind; instead, he sucked harder. I orgasmed like crazy, shivering under his ministrations.

My son removed his tongue from my pussy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You taste better than my favourite juice."

I chuckled, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you, baby, I think you are pretty tasty too."

He smiled widely and buried his face into my shoulder. "More, I want more of you," he whispered.

I smirked widely. "To have more, you have to remove your clothes." I hinted. He nodded and got naked.

I watched him, my eyes feasting on his skinny body. I noticed he had an erection; he looked embarrassed about it.

"Don't worry, baby, it's normal." I assured. His fully erect cock was a sight to behold; I grabbed his hands and placed them on my tits. 

"You know how to play with these." I reminded him.

He grinned mischievously and started kneading my boobs harshly. "Ow." I protested weakly.

He apologised. "Sorry, Mum, I forgot you're sensitive." He murmured.

I smiled and grabbed his cock, bringing it close to my mouth. "Open your legs wider." I commanded. He complied without question.

I licked his cockhead, swirling my tongue around his pee hole. He moaned loudly at the sensation.

I opened my mouth wide and swallowed his length until he hit the back of my throat. He tasted salty but not bad; my baby was clean after all.

He gripped my hair in a fist and started thrusting into my mouth. I relaxed my throat, allowing him to fuck it as deep as possible.

"Ahah, Mum." He cried out. "I'm going to come soon."

I sucked on his length eagerly; I wanted to taste his load. He grunted and filled my mouth with his hot cum. 

I swallowed all of it and cleaned his dick with my tongue. He fell on his back, breathing heavily. 

"I'm tired." He confessed. 

I chuckled. "Hold on, baby." I purred. "The best is yet to come."

His eyes shone bright at those words. "Really?" He asked excitedly.

I nodded. "Lay down on the bed." I instructed.

He complied, his cock already showing signs of life. I straddled his lap and sat on his thighs, my pussy inches away from his cock.

I grabbed his dick and brought it to my entrance, pushing him inside me slowly. My cunt hugged him tight; he moaned at the feeling.

"You're so tight." He commented. I smirked and started to bounce on his cock; I felt him filling my walls perfectly.

I ground on his length, moaning as he stretched my pussy out. His cock twitched inside me, and his hips rose to meet my thrusts.

"You feel amazing, Mum." He whispered. I bit my lip and rode him faster, my tits bouncing wildly.

"Ahh." He gasped. "Faster."

I obliged, impaling myself on his length roughly. His eyes glowed brightly as he watched me.

His hand sneaked down to rub my clit; his thumb brushed over my nub. My pussy contracted; my muscles spasmed around his cock. 

"I'm going to cum." I warned. I didn't stop; instead, I bounced harder, wanting to milk his cock dry.

His hips snapped upwards, fucking me as hard as he could. I cried out, squirting all over the place; my body collapsed on him.

His mouth attacked my tits, sucking them roughly. I moaned, grinding myself on his still-hard cock. He rolled me over and pinned me under his small body. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head.

"Now it's my turn." He declared.

He fucked me wildly, slamming his hips into mine. "Ahh, baby." I cried out, my tits swinging to and fro. I was riding a new wave of pleasure. 

"Take all of me." I moaned. I felt my second orgasm building up.

Yuki's words echoed in my ear. 'You naughty girl.' I felt empowered by the phrase, and I started calling myself dirty names.

"Fuck your whore mum." I moaned. "Make her cum."

He grunted, fucking me harder. His grip on my wrists tightened, and I felt the pressure build up in my belly. 

"Harder." I demanded, lifting my hips to meet his. 

His balls slapped against my ass loudly; he pounded into me relentlessly. I clenched around his shaft and came like crazy.

I screamed out loud, my voice echoing in the room. He didn't falter his rhythm, fucking me through my orgasm.

I felt his cock swell inside me, he shouted. "Ahah, I'm cumming."

He exploded inside me, bathing my womb with his seed. He collapsed on top of me, panting like a dog.

"That was amazing." He breathed.

I smiled widely, kissing his lips. "We aren't done yet."

His eyes lit up; he grinned at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "Sit on the edge of the bed."

He complied. I straddled him and sat down on his dick, taking it into my pussy fully.

My baby gasped in shock; I held still for a few minutes. I leaned back and lay on his chest; his hands held my hips and kept me steady.

I stayed in this position, feeling my son's cock throb inside me. After a few minutes, he was ready to fuck again.

His mouth attacked my neck, sucking it softly. His hands made me grind on his dick. I moved my hips up and down, fucking him slowly. 

His mouth trailed down to my tits; he licked and sucked them greedily. "You have amazing breasts." He complimented.

"Thank you, baby." I cooed, moaning loudly. He was playing with my nipples, pinching them and tugging them.

He kissed his way to my lips, swallowing my moans with his mouth. I could feel his cock twitching inside me; I moved faster and deeper.

His breath hitched. "Mum..." he warned.

His cock bottomed out inside me, making me scream in pleasure. I clamped my legs around him, keeping him deep in my cunt. 

"Fuck me, baby." I pleaded. He did just that, fucking me so deep I thought his cock was going to split my pussy in half. 

I came so hard I lost count, his cock milking my cunt for every drop of my arousal. His teeth sunk into my collarbone, his hips moving erratically.

"Yuki had fucked me much better." I taunted, slowing down my rhythm.

He glared at me and made me take his cock as hard as I could. "Nasty girl, mocking me to get fucked more." He growled.

He slammed his hips against me, my pussy clamping on his cock desperately. "Yes, baby, use those dirty words." I begged.

He grunted in frustration. "Nasty whore." He groaned. His fingers dug into my hips, bruising the skin.

"Harder." I yelled. I wanted him to break me in half with his cock. I lifted my ass and impaled myself on him again and again.

His cock swelled inside my pussy; he was about to come. "Ahh, Mum, I'm coming." He shouted.

He spurted inside my cunt, filling me with his warm load. He fucked me through his orgasm, making me quiver underneath him.

We collapsed back on the mattress; he was holding me tight, his cock still twitching inside my pussy. 

"Mum, that was incredible." He admitted, his voice sounding dazed.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." I smiled and kissed his lips lightly. He held me tighter, not wanting to let go.

I wrapped my legs around him and rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair soothingly. "Sleep, baby boy; tomorrow we are going to talk." I whispered.

Morning arrived; the air was still in my bedroom. My baby boy was asleep on my chest, his breathing heavy.

We were sweaty and stinky; we need to get cleaned. I dismounted him carefully and got to the bathroom to run the water for a bath.

I turned back to my room and crawled to him. I brushed his hair out of his face and kissed him gently. "Wake up, baby boy."

His eyes fluttered open, his blue orbs meeting my black ones. He smiled at me shyly and sat up. He yawned and stretched his body.

He looked at me confused. "Where am I going?" He asked.

"Bath." I explained simply.

He got off the bed, following me to the bathroom. We got into the tub, sitting in front of each other. I poured some shampoo on my hand and washed his hair tenderly.

After he was clean, he returned the favour. He lathered up his hands with soap and started washing my body slowly.

His fingers roamed over my breasts, making me shiver. He kissed my neck and trailed his mouth down to my shoulders, his lips ghosting over my skin.

I sighed in contentment. "This is so nice." I murmured.

He hummed in response and continued his work. He cleaned my belly, his fingertips trailing over my hipbones. 

He reached down and soaped up my thighs, spreading them apart to clean in between. I gasped as he touched my pussy.

"Relax, Mum, I won't touch your private parts." He promised.

His hand lingered on my inner thigh for a few seconds before continuing to clean the rest of my body.

We rinsed ourselves and dried each other. Once we were done, he asked. "Do you want breakfast in bed?"

I smiled. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

He nodded and left my room to prepare us food. I changed into a simple robe and lay down on the bed.

Twenty minutes later he walked back carrying a tray of food. There were pancakes and fresh fruits, along with some juices.

We ate our meal happily, feeding each other bites. Once we finished, I cleared the plate and put it aside.

"So, what do you think happened last night?" I asked curiously. He looked at me for a second, deciding how to answer.

"As far as I'm concerned, we copulated a few times; I definitely fancied every single second of it," he stated seriously. "I beg your pardon, but restrain from bringing strangers into this house; it's unpleasant for me and not necessary."

I looked at him in surprise; he sounded so mature and adult. "Of course, baby, only you and me." I agreed.

He smiled in satisfaction. "Good." He paused. "No more strangers roaming around you."

I chuckled at his possessiveness and sat him in my lap; my hand ran through his hair. "Only you, baby boy, I promise."

He melted into my embrace, his head resting on my shoulder. He closed his eyes and relaxed; he felt safe and loved.

"Mum, can we go to the park later?" He requested softly.

"Sure, we can do that." I nodded. He sighed in happiness and snuggled deeper in my arms.

I held him close, running my fingers through his silky hair. We stayed like this for a while, enjoying each other's company.

After a while he got up from my lap. "I need to brush my hair and wear something comfortable." He informed me. I nodded and let him go.

A few minutes later he appeared wearing some shorts and a shirt. He looked adorable, his black hair combed back neatly.

"Ready?" I asked. He nodded and took my hand, leading me out of my flat.

The walk to the park was enjoyable; the weather was sunny but breezy. We were holding hands, walking side by side. 

Once we got to the playground, I sat on a bench, watching my baby run and play with the others.

I was wearing a simple dress, but my tits were clearly visible. Some of the fathers were ogling me, it made me giggle. 

After a while Yuki messaged me asking me out. I replied dryly. "That was a one-night stand and nothing more." I texted. "Also, I'm not interested; I have someone else." I concluded.

The day passed peacefully; we spent some quality time together. He climbed on the jungle gym and waved at me, his grin reaching his ears.

I waved back at him and blew a kiss; he pretended to catch it and put it in his pocket. He jumped off and ran towards me.

Once he reached me, he straddled my lap and hugged me tight. "Can we go home?" he begged.

"Just if you let me carry you." I replied, knowing how much he hated to be treated like a kid. 

He pouted, making my heart skip a beat. "Okay, but you owe a favour." 

I hoisted him up in my arms and carried him like a baby, his arms around my neck. His face nestled on my neck, his lips brushing my skin occasionally.

We walked back home, enjoying the silence of the evening. I laid him down on my bed and tucked him in, giving him a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Wait for me; don't fall asleep." I ordered him to leave for the dressing room. I needed to change into something comfy for the night.

I went to the closet and slipped off my dress. I opted for grey underwear; I desired to let my baby have fun again. I walked back in my bedroom and found him sleeping.

I crawled next to him and spooned him from behind, giving a kiss on his shoulder. His scent invaded my senses; he smelt so good.

He woke up and rubbed his eyes. "Mum..." he murmured, turning around to face me. His eyes landed on my tits and widened.

"Nice bobbies." He appraised.

"Thanks, baby." I chuckled; his compliment warmed my heart.

"You want to play some more?"

He nodded eagerly. I pulled him on top of me and started playing with his hair. "What do you want to do?" I questioned.

His face reddened; he seemed unsure on how to reply. I laughed at him. "Come on, baby boy, tell me."

He gulped. "Kiss." He muttered quietly. His request surprised me, but I decided to comply.

I pulled him in for a kiss, his lips opening slightly as he let our tongues intertwine. His kisses became hungrier; he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled it lightly.

I moaned into the kiss, feeling desire pool in my stomach. His little hands wandered over my body, making goosebumps appear on my skin.

He pulled away from the kiss. "Touch me, Mum." He pleaded. 

I smirked at him. "Where do you want me to touch you?"

He gestured at his cock, which was poking out of his shorts. I reached down and cupped it in my hand, stroking it lightly.

His head fell back, his mouth opening in a silent moan. I continued to stroke him, his cock growing harder in my palm.

He started rocking his hips, humping my hand. His eyes met mine; they were blazing with lust. 

"Take off your clothes." I whispered. 

He nodded and stripped himself out of his clothing. I admired his small frame; his muscles weren't defined, but he was lean and sexy.

I pushed him on his back and took his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the tip. He gasped loudly, his hand tangled in my hair.

"Shit, Mum, you're amazing," he groaned.

I smiled and sucked his cock into my mouth, bobbing my head up and down. His cum leaked onto my tongue; it tasted bitter but not unpleasant. 

I pulled away to catch my breath; he looked at me pleadingly. "Please don't stop." He begged.

I licked my lips and swallowed his length again. I sucked him faster this time, my tongue working the underside of his dick. 

His hips started bucking, fucking my mouth harshly. I gagged around him; he apologised for being too rough. 

He grabbed my head and kept it in place, fucking my face brutally. His moans filled the room, his eyes wild with pleasure.

His thrust became erratic; he was close to coming. "Aaaaah, Mum," he cried out.

He exploded in my mouth, spurting rope after rope of cum down my throat. I swallowed all of it and licked his cock clean.

He lay down panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I crawled on his lap, straddling him and lining his cock with my pussy.

I sank down on him slowly, making sure he was comfortable. He hissed in pleasure, his length hitting my cervix. 

"You're so deep." He moaned, his fingers digging into my hips.

I started to move up and down, my tits swaying wildly. His hands came up to squeeze them, his thumbs tweaking my nipples.

I rode him fast, bouncing on his cock hard. He moaned in bliss, his hands grasping my tits harshly.

"Harder, Mum." He urged.

I sped up my rhythm, impaling myself on him brutally. "Look at how wet you make me." I praised him, rubbing my clit roughly.

His eyes widened in shock. "So wet..." he gasped.

I clenched around him, his cock swelling inside my pussy. "You're so big." I moaned.

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. Our lips met again, our tongues dancing together.

I felt my orgasm building up; I needed more. I moved my lips to his neck, sucking a mark on his skin.

"I'm a naughty girl." I whispered in his ear. "All wet for you." I licked his earlobe.

He growled, pounding me in the earnest, his lips reciprocating my kisses. "Bad girl." He agreed, his fingers pinching my nipple.

I moaned loudly, grinding myself on him. He matched my rhythm, slamming into me roughly. "That's it, fuck me, baby boy." I urged.

He grunted, his hips pistoning into me wildly. My tits bounced in his face; his tongue licked them eagerly.

"Baby boy." I whispered, my orgasm approaching. "You feel so good."

His lips captured mine in a kiss. I shuddered around him, clenching his cock tight. He kept fucking me through my orgasm; he was relentless.

"More." He demanded, his voice low and raspy.

I agreed and lay back on the mattress, my legs spread wide. He followed me; he rubbed the head of his dick on my sensitive clit, and my hands flew to cover my pussy.

"No, no, no." I cried out. "Too much." My voice sounded strained.

