#it's just hard to force it down and actually eat

[reignpage]

Basketball captain!Toji

10th april: catharsis

warning: 18+ mdni, blowjob, face fucking, spanking, teasing, dirty talk, nipple pinching, passing out, unprotected sex, not proofread

basketball captain!toji has you at your wits’ end. it’s been three weeks since he last fucked you and you couldn’t possibly take more. you’re losing sleep, you’ve got huge circles under your eyes and hearing your friends talk about their recent sexcapades has you twitching like a madwoman. 

so you decide enough is enough. 

especially because playoffs are tomorrow and if you don’t do something about this drought he’s forced upon you now, you fear you’ll actually die of dehydration before the team gets to the court. 

basketball captain!toji is at home and his roommate is off terrorising children no doubt. now is the perfect time to strike. you’re going all out and pulling out the big guns. letting yourself into their apartment once more, you surveil the area. the tv’s running, playing one of the games in which they lost, and your boyfriend’s in the kitchen cooking dinner. 

tiptoeing like your life depends on it, you sneak up right behind him and tackle him into a bear hug (as close to one as you can considering his enormous size). he doesn’t even glance back at you. the bastard knew the entire time you’re here. 

“hey ma, hungry?”

running a hand up his shirtless back, you admire his muscles. all the training and gym sessions has made him even bigger and tougher-looking. god, his back muscles are ripping with every move and every breath, tensing and softening with your touch. 

“toji,” you whisper against his skin, “i miss you.”

he huffs a laugh and turns to wrap a heavy arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side with a kiss to your head. “’m right here, ma.”

basketball captain!toji is being uncharacteristically sweet. you hate it. he’s softening you up, distracting you with his boyish grin and teasing kisses to your hair. but you must stand your ground. you’ve got a game plan. 

with a warning bite to his bicep, you fall to the floor with grace and yank down his joggers with much less grace. your jaw drops. he’s hard, fully hard, the tip an angry red leaking so much pre you almost thought he came already. basketball captain!toji isn’t even wearing boxers. 

that bastard. 

you look up at his face, feeling irritated by the rise of his brow, as if faking a look of shock. 

“you ain’t gonna buy me dinner first, baby?”

maybe it’s the shit-eating grin basketball captain!toji has or maybe it’s the mocking tone of his voice, but whatever it is, it has you gripping the base of his throbbing cock with much more force than he expects. he stiffens. 

you don’t waste time; you open wide and take as much of him as you can. he tastes slightly salty and musky, like hard work and late nights. it’s been too long and your jaw has gotten too comfortable in the interval. you wince at the stretch and feel a prick of fear at how your pussy’s gonna fare when he’s plowing between your legs without mercy. 

god, you’re soaked at just the thought of it. 

basketball captain!toji fists your hair and thrusts into the back of your throat without warning, feeling empowered by your gargles. he doesn’t have rhythm, he’s just thrusting as he please, and you know you have him. 

motherfucker wants this more than you do. 

“ha, this what you wanted for dinner?”

you roll your eyes at the same time as you roll your tongue over his slit, rejoicing in the hiss you pull out of him. he narrows his eyes at you and pulls you off, lifting your head up slightly by the makeshift ponytail he’s made.

“don’t sass me, ma. i was gonna fuck you nice and slow but you changed my mind.”

both of you know damn well he’s lying through his teeth but before you can voice that, he’s spinning you around and pinning your face to the cold marble surface. he’s lifted your skirt up, flicking it over and he pauses at the sight that beholds him. 

you’re wearing a thong with his name on it.

smiling, you shake your hips like a temptress, egging him on, daring him to say and do something.

basketball captain!toji is palming your ass, his thumb rubbing the flimsy string between your cheeks. you can’t see what face he’s making but that just makes you wetter. 

is he impressed? is he mad? or both? neither?

you yelp. he’s slapped your ass and the sting is gonna leave a mark. 

“you got this for me, ma? ha, you missed me that much?”

the pulsing between your legs, the wetness running down your thighs, his monstrous grip groping and pinching all over, it was making you delirious. you laugh, a cackle that escapes you and doesn’t register in your head. 

then he’s pushing aside your thong and sheathing himself in one thrust. you both moan. oh, it’s so good. the burn’s making you drool, the way his head’s rubbing against that spongy part inside of you again and again and again. it’s all too much. 

basketball captain!toji has one hand holding your hips and dragging you back and forth on his unbelievable length whilst the other is holding your tit captive. he’s twisting your nipple and sucking your neck, leaving a wet trail of apologies to your ear. 

“ha, was mean, wasn’t i? sorry baby, shit!”

you aren’t even listening, too focused on that pleasurable ache between your legs as he pummels your poor pussy like you’re just a wet hole. twisting your neck, you meet his lips in a clash of tongue and teeth. it’s messy and chaotic but it makes you clench down on him. 

