#if you don't know who he is. not blaming you. just reminding you that he's the one who treated akio's injury djdjdkkd
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Sylus remembers clearly the day he found out you were both having twins. Twins, as in two babies as yours and his first children.
How you almost passed out when the doctor delivered the news, but he was quick to tell you that everything would be okay.
He's going to be the best husband for you, and for the twins..?
they sure were going to be a handful.
“Sylus!” Sylus' head snapped towards the kitchen, where your voice had come from, “come get your son before i cook him!”
He knew that you were joking. Probably.
the kitchen, one hand holding his little girl's hand guiding her along. "Now, now," he called out as he entered the kitchen, "No cooking the children, sweetie.”
You let out a sigh when you watch the boy run away while letting out giggles, his face and hands full of white flour.
Seeing this, Sylus let out an exasperated sigh as well, his gaze shifting from his running figure to the mess of flour on the floor. "Sorry about the mess he made," he muttered before looking over at you, a sheepish smile on his face. "Go to your brother,” he urges the girl next to him, she nods slowly before running off to him.
“I'll feed him to the ducks one day.” You say with determination, still focused on trying to make this dinner a success after the mess.
But Sylus chuckled at your threat, knowing all too well that you were only half-serious. He could see the twitching in your eyes, but he also knew that you loved both of your children dearly, even if they could be a handful sometimes.
”Though I suspect he would probably find a way to befriend them and make a mess with them.”
“.. why are you right?”
“because i know my children,” he says proudly, then makes slow steps from behind you to not alert you so suddenly, his arms snaking around your waste with his chin resting on your shoulder, “what are you making?”
You smile, “dinner.”
"Smartass," he teased, "I meant what kind of dinner are you making?” he whispers calmly, a soft conversation between you two, with his thumb rubbing ideally on you.
“hm, i could be dinner… but oh well.” you sigh dramatically and he laughs quietly.
You couldn't even continue because you hear a faint “ewwww.” Coming from the corner.
You both glance back at the two heads peeking out from the wall, and you roll your eyes.
"and here I was, having a moment with your mother," he said to them, his voice still low yet amused. "You two really have a knack for interrupting, don't you?”
Your little girl was the first to speak, “it was his idea.” She started quietly, her fingers fidgeting together, but her brother only gasped, “she's lying!”
"Oh, really now?" he’s skeptical, and he approaches both of them with his arms crossed, “Hmm, it's always the innocent ones who lie, isn't it?”
“but I'm not—”
“liar.” The little one huffs and looks away with annoyance, but the minute he could hear his sister im the verge of tears, he knew he messed up.
Sylus was quick to notice her distraught demeanor, his heart clenching slightly at the sight of her on the verge of tears.
"you," Sylus pointed out at the other twin, his voice firmer and authoritative, "did you cause the mess?”
…
Sylus let out a deep sigh, his stern expression softening slightly. He knew he was just being a mischievous little boy, but he also had to nip such behavior in the bud.
"You know better than to blame others for your pranks,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Apologize to your sister.”
The girl sniffled, the threat of tears subsiding as she accepted her brother's apology. She wiped away her stray tears with the back of her hand, a small smile forming on her face.
Sylus nodded approvingly, he patted both of them on their head gently. "There we go, now go back and play together.”
This whole time you were watching the scene with the biggest smile on your face, and Sylus was already prepared for your upcoming teasing words.
“and the father of the year goes to.. you.” ... except he didn't expect this rare sweet statement of yours. He's reminded of why he put a ring on it in the beginning.
"What can I say?" he replied, his voice filled with pride. "I have a talent for handling troublemakers." He placed both of his arms on the counter to your sides, boxing you in, "though, to be fair, they get their mischievous streaks from their mother," he added, and you gasp before turning around. burnt dinner it is.
#Sylus x reader#sylus#sylus fluff#sylus x reader#love and deepspace#lads sylus#lads x reader#lads fluff#love and deepspace sylus#love and deepspace x you#love and deepspace x reader#lads x you#sylus x you#he would still be a girl dad loll
684 notes
·
View notes
Text
of course
in which the helicopter crashed with both our guys inside. inspired by this awesome post by @mooshkat
(tw: vomiting, heart issues, near death angst, biphobia mention)
~
Once the wave of agony subsides, and Tommy is reasonably sure he's done vomiting into the dirt, he blinks over at Evan appraisingly. "Is your arm broken or did your shoulder go out again?"
Evan grimaces and finishes tying off Tommy's splint. "Shoulder. And my hip's not feeling great. Cracked rib, maybe two. But of course you had to outdo me."
"Didn't do it on purpose." Tommy glares at the spot where his tibia poked through the skin, like he can intimidate the pain away. "Anyway you've got me on quantity."
"There's nothing else?"
"My head hurts," Tommy admits, "but there's not much we can do for that right now."
Evan leans in to compare his pupils. Tommy is very proud of himself for not flinching. "Dispatch had our location?" Evan asks, and instead of reminding him that he was there when they confirmed it, Tommy nods.
He knows he can't go to sleep, even if the leg would allow him. He finds a stick and starts tic tac toe. Evan chuckles and joins in.
He wins the next two games. Tommy blames his probable concussion.
Evan holds his bad arm tight around his midsection, but his eyes seem stormy for a different reason. "These people who hurt you in the past, what- what are their names?"
"Huh?" Tommy gives up on the game, scratching it out of the dirt. "You want a full list of legal names or just what I called them?"
"Was it Evan, for any of them?"
God, he's so transparent. Tommy laughs.
"Do you- do you judge everyone by who came before? Is that just what you do in a-all situations? One barista spilled coffee on you in 2011 and you pay for Starbucks with one of those grabby reacher things ever since?"
"Fuck's sake." Tommy doesn't even like Starbucks, but he doesn't say that.
Evan sort of shrugs before he remembers his shoulder with a wince. "It's not generally considered a sign of maturity. Ironic, I guess."
"Yeah, call me old. See where it gets you."
Evan brightens. "You're talking to me. I like my results so far."
There's something indefatigable about this man. Tommy can't help but surrender in the face of it, just a little. "How did you know I'd have to pinch hit for this fly along?"
"I didn't. I just hoped." His grin is just the slightest bit abashed. "Worst case scenario, get out of the engine for a day and I pump one of your coworkers for info."
"They have very little to pump," Tommy says. Evan and the codependent 118 are the aberration, and they're well aware of that. Tommy has great coworkers. They do their jobs and leave, with the exception of drinks once or twice a month. None of them gave him shit after the breakup. Few of them noticed. This is how most teams operate. Evan, however, looks surprised and a little sad. "What were you hoping to hear?"
"I don't know." Evan looks away, suddenly self conscious. "That you messed yourself up at least half as much as you did me."
Tommy rubs at his face. "I didn't mean to mess you up, Buck. Truly. We- It just ran its course. It doesn't reflect badly on you, or me. This just happens."
He looks upset at first, then calculating. "What if I hooked up with those Not-Evans?"
Tommy looks behind him, searching for something that makes sense. "What if you moved to the moon? I have no idea what you're getting at right now."
"Would I be experienced enough for you if I let them have a go? They were terrible for you, so it stands to reason they'll be terrible for me, too." He lifts a finger, his eyes lighting up in a way that turns Tommy's stomach. "Oh, I guess one or two of those might be women. They don't count. Some might be bi and married to women. Do they count as half? If I bag a threesome, is that like seventy-five percent? Do you give points for polyamory?"
Tommy feels about eighty years old, and not a fit eighty. "When did I say even one of those things?"
"The implications were pretty clear, Tommy. 'You're just young and excited. You don't know what you're feeling or how to interpret anything going on in front of you.'"
Tommy doesn't know what to say to that. It's not remotely what he meant, but he's never been good at communicating through panic.
"Did you love me?" Evan asks quietly. Tommy can't look him in the face. "It felt like you- like you did, but when you let me go like that, like chopping off the top bit of a carrot, it made me re- reevaluate everything I thought I knew about us."
The note of devastation in his voice almost tips him over, but ultimately what does it is the implication that Tommy made Evan lose faith in himself. He can't abide being responsible for that. "Of course I love you, Evan. How could I not?"
The tightness in his chest, that felt so much like raw emotion, intensifies, growing sharper. It's hard to breathe now, like sucking a milkshake through a coffee stirrer, and he realizes, something is very wrong. About as wrong as it could possibly be.
"Oh," he says. An attempt to inflate his lungs all the way makes his vision go sparkly at the edges.
"Tommy?"
Tommy drags his eyes up to meet Evan's. "S- Sorry, I-" I wouldn't have said any of those things if I knew. "Sorry. Evan." You deserve better than a fucking deathbed love confession.
A rough hand grasps his neck, slowing his descent to the ground. "No, hey. Hey hey hey. Tommy, we'll figure this out." Evan sniffles and tries to smile. His tears are falling everywhere. "You're okay. You're fine. Just keep- keep breathing."
The coffee stirrer is about a millimeter wide. Tommy can feel the muscles in his neck straining like he's deadlifting his own weight. Evan rips Tommy's shirt open and he swears floridly, miserably. They both know what this is; they've seen it in a hundred MVAs. Cardiac tamponade. When his heart gives out from the strain of all the blood surrounding it, chest compressions can be worse than useless. They could punch his ticket that much faster.
"Tommy," Evan says, pulling Tommy into his lap. The complaints from his splinted leg are distant, belonging to someone else entirely. Evan's voice is a ragged mess trying to piece itself together. His shoulder and ribs are probably killing him. "Don't run out again. You need to stay. Breathe."
