#it is not that hard to not be a fucking dickwad

[redhoodie1723]

lando norris number one enemy now

[attila-werther]

writing a little provincial murder mystery. sees something on twitter that makes me want to start swinging with a baseball bat. returns to writing a little provincial murder mystery, but with some spite thrown in.

[bladeofthestars]

.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Bare with me this is my first request. Imagine reader (Slytherin if you don't mind) is walking and bumps into the boys they try to pick on her but can't and ends up with her making a joke about Mattheo having a small penis, and he loves that she's able to shut him up even tho it's childish. Long story short he's like "It's not even small" and she's like "Prove it" and so hate sex.

Drink water, take a nap and overall take care ilysm! ✨

Thank you so much! I have been taking care of myself, I hope you all are too!

Brat

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: cussing, oral(male receiving), unprotected sex, hate sex, brat taming lol

18+ Minors DNI!

“So you wanna repeat what you said earlier? What was it? ‘Tiny, limp-dick ass’?” Mattheo said as he had your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fucking into your mouth. You were in the prefect's bathroom, your knees digging into the hard tile as you held onto his thighs. “Won't repeat it now, slut?” He smiled down at you, and you moaned around his dick, trying to respond back. He pulled you off his cock. “What was that, princess?”

“You are such a dick. Also a pervert, getting off on me talking shit.” You said, wiping the spit off from your mouth.

“You got it all wrong, angel.” He said before pushing your mouth back onto his cock. “I like putting brats in their place. Since you wanna use your mouth to insult me, I'm putting it to better use.” You tried replying, but gagged on his cock instead. He pulled you off again to let you speak.

“Bite me.”

“Gladly.” He smiled and pulled you up to stand, not even hesitating before biting your neck.

“I fucking hate you.” You winced at the harsh bite, which he soothed with a swipe of his tongue.

“Do you, now? If I checked, your pussy wouldn't be all wet then?” He said before biting your neck again.

“Shut the fuck up.” You closed your eyes, your breath getting heavier.

“All bark, no bite, love.” He teased and turned you around, pushing your front onto the sink.

“You're lucky I didn't bite your dick.” You rolled your eyes.

“I knew you wouldn't. You want me to fuck you. Can't do that if you bite my dick, huh?” He said as he pulled down your panties. “I knew it. Fuck. You're all wet for me.” He dragged a finger through your folds.

“Can you shut up and fuck me already?” You whined, hips jolting at his touch.

“Can you quit whining?” He retorted but did start pushing into you. “Fucking tight, shit, princess.” He moaned with you. He didn't wait for you to adjust, thrusting in and out of you as you whimpered from the mix of pain and pleasure. “Can you fucking relax? You're squeezing me, you fucking slut.”

“You didn't prep me, dickwad.” You hissed.

“Always so bratty. Can't you just be grateful for what I give you?” He grabbed your hair to look in the mirror at him. “Just be good for once.”

“If it bothers you that much, I'll keep being a brat.” You said, closing your eyes so you don't look at him.

“If that's how you wanna play it.” He let go of your hair and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing the sides. “Might take a few sessions, but I'll break you.”

It was hard to reply with him choking you. Your eyes were rolling back as you felt lightheaded from it, only making the pleasure from him fucking you more intense.

“See, isn't that much better than fighting me? Just relax and cum on my cock, princess.” He said, bringing his free hand to your clit.

“Fuck.” You choked out, body trembling as your orgasm neared.

“Merlin, fuck, you're clenching me again. You're so close, angel. Just let go. Need to feel you cum.” He moaned, his thrusts losing its tempo as his own orgasm was close. “Cum on my cock like a good slut, come on.”

Your orgasm hit you and your legs nearly gave out as you cried out. He fucked you through it before pulling out and cumming on your ass and skirt.

“See, you can be a good girl for me?” He said, pressing a kiss to your hair before pulling your panties up.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff

@soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[cjlouwho]

If you’re still taking prompts: bucktommy + jealous Tommy

This gets a little explicit for a hot second, so hope that's okay!

This was a new feeling for Tommy. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

He'd been jealous before, sure. Plenty of times! Jealous of the things other people had, the things he wanted to have. Jealous of the people who weren't afraid to be their authentic selves. Jealous of people who had healthy families, or found families.

Maybe envious was the better word for those times.

But this... this was jealousy.

Because Buck was on the other side of the park, holding Jee's hand, talking to another man for a good five minutes now. He was being so expressive too. His free hand moving about as he chatted this other man up.

And the other man was gorgeous. A damn model, probably. A damn model who could eat all the carbs he wanted and not work out and still look like that. At least, that's what Tommy decided as he watched.

He straightened his posture, crossing his leg and holding onto his ankle with his hand.

It was dumb. He had no reason to be jealous. What he and Buck had was solid. The most solid thing Tommy had ever had in his life.

But now gorgeous model man took a step closer and who the hell even needs to be that close to talk? The park wasn't even crowded. Absolutely ridiculous.

He should go over there.

But also going over would be insane.

However, Jee was probably bored and wanted to go play and here was Buck and model man just yapping away.

Still, Tommy stayed on the bench. Watched as Jee tapped Buck's leg, asked him something, then ran off to the swings.

Tommy rolled his eyes. He knew it! Knew Jee wanted to play instead of stand and listen to two beautiful human beings have a boring, lame, stupid conversation.

The problem was now that both of Buck's hands were free, and he was so damn expressive with his hands, flailing his fingers around as he spoke and smiled and laughed.

A part of Tommy wondered what this obviously AI generated man would say if he went up to him and told him how those fingers were inside him last night. Three of them, to be exact. Slowly working him open, making him moan and beg and plead for more.

How Buck then used those hands to grip Tommy's waist as he fucked him so hard he swore he saw stars. How he whimpered and told Buck to keep going, “God, Evan, don't stop,” even after he came. How Buck came in him, groaning as he bit down on Tommy's earlobe, then worked his way down Tommy's body and licked the cum out of him.

Tommy's eyes widened as he came back to reality. This was very much not the time or the place for those kinds of thoughts.

He cleared his throat, glanced over to make sure Jee was alright. She had already left the swings, opting for the seesaw with another little girl.

His eyes moved back to Buck just in time for Buck to turn to him, pointing towards him and smiling brightly.

Tommy smiled back, did a little wave to look polite while he called model man a "boyfriend stealing dickwad" in his head.

Model man smiled, patted Buck's shoulder- asshole- and walked off.

Buck called out to Jee as he headed over to Tommy. “Whoa, you're going so high!” he said as she giggled on the seesaw. “I'll be over in a minute.”

He sat beside Tommy, took his hand. “He was in a car accident a couple weeks ago with his wife, by the way. He remembered me.”

Tommy eyed him. Noted the smirk on his face. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Buck snorted out a laugh. “You don't hide your jealousy face very well, babe.”

Tommy groaned. He felt embarrassed now. “I'm sorry,” he said, squeezing Buck's hand. “You just look really good today, and he kept talking to you, and he...”

“Looks like he walked directly off the stage of a Chippendales show?”

“Exactly!” Tommy exclaimed, thrilled that Buck understood. “Anyway, sorry.”

“Don't be. It's hot.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“To know my boyfriend likes me enough to glare daggers into a random man's eyes until said man asks if I'm being stalked? Yeah. Hot.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Oh God.”

Buck smiled. “I'm gonna head over to Jee. Now, there is a woman over there that I, uh, I see here occasionally. She may talk to me, but I swear I won't leave you for her.”

Tommy looked across the park to see a woman in her late 70's minding her business and working on some knitting project.

“I don't know,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Looks like she could make a mean scarf.”

Buck wiggled his eyebrows as he got up. “Oh, she does.”

Tommy shook his head, then paused. “Wait!” he called out. “She's made you a scarf?!”

[mammons-lover]

Lucifer (looking very disappointed): I called a family meeting today because of the acts you all participated in yesterday. You collectively showed me I can’t leave any of you alone, surprisingly even you, Satan.

Mammon: It’s not our fault, those assholes started it!

Leviathan: Yeah, we were actually behaving before they showed up.

Lucifer: Okay, so tell me what happened.

Flashback:

All the brothers are walking home after class until someone bumps into Belphegor so hard he falls.

Demon: Watch where you're going, loser.

Asmodeus: What did he just say?

Mammon: That asshole did not just push Belphie.

Satan: Hey, dickwad, how 'bout apologizing to my brother?!

Demon: How about I shove that apology up your ass?!

Back to now:

Mammon: You see? We didn’t start it!

Satan: Yeah, he pushed Belphie. Why would anyone do that to him? Look how frail he is.

Asmodeus (grabbing Belphie’s face): And look how adorable he is. How can someone be so cruel?

Lucifer: Okay, I understand. But did you have to start an all-out fight that ended up spreading around the school?

Mammon: It’s not our fault that everyone started getting hype!

Leviathan: Kinda is Mammon’s fault though.

Mammon: What?!

Flashback:

Satan and Mammon are fighting a couple of guys. Suddenly, someone runs straight toward Mammon, so Asmo jumps on the demon's back.

Asmodeus (hitting them in the head repeatedly): You won’t jump my brother!

Mammon: Asmo!

Mammon turns around and sees Asmodeus get flipped onto the floor. Mammon rushes to hit the guy but punches the wrong person.

Demon #2: What the fuck, man? Did you just punch me?!

Mammon: Nah, dude, it was that guy. I saw what happened and came to see if you were alright. That guy is insane. (pointing at the guy who flipped Asmo)

Demon #2: Hey man, you wanna fight?!

Demon: You wanna go, bro?!

Present time:

Mammon: Oh, I totally forgot I did that. My fault, but in my defense, I was just trying to help Asmo out.

Lucifer: I appreciate you all looking out for one another, but you are supposed to be responsible, even if that means backing down from a fight.

Belphegor: Come on, Lucifer, you know we aren’t like that.

Lucifer: Yes, I know. Moving on, from what I heard, only Mammon, Satan, and Asmodeus were fighting, so why are you two marked up?