He smirked and slapped my hands away, rubbing his cockhead on my clit. I sobbed, my orgasm still rolling through my body.

"Naughty girl." He taunted and carefully plunged his shaft inside of me.

He leaned on my body, his mouth kissing and sucking on my lips. His hands roamed over me, one of them settling on my clit.

He rubbed my nub in circles, his hips pumping into me slowly. His mouth trailed down my neck to my tits, sucking on them gently.

I gasped and writhed under him, my orgasm building again. "Don't stop, baby." I begged.

His thrust sped up, fucking me roughly. His cock was bottoming out inside of me, hitting my cervix with every thrust.

"Bad girl." He murmured. "Look at you begging for my cock."

I nodded frantically, desperate to get him to fuck me harder. His hips snapped into mine; he fucked me with total abandon.

My orgasm crashed into me, my body convulsing. I felt my pussy flooding with arousal, his cock slipping easily inside of me. 

He moaned and continued fucking me, his breath hot on my ear. "I'm going to fill you up, naughty girl." He warned.

I came again and again, my body shivering. "Please, baby." I begged, my voice barely audible. 

He ravaged me, slamming his dick into me like his life depended on it. I orgasmed once more, my cunt clamping on him hard.

"Your cunt is eager to suck me dry." He grunted. He fucked me fast, his balls slapping loudly against my ass. 

He stilled suddenly, his moans filling the air. He exploded inside me, shooting rope after rope of his seed.

His lips brushed against mine, his tongue tasting me gently. He rolled off me, collapsing next to me.

I felt exhausted but happy. I cuddled him in my arms, his head finding a spot on my shoulder.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"You're welcome, baby." I kissed his forehead and hugged him tight.

We slept like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's embrace. We woke up late, the sun shining brightly on us.

He stretched his small body and snuggled against my boy. His hand squeezing boobies, he was clearly in love with them.

"What's your plan for today?" I asked, running my fingers through his silky hair.

"Spending time with you is the only thing I care about; the kind of activities we do are the same with you by my side," he answered, meaning his words. 

I blushed at his sweet words; I really loved spending time with my baby boy. He was so attentive and caring. 

We spent the rest of the week together, fucking whenever we wanted. I discovered he loved oral sex, both giving and receiving. 

One evening I woke up with a wet pussy; I realised he had been playing with my cunt while I was sleeping. He sucked my clit hungrily, making me squirm under his attention.

"Bad boy." I chastised him, but secretly loved every moment of his ministrations.

He licked my pussy with gusto, slurping my arousal greedily. I came on his tongue, crying out in pleasure. 

He pulled back and smiled widely at me. "Tastes delicious." He praised.

I chucked and pulled him into a kiss, licking my juices from his mouth. "You're so talented." I complimented.

He glowed in pride at my praise. "I'll try to do better," he promised.

"Oh, you are not going to get free with your sweet words; now you have aroused me." I retorted, smirking.

He blushed; he was still my little adorable baby. "What do you want me to do?" his voice was full of lust.

"So far you have been excellent; you have been mastering everything I ask you to do." I praised him. "Now I want you to give attention to the last hole you haven't touched yet."

I turned on my side and presented my ass to him, my pussy still dripping with arousal. "Please don't be too rough." I begged. 

His hands roamed over my backside; he kissed the spot where his hand had connected. "I promise I'll be careful." He vowed.

He lapped at my arsehole, making me gasp. I never knew rimming was so good; his tongue felt amazing on my starfish.

"Ohh fuck, yeah." I moaned. "Lick it harder." I demanded.

He sucked and licked my ass, his tongue probing my hole lightly. I cried out in pleasure, my pussy soaking my thighs.

His hand sneaked down to rub my clit; he played with my nub expertly. I was in heaven; he was playing my body like an instrument.

"Bad boy." I gasped. "Too much." My orgasm approached; I was ready to come.

He inserted his tongue into my hole, making me shudder in pleasure. I clamped on it hard, his finger rubbing my clit furiously.

I came like crazy, screaming out my pleasure. "Ahahah, keep going, baby." I pleaded.

He kept licking and sucking my ass, adding another finger to rub my G-spot. His fingers moved in a curl motion, rubbing my nub perfectly.

I orgasmed again and again, losing count. His tongue was magic; he knew exactly where and how to lick me.

He inserted another finger into my ass, making me cry out in pain. His fingers worked me slowly, expanding my hole.

When he deemed it, I went on all fours, raising my butt in the air. "I'm going to fuck you." He warned.

I nodded, desperate for him to penetrate me. He lined up his cock and slowly slid into me.

His cock stretched me out, filling me whole. His hips moved slow and steady, allowing me to adjust to his length.

Once he was fully seated inside of me, he sped up his rhythm, fucking me in the earnest. His cock was so deep inside of me I felt like I was going to split in half.

My body trembled under his ministrations; he pounded me like a man possessed. He reached down to rub my pussy, making my cunt clamp on his shaft.

"Ahah, baby boy." I cried out. My body shook like a leaf; I couldn't hold my orgasm in.

He growled in my ear. "Don't hold back; I fancy seeing you coming."

I came loudly, my body convulsing under him. My pussy squirted with force, coating everything beneath. 

His free hand ran through my short hair, his mouth biting my earlobe. "You're so dirty for me." He whispered. His words set me off again, making me climax harder.

He kept fucking me ruthlessly, my body unable to take more. My pussy was sore and my ass hurt, but I couldn't help the needy noises that escaped my lips.

"Fill me up." I begged him.

"Ask it properly." He rubbed my clit more intensively. 

"Please fill my arsehole with your cum, daddy." I cried out.

"Daddy?" He raised his eyebrow in amusement. I shrugged; I didn't have the energy to explain my reasons.

"Tell me why you call me 'daddy' or I won't finish you off." He warned me. 

I turned my head to face him. "Because it makes me horny, and you own me, Daddy." I replied honestly.

He grinned at me, his cock swelling inside me. "Then call me again," he commanded.

"Daddy, please, I need you to come in my ass." I begged.

He moaned and picked up the pace, going in and out of my back door like a piston. His fingers tweaked my nipples; his mouth sucked and bit my neck.

"Fuck me, daddy." I whimpered, his cock hitting a spot inside me that made me see stars.

His hands spanned my waist, pulling me onto his cock. He bottomed out inside my ass, making me scream.

His teeth sunk into the crook of my neck. "Dirty girl, look at how much cum you produce," he whispered. His thumb rubbed my clit furiously, sending me into oblivion.

His name spilt from my lips repeatedly. "Daddy, daddy, daddy." I called out, my body trembling like crazy.

He exploded inside of me, his cum leaking down my leg. I clenched around him as hard as I could, milking him for more.

He kept thrusting into me through his orgasm, his teeth marking my skin. "Such a nasty slut for me." He grunted.

His words set me off one last time, my body shaking so hard I was afraid I would collapse. 

He rolled me on my back and kissed me deeply, his tongue invading my mouth. I returned the kiss fervently, his taste making me drunk.

When we broke apart for air, he smiled at me lazily. "You look adorable, covered in our nasty fluids." He complimented.

I chuckled. "You should see yourself, Daddy."

His hand groped my breasts and ass; he was claiming his ownership.

"I love you, baby boy," I admitted.

"I love you too, Mum," he replied. We cuddled together, enjoying each other's warmth. 

"We might burn in the heavenly fire, but I don't give a damn fuck till I'm with you." I kissed his lips like it was for good. 

[luvfae]

LOST TO THE HIGH,

PT 2

summary: you reunite with thanos after 3 months in rehab

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: mention of addiction, mention of cheating, swearing, angst, happy ending!!!

part 1

You stood outside the rehab facility, heart hammering in your chest.

It had been three months. Three months since you made the hardest decision of your life. Since you watched Thanos get dragged into that car, screaming at you, hating you. Three months of sleeping in an empty bed, waking up to silence, wondering if he’d ever forgive you.

And now, he was walking out of those doors.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into your sleeves as you watched the entrance. A dozen thoughts swirled in your mind. What if he still hated you? What if he wanted nothing to do with you? What if the first thing he did when he saw you was spit more venom at you, tell you to fuck off, that you ruined his life?

The doors opened.

And then, there he was.

Your breath caught in your throat. He looked… different.

Healthier. His skin wasn’t as pale, his cheeks weren’t hollow, his eyes weren’t dull and lifeless. His hair had grown out a bit, his frame looked stronger, like he’d been eating properly again. He wasn’t shaking, wasn’t stumbling, wasn’t drowning in the weight of withdrawal.

For a moment, he didn’t see you. He stepped outside, his gaze flicking around, scanning the parking lot. And then—

His eyes landed on you.

You stiffened, bracing yourself.

Thanos stopped in his tracks. His lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable.

And then—before you could even process what was happening—he was moving.

Not away from you. Not with anger or resentment.

Toward you.

He closed the distance between you in seconds, and before you could think, before you could even say his name—

He pulled you into his arms.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your body tensing in shock. But then his arms tightened around you, and you felt it—his heartbeat, steady and strong, against your cheek. His scent, no longer masked by alcohol and smoke, but clean, warm.

He was hugging you.

Not out of obligation. Not because he had to.

Because he wanted to.

A sob burst from your lips as you buried your face in his chest, your fingers clutching at his shirt. “Su-bong…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice thick, raw with emotion. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I thought you’d hate me.”

His arms tightened. “I did,” he admitted, and you flinched. “At first.” He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, catching the tears that slipped down.

“But then I got clean. And all I could think about was you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought about how I treated you,” he whispered. “How I let the drugs turn me into someone who didn’t deserve you.” His jaw tensed, his eyes glistening. “And I hated myself for it.”

You reached up, trembling fingers brushing against his wrist. “You weren’t yourself, Su-bong.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he murmured. “I still hurt you.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah.”

His expression shattered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.” His voice cracked. “For everything. For all the shit I put you through. For every cruel thing I said. For—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “For cheating on you.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t pull away. You had cried over that, over all of it, for months. But this? This moment? This was real.

You could hear the guilt in his voice. See it in his eyes.

And for the first time, he was saying it sober.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he continued, voice low, pained. “But if you still—” He exhaled sharply, looking away for a second before meeting your gaze again. “If you still want me, if you still love me, I swear to you—I will never touch that shit again. I will never be that man again.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “You mean that?”

He nodded, his hands tightening on your waist. “I mean it.”

You exhaled shakily. “I never stopped loving you, Su-bong.”

His breath hitched, his eyes closing for a brief second before he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped, Y/N. I just… I let the drugs convince me I didn’t need you.” He swallowed hard. “But I do. I need you. More than anything.”

Your fingers curled into his jacket, and you nodded, sniffling. “I need you too.”

He let out a shaky breath, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Let me make it up to you,” he whispered. “Let me prove that I can be the man you fell in love with.”

You nodded, leaning into him. “Okay.”

For the first time in so long, you felt like you could breathe again.

And for the first time in so long, Thanos felt like he was home.

[saturnbellfromhell]

Roasting your Moon Sign

Welcome back everyone to a little silly goofy post. I haven't been on the app for a long time because of my school, work and internship, but now I can proudly say I've finished a big chapter in my life and can't wait to be back writing, posting, chatting! Hope you all enjoy this easy-going post and don't take it to heart, it's just a fun time, not a serious time.

〰️ If you're easily offended by jokes and giggles don't read this post, most of my friends, family and people I know are some if these signs, so don't take it so far. In the end I will ne roasting myself as well. :)

➰️ARIES MOON

Why so explosive all the time? I know your emotions run wild, but being so dramatic won't get you anywhere. Take a nap sometimes will ya. No nobody thinks you're annoying all the time, just sometimes. We still love our divas.

➰️ TAURUS MOON

Sleeping again? Shopping again? Fighting over food with your significant other, aren't you? No, you can't get that puppy, you're too lazy to take care if it. Also, we get it, you love art and have the best taste in movies. You do have a nice decorated house, I'll give you that.

➰️GEMINI MOON

Yes, you're so different. Yes, we are all boring in your eyes. No, it's not cute to have an avoidant attachment style. Yes, your shoes are amazing, no, I wouldn't wanna go shopping with you. Why are you constantly buying new apps on your phone? Did you forget about your old friends again because you found a new group of people?

➰️ CANCER MOON

The moody bitch you are, always complaing about how stressed they are even though they cried 2 years ago. Do you always wake up and remember what food you didn't eat in a long time? I know for a fact you would be mad if I showed up at your house without an invitation. Do you also hate traveling because you're too scared to leave the safe place of your house or because you hate leaving your house?

➰️LEO MOON

We get it, you're always right. Yes you are loud yes you are annoying at times, but lovable aswell. Does everybody need to know your bf/gf treats you like a princess? Stop buying so much gold jewerly! You're moving in with a celebrity?

➰️ VIRGO MOON

So how was your day? No,no not work, not the new cleaning appliance you bought, how was your day? O the Turkish eggs at brunch were too cold when served and your dermatitis came back? And you deleted your "sad girl playlist? Damn that's harsh, but your eyeliner is still phenomenal, hope you have a good week even though I know you haven't had a normal week in a long time queen.

➰️LIBRA MOON

No I can't remember all your situationships, boy toys and playboys and wasn't Mark your ex in fucking elementary school, how'd you find him again? I know you're into pilates, you told me that 5 times already. No I don't want to get botox after 2 shots of tequila. Tramp stamp tattoos are cute, sure.

➰️SCORPIO MOON

Ok...yes your ex was a whore and that ex best friend really did lie to you. No don't get in your car and crash it into their house and than set it on fire and watch the flames feather out. Stop looking at me with those serial killer eyes! No, we will not stalk your boss because you think she's having an affair. Yes your knife collection is hot.

➰️ SAGGITARIUS MOON

We get it...you love porn. Yes we get it, you're so loose and easy going and so open and so talkative. No, blondy at the bar is not staring at you, she literally is sitting with her husband...You're moving to Malta? And you got a job in Thailand? And you're 2nd wedding is on the coast of rural Australia??

➰️ CAPRICORN MOON

Is your favorite movie still American Pyscho? O really, you still have the same routine as him, interesting. We get it, yes, you're an introvert. Yes people are gross, yes your cat is amazing. You got into Harvard Law?? On a random Tuesday and you got your Masters? Still fighting with your dad eh...yea, he's a cunt.

➰️AQUARIUS MOON

Can you stop being in your head for 10 minutes damn. And also can you stop talking about your feelings and just start you know...feeling them? Still trying to figure out why society is weird and you feel left out? You spent all your money on your library cards, are you serious..

