#shit like this literally makes me not want to live here anymore like I usually survive on the little things. yk like those tumblr posts- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

endlessthxxghts · 6 months

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Solace

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x afab!reader || W/C: 4.3k

Summary: You help Din release his frustrations after he comes back from a weeklong hunt.

Content/Warnings: Canon divergent around season 3 (no Grogu here; one tiny reference to Living Waters). Reader is able-bodied, but there are no specific physical descriptions. Pet names for both reader and Din (fem pet names for reader). Implied established relationship (you've seen his face and call him Din) - THEY'RE IN LOVE. Reader knows a bit of Mando'a. Helmet comes off. 18+ MDNI. This is 100% porn. Boot riding...blanket..riding...(there's a lot of riding lolz). Multiple orgasms. Cunnilingus. Din is a talker when his mouth isn't occupied. Blow job/face fucking. Unprotected P in V sex. Reader is on whatever form of birth control they have in space LMAO, so #twinkie time😋. Hints of a breeding kink. Praise kink (lots of it). Switch BDSM dynamics. Soft Dom!Din along with subby/desperate!Din. Sub!Reader and soft Dom!Reader. Please let me know if I missed anything! Xx

A/N: First picture was made by @djarin-desires, and honestly, this whole oneshot was inspired by this post they made! I literally could not stop thinking about these pictures all day, so I just had to write my ✨thots✨ down. I hope you enjoy!! Other two photos are found on Pinterest - middle does not represent anything about reader’s physical appearance.

masterlist || notif blog

“Oh, shit-” you gasp. “Din, please,” eyes rolling back in pleasure, your body shivering in its nakedness compared to his fully armored form.

“What is it, sweet girl?” he coos, his fingers caressing your cheekbone, pushing the hair from your eyes.

“Need- stars- need more,” you cry out, your current situation proving to only bring you to the edge, but not carry you off of it.

“One more like this, cyar’ika, then I’ll give you what you want,” Din reassures you, his leather-clad thumb running across your bottom lip, hooking himself in your mouth for you to make a mess of. “I wanna see that boot soaked, you hear me?”

Din always gets like this when he comes back from a weeklong bounty hunt. He gets hard. Dominating. In need of control. To take back the situation that got out of hand.

You were sitting on the ground cleaning one of his blasters when he came in. He was tense. Weirdly quiet. He’s always quiet, but not with you, not for a few years now. He threw the bounty into the carbon and froze him, his chest plate rising with every breath. You knew him well enough now to know when he’s seething, and this was it.

“Din?” you called out softly.

He just points his helmet at you, the visor staring you down.

“Everything okay?”

“What do you think?” He responds rather harshly.

“...Din,” you whisper, feeling every ounce of anger in those four words.

You like how it ends in these situations, though. It always ends with him a whimpering mess beneath you. There’s usually some kind of switch. He takes a third orgasm out of you, and always on the third, he becomes needy. Desperate. He just wants to be inside of you. To be balls deep and stay there, to release all of his tension while being wrapped up in you.

You’re his solace. His warmth. His home. He always needs you. But right now, he needs his control back, so even though it’s you who’s in control by the end of the night, you stay prettily on your knees and obey dutifully.

“I hear you, Din,” you struggle to get out with his thumb holding your tongue down, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth.

Your thighs are on fire from your constant back and forth motion, the squelch of your slick rubbing across his shoe sending blood straight to his groin. He can feel himself itching to make you rise, to spread your legs and split you open until he can’t hold himself up anymore. But he knows you’re close even though you whine and plea for more. He knows your tells—the way your eyes struggle to stay open, the sweat beading at your temples, the way you slowly start to clamp down harder and harder on his thumb. His personal favorite, though, he discovered in this new position, is the way you start hugging tighter onto his leg, your chest rubbing against his thigh plate in an attempt to cool yourself off, but you’re just so close, the cool beskar doing nothing to ease the heat.

“Just like that, pretty girl, come on,” Din groans, the sight before him truly testing his strength. You two have done many things together, but this? This is something new, and Din isn’t sure how long he can last. “I know you can give me one more, baby. Just one more, and then I get to feel you, come on,” he pleads, voice bubbling up into a whine.

Oh, he’s starting to break, already?