“fuck!” he spanks your ass, eliciting a whine from you. “gonna -ngh- milk me too early, ma.”

basketball captain!toji speeds up his thrusts, rubbing your clit with a ferocity that steals your breath, all while hitting that same spot inside of your wet tunnel.  over and over again. 

you have no idea how long it’s been, maybe thirty minutes, three hours or mere seconds. time escapes you, so caught up in what you’ve been chasing for weeks, you don’t want to miss a single second on this rapture. 

you’re climbing higher and higher, voice pitching and moans so broken you probably sound demonic. his hands are so big, pressing warmth into your skin whilst his sweaty skin blankets your back, the weight so reassuring, so heavenly you hope he never leaves. 

“right there, yes! pleasepleasepleaseplease!” 

the tsunami of euphoria that washes over you, erasing all of your frustrations and grievances against the man, makes you black out. for a solid minute you lose your bearings, grappling for a tether as your legs shake. he’s still fucking you through it, groaning in your ear from the repeated clenches you’re making on his cock. 

“glad you’re here ma, wanted to empty my — shiiiiiit — balls before the game. such a good girl, helping me out.”

when you come to, it takes you a second to realise he hasn’t cum yet, just making shallow thrusts whilst he…

basketball captain!toji is eating his dinner whilst still inside of you, ignoring the way you’re genuinely spasming, tongue-tied from the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had, courtesy of his three weeks long tortuous experiment. 

basketball captain!toji notices your disbelieving glare and flashes you a wolfish grin, his scar stretching in an annoyingly delectable way. 

“want some?”

[wingwisher]

There were many nights growing up where we were so hungry we couldn't sleep, but the only food available was meat. So we choked down just enough that our stomach would stop screaming at us, not enough that it would stop hurting, just enough that we could actually get to sleep.

And that's not even getting into the times we were forced to prepare chicken legs from raw to seasoned to cooked and not allowed anything else to eat even though they made us feel sick.

We'd go to sleep hungry and with a stomach upset about what was in it. And we'd feel especially bad the next day. we now sometimes experience nausea even thinking about meat at all, and have a horribly dysfunctional relationship to food. "Human" in our mind is listed as possible food items in our brain, "chicken legs" or "steak" are below dirt and especially crumbly rocks, and only slightly above rocks too hard to break with my teeth in terms of edibility

"Oh but parents do have a right to control what their children eat. What if they just want to eat candy for every meal?"

Most parents can't even distinguish between random whims and autism dietary limitations and end up saying shit like this and starving their disabled children.

[twisted-broth]

Any of the boys you want do a challenge where (they aren't dating yet) but they are at a fair and they win a bear or a prize and s/o gives them a kiss on the cheek for how many they win and s/o says if they win 10 or more they will give them a kiss on the lips and spend a week together with just them (maybe show like if some did get the kiss and how they would react?) I thought this was cute lol

This has been sitting in my drafts for like a year so I just figured I would post the parts of it that were done.

Leave it to Crowley and Grim to get you into this situation. “Every dorm has to have a booth at the fair, prefect! Maybe you’ll even earn enough money to make some renovations to that shoddy old place!”

Crowley failed to take into consideration how making a carnival attraction costs money to be any good. Any cafe service would need more money and supplies than you could afford, a show would need more than two people, and a game would need prizes.

Grim is not one for bright ideas, but it would seem there was no other solution that wouldn’t cost all your food money for the month. So this is what it came to.

“Knock down all the pins and win a kiss on the cheek from Ramshackle’s prefect! Hit all three targets and he’ll give you a kiss on the lips!!!!”

It was probably in your top five most embarrassing moments of your life as your cat basically prostituted you at the top of his lungs. Surely no one would actually be enticed by a prize like that, right?

Trey

"You always manage to find a way to keep things interesting, don't you? For once I'm glad to be at a school mandated event."

Feels bad. Plays anyway.

No hard feelings, right?

He tells you that you have nothing to worry about, he's really a lousy shot anyway (as if he's not the best spelldrive player on Heartslabyul)

He easily knocks down the first two stacks, but misses the third

Maybe he missed, maybe he found it in his heart to show you mercy

He not-so-subtly implies that he's sure he could find a different way to win the "grand prize"

Despite his big talk, he still has a noticeable blush when you give him a kiss on the cheek

He would also keep an eye on your booth for the rest of the day to make sure not too many people are winning

For your sake, of course

Jade

“It would seem you’ve found yourself in quite the situation there, prefect. Please find it in your heart to forgive me if I take advantage.”

This is the funniest shit Jade has ever seen

How stupid do you honestly have to be to get yourself into this predicament?

Of course he’s playing the game. The scowl on your face when he trades in his tickets to Grim for three baseballs fills him with unbridled delight

His aim is a little wonky and you sigh in relief when his first three balls miss the target

He feigns disappointment before handing over another few tickets to the cat and grabbing the balls again

Of course he was hustling you. He let you think that even for a second you would be safe from this menace. For shame

Each ball is thrown with such force that pins from the first stack fly into the other stacks, easily ensuring that Jade clears the game with ease

He calls it beginners luck. Asshole.