➰️PISCES MOON

You broke up with your dismissive,back stabbing, crazy ex again? That's the 10th time this month. No, you don't love her, she's literally using you. No, we are not doing MDMA at a carnival to forget everything. Where have you been, why were you taking a walk for 5 hours?

That's all for now, hope you giggled a little. Love all my signs at the end of the day, we are all a little too much at times. Can you guess which I am...😅

[cire-things]

My bed seems more comfortable than normal today, warmer. Even if the alarm from my phone blares, I aim to stay in this warm hug of comfort. Yet, instead, I’m reminded by the low groan behind me that I gained a companion from last night's biweekly trip to the dive bar my friends forced me to go to. 

I reach over to my phone, stopping the alarm, not just snoozing it as I normally do, but as I move to begin my day, a strong, warm set of arms keep me in place, “I need to get up, ya dope.” I get a noncommittal groan as a response, along with a kiss placed on the juncture of my neck and shoulder, as well as his arms tightening their grip onto my waist. 

“Let me go ya’ fucker, I gotta get ready for my shift.” I say as I try to wiggle my way free from his calloused hands. 

“S’not what ya called me last night, birdie,” the man responds, leaving a beat of silence before continuing, “Or did I fuck you too stupid for you to remember my name?” his deep voice rumbles out, a light chuckle accompanying his words as I freeze up in realization. “Stay and cuddle, love, you got time.” 

“You pointing out that I might not know your name like you haven't referred to me as two different nicknames, I feel like you don’t know my name!”  I state, returning to me trying to get out of his grip, and as I think I finally am about to get free, he let me go only after whispering out my name. Due to me having moved against his grip and him letting me go, on top of him whispering out my name, I ended up sprawled on the floor.

“C’mon y/n, you think that lowly of me?” his deep voice sings out my name like the call of a siren, he sits up in bed, still in shadow due to my blackout curtains keeping the sun’s rays from view. All I see is his bulking silhouette, I can feel his hot gaze staring down at me, messy hair, naked body, blushing face and all, even in the darkness of my room. 

I jolt myself up from my position, and rush into my bathroom, lightly slamming the door behind me. I hear from my room a genuine belly laugh from the man. I hold my face in my hands for a moment as I stand there in the darkness of my bathroom, contemplating how I ended up in this embarrassing situation. Thinking over the previous night's moments, I flick on the overhead lights and turn on my shower. 

I look over my body in the mirror, hickeys, love bites, and bruises cover many parts of my body. Hips have his handprints ingrained into them, neck has a few bitemarks and hickeys covering them, as does my chest. As the room begins to fill with steam, more of the night's activities come to mind as I look over his markings. 

I mindlessly step into the shower, giving my body respite for the coldness I gained leaving his grip. The heat streams down my body, and my autopilot kicks in as I lose myself in remembering the order of events.

Soft brown eyes stealing glances from across the bar.

Face covered in a mask, momentarily moved for a sip from his dark amber colored glass.

Laughs around me, friends asking the same questions yet he keeps my attention.

A drink appears in front of me, mirroring his own. I look at him again, a nod from him, a nod from me.

We ended up in the bathroom at first. Lips clashing like a hate-fucking-ex-couple. Patrons filing in to do their business, ignoring our two sets of feet in the stall we nabbed. “This is a bit dingy, innit love?” He says to me between stealing my breath away. 

“I live close by, with a large bed, and no roommates.” I responded back as I continued our addictive motions. 

Pushed up against the not so clean stall wall, held up with ease. His lips feel slightly rough, but still plush, moving against mine as if we have done it before. As he finally lets go, his chocolate eyes bore into me with heated intensity. A string of our mixed saliva connects us. He gives me a toothy grin, lips curled upwards, the scars around them, mixed with his patchy stubble makes me want to just lean back in and continue our semi silent conversation.

I am broken from my recollection as the bathroom door opens, the shampoo was just being rinsed from my hair. A slight hesitation comes from him, as if he is worried he is about to overstep, but still is hoping for something. “S’alright for me to join you?” his voice almost whispers out, just barely heard above the rushing water of the shower. 

“Yes love, c’mere.” I say, the last of my shampoo finally running free from my locks. 

“Now who’s using nicknames?” I feel him step in behind me as I face the showerhead. His warm and bulking figure moves close to me, warming my back up the way it had while we were entangled this morning. 

I turned to face him, looking into those brown eyes that first caught my attention last night. “S’only fair… ain’t that right Simon.” As the warm water streams down our bodies together. That same toothy grin from last night paints his face. It’s almost lopsided, almost like his face isn’t used to doing it. But my god if I can’t keep making him smile, I might kneel over and pass on.

“I guess you needed a minute, knew I fucked myself too far into your brain, love” His large hands reach up to cup my cheeks, pulling me into another sickly sweet kiss. I don’t think I can let this end, not when he holds me like glass and his lips feel like the sun is finally shining. 

[nexiva]

You made me hate you

Part 4

Bucky x reader

Warnings: ok now they really hate each other, really angsty part and a lot of swearing (again)

Summary: A not so nice morning in the kitchen with Sam and Bucky

A/N: I couldn’t wait any longer haha so enjoy this part :)

Masterlist

Five months. Five months of avoiding each other like the plague. And when we do run into each other? Jesus Christ, even Captain America himself would bolt from the room.

Barnes has gotten a little more… how do I put it? Confident. In the wrong way. About three months ago, he was still trying to talk to me, still trying to convince me—just like everyone else. But I wouldn’t give in. I would never forgive him. Maybe after all this time, it seems childish, but I didn’t care. I stood firmly on my ground.

And once everyone realized I wasn’t going to change my mind, that’s when things started heating up. Barnes was starting to get so cocky. The worse my remarks got, the more he started snapping back at me. I could see I was driving him insane—not that it was my intention. I just didn’t want to see him. But since he was already there, I couldn’t stop myself from throwing sharp comments his way. Until, finally, he had enough and started fighting back.

“Fuck, Sam, I swear I tried everything. But she wouldn’t even let me get a word in. I’m so done with this. Guess some amends just can’t be made.”

I walked into the kitchen with every intention of ignoring Barnes and making myself a great breakfast.
“Morning, Wilson.”
“Hey, Y/L/N.”

I could tell Sam was uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop him from asking a stupid question.
“So, Bucky and I were about to go for a run. Do you wanna join us?”

Oh God. Pathetic.

Barnes practically choked on his coffee, barely stopping himself from suffocating (what a shame that would be).

“If I were you, I wouldn’t let him outside. He might ‘accidentally’ run over someone and then claim he was forced to do it.”

Oh, I knew that one was going to hurt. But it rolled off my tongue so sweetly that I couldn’t stop myself.

Barnes threw his cup against the wall. Sam flinched slightly.

“You are a cunt, you know that?”

Bucky stepped closer like he was about to throw hands. I got up immediately.

“What? You gonna kill me too now? Finally finish collecting the whole family, asshole?”

And he just stared.

Nothingness in his eyes.

I wanted it to hurt. I wanted him to feel exactly the way I did. But strangely, there was no satisfaction in seeing him suffer. It wasn’t as enjoyable as I had imagined. So much time had passed, my rage had only grown, and yet… I couldn’t put a name to that stupid feeling inside me. Oh no, it definitely wasn’t sympathy or guilt—it was just exhausting.

For the first time, I saw something in his eyes. Fear?

I didn’t care to figure it out. Not at that moment.

“Fuck you,” was all he said before leaving the kitchen.

I sat down with a small smirk but also with a hint of uncertainty (hopefully, it didn’t show).

“Um, so that went well?”

Sam, not knowing what else to do, sat down with me.

“Y/N, aren’t you tired of this?”

The bastard could actually read my mind sometimes.

“Despite everything, you two have a lot in common. He was under HYDRA, you had NEXUS. You really should—”

I couldn’t listen to him any longer.

“Despite everything? You mean the fact that he killed my sister? And HYDRA? NEXUS? We have nothing in common. I never killed anyone for someone else. No one ever controlled me like some brainless puppet!”

“Because Fury saved you! You little brat! You think you wouldn’t have done the same as him if Nick hadn’t stepped in?”

Silence.

A long, awkward silence.

I had no idea how to respond. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he was right—even if he was.

“I wonder if you’d say the same thing about him if Fury hadn’t shown up back then. You need to get it together, Y/N, because everyone is tired of your shit.”

Sam stood up, looked at me, and walked out.

I couldn’t admit he was right. I couldn’t get rid of the fog in my head. That horrible memory.

I refused to back down.

The kitchen felt emptier than before.

Sam’s words hung in the air like a goddamn storm cloud, suffocating me, pressing against my chest. "Everyone is tired of your shit."

I clenched my fists. Fuck him. Fuck them all. They didn’t get it. They weren’t the ones who had to wake up every morning and remember that someone ripped their soul apart like it was nothing. They weren’t the ones who had to stand in the same room as the murderer and pretend like he was just another member of the goddamn team.

I grabbed a piece of toast and took a slow bite, staring at the shattered ceramic from Bucky’s cup still lying on the floor. Someone else could clean it up. I wasn’t going to.

The compound was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside. I let myself breathe. But my hands were still shaking.

Then I heard it—the door slamming shut.

I exhaled through my nose, already knowing who it was.

“What the fuck do you want now, Barnes?”

Silence.

I turned my head slightly, and there he was, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t cooled down one bit since storming out of here a few minutes ago.

“I’m not done talking.”

I let out a dry laugh. “That’s funny, I could’ve sworn you told Sam you were done trying.”

His nostrils flared. Good. I wanted him angry. I wanted him to feel something.

He took a step forward. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Y/N.”

I shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t? Enlighten me. Please.”

His eyes darkened. “You think you’re the only one who lost someone? You think you’re the only one who wakes up every day hating the person in the mirror?”

That caught me off guard. For a second. But I didn’t let it show.

“The difference between us, Winter Soldier?” I stood up, stepping closer until there were just inches between us. “I lost my family. You were the one pulling the goddamn trigger.”

He swallowed hard. I saw his fingers twitch—just slightly. Like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Or grab something. Maybe grab me.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a bitter chuckle and looked down.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was lower now. Tighter. “Every goddamn day, I think about the people I killed. I hear them screaming in my fucking head. And you?” He shook his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “You don’t even want revenge anymore. You just want something to be angry at.”

I stiffened.

He saw it. He fucking saw it, and I hated him for it.

“Go to hell, Barnes.”

His lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Already been there, sweetheart.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me standing there, fists clenched, pulse racing, and for the first time in a long time—completely speechless.

[durrtydawg]

Stalemates

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut)

'Talking it out' often makes for appropriate conflict resolution. But where's the fun in that?

Masterlist

In which they switch it up like nintendo-oh 🎶 . 12k words of switchy, yucky, hate sex. 3rd person, no y/n, grammatical errors (ooo scary) likely

CW for mildly dubious consent and two bitches being mean to each other. For detailed tags take a peek at ao3! Could only bring myself to write this while ovulating which is why it took so long </3. Enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

Sam doesn’t know what smells worse. The stale carpet, the acrid, yellowing wallpaper, or her fucking attitude.

His hand lingers on the doorknob for a beat, eyes scanning the motel room with feigned indifference. He bites the bullet and steps in, dropping his duffel onto the bed, preparing himself for an ear-full.

“Wait,” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the repetitive clicking of the faulty ceiling fan. He cracks his neck in preparation for another bitch fit.

She’s still standing by the door, her breath still heavy from the adrenaline of the last few hours. She's had enough. She wants a plan, a strategy. But every damn thing is on the fly when he’s around. Mortality included.

“What the hell is this?”

“What?” he replies, all casual like they hadn’t just escaped certain death and walked straight into… this.

“What do you mean, what? This place is a dump.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Yeah. I see that.”

She rounds on him. “You see that? That’s all you’ve got to say? There's one damn bed-”

“What do you want me to do, princess? Build a second one?” He practically spits the nickname.

She slams the door shut, throwing her bag to the floor. "Far be it from me to want a bit of space after you tried to kill me off."

He groans. "Don't start-"

"Don't start?" Her incredulous laugh escapes before she can stop it. "I almost got impaled back there because you couldn’t be bothered to share your genius plan - oh hold on. No - that’s right. There wasn’t one.”

“There was a plan,” he counters, turning from her to pat his pockets for his box of cigarettes he’d somehow managed to salvage from a trap he’d accidentally triggered hours earlier. “You just didn't follow it.”

All right, so she'd fallen with the box, stuck clinging to the edge of a spike-filled pit. So what? He pulled her out. She's fine.

“Because you didn’t tell me!”

“It was implied,” he says, the smirk tugging at his lips enough to make her see red.

"What else was implied was the fact that you don't ever think about anyone but yourself."

“Really? You think I dragged your ass out of that hole because I wanted a goddamn medal?”

Get a grip.

"Oh, fuck off, Sam." She exhales sharply, hands braced on her knees as she plops down onto the end of the bed.

Her chest still heaves from the rush of it all - dodging death, being forcibly confined to his bullshit, this shitty room. Feels like a boot on her chest.

She forces herself to breathe and enjoy the momentary silence.

Clink.

Her head snaps up. Of course. HA! Of course.

Tck-tck.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps, seething again. “You’re actually lighting up in here? Can't even be bothered to open a damn window?”

He doesn’t even look at her, his lighter sparking to life. “Relax,” he mutters, cigarette between his lips. “Look how yellow the walls are. You’ll survive.”

Her fists curl at her sides as the sharp tang of smoke curls into the air. "Unbelievable." She marches over to the window, wrestling with the latch. "You couldn’t wait two minutes?”

He exhales deliberately, the smoke drifting lazily between them. “Two minutes, ten minutes - doesn’t really make a difference. You’re gonna bitch about it either way.”

Her jaw clenches, “God, you’re… infuriating.”

“Gotta unwind somehow.” His drawl is lazy, but his eyes are sharp - he’s waiting for her to crack. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Her stomach twists. It’s the way he looks at her, like he’s waiting for her to lose it. She huffs, giving up on the stiff window latch, turning back to him with a scowl.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it.

He takes another drag, exhaling slowly, watching her through the clag of smoke. “Tell you what,” he drawls, shifting his weight, standing upright as opposed to leaning against the chest of drawers with a few missing handles, “Why don’t you take a swing at me, huh? Let it all out.”

He beckons her with two fingers, the cigarette still pinched between them, his grin deepening as he watches her stiffen. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re dyin’ to give me a good fuckin’ smack. I can see it.”

Her nails dig into her palms, biting into her skin as her pulse pounds in her ears. She pictures her fist connecting with his jaw, that stupid smirk wiped clean off his face as she pins him down. It would feel so good.