Half a millimeter.
One quarter.
Tommy can't remember what comes after millimeter.
"That's it. I know it's hard, but keep trying. That's all I ask. Just try, okay? Look at me."
Micrometer? Is that it?
Evan's face is shadowed by the sun cresting over his shoulder. Tommy closes his eyes against the glare and is rewarded with a shake.
"Keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Just a little- little bit longer, please."
Fingers are running through his hair, lips are pressing against his forehead, and he thinks he can hear... sirens.
#bucktommy#911 abc#my writing#things by beanarie#there's a second part but it veered off to the left#and i'm not sure how to get back on course#so self contained for now!
223 notes
·
View notes
Text
let me in
giulia gwinn x anxiety!reader
part one - part two
summary: you try to hide it, but she already knows
warnings: diagnosed anxiety, fear, zoloft mentions, angst, split into two parts because of the word count
the second half starts, and somehow, you manage to push through. you make an assist to sydney. for a fleeting moment, there’s a spark of joy. you’re happy for her, you really are.
then you start to think that you’ve realized something. the acknowledgment you’re used to isn’t coming. no one is rushing to congratulate you for the assist, like they normally do for anyone else who makes a great play.
you know it’s not because they don’t care, but your mind betrays you. it starts spinning with doubt, with fear. did they notice the mistake you made earlier? do they think you’re not good enough? why is no one congratulating you?
your heart beats faster now, the panic rising again. you try to push the thoughts aside, to focus on the game, but the fear is too strong. it’s all you can think about.
then, a familiar voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. pernille is next to you, her arms around you in a tight hug.
“you did great,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring.
tuva follows, giving you a pat on the back, and for a brief moment, the fog lifts. you’ve made a mistake, but they don’t hate you. they don’t blame you. they still believe in you.
your heart is still racing, too fast, too loud, pounding against your chest like it's trying to break free. calm down, calm down, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help.
nothing helps. it’s like a constant hum of anxiety buzzing in your ears, drowning out everything else.
when the coach calls for the substitution, you barely register it at first. you’re already so deep in your head that the words don't hit until he’s looking directly at you, a hint of concern in his eyes. you blink, startled, as he gives a quick nod towards the sideline.
linda comes on for you, and you give her a light hug before the coach reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.
"y/n, rest. you did great. go ahead and sit the last twenty minutes out."
it feels like the earth shifts beneath your feet. the pressure mounting in your chest. as you walk toward the benches , all you can feel is this deep sense of failure.
I didn’t do well. I wasn’t good enough. that’s why he’s subbing me off.
your pulse doesn’t slow down as you sit on the bench, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. you try to still it, but your body doesn’t listen. it’s as if the constant movement is the only thing you can do to release the built-up energy inside of you.
I wasn’t good enough, you repeat, the thoughts relentless, pushing through the cracks in your mind.
sam kerr sits beside you, and without a word, she leans her head on your shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it’s enough. the weight of her support, her presence, pulls you out of the storm in your head, if only for a moment.
“great job love,” you hear her say silently, and you want to believe her, want to feel proud of what you’ve done, but it’s so hard to shake the feeling of not being enough.
you glance back at the field, watching the play unfold, but your focus isn’t there. your body feels heavy, and your mind is racing.
I don’t belong here. I can’t even finish a game. I’m not enough for this team.
the rest of the game moves in a blur as you try to calm your breathing, to remind yourself that it’s okay, that you’re doing your best.
the anxiety has a grip on you, pulling you deeper. your leg keeps bouncing, faster now, each movement a desperate attempt to release the tension building inside you. it’s exhausting, and the fear is suffocating.
when the coach comes over after the game, his words are meant to comfort you.
“y/n, you did great out there. you’re doing everything right. you just needed a break—take it easy.” but they don’t sink in, not right away. you nod and give him a quick smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.
I didn’t do great, you think. I was subbed out. I couldn’t finish the match.
ten minutes after the ending of the game, you’re surrounded by teammates celebrating the 5-2 victory over arsenal. it should feel like a triumph, and in some ways, it does.
when you’re talking to lea about the win, lena—still recovering from her ACL injury—suddenly picks you up from behind, lifting you off your feet in an enthusiastic embrace.
“you did so good!!!” she shouts, her voice filled with joy.
for a split second, panic courses through you. you freeze, body rigid, terrified that somehow you’re going to hurt her. you don’t want to be the reason she gets injured again. you pull away quickly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you explain,
“i don’t want to be the reason you get hurt again.”
lena laughs, shaking her head. “you’re so light. you couldn’t hurt me,” she reassures you, and for the first time all day, you feel a little bit lighter.
the fear begins to lift, and you let out a shaky breath, finally starting to believe that maybe you’re being ridiculous, you’re not as bad as your anxiety makes you think.
lea picks you up next, and for a fleeting moment, you feel the weight of your worries start to fade. the team loves you. they don’t hate you. they’re not disappointed in you. you are enough.
later that night, when you and giulia arrive home, the house feels different. quieter. more intimate. the adrenaline of the match still buzzes in your veins, but now you’re alone with giulia.
she sits next to you on the couch, her strong arms around you as you both begin to unwind. you talk about the game. your assist, the plays you both loved from giuli, the moments that didn’t go as planned.
then giulia’s tone shifts. she’s quieter now, her hand resting on your knee as she watches you carefully.
“how’s therapy going?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.
the question catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re paralyzed with fear. you’ve been hiding the truth from her for so long. the medication. the diagnosis. the fact that things haven’t gotten better, despite what you’ve been telling everyone, including her. your chest tightens as the words struggle to leave your mouth.
(throwback) you sit in the small, sterile office at bayern’s campus, your fingers anxiously tapping against the arms of the chair. the white walls seem to close in on you as you try to focus on the woman sitting across from you.
the psychiatrist.
she’s kind and patient, but everything about this situation feels foreign and uncomfortable. you’re not used to talking about your feelings. you’ve spent your whole life pushing them down, burying them behind a smile, behind the constant drive to be better, to be strong.
today, everything feels too much. too heavy.
“y/n, you’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure lately,” she says, her voice soft but steady.
“and it’s okay to admit that you’re struggling with it. it’s more common than you might think.”
you want to argue. i’m fine, you want to say. i don’t need help. however, the words stick in your throat. you can’t lie, not anymore. not when it feels like your entire body is suffocating under the weight of everything.
you nod, even though a part of you still wants to shut it all down. it’s too much now. the fear. the racing thoughts. the panic attacks. it’s been months, and it’s only getting worse. so you listen as the psychiatrist continues, explaining how anxiety can feel like an endless cycle that’s hard to escape, how sometimes your mind just needs help.
medication, she suggests, can ease the constant tension, help you regain some control.
she mentions zoloft, a small pill to take each morning. at first, the idea of it makes you cringe. medication? you’ve never been the type to rely on pills, but deep down, you know something has to change.
you’re tired of feeling like your chest is going to explode every time you step onto the pitch. tired of the constant weight of guilt and fear that follows you everywhere.
“it might take some time to work,” she says, as if reading your mind. “it can help. we can monitor it together with the rest of the doctors here.”
you nod again, though it feels like a distant part of you is screaming to stop. you don’t want to admit that something’s wrong, that you’re not strong enough to handle it all. but here you are, agreeing to try something new, agreeing to take that pill.
you want to believe it’ll work, but you’re also afraid it won’t. if it doesn’t, what will that say about you?
the psychiatrist hands you the prescription, and you take it, your hands shaking slightly. the weight of the small bottle feels overwhelming, like it holds all your fears inside. this is it, you think. this is the fix. this is how it’s going to get better. the thought doesn’t make you feel better. it only makes the weight heavier. what if it doesn’t work?
that night, when you get home, you find yourself standing in front of the dresser, staring at the small, nondescript bottle in your hand.
you want to hide it. you don’t want anyone—especially giulia—to know. you can’t let her see this side of you, not when you’ve worked so hard to keep up the facade.
without thinking, you open the drawer of your underwear dresser. it feels like the safest place, the one place where no one would look. you tuck the bottle inside, burying it underneath your things, as if hiding it will somehow make it less real. less of a reflection of what’s wrong with you.
the next morning, you take the pill as if it’s just another routine. but the guilt hangs over you, a shadow that doesn’t leave.
you try not to think about it, but the more you take the pill each day, the worse it feels. it doesn’t help. it doesn’t change anything.you think that you’re still broken. it only makes you feel like you’re drifting farther away from yourself like you’re numbing your emotions, but not in a good way.
it’s like you’re fading into someone else’s skin, and you don’t know how to stop it.
you feel like you’re suffocating in your own mind, and you don’t know how to explain it to giulia.
what if she thinks I’m not good enough for her? what if she sees me as weak? she’s always been your anchor, the one person you never want to disappoint, but telling her about this... it feels like the ultimate failure.
and so, you keep it to yourself. the pill bottle stays hidden, tucked away in that drawer. the anxious thoughts continue to spiral, unchecked, but you don’t want anyone to know. not even giulia. not even her.
back to the present– giulia’s quiet, but you can feel the weight of her gaze on you. she’s waiting, and you know she’s already figured out that something’s wrong. it’s been weeks, and the cracks in your facade are starting to show.