Beelzebub: Well…

Flashback:

Once the other guys started fighting, their friends joined in, leading other demons to jump in. While that was happening, Levi was calming down a pissed-off Beelzebub, and Belphegor was watching everything, smiling.

Leviathan: Come on, Beel, they’re taking care of it. There’s no need to step in.

Beelzebub: You’re right. I-I’m sorry.

Leviathan: There we go, just breathe—

Demon #3: What are you smiling for? Huh?!

Belphegor (acting confused): You’re talking to me?

Demon #3 (taking a step towards Belphegor): Who else would I be talking to?

Belphegor: Definitely not me. Get out of my sight, bottom feeder.

Demon #3 (throwing a punch at Belphegor): You little shit!

Leviathan: Beel, no!

Beelzebub tackles the demon to the floor before he can land a hit on Belphegor and starts punching him. Leviathan tries to pry Beelzebub off the demon but gets elbowed in the face by Beelzebub, then gets shoved by another demon.

Demon #4: You trying to jump my friend?!

Leviathan (holding his bloody nose): What?! No, I was just—

Demon #4 (throws a punch at Leviathan): I don’t wanna hear it! You’re dead!

Leviathan starts fighting the guy, and Belphegor stands on a nearby branch, watching the whole ordeal.

Mammon’s fighting three guys at once, Satan just body-slammed someone, Asmodeus is banging someone's head on the floor, Beelzebub is punching anyone near him, and Leviathan is now fighting two guys. Belphegor can’t be any happier. They are all fighting for his honor. He stands there laughing with pride, but his smile fades when he sees Lucifer.

Present time:

Leviathan: See, Lucifer? We didn’t start anything; everyone else threw punches first.

Beelzebub: Yeah, and didn’t you tell us to always defend ourselves?

Lucifer: I am going to give you all a pass, only because you didn’t start it. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to be punished.

All the brothers: What?!

Lucifer: School property was destroyed. Even after I brought you home, they were still fighting at the school. Tomorrow, every student will be assigned a task to help repair the school.

Satan: I guess that makes sense.

Lucifer: Everyone, go wash off. If you need help with bandages, I’ll be in my office.

Later that day:

Lucifer: Honestly, I’m impressed. While making my way to each of them, I saw how coordinated they were at fighting.

Diavolo: Me too. When I watched the footage from the cameras, I couldn’t help but be in awe. My favorite part of it was Belphie.

Lucifer: Belphie?… but he didn’t fight.

Diavolo: I know, but the way he was watching and laughing, he looked like a war leader proud of his soldiers. It was adorable. Even more adorable that they were looking out for the youngest.

Lucifer: I guess it was nice to see them look out for Belphie. He doesn’t have a scratch on him.

The rest of the night, the brothers and Diavolo reminisce about the fight while wrapping each other’s wounds and applying ice packs.

[bellamoooon]

A/N: So…Patrick’s sister, this was supposed to be shorter but I uh…I got carried away, enjoy anyway!! <33

As patricks sister, you always understood the dynamic; Patrick is the overprotective annoying older brother and you are the nerdy—he says— younger sister.

So obviously, growing up with him was an interesting experience to say the least.

Before going to MRTA, he’d usually bring his friends over after school, and of course you being the pretty little thing you are, they’d always joke around about how Patrick’s sister was hot, (literally average twelve year old when they see any female) and well Patrick, Patrick was pissed, so this is when the golden rule—he calls it— came in.

Patrick’s sister is off-limits.

Which eventually stopped being a big deal when he left for MRTA, since you’d only see him for holidays and breaks, and you didn’t really get to meet any of his friends.

Then Art comes into Patrick’s life; Bunkmates since they were twelve, both in their first year away from home.

For the first summer break, Patrick left to go to your family’s lake house with you and your parents, and Art went back home to visit his nana, he knew his parents would most likely be away working—as per usual.

But he actually finds out that his nana had already been sent to a retirement home 15 minutes out of his home town, so he visited every couple of days during that summer even though his nana kept telling him, “Artie, you don’t have to visit an antique like me, go be a kid, enjoy your summer” however he insisted in staying around her to keep company.

So when they get back, Patrick “loud mouth” Zweig rants to Art about his summer, and Art simply nods thinking about how he’d most likely stay in the academy next summer, not like he had much to go back to at home.

Fast forward a couple of months, it’s Christmas; Art is helping Patrick pack last minute when there’s a knock at the door, then they hear a feminine voice.

“Come on dickwad, mom and dad are waiting in the car”

Patrick groaned as he started to shove his things into his bag, then looking back at art as he folded some of Patrick’s shirts.

“Hey, Donaldson, mind getting the door? It’s my fuck ass sister” he said casually as he grabbed the shirts from Art.

“Sure” Art mumbled not thinking much, only trying to imagine a female Patrick behind the door, seeing as he’s never met you, so there he goes, he opens the door and finds—not a female Patrick— but the prettiest girl he’d seen just standings there in the most angelic way.

“Hey…?”

“Art, it’s uh— my name is Art” he’s stumbling over his own words in the stupidest way possible.

“What kind of name is Art? Are you like an Arthur or something?” He cringes internally but before he can answer Patrick pushes past him.

“It’s just Art, leave him alone, he’s my best friend, only I can make fun of him, find one yourself, kid” Patrick speaks as he walks out the door with his things then turns to Art, “going home for Christmas, Donny?”

Art despised that nickname, the tips of his ears went red as his whole face flushed, but he shook his head.

“My parents said they won’t be able to make for Christmas and I— I don’t want to worry my nana so…” he said shyly and a bit disappointed but, they were the same parents that had forgotten his birthday a year ago and days later brought a cake that said “happy 14th birthday” when he was turning 12.

“Awe…that sucks man, I’ll talk to my parents, you can tag along with us to our lake house next summer”

And that’s how the tradition all started, every summer, Art would spend it with Patrick’s parents, you and Patrick at the lake house, which gave him enough time to catch a little something his nana called a Lovebug, essentially, his was crushing hard.

But of course, there was the golden rule— totally off-limits.

And Art was…fine with it, it’s not like you’d ever like him back, he was probably just “Patrick’s quiet best friend” to you.

Little did he know…

Then fast forward a couple years later, coincidentally, you would also be going to Stanford without actually knowing Art had already been there for a year.

And Stanford was full of frat parties, Halloween costume parties and in general, any party within a 10 mile radius.

And you, pretty little freshman had been invited to a frat party by one of the juniors in your econ class, and I mean, you can’t be rude, right? You have to go.

So, you do.

You wind up in a frat house with a shit ton of people, some cigarette smoke and, a whole bunch of red disposable cups, so why not grab one, what’s the worst thing it could have in it, beer probably?

Wrong.

Something that to you tasted exactly what rubbing alcohol smelled like, so it goes straight from the cup to your mouth then back to the cup as you cringe letting out a single dry cough.

“You alright there?” A gentle voice popped up from behind you, familiar but you couldn’t quite tell, but as you turn there he is; Art fucking Donaldson. With a backwards red Stanford cap and a grey Stanford hoodie.

Oh.

“Oh— Art…hey” you chuckle softly still smelling the mysterious alcohol from your mouth.

“This isn’t quite your scene, huh?” He spoke as he took a sip from his cup with that goddamn side smirk of his.

“Yeah— no, I mean, I’ve been to parties, fun, fun parties. And this, this is so my scene” you rambled nervously, it was already embarrassing enough you, a freshman was at a frat party with a pretty floral skirt and a crochet sweater.

“Really? Oh…then have fun, fun girl” he laughed as he lifted his cup a bit towards you to then walk away.

Fuck it. You were gonna get wasted.

And so, that you did; Somehow ending up in just a soaked tank top, a soaked skirt, hair dripping water and, squeaky wet shoes as you stumbled out of the pool from the backyard.

“Hey, watch it—“ Art turned as he felt your body bump against his, “oh it’s you, fun girl.” He giggled as he saw you, clearly too drunk to even know what was going on, and he could’ve just laugh it off and get back to the party, but Art wasn’t like that, and specially not to you, you’re such a pretty little thing all wasted and soaked past midnight, plus, you were Patrick’s sister. He had to.

So he said his goodbyes and grabbed you as you both walked out of the frat to go back to campus.

“So tell me, miss Zweig, how does one, as drunk as you, not drown in a pool?” He said as he saw you hold onto his arm for dear life trying not to trip, which might have just dug up something he had buried years ago.

“Y’know, im fun, and this is so my people” you said looking up at him—just barely��� as you let out a hiccup.

He blushed as he heard it, clearly it was your first time getting drunk drunk, adding on to the wet hair and your shivering body,

“Right, fun girl, my bad” he chuckled “come on you’re shivering, here” he pulled his hoodie off as he handed it to you, “can’t let you catch a cold, how else will you go to your next party, miss fun girl”

“Thank you, Artie.” You said as you grabbed the hoodie sliding it over your head feeling the warmth it carried from Arts body, accompanied by the faint smell of his cologne.

Meanwhile, Art was feeling like his spine had just been ripped out; Artie.

You hadn’t called him that since the summers at the lake house, where he had attempted and failed to forget his crush on you.

“Yeah— I uh…yeah” he blushed even harder as he fumbled his words not knowing how to react.

You just shut your eyes and breathed in the scent of his cologne to then open them up, there you were, doe eyed looking at him, in his hoodie, hair soaked as you unconsciously made it harder for him to be a good friend to Patrick, he felt horrible.

Not only did the disgusting thought of wanting to fuck you against his jeep popped into his head, this is Patrick’s sister he’s fantasizing about.

“Come on— I uh, I gotta get you back on campus” he cleared his throat as he looked away avoiding your stare.

“You’re no fun anymore, Artie…” a pout made itself present as you took a step closer, your hands landing on his shoulders, “come on, Donny…”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Patrick would kill me, you know that.”

“I won’t tell”

He wasn’t proud of himself for turning back to look at you, but you were just so pretty, lucky he didn’t have a boner, if he hadn’t given you the hoodie to cover your very visible nipples against the tank top, he’d probably have you bent over his cars hood.