He takes another step forward. “All that energy,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost provocative. “What’re you gonna do with it?”

Fine. Definitely provocative.

She swallows hard, her voice tight. “You’re disgusting.”

Sam watches her, his lips curling as she darts a glance between him and the cigarette. He leans back against the wall, a picture of nonchalance, silently revelling in the way her composure seems to crack, his arrogance only bolstered by her obvious distaste.

Without a second thought, she yanks it out of his mouth, shoving it between her own lips in one fluid motion.

“Really?” he growls, reaching for it, but she steps back, holding it just out of reach with a glare.

“What’s the problem, huh?” she taunts, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Can’t go five minutes without something in your mouth? Guess that explains why you’re so full of shit.”

“Ha. Classy.” He scoffs.

 “You are the most crass, irresponsible - no, insufferable - asshole I’ve ever met.” She can feel his eyes on her, and she takes her sweet time before looking back up at him, taking a drag, before huffing it out purposely up towards his face.

He waves a hand in front of him, coughing once. “Real fuckin' cute. Give it back.”

“Give it back,” she mocks, her voice purposely lowered in a crude impersonation of him. “No, no, hold on a sec. I wanna be like you for a moment.” she says, her voice tight with anger, the smoke rolling from her mouth with every word. She raises her chin up to face him. "Can’t be that hard, right? Just gotta act like an arrogant prick."

She ignores the burning ash against her fingers as she scrapes her hair back from her forehead - a gesture that makes him roll his eyes. She leans against the wall in a stance that's just as affected and smug as he is.

“Hmm. Yeah, this - this is nice.”

He chuckles thinly, his arms folding tight across his chest. “Well, I’m glad someone’s entertained.”

“Entertained?” She leans into the word, dragging it out as she takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke in his direction with a casual flick of her wrist. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than entertained.” She snaps her fingers, flicking ash. “I’m inspired! I mean, you’ve got a hell of a system going. The quips. The brawn. The charisma - God, it’s practically oozing out of your every pore, right?”

His grin freezes in place, tight at the edges, but she’s not done. Not even close.

“Hi, I'm Sam. I like to fuck my way out of every tight spot I get myself into, then proceed to leave everyone else behind to clean up the mess.” She steps forward, her eyes gleaming as she watches his jaw tick. “It’s genius, really. Self-destructive, sure, but hey, you’re nothing if not consistent.”

His smirk twitches, then falters. “You done?”

She ignores the warning in his voice, taking another slow step toward him. “Have you ever thought about teaching a class? Writing one of those 'for dummies' books? ‘How to Charm Your Way Through Life Without a Shred of Accountability.’ Could be a bestseller. You’d make a killing.”

“Alright,” he mutters, voice clipped. “That’s enough.”

“Enough?” Her head tilts, her eyes wide. “Come on, Sam, don’t tell me you can’t handle a little constructive criticism.”

He stays quiet, his grin gone now, his jaw tightening as his eyes follow her every move. She doesn’t stop. She loves this. Loves seeing him like this.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and though his expression remains composed, she can feel the anger simmering beneath the surface. It thrills her. She doesn't want to examine it too closely - the rush - but she can't deny the flicker of satisfaction in knowing she’s gotten under his skin. Better than that smug, righteous babe-magnet haughty bullshit he insists on projecting ninety-nine percent of the time.

“You’re just trying to distract yourself, aren’t you? The scams, the smirks, the sex - oof, let's not forget that. It’s all noise. A shitty cover-up for what you actually are.”

The tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken, the little scrunch at the bridge of his nose; it's real - a side of him he tries too hard to hide behind that dumb, cool exterior. Boy, does it add fuel to the fire. A rogue spark bouncing onto kindling. She knows she’s pushing him. But hey, they're stuck together for the foreseeable, so what's really the worst he could do?

“And what’s that?” he finally bites out, his voice sharp and low, but she doesn’t flinch.

Her lips curve into a cruel smile, and she gestures to him with the cigarette, her tone cutting. “A sycophantic hedonist with a nicotine addiction, trying - and failing - to claw your way out of your brother’s shadow.”

Then, he laughs, teeth bared in a parody of a grin. No trace of humour. It’s dangerous now. She licks her lips.

“You wanna say that again?”

“Sure.” She takes another step forward, close enough now to feel the heat rolling off him. “I think you’re lame. A shadow-dwelling grifter who’s just pissed he’ll never. Be. Good enough.”

Before she can blink, his hand shoots out, rough fingers clamping around her chin. The suddenness of it sends a shock-wave through her, and she stumbles a little. “And I think that you," He yanks her face up toward his, his grip just shy of bruising, "Are a frigid little control freak who wouldn’t know fun if it bit her in the ass.” he shoots back. The cigarette flies onto the floor, smoke trails smouldering between them, until his boot grinds it into the carpet without even looking.

Her breath stutters, but it’s not fear that does it. She smirks, even as her pulse races. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

Then he shoves her, hard, and her back hits the wall with a thud, his thumb digging in just beneath her cheekbone.

“Listen, you sanctimonious bitch,” His eyes are sharp, narrowed, the fury in them burning hot. “I’d have loved nothin’ more than to have left you to rot in that pit - hell, I’d certainly have much less of a goddamn headache right now if you’d’ve fallen ass-first onto one of those spikes.” Her head jolts in his grip as he punctuates each word, “But luckily for you, I’ve got a job to do. So here you are.”

She doesn’t shrink. Doesn’t falter. Instead, she pushes, craving the intensity. Ha. Frigid. “And wouldn’t that have been dull.”

Stupid fucking men and their need to assert physical dominance. It’s boring.

Her lips curve, deliberately, the ghost of a smile curling at the edges. Not sweet. Not kind - never kind with him. Instead, mocking. Dangerous. 

Her chin tips up, her lips parting ever so slightly as she pushes against his grip, her breath warm and steady as it grazes his mouth. Close, but not close enough. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away.

Go on, her silence says. Do something.

Sam’s jaw is ticking. He wants her to flinch, to crack, to give him something - anything - but all she gives him is a tilt of her head, her neck arching just a fraction to shift the angle.

He’s holding on by a thread. She knows it. His jaw clenches, and his pulse hammers as she lets her fingertips drift across his stomach. Teasing, toying, until she hooks them around the buckle of his belt, tugging him closer.

“Do you get off on this?” She speaks quietly, her chin moving against the palm of his hand. The question catches him off guard, making his frown deepen. Because a part of him does. “Using your height and your muscles and cute little frown to intimidate girls young enough to be your daughter?”

Disgust flashes in his eyes. But beneath it, intrigue? Desire? Some gross spark that twists him up inside. He’s disgusted with himself for feeling it, for letting her get to him like this. But the hard truth, as betrayed by the semi he can’t fully hide, is that part of him is undeniably drawn in.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Oh… I think you do.”

His breath falters - barely perceptible, but she catches it. Of course she does. Her eyes catch the flicker of hesitation in his, narrowing as his anger wavers. Shifts. Into something else entirely. It takes a monumental amount of effort to stop herself from laughing in his face.

Her lashes lower, eyes dropping just below his belt for a heartbeat before dragging back up. Slow. Calculated. Intimate, to the point where she’s almost taking herself seriously. She’s not backing down - no, she’s playing with him now. She tugs at the leather, a deft pull that has the belt sliding free of its buckle, then presses her palm against him - light, barely there - but enough for him to feel it.

She feels his fingers loosen their grip on her jaw, just slightly. It’s so subtle, he thinks he’s gotten away with it... and he would’ve, if he hadn’t audibly swallowed and given himself away mere seconds after. Her mouth twitches. The strings are falling into her hands.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a purr now, filled with mock encouragement. “You've got it all under control, haven't you?” She lets her hand move over him again, slower this time, the pressure just enough to make him grind involuntarily against her touch. His breath comes faster, harder, and she feels his body tense against hers.

His grip on her face tightens as he stares at her with scorn - it's starting to hurt, now - she's almost certain his thumb's going to leave a bruise just beneath her cheekbone - but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t give him what he wants. She holds him there, her fingers still teasing him through denim.

Her lips are hovering just shy of his, still. The space left between them is so veil-thin it’s barely there. She won’t close it, though. She wants to let him feel her there - let him ache for it. Allow the tension to fester, coiling tighter and tighter with every second that ticks by. His pulse kicks - hard.

Sam doesn’t realise he’s leaning in until it’s too late. His rage, his whole resolve, all of it crumbling under the weight of her strategic silence. His fingers tighten their grip again as he feels his frown falter, thinking it’ll hold up the bravado.

She pops the button through its hole, pushing the zip down with her thumb, "Do you want me to touch you, Sam?" she whispers, stroking along the length of him, light and teasing, drawing a sharp intake of breath from his throat. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, his hips pressing into her touch, desperate for more. "To treat you like the big, strong man that you are?"

Her deepening smirk tells him he’s fucked it all up. It’s slow and sly and her eyes are sparkling with a satisfaction that’s almost unbearable.

He can’t think straight.

“Fuck you,” he growls through gritted teeth, but there’s no strength behind it. It’s not a threat - it’s a plea. Even he knows it's lazy.

She laughs, soft and mocking, her hand still stroking him through his boxers, the feeling of him hardening against her hand is captivating.

She leans in, too, grinning against his faltering grip, letting her lips graze against his in a way that goads him so hard that the power trip alone sends heat coursing through her. He remains still, aside from the loosening grip of his hand once more. He’s trapped.

Her eyelashes flutter as she pulls back mere millimetres, eyes intentionally dropping to his lips again before flicking back up, head tilting. Making sure he sees her display of self-indulgent curiosity. He doesn’t know she’s just tossing the bait into the water.

His fingers twitch at her cheeks, grip loosening just as his body instinctively leans closer, reeled in by her. His hand starts to slide, his palm brushing the curve of her hip as if testing the boundary of how far he can take this.

Her lips part, and for a split second, he thinks she might actually let him. That she’s given in, that this isn’t just some cruel game she’s playing at his expense.

She thinks he's a moron.

So she finally yanks on the rod out of the water.

She stills her hand, and whispers against him: “I’ll take the floor.”

Before he can react, her palm presses against his chest in one swift, decisive shove, forcing him back. The movement isn’t violent - she doesn’t need it to be.

By the time he’s recovered his footing, she’s already long gone. The smirk she tosses over her shoulder is pure satisfaction, her steps casual and unhurried, as though she hasn’t just torn him apart and left the pieces scattered across the shitty old carpet.

It takes him a moment to realise she’s actually walking away. His chest rises and falls heavily, the faint scent of her still clinging to the air around him, all warm skin and sweat and something faintly sweet. Infuriating.

The humiliation crashes over him in waves, his pulse pounding. His body burns with frustration, with the bitter taste of defeat. He feels like a fool - a complete fucking idiot.

He had her caged, in his grip, and still, she slipped through his fingers, leaving him humiliated, rock-fucking-hard, and wholly unsatisfied.

He watches her approach the window, his hands curling into fists as the truth sinks in: she never lost control. Not for a second.

He's not about to let that stand.

His tongue drags over his teeth as he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back while she struggles against the window lock.

Poor thing. She usually knows how to press the right buttons.

The sound of her irritated huffs provokes him. She’s giving him space - space to stew, to think. Maybe she knows it. Maybe she planned it. The thought only pisses him off more.

“You’re good at this.” He murmurs, letting his voice dip low, zipping his jeans back up, “The games. Smirks. Little looks. Actin' like a fuckin' skank ‘cause you think it makes you untouchable.”

Her fingers still, gripping the latch tightly. She doesn’t turn. She hums contemplatively.

“Untouchable? No.” Her voice is steady. “Smarter than you, though? Sure.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You think you’re smarter than me?”

“No, Sam, I know I’m smarter than you.” She doesn’t bother glancing his way, but her smile - the kind that cuts and soothes all at once - tells him she’s enjoying this. “You huff and puff around, throwing tantrums, like you’re God’s gift to brawn,”

His self-control is hanging by a thread. He knows he should let her have the last word and leave it at that. Walk away. Take a fucking shower and sleep it all off, but he can’t. 

“Brute force doesn’t equate to intelligence. Pushing me against a wall, blah blah, fucking blah. What next? Gonna toss me out the window because I bruised your ego?”

It's a nice thought. He'll give her that.

His presence is a shadow swallowing hers, a heat at her back that she feels before she even registers the sound of his boots crossing the room. She stiffens, her knuckles whitening on the latch as his arm brushes hers.

Before she can snap, his hand replaces hers on the latch, effortlessly forcing it open with one sharp motion. The cool air floods in, trading places with the stale smell of smoke, but she barely notices it. She’s too focused on him - on his arm brushing against hers, the way he leans in slightly closer than he needs to.

His hand is on her hip.

No more beating around the bush - He rams her forwards with a thunk, her palms bracing against the windowsill as his chest pins her in place.

She sighs, performative insouciance, despite her racing heartbeat. “What are you doing?” she manages, her voice sharp despite the subtle wavering to it. He catches it and he bites back his grin.

“Opening the window. Putting my brute force to good use. Can’t have you straining yourself, can I?”

Her teeth grit together. She doesn’t push him away, though.

The hand at her hip digs in, while the other drifts upward, curling around her throat. Firm. Controlling. She stiffens, chastened anger flickering hot and wild in her chest, but her body doesn’t move. It can’t move.

What the fuck is he doing?

“Tell me to get off’a you.”

His chin rests against the top of her head, a display of dominance so casual it makes her blood boil.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Samuel?”

His lips quirk in a dangerous smirk, his confidence snapping into place now that he has her at his mercy. “Making sure you get the last word, sweetheart. Isn’t that what you always want?”

“You’re such an-” she starts, but he cuts her off with a low laugh, speaking through the top of her head so his voice reverberates through her skull.

“What? An asshole?” His voice cuts her off, gravelly and edged with something teasing. “Crass? Reckless? Got any new ones, or are we recyclin’ tonight?”

She blinks, her mind struggling to catch up.

“C’mon,” He chuckles again, “Tell me to get off.” His grip tightens, just enough to keep her in place but not enough to hurt.

Her heart is thundering now - a crack in the armour she’s so desperately trying to keep intact. What’s worse is the heat from moments ago continues coiling low in her stomach. She hates it. Hates that her body betrays her rationale, hates the smugness in his reflection. That's what she tries to tell herself, at least… though, the reality is more that she hates how much she's anticipating his next steps.

“You’re insane.” she mutters, though her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Insane,” he parrots, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “Insufferable. The list goes on.”