“therapy has been fine.” you smile, pulling a loose piece of blonde hair behind giulia’s ear. her hair wasn’t in her signature ponytail braid from the game, but in loose curls over her shoulders that the braid gave her.
you try to focus on something, anything—anything to avoid her eyes—but it’s useless. your hands are shaking, and every thought feels like it’s running away from you. the anxiety from the match still lingers in your chest, but now it’s compounded by guilt.
guilt for not telling her sooner. guilt for hiding the truth. you feel trapped in your own head, like you’re suffocating under the weight of your own emotions.
giulia watches you carefully, her brow furrowed. she doesn’t need to ask anymore. she knows. and that’s what scares you most.
“y/n,” giulia finally says, her voice calm but firm.
“you know we need to talk, right?”
you swallow hard. your throat feels tight, the words stuck there. you try to smile, but it feels forced, like it won’t reach your eyes.
“about what?”
she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving yours.
“about you. about everything you’ve been hiding.”
the words hit like a punch to the stomach, and you flinch. hiding—the word stings. because it’s true. you’ve been hiding everything. everything that’s been eating at you for months now.
the anxiety, the fear, the constant worry that you’re not good enough—that you’ll fail again and let everyone down. especially her. the person who’s always had your back for the last five years. the person who’s seen you at your best, at your worst, and still loved you unconditionally.
now, you’re afraid to admit that you’ve been struggling.
“giulia, I don’t—” you begin, but she interrupts, her tone sharper now, like she’s not going to let you brush it off again.
“don’t, y/n. don’t shut me out again!” giulia’s voice is soft but serious, and her eyes search yours with a piercing intensity.
“i’ve seen the way you’ve been. I’ve seen how you’ve been withdrawing, how you’re not talking to me or anyone else about it. I know you’re not okay. I know you’re not just tired or stressed from the game. this is something else. I want to help.”
you feel your chest tighten at her words. you want to tell her everything, want to explain what’s been going on inside your head, but the fear grips you tight.
what if she thinks you’re weak? what if she thinks she can’t handle this part of you? what if she doesn’t understand? you thought.
giulia’s expression softens, her tone gentler now, but she doesn’t back down.
“y/n, I know you better than anyone. and I can see it. I know what’s been going on. I know you’re struggling with anxiety. and I know you’ve been taking medication for it. you don’t have to hide it from me anymore.”
the room goes quiet. your heart skips a beat, and the blood rushes to your ears.
how does she know? you didn’t tell her. you didn’t want to burden her with it, didn’t want her to look at you differently.
somehow, giulia knows. she’s known all along.
“giulia, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice gentle but firm.
“why didn’t you tell me, y/n?” giulia asks, her voice laced with a mix of concern and hurt.
“why didn’t you come to me? why have you been hiding this from me?”
the words hit you like a slap, and you blink back the tears that threaten to fall.
“i didn’t want you to think I was... weak,” you admit, your voice trembling.
i didn’t want you to think I was... broken.”
giulia leans in, her hand reaching for yours, gently taking it in hers. her grip is steady, warm, and you feel a little bit of the weight on your chest lift.
“y/n, you’re not broken,” she says softly.
“you’re human. and being human means you have struggles. you have fears, and you have moments where you need help. that doesn’t make you weak. it makes you real. I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you, but you have to let me in.”
you feel the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over, hot and unrelenting. the sobs wrack your body as giulia pulls you into her arms, holding you close. you’ve been so terrified of letting her see you like this—vulnerable, broken, messy.
you realize that she’s not looking at you with disappointment. she’s not seeing your anxiety as a flaw or a weakness. she’s seeing you. all of you.
“i’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice muffled against her shoulder.
“i didn’t mean to shut you out. i thought... i thought you’d think i wasn’t strong enough to be your partner anymore.”
giulia shakes her head, her fingers soothing through your hair.
“y/n, I never thought that. I never would. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. and right now, that means letting me be here for you.”
“we’ll get through this together, okay?” giulia whispers into your hair, her voice filled with unwavering support.
“you don’t have to face this alone.”
you nod against her, the sobs slowing, the tightness in your chest loosening. for the first time in months, you finally feel like you can breathe.
the morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft beams across the bedroom. the air is calm, the silence between you and giulia comfortable for once, free of the tension you’ve been carrying for weeks. luckily, you guys have the day off from anything football related so you can stay in bed for longer.
you sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers still trembling slightly, but you’re more at ease than you’ve been in a long time. last night, you opened up to her in ways you didn’t think you could. and though your heart had pounded in your chest and the fear of being judged had nearly consumed you, giulia hadn’t wavered.
you glance over at her, the way she’s lounging on the bed, her legs propped up under the covers, her eyes half-lidded as she smiles faintly in your direction.
the bottle of zoloft sits on the nightstand, so small, so innocent-looking. it feels heavier than it should, but the weight is different now.
it’s no longer just a symbol of everything that’s wrong with you. it’s a step forward. and you’re ready to take it.
without hesitation, you pick up the bottle, twisting the cap off, feeling giulia’s gaze on you. her eyes are soft, not judgmental, just... waiting. you feel a small sense of reassurance, as if her presence alone is all you need.
there’s no longer that nagging voice telling you to hide, to keep it to yourself. you can’t change your past, but you can change how you move forward, and you want to move forward, especially with giu.
you take the pill, the cool surface of the tablet smooth in your fingers, and swallow it down with a sip of water. it’s such a small act, but it feels monumental.
“good morning,” giulia says, her voice light, laced with affection. her eyes soften, and she shifts slightly to make space for you on the bed.
you settle down next to her, the pillow cool against your skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. giulia’s hand brushes your waist, and you lace your fingers around hers.
“i’m proud of you, you know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. she turns her head to look at you, her eyes warm, filled with love. there’s no judgment, just acceptance.
you nod, trying not to let the lump in your throat get the best of you. it’s hard to believe sometimes, that she’s always going to be there, in moments like these, it feels real. it feels like you can finally breathe.
“thank you,” you reply softly, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over you.
“for being patient. for being so loving my love.”
giulia smiles, the softest smile you’ve ever seen.
“you’re perfect just the way you are.”
she brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her touch gentle.
life is not easy, and you’re not perfect. you don’t have to be. you have giulia, and that’s enough.
baby steps. it’s enough.
masterlist
#giulia gwinn#woso fanfics#woso community#woso x reader#gerwnt#bayern frauen#lena oberdorf#lea schüller#sam kerr the scottish one
86 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yet again I see people mischaracterizing Jimmy as some jerk who lashes out on people for no reason and berates them for anything minor like where did you get this from did you actually read any dialogues in the game????????
Jimmy really only threw one shade at Daisuke, he didn't think he was spoilt rich kid he just said he was covered by his parents because he had support system unlike all of them grown up adults. Most of times Jimmy just awkwardly slid off silly things Daisuke said, like the ladies comment or when they were mixing the drink. Daisuke actually trusted and listened to Jimmy throughout the game (to his own detriment unfortunately). Jimmy sent him to the vent because he was the captain and he wasn't going to do the dirty job obviously and if the Swansea somehow woke up Jimmy could shift the blame like he had already got away with. Even when eventually things went to shits we don't see him blaming Daisuke because Jimmy recognised that it was his decision to send him there. Jimmy didn't want to fatally injure him, he tried to "fix it later" which didn't help at all and Jimmy felt guilty about it.
Jimmy treated Anya dog shit half the time it's true but not to the extent some people make it to be. He loves control, he has said so to Curly's face, to ours and that's why he made sure to put her down and belittle her. That's why he (potentially repeatedly) sexually assaulted Anya — because rape is form of power play, he didn't even want her sexually. Initially, Jimmy didn't hate Anya, he just didn't like her and the feeling was mutual. He continued to do bare minimum for her, like when checking up on the crew. If I had to guess how Jim viewed her by the end, then he most likely found her inferior, incompetent, always putting work on his shoulders (or responsibilities he didn't want (pregnancy)), together with being paranoid of her having the potential to ruin his life. That's why he got so pissed off when he saw her crying to Swansea, very likely having already told another person of what he has done. (I'm 100% sure he holds the grudge for telling Curly, who then rushed to "fix things", making Curly seem like a responsible captain which Jim hated.)
Jimmy never made any attempts at understanding or sympathising with Swansea. He knew him longer than Daisuke yet the latter understood him better. Jimmy probably thought that Swansea was an old grumpy man who hated everyone and everything. As the game went on Jimmy just considered Swansea to be nothing but a selfish drunkard (due to immediately assuming he was hoarding cryopod to himself). After the vent incident who Jim blames for the absence of medicine? If Swansea wasn't so stubborn (for like, few times) Jimmy wouldn't have need to spend prescious recourses on him. He could have saved Daisuke instead and fix his fuck up but Swansea ruined it twice. Swan doing arguably the right thing by putting out Daisuke out of his misery only solidified his role as a villain and a threat in Jimmy's eyes, that's why probably as a revenge (for not giving him enough time to think) he went for the gun instead of cryopod like Swansea allowed him to.
And finally Curly. Honestly this deserves a separate book on it's own at this point. It's almost 3 a.m. here so I'll only mention some stuff. Jim aggressively lashes out twice on-screen, first time because he literally lost his dream job, listened to Curly "bitching about having said dream job" and couldn't come face to the fact that Curly was "abandoning him while also looking unscratched from the fall of the ladder" while Jimmy will return to his struggle of life (he didn't even know about the pregnancy yet...). Second time was when Anya endangered Jim's new status as a captain and like I mentioned reminded him that she could fuck up his life even more. Feeling like he was losing control, Jimmy beat up poor Curly who was stripped out of said control by non other than Jimmy. Finally, he was violent off screen by destroying Polle, out of frustration, irritation from the thing, and/or hatred and resentment for the company (que "Pony express is dead" line). In one instance he says "He's mocking us" which confirms that it's about Jimmy's ego.