Has the biggest shit eating grin on his face as he leans down to your face to claim his prize

Rook

"Mon amour, what a dastardly situation you've been resigned to! Not to worry sweet dame, I shall save you from the beasts at your heels!"

You knew you were in trouble the minute Rook’s gaze happened to fall on your stall

His eyes narrow and he smirks as he makes his way over to the stall

He's visibly holding back his excitement as he trades his tickets in to Grim

His idea of "saving you" is to hog the game- and the prize- for himself

He hits every stack with effortless accuracy, game after game

The second all three stacks have been knocked down, he prances over to you and leans down for his kiss. You can practically see the flower emojis radiating off his satisfied smile

This will continue until Grim gets fed up with him scaring away customers, or Vil comes to drag him away

You got so used to kissing him that you almost do it again the next time he leans down to talk to you

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

Caitlyn:

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you. She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong. She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- ���Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it. She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

[readngandweepng]

needed to put my thoughts on paper about screwing daisuke or curly in the main lobby + some tidbits (pre-crash)

MDNI gn amab top reader, bottom character. can honestly be any of them i guess?? but i wrote this with curly and daisuke in mind lmao. basically just a horny post about same-room sex. half proof-read and probably ooc

imagine fucking him while he’s either sitting on the kitchen counter or laid against the table when everyone’s sound asleep in their respective cabins. he’s hiding his face in the crook of your neck where you can feel his warm breath against your skin as he’s trying oh so hard to keep his volume down. his hands clutch the back of your shirt so tightly you think he’s going to tear it. he bucks his hips, sending a shake bolting through his body. the moan it erupts is muffled by your neck, as are the rest of them. with your fast fucking he has to take a deep breath before hiking a leg up over your waist, angling your cock just a little bit deeper inside of him where he needs you most. the fear of getting caught has dwindled down, too distracted by the feeling of you pounding into him to even give it a second thought. all he can do is hook his legs around your waist and take your cock. he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep his moans repressed as he arches his back and cums. your cum filling him up is almost rejuvenating, and suddenly the consequences of getting caught means absolutely nothing as he rocks into you, his legs around your waist keeping you, and your cock, perfectly in place.

both daisuke and curly would really enjoy the humiliation aspect of something like this. actually getting caught would be absolutely mortifying, but if you were to successfully have sex in the kitchen or on one of the couches without anyone knowing or catching you? say goodbye to your dick because it's curly's now. it wouldn't be an insanely common thing between you two, but i do think that he would secretly be kind of in love with it. daisuke would enjoy it but i don't see him as too much of the exhibitionist type; he prefers getting caught being lovey-dovey.

curly definitely has a rebellious side, and if he was feeling frisky enough he'd lean against one of the kitchen counters while daisuke and swansea were at the dining table, bending over just enough to catch your eye. he might even brush himself against your crotch when passing by, but it wouldn't be noticeable to anyone other than you or someone actively looking for it.

though i don't think daisuke would be forward like that in public, (the most he'll do is give you kisses or sit in your lap while he's playing) he wouldn't mind if you kissed up his neck while he's playing sorry! or rifling in the kitchen for something to eat. swansea would scold you and it would make his face red, but he does enjoy the little thrill he gets out of someone catching you sneak kisses.

(i'm not entirely sure what their sleeping quarters entail, like if there's bunk beds and everyone sleeps in the same room) but in this case that is the set-up, and neither daisuke nor curly would be opposed to riding you on your bed while everyone else is asleep.

daisuke is like a bunny, riding you too fast for his own good until the creaking of the bed forces him to slow down. really, if you actually want to get caught this is the best way to do it, but to ensure there's some kind of dignity left, sitting up and controlling his speed while he has something stuffed in his mouth to keep him from whining is the way to go. otherwise he won't have the self-control to cover his own mouth where your hands are too far away to cover it for him before he wakes everyone up.

riding you is definitely one of curly's favorite things to do, so he would be great at it, even in a situation where you have to be quiet. he'd like leaning over and kissing you with his hands by your head and your arms wrapped around him. the main concern here is having the self-control to not buck your hips up into him, yet your feet are still planted flat on the bed, just in case. he's not the worst at being quiet, so why not make things exciting?

daisuke would love sneaking into bed with you, even if it really is just so sleep. he loves having his back flush against your chest as your hand goes down the front of his pants to stroke him. sometimes he'll just rock into your hand until he cums, and sometimes he'll take off his pants and slip your cock inside, rutting back against you until you push him down onto his stomach and take him. you have to be careful with daisuke because he's noisy, and if you can't tire him out he'll just ask you for more, and by that point the whole crew will know what you've been up to at night (as if they don't already know).

curly, depending on the circumstances, can a lot of the time be the one to start it. playing it off by giving you kisses on the corner of your lips and acting like it's just to send you off to sleep. but then he'll move his lips down to your jaw, and to your neck. you'll feel his hand palm at you through your pants, but if you try touching him he'll shush you, taking your cock out and stroking it painfully slow. you can kiss him, but then he won't throw the blanket over his head and mouth at your dick to slip it down his throat.