Her lips part, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but it refuses to come out. She’s frozen, her pride locking her in place even as her body betrays her.

She feels his grip shift, the hand at her hip sliding lower, brushing the top of her thigh, coming round further. The deliberate motion pulls a defiant grunt from her throat, her body betraying her mind’s fury. 

“Listen,” His fingertips rub circles into her thigh.

Light, slow.

“I might be all those things,”

Inwards.

Upwards.

“But, I’m not a monster. So…” Her eyes dart downward, caught between the shame of her own hesitation and the maddening awareness of his every movement. He’s quick to correct that, fingers tightening around her throat just enough to force her head upright again. “Uh-uh,” he chides. “Eyes up, huh? Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now.”

She almost bites out another snarky comment but all semblance of wit flies out of her head as his thumb swipes between her legs along the seam of her shorts.

Shit, shit, shit.

Her thighs tighten together instinctively, mindlessly trapping his hand there, which only makes him laugh into her ear, squeezing the sides of her throat a little tighter. He's such a delinquent, relishing in her hushed breathlessness and all the soft sounds she's trying to keep behind her teeth.

“Last chance.”

She’s livid. Because she thought she fucking had him.

Say something, She thinks. No - don’t. That’s what he wants. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Ah, shit.

Her mind scrambles for control. She can’t tell Sam to stop. To do as she’s told. He’d just love that, wouldn’t he? He’d win. Never let her live it down. But she shouldn’t let him keep going, either - because, then, he's still winning, and worse, she’s letting him.

Panic swells in her lungs, her insides churning.

“All you men,” She starts, pausing to compose herself once she realises how breathless she sounds, “are exactly the same. So desperate for things you can’t have. Pathetic, really.”

Not her best attempt at tugging back the reins. But at least she didn't call him a skank.

His breath skates along her neck when he snorts at her, and she swears she’ll scream if he doesn’t stop - if he doesn’t move - if he doesn’t-

“All the same, huh?” The condescending prick speaks into her temple, hips pushing firm against her so she knows she's got no choice but to reap what she's sewn. “Wonder if that rule applies to uptight little smart-asses like you?” His hand trails back up from between her thighs to her waist, fingers pulling the material of her shorts away from her stomach, smoothing over warm skin as she tries to control her breathing. “In my experience, they're wet in an instant - fuckin' freaks behind closed doors.”

Her embarrassment is flaring white-hot now. He's giving as good as he got.

Her pulse quickens, and she forces herself to glare at him, jaw tight, nails gritting against the glass to keep her hands from trembling. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reaction other than that.

Which is a huge mistake.

“Jesus Chr-” He giggles, rubbing against her underwear with an abruptness that has her biting back a mewl. “You’re actually wet, aren’t you?”

“Choke, you piece of shit.”

That makes him snort.

“Choke? What, like this?”

His fingers flex harder against the sides of her throat, applying just enough pressure with each hand to make her body arch involuntarily against him. It knocks her for six, eyes widening as a palm clambers its way from the window pane up to the hand squeezed around her neck.

He hums low in his throat, a sound of mock consideration as her nails scratch at him.

“That's what you want? To see how far I’ll go? Never pegged you for a whore.”

Her teeth grit, rage bubbling as he sneers his way through his sentence. The push and pull of him pressing damp fabric against her isn't helping matters.

Everything’s too much.

The weight of him pressing her down. His hand at her throat. The fucking self-satisfaction on his face as he pinches her clit through her underwear and makes her buck into him.

She wants to snap. To move. To do something. But her thoughts are slipping and it’s all more intoxicating than it has any right to be.

He thinks he’s in control. He’s so damn sure of it, so drunk on his own smug confidence. She can feel it radiating off him.

Her lashes lower. She lets her lips part slightly, and her body slacken against the window. A deliberate show of defeat. A histrionic surrender. His grip eases just a fraction, and she feels the subtle shift of power.

Her breath shudders, her chest heaving in what she knows he’ll mistake for resignation. He leans in closer, his body flush against hers, bulge pressing into her ass adding insult to injury as she tries to maintain concentration.

She's reluctant to admit to herself how galvanising it all is. The weight of him. The heat rushing through her as his fingers stroke and tease. The unbearable closeness-

Nope - no, this can't continue. Not like this, at least. Let him have what he wants. But it'll be on her terms.

He doesn’t expect her to fight back. He’s too caught up in his performance, too sure of his control. The stupid fuck.

She lets him savour it - hell, she lets herself savour it for one, two, three seconds.

Then she strikes.

Her hand shoots up, grabbing his wrist. Hard. She doesn’t pull away. She pushes, twisting his grip just enough to loosen the choke-hold on her throat. Clarity floods her brain, and her elbow drives back - sharp, fast, ruthless. It connects with his ribs, and the sound of his grunt sends a wild rush through her.

He stumbles, grip faltering.

She pivots, twisting out from beneath him in a blur of motion. Her hands shove against his chest, forceful, determined. He doesn’t stand a chance. His balance tips, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

Sam falls flat on his back.

For a moment, he looks almost comical, sprawled across the bed in stunned silence, blinking up at her as though he can’t quite believe what just happened.

She takes a step forward, her breath still heavy, her heart pounding against her ribs as she looms over him.

And there it is again - that shift in power, slipping through his fingers and landing squarely in hers.

He knows it. She knows it. She’s straddling him before he even has time to process it fully, pinning his wrists hard against the mattress above his head, her knees clamped to the sides of his hips.

“Cute,” the sarcasm comes out low and gravelly. It's… well, it's hot. She digs her nails into his skin out of contempt for the both of them.

“Well,” she ignores him, leaning in close, her nose brushing his. “Congratulations.”

His brow quirks. “Yeah? For what?”

“For proving my point.”

She can feel the heat radiating from him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers. His skin is warm under her touch, and the way his muscles twitch beneath her grip sends an undeniable rush through her. Her nails dig into his wrists, and even she isn’t sure if it’s to keep him down or to rile him up any more.

There’s tension beneath his skin, the restrained strength of someone biding their time. He stays still. Watching. Waiting. Curious. His muscles flex in warning, but his eyes glint with that maddening mix of intrigue and amusement. Always testing her. Always waiting to see how far she’ll push.

"And what point is that?"

She's strong. He's watched her kill men twice her size. But still, he knows he could have her flipped onto her back in a fraction of a second if he pushed.

Her line of sight rakes down his face. He looks infuriatingly good pinned beneath her, and it grates at her self-control. His confidence seeps through the cracks of her power, unrelenting even now.

Her body remembers his touch, the bruising force of his hands, and it deceives her reasoning. She’s soaked. Her arousal seeps out to the tops of her thighs as she gives her hips an experimental roll against his.

She watches him swallow, jaw clenching slightly to fix his smirk in place. She leans in, lips grazing his ear as she grinds on him again.

“Men,” her lips drip venom, “are fucking pathetic.”

Her pulse races, hammering through her, but she pushes the doubt down, letting the smirk sharpen into cruelty. The ever-precarious balance continues to tip in her favour as she senses a touch of nervousness in his little huff of laughter.

“And you,” she whispers, forcing him to hone in on what she's saying, “might be the most pathetic of all of 'em.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth. See where it gets you.”

Her head tilts, eyes flashing smug. “Right where I want to be, obviously.” A bold move to admit it, but they know each other too well to deny what's about to happen. Of course they do. To despise is to know.

Her hands move fast - just quickly enough for his arms to stay where she's had them. The hem of her shirt is over her head in a fluid motion. His eyes flicker, distracted for the briefest second.

“Focus, Samuel,” she snaps, her grip catching his chin, forcing his eyes back to her face. “Getting distracted already? You’ll never keep up like this.”

"What's there to keep up with, huh? A little dry humping? What are you - fifteen?"

His jaw clenches, but he forces out another frustration-tinged laugh. She can see through it, feel the way his body tenses beneath her. She shifts, pressing harder against him, and the subtle change in his expression tells her everything.

His control is slipping.

"What? Desperate to get your fingers into me? Pervert." She raises a brow, palms moving from his face and wrist to trace the tension in his forearms. His muscles twitch beneath her touch, a reminder that this could end the moment he decides to reclaim control.

She sits up, hands pressing flat against his stomach, tucking under his t-shirt and smoothing over hair and warm skin as her fingertips curl into the fabric. She speeds up when she sees him watching her hands work, until she yanks the shirt up and over his head.

She tosses it aside as his eyes narrow. For a moment, it looks like he might flip her over, shut her up, but she restrains him once more. His muscles flex beneath her grip, coiled tight and ready to spring, but she keeps him there, her nails biting into his skin as if daring him to break free. The uneven rhythm of their breaths fills the tiny space between them. The room is too small, too hot, and the tension is making it all the more damn suffocating.

Suffice to say, Sam's had enough of the purgatory.

When he finally moves, it's sudden - violent almost - a flash of motion she doesn’t anticipate. His head snaps forward, and his lips crash against hers with enough force to steal her breath. It’s hardly a kiss; more of an attack, all teeth and heat and fury. She gasps into it, shocked, her body stiffening for a split second before the wave of intensity drags her under.

Her grip on his wrists loosens as his mouth claims hers, teeth scraping against her bottom lip hard enough to sting. The faint taste of copper blooms on her tongue, but the pain only fuels her, sending a jolt of heat through her spine. Bastard.

She collapses into him, matching his ferocity, her hands abandoning his wrists to thread into his hair. She tugs hard, earning a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat that vibrates against her lips. Her nails scrape against his scalp, and she feels him shudder beneath her as one of her hands flies down, scrambling for the metal of his zip. Her nail catches - it snaps. She hisses.

His hands move fast as she's momentarily distracted, one wrapping around the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip. The total one-eighty in power is instantaneous, his body surging up against hers as he pushes back, refusing to let her hold the reins any longer.

She doesn’t fight it. She lets him guide her into the chaos of it. His lips move against hers with bruising intensity, his tongue sweeping past her teeth in a way that makes her snarl back at him. Her nails rake down his shoulders, over the expanse of his bare chest, leaving faint red lines behind - the broken, jagged edge of the one she'd caught seconds ago scratching against his nipple.

He hisses against her mouth, his grip tightening as he shifts his weight. Then, with a sharp twist and a surge of strength, he flips her onto her back.

The mattress creaks as she lands, her breath knocked from her lungs. His body presses down against hers, pinning her in place as his mouth moves to her jaw, then her throat, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.

Her hands are on him immediately, roaming over his back, her nails digging into the hard lines of muscle as she arches up against him. Her heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline tangling into a volatile and all-consuming high.

His lips find her pulse, and she swears under her breath, the sound caught somewhere between outrage and need. She bucks her hips up against him, desperate to feel more, to take back some semblance of control.

But he doesn’t let her. He hovers above her. She whines, and it's embarrassing.

"Christ - someone's in heat, huh?" His tone is entirely too nonchalant given what they're doing.

She has half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself, but as the words form in her brain, the sensation of his hand snaking back into her shorts, scooping her underwear aside to stroke a line through her arousal only causes her to shudder. His mouth twists into an even deeper smirk at the atypical shake in her throat, taking it upon himself to make said shake worse by single-handedly shunting the waistband of her shorts down to mid-thigh.

She grunts, grabbing his face, pulling him back down to meet her, and this time, it’s her tongue that presses forward, demanding, devouring.

Teeth smack teeth and he mutters something about how wet she is - that his 'theory's got legs' - she calls him an insufferable cunt. He laughs, tracing circles everywhere but where she most needs it.

She bites his bottom lip, returning the favour from earlier, neither of them able to decipher whose blood they're tasting at this point. It's hard enough to make him pull back, his breath ragged as his eyes lock onto hers.

His patience snaps.

“Fucking animal,” he growls, his grip tightening on her waist.

Before she can call him a hypocrite, she’s flipped face-down on the bed, her arms crushed beneath her chest, as he presses himself down against her back.

Her breath leaves her in a startled rush.

Oh, shit.

Her thighs press together instinctively, and she thrashes, but it’s useless - he’s stronger, and he’s got her pinned. Hard.

She snarls into the sheets, writhing beneath him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his arm slides under her, curling around her stomach, palm pressing firm against the soft plane of her lower abdomen before moving lower still.

Heat licks up her spine, colliding messily with her frustration as she stiffens.He enjoys this - holding her down, feeling her succumb.

“Jesus, don’t tell me you’re getting comfortable,” he murmurs, his voice all mock sympathy, breath hot against her ear. His fingers flex, tightening his hold. “That’d be embarrassing.”

She lets out a sharp, breathy laugh, twisted against the sheets, her cheek pressed hard against the mattress. “Oh, please, do keep talking.” she spits, writhing against his grip.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he curls two fingers inside her, her body arching involuntarily into him, a curse slipping from her lips before she can stop it.

He smirks, his free hand sliding up her back, snapping apart the clasp on her bra, before snaking back up just below her throat, leaving her no time to retort. His thumb presses lightly against her windpipe, a warning, as his fingers continue their infuriatingly pleasant pace. She swallows hard as he speaks into the shell of her ear.

"Growing a bit compliant there, doll. Makin' me think this has been on your mind for a while."

With a grunt, she jostles herself up hard, trying to throw him off, trying to wrestle back the last bit of power she can. But he doesn’t budge. If anything, he only presses into her harder, his fingers hooking up in a way that makes her vision blur at the edges and a soft gasp fly out of her mouth.

Her lips part, her breath ragged, eyes locking with his over her shoulder. "You think… th-this means anything?" she spits, but her voice trembles, a touch of desperation creeping in.

He leans in closer, teeth grazing her bottom lip again, but this time softer, taunting. "Not sure." he replies, amused. "Ask me again when I've got my cock in you." He snorts at his own asinine remark. Her nostrils flare.

“Pig.” she manages to grit out, voice hoarse, teeth clenched.

His lips brush her ear, and he chuckles. "Pig? I'm not the one squealin'."

His wrist picks up the pace, causing her face to screw up, expression tightening as his thumb finally nudges her clit - her body seizes; she contracts unwillingly around his fingers, but he pries her back open with a third.

She can’t stop the moan that tears from her throat, her eyes squeezing shut as he watches her start to unravel beneath him with a sadistic grin.

Her body jerks against him as much as it can, the sharp edge of pleasure overtaking the defiance she's clung onto for the past few minutes as she tries to free her arms. She bites her lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her falling apart beneath him.

That is until she feels his hand pull away from between her thighs with a humiliating squelch, and she tries with all her might to hold back a defeated whimper at the sudden loss of sensation.