“I really— I can’t…” he mumbled, his face inches away from yours, noses brushing against each other.

“You sure?” You whispered as you stared down at his lips, “not just this once?”

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, well…there goes his willpower, he was in too deep already.

Next thing he knows, you’re riding him in the backseat of his car, all flushed, tits out, him whimpering as he dug his fingers into your hips holding on for dear life throwing his head back, and windows all fogged up.

Yeah, he was so screwed.

He will most definitely be breaking the golden rule for…well, let’s just say it’s not a one time thing.

[themultifanshipper]

“You utter cunt!”

“Fuck you!”

That was how karting usually ended when you two were involved. No matter where either of you started on the grid, you and Liam always found a way to crash into each other.

I blacked out, and an hour later this monstrosity was born! Hope you enjoy

Also I used alpha tauri bc i refuse to put Visa Cash Card Paypal App Racing Redbulls in my goddamm fics.

Warnings: gn!reader, rough sex, lots of swearing, rivals to lovers, daddy kink, corruption kink, smidge of angst, like 2 seconds of fluff before it descends into madness

“That was my line!”

“You call that a line? Ha! My blind grandmother can see that’s a shit line!”

And you were only thirteen then. Now you were both in formula 1. But unfortunately, the insults hadn’t matured, and neither had you.

“You absolute wankstain! What the fuck was that?!”

“That was me having to crash into my teammate! Because my teammate is a shit driver who doesn’t leave me any room, you fucking prick!”

“Oh, dear! Looks like the alpha tauri duo are having a trackside screaming match... again.”

Crofty sighed. At this point it was almost a weekly occurrence. You and Liam were bitter rivals on track and had been since you started karting all those years ago. It always ended in a screaming match that usually lasted well into the evening, and sometimes all the way up the corridors of your hotel rooms, and one time, it ended with Liam shoving you into your room and fucking you right there on the carpet.

That was one time. And you and Liam had never talked about it. The next day you’d bickered on the private jet, as per usual, and just like that it was forgotten.

Except it wasn’t, not really.

The problem was that Liam had unknowingly taken your virginity that night. And it was, by default, the best sex you had ever had. But your relationship stayed the same and the two of you never even acknowledged what happened. You weren’t obsessed with the concept of virginity either of course, it was what it was, and he was you first, whatever. But it would be nice if he stopped being such a huge prick, you know?

Then came the end of season celebrations in Abu Dhabi. You’d been drinking heavily to forget this nightmare of a season and the fact that you (just you, not Liam) had essentially been threatened to stop fighting next season or you would be out of a seat faster than you could say ‘hypocrisy’.

You tried your best to avoid him all evening. But he kept appearing in your line of sight, on the dancefloor, getting drinks at the bar, shuffling off to the toilets every now and then. You kept drinking so that your vision would hopefully go so blurry you wouldn’t be able to see him at all, but of course with those drinks came the need to pee.

So, there you were in one of the stalls thinking about the face of the man you were trying hard not to think about. Then, said man walked in, crossed the room and the sound of him undoing his zipper was heard.

You knew it was him from his stupid shoes that you recognised very well, as he had once thrown them at your head. That was an incident worthy of getting fired....

Anyway, for some obscure reason (about 7 tequila cocktails) you thought it was a great idea to voice that thought out loud.

“I never told you, but those are the ugliest shoes on the fucking planet”.

There was a pause as he zipped his fly back up.

“Jesus, are you stalking me now? The fuck are you doing in there?”

“Pissing, obviously”

Another pause.

“Right” he said “anything else you want to tell me? Or can I get back to having fun now?”

You rolled your eyes “Yeah actually, you need to stop crashing into me, dickwad”.

He snorted. “And why the fuck would I do that”.

“Because I’m out of the seat next time we crash, and because you fucking owe me, so please just cool it with the- !”

“Wait, why the fuck do I owe you anything? It’s not my fault you can’t drive!”

“Because you fucking took my virginity Liam!”

Okay maybe you weren’t completely over it.

You could’ve heard a pin drop. You desperately hoped there wasn’t anyone else in the stalls.

“What?!”

You were so embarrassed you tried to get out of answering by flushing the toilet and waiting for him to leave.

Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Unlock the door, please” He sounded almost winded, which confused you so much you actually opened the door. He was leaning against the wall and as his eyes snapped to yours, you could see there were tears in them.

Your bewilderment must have been visible because he immediately wrapped his arms around you in a tight bear hug.

“I’m so sorry you’re first time was like that... I’m so, so sorry...”

You pushed him off enough to be able to breathe again “The sex was great Liam, what the fuck are you sorry for?”

He stroked your hair as he spoke, refusing to meet your eyes. “Because... I thought you hated me so I... Your first time shouldn’t be, you know, hate-sex. I thought that was the only way I would get to do it with you so I-   I didn’t know you’d never done it before- it was a spur of the moment thing”.

You were even more confused. “The only way you’d get to do it?  What the fuck does that mean?”

He finally looked at you and he seemed so weirdly vulnerable, so heartbroken that your brain started to catch up, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Do you...” your heart was beating fast as you scanned his face for a reaction “like me?”

He had a pained look on his face and just looked down at the floor. He didn’t like you. It went deeper than that.

“Liam look at me” He did. You didn’t know what to say so you just stared at him.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that night, you know” he said softly. 

“Neither have I” you whispered, and your eyes met as he looked at you in shock.

You both moved at the same time, crashing your lips and bodies together as the years of tension finally washed away and you were on the same wavelength for the first time.

As you both caught your breath a minute later, he chuckled. “Come on, let’s get back to the hotel. I owe you a do-over”.

And do-over he did.

As in, he did you, over every surface.

It started out sweet enough. He carried you to the bed, undressed you slowly and took his time fucking you slowly, almost maddeningly so. But you both quickly realised that he’d already corrupted you the first time, and now you liked it rough. So he gave it to you. First he flipped you over on the bed, grabbed your hair and pushed you face down into the sheets as he pounded into you mercilessly from behind, occasionally leaving hand prints on your ass, then he took you standing up against the glass windows, one hand around your throat, the other sneaking down to touch you where you were making a mess of yourself.

“Fuck, you like it like this don’t you? You’re basically dripping onto the carpet”.

Then he flipped you and lifted you up, your legs hooking over his arms as he entered you again, the position giving you no choice but to just take it.

“Yes, take it baby, fuck- so tight around me, take my fucking cock” he growled and bit into your shoulder, making you moan. “You’d take anything I give you right? Such a fucking slut for it my god”

His hips stuttered as he had a thought.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? My fault that you take it like you were made for it, fuck”  his thrusts became even harder as you both felt your highs quickly approaching, your hands were scrambling for purchase on his sweaty shoulders, settling in his hair to give it a sharp tug, his answer was a deep thrust that knocked the breath out of you.

“Fucking made for me. Only I get to see you like this now, don’t I? My little cockslut, all for me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded quickly, but he made a noise of discontent.

“Words baby, I need words or I won’t let you come. Who do you belong to?”

“You Daddy, please I’m gonna come” you couldn’t help it, the name slipping out as his hips stuttered and he made a punched-out noise.

“Shit- say that again baby, that sounded good”.

You huffed out a whine, now was not the time to be embarrassed “Daddy please, please I need to come so bad”.

He groaned “Okay baby go ahead, come on daddy’s cock, now.”

You came so hard. All over yourself, and it ran down onto his thighs and the feeling of you dripping everywhere sent him over the edge, thrusting a couple more times before stilling, deep inside you as you felt him fill you up.

He carried you like that into the bathroom, setting you down gently in the shower, legs and hips sore from the position and you both spent an eternity in there, soaping each other up and kissing tenderly, trying to make up for lost time.

As you got into bed with him, you checked your phone and saw two things: the alarm for your flight was in 2 hours, and a text that read “does this mean you two will be cooperating from now on?”  from your performance engineer.

Your cheeks burned red, she had the room right next door.

[kennahjune]

I’m a firm platonic stonathan believer (and romantic but that’s not what this post is about).

And I love Steve and Jonathan being really friendly albeit awkward with each other.

But you know what I absolutely LOVE?

Stonathan who can’t STAND each other.

But would also go to fucking war for each other.

Some asshole is being a prick to Jonathan in school? The dudes suddenly thrown off of every sports team he’s on and the principal is fully aware of every time he cheated on a test. Steve just so happens to be at the high school that day to pick up the kids.

There’s some dickwad giving Steve a hard time at work every day? The guys windshield is busted in and car’s been keyed. Jonathan was totally just stopping by Family Video for a movie at the same time.

It’s just so funny to me. The idea of them both putting on this kind of mask around the whole group where everyone thinks they’re at least friendly with each other— the awkwardness is a given, honestly.

But then when it’s just them— getting high together or smth idk— they trade insults that would have anyone else in a ball crying.

And then them both slowly coming out of their shells around the whole group.

And the first time it happens Steve had called Jonathan a home wrecker and in turn Jonathan called Steve a whore.

Everyone was flipping shit trying to make them both apologize to each other before another fight broke out. But Jonathan and Steve sat and laughed at them.

Nobody ever gets used to their bitter teasing towards each other (nobody’s ever heard Jonathan use such foul language) but they learn to accept that that’s just how they are with each other.

This is kinda like a begrudging sibling-bonded stonathan.

This is also how I imagine madwheeler being btw. But I’ll make them their own post eventually.

[madthetruemad]

boothill x halovian ! reader

As a Translator

When he first recruited you as his translator, you were way to shy.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't get your mouth to say the words that Boothill wanted to convey.

They were way to crude for a halovian like you!

But Boothill was determined.

He tries everything. From trying to get you mad to talking bad about your mother to eating your food despite not actually needing to eat human food anymore.

But nothing worked.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get you to cuss for him.

It was driving him up a wall!!!! I mean, just how saintly are you anyway?!?!?

And when all hope seemed lost, you finally did start cussing someone out. It was surprising, too. It took Boothill's breath completely away.