In conclusion STOP MAKING MY SHITTY CHARACTER SHITTY IN THE WRONG WAYS. This isn't even a full blown analysis of Jimmy's character but accumulation of posts I read and conclusions I came with.
Focus on his already preexisting shitty qualities stop making up new ones ffs signing out.
#i'm going to tag this properly too this time fuck it#i should have been sleeping instead of writing this#god i love you jimmy my problematic king#mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#analysis
83 notes
·
View notes
Note
One of my mutuals opinions is the "bro code" thing, that Curly is one of those guys who wouldn't care about the victim because the perpetrator is his friend and I'm really banging my head on the wall like that other anon. I've only played through the game once but Curly's behaviour/reactions etc read completely different from the "bro code" thing and I have to wonder if my mutual and I even played the same game.. like the constant digs at him from Jimmy, his body language in his face reveal and so on like you mentioned in your post. While this game is a little different obviously, it kind of reminded of a point in Alice Madness Returns that makes it very clear that Alice's pain blinded her to the abuse of the other children and her failure to act earlier because of it. Curly is guilty of a similar inaction but it doesn't change the fact he was a victim of Jimmy too. I don't think I can look at it any other way because both of these games have really stuck with me.
I genuinely think it really is the idea that people want a simple easy to blame problem and the idea that the only relatable victims of abuse are those that "surpass" it or do a lot to help others. When it comes to victims, especially those that don't fit the typical demographics, who either accidently perpetuate it, enable it or aren't ideal in some way shape or form, people jump to ignore what they went through as it's easier than dealing with those conflicting sentiments.
The bro-code conversation in Mouthwashing stems from a concept I generally dislike that there had to be something about Curly that made him meet or keep being friends with someone like Jimmy. I think people genuinely underestimate how many like decent and good people just know an asshole or are friends with someone who is really bad outside of their view/established dynamics. The game makes it clear none of the inaction against Jimmy is because of a lack of care, it is a lack of understanding from the privaleged postions they have as men to not have to worry about what Anya does/went through and the type of extremes men like Jimmy will go through to cover it up. They are all too preoccupied in their own strifes.
Another thing I see being oversaturated the idea that you have to be a freak, misanthrope or have a disorder to do the thing Jimmy does. The game is an escalation, it's a spiral that I don't see people comment on that Jimmy was not likely having the mood swings and episodes of rage/frustration we were seeing in the game. This is after they all start experiencing the worst moments in their lives that he got THAT openly bad. Of course, this is just my interpretation but much like in real life, people that go to extremes like that usually live mundane lives. It's a pressure cooker affect to where the stress made them pop. It's self inflicted but still the case.
I really think people need to be more willing to acknowledge that not everything needs to be an extreme or in black and white or easy to understand. It doesn't need to be happy or have an answer or solution, especially in the cases where the abused sadly helps perpetuate what they experience. It's not he should've known better from experience or shouldn't he have known what could've happened because victims tend to not like to think in matters of the worst. Not to mention, especially in cases of abuse where it feels so personally directed that you don't expect to happen to someone else.
#i also hear the bro code thing in tandem with his comments on saying he knows Jimmy but that is also in a much different context than#if he said it when Anya was actively telling him about the dead pixel or the pregnancy or even when she told jimmy that was about himself#and getting between Anya and Jimmy as in he knows Jimmy and knows he wont try anything when hes around not that he doesnt think hes#doing anything or doesn't believe Anya and Im a bit annoyed people shorthand or try to recontextualize the statements he makes about it#cause even the let me talk to him line is more in concern of what Jimmy could be doing and less wanting to make sure hes okay and#being more worried about his friend than Anya in that moment like removing the context makes the sentiments sound more uncaring#and typically but the context is how they are deconstructed to give the story and themes a deeper nuance because Anya is happy that Curly#says that becuase he leads it under the idea of protecting her as he knows and she has likely seen/experienced it enough that Jimmy#back down/off around Curly typically as we see he does relatively subdue Jimmy's attitude before the eval and it only gets bad once the#scene at the birthday party happens when Jimmy is likely in a mode where hes not going to listen to Curly about anything after cause he fee#personally betrayed in a selfish egotistical way like the game is a deconstruction nothing is supposed to a typical one to one on the#concepts it handles. this also ties to me like getting more and more annoyed everytime is see a post making Curly the most milktoast#no opinions ever sort of guy when he does have a personality outside of enabling Jimmy and has opinions on things like the QnA's#talking about him being snow Tony Hawk flesh him out more realistically than think pieces saying he has no opinions on anything#and would never take stances like this is a immediate dire circumstance with multiple facets I dont think hed hesitate to help if he active#saw like someone getting attacked on the street or that hes a centrist that doesnt care about womans issues like this is the equivalent#of when a character gets dumbed down to their like favorite food and one defining aspect of themselves and even then I feel like everyone#else but the mouthwashing fandom has a better grasp of that aspect before they make it unrecognizable.#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#curly mouthwashing#captain curly#ask#anon
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
A BIG POST WHY TFA SENTINEL IS A GOOD CHARACTER WHILE STILL BEING A FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT
lots of thoughts under cut
I hated him like any tfa viewer is expected to, and i still do, because he's wrong oftenly and very fucking immature about his own actions, but it's just that fandom treats him like a simple flat cardboard designed for nagging the main characters, while he's not. Even people usually fond of discussing character depth just go "ew" at him, but i want to prove that he's not worse than even ratchet or bumblebee in terms of writing. His actions have depths, reasons and explanations. I do not want to excuse him in points where he actually fucked up, but i do want to remind that he's a character with a history and insecurities like others in tfa
I want to start off with the fact that while the hate he has inside the fandom is not really interesting, it is easily expected. He acts like a piece of shit and has a lot of negative traits (for example you have his attitude towards organics, and while you could kinda write it into being a reaction to Elita's 'death', it wouldn't be really valid, since Optimus was there too, he saw the same things as him, but he has no disgust towards humans)
The first thing i want to show would be this screenshot from the allspark almanac. It actually broke me when i saw it and prompted to write this because it brilliantly explains his whole character drama.
He feels guilty. He actually knows and admits he made a mistake and he is weighed down by it. He is fully and painfully aware of his stupidity in the situation.
But is he going to admit it? Is he going to apologise? Of course he's not. He cannot carry the weight of his guilt, but he cannot apologise and let himself be weak. So he made a vow.
He presses Optimus down and puts that weight on him because it's easier for him to stand straight reassuring himself that he's not at fault at all here. He feels that if he says sorry, then he'll be guilty forever and will never let go if he acknowledges it. He is guilty and he knows it, but he's immature and he does not want to think about it at all. He distracts himself with the rules and regulations.
"I did it, i fucked up trying to be something greater than i should, breaking rules. I'm never gonna wash it off, I'm guilty, but i must be better. If I don't make any more attempts at throwing over the rules, if I hold down others from doing so, i will be better, right?"
Rules are safety and comfort for him. Breaking rules and trying to be special is something he associates with Elita's death, and his thought process basically is "no rule breaking=no tragic accidents to be responsible for". He's confident that if he does everything by protocol, how he's told, then there will be no situation he would have to be blamed in. Of course he takes it to an extent. You oftenly see him obsessing over rules and regulations more oftenly than others — and now that makes sense.
The second thing would be his profile and Optimus's words about him. This text doesn't really serve us much important information, just a simple outside opinion on how he acts, except the first phrase.
"Sentinel means well, he really does."
As bizzare as it sounds, even Optimus, who he has a very sour relationship with, understands this. Sentinel actually means well — but it's just his experience and perception that really distort what comes out in the end. His "well" is very different from others' "well", but he definitely does not actually mean intentional harm in most occasions.
An unconcious goal that he most likely has is "do not let the elita incident happen again". It actually explains why he's trying to press down Optimus's ambitions and yells at young autobots about the importance of listening to the code. He may see himself in others.
Last is miscellaneous details. He actually covered Optimus and Elita when they were retreating — wouldn't do this if he was as selfish as creators want us to believe. He says he made a mistake in the almanac (when he was kinda being interviewed, he told the truth). Wouldn't really do that too. Most times he's been a dick to Optimus and his crew were him simply not believing immediate information without proof like he believes is the right way, like he's supposed to, and from his perspective he was genuinely sure he's doing the right thing
Conclusion
I would still slap him if i met him. But it doesn't mean that he should be rushed and avoided during discussion of character flaws and I'm tired of him just getting flatted down by the fandom as "mean and stupid do not touch". I want him to be taken seriously, and tbh finding out that he actually feels bad about archa seven is all it takes to be suddenly enlightened about the inner workings of his brain, because it connects all the dots.
And i would give all my money to see him canonically get a better development and more focus in the show. I would love if he accepted his wrongs, and if he had a genuinely honest conversation with Optimus. I really would.
#it's time for pee reviews!#tfa sentinel prime#tfa sentinel#should I tag optimus and lita here#aw shucks#tfa optimus#tfa elita one#tfa#transformers
65 notes
·
View notes
Text
Vent:
It's official
I'm scared of her rn because since i deleted my DA account, she won't leave me alone.