She tries to turn her head, impatience tightening her muscles, but he’s got her locked in place, every shift of her body met with an unyielding press of his weight. She can’t see him, can only feel - the absence of his fingers a cruel tease, leaving her thrumming with frustration.

Then she hears him sigh - quiet, almost contemplative. Then the slow drag of him sliding against her, gliding through the pool of slick he’s already drawn out.

Her breath stutters, thighs twitching in trepidation as the warm head of his cock nudges at her clit, pressing into her just enough to make her agonise for more. It’s humiliating, the involuntary clench of muscle, the way her arousal drips down onto the sheets. She hates it. Hates him.

Hates even more that every nerve in her body is screaming for him to keep going.

His chest is flush against her back, the unbearable heat of him sinking into her skin, searing, suffocating, branding, almost, in ways she refuses to acknowledge. She won't be forgetting this feeling for a long time. Neither will he.

His breath skates along the shell of her ear - ragged, smug. He knows. Of course, he fucking knows.

His hips shift, and then - fuck.

The first thrust knocks the air straight out of her lungs. He doesn’t ease in, doesn’t give her a second to adjust - just drives into her in one inexorable push, filling her so deep her fingers claw uselessly at the sheets.

She chokes on the moan that tries to escape, biting down hard on her lip until blood oozes back onto her tongue. She refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“Holy sh-” he grits out, adjusting his grip, one hand firm on her hip, thumb digging into the dip of her spine. “Wasn't expecting such a tight fit - Jesus.” His words cut through the haze as his other hand re-tightens around her throat.

Her eyes screw shut, her pulse hammering away. He shouldn’t feel this good. Given his big fucking mouth, she'd always assumed he was trying to compensate for something. More fool her.

Sam pulls back slowly, the stretch sending unbearable anticipatory pleasure sparking through her veins. Then he slams back in with a grunt, punching a breathless gasp out of her. He holds himself there for a second, feeling her stretch and squeeze around him.

“This really all it takes to get you to shut that whiny little mouth a'yours?"

Her hands fist into the sheets, wishing the same could be said about him, as numbness sets into her arms from being stuck under her own weight for so long, her jaw clenching as he sets a brutal rhythm, every snap of his hips forcing her forward, shunting her deeper into the uncomfortable mattress.

Her body gives in so easily, molten heat spiralling away in her stomach. Ugh, she wants to spit something back at him, but she can’t. He’s fucking the breath right out of her, and all sense of the disgusting room around her is fading, slipping into nothing.

In her attempt to keep quiet, she must make a sound - broken, subservient - damn near wrecked, because he laughs against her sweat-damp skin, pressing her down harder, cock driving deeper, with the intention to bruise - he wants her to remember this.

She groans, long and lewd, her forehead pressing into the mattress, her body traitorously growing more pliant under him. The pleasure is unbearable, tangled with resentment, with rage, with the utmost desire to wipe that smug tone out of his voice.

His hand around her throat scoops her upwards, and she whines through gritted teeth as her back is forcibly arched and her breathing is restricted. Every breath is laboured, his grip unrelenting, pushing her into a tight space between ecstasy and… well, suffocation, probably. Her vision blurs slightly at the edges, but a dull prickling sensation creeps through her arms. Pins and needles.

She feels the slow return of blood flow, the sluggish tingling that signals her strength coming back. The feeling shoots through her hands, all the way to her fingertips. Soon… very soon, she’ll have enough control to move. To shove him off, regain the upper hand, and wipe that smug expression off his face. Or… Or she can let him keep going. Let him use her, drive her deeper into this haze of loathing-stunted pleasure.

“Y’know,” oh what the hell does he want now? “I could stop-"

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snaps, her voice rough from the pressure on her throat. His laugh vibrates against her back - he calls her a whore again. A cheap insult, but infuriatingly taunting nonetheless.

“Ugh,” she rasps, struggling for air, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re-”

He cuts her off with another brutal snap of his hips, his fingers tightening around her throat, making her clench her teeth around a particularly loud moan.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

Her arms twitch beneath her, the prickling sensation turning into something more solid. She can feel the strength returning, knows she can move if she really wants to. But does she want to?

“So fucking full of yourself,” she manages to spit out between gasps, but even as the words leave her lips, she’s not sure if she believes them. She’s close - too close to care about pride right now. Her hands flex against the sheets, feeling the last vestiges of numbness fade. She knows she has a choice to make.

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle, somewhere between a smug exhale than a giggle, his thumb brushing possessively along her jaw. “God, I can think of a great retort for that one,” he murmurs, his focus now on the ripple of her flesh as he buries himself into her again and again. “Bit on the nose, though, even f’me - ha, fuck.”

And then she notices he’s losing it. Rhythm’s all over the shop. Messy. Sloppy. He’s lucky he’s got such a maddeningly nice dick because he’s barely holding it together. And the grip? He’s not pulling her up to control her anymore - he’s using her to hold himself up. Leaning on her, pressing his weight down into her and her shaky arms that are just about holding her up. Idiot.

Ooh, he's close.

He shifts slightly, just enough to adjust his grip on her, and that’s when she moves.

She bucks once more. As hard as she can. A violent twist of her hips, using the last of her strength to wrench herself sideways, unbalancing him just enough to make him swear under his breath as he slips out of her.

She almost mourns the loss… but she certainly won’t waste it.

Her knee plants against the mattress, her body surging with a reckless, desperate twist. He tries to grab her, but she’s already moving, shoving her shoulder into his side, using her full weight to knock him off balance.

And then they’re falling.

They hit the floor hard, tangled, his hand shooting out to grab at her, but she’s already moving.

A scramble, her knee grinding into his ribs. A sharp shove. Teeth gritted. His growl’s met with a vicious laugh.

He reaches for her wrist. Stupid move.

She twists his arm instead. Slams his chest to the floor. Limbs tangled, messy, but she’s got him now. Breathless, glowing with sweat. Arousal. Victory.

“Finally,” she exhales, shaking the hair from her face as she plants her weight against him. “You alright down there, champ?”

He’s seething. Muscles coiled tight - and he’s still fucking hard despite it all. God, he’s pissed, and she's more than aware that she's got limited time to wrangle full control, so she’s already moving, already fumbling for the closest thing-

His belt.

Perfect.

Leather snaps free from his jeans with a crisp thhhhk, click-clack, and Sam’s eyes go wide, rage and panic flickering. He’s still throbbing, still right there on the edge, but everything’s slipping out of his hands. Stone to sand. All power gone. Kaput.

“Nah - no, no, no, no. We’re not doin’ this," His voice breaks, a low growl, a shot of panic. "We’re not-“

His laugh comes out stilted, but it quickly morphs into a guttural growl of frustration as he tries to throw her off. She digs in - knee to his shoulder blade, boot to the small of his back. It’s enough to pin him, pain sharp, getting the job done.

His hands press to the floor in a last-ditch effort to push up. “You arrogant, goddamn- Agh-”

Her hand’s in his hair. Brutal. His face gets shoved to the floor, cheek grinding against the rough, dirty surface.

“Shhh.” The slimy little bitch’s voice is low, condescendingly soothing - all a stark comparison to the way she yanks his arm round to his back. “Quit being so dramatic. You’re gonna get us noise complaints.”

He spits curses, body jerking beneath her, but it’s all in vain. Leather loops once, twice, three times. Tight somewhere between his wrists and his elbows. Just out of reach of his fingers. The buckle clinks. Coffin nailed shut.

By the time he stops thrashing, his breathing’s ragged, face half-planted on the floor, arms bound behind his back.

He’s trapped. Tense. Furious. Fuck this.

"Up you get, big boy." With a grunt of effort, she grabs the fabric of his trousers near the waist and braces herself, leaning back slightly to use her weight. It's not graceful, but it's effective. He resists, of course – a deliberate shift of his shoulders, a tensing of his limbs that makes it harder than it needs to be. She growls in frustration, her fingers digging into his flesh as she pulls. He shifts begrudgingly, his body fighting her for every inch as she hauls him upright.

Another shift, a last-ditch effort to resist, but finally - finally - he’s on his knees, breathing hard, eyes glued to the floor as he fruitlessly tries to tug apart his arms.

She looks down at him, noting the anger in his expression, as he looks over his shoulders to assess the binding situation he's in. Then, she glances at the rigid set of his cock sticking out of his jeans. A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth as she mulls something over, sore lip pulled between her teeth.

“Show me your tongue.”

His head snaps in her direction, eyes shifting up towards her, but he remains silent.

“You heard me.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he mutters, his brows furrowing as he looks up at her with that familiar blend of defiance and derision, swallowing at the sight of her nudity.

She cocks her head, the very picture of patient amusement, and sighs theatrically, as if his resistance is nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “Always the hard way with you, isn’t it?”

Her fingers find his jaw, the pads of them tracing the gentle edge of bone with mock delicacy, dragging down to his stubbled chin and around to the nape of his neck. Her touch is deceptively gentle, lulling him into a brief moment of unease.

He doesn’t like the way it feels. Softness isn’t her weapon of choice; she’s more prone to acting like the human equivalent of barbed wire, so this tenderness sets his nerves on edge. His eyes flicker, skittering over her face as she kneels to his level.

“Ah, shit-”

The words break from him as her fingers knot into his hair, the tenderness of her touch abruptly morphing into a sharp yank that forces his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, the motion starkly exposed in the taut column of his neck.

Sam tries to shift under her grip, angling his head in an attempt to take control of the movement, but she tightens her hold, keeping him off balance. It’s a deliberate cruelty, that refusal to let him get comfortable.

“Open your mouth,” she demands, her voice dropping. “And show me your fucking tongue, Sam.”

His eyes squint against the sharp tug of her grip, discomfort twisting his features as his teeth clench in defiance. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to push back, to spit some insult at her that will surely make her pull harder. She almost wants him to - any excuse to relish in this a little more.

But then her thumbnail skims over the head of his cock, fingers squeezing him gently, coaxing out a pretty bead of precum as her other hand digs fiercely into his scalp, sending a sharp pulse of debauched pain down his spine, and he realises - reluctantly - that there’s no winning this battle.

His lips part slightly, the smallest gesture of compliance, allowing a soft shudder of a gasp to slip. Enough to earn a triumphant quirk of her brow, nonetheless. Her smile sharpens, and he hates it. But still, he swallows his pride and lets his tongue dart out briefly as she pumps her hand tight around his slick shaft.

“There he is,” she murmurs, her tone laced with condescending approval. His eyes shut in an attempt to remove himself from the situation - just to focus on the feeling of being jerked off, and she watches him with parted lips of her own.

She exhales slowly, her hand loosening in his hair just enough for him to relax a fraction; her thumb hooks over his bottom lip, prying him open just a touch more, tip of it resting against his teeth.

It’s all a cruel mislead, of course - an opening for her next move. Her tongue rolls around the floor of her mouth, letting herself salivate for a moment as satisfaction rolls through her in waves.

With a sudden, fluid motion, she leans forward and spits. Directly onto his tongue. The wetness lands with an audible sound, catching him completely off guard. His body flinches instinctively, a mix of shock and disgust flashing across his face as his eyes snap open.

Sam recoils, twisting sharply in an attempt to pull away, but her hand tightens in his hair again, keeping him in place.

“Swallow it.”

He gawks at her, blinking, disbelief carving deep into his face. Then, defiant, just as she’s halfway to standing - he spits right back at her.

It lands on her thigh.

Her eyes track the slow slide of it, narrowing, sharp with intent.

"You're gonna clean that up."

It hits him sideways, enough to make him bark out a laugh and tell her she’s fucked in the head. He shifts, rocking back to stand, sick of it- but before he can get far, she’s got him. A sharp yank, fingers curling tight in his hair, dragging him between her thighs as she sits herself on the edge of the bed.

He fights. For a second. Maybe longer.

Jerks against her grip, muscles straining, breath sharp. A tangle of half-formed curses and gritted insults spill from his mouth. He bucks, twists, pushes back all sloppy and desperate. But it’s instinct more than anything.

She holds steady.

Unyielding. Even shushing him at one point, her harsh clawing at his hair turning into a patronising stroke.

Just a roll of her hips - grinding her cunt against his spit-slick lips. His breath stutters, his pulse a frantic hammer. He wants to pull back. He needs to, or he’ll never hear the end of this. But it’s already slipping - crumbling.

And she knows.

That faint, knowing smile. Just enough to gut him.

He loathes her. But right now, he's fucking powerless against the way she holds him, so he loathes himself just as much. The beauty of her contempt, the sight of her; swollen, dripping, so fucking pretty - it unravels him, inch by inch.

Lust coils around his willpower, thorned vines twisting, piercing, digging in deep, holding him there just as her thighs do. Every defiant twitch grows weaker. His fight crumbles, piece by piece, drowning under the weight of his own sickening want.

It’s like being stuck in a weird loop - one second clawing for control, the next watching it slip through his fingers. His mind spirals, blurring need with shame. Clawing for control. Losing it. Over and over again.

A shuddering sigh escapes him. Surrender. His mouth moves before his mind can catch up, tongue finding rhythm, following instinct. Thought dulls. Exhaustion takes hold.

She tastes incredible. Feels incredible. He lets her keep rubbing against his nose, his lips and tongue - hell, he even catches himself looking up at her to see how she reacts - if he’s doing a good job. And worst of all - he can feel his cock twitch as she damn-near suffocates him.

Fuck, he hates her. She sounds so goddamn pretty as she pants and mewls as she uses him like a toy, and he fucking hates her.

Her thighs tighten around his shoulders, boots digging into his back, tugging him in closer. He exhales, sharp, ragged. It fans over her clit and she laughs softly at his final act of dissent before it all caves in.

No words. No insults. Nothing.

Just her control.

And his capitulation.

She’s watching him. Half-lidded, eyes glazed, lips parted - lust-drunk.

Then, her head tilts and her eyes drop between his legs. She streams around his tongue when she sees how swollen he is, reminding herself of how he felt minutes ago.

A sharp tug - his hair burning against her grip as she pulls him away, just for a moment, just to drink in the sight of him - face slick, pupils blown, chest heaving. He barely has a second to catch his breath before she shifts, hands pressing against his shoulders, shoving him back.

He hits the ground with a ragged gasp, body thrumming, limbs heavy. The world tilts, his mind scrambling to keep up, but she’s already moving - crawling over him, her thighs bracketing his head, knees pressing firm into the floor.

His bound arms ache beneath him, shoulders burning, but it barely registers.

Sound, weight, scent - she drowns him in it, a force as consuming as the taste of her on his tongue. It suffocates, but he doesn’t fight it. No, he revels in it.