ftm!curly would adore having you eat him out under the covers. the feeling of your fingers curling inside of him is intoxicating, and having to keep his voice down and his breathing even just adds to the pleasure he feels. curly is good at keeping his volume down until you start sucking on his clit, then he has to turn his head and pull the pillow over his mouth to quiet himself. he bucks into your tongue a lot because even though he won't outright admit it, he revels in the thought that others might hear how wet you make him.

ftm!curly, if he's feeling too shy, likes when you fuck his thighs, being perfectly content with your cock grazing his cunt. he'll tweak his nipples and watch your dick being sandwiched by his thighs. if he doesn't cum, he's not opposed to finishing things quickly and having you just rub his clit while you kiss and nip at his chest.

ftm!daisuke also loves being eaten out but he's not as good at being quiet, so he'd prefer being fingered where the pleasure being inflicted upon him isn't as overwhelming and direct. he likes when you slowly drag your fingers in and out, spreading him open little by little while thumbing his clit every now and then. he gets very wet very fast, so being under the covers is ideal to drown out the sounds his cunt makes, especially when you begin to speed up and his thighs clamp around your hand because the feeling is too much.

ftm!daisuke loves dry-humping too, and he cums a lot quieter. he'd like having you hold him as he rides your thigh, clothed or not. daisuke also would love to feel the head of your cock rubbing against his pussy, teasing his entrance. absolutely can cum from just your dick gently slapping against his clit.

these thoughts honestly spawned from the very minute i saw the bedrolls on the ground in the lobby. i'm not even a horn-dog but one of my first thoughts was damn imagine fucking there so now here is this post to finally relinquish weeks of 'what-if-'s and 'i-would-totally-'s. i am really into the whole having sex with the chance of getting caught but would hate actually getting caught thing if you couldn't tell lmao.

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO REBLOG, I WAS PACKING TO MOVE 🙂‍↕️ always these r my comments on my first AND SECOND read through because im actually obsessed with them ⬇️

also the two songs i've been playing on repeat for this fic is everytime by ariana grande and y.d.l.r by tory lanez. take from that as u will 😌

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

i cannot tell u how giggly i am rn

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

i love this so MUCH SO SO SO MUCH

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

i unfortunately do not know what a slapshot is

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

YOU TOOK MY IDEA AHHHH 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

ohmygodohmygodohmygodddd

Bang!In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

As he FUCKING SHOULD I AM LITERALLY ON THE EDGE OF MY SEATTT

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

choose me love me fuck me (who said that)

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

his jealousy is RADIATING and i’m eating all of it up

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

sometimes yes pls prove how obsessed u r w me

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

my favorite part of hate sex when they r LIARS

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

HES SUCH A DICK

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

OH I FUCKING LOVE HERRR

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

HE DOESNT EVEN LET HER ANSWER why is this so hotttt

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

i’m so quiet bc i’m so into this 🫣🫣🫣🫣

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

ONE FUCKING CHANCE

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

he’s INSATIABLE

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

YKW FUCK U I WILL

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

so u give me earth-shattering smut and emotional angst? screw u

💌 i am absolutely enamored by the way u wrote their tension, how rafe fucking banged against the plexiglass and DARES her ohmygod i melted in a fucking puddle. ur smut was absolutely hot scorning riveting AND I WAS SO SURPRISED BY THIS MANS STAMINA LIKE CAN WE CATCH A BREATHE ugh ☺️💘 u did my req so much justice n gave me sm inspo i must write now

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle. Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you. This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. But tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus. You weren’t here for Rafe, not anymore. You loved hockey. You loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace.

Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth. The game was just about to start, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

And then, as if the universe was personally trying to screw with you, you saw him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

He always had to be in charge, on and off the ice.

He still had that same cocky swagger that made you wanna scream… for entirely different reasons now.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

His number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, sure. But you loved Rafe a little more. Or, you used to. Or, well, maybe that was still complicated.

The puck dropped, and the game started. For a while, you tried to focus on the action. Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he thought he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, like he knew you were there. And maybe he did

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up. That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And then, just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen. Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but this was... awkward. 

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, could see his lips getting closer, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat. He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. The look on Rafe’s face as he stood on the other side of the glass?

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

And you hated that you still kind of liked it.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words. Silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew exactly how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working. He wasn’t just playing hockey—he was playing with you.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him.

He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was almost infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, with his stupid intense eyes, all but daring you to move on. Why did he have to look at you like that—like he knew you were still his.

The breakup had been brutal, the kind of messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful. And now here you were, months later, still dealing with the fallout. 

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you. The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but all you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore. You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. You could practically hear Rafe’s teeth grinding from across the glass. Good. If he thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned the place—and you—then he deserved to stew in it a little.

But, of course, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, like he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah. His shoulders were tense, movements a little too aggressive, like he was about to snap.

You tried to focus on the game again, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You hated this. You hated that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him. Why was it so hard to let him go?