She's still stalk and harassing me despissd facts, i left this god awful website.
She's calls me like a pedo, zoophilia, child murder and etc with no proof and took out of context.
Like explame this as possible i am:
1. Pedo stuff:
The reason why she's call me a pedo because i favourite parody of Cuties which was make funny of pedo which i favourite because i like people make fun of this type people who deserve that from piece of shit but i regrett favourite this art.
And one thing, i hate Cuties because you know why.
I'm glad it's got remove from good.
2. Zoophilia:
She's calls me a Zoophilia just because i comment of one my friends art of "Oh No, He's so Hot" gif of Squidward from picture of Donald being muscular (it's not fetish art btw) and she's believe i have crush on Donald which i don't have actually crush on Donald Duck.
Do i like Donald Duck, yes but do you have crush on Donald.
The answer is fuck no.
Donald isn't my fictional crush.
3. Shipping Ren and Stimpy.
She's believe i ship Ren and Stimpy just because of i comment one of person which i ask person where she's start ship Ren and Stimpy because i like heard when they start liles ship or anything.
Beside i don't ship Ren and Stimpy because i see them as friends and nothing else more.
4. She's hates when someone favorite artwork just because they don't like.
She's blame me of i favourite Spongebob x Vocaloid: Lust because she doesn't like song which okay fine but why you blame me from this.
Oh yeah because he's was prevent to female or some shit which btw i never actually listen to Lust or anything because i'm not interest on song.
Only i favourite because artwork was amazing and that's why favourite art in first place.
5. She's blame me over i ship something.
She's blame me over i made status about i cringe myself when i used ship Elsa and Selena Gomez just because i thought it's was adorable.
Keep mind, i was minor back the day, i didn't have brain development until i get olded and realized:
What the fuck is wrong with me.
Idk what's wrong with my younger self when ship this two.
I'm glad i stop ship this two because it's was weird af.
6. She's calls me a child murder.
Yup she's calls me a child murder because of i was hyper about FNAF movie and says i'm only watch movie because i want see kids get killed which wtf are you talk about?!
I'm not watch movie because kids get killed, i'm watch this movie because of how adoption of game it's was.
And i'm glad they didn't show kids get killed in movie because last time i have experince with kids get killed is was hard to watch.
7. She's rant about how i so called treat my friends shit.
Now yes, this was true i was asshole about my friends about whole of "Freddy hates his friends" but i was only mad at this because my friends is remind me of toxic cartoon community and i don't want my friends become one of them but since i watch AOSTH and Scratch, Grounxed and Coconuts are become my new favorite characters, i realized i was asshole towards my friends and i apologie to him from real this time and he's accept this apologie.
This now, we talks about Freddy fight Peck or other his interest, hell i even give him a idea and drawing based of i comment on this because i want make him a happy and i love make friends a happy.
But what really pissed me off is she's lying about me so called sent my whiteknight to my friends which it's was bullshit because i don't even have whiteknight and don't want harassing my friends over this.
I may was asshole but at least i apologie about my action and i want improve myself.
She's just lying herself with no proof of this.
8. Finally she's get trigged over i made one meme of Lincoln get kick out which was meant be make fun of toxic TLH fanbase of how overprotective Lincoln when Lincoln is no better.
Now if you see Such No Luck, i made meme this because i want pissed TLH fans off because how over sentisive about this when Lincoln is no better because he's was lying about he's got bad luck just want have free time when he's could tells his family honest.
Before you say, no i'm not defense Lynn Jr and facts, both of them are unlikable.
So yeah.
9. She's blame me over the facts, voice actor of Abby (Back at the Barnyard) is anti vaxxer and she's say i should proud of her because she's so called cares her children which i have question:
If she's so called cares her child, she shouldn't realized maybe i should protect my kids from infection but nope, she doesn't give a fuck about her children and forced on people who tells to wear mask is canceled culture which prove me a point, she doesn't care from children.
And i want talks about her double stands ass because i like how she's called me a pedo when she's also defense Rev Says Desu who is lolicon and she's defense him by saying:
"Oh he's not going after a real kids, they are just fictional characters" which is gross af.
And thing is she favourite of My Melody and Kuromi from Sanrio x Yu-Gi-Oh pillow sexual which remind me of:
"My Melody and Kuromi are underage" which is red flags because how she support this type shit.
So remember i tell you about she's thinks calling me a child murder just because i was hyper about FNAF movie.
About that, she's also double stands because she's calling me a child murder over FNAF movie but yet, she's have favourite FNAF on her DA.
Hey are you same person telling me about i'm so called support child murder just because of one movie but yet, you favourite FNAF despised facts, you just said to me i support child murder but i guess, she's become stupid af and acting like she's a innocent person.
Yeah fuck this bullshit.
So yeah, i'm done with this shit.
It's time to move on from good.
So yeah, if you reading this:
Please leave me the fuck alone, i don't want have deal with you or anything.
I just want get free from stalker and harassing i got from you.
So please leave the internet and get some seriously help.
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
(2024) TickleTober Day 26: Kisses - Spoilers
Fic Descript - Nowhere in their diaries does it mention at what point River finds out the Doctor is ticklish. Unfortunately for him, he assumes she already knows.
~A/N - Once again, blame @carrie-tate for my Doctor Who resurgence (like look at this and tell me it doesn't fill your heart with joy)
And you can also blame her for a specific line in this fic that she created (and tagged me in which was super cool sdfjkhasfjklh) cause it's GENIUS
Not a super long fic but I actually really love the entire concept for this one hehe, so I hope you all do too.
- Enoy! ~
Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher
Masterpost Link
TickleTober Masterpost
"Running off again?" River called out, as The Doctor pushed open the door to his TARDIS.
The Doctor turned to lean against the doorframe, flashing her a small grin. "Thought you'd expect that by now, you know me."
"I do." She smiled, moving closer so they were mere inches apart. "More than you think."
River pressed a kiss just under the side his jaw, expecting nothing more than a smirk in response before her partner would whisk himself away in his incredible blue box.
But her prediction couldn't have been further from reality, as The Doctor giggled and scrunched his shoulder up between them - making her half-jump away in surprise. River gave him a innocently puzzled look, smiling slightly in endearment at the noise he had made.
"Shut up." He blushed, refusing to meet her gaze.
River laughed, moving herself into his field of vision. "What was that?"
With a groan, The Doctor's face flushed further. "You know what that was!"
River paused, genuinely trying to come up with some recollection of what the last few seconds could possibly have been caused by. "I don't-."
"Oh-... Um- In that case-" The Doctor began to backpedal, but his reaction was only quick enough to realise his incorrect assumption had just landed him in deep trouble.
"Wait..." River smirked, catching on at the perfect time to put 2 and 2 together. "Are you ticklish?"
There it was.
The Doctor broke into a rare, nervous smile. "Uh... No...?" He stated with an unconvincingly low level of confidence.
"Is that so?" She smirked.
"Um-"
"Remind me, what's the first rule of travelling with The Doctor?" River asked innocently, sliding her hand around his torso and casually poising her fingers against each of his lower ribs.
"River!" He squeaked, his hands fumbling over themselves. "I'm not-! You don't-! It's not-!"
River closed what little distance remained between their faces, so once again her lips brushed against his neck. "The Doctor lies."
His shoulders scrunched up, though this time The Doctor put far more effort into resisting any hint of a smile spreading across his face - he was practically vibrating with effort. River slowly traced her fingers over his ribs, relishing in every jump and reluctant snicker that managed to sneak through the cracks in the Doctor's resolve.
"What a rare sight..." She teased, beginning to softly claw her hands over his sides. "The Doctor, left speechless... I never thought I'd see the day."
"RIVER!" He yelped, twisting away from her.
Unfortunately for him, that only led to River wrapping her arms around his waist and fluttering her fingers over his stomach.
Every time her hands touched down it seemed worse than the last time, and so it didn't take long for the Doctor to burst into helpless giggles. It was like she naturally gravitated to each of the most ticklish areas on his body, hitting each spot like clockwork and tearing the poor Time Lord apart.
"Still sure you're not ticklish?" She half-shouted above his laughter.
When he didn't respond, she decided to move her hands down to latch onto his hips.
"NO RIHIVER YOU KNOHOW I CAHAN'T!" He cackled, desperately trying to push her hands off of him.
"What, have we done this before?" She chuckled as her fingers drilled into the sensitive bones.
"SHUHUT UHUP!" The doctor cackled, trying to twist out of her arms.
"Oh Sweetie," She cooed sympathetically, hooking under his arms and moving her fingers up to twirl around his neck and ears. "Does it tickle?"
He curled his shoulders up with a giggle, sinking into her embrace. Although it still tickled like hell, he appreciated the break from his far more ticklish upper body, and at this point was too tired to fight back.
Thankfully, River also seemed to sense his complete exhaustion, and so it didn't take long for her to finally let him free. They both sunk to the floor, with The Doctor lying exhausted in her lap.
"There's no way that was your first time." The Doctor panted, a smile still stuck on his face.
River laughed gently. "And why's that?"
He shot her a glare. "You figured out I was ticklish ridiculously quickly, and then you knew exactly where to tickle me every single time."
She shrugged, but couldn't help the grin sneaking onto her face. "Maybe you're just easy to read."
He rolled his eyes and sat up. "Did you know I was ticklish or not?"
River grinned. "Spoilers."