The pressure of her thighs, the slick heat against his mouth, the way she bears down with full intent - it dilutes the pain, the sheer humiliation, all eclipsed. And God, does he feast.

He laps over her, tracing the edge, tugging at her hardened clit, pulling a raspy cry from her, muffled by her thighs. He pushes his tongue just a little further, breaching and earning another gush as she braces her hands against the floor.

The sharp roll of his tongue, the relentless way he works her over - it’s almost too much. Her thighs twitch around his head, her breath coming in short, hitched gasps, and she knows she’s close. And she won’t give him that victory yet.

She moves because she wants to see his face - wants to see the mess she’s made of him. It’s not enough to feel him unravel beneath her; she needs to witness it. Needs to drink in the sight of him, sweat-damp and dazed, lips pink and slick, chest heaving from the effort of it all.

She lifts herself just enough to glance down, and - oh.

He’s a sight. Pupils dark and glassy, lips parted, jaw slack like he hasn’t quite remembered how to hold himself together. His shoulders twitch beneath the strain of being bound for so long, but he’s not focused on that.

Her legs feel unsteady as she moves, dragging herself up his body, heat still pulsing between her legs as she settles over his chest instead.

His face is slick with her, lips parted, gaze flickering between her eyes and the curve of her mouth, like he’s searching for something -defiance, permission, something he can twist back in his favour. But she doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she just smirks, tapping a single finger against his jaw. “Arms hurt?”

His eyes track her, blinking through the mess, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but instead, he just watches her. There’s defiance, of course, and something almost like curiosity.

“Arms. Shoulders,” he mutters, still catching his breath, his eyes narrowing up at her, “you try being tied up by a total amateur.”

She laughs lightly, breathless herself. “Could’ve fooled me, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

He groans, rolling his eyes, but there’s a hint of something that might be a laugh in there. “Enjoyin’ mysel- Jesus, you really are… not right in the head.”

Her smile sharpens, and she leans down, foreheads touching as she mimics his cadence. "You really are… not handling this well, are you?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple, but his voice comes out hoarse, lacking the bite. “I swear to God…”

She can’t help it - she laughs. Breathless and sooo giddy.

He shakes his head, hers still resting against his, a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to resignation. “I’m gonna break your damn neck in a min-“

She silences his cheapened fury in an instant - he doesn’t even realise she’s kissing him until she pulls away and his lazy threat slides back down his throat. She tilts her head, lips curving in that smug, infuriating way they always do.

“Get this shit off of me,” he grits, trying to hold onto something solid, cheeks warming despite his best efforts to keep it together.

Her grin spreads, slow and syrupy, and her fingers trace along his jaw, then down to the ink on his neck. Her hips press down, just enough to make him aware of the weight of her against him, soaked folds sliding over him.

“In a minute,” she chides.

He groans, a tongue pressing against his teeth, a mirthless huff of laughter escaping as he turns his head slightly. “Nope. Right now,” he mutters, but it’s more of a complaint than a command, his resolve fraying at the edges, worn thin under her touch.

She hums thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, before leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. "Do you want to finish?" Her tone is casual, light, like they’re talking about the weather.

Ugh. He rolls his neck, a sharp crack that makes her wince, but there’s no real venom left in him. Just frustration, heat, and a grudging acceptance of the situation.

“Thought so,” she murmurs with a grin, and she angles herself against his tip, he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

She watches him with curious intensity as she sinks down, a soft laugh and long exhale pulled out of her when he winces. Her cunt swallows him whole, searing her in two, boiling his blood, all the heat and tension and rage and exhaustion of this seemingly endless ordeal of being stuck together for weeks on end - making them a mess of tangled limbs and ragged breaths, sounds pulled out of both of them, her moans caught between sharp inhales, his teeth clenched around groans that scrape up his throat.

“Mm-ff-fuck-” he stutters, teeth snagging against his lower lip as he can’t prevent himself from fucking up into her any longer. “Y’know you’re so much more- ha- more tolerable like this.”

“Woah - was- was that a compliment?” She slows, letting him take the reins for a moment.

He laughs, head tilted back into the carpet. “Fat chance.”

“Oof,” She scoffs, leaning back to brace her hands on his thighs. She sits up fully, enveloping to the hilt and he watches himself repeatedly disappear into her, lips parted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over his breathing. Fuck, she loves the way his eyes roam her body - hungry, devouring, darting from the ripple of her stomach to the bounce of her tits, lingering on the flush that spreads over her skin, the sweat-slick glow catching in the dim lamplight. “And to think I was about to give you some… jargon about how nice your cock feels.”

“Wouldn’t want it.” He lies, eyes shut as he smirks to himself. “Servile praise never really did much for me.”

“Hah, well your tongue was acting pretty servile a second ago… ugh, fuck.” She groans, shunted forwards, hands smacking onto his chest to stop her falling flat onto him. He swears as she accidentally pushes more pressure on his arms. His shoulders flex, trying to balance the ache beneath him with the overwhelming pleasure of her on top, the cruel mix of restraint and indulgence that keeps him teetering on the edge.

She should leave him like this. Should keep him right where he is. But when he shifts beneath her, just enough to drag a ragged groan from deep in his chest. Something about it makes her cave. Maybe it’s pity, maybe it’s power, maybe it’s just the fact that she wants to see what he’ll do with his hands freed.

She reaches behind him, fingers working the buckle loose, and the second the belt slips away, his arms fly forward. One hooks around her waist, dragging her down so fast the breath jolts out of her, the other fists into her hair, yanking her into a kiss - clumsy, messy, all teeth and heat and unspent frustration. It’s not tender, not sweet. It’s nothing but a last-ditch attempt to swallow down the sounds she’s already torn from him, to reclaim some semblance of control before she can smirk against his mouth and make him feel even more, as she’d rightly put it, fucking pathetic.

She’s embarrassed him enough. He’s got to keep something to himself. He fucking groans anyway when he feels her clench around him.

She pulls back just enough to smirk. “What was that?”

“Will you shut your fucking mouth?” He doesn’t give her time to answer. Just flips them, shoving her onto her back, thrusting into her with new, unrestrained fervour. She gasps, half-laughing, half-moaning, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“I get it,” she breathes between ragged inhales. “You - oh, fuck - you’ve gotta hold on to what little dignity you have left.”

His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. “Be quiet.”

It’s a half-hearted command, lost between a sharp exhale and the way his pace turns frantic, his restraint fraying at the edges.

But she’s not faring much better. Her moans rise in pitch as his hand pushes between them, recklessly rubbing against her clit again - no doubt she’ll have something smart to say about him coming first - she writhes, arching up unto him, tits crushed against him, her thighs twitching around his waist, her nails pressing deep enough to leave crescents in his skin.

She gasps, startled as he presses against her almost painfully, and he takes the opportunity to bite down on her lower lip, just to feel her jolt against him, just to make sure he’s still got some say in how this plays out. But she’s never been one to let him win easily - her fingers twist into his hair, pulling just enough to sting, her hips rolling up against his in a way that makes him groan despite himself. He curses into her mouth, swallowing it down just in time.

Her body tightens beneath him, trembling, and god - he knows she’s close.

So is he.

“Gonna- ah, shit, c- can I cum in you?”

She swallows before she can register what he’s said, eyes squeezing shut as a stuttered cry tumbles out of her mouth - then she’s pulsing - gushing around him. Nails dug into spade, heart, club, diamond, as he fucks her through her climax. Lucky is right.

She feels nothing short of transcendental around him - the only thing putting a stop to him mindlessly telling her this is his own building panic.

“P- shit- fuckin’ answer me.”

Oh, he’s seriously asking? Her thighs tremble as she falls limp under him, nodding into his shoulder as a cock-drunk flash of a smile plasters its way onto her lips.

His hand quickly tangles into her hair as a ragged, stuttering groan resonates in his chest; the jerky, force of his hips against her thighs bruises as he succumbs to his own release. She’s all-encompassed by a sudden warmth filling her up, the intensity of her heartbeat thrumming away in her ears.

He lets out a long huff of air, hand snatched from between them as he braces himself against the ground, breathing heavily.

For a moment, neither of them move, bodies buzzing with the mental and physical aftershock, chests rising and falling out of sync.

He eventually rolls off of her, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What... the hell was that?”

She huffs, staring at the ceiling. “Your poor anger management.”

He turns his head to glare at her, but there’s no real bite to it, just exhaustion and the ghost of humiliation he’s struggling to swallow. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a picture of restraint either.”

She shrugs, stretching her arms above her head as she sits up, cheeks flushed, hair matted. “You called me frigid. Had to prove you wrong.” He snorts, full of resentment.

A few more beats of silence, then- “What are you smiling about?”

She bites back the smug little grin threatening to spread wider, rising to her feet. “C-c-c-can I c-c-cum in you?” She stutters, blatantly ribbing, voice pitched in a terrible imitation of his desperation.

His jaw twitches, shuts his eyes, grits his teeth. Ugh. “Your presence is excruciating.”

She clicks her tongue, gesturing to the pearly liquid slowly dribbling down her inner thigh. “Sooo excruciating.”

He groans, shoving a hand through his hair, looking very much like a man questioning his life choices. “Fuck off.”

“I am.” She steps over him, standing on shaky limbs with an obnoxious head tilt as she goes for one of the poorly folded scratchy towels on the dresser. “I’m not leaking all over the floor. Even if you’re sleeping there. I have standards.” He makes a face, brows furrowing, mouth parting slightly like he wants to argue but just… can’t.

She watches the realisation dawn on him with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Jesus Christ.” He groans, flopping back onto the carpet, throwing an arm over his eyes. She laughs as she heads for the bathroom. His hand blindly grabs for his belt, launching it in her direction with an irked grunt.

It thuds against the door as she shuts it behind her. He exhales sharply, rubbing at his jaw. Stares at the ceiling. Fuck.

[northlight14]

A PSA to non asexual arcane fans!

Ok with the recent announcement that Viktor is asexual, as an asexual myself who has Viktor as their favourite character, I wanna get some shit out the way. There’s a good chance I’m gonna stop interacting with the arcane fandom because of this announcement because every time I’ve seen a character be confirmed asexual there’s always just this influx of acephobia and misinformation which makes it impossible for me to even interact with the fandom and feel safe. So throwing this at y’all and then we’ll see what happens. However, I do not speak for the whole of the asexual community so some aces may disagree with me and that’s ok, as long as y’all aren’t rude we can have a discussion (or you can just scroll or block me, whatevs🤷)

Asexual and aromantic are not the same thing. This is something the creator clearly doesn’t know since he used Viktor’s asexuality as a rebuttal against Jayvik which makes zero fucking sense but sure. So asexuals can still date and aromantics and still have sex. Some like myself are both but that’s not always the case

“Asexuality is a spectrum! Some asexuals still have sex!” is not the good excuse you think it is to depict asexuals in sexually explicit situations. Every time I see this paired with this excuse, the character is very obviously just made to be allosexual in the fanwork. Either stick to sexualising the allosexual characters or do your research on sex neutral/favourable asexuals and represent them properly. Otherwise what you’re doing is no different to writing a fic where a canonically lesbian character has sex with a man

“Asexuality is a spectrum! People can be demisexual or greysexual!” If the character was demisexual or greysexual, the creator would have said. But they didn’t. They said they were asexual. You changing the label doesn’t make you inclusive, it makes you acephobic

Viktor being announced as asexual only after the show was released and it being in rebuttal to a gay ship where the writer clearly doesn’t know what it actually means to be asexual isn’t the win for ace representation some might first think. Asexuals deserve explicit representation by people who bother to learn how to represent us properly

Having the only asexual character also be the character who’s storyline focuses on disability, something that people already infantalise also isn’t the win people might try and make it out to be. Disabled people are frequently denied sexuality and it is part of the way they are infantalised in western society. So having Viktor be disabled and also be the only asexual character feels a bit iffy to me. Obviously there are disabled people who are ace and I don’t want to diminish that experience either. And there would be ways to explore that in a more nuanced way but that’s not what happened. And frankly it would be so easy to avoid this by just having more than one ace character so it doesn’t feel like a trait exclusive to disabled people but sure go off I guess

A lot of you only give a shit about QPR’s (queer platonic relationships) so that you have an excuse to ship aromantic characters. Granted, I’m so in favour of QPR Jayvik because their relationship explicitly goes beyond what we consider standard for a platonic relationship, even if it’s canonically not romantic. But I’m bringing this up anyway because a lot of the time in fandom and society in general, QPR’s are seen as a way to make the aromantic character more “palatable” to the allo’s and shippers. And as someone in a QPR, that idea honestly feels both insulting but is also so damaging to the aro community as a whole. Loveless aromantics exist, some aromantics who do feel other forms of love still don’t want a QPR. Some like myself were/are indifferent and some like my partner really want/ed one. Not all of us are the same

Might’ve missed some stuff but yeah. Any acephobia will be deleted but I’m happy to have civil conversations and answer questions. Ultimately I just want a fandom to actually listen to ace people for once but I know that won’t happen. Still, I wanted to at least say my peace

[thetepes]

I'm going to skip over the cute egg moments of childhood and say I've always felt wrong and I've always been masculine. I just am. When I was adopted my mom specifically stated she wanted a "little china doll" to dress up and do mommy daughter things with. What she got was a big, hairy, mentally ill Eastern European who sobbed when she tried to dress me in her handsewn pastel dresses and who's pretty blonde ringlets turned brown around 9. I've had to take estrogen since I was a kid. I've never fit physically what a girl is by what everyone told me they are. Especially my mom.

She fought and fought and physically wrestled me at a few points to make me wear skirts and makeup and do my hair. It didn't feel right. It felt bad, but over time I learned to just fucking do it because it made my mom happy and my life easier. Waxing stops hurting. The hair dye stops burning. The leg cramps can be massaged out, but you can't be muscular. Just thin. Dainty. Pretty. Hairless. Don't tan, you're already too dark. Pale. Use this lotion to be softer, paler, smell pretty. Use this body spray. Use this glorified cheese grater on your feet so they're not rough.

My mental health went to hell around 14 and I ran away after graduating early due to bullying and how bad my home life was getting. I got lucky and found a group of people who took me in, loved me, took care of me. They convinced me to go to college and I did. At college I fell into the hands of some very bad people.

At the time I was so sure they were my friends. This group of women who just wanted to help me. They were lgbt+ and they were progressive leftists who said all the right things. I was 16 and I didn't know I was being groomed. I didn't know that what those women were doing to me was the same fucking thing my dad had been doing and what I ran away from because they had me so convinced that it was good. It was different.