The thought is what sends you over, your hips stuttering in their rhythm as your arousal pours out of you, your clit shooting a sharp sensation up your spine at the sensitivity. “Dank farrik, you’re so damn gorgeous when you cum all over me, baby, so so gorgeous,” he pulls his thumb out and spreads your drool across your mouth, cradling your cheek softly in his palm as you shake in his grasp.

“Oh, fuck- oh yes, yesyesyes, Din,” you sob, head falling back between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, my sweet girl, Maker, you’re so beautiful,” he coos, leaning down to let the forehead of his helmet rest against yours, your hot breath fogging his visor. He smiles to himself as his vision blurs momentarily.

Din’s hands situate themselves beneath your armpits, pulling you up to your feet and supporting you as you allow your limp legs to gain their strength again. “Can I taste you, cyar’ika?” He asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, guiding you to sit on the armory crate in the corner of the hull.

“Thought you said you wanted to feel me?” you retort, a small smirk forming on your flushed face.

“Yeah,” he says as he drops down to his knees. “My tongue goes first.” Even with his helmet on, you can still hear the shit-eating grin with his comment.

Din reaches for his helmet, the hiss of air signifying it’s about to come off never fails to cause butterflies to erupt in your belly. The minute his chocolate brown eyes meet yours, your heart grows two sizes greater. Your hands reach for his face. “There’s my pretty boy,” you whisper.

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at your words. He turns his head to kiss your palm. “My pretty girl,” he responds, bashful. “Lean back, baby.” You lay yourself back, body resting against the metal wall as his hands settle underneath you.

Din brings himself forward, the flat of his tongue starting at the bottom of you and licking upwards—slowly, thoughtfully, calculated. He takes his time moving through your soaked folds, as if he’s mapping it out for the first time even though he’s mapped your body more times than the amount of bounties under his belt.

The way you moan under his touch has him groaning into you, his fingers tightening their hold, his face more flush against you. He can’t get enough. His licks turn less controlled and more hungry; he uses his lips to help rub the surrounding area as he suckles every part of you he can, drinking you in, bathing in your slick as if to reclaim himself, as he did not too long ago in the Living Waters of Mandalore. His nose nudges your sensitivity as his tongue claims your entrance, the softness of your walls dancing with the softness of his tongue makes you breathless.

Your fingers find their way into his curls, grabbing on in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep your soul beside him as he brings you to the brink of ecstasy for the fourth time since he’s been back. You whimper in distaste as his tongue leaves your hole, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by a whimper of desperation when his mouth wraps around your throbbing bud and he sucks. “Just- oh, fuck, Din- just like that,” you let out, your hips involuntarily lifting to buck into his face.

He’s quick to bring his mouth back down to your entrance, licking up every drop of the sweet nectar you always keep him full with. His nose massages your bundle as he drinks from you, and the action prolongs your climax and syrupy moans; Din works to pull as much as he possibly can from you. It’s been a week of rations and shitty meals he can sneak. So when such a delicacy is placed before him, solely for his taking, oh, he’s not going to waste a single drop.

By the time he’s satisfied, the bottom half of his face is covered in your shine, the armory crate’s ledge is soaked, and you’re completely blissed out—face flushed and sweaty, tired eyes, a weak smile… to the average eye, you appear properly satiated. Although, Din knows that you are far from it.

“You alright, sweet girl?” Din asks, rising to his full height again. He brings his hand out for you to take, pulling you up to stand. Delaying your answer, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, all tongue with your flavor embedded in each and every one of his taste buds. You moan into the kiss, pulling away with a bite to his plump bottom lip. “Perfect, baby,” you smile, pulling him to the makeshift bed—a pile of blankets—in the hull that you two sleep in.

You drop yourself down onto your knees, beginning to work his armor off from his legs as he starts on his shoulders. With you helping, he’s down to his flight suit in no time, and your mouth salivates at the sight. As soon as the last clink of the precious metal leaves his body, you’re leaning your face into him, into his bulge, pressing sweet little kisses to its covered form. You can hear Din’s breath hitch, his cock twitching under your touch. “Need you in my mouth, Din,” you say as you look up at him, his eyes already hooded over at the sight of your mouth near his length. “My turn to taste you, huh, pretty boy?” You ask in a teasing tone, his face too hot to register that you’re waiting for a response from him.

He finally registers the question when your hand dips into his bottoms, his hardness meeting your hand eagerly. You look at him expectantly.

Although technically it’s his cock’s turn to feel you, he cannot bring himself to deny you or your skillful mouth. He cannot bring himself to deny anything you want, really. “Y-yeah- yes, baby, your turn,” he says shakily, the anticipation putting his body into sensitivity overdrive.