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
Just a reminder but the infamous "kishi is japanese so he can't know or write about homosexuality" sasuke stan we all know isn't white, so it's pointless to blame white people (I have seen this in the tags) about the mentality that homosexuality is some capitalist post-modern western disease or whatever some people call it. I think it's also avoiding responsibility.
This notion is actually pretty common in some places, I have seen couple documentaries where muslim men say the west is degenerate because of feminism and homosexuality lol. When that Netflix Alexander the Great flick came out and it had *gasp* gayness in it, I saw black and arab men on twitter commenting stuff like "lol white men have always been f*ggots". When two male lions were spotted having gay sex in Kenya, a Kenyan official insisted they needed to be separated and insisted that they must had been seeing western gay men having sex and "learned" from them. 💀
I know it's tempting to consider one's own race to be clean from bigotry but it's not the reality at all lol. Homosexuality has always been a controversial topic everywhere, sometimes illegal and even during times when it was legal it was very much preferred that they also get married and have kids, and often times it was only okay when one was young, or in very specific circumstances. A lot of these "x place was super gay friendly back then" articles are also misinformed, and naturally they only focus on male homosexuality because no one cared about lesbians, women were expected to give birth and take care of kids even in those supposedly super gay friendly places, period.
I'd say it's pretty obvious the main reasons homosexuality has been seen as a threat are (there are probably more):
Gay sex can't be used for breeding
Men see sex as something degrading they do to women, and thus the idea of a man doing this to another man is repulsive (or funny, even a lot of openminded men find gay "funny" and you can think to yourself why)
Women who don't have sex with, date or marry men are threat to patriarchy
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
off limits. ls18. smau.
lance stroll x alonso!reader
going to visit your uncle at work suddenly gets a whole lot more exciting when you meet his teammate
faceclaim: blanca padilla
y/nalonso posted a story
written: going somewhere very exciting today
y/nalonso posted a story tagging fernandoalo_oficial
written: that's right i'm meeting with uncle nando ahead of the spainish gp !
fernandoalo_oficial posted a story tagging y/nalonso
written: every home gp i am reminded of how grown up she is
f1updates
liked by user1, user2, user3 and 23,283 others
f1updates: fernando and his niece y/n have arrived at the paddock for media day, y/n alonso is a model and she has been unable to attend the spainish gp ever since fernando re-joined the grid due to scheduling issues. we are so glad to see her back
view all 2,019 comments
user1: omg she is so pretty
user2: fr real she is going to be turning some heads
user3: this makes me feel so old i remember her from when she was 11 with braces in the paddock
user4: they are icons
astonmartinupdates
liked by user5, user6, user7 and 25,284 others
astonmartinupdates: in case you missed it the funniest thing just happened. aston martin were on stage doing a Q and A with fans when lance pointed to this girl in the crowd and said "what about you pretty girl got any questions?" and she gagged him by replying, "not really i tend to just ask uncle nando any questions i have about racing" and lance's face fell
this man managed to pick y/n alonso out in the crowd and then flirt with her in front of her uncle and his TEAMMATE. he is never going to live this one down
view all 5,283 comments
user5: no nando turning to lance and saying "hold on playboy that girl is off limits" had me dying
user6: i mean i can't blame him she is stunning
user7: i just know fernando proper shouted at him after that
user8: did anyone notice how y/n was blushing a little because girl same
y/nalonso posted a story
written: team colours for race day
fernandoalo_oficial replied to this story: the hotel i booked for you said you didn't check in is everything okay?
y/nalonso: yeah don't worry about me uncle nando i got drunk with flavy last night and stayed with her
lancestroll replied to your story: i think i should change careers and become a professional photographer
y/nalonso: is that so
lancestroll: maybe i just got lucky taking a picture of the prettiest girl
y/nalonso posted a story
written: oh how i have missed this
y/nalonso
liked by flavy.barla, lancestroll, fernandoalo_oficial and 583,383 others
tagged: fernandoalo_oficial. lancestroll.
y/nalonso: had the best time back in the paddock for the first time in six years
view all 56,283 comments
flavy.barla: loved seeing you pretty girl
y/nalonso: was a much needed catch up
fernandoalo_oficial: you are going to need to come back soon
y/nalonso: i am planning on it
lancestroll: it was lovely meeting you y/n
y/nalonso: thank you for making sure i didn't get lost in the paddock
user9: the lance tag and comment, get in there lad
lancestroll posted a story
written: first half of the season done, bring on summer break
y/ninsta posted a story
written: date night
fernandoalo_oficial replied to this story: a date, with who
y/nalonso: you don't know him
lancestroll replied to this story: i am so fucking lucky
lancestroll posted a story
y/nalonso posted a story
lancestroll
liked by y/nalonso, fernandoalo_oficial, estebanocon and 1,002,283 others
tagged: y/nalonso
lancestroll: summer break with you is worth remembering
view all 82,192 comments
y/nalonso: i love you so much
lancestroll: i love you too, even if you have a scary uncle
fernandoalo_oficial: if you hurt her, i hurt you
lancestroll: yes sir
user10: i wish i was there when fernando found out about this
user11: this is such a hot couple
user12: i love them so much already
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
@bibissparkles
@milkysoop
@hadids-world
@callsignwidow
@barcelonaloverf1life
@queen-of-the-hunt
@piastrams
@kravitzwhore
@a-beaverhausen
@fangirlforever2000
@formulaal
@azeal-peal
@magical-spit
@that-one-little-soybean
@raizelchrysanderoctavius
@zatarias-pandora
@unknownmystery22
@anotheranotherblogwoah
@leclercdream
@charlesgirl16
@kikiki04
@dullypully
@awritingtree
@stylesmoonlight12
@pippyth3hippy
@hc-dutch
@whosra
@lancestrollsgf
@dying-inside-but-its-classy
@vulkaari
@random-human02
@daisyfreecs
@fandommaniac07
@mbioooo0000
@novelswithariana
@exotic-iris13
@natashaalinovaromanoff1984
@colmathgames2
@ajordan2020
@sltwins
@nichmeddar
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 smau#f1 fandom#formula 1 smau#formula one smau#formula 1#formula one#f1 social media au#lance stroll#lance stroll smau#lance stroll x reader#lance stroll x you#lance stroll x y/n#lance stroll social media au#lance stroll fanfic#lance stroll fluff#aston martin f1#aston martin#aston martin racing
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Something else that makes me sympathetic to Pharma's situation is like. Idk if there's an actual term for this or if someone smarter and more academic wrote it about some real life context that actually matters.
But, so we've already established among Pharma stans that the circumstances at Delphi were blackmail/torture with no real way out that wouldn't involve Pharma being responsible for people getting killed (either killing patients for the deal or having everyone die bc he failed his end of the deal).
And I feel like while "he's still in the wrong because he killed people" is part of it, another sort of implicit part is the idea that Pharma should've been willing to take more personal risk, maybe even risk dying? I mean, Ratchet does ask "why didn't you just detonate it near the DJD" (to which Pharma responds that he did try to get Sonic and Boom to do it, but they refused) so like
Idk I feel like we do have this social notion of martyrs as a very romantic ideal, people you can praise for being so brave and strong and righteous that they ended their own lives for their cause, while you can also coo about how sad and tragic it is that dying is what it took for them to do the right thing. But at the same time I feel like in reality, having an expectation that people become martyrs is kind of a toxic social norm bc like. It's very easy to demand that others sacrifice their lives for some Ultimate Moral Good when you yourself aren't experiencing the same hardships as they are. And ultimately it is kind of fucked up to tell someone "the moral thing you should've done was risk your life/kill yourself" because asking someone to pay their life to do the right thing is no small request. And sure, the typical response would be to call them a "coward" for caring more about saving their own skin instead of doing the right thing... but again, death is a really scary thing and self-preservation is a really strong instinct, so it kind of feels like having this binary view of "you're either a Brave Hero who sacrifices your life for everyone else or a Dirty Coward who's too scared of dying to do what's right" is kind of fucked up?
I guess the best way to describe it is that if someone willingly gives up their life as a sacrifice to others, it can be a noble thing because it's a choice they made willingly, but if it becomes a Moral Standard that in order to be a Good Person you have to be unafraid of throwing your life away and if you aren't willing to die you're a Cowardly Bad Person, that's when it becomes toxic.
Idk, I guess how this ties back to Pharma is that he was never in a position where he expected to make these kinds of moral decisions/ultimatums. He's a doctor who doesn't even get into combat, his job is to heal and not to kill, he's behind the front lines in a hospital that's supposed to be a safe, neutral place for him to heal people. So in the face of suddenly having a "murder people on behalf of me, or I murder everyone you swore to protect" ultimatum thrust upon him, I understand why Pharma wasn't """"""""""brave enough"""""""""" to "do the right thing" (whatever that would've been in the case of Delphi). You could argue that maybe a frontliner soldier accepted the burden of possibly dying for their cause and they've become used to it as someone who lives that reality every single day, but I feel like for Pharma, who's a doctor and a protected non-combatant (from what we can tell), that sort of risking of his life/living with the fact his life could be snuffed out any day isn't something he would've been prepared for at all.
And for me personally, from an outsider's perspective, it strikes me as kind of unethical to go "oh well he should've just detonated the bomb himself even if it killed him" bc again, there's a difference between witnessing a moral conundrum as a bystander versus being the person living with it and being under time pressure where it's do-or-die. Just as part of my personal standards, I feel like death is such a huge consequence/burden of someone's actions (literally you are no longer alive, any potential you had left is cut short, you cease to exist on this plane) that it feels rather callous to go "Well you should've just been willing to die for your beliefs if you really cared that much!!!"