They were helping me come to terms with what he'd done to me. Showing me porn. Touching me and worse. Telling me shit that wakes me up out of a dead sleep still. Coaxing me into this soft meek gentle thing that they kept like a lap dog. Exposure therapy they called it. Men were evil. I wasn't a boy, I was a girl. I was a good girl. I wore pink and lace and my collar was so cute and my nails were perfectly done and I had all these fucking adults doing things to me no adult should be doing to a child. I was addicted to it. I'd have done anything they told me to just to not lose the attention and love.

It wasn't until they lied about one of their boyfriends sexually assaulting them that I realized something wasn't right. They outed him as bi and lied about so much shit he'd never done and I knew because I'd been there. I realized they were liars and they really enjoyed lying and causing this guy pain. Then I realized it wasn't just him, it was all men. Then I realized I'm men and I felt like a fucking clown. I felt so stupid and gross in that dress with the makeup and everything else. How could I have let them do this to me? I was some terfs blow up doll.

I went to the school faculty, told them the girls were lying, gave my first hand account and all the chatroom receipts of them talking about what they were doing, and transferred out to another school in another state that was willing to pick up my credits.

I had so much damage to undo. I worked so fucking hard in therapy. I still blame myself. I'm never going to get over what they did to me. At the time it was just surviving the shame of it and I did. I stuffed down all my emotions about it and my gender until the last five years. Life slowed down and it felt safe to think about beyond just hating myself and my body.

It was hard to parse through what was that old misery about the body I had and what was the new because of the accident. Sometimes I still can't tell if I hate something because I'm disabled or because of the dysphoria or even because I'm fat. It feels like who I should have been is hidden under layers of wax and I'm peeling at them with a spoon and just not making a dent. I'm stuck with who I am. I can kind of see them under there. Just enough to be mad about it.

I called myself nonbinary at first and kept it to myself then finally I came out as a trans man socially and really sank my fingers back into being LGBT+

I have never felt more fucking policed by people who had no damn business in my life. All that shit that didn't matter when I was enby was suddenly a big fucking issue. What you shaved your face? What you can't bind? What you aren't doing your voice training? What you aren't on testosterone? What you aren't doing this or that or whatever the fuck. It suddenly became this nightmarish passing game where if you weren't putting your whole pussy in that blender then you weren't a real trans man.

And I did it. I reached a point where you couldn't fucking tell I was a woman once when I spoke. Crushed my tits until they were blue. Cut my precious hair. Even planned on going through with surgeries that scared the living shit out of me and results of weren't at all what I wanted just so I could pass that much more and maybe feel just a little bit better in my skin. I took medication that was dangerous because of my hormone disorder to try to be a good trans person who did it right.

I was still struggling with my grooming though and undoing all that evil and no one gave a fuck because I triggered them by just existing. God forbid I speak about it even in spaces where they dumped oceans of trauma because mine was triggering and bad.

And the culture? Repelled me. Those same fucking women that abused me were suddenly all around me in all shapes and sizes and getting praised for everything they did to me. The same art that had been used to get me comfortable wearing lolita pink bullshit and collars was being mainstreamed. The uwu baby speak I'd been trained to speak in to be cute for my abusers was mainstreamed. I was surrounded on all sides by orientalism, bio essentialism, and this tits deep hatred of men. Of masculinity.

You can't be a man and be safe to these people. "You're going to turn out just like your dad" "Why would you want to be a man after what they did to you" "All men are abusers" "All men are oppressors" "So when are you going to start raping" Treating me like I was some kind of threat when they found out I'm not fucking white then doubling down when they found out I was a man. Suddenly I was aggressive and harsh and scary when I had not even slightly changed my personality from when I was enby and they loved me.

Worse than all of that though was the pity. They pitied me for being a man, wanting to be a man, trying to be a man and it made me sick. I didn't want their fucking pity. They sowed these seeds of doubt in the post petty passive aggressive ways. Telling you it's ok if you dont pass then praising others when they do right in front of you and talking about gender euphoria and how good it all feels when you do while you're left sitting there feeling like some kind of disgusting freak of nature.

I watched people glorify this objectified take on gender and sexuality until I just couldn't anymore and I left all those rancid fucking spaces and said "I'm not a man. I'm done." and just started laughing. That's all you can do. I hit 30 and realized this is all fucking bullshit. Why am I obsessively checking myself for someone else's standard of a man? I don't need to be a man to exist.

And saying that unleashed a very special hell. Did someone hurt you? Did someone talk you into doing this? Did someone talk you out of doing this? You can tell us. You know you can just be a girl if you want to! I'm sorry that society is preventing you from realizing who you are. It gets better, I promise. Just keep trying.

Or you were never really trans.

Noooo, never mind I've never felt like a girl. Never mind all that hate I have for myself physically. Never mind my medical issues. I'm not doing enough so I was never trans. It can't be the entire community is full of toxicity, ablism, racism, sex pests, and tribalism. You would all gleefully accept a pedophile as long as they came with some kind of label then praise Kendrick at the Superbowl for calling Drake one in front of thousands. Let someone bang on a keyboard for a minute and you'll become a debate rapist when it comes out they jacked off in calls with unknowing minors or god forbid ones they damn well knew as long as they have a deadname.

So, yeah. Sure. I'm a failure. I failed to be a girl. I failed to be a woman. I failed to be a man. I failed to be trans. I failed to be cis. Detransitioning fixed as much as transitioning did. Not a damn thing. What actually helped was not obsessively checking myself and being in a space where gender is treated like an eating disorder. I'm worlds less dysphoric outside of the community because I'm not being inundated with what is and isn't trans. What's helped is therapy. What's helped is genuine friendship that isn't built on what I am, but who I am. What's helped is having a job I'm damn fucking good at and hobbies I enjoy. What's helped is turning 30 and realizing I'm done living for other people and by their standards. It's my time now.

I'm a happy failure.

[arach-tinilith]

Okay despite me putting naady through the wringer im very defensive about her and her wretchedness so please be niceys because im she's very vulnerable here okay tyyy 🫶

Karlach confrontation under the cut

A sharp cackle pierced the air over the campfire. Naadja had made some crude joke about the ironhand gnomes having more use as footstools than vigilantes after their bout at Moonrise. Astarion chuckled along to her rantings, paying little mind to the tiefling who was seething in her rage. That is, until she spoke up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Karlach's confronting tone cut through the air like a knife. When she was met with silence, she continued. 

“Seriously, Naadja. What is your fucking problem? You clearly have one, but you don't tell us anything about yourself when we've told you everything.”

“Well, I had better head to bed. Beauty sleep and all that.” Astarion dismissed himself, earning a harsh glower from Naadja. 

Once he had gotten out of earshot, Naadja turned her attention to Karlach. “What exactly are you hoping to hear?”

“Something! Anything that'll make you make sense. You're so cruel and vile but I know you have to have something worth giving a fuck about because everyone here seems to care. I thought I cared about you too but I don't see it anymore.”

Naadja's fists balled her robes. She swallowed the burning bile that had risen in her throat at Karlach's words. “And what is that supposed to accomplish? If you don't care then fine. But it's pointless to try and pull some sob story from me if you've made up your mind.”

Karlach's voice lowered. “I want to hope that you're wrong. I want to see the good in you. Gods know I do. When I see you, I think of how you selflessly saved those tieflings twice over. I think about the good you've done and it's all a wash when you open your mouth.”

“Okay, okay I get it.” Naadja's eyes shifted away. She turned inward to avoid the scrutinizing, fiery gaze of Karlach. 

“Do you? Or are you just telling me what I want to hear so I leave you alone? Because the more you push me away, that's exactly how you'll end up. Alone.”

“Don't say that.” Her ears dropped at the thought. Karlach was pushing buttons she'd left untouched for a long, long time.

“Why not? You need to hear it.”

“Because I can't be good! I've tried! And it got me nothing!”

“That's not enough, Naadja.”

“What do you want then? I'm too good for the drow and too vile for you. Where does that leave me? I'm sorry I didn't live up to your impossible standards, Karlach but this is who I am.” Naadja's hands pointed to her chest before wrapping around herself. 

“I need to see change,” Karlach said, exasperated. “I can't just listen to empty promises and bullshit excuses.”

“You wanted an excuse! You want me to defend myself when I never asked your opinion. If you lived the way I had, you'd understand.”

“I lived in the actual fucking hells and I still don't understand you. Because you never tell me. Because you don't want to be understood! You put up this big wall between yourself and anything real and live in some fantasy where as long as it's you doing it, it's okay. But it isn't. You're a nightmare.”

“No one taught me to be good, Karlach. I still tried. The only reason I'm here is because I tried so hard to be a good person. But it just doesn't work for me.”

“Don't feed me that bullshit. You do know. And you're like this anyway, which is what makes you so fucking infuriating.”

Naadja's eyes remained firmly on the ground. “... okay. I'm sorry.”

“I don't want your sorries. I want you to stop fucking up and apologizing like that fixes anything.”

“Then you're never going to get what you want.”

“Naadja, listen to me. If you give half a fuck about being the kind of person you think deserves love, you'll try and try again to be better. Until I see something, don't look at me, don't speak to me. I am not going to play your twisted games anymore.”

Naadja didn't speak after that.

[super-ion]

I turn on the faucet, splash some water on my face, look up and-

“Fuck!”

Instinct takes control, spinning me around to look for the intruder that isn't there. My elbow bangs painfully on the wall of the cramped washroom.

“Sorry,” Libby mumbles from somewhere over my left shoulder as far as my brain can tell.

I flinch slightly, resisting the urge to search for the source of the phantom sound.

A different instinct tries to kick in, detached and rational, trying to let my panicked lizard brain know that there is no one who can possibly be in the room with me.

Both voices are wrong. Libby is definitely in the room with me, she just isn't hunched over by the door like when I spotted her out of the corner of my eye in the mirror.

I rub my smarting elbow and try not to think about the itch that has started up where the chitinous mass of her shell has grafted itself to my spine.

But trying not to think about it has the opposite effect. My stomach sinks in response to an emotion that isn't my own.

“I'm sorry,” she repeats.

“Can you please stop apologizing?” I sigh.

“I'm…”

A tingle of frustration jitters through her, tingling through the ganglia that are currently wrapped around my brainstem.

I look back at the mirror, focusing on my own face to let the apparition of her appear again in the corner of my vision. I still can't decide exactly who my brain decided it wanted her to be. I can only ever see her in the periphery. She's just a sort of vague out of focus figure. A random stranger in a cafe I saw once maybe. A curtain of hair and an oversized sweatshirt.

I still don't know why I named her Libby.

“Something on your mind?” I ask her as I pick up the razor.

I set it down again. I haven't needed to shave at all in six days.

“This is like the scorpion and the frog thing? Isn't it?” she asks after a moment.

“The what?” I ask, somewhat befuddled

“I heard Carson and Reggie talking about it when you were asleep,” she explains. “Some kind of story about being unable to resist our nature. I'm the scorpion, aren't I?”

I feel my lips tug slightly into a frown. Her species can't hear, at least not in the way humans do. And I was also not previously aware that she could actually understand spoken Engelsk. I don't know what it all means, but it leaves me disquieted.

She senses my mood and I feel another apology coming on.

“Do you even know what a scorpion is?” I ask, heading her off.

“I…”

Her frustration becomes somewhat bemused.

“Well no,” she admits. “I thought it was kind of like a…”

I don't have a word for the mental image she sends me. Some kind of nightmare arachnid from some unnamed alien desert.

“Yeah, close enough,” I say, somewhat terrified.

“I can't escape my nature,” she says. “I can't stop my biology from changing you. But you aren't a typical host for my species. What if I'm killing you?”

I sigh.

“You're not killing me.”

“But the medications-”

“Are for you as much as me,” I interrupt. “Auto-doc doesn't know shit about how to handle this situation. It doesn't want my body rejecting you before we get to a real medical facility.”

Gods below, but I am tired of the nasty cocktail of immunosuppressants.

“Why did you decide not to go into stasis for the trip back?” she asks in a small voice.

I knew this question was coming. I had been asking myself exactly the same thing constantly since I chose to stay conscious and ride out whatever Libby was doing to my body.

I studied my face in the mirror, the softness of the jaw, the smoothness. My eyes wandered down to my chest, where soft aching mounds were taking shape. I thought about the very real possibility of her repurposing my reproductive system, filling me with her eggs and-

No. Nope, I was definitely not thinking about that outside of the privacy of my own quarters.

Regardless, the thoughts had my heart racing.

“What if…”

Fuck, could I even say this aloud?

“What if we got to Persephone Station and we… didn't go through with the extraction procedure?”

“What?”

“What if we stayed together and… I don't know, tried to work something out?”

I saw that post about that one kind of barnacle that forcefemmes crabs and it may have planted a plot bunny in my head.

Human ship responds to distress call from alien ship. It's critically damaged and the crew is mostly dead. Human MC gets exposed to parasite, but their ship lacks a medical suite capable of extracting it safely and since it is technically sapient they can't legally remove it

MC has to cope as "his" body starts changing and he starts hallucinating an avatar of the very apologetic parasite

[philosophicallie]

all of the weather has lost its charm and whimsy it is simply now the land's purposeful torture for me

[anotherqueersnailowner]

Trans? Need a Name?

i will fucking name you hmu

Edit: istg y'all if you want a name ask for one via reblogs and at the very least tell me your gender or pronouns Im not scrolling through all the damn comments and looking at your bio looking for basic info names are reblog only from this point forward (& I probably won't get to it bc I never check my tumblr)

[mrmeepsmadmind]

idw bumblebee and prowl shouldve broke up bcs he wouldnt stop 𝚊sking prowl to pause his report for just one lil astrosec so he can change his various pastel colored pens while making his cute little aesthetically pretty for no reason & very time - consuming notes with big colorful fonts & cute designs real quick

also another thought abt annoying ass bb trying to make running a literal planet cotteque so he doesn't go crazy bcs hes now a politician when all he ever wanted was to deliver mail & smile & wave at bots who call him cute ---

bee: 𝚠heeljack, im so sorry about this but do you mind repeating the time-stakingly long introduction, instruments, research references, modules, hypothesis, counter thesis, procedures, analysis, second - retrial, results, & explanation that you just spent 700000 earth hours saying because i was busy drawing a cute little bee in the corner of my notes please :] ?

wheeljack:

idw bee trying to run a planet that fucking hates him is just rlly funny to me, especially since everyone views bee as the goody character who everyone loves & he views himself as that & then they finally win this consuming war & he can reap his rewards of being loved without holding a gun & no one fucking likes him. hes even getting on his own old team's nerves & not in the loveable scamp way but the get the fuck out of my face way