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Every hit was harder, every pass sharper. It was like he was playing angry. And you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

But then, with less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated. He slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off. He stood over the guy, glaring down at him like he was ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer. You knew exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at Rafe, but his eyes weren’t on the ref. They were still on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet. The arena was buzzing, the crowd getting rowdy, and for a second, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched, jaw set—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face. Your heart was racing, your body tense. Elijah had leaned back in his seat, totally unaware about everything.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

You didn’t answer. Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t just about murder a guy on the ice. You could feel his eyes on you, even from all the way across the rink. You hated it. You hated that he could still get to you like this.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, not to the score, not to the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, about the way he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers. Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the tension building in your chest. It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe.

And you knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, still clueless. But you were distracted, scanning the crowd without even realizing it.

And then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight. He didn’t even pretend to care about the people around him—his gaze was dark, intense, like a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your gaze, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was low, casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring Elijah completely. "Didn’t even stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool. "It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He took a step closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably. "You didn’t used to leave so soon," he said, voice dripping with that familiar cockiness. "Used to be the last one out."

Because you’d always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, trying to stand his ground. "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes flicked to him for the briefest second, before landing back on you.

"Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

He glanced at Elijah briefly, his gaze cold and dismissive, then back at you. “You sure about that?” he asked, “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now. Not with Elijah here. Not after everything.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at Elijah’s arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated. But Rafe wasn’t having it.

He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. “Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut him off quickly, your voice tight. “Let’s just go.”

But Rafe wasn’t about to let it go. 

“Yeah, Elijah,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.” His eyes flicked to you, dark and daring, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with the same fire.

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway, your body practically vibrating.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door. 

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the anger, the unresolved pull between you two. And maybe it was the way he still had that stupid hold on you, the way your body responded when you shouldn’t want it to.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the dimly lit hallway that led to the locker room. The second the door closed, you spun around, shoving him in the chest hard. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe barely flinched, his gaze smoldering as he crowded you against the wall. 

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, and not just because Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did— God, why did he have to be so damn close? The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the game, sending your mind spiraling. He was overwhelming, and you hated it. You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended. The way his blue eyes were boring into yours, like he could see through all your bullshit, wasn’t helping.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.” 

He stepped closer, caging you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away. And he knew it.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him. But even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them. The truth was, part of you had always been his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he could read every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin’ about me all night.” His breath was hot on your skin, and you hated how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin. The way his body hovered over yours—it was like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t spent the last few months trying to forget him.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your stomach. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had. But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Don’t—”

But he was already kissing you, hard and rough like he owned you, like you were his and his alone.

And the worst part? You kissed him back. His hands were on you, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, to slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans. 

This was so wrong, on so many levels. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Rafe didn’t back off. He was staring down at you like you were his next meal, like he’d been starving without you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

Rafe’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did.

“Oh, you will.”

And God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You wanted to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face. But instead, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, and it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing soft or sweet about this. It was all heat and frustration, months of unresolved anger bursting out in one chaotic, messy kiss.

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you yanked him down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, rough, and you hated how much you craved him, like you were still his.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be.

But every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head back as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart, and it pissed you off that he still had that power.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so damn wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again. Like you hadn’t been apart at all.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe muttered against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. You did want this. You hated that you did, but fuck, you couldn’t lie—not to him, not to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, and for a split second, you thought maybe you’d find some kind of resolve, some way to pull yourself back from him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to break free of him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still tangled in his hair. It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

You could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was suffocating in the best way, and you hated yourself for how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, your breath hitching when his mouth moved down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was rough, low in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “But I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and whatever you were going to say was swallowed by the heat rushing through you. You hated that he still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—” Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body. You clutched at his shirt.

“This what?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes intense. “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath. You hated that he was right. Again.

Always.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart was racing, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving. Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. You knew that. 

“Last chance,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again—harder this time, angrier, like you needed to prove something to yourself. And maybe you did.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one rough motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were everywhere—on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same reckless urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing you down on the bench, his body heavy against yours.

Everything was messy, and rushed, like neither of you could get enough. Like you were trying to erase the months of distance, of frustration, in the way you kissed him back, bit his lip, tugged at his hair.

 You hated how much you needed this. 

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathless and wild.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

Rafe’s mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. And body, traitorous and weak, responded like it always had.

You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made it all hotter, more intense.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, teasing, barely touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched. 

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch. Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, deep and slow.

You gasped, your head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the right way. Your body responded immediately, hips jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed slow circles over your clit, making your legs tremble beneath him.

He sped up, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, his fingers driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. The tension inside you was coiled so tightly, so close to snapping. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, until your body gave in completely. You hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months. Nothing could get you off properly. Your walls clenched around his fingers the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your nails leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you trembled beneath him, lost in the sensation.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed down just enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you—hard, hot, and ready—and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment. He lined himself up, teasing you just enough to drive you crazy.

Before you could respond, he pushed into you in one hard, deliberate thrust. Your gasp turned into a low, breathless moan as your back arched, your hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, was overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless, gasping for air. 