Someone was giving him a hard time cause he had apparently bumped into them and got a grease mark on their clothes. Which was impossible since Boothill always kept clean.

When the person wasn't letting up, you stepped in.

"Listen here, bitch. He didn't mark up your mother fucking stupid ass dress. He was minding his own damn business when you decided to scam for some new clothes you worthless fucking dickwad whore!"

Apparently, as you later explained it, you were getting tired of everyone trying to get one over on Boothill due to his bounty and because he was a cyborg.

And you couldn't take it anymore.

If Boothill wasn't going to just put these weaklings in their place, then you were. It was as simple as that.

From then on, you tried your best to be Boothill's translator. Though, it still took some time lol

[treason-and-plot]

Mia persuades Nanette to sit down and have a hot drink at one of the airport cafes. Due to her nerves, Nanette opts for a caffeine-free hot cocoa with hazelnut syrup. The café also has computers and an openly- perspiring young man wearing a loud tropical shirt and no headphones is hunched in his chair decapitating alien creatures several feet away, loudly hissing “Take that, motherfucker!” and “DAMN I’m fucking good!” every few seconds. Nanette raises her eyes to the ceiling and gives a delicate sigh.

“Hey, mind your fucking language in front of my mother, Dickwad,” says Mia sharply. He gives no sign of having heard but sinks into a sweaty silence.

“Don’t be too hard on him, dear,” says Nanette. “It’s probably just his way of dealing with the stress of flying.”

“Why can’t he just pop a Valium like a normal person?" says Mia. “Seriously, Ma. What is it about airports that makes people think that the usual social niceties don’t apply?”

“I think it’s because they realise they’re surrounded by strangers they’re not likely to ever see again,” says Nanette. “Even if it’s just on a subconscious level.”

“Maybe,” says Mia. “Or maybe they just can’t contain their rage any longer after spending §9.50 on a mug of lukewarm coffee-flavoured milk.”

“My cocoa’s quite nice,” says Nanette, but she never complains about restaurant or café food. It’s still a treat to eat out after years of being poor, and something she will never take for granted. Mia makes a ‘pffffft’ sound. They sip their drinks. Nanette sighs again.

“I think my problem is that I’ve romanticised Renny too much,” she says. “He really can’t be as charming and handsome as my memory is insisting. And even if he is, the fact remains that he's involved in some very shady dealings and really can’t be trusted. I just need to think of him as a fling. Nothing else.”

“Ma, we’re also involved in some very shady dealings,” says Mia. “Have you forgotten the reason we’re even going to Paris in the first place?”

“Of course I haven’t,” says Nanette. “You’re right, it’s wrong of me to judge. But I’m just trying to be realistic. Renny and I belong to completely different worlds. We don’t have any long term prospects. And I’m a fool for ever thinking otherwise.”

[cookie-crumblr]

I miss professor reichsgraf

GN! Bad Student Reader x Professor OC!

Minors DNI

CW: GN! Reader, reader referred to as they/them, no body descriptions for reader, lots of swearing tbh lol, reader is RUDE (just because they’re sleepy! we still stan🥰) spanking, pet names for reader(good kitten, darling), Sub!Reader, reader has hair(not described just enough to grab), fingering (not specified which hole dw), nipple play, crying reader, tetro?, overstim, dubcon(no proper safeword), sado maso, p in hole, not proofread.

(IDK i hope it turned out okay, it doesn’t seem the way i want it, but i can’t tell rn if it’s just me T.T)

“You are, quite possibly the worst student i’ve ever had the misfortune of teaching.”

You mock him on the phone with your bestie.

“Stupid ass over qualified teacher.”

“Fur reaaaalll. my gods, what an asshole!” they respond.

“It’s too bad he’s so hot. What a waste.” You resume what you were doing and hold the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“I would tap, i wonder if he’s into that like teacher/student play…” they trail off.

“Ew. please don’t fantasize about my dickwad professor. At least with me around,” You feign gagging.

The next day in class you’re slouching, hoping to the gods that he just forgets you exist so that you can try and catch up on your assignments… But Fuck it’s so hard! You don’t have time for school work when you’re home, because you’re usually sleeping, after your two jobs. And all these pompous professors do is give homework!!! ALL OF THEM.

It’s the end of the ninety minute mark and you, along with everyone else, starts packing your things.

“Y/L/N. Stay behind a minute.” Professor Reichsgraf sighs, and tosses an empty cup into the trash can.

“Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhg!” You groan, thankfully the room is loud enough that he might not of even—

“Gods, you’d swear I told you that you’re going to jail,” He laughs. He’s sat behind the desk a little slouched like normal, head in a hand, elbow on a stack of papers (probably so it’s more comfortable) you tsk out loud at your thoughts, before pretending to yawn.

What a class A assho-

“Have a seat,” he asks.

“This will take that long??” You sigh out frustratedly.

“Gods, you young peop—”

“Oh don’t you ‘young people these days’ Me, mister!”

“It’s Doctor.”

“Oooo big dif. Fuck off” You cross your arms and roll your eyes.

He rolls his own, “Just sit.”

With a *plop*! into the seat, you do.

The professor stands, his hand lazily traces a knot in his desk as he rounds the table and approaches you slowly. “I don’t usually do this…”

“Woah, Um isn’t there like a rule against—”

“What!?” He furrows his brow then massages it quickly between his finger and thumb. “No, i’m offering to tutor you,” He sighs in annoyance.

“Oh really?” You would still really like to at least pass… “Okay fine.”

“What? really? no deals needed?” He looks you over.

shrugging, you say, “I mean what are you offering?”

“Nope, it’s a done deal, you already signed the dotted line crossed your t’s and all that.” He steps ever closer, and leans on the table you’re sat at.

“When do we start?”

~

You’ve had a few sessions with your professor but nothing seems to be working, the information just isn’t sticking until…

“Bend over.” Reichsgraf growls, head in his hand in frustration.

“Excuse me?” Your brows raise in shock.

“Bend over my knee, right now. You aren’t learning this way.”

You think at first he’s lying. Just trying to make you uncomfortable or something, maybe a bee flew into his coffee this morning so he’s taking it out on you. You don’t know. But you do it. You get down, lay over his lap and wait.

His hand massages your rump, “Now what’s the answer to number five?”

“A?”

A hand comes down onto your flesh with a *Smack!*

“Ow!” You yelp! “What the fuck!?”

“What is the answer to number five? Don’t just guess.”

“Is it not A?” You ask, it looks right… Right?

*SMACK!”

“OW!!” You yelp again, louder this time, it stings so much more the second time!

“You know the answer.”

“C!” You suddenly remember something he said about it yesterday, and he’s right, you did know the answer!

“Good job, I’m impressed.” He isn’t lying, he really is. Only two spanks on the first time? Maybe he had been hoping for more though, to be honest.

It’s a unique way to have to learn like this, but with you, he’s happy to oblige. All the time spent being frustrated that you couldn’t commit even the simplest knowledge to memory, he can finally get rid of…

“Okay now six.”

“Do we have to do the whole assignment like this?”

“Yes. Six.”

You shout, “A!”

*Smack!*

“Shit! I mean B!” You wince.

“You guessed again. Read the answer, and tell me why it’s correct.”

“Do i have to? I got it right that time.”

Suddenly the hand on your rear moves to your clothed sex, he presses down hard and trails along the divide. A gnawing heat starts to grow in your lower half quickly.

“Hey! wait-!”

“We don’t have the time. what is the answer to seven?”

“D!”

“Good Kitten,” His baritone seems even deeper somehow, as he rubs you harder, your jeans are getting too hot to bare. “We need these off.” He tugs on your back belt loop.

“Yeah…” You shock yourself when you agree so readily. You stand to unbutton them and get them off, but he slaps your hands away and takes your pants off for you.

Your body gets thrown around until your bent over the desk and the wood’s digging into your hip bones.

“Professor-!”

A growl escapes his throat. his hair is messier than usual when you turn back to look, before he grabs yours and steers you forward.

His fingers enter you first, already setting a fast pace, he curls them and scissors them; all while pistoning so fast you feel like you’re already teetering on the edge. “Such a good kitten, you’re doing so good for me,” He hums deeply in his throat.

You whine and wriggle, until he tenses his grip in your hair and on your hip. His hand fans out over your skin and gropes you the entire way up to your chest, pressing a traveling dent into your stomach and over your ribs. Your brows peak, and your mouth hangs open.

“Seven.”

“SERIOUSLY???” You stomp, way to take you out of it.

*SLAP!* Your ass was sore from the earlier abuse, to be slapped now stings so brutally!!!

“F-fuck!!” You shake.

“Seven. Now.” His hand is raised and prepped to hit you again.

You shimmy and jump, “No, no more please!!”

*SLAP!*

“AHH!” You screech! “ummm,” You read the question rapidly through bleary eyes, “D! D! It’s D!!!” You shout and writhe in his grasp.

“I’m so proud of you, I knew you could do this,” He rubs something cooling on your ass cheek and it feels so much better!

“Oh thank you thank you oh my gods.” you let out so much air you feel dizzy. His cock starts to rub against you, making your dizzy spell last longer. it’s so hot and hard and.. LONG! Holy shit it’s so long! You’re gonna be speared to death on that thing! You drool at the anticipation! “Fuck me.” You say it in a long groan as an expression but also mean it very much.

“You deserve it, you’ve been doing so good,” Holy shit, his words strike some heavenly chord that opens your pearly gates wide for him, and he enters without resistance, taking his time to really appreciate your interior.

“Holy shit!” You can’t help the obscenities, they just fall from your lips naturally, you’re so surprised at all of this, at yourself for willingly doing it, at your hot teacher for wanting you in the first place, at so many things…. Most of all at how HOT his dick is like molten lava inside you and it feels fucking DIVINE.

“You’re such a good kitten,” He rubs you as you take his length.

His movements are calculated, every single one. No matter how fast they hit your spots like a master martial artist targeting pressure points. You aren’t getting a break from his assaults every strike is a critical blow. Even when he slows down his spongey head sweetly kisses those spots igniting obscene fires that don’t have time to burn out before being reignited fully.