He helps rip the rest of his flight suit off, and without giving him a second to breathe, you’re already spitting in your palm and working the length of him the way you know he loves. You use your mouth in tandem, your tongue licking from his base to his tip, and instantly, a loud whimper comes from the back of Din’s throat at this particular touch.

You’re delighted by his reaction, so you repeat the motion a few more times to pull more of those sweet sounds out. “My baby is so sensitive here, isn’t he?” You pump him with your hand as you speak, placing a wet kiss to his tip when the foreskin pulls back to expose it.

“Kriff…” he moans, his head suddenly too heavy to maintain upright. “Mesh’la, please,” Din begs.

With one more kiss to the tip, you stop your hand’s movement completely. “Please what, baby? Use those words, honey,” you look up at him, eyes wide and full of promises to please—as soon as he vocalizes what he wants.

His chest is heaving already at the sight of you, on your knees and looking up at him again, yet this time around, you’re the one calling the shots.

He prefers it this way, he thinks. Sure, he comes back from a particularly frustrating hunt and ends up taking his stress out on you. Sure, it’s the most beautiful sight seeing you so worked up and at his mercy. But he is always the one in the driver seat—calculating everyone’s every turn, every action before they even have the chance to act. Din’s mind is always active, always alert. Yet, when you have him like this, in this yielding state, it’s like his mind gets to be quiet. With you, under your touch and under your gaze, Din is able to exist in your presence without a worry. He’s finally able to just be. Not a bounty hunter, not the big and tough Mandalorian everyone fears. No, he’s Din. Your Din. Your sweet boy. Yours. And that’s the greatest honor to ever bestow upon him. At least, that’s how he sees it anyway.

“Y-your mouth, mesh’la, p-please,” he says softly. Your eyebrow quirks up. You want just a little bit more. “Want your- need your mouth on me, baby, please,” he breathes out, attempting and failing to ease the neediness in his voice.

You hum triumphantly before you begin pumping him again, your hand focusing on his base while your mouth lavishes his leaking head. You swirl your tongue around, the salty flavor of him quick to override your senses, and Din lets out a strangled moan, his hips softly bucking in your grasp.

Your hand releases him, letting your mouth take full control. You grab onto his thick thighs for stability, breathing through your nose as you let the tip of him reach as far back as you can handle. He gasps when he hits the back of your throat, the twitch of his body triggering your gag reflex, your throat tightening in on where he’s most sensitive. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fighting his hips to stay in place and let you do your thing.

You garble something incoherent, humming into his cock as you pull yourself on and off of him a few more times. Pulling back for a small breather, you use your finger to collect up the spit-arousal mixture from the sides of your mouth and pump it on his erection, his hips twitching once again at your ministrations.

You know what he really wants right now, but with his head in cloud nine, you know he’ll never ask for it himself. “You wanna fuck my mouth, Din?” You ask bluntly.

His entire face and chest turn red faster than the speed of light. He sputters in his response. “I- oh my Maker, mesh’la, is that- are- are you sure? I-”

You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his thigh. He softens in your touch. “Din, pretty boy, it’s a yes or no. One word. Choose.”

“Yes,” he replies, not a single hesitation in sight.

“Good boy,” you purr. “See what happens when you say what you want from me?”

You shift yourself to a more comfortable position sitting on your haunches, fluffing the blankets underneath you to soften the ache of the metal floor. You look up to Din who’s watching you eagerly but with a softness that tells you to take all your time in the world. Doing this isn’t just for him, though. Letting him take control of you here turns you on just as much as it does him, maybe even more.

You take one more glance into his thirsty eyes, and, well, okay… maybe he enjoys this slightly more. Nonetheless, you don’t take your time because you can feel the butterflies in your core beginning to flap once again as Din brings himself closer to you, lining himself up with your mouth.

“Don’t waste this opportunity, Djarin. Better use me good, yeah?” You tease, leaning your head back slightly as you stick your salivating tongue flat out, waiting for him to enter.

His entire body shivers at your words. “Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, focusing on easing himself into your mouth as steady as possible, trying to maintain some ounce of self-restraint he’s inevitably going to lose.

Once his tip is in your mouth, his hands find their home rooted at the base of your air, his thumb reaching forward to caress the apple of your cheeks. He doesn’t move at first, apprehensive