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you who you belonged to.

And you hated how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body was betraying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night since we ended.”

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but instead, a moan escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched against his, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, every nerve in your body on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe growled, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, the way his body pressed into yours so perfectly, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you. 

“I fucking hate you,” you managed to gasp out between breaths.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn, sworn, you were done with him.

You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him. That was the part that pissed you off the most.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast your knees hit the bench before you could react.

“Rafe—mmh,” you gasped, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood of the bench. You barely had a second to brace yourself before his hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He was already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, hating how desperate you felt, hating how your body responded to him like this. “Fuck, Rafe, stop teasing—”

“You want more?” he cut you off, voice dark and dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, just enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “You’re gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

 “You can act tough all you want, but I know how much you want this,” he gritted out, his cock sliding against your folds again, torturously slow. “I know how much you need it.”

Before you could snap back, he thrust into you hard, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench, and Rafe didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, faster this time, deeper.

The angle had you seeing stars. The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter, more intense. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips moving back to meet his thrusts even though your mind was screaming at you to get a grip.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, his voice low and rough as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your legs tremble. “So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you on the edge in seconds. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep some control, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt the pleasure rising fast, threatening to consume you.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, and Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, relentless, brutal, until your entire body was trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in. 

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.” 

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you." 

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in. 

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

[burningcomputerpersona]

my stomach during the day: we're all good here, no need to get any food

my stomach the moment i lay down to go to sleep: you need to get some food in me now or i will starve to death holy fuck

[vigilskeep]

I know you went into this briefly before. But truly. HOW INSANE adding a child into the Isabelamance arranged marriage Hawke.

Is the child expected to inherit? Does it remove potential matches Hawke could have had, potentially making the fiance lower on the social ladder than Hawke?? The implications?? Does Isabela even LIKE the kid??? What if the kid gets seasick. What then. How does no attachments no complications Isabela allow herself to fall in love with THE most attached man in Thedas.

AND THE KID WOULD BE OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE AGENCY AND OPINIONS AND AND SHIT IN ACT 3 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAJHHH

making this woman the not-stepmother to a kid growing up in a hightown estate just to feel something

[detective-piplup]

okay but like I joke about how much I like fireknight and how it consumes so many of my waking thoughts but it actually does . it does so much to me. a lot of it was built through fanon and clinging onto scraps from the games bc i doubt devsis will ever let them interact again but they are like insane to me.

fire spirit’s weird relationship with affection and love is also part of why I like them so much yes that was the source of the divine visions earlier .

nobody look at the tags of this post.

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

i have COVID for the second time ever. got it from my dad who probably got it from spending all his time at breweries.

i’m mostly fine but my throat has itchy painful golf balls in it, my lower back is killing me, and i have almost the lowest level headache possible, just enough to not be able to ignore it.

anyway i’m just venting bc i’m grumpy and mildly out of it.

[binders-and-beanies]

ED tw in da tags i just need 2 vent

[1327-1]

my hard launch to get medicated immediately thwarted by healthcare professional who believes i am there to inconvenience them

[bunnyyyuu]

includes: f! reader, aged up! characters, dom! maki / sub! yuuta, cunnilingus, bondage, overstim

maki using you to teach yuuta how to eat pussy !!（〃∀〃；）

well, teach might not be the right word. it's kind of like when parents throw their kids into the pool and force them to learn how to swim.

her hand has a vice grip on the roots of his jet locks, shoving his pretty face between your legs — legs that are tied by the ankles to either side of the bedframe. yuuta clearly has barely any clue what he's doing, but, to his credit, he can barely breathe.

his tongue is lapping at your sopping cunny so so so desperately, no direction or technique in sight. it's not even close to enough to make you cum, it's barely even stimulation at all. ugh!!

maki can tell you're dissatisfied — it's written all over your face and clear in your lack of moans — and it brings a scowl onto her face. "yuuta," she hisses, dragging his face against your sex, "try harder."

yuuta tries to mumble some sort of apology from his useless mouth, though it comes out as just a weak whine.

"listen to me," she scolds. and, again, it's just a whine in response.

though, he seems to actually listen. you can almost hear the cogs of his brain turning as his tongue tentatively flattens on the underside of your throbbing clit. the moan the bubbles from your parted lips is enough confirmation that he's finally doing something close to right. so, he does it again. and again. and again. until your choked moans and the lewd, wet sounds of his tongue lapping at your weeping bud fill the room.

"that's better," maki grumbles, and you can feel yuuta's lips curve into a smile at her half-hearted praise.

it's not long before your strangled, pitchy moans grow louder and yuuta's slurping the cum you're despoting onto his eager tongue. maki smiles a little as your squirm and whine through your orgasm — though your writhing is heavily reduced by your restraints. she uses her free hand to gently rub up and down your trembling thigh in a stark contrast to how hard she's gripping yuuta's hair, forcing his mouth onto your twitchy, overstimulated cunt again.