You’re getting close, so painfully close to a volcanic eruption, your bubbling!

“Cum for me, darling” He leans down over your back, to whisper into your ear, his voice gravely and so low.

“AHH!!!” You scream out and your whole body goes rigid and convulses, his own cum shoots inside you and you take all of it.

“So good for me, you took me so well, darling…” His eyes practically have hearts in them.

[sauvhffp]

★| should've just told me.

sypnosis: you and ushijima are fuck buddies. he comes to you to let off steam and vice versa. you suddenly confront him and tell him that you want to end things with him and he fucks that idea out of you.

𝅄 ༊࿐⠀ִ⠀ i am ashamed to say that this was inspired by a scenario with an ushijima bot i had in ca.i except i took the route that contained more angry sex

CONTENT WARNING ! — ushijima wakatoshi x m!reader (both are in 3rd yr of college) cockwarming, manhandling, aggressive/angry sex, semi-public sex, mirror sex, hair gripping, ooc, reader and ushi have a heart-to-heart session while ushi jr. is drowning in reader's ass. minors do not interact.

word count ; 2.2k

"Whha—hng!" You clench your teeth as his dick knocks on the entrance of your stomach, forcibly trying to pop its head in the tiny opening for him to be able to fill you up with his seed in the literal way. "Slow dow—ushi!"

You could do nothing but whine, ass swallowing his cock in its full glory. You can't even move an inch, even if you flinch. He's got you elevated in this position; strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping your head that's forcibly making you stare at the way his dick was undoubtedly pounding your poor ass, your legs just stupidly swinging up and down along with your still hard, bite-sized, penis.

He was manhandling you in a way he knows you love.

You were someone who loved a good dicking down every now and often. You loved the feeling of going dumb, body aching with pleasure and your brain a mess, unable to think of anything but just cock. Outside that, though, you were a smart, quick-witted guy who excelled in everything academic related.

So with all the stress piling up due to the upcoming finals, you found yourself in search of dick to cool your jets and to not overload your brain with pressure. Of course, you'd have never expected to find someone like him and be in this kind of relationship with the heart of this university's volleyball star; Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You guess it probably was the alcohol you downed three bottles of during that one senior party that influenced the slut in you to make a move on the famously stoic individual you've ever met. I mean, have you seen the guy? He was every woman's wet dream! Including yours, too. Though, you were never truly expecting anything to happen with all your drunkenly spew you called "flirting." You were wholeheartedly expecting a nonchalant response from him, not a body left with bruises and hickies paired with a gaping hole when you woke up in an extravagant motel room.

You've never left him alone since.

How you managed to convince him to use you as an outlet to release his own stress and basically become his personal cumdump was beyond you. It was a story to tell your nephews and aunties in the near future because fucking a hunk; a volleyball dude; was the first for your entire lineage. For now, you were getting fucked like you were nothing but a breathing fleshlight.

"Fffhuu—hgkk!" Ushijima purposely sent a particularly harsh thrust in your ass. His dick was pressed against your prostate, and by gods, did it feel so deliciously painful. Your hands fumbled about, scratching his firm muscle that was hooked beneath your knees from the mind-numbing pleasure. Your face, contorted in pleasure, reflected on the abandoned bathroom mirror of the uni building you both attend in. Your soft, pink tongue peeked out of your mouth, the upper half of it resting on your teeth as thick globs of tears dripped down your starry eyes. The tears contributed to the shine in them. "Uhg—Ushii—!"

"Plea—hngg" Gulping down the spit before you start choking from being unable to breathe, you throw your head back on his shoulder blades as he slowly grinds his cock against your spot. "S—Slow down for a moment—god... Why're you so suddenly—?"

Ushijima, this fucking dickwad (questionable), didn't even let you finish your complaint before continuing his pace. You can't even look at him through the mirror because your body feels so putty, and you're fighting the urge to roll your eyes at the back of your skull. You don't have the strength to raise your head nor grind back on his cock to tease him. The only thing you can do now is grip on his hand, keen, cry, and be used. In any other time, you would have loved this kind of sex, especially because Ushijima was a bit of a freak himself behind that picture of nonchalance.

But like—aren't you supposed to be breaking off this arrangement in the first place...?

"Angh!" You cried out as your dick spurted clear cum. Ushijima sank his teeth on the slope of your neck. He littered soft kisses all over it all the while destroying your insides. He sucked and nipped on the teeth marks he left, sighing when he felt you clench weakly around him. "Hhhng... Seriously..." Sobbing, you can feel him chuckle on your skin. He wasn't even sorry for you. This bastard...

"Wh—What is wrong with you...?" Taking all the remaining strength you have left, you raise your head to look at him through the mirror. "I already missed my 4th lesson because of you. Wh-What the hell is your deal...?!"

"..." Ushijima didn't say anything. Though, when he directly looked at you with a heavy gaze, you felt your heart jump (and ass clench).

"What? D-Don't look at me like that!" You scream in embarrassment, closing your eyes to save yourself from the shame of seeing Ushijima slut you out in the middle of lecture hours. You don't want to have to suck off your professor just to save you from his unfair grading of your marks again. You remember having to skip dinner from the appalling stink that left a bad taste of his unwashed, uncut, dick on your mouth. Ugh. "Are you upset that I said that I didn't want to have sex with you anymore?! Is my bussy that good?!"

Of course, you just had to crack such a hilarious joke when his dick is still perched snuggly inside your ass. You can't even be rewarded with the embarrassment from committing such an atrocious crime cause his dick was pulsing inside you. You can feel it throbbing, feel every length and ridge of its veins. No other dick can ever compare to this guy's, and it's the reality you've come to terms with.

While you were busy shaking—with your ass gobbling his cock like it was the last supper—you failed to notice the stare that Ushijima had been shooting you darkened even more. You could feel his fingertips scrape against your skull when he curled his fingers to grip your hair in his hands, tilting your head so that you could fully face the mirror in front of you.

"[Name]." The tone in his voice made you curl your toes, dick squirting pre. You came so much that it was beginning to sting. "... Open your eyes."

Well, shit. If he's asking like that, you might just sign off your freedom of choice to this guy. You slowly crack your eyes open, eyesight getting trippy from all the harsh movements of before and from clenching your eyes shut. Once you adjust, you look into the mirror. No, you look into Ushijima.

You cum.

In relflex, your legs buck themselves and try to close, but with Ushijima's firm arms locking them in place, spread eagle style, you don't get to save yourself from the shame of squirting from the intensity of his gaze bore into you. You weren't even allowed to look at your squirting dick when the strands of your hair were being gripped by the hands of someone who passionately spank balls. His amber eyes spoke more languages than humans could not fathom. Hell, you think that it might be speaking to you in ceasar cipher.

In short, he looked fucking annoyed. Frustraded, perchance. Moreover, he has this look on his face whenever his team was at a disadvantage or when he was playing a losing game.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is pissed.

"Hey..." You slowly start realizing the situation you're in. Realizing how much you've been overlooking when you refused to acknowledge your own festering feelings. "You're not actually mad about that, are you?"

Despite the serious atmosphere, the dude's dick was still hard. Talk about commitment.

"Hey... mngh- T-Talk to me, damn it..." You shudder as you feel him slow down, opting to just spread you open on his dick as he straightens his back into a more comfortable position for the both of you. It makes you wonder if his muscles were getting sore for carrying a heavy ass like you while thrusting so wildly into your heat. Christ, the thought itself does things to you that you can't put into words. "Stop moving for a bit- god, you animal-"

"No." Was all that he could say. You felt your stomach twist.

""No" what?" You clenched your teeth as you stared into his amber eyes refusing to look away from your own. "No to slowing down? Oh, c'mon, dude... Just- hng- gimme a break-"

"Why?" Oh my god, "why" what?! Is this bitch seriously asking why I want to take a quick break from this mind-numbing bathroom stall sex?!

"Listen, Ushi, do you really need to ask-"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Now he's asking coherent questions. Gosh, finally. "Well..." You close your eyes, actually pondering the answer. "Not really. It feels good, so no. Just give me a moment to catch myself." You answer with a sigh, grabbing onto his forearms as you relax in his hold (even though your thighs are literally spread in mid-air with your micro-dick exposed) "Seriously, though... The fuck's gotten into you?"

"..." Ushijima didn't answer. Instead, he let go of your head and thighs gently as he wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you up while he used his other hand to close the toilet lid. He then maneuvered your clueless ass to sit on his dick as he sat down on the toilet. This man... Is he... Seriously treating you as his cocksleeve to warm his still hard dick? While you both have a conversation? While you both miss both of your remaining lectures of the afternoon? Insane shit.

You both sat there in silence with you looking and feeling hella confused and Ushijima leaning to bury his face on the crook of your neck as he held you in his arms. He leaned back on the toilet and you both stayed like that for a while. Huh.

... What the fuck...?

"Oi. Will you just hurry up and tell me? You don't want to break the arrangement, don't you?" You grumble. "You coulda just told me straight up, y'know. And to not try to fuck the thought out of me. That's cliché as hell, and I didn't think you'd resort to bullshit like that."

"Sorry."

"You should be, asshole." You scoff. You lean against his lean build, stirring his junior inside of you but Ushiwaka jr. isn't important now. What's important is this big baby clutching onto you like you're going to sprint out of here any second now.

You reach out to scratch his scalp, adjusting your position on his lap while ultimately letting out little noises from grinding onto his shaft. Man, couldn't he just have pulled out, just for this moment? You can't help but scratch his head a little harsher from the thought. "Idiot. If you liked me so much, you really should have just told me. I like you too, for the record. And I was trying to break off our arrangements 'cause I thought you had a thing for the woman in the sports department. You and her seemed really close, y'know. I didn't want to hold you back for a girl like her."

"Hmf." Ushijima scoffed before raising his head, perching his chin on the blades of your shoulder. "Look who's talking. Who was it that said "You should have just told me" a while ago?"

"Touché. I got confirmation from your teammate, though. He told me that you went to date with her the other day." You huffed back, tugging on his hair as you snarled. "You can't really blame me, can you?"