#squiggposting#pharma apologism#this is only like tangentially related to pharma honestly#not to compare blorbos to real life but like. it reminds me of this phenomenon where privileged ppl in privileged countries#will tell ppl living in zones of war and strife 'oh well if you don't like your gov so bad just revolt against them'#like oh yes tell me how easy it is to stand up against the threats of torture and death#surely the only reason people would want to avoid that is bc they're cowards or don't want to stand up for their beliefs#contrary to what nationalism would have ppl believe. 'wanting to not die' isn't a moral position#everyone wants to live. no one wants to die. it doesnt make you a bad person to be scared of dying#esp (going back to blorbo's) in a situation like pharma's where every option he had ended in death#the death of his patients or the death of everyone at delphi or his death personally#on top of the fact he's a noncombatant who hasn't been desensitized to violence/risking his own life#and is dealing with a trained group of killers that he can't possibly match on physical terms#so yeah actually i don't blame pharma for what he did#he made shitty decisions in a shitty situation but was ultimately a victim#also if you want to view the blackmail deal from a framework of abuse#it is also fucked up to basically tell someone they werent brave enough to just kill their accuser or ask for help#isnt the entire point of such situations that the victim is both powerless to stop the abuse#and too afraid of asking for help/thinks they cant ask for help. and thats why they dont just get out#idk sometimes the best moral judgement is to forgive someone or view it as 'complicated'#sometimes regardless of the good or evilness of their actions the best choice is to not make a judgement#or to err in favor of a forgiving/'i cant speak for your experience' judgement#anyways the fact is that the rosy fantasy of being a brave noble soldier who sacrifices for the cause#rarely stands up to reality where youre just terrified and powerless and dont know what to do#and suddenly the rosy glow of The Noble Cause isnt comforting in the prospect of horrible torturous death
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
some silly sketches that totally don't have any spoilers for the future voice dramas at all (also some araakio for the soul)
#i promise guys arisu is actually going to be so important to the plot i promise#if you don't know who he is. not blaming you. just reminding you that he's the one who treated akio's injury djdjdkkd#HINOKEI BARELY HAD ANY INTERACTIONS NOT COUNTING KEI'S VD BUT GOD THEY'RE SO FUNNY TO ME#the prison is on fire yurika is going to be executed asahi is going to get some kind of mysterious reward#and these two are standing there. it's quiet. until one of them finally says “how are we going to tell riku about this”#unironically that sketch kinda IS a spoiler for one of the future vds SO KEEP THAT IN MIND 😭😭#i wouldn't necessarily call miki a “sunshine” but. something about asahi always still being voted innocent#and them voting their own brothers guilty.. but still voting asahi innocent even if they don't necessarily forgive him.. hm...#ngl writing eiji and miki's memory loss is very fun. like hey. are you ready to see what you've done to these guys oh you don't rember#okay i should stop im rambling too much#🗡️guard 001: sanada eiji 🗡️#🌼guard 002: andou miki 🌼#❤️🩹 guard 003: kuroki hinode ❤️🩹#🍓prisoner 005: sanada kei 🍓#👑prisoner 001: miyagawa akio👑
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
David looking like his mommy <33
#david blames his dad for his mother dying#when he was young his mother was sick and didn't want to go to the hospital despite little david wanting it#but his dad didn't force her to go#so she ended up dying at home (after david had been taking care of her)#so he blames his dad for her death#then at 18 he left home wanting to become a doctor#but his dad said he wanted david to be a farmer like the rest of the family#in the door before he left david still blamed his dad for his mother's death#and one of the last things his dad told david was for him to go to hell#and then they didn't speak for years#i don't know#but i wonder what its like to have your son who remind you of your wife hate you for being responsible for her death#personally i don't blame the dad#its no one's fault really#its just strong emotion
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
❝𝚰 𝐒𝐓𝚰𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝚰𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐗 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐒, 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐒. ❞
cw: stalking, yandere-ish gojo, implied babytrapping, power imbalances, forced affection, smut.
ex-boyfriend gojo who says that the break up was mutual. it was not. you broke up with him. reasoning that you both have your differences and the miscommunication are taking a toll in both of your relationship and decided it was better to break it off than cause further damages to you both.
ex-boyfriend gojo who made peace with it. he says but he's not. he struggles with it a lot and a lot means staring at your pictures every night and pathetically jerks with it.
ex-boyfriend gojo who have made flings every now and then, it's a good distraction but it's not when you haunts him with his memories of you. wishing it was you underneath him and not some random girl he's fucking with.
ex-boyfriend gojo stalking your every social now and then. he looks out for possible rivals he may have in the near future. checking every update and he smiles when he sees you posting random things that he knows that makes you happy. a selfie of you. a random puppy you're holding. a book that you're currently reading and everything that is related to you. he saves them on his phone. his fingers having a mind of their own and tapping the save button.
ex-boyfriend gojo staying up late and thinks about the whole relationship he had with you. sure it was wonderful but you both are flawed especially him. it wasn't your fault that you gave up, he gave up first. his regrets dawning onto him why he gave you up when he should have fought. he knows you still cry at night blaming for the relationship you have no control over.
ex-boyfriend gojo replays the voicemails just to hear your voice once again. playing the videos when you both are still together. your laughter filling the silence of his bedroom and his own thoughts. staring longingly at you and it just hurts that everything still reminded him of you.
ex-boyfriend gojo who frequents the places that you two used to visit. the museum. the aquariums and any places where he can think of. eating alone at your favorite places hoping that you can come back and join him but it was nothing and it just the bitterness he feels being surrounded by the couples around him.
ex-boyfriend gojo who gets drunk and moans about you to his colleagues without him realizing it. sober he sounds when he told them about you and it's everything's clear that he is the problem and it's not you. he wakes up and then forgets like nothing ever happened like he didn't just pour his heart out to his colleagues the night before.
ex-boyfriend gojo decides that he should keep his distance at you so both of you could move and get with each other's lives but takes it back cause he's just a man. wanting you to be by his side, like the old days when you're both happy.
ex-boyfriend gojo turning into one of those stalkers but he's not. he's just following you home. making sure you're safe and don't mind him if he follows you to work. he's keeping an eye to you. frowning and glaring at every man that dares to look at you and ask you for a date. how dare they! it's sad when he sees you not smiling from what he's doing but it's fine. you can smile around him. he should be the reason you're smiling.
ex-boyfriend gojo breaks in to your home just to watch you sleep. watching as your chest heaves as you breathe. sometimes he lays besides you just to stare and pretends that everything's fine just the way they are and he's not your ex-boyfriend that's a stalker who likes watching his ex sleeps.
ex-boyfriend gojo solemnly touches your round cheeks smooched in the pillow. he imagines you melting in his touch and stays there and you would close your eyes cause you're that comfortable around him. that you trusted him and his fingers would slowly descend to your soft lips. the very lips that he kisses every time he can get. the very lips that gets swollen when he's swept away to his desires.
ex-boyfriend gojo then his sight drops to your plush body. generous with curves that every night he gives them the love it deserves. your soft pajamas adorning your voluptuous body that it's hard to keep his advances knowing it's his weakness. it won't right if he touches you? he did it plenty. break up or not. you will always belong to him.
ex-boyfriend gojo who leaves for the night. afraid that he can't control himself and lose himself in the moment with you and you'll hate him more. he can't have that.
ex-boyfriend gojo that visits you daily after that. there is something sad of how your face is stained with tears. probably crying from how he have hurt you and it wasn't his intention. he tenderly wipes the tears and wishes you're awake and apologize for the time he had hurt you.
ex-boyfriend gojo who makes sure to left gifts at your doorstep. the flower deliveries every day and the little notes that comes with it. saying how sorry and lovely you are at the same time. it didn't deter him that you just casually ignores it. you'll soften at him in no time.
ex-boyfriend gojo who got tired of being in the shadows. showing at your doorstep without warning and straights up asks you to be with him again. whom you rejected without thinking twice. it's over, you tell him and he doesn't take that seriously.
ex-boyfriend gojo unceremoniously shows at every place where you go. asking you the same question and he gets the same answer from you that it's starting to affect your relationships with others and your personal life.
ex-boyfriend gojo kneeling in front of you at the confines of your home and he's close to kissing your feet which you forbid him to and you just burst into tears. telling him that why he can't understand that you two are over and it won't change.
ex-boyfriend gojo who proves you wrong. bugging you every moment he can get and changing all the things that cause this and would humble himself in front of you just to proves that he really loves and cares for you.
ex-boyfriend gojo who forces you to get back to him. leaving you no choice but to take him back and it's the worst decision you ever made cause now he just won't leave you alone.
“satoru, stop.” you say to him as you grabbed his hands who's hard on trying prying your thick thighs open just to get that goodness he's been missing for months. why would you even try that you're no match for his strength and you gave up but it doesn't mean you're not resisting him.
“missed this pussy, baby.” he hums before diving back again to your soaked cunt. his nose nudging your clit as he fucks you with his tongue. wiggling it inside that your thighs are clenching around his head. despite a warning to stop his advances, it encourages him more. he makes sure you've cummed thrice before he's caging you in his arms.
his cock hard and beads of precum are leaking while he slowly thrusts into your fat pussy and when he bottomed out. groaning and almost drooling at the tightness of your pussy. you were filled many times that night and you wake up feeling sore that you can barely walk.
ex-boyfriend gojo that have his whims in getting back at you and now he's your boyfriend and soon-to-be husband after knocking you up with his brat. ensuring that you won't leave him again and there's no reason for a break-up. he's just that insufferable.