"too much, maki! tell 'im i need a — ah! — break," you gasp out when yuuta's tongue doesn't let up, flicking your throbbing clit like it's all he's ever wanted.

she almost laughs in your face at that. too much? no. he won't be done until he's mastered the art of making a pretty girl cum. "not yet," she says with a small head shake , "put your tongue in 'er, yuu," she instructs the boy.

and, he is so obident to her every command — she has him on the shortest leash, you think — sinking his hot tongue into your hole. he moans against your pussy when it excitedly clenches around the pretty pink muscle. he fucks his tongue in and out of your spasmodic entrance, a small smile on his lips as another climax seems to crash over you.

and, true to maki's word, yuuta spends hours learning between your legs until he is an expert! though, unfortunately for you, you end up a shaking, sniffling mess after far too many orgasms (o^▽^o)

[slut4thebroken]

size kink

── ⋆��☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | He as a size kink. That’s it lol.

Warnings | Smut, size kink, manhandling, praise, creampie, gaping, cockwarming.

Words | 1k

Notes | 😵‍💫 that fucking comic panel tho

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 6: manhandling + size kink

Can y’all help me come up with a title😭 I’m literally so exhausted and I just want to pass out but I have to post it within two hours for it to still be day 6 skfhsk

Jason Todd has a huge size kink… He’s so massive that it’s honestly hard not to because there are barely any female body types that aren’t smaller than him. Tall, big, buff— all smaller than him, usually by a lot too. 

Especially you. You’re pretty much the same size as the average woman, but standing next to Jason— he practically dwarfs you. Whenever he holds your hand, you usually end up just holding two of his fingers because it’s more comfortable that way. Even when he places his hand on your thigh, he can completely cover the entire width of it. 

Even though he loves the way it feels to hold you, how easy it is to lift you and manhandle you however he wants… one of his most favorite things is how small your cunt is too. It wasn’t abnormally small— it was proportionate to your body— but compared to his abnormally large cock? Even just compared to his fingers, you could barely take it. 

He always tried to do as much foreplay as possible because, even though he thinks it’s hot when your face scrunches up in pain as you do your best to take him, he doesn’t actually want to hurt you or make it not good for you. So he usually eats you out, slowly working you open on his fingers. He almost always gives you at least one orgasm before even attempting to fit his cock inside you, but even after the time he made you come over and over again for two hours straight, you were still so fucking tight. 

You let out these soft whimpers and sounds of pain that make his cock throb. Sometimes you gasp out and desperately cling to him, trying to ground yourself. He always eases his cock in slowly, holding your hand or cupping your cheek and whispering soft praises into your ear. 

“So good at taking my cock, baby. I’m almost halfway.” You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on taking deep breaths and relaxing your muscles. Jason couldn’t help but look down between your bodies, watching his cock slowly disappear into your tight heat. “Almost there, princess.” His voice was low and thick with poorly restrained arousal. When he finally bottomed out, you let out a pained whimper and he closed his eyes, trying not to bust his load right then and there. 

“Such a good girl. You’re doing so good, baby.” He murmured tenderly, leaning down to kiss over your neck as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. You usually signaled whenever you were ready for him to start moving and he’d slowly draw his hips back, then push in again at the same pace. 

Sometimes though, he’d stand and hold you in the air, lifting you up and down on his cock, limiting your squirming significantly. Or if you were riding him, he’d grab your hips and move you however fast and hard he wanted— even if you put all your strength into staying seated or moving away, he was always stronger than you. It took practically no effort for him to lift you up and down, fucking you like you were his own personal sex doll. 

While he usually liked being able to kiss you and watch your expression contort in pain as your walls were forced to accommodate his cock, he also liked putting you on your stomach. Sometimes he’d put you on your knees and push your face into the bed, but he liked laying on top of you even more. With his large legs caging in your much smaller ones, it made you even tighter. He loved being able to completely lay on top of you and wrap his arms around you, forcing you to feel every inch of his thick cock going in and out of your pussy. That position always made you feel trapped, but more in an exciting way rather than an anxious way because you knew he’d get off of you in a heartbeat if you told him to. 

“That’s it… Be a good girl and just take it, baby.” He whispered breathily, lips brushing your ear. You let out a choked moan and he moved his hand to squeeze your neck. “You just lay there and let me use my favorite little fleshlight.” Every single time— without fail— your cunt would get impossibly tighter when he talked to you like that. 

Something else he loved; the amount of come he released was proportional to his body as well… Sometimes he liked to paint your pretty face, completely drench you in his seed, but usually he liked filling you up. He liked dragging his hips back until his cock finally dislodged from your tight pussy that was practically trying to suck him in, and watching his come dribble out of your gaping hole, down your puffy folds. 

“Oh, look at you, baby…” He cooed, voice raspy and thick. You whined and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of him filling you up and his seed leaking out of your abused cunt almost as much as he did. 

“Squeeze that little cunt, princess. Try to keep my come inside.” He ordered softly, grabbing your ass and pulling you open to get a perfect view of your holes. He watched them flutter, but even when you tried your hardest, his cock had stretched you out too much for your hole to be able to tighten up again so soon. 