"You still should've just asked." The thick pad of his thumb caressed your stomach through your shirt. He mumbled next to your ear in a low, mellow tone. "I did go on a date with her because she asked me out first. I figured I'd go and see where it leads, but..." A small smile made it's way to his lips as he held you closer. "I like you too much."

"Oh yeah? Is that really the reason? Or is my bussy just too good to let go?'"

"Mm. Whatever you say."

In the end, you both stuck around inside the bathroom stall until this period of the lecture ends. Of course, you both fucked until it was time to peel yourselves off of each other. Once you both did and fixed yourselves, you didn't just gave him a slap on the ass for the good fuck this time. Instead, you cupped his face and gave him the most passionate kiss you've ever given to another breathing person (not like you ever did that to a non-breathing person anyway) and gave him a slap on the ass after you muttered the words "Love you, Ushi." and practically skipped out of the bathroom with a face filled with glee.

You wouldn't admit it, but even if you didn't like Ushijima, you'd still bet that the fuck you have received in that bathroom would've definitely fucked the thought of breaking things off with ushijima out of your brain.

౨ৎ sauv speaks: chat how many months has it been? my bad if this is bad TT my ass gon b missing after ts cs i gots so much to do... i'm so cooked this year

[sashaisready]

Feel The Burn: Chapter 1

Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Series Masterlist

Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.

Wordcount: Approx 4.3k

Me again! I've never written for Lance but felt inspired by the wonderful @nickfowlerrr and her recent Lance fic (it's great, go check it out!) Expecting lots of angst, smut and drama cos you know I love that. Warnings for Lance being a dickwad. Also my first Destroyer!Chris attempt so let's see how we go. As always - reblogs and comments mean the world!

🥇

He’d snuck out before you had woken up.

The little shit.

You knew it shouldn’t be a surprise…but it still stung regardless.

You weren’t stupid. You knew your ‘arrangement’ with Lance was a casual one – no labels, no expectations, no exclusivity. You’d both been transparent about that, and you weren’t exactly looking to lock into anything serious at the moment – between work, friends, family and general surviving, you only really had time and headspace for fun and stress release.

Lance was the perfect candidate for that. Between his personal trainer role job and coaching on the side, he was just as busy as you were. He was also fun and wanted to keep things light, he didn’t put demands on your time and didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give.

He was also an asshole. Which helped keep the boundaries and lines clear.

You’d met at a bar a few months prior. He’d sent over a cocktail via the bartender, and you were rolling your eyes at the cheesy gesture from the guy who appeared to be wearing what looked like a bright red Olympics jacket at the dive bar. But then he came over, and you were surprised at how disarming his stupid smile was, and how easily he made your friends laugh. And then suddenly you were laughing along with them.

He was cute, you’d give him that. Big blue eyes swimming with mischief, a permanent smirk tattooed across his face. Carefully coiffed hazelnut hair that you just instinctively knew had to be perfect before he left the house.

A walking red flag.

Literally too, with that jacket.

You ended up chatting deep into the evening, your friends moving onto the club while you chose to stay with your new buddy. You found out he was a former Olympic gold winning gymnast turned personal trainer and gymnastics coach, which sounded so fake that you laughed out loud at the outrageous claim – until he smugly made you google him on your phone…

…Touché.

Your job wasn’t quite as impressive, but he did seem interested in the fact you owned your own coffee shop downtown. He’s big into the whole self-made thing.

He was cocky and arrogant; you rolled your eyes constantly and groaned at all his jokes all evening. He was everything you’d normally avoid in a man, yet you were strangely captivated by him. There seemed to be a self-awareness to him that intrigued you, as if he knew how awful he was and leaned into it with a knowing wink. At least he was upfront about his assholery, so many men you knew hid theirs until you’d fallen into the deep.

Of course you ended up back at his place, practically falling through the door as he kissed you feverishly, his hands all over you as if he couldn’t get enough – tugging your clothes off before he’d even closed the front door behind him. He spread you out across his couch and ate you out like a starving man, you were shocked at how quickly and how hard he made you come. Men like him often only talked the talk, so you were genuinely caught off guard that he could also walk the walk.

You’d giggled at the utter ridiculousness of the tattoo across his crotch after he’d removed his boxers, the fuzzy haze from your orgasm giving way to clarity as the ludicrous medal image snapped everything back to focus. What the fuck were you doing here??

But he was unperturbed, laughing along with you and shrugging off your reaction – surely, he must be the cockiest man on the planet. “I earned it,” he grinned wickedly, pulling you into him.

His touch was dizzying. He knew exactly how to hold you, how to feel you, how to push you to let go. You were initially conscious of your softer body compared to his rock-hard abs, you didn’t exactly have a gymnast body yourself - but he looked at you unashamedly – circling every inch, tracing every curve. He’d eyed you hungrily, helping himself to you as if you were the tastiest buffet he’d ever had. If you covered your tummy with your hand he’d rip it away, leaving no part of you hidden from him.

It was intoxicating.

And god, the stamina. The flexibility. You lost count of the positions he’d twist you into, effortlessly coaxing your figure into shapes and angles you didn’t even know you were capable of. Never too far, never leaving you uncomfortable for long – or you’d just be too euphoric to notice. Something just clicked with the two of you physically, your bodies fit together as if they’d been designed that way. If your body was a song, he hit every note.

You’d never experienced anything like it.

That was a few months ago and you were unable to fully disentangle yourself from him. What you had intended to be a one-night thing had spread into many nights. Texts. Filthy FaceTime calls. Meeting each other after nights out with respective friends. One of his buddies even began dating one of yours, so you find yourself in the same spots more and more regularly. You were very different people – he was loud and brash, you were more shy and reserved. He would talk the ear off anyone who’d chat to him, you’d quietly listen and observe the conversation. Nobody would have ever put you two together, and your friends were slightly baffled by the arrangement – but they just wanted you to enjoy yourself.

Every time you said you’d wean yourself off him, he’d pop up on your phone and it would be back to square one again.

You knew he was toxic, you knew he was bad, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your brain switched off when you were with him, no anxiety, no insecurities – just enjoying the moment, lost in your pleasure. Nobody had ever made your feel like that in the bedroom, or outside of it either, he was an addiction your body couldn’t curb. He was the bag of candy you knew was in the cupboard and couldn’t resist sneaking the occasional piece.

…You just had to be careful not to binge the whole thing.

All you’d ever asked from him was respect. You may have just been casual, but you wanted to be treated decently – no degradation or meanness unless you’d specifically requested for it in bed (and sometimes you had), no ditching once you’d agreed to meet, no asking anything too personal about each other’s lives. Sure, you were always mouthing off to each other, but it was infused with fun and banter – never cruel, never unkind.

Just because this was casual didn’t mean you should treat each other like dirt.

Sometimes you stayed over at each other’s places, you both enjoyed a post-coital cuddle – even if neither of you had ever said it aloud. You often ended up sleeping on his chest, hearing his breathing deepen as he absent-mindedly played with your hair. Or you’d shower together, and he’d carefully clean you up, the one time the wise cracks were muted as he washed your body and stood with you under the water, holding you against him. Sometimes you’d just stay up late talking, laughing into the night. As wrong as he was for you, he was also easy to be around. You didn’t need to put on a show or performance for him, maybe because you had never really felt the need to impress him. It took the pressure off.

If you didn’t know any better, the altogether picture might look like something resembling tenderness (but you did know better).

Leaning over this morning and seeing him gone felt like a surprising shot in the gut.

He knew full well you were a light sleeper, he’d accidentally woken you up numerous times at your many sleepovers during late-night bathroom trips or bumping against you after rolling over. He was very used to the angry pillow thrown in his direction as you groaned at the interruption and snuggled back into the sheets or allowed him to tug you back into his arms.

But this morning…He must’ve put his training to good use and crawled out of bed like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, carefully dodging the creaky floorboards in your bedroom like lasers and collecting his clothes at the same volume as a gnat's hiccup.

You frowned, not liking that.

It’s not like you wanted him to hang around. You had to go to the shop anyway. But normally he slept in with you, sometimes getting up before you to make you both coffee, or on rare occasions getting something started for breakfast. Ever the committed coach and former athlete, he often liked a detailed ‘debrief’ of the previous night’s performances – with focus on high points, and areas to develop and work on. Yes, really. He took it very seriously and wanted to be top of his game. Which only really benefited you in the long run, as farcical as the whole ritual was.

You knew his schedule, you knew he didn’t have any sessions booked at this time. Him sneaking off just felt…wrong. Rude, somehow. Like he’d got what he needed from you so felt no need to keep up niceties or courtesy, even though that’s always how this thing had worked.

You glanced at your phone. A message from Kat but nothing else. You checked your text thread with Lance – nothing except the ‘you up, Cupcake? 🧁’ text and selfie he’d sent you last night before you’d arranged for him to come by. Hmm.

Fine. Whatever. Unusual, but shit happens – maybe it was just a one-off. You shrugged it off, despite the faint pang of anxiety it left in your stomach.

You fired off a quick text to him, “nice disappearing act, Tucker. You must’ve pulled a muscle with all that stealth”.

You watched the screen and saw that immediately the little bubbles appeared to show he was typing. They hovered for a few seconds, then disappeared, then started again…only to disappear once more. Huh. Weird. Not like him to ignore a jibe like that. Oh well. Maybe he was in the middle of something.

You put it to the back of your mind and got ready for work, heading over to the coffee shop. Marina had opened that morning so you joined her behind the register, greeting her cheerily and asking about her day so far. You did a quick scan of the shop – a few regulars had piled in, but it wasn’t too busy yet. You threw yourself into your normal tasks – helping with customers, wiping down tables, checking inventory, doing some accounts in the back office. All very normal. You soon forgot about Lance and the unusual start to the morning, getting into full work mode. Filter and Foam Café was your baby, your life. It hadn’t been easy to get the business up and running, you started out with a second-hand espresso machine and a cart, then built your customer base brick by brick until you could eventually afford to lease a premises and hire a small team. It was the result of endless long hours and hard graft, but it had paid off. Maybe your business degree had been worth the money, after all.