#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader#anime smut#gojo satoru x reader#jjk gojo#gojo smut#jjk smut#plus size reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Brain went brrrrrrrr
Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.
She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.
🫠🫠
i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so.
noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.
You have this way of getting under his skin.
An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering.
Incurable.
He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty.
Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock.
It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—
And that's the crux of it.
A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish.
He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist.
Yet—
He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer.
A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—
Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed.
Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—
“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”
—pedantic little thing, aren't you?
Obediently following the wrong master.
It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth.
But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him.
But of course, you don't.
And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands.
In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to.
And so, he doesn't.
No. He blames you.
(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)
“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”
He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity.
"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next."
His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners.
"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"
"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like—
It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them.
He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest.
"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen."
Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”
He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?”
It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem.
He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning.
The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you.
One wrong move and he'd snap it in half.
This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.
“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”
He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.”
“What—hey!”
Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone.
“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—
“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”
“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?”
Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross.
Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging.
They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all.
The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle.
“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?”
“Shut up—”
He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation.
Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—
Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.
The sight is hewn into his hindbrain.
“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?”
“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”
He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.
You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him.
“What the fuck, Price!”
He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching.
He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.
“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”
“You're crazy, you're—!”
His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—
The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving.
Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease.
Cathartic.
“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.”
His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady.
“Here comes one—”
“One?”
“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”
You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”
His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific.
“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”
He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”
“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again.
Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose.
“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”
He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony.
“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs.
The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—
The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs.
“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—
Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit.
He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming.
His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—
“O–one—”
He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.”
You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”
“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”
He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips.
You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose.
But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he?
He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts.
But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth.
It's addictive, this. Therapeutic.
There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades.
He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—
You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive.
The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow.
“S–seven, nngh—”
The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins.
He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him.
It's new, this. This meekness.
You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—
He catches it.
It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening.
Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched.
His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—
Tender.
This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one.
He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—
His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring.
Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs.
He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh.
“P–Price—”
And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—
“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?”
“N–no, I'm—”
He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”
The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head.
He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No.
You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight.
Bracing yourself.
His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over.
He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—
You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine.
There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx.
Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere.
Something will break. Shatter.
He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock.
His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric.
In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl.
His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.
He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting.
Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth.
Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that.
And for the puddle seeping into his trousers.
You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins.
He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand.
You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you?
Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.”
“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—”
He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel.
“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”
Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox.
“E–eight.”
The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone.
It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—
“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare.
His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly.
He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body.
Waits. Waits. And—
“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks.
There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze.
Aw, poor thing. But—
Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.”
That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking.
“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”
Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon.
Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—
Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”
—ash in the palm of his hand.
He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet.
He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—
“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap.
“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
easter day
words: 1.3k
warnings: 18+ only, smut, dad!rafe, mom!reader, fluffy and cute, talk of pregnancy, p in v sex
“when are they getting here?” rafe questions, hands on your hips, leaning over your shoulder to look at the counter where you're finishing frosting the sugar cookies with various pastel colors.
“uhh…” you glance at the clock. “any minute now.” you set down the piping bag as you finish the last detail and turn to look at rafe, changing your voice to a whisper. “are all the eggs hidden?”
“yup.” he nods. “and i already told harper that the small blue ones are for her brother so to let him get the easy ones. the easter bunny told me specifically.”
“smart.” you chuckle, letting rafe pull you in and press your lips together.
“i do just have one complaint.” rafe says, hands moving from your hips to grip your bum.
“and what would that be?” you look at your husband, one eyebrow raised.
“this dress.” rafe shakes his head. “you look too good in it, you're practically begging me to put a third kid in you.”
“not until elijah is two, remember?” you remind rafe.
“he's 18 months, that's practically two!” rafe lies through his teeth, his grin turning mischievous, knowing just how big of a difference six months can make in a baby's development.
“ill tell you what…” you run your hands up rafes chest. “why don't we sneak away when my parents get here? you know they act like we don't exist anyways.”
you can't blame them, harper just turned 5 and is a handful, which is only added to by elijah. while he's an angel, he's still a toddler and will get into anything and everything if you turn your back for even a minute.
“sounds perfect.” rafe gives you another kiss as harper runs into the kitchen, elijah still distracted in the corner in his bouncer.
“mommy!” she squeals, launching herself at you. you pick her up and easily turn her so she's on your hip. “mommy, mommy.” she continues. “the easter bunny came! i saw eggs in the backyard!”
“oh, yay!” you bounce her slightly as elijah giggles, reacting to harper's excitement. rafe heads to the bouncer and lifts him out.
“and look, mama made cookies.” you show her the frosted sugar cookie eggs and baby chicks. “and i left a couple unfrosted for you to do with grandma and grandpa!”
harper lets out another squeal and wiggles excitedly. “elijah, gammy and gamps are coming over!”
rafe chuckles at her mispronunciation. it started when she was first learning to talk and their names haven't changed since, even elijah calling them their nicknames.
there's a knock at the door and harper wiggles out of your arms to run towards the front, quickly followed by you and rafe, who unabashedly checks you out as harper opens the door to your parents.
“harper!” your mom steps in, wrapping her in a big hug, completing it with pressing kisses all over her face.
“and there's my little man.” your dad takes elijah from rafes arms, whose happy to give him up, itching to get that alone time with you.
you quickly usher your parents in, showing them the unfrosted cookies and other activities to keep your kids attention.
“rafe and i are gonna go finish their easter baskets.” in truth you've had their baskets finished for a week now, but there's no reason for them to know that.
“okay, that's fine dear.” your mom says, barely glancing to you as harper grabs a butter knife covered in pink frosting.
you grab your husband's hand, and he practically sprints up the stairs, pulling you right along with him into your bedroom.
“god, you knew this would happen didn't you?” rafe questions, hands gripping at your dress, pulling it up as he backs you up towards your bed, keeping the door slightly cracked so you can hear if anyone comes up the stairs. “you know i can't resist this dress.”
you keep your sundresses at the front of your closet, wearing them whenever you find a reason to, purely because of how rafe reacts to them.
“stop talking and hurry up.” you chastise rafe, fingers swiftly undoing the buttons of his crisp shirt until your hands can delve in and feel his muscles.
“yes, ma’am.” rafe smirks, lowering you onto the bed as his lips find yours again, fingers coming to your underwear to feel the wet spot that has started to form. his fingers swipe over the material until you’re moaning quietly, eyes shut.
“god, need to get inside you.” rafe groans, standing to undo his shorts and grab a condom from the nightstand as you take your underwear off, tossing them in the general direction of your hamper.
you use the moment of silence to listen, seeing if you can hear anything coming from downstairs, but all seems to be calm as rafe pulls your hips to the edge of the bed, lining up his cock with your entrance.
rafe sinks in slowly with a low groan as you gasp, gripping the bed sheets. its been far too long since you’ve been able to have a moment alone like this.
“so good, mama.” rafe wraps your legs around his hips as he begins to move, thrusting in and out of you, thumb already rubbing over your clit, knowing you both need to cum and get downstairs as soon as possible.
“yeah, feels good.” you whine, covering your mouth with your palm as you let out noises, rafe always able to get the sounds out of you even when you should be quiet.
rafe moves faster, cock pushing at your walls, stretching you open for his length.
“shit.” rafe groans. “we need to convince your parents or aunt wheezie to take them for a weekend.”
“mmm, that’s exactly what we need.” you nod. you know that you’d probably end up pregnant again if you had an uninterrupted weekend with rafe, you already feel the urge to reach down and pull the condom off of him, but the thought of dealing with elijah at his current age while pregnant has your mind clearing quickly.
“or we can start sending elijah to daycare once a week.” rafe says, glad that the conversation is helping quell his orgasm somewhat, not wanting to burst inside of you too early.
“fuck, whatever it takes to get more of this.” you push at rafes stomach. he takes a step back as you flip over on the bed, toes touching the floor as you turn onto your stomach.
“god, i wanna marry you all over again.” rafe pushes quickly back insides, thrusts now speeding up as his hands grip your ass, squeezing it and watching the way it jiggles with every thrust.
you push your hand below your body to touch your clit, rubbing it in pace with rafes cock pushing inside of you, pressing your face into the mattress to drown out your noises.
“gonna cum, baby.” rafe warns, cock swelling inside of you before hes releasing with one more deep thrust, triggering your own orgasm as your body shakes.
rafe pulls out, flipping your dress back down over your ass just in case someone sneaks upstairs as he discards of the condom and redresses before heading back to you, helping you turn over to sit on the edge of the bed.
“i love you.” rafe coos, pressing kisses to the top of your head as you lean against him.
“i love you too.” you take his hand in his. “and we should get back downstairs before they get suspicious.”
“absolutely.” rafe nods, following you out the bedroom and down the stairs, leaning in to whisper in your ear when he sees everyone is still occupied with frosting cookies, a smear of orange frosting across harpers nose. “and don’t think i forgot that you aren’t wearing panties anymore.”
taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut
#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe fic#rafe fanfic#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe x oc#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x oc#rafe cameron x reader#rafe blurb#rafe one shot#rafe imagine#rafe drabble#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fluff#rafe fluff#dad!rafe
3K notes
·
View notes