“Poor thing… can’t keep my come in that needy little pussy.” He chuckled, collecting the leaking come on his fingers and pushing it back into your hole. “But that’s okay, baby. I’ll help you…” you let out a choked moan when he forced his cock back in, stretching you once again, “keep you nice and plugged up, huh?” He laid down over you again, but turned so you were both on your sides in a spooning position with his cock still deep in your pussy— It would usually stay there until you fell asleep, but sometimes only until he got worked up enough for round two. 

(I’m still bad at ending one shots lol)

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced/accidental bonding, subjugation

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Once you wake up in the morning, you feel… changed.

Your body feels full—as though you’d indulged too much last night—heavy and sticky and sore all over. There’s a strange taste in your mouth—sweet, somewhat salty, and metallic. Geez, you’re head’s pounding—how much did you drink last night? No, this feels different from a hangover—more full-bodied than that—a withdrawal of some kind or another. You must have done more at the party than drink, and yet, you can’t remember having stayed there all that long. No, you left with someone. That’s right. You went with… that overgrown Omega.

Oh no.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He comes in only wearing a pair of snug boxers—body stacked with brawn, not a single hint of Omega-like softness aside from his tousled bed hair. There’s a big toothy smile on his face—eyes are creased in cheer while carrying an overfull breakfast tray. You know you’re hungry, and yet you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but sick to your stomach by the horrid sight of his flaunted neck, decorated by a gory ring of your bitemark.

No. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! “Tell me that’s not what I think it is…”

He laughs lightly with an awkward smile, apologetically scratching the back of his neck while balancing the tray in the other hand. “I’m afraid so…”

The world stops spinning, and for a moment, you think it might actually never start up again. Your throat snares, and you think you might throw up. How the fuck could this happen?

He sets the tray down next to you, then himself. The whole bed takes waves upon his weight. You remain still—eyes unrest and mouth hung.

“Hey, I know this might not be what we had planned, but…” he starts.

But you don’t let him finish before declaring, “I’ll take full responsibility.”

There’s nothing else to do, you think. The red string of fate has tied the two of you together. It’s sealed.

“There is no going back now.”

His face expresses shock, but if you’d taken a closer look, he’d probably not be able to hide it—the overwhelming sensation of victory. Oh, bless your Alpha pride. He knew you would say that.

He smiles softly. “I’m in your care then.”

It’s a work in progress after that—slow in the beginning, but that’s to be expected. You never pegged yourself to be the type who got caught up in the unmendable mistakes of a one-night stand, but then here you were—mated with a stranger, moving into his apartment because it’s bigger and closer to work, sharing the same bed and eating the same meals and helping each other through one another’s ruts and heats.

He's still no closer to being your type. In fact, he’s the total opposite—too giant to give you even a semblance worth of superiority over him. A couple of days ago, when he’d been searching for the remote in the couch you were lying on, he’d taken to pick you up instead of just asking you to move. It was completely humiliating. He’s so brazen, and it’s starting to become clear he’s doing it all on purpose!

He doesn’t get fussy when you state your claim of being the one on top—no, but what he does instead is somehow worse, going along with it with snide praise, grinning up at you, his big hands weighing heavy on your haunches as you roll them, calling you his good girl. It seems to humor him how it angers you—chuckling behind your hands as you layer them both atop his mouth, growling at him to “Shut up!”

No, he doesn’t mind letting you take charge. He rather enjoys the view of watching you ride—working so hard to appease him while he rests pretty and admires your body—all soft edges and plush curves. You tire quickly, though—poor thing, why don’t you leave the rest to him?

You had rejected it the first few times he’d offered. Your bruised pride simply wouldn’t have it—you’d rather you both stop than let him finish you off. But a couple more nights and you’d quicker come around than either of you expected—perhaps worn down by his constant nagging or simply fed up with your own failure—you let him assist by bouncing you on his lap.

You wouldn’t admit it to his face, never, but you’d enjoyed it far more than you could have ever thought…

Thankfully, your face in and of its own glory told him all he needed to know. It didn’t take long before he’d taken full advantage of it, nor for you to begin allowing it without being asked. Soon you were letting him fuck you against the wall, making the entire room shake—wall creaking and shelves rattling, pictures falling down. You hold your tongue and hold on tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him—moaning sweetly right by his ear. Fuck, you even bite him again.

As time passed, you came around to indulging more and more of his antics. Letting him fuck you from behind—hard and heavy and deep—thrusting into you while grappling your waist. You even go down on all fours when he does it—digging your claws into the sheets.

Lying belly-up beneath him still makes you feel nervous—and slightly ashamed—almost convinced something’s wrong with you for liking it. And yet you can’t help it. You know any other Omega wouldn’t fuck you like this. They wouldn’t have the stamina, the drive, or the desire. Not like him, who does it all like it’s his nature even when it shouldn’t be.

Guess you’re both freaks.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[aethersea]

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.