You felt at home here with your regulars and your staff, life was hard for many, and you were never going to cure cancer or broker world peace – but if you could brighten someone’s day with a decent cup of coffee and a nice pastry, that was something at least. There were lesser contributions to life.

You took a break and checked your phone. Nothing from Lance, unusually, but you replied to Kat’s message from this morning. She was reminding you about her party at the weekend, asking you to bring a bottle. Kat was dating Lance’s friend, Matt, and they were throwing their first joint-party at their new place together. It was cute.

If all else failed, you could berate Lance for his radio silence when you got to the party.

The week rolled on. Still no word from Lance, which was strange as he normally replied to your messages quickly, but it also wasn’t unusual for one/both of you to vanish for a little while if you had a lot going on. You weren’t worried, and you weren’t the type to be obsessively checking your phone. A tiny voice at the back of your head told you that something felt off, but you easily smothered it. The whole point of your arrangement with Lance was to avoid stress and drama, so you wouldn’t entertain anything else.

Friday night came around. Marina was closing which meant you could leave the shop early to go get ready. You settled on a black dress you were fond of, not too showy, not too frumpy, but hugged your figure nicely. You threw on a pair of comfortable heels and did your hair and make-up how you liked, grabbing a taxi to Kat’s place with the requested bottle and feeling excited about spending some time with your friends – even if parties weren’t your scene.

As you walked in the party was in full swing. Kat rushed over to you excitedly and thrust a cocktail in your hand as she gabbled about the new place – giving you a mini tour. Matt chimed in where he could and you grinned at their dynamic – Kat the whirlwind of chaos, Matt the calming breeze. It worked. It was charming to witness, they’d moved fast - but anyone could see how much they meant to each other. Kat and Matt, even their names worked together.

As you moved through the house with them you recognised most of the faces dotted throughout the party, waving and promising to catch up with some of them after you had finished the home tour. You noted you hadn’t seen Lance, but no doubt he would be making himself known sooner or later.

An hour later you were perching on the arm of the sofa, giggling along with Kat as she regaled Matt and some of your friends with a notorious anecdote from your college days.

“I just can’t believe you did it!” Kat squealed with laughter as she playfully knocked your arm, “and here was me thinking I was brave!”

“Well in my defence, he did cheat on one of our best friends…and it was unlucky for him that I still had all that chicken feed after the farm volunteering day,” you grinned, slightly awkwardly as you’re not always comfortable holding court like this. “But hey, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get the bird crap off of his car after they’d finished eating…”

The group all laughed raucously but your eyes were drawn to someone watching you from across the living room. You sipped from your glass as Lance observed you carefully. His expression was strangely unreadable, not giving you the knowing grin he usually flashed when you locked eyes. He wore dark jeans and a nice navy button-down, no sign of the ubiquitous Team USA jackets this evening.

He made his way over to the group you were talking to, Matt greeted him enthusiastically and they did their buddy fist bump thing they often did. He said hello to the other members of the gathering then gave you a curt nod.

“Cupcake”.

“Tuck”, you responded with your own nod.

The group exchanged knowing glances. Your friends were very aware of the unconventional nature of yours and Lance’s ‘friendship’.

He joins in the conversation effortlessly, much easier than you, flowing and diving in with jokes like he’d been standing there all evening. When separate discussions broke off and formed within smaller groups, you took the opportunity to freshen your drink in the kitchen.

“What’s up with you two?” someone hissed.

You looked up from your glass as Kat slithered around the door, checking over her shoulder to ensure you were alone.

“What? With who?” you wrinkled your nose.

“Don’t play dumb! You and Lance! What’s the latest?” your friend pestered, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You laughed, “oh, stop. Nothing. You know it’s just a physical thing…”

“Yeah, whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Having your weird silent conversations with your eyes. When are you going to wake up and realise that you’re basically dating at this point??”

You huffed in protest but she persisted.

“I’m serious, babe, you know Matt said recently that he hasn’t seen Lance with any other girls for a while now…”

You were surprised by that. You and Lance had never been exclusive, but also had the manners not to discuss anyone else with each other. You’d had the occasional date but nothing much, and based on his aggressive flirting had just assumed he had a steady roster of women in his life (although sometimes you weren’t sure how he’d fit them in based on how frequently you saw him).

But you shook it off. You weren’t naïve enough to think someone as greedy as Lance Tucker would be satisfied with only one girl in his life.

You scoffed in response, “oh come on Kat. It’s not like that…it’s just fun. Besides, he snuck out of my apartment earlier this week and then didn’t respond to my text. Hardly boyfriend behaviour…”

“What? That little…want me to beat his ass?”

“I’d love to see that. But no, I’m good. Thank-you,” you chuckled, Kat was 5’1” – any ass kicking she did would be a sight to see. But you knew full well she could handle it, if she wanted to badly enough.

“I’m not letting him treat you like shit…you know that…” she warned as she squeezed your shoulders.

“I do, Kat,” you smiled, “but you know I’m not letting him do that, either”.

She nodded and grimaced, but that seemed to put her mind at rest.

As if summoned, Lance entered the kitchen a second later, making his way over to the rows of bottles to make himself a drink. Kat was being called back into the living room by a loudly drunk partygoer, she rushed out and shrieked an apology to you as she flew out of the door.

“Fuck, Marcy, not the vase!” you heard her cry out as she vanished.

You laughed at her disarray and finished pouring your own drink.

“So, what’s up with you, Tuck?” you asked Lance as you took a sip.

You watched as he made his gin and slimline tonic – always health-conscious, of course.

He shrugged, “what? Nothing. I’m good,” he said blankly without looking up.

“Right…well why did you sneak out the other day? That’s not like you,” you asked casually, “you’d never normally miss a debrief, and sneaking isn’t really your thing,” you laughed good-naturedly, “louder and prouder, in my experience”.

He shrugged again, “I had to run. Sorry”.

His voice was flat, with none of his usual vigour or mirth. It was…weird.

“Oh, okay. Well…you could’ve said bye. But no biggie. I just thought it was weird you didn’t text me back, so thought I’d check you were okay. All good? Gymnast emergency?” you joked.

“Nope,” he shot back – his tone contained none of the lightness that yours did. “And would you just get off my back, already?”

“Jesus, okay,” you frowned, surprised at his reaction. This wasn’t like him at all. “I was just playing…it wasn’t like you-”.

Suddenly he slammed his glass down, it rattled as it hit the counter, “Fucking christ – just drop it, would ya? Needling away at me…I’m not your fucking boyfriend, alright?”

You flinched, completely caught off guard by his vitriol. This wasn’t Lance, this wasn’t the usual dynamic, normally you bantered back and forth and teased each other. He was often crass, but never…mean.

You didn’t speak for a moment, scrambling for words as your brain tried to compute what had just happened.

“I didn’t say you were…” you mumbled.

“Do this, do that, let’s have coffee, don’t sneak out, blah blah blah. I mean what, are you my fucking wife or something?” he spat venomously.

He looked up at you with anger in his eyes, a look you’d never seen in them before.

“No…Lance, I’m just messing around…”

“Are you? Because it feels like you’re suffocating me here”.

You scoffed in disbelief, “what? How? Because I asked you why you snuck out of my apartment?! Because it’s something you’ve never done before. And then I dared to texted you once about it? Hardly a fucking marriage proposal!”

“I don’t need to tell you where I am every fuckin’ minute of the day…”

“I’m not asking you to, fuck! I just think it’s shitty to sneak out like that. You could’ve just told me you were going! Or sent a text or something, damn! It’s pretty basic decency! Like having to acknowledge me before you leave is that strenuous…”

Both of you were yelling now, fortunately drowned out by the blaring music from the living room, the party obliviously continuing in full swing as you two of you exchanged barbs across the kitchen.

After some time going around in circles, he eventually sighed, taking a deep breath as he placed his palms flat on the kitchen counter. His voice now lowered.

“Look…I thought we were on the same page about this. It’s just fun…just messing around. We aren’t a thing, you and me”.

“I know,” you scowled. “I’m very aware. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask that you treat me with a degree of respect…We can have fun and be casual without contempt for each other. Sneaking out and then ignoring me…then acting like I’m the asshole for bringing it up…that’s just…”

“All of it…the coffee…the showers…the sleepovers. It’s just gone a little too far,” he sighed. “Cupcake I…”

You blinked at him, bewildered.

He continued, his voice was soft, as if approaching you like you were a frightened deer, “you’re a great fuck, alright? But that’s it. I can get it from 10 other girls in my phone, if I want. You’re cute, you’re funny, but you’re also a means to an end. You get my dick wet, and you’re good at it. Damn good. You make me so hard I can’t see straight. But I also don’t need you interrogating me about my business. Got it?”

You were shocked by his reaction and the callousness of his words…and the pang of hurt that radiated in your chest.

But more so you were angry. Angry at how he’d blown up out of nowhere, angry at his cavalier approach to all of this, angry at his patronising tone, angry at him for trying to talk you down like you were some kind of idiot. Acting as if he could say whatever he liked as long as he did it in a soothing tone. Like you were some kind of besotted lovesick pup he pitied and needed to let down gently.

Asshole.

You glowered at him so hard he actually leaned back a little, the arrogance in his eyes suddenly dulling in response.

“Cupcake, look, I’m sorry…that was-” he started, moving towards you.

“Oh save it, Lance!” you shot back furiously, shoving him away as he advanced towards you.

“Cupcake…I’m sorry-”

“And don’t call me that!”

“Okay, sorry, look, I was out of line…really…” he said gently.

Great. Pity. That was somehow worse.

You wished you had some witty retort for him, some clever insult to stop him in his tracks and put him in his place. But your rage paralysed any potential wit you may have been capable of.

“Tell it to one of the other 10 girls in your phone. Fuck this…and fuck you too!” you told him through gritted teeth.

That would have to do.

You downed your drink and stormed out of the kitchen. He was hot on your heels, telling you not to be like this and just to take a second but you could barely hear him over your own anger. You did a quick scan of the room but couldn’t see Kat, doing your best to ignore the stares from other partygoers as your newly found shadow tried to stop you from leaving. Some of your other friends were calling your name but you couldn’t bear to speak to anyone.

“Cupcake…hey, wait up,” Lance pleaded, cupping your shoulder.

“Just…leave me alone,” you hissed and wriggled his arm off you. You hope he didn't notice the slight crack in your voice.

He relented, letting out a low exhale and sheepishly shoving his hands in his pockets. You turned away from him, quickly grabbing your coat from the large pile in the hallway, leaving the house as fast as your feet could carry you.

You were trembling as the cold outside air hit you, not quite sure what had just happened. Your face felt hot and flushed with humiliation as you stood uselessly on the porch.

You somehow managed to quickly fire off an apology text to Kat saying you’d left. No doubt she’d be blowing up your phone imminently after the partygoers filled her in on all the drama. You suddenly felt immense guilt for making her big night all about you.

“Motherfucker!” you said aloud into the night.

“What did I do?” replied a smooth voice.

You flinched, confused until a man stepped out from the front of the house. He was smoking out here, initially hidden from your view as he must’ve been leaning against the wall just out of sight. He was tall, his hair shaved at the sides but longer and darker on top. He had a thick beard, cutting an intimidating figure in his denim vest, showing off the tattoos on his biceps. Mostly you were struck by his eyes, cerulean pools that were as striking as they were daunting.

They were also oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t place.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t talking to you…” you mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught out like this in your current state.

“Well, I got time. Just taking a break from the party,” he took a long drag on his cigarette, “I’m Chris. So, tell me about this motherfucker…”

🥇

[everywishway]

I know this would never happen but I think it would be so funny if Tumblr bought TikTok, if only for the sole reason of pissing off all other major companies that want to buy it. I don't even think it would be hard to do! Tumblr would want to do so little changes, literally whatever the minimal amount of change the US government wanted to keep it in the states, and TikTok would fucking love that.

They would love not having Elon Musk, the biggest dickwad ever, to not completely destroy their app like he did twitter. They would fucking love not having Mark Zuckerburg slap META on it in big dumb letters and mess with the fundamental shit that makes TikTok work. This would be the biggest fuck you to the tech juggernauts that control the social media industry and I would love it.

Tumblr would just go "Yeah, stricter restrictions on cyberbullying the people who would be on our main app, ban the muskrat, and add a dumb thing every April Fools and you got a deal."

[scapegh0st]

One-Way Mirror (Gavin Reed x Reader)

Summary: Both Gavin and Reader suck at feelings Content: NSFW 18+, gn!Reader, smut, angst, hurt/no comfort, fingerfucking, dirty talk, friends with benefits, unresolved feelings, unrequited love, basically just angsty smut Word Count: 1.6k read on ao3

You love him.

Or at least you think you do.

Sure, Gavin Reed is the resident asshole of the Detroit Police Department and he can be hard to swallow—both figuratively and literally—but he's something more to you. He's an enigma that you want to—need to—figure out.

You glance up at him from your kneeling position, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other between your legs. His head is thrown back and his bottom lip is between his teeth. You think he’s pretty like this, with his eyes shut and that screwed-up look of pleasure on his face.

When he’s like this, he doesn’t notice you staring—doesn’t make some dickish comment like “take a picture, it’ll last longer.” It’s one of the few times he’s actually quiet—besides the soft muffled sounds coming from his mouth. 

You don’t think he loves you back. You really just think that he’s incapable of love, incapable of being more than this.

He lets you see him like this because you understand him—because you get him. He can call you as many names as he likes and you always shoot them back— dickwad, douchebag, asshole. He likes that about you, you think—that you can match his energy.

Your lips wrap around the head, tongue swirling around like you have to taste every inch of him. He lets out a groan—if he could sink right through the mattress, you think he would. He’s melting and you know that you’re the heat that molds him.

“Fuck… ” he mutters, one of his hands running through his hair and the other gripping your head. He doesn’t push you—he knows better—but he knows you like when he grips your hair. You hum around him before taking him deeper into your mouth.

He’s like water in your hands, slipping through despite how much you try to cup them and keep him there. He’s always two steps away even when he’s right here.

He pulls you off of him, his eyes open and he looks down at you. He’s panting and the wrinkle between his brows deepens. “I don’t wanna finish like this,” he says, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “Come on, get up here.”

It’s not a demand or an order like he usually gives you, it’s something more blurred—his voice is gentle, not full of spite and a lack of sleep. He’s asking you, letting you deny him even though he needs this. You need this.

You push yourself off the ground and join him on the bed. He’s on top of you in seconds, yanking your pants down your legs–your belt makes a clinking sound when they hit the floor.

There’s this glint in his eyes that you only see when he’s hovering over you. You know it’s probably nothing– just a trick your mind is playing on you–but you swear it means something, that this is what he can give you. It’s not quite love, but it’s enough. It has to be enough.

One of his fingers fills you, drawing a sharp exhale from your lungs. He adds another and your hand clasps over your mouth, drowning the sounds into your palm. He grins that cocky grin that would usually piss you off in any other circumstance—but he’s proud of himself and you're okay with letting him have this. You’d let him tear you apart if he asked.

“Yeah? You like that?” He questions, his own type of pillow talk. “I don’t even have to do this—you’re always ready for me like the good whore you are.”

You should feel insulted—you don’t. Instead, you respond with a muffled moan and a slight head nod. He seems to like that answer as he adds a third finger. 

Your free hand grips the sheets and you feel like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. If heaven was real, you were sure this was it.

“Nobody else makes you feel this good, do they?”

No, they don’t. Nobody else makes you feel like they’re holding your head underwater and that you trust them enough to pull you up for air when you need it. Like sleep to the freezing. Something so good but so wrong.

He pulls out his fingers and you whine, eyes snapping open to narrow in frustration at him. He just laughs that god-awful laugh that you love despite how much it grates your ears.

“What? Is something wrong?” You can hear the smirk in his voice—he’s so smug and you want to fucking throttle him.

You open your mouth to fire back but you’re swiftly shut up by his cock filling you. He’s never gentle when he’s fucking you—it’s hard and it’s fast and it pulls you apart. You’re not sure you ever want him to fuck you any differently.

Your eyes find his face as his hips piston into you, grunts escaping his throat. He’s not looking at you— he never does. You’re always watching him and he’s never seeing you. 

His eyes are closed and you wonder if he’s imagining someone else. Someone more pliable to what he wants. You’re made of stone—he can chip away but he never can mold you into something easier to hold. You’ll always have sharp edges—he grabs you like he doesn’t care if he slices his hand.

You close your own eyes, trying to think of someone else. An old hookup. Your last Tinder date. That new android detective, Connor—you know Gavin would hate the thought and you can’t do that to him, not even subconsciously.

Gavin’s presence in your head is overbearing. Every choice you make somehow leads back to him, from your choice of clothing to the life-or-death decisions you’re forced to make each day.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Gavin grabs one of your hands and interlaces your fingers. It’s so… intimate —you don’t know what to think. His hand in yours makes this real—at least to you. It tells you that he’s aware of you for once, that he’s not just fucking a hole— he’s fucking you and he’s conscious of it.

He slams into you again, his head coming down to the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath against your skin, soft pants as he thrusts in and out. “Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, the fingers of his other hand digging into your hip. “You’re so good for me.”

You want it to mean more than it does to him. You could be good for him, you think, you keep him grounded yet you share the same misery—the same reliance on caffeine and these exchanges of endorphins. Maybe you could make him happy, outside of the serotonin he receives when he’s filled you. You’d dote on him; dress up for him, make him a lunch for work, and have coffee ready for him in the morning. It’s a pipe dream and you know it.

“You’re so fucking… fuck… you’re so tight,” the words stumble from his lips as they usually do—he’s close. 

Your free hand reaches down to play with yourself, to bring yourself right to the edge with him. If he asked you to jump, you’d ask how high.

His mouth presses against your neck, his teeth hovering over your carotid. He holds your life in his mouth and you trust him with it despite all the signs warning against it. He’s fire and you’re gasoline.

“I’m gonna–” his hips start to stutter. “Fuck.”

You tumble over the edge with him, legs quaking where they wrap around his waist. He collapses onto you, knocking the air from your lungs—it’s suffocating and you love it.

He lets go of your hand and pushes himself up, sliding out of you with ease. He sits back on his knees, hands on his thighs as he catches his breath. He raises a hand to drag over his face, wiping away the sweat. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s not really here with you. You wish he was.

His eyes shift to the wall to his right. He never looks at you straight when he’s done—you wonder if he regrets it.

You wish he’d just lay down beside you and pull you close. That he’d kiss your head and promise you things he’s not sure he should. He won’t and you’ve accepted that. This is what he can give you and you’re fine with that. You can savor him better like this—if he gave into you, you’re sure you’d eat him whole.

He slides his legs out from underneath himself, one of them resting on its side on the bed and the other pulled to his chest. His arm rests on his knee, his knuckles pressed against the side of his face. You’d paint him like this if you knew how.

“Well,” his eyes flicking in your direction but focusing on anything that isn’t you. “I’m gonna shower.”

He gets up and heads towards his connected bathroom. You wanna reach out and stop him. You wanna ask why he won’t look at you–why he can’t look at you. He acts like you’re the sun—he orbits around you without ever staring at you too long. You might burn him if he does.

“Gav,” you croak out, the first word you’ve said since you've entered his apartment. 

He looks at you like you’re the weight on his shoulders—familiar but unwelcome. Or maybe he’s the weight on yours. You aren’t sure.

“‘The fuck you want?” he asks. You know he doesn’t mean for it to come out so rotten—that’s just the way he talks and he knows you understand. But it hurts you this once.

You love him. 

You want to tell him—it’s on the tip of your tongue like a word you can’t quite find.

“Don’t slip, dumbass,” you answer with a cheshire grin—it’s forced and you know that he knows.

 It’s better that you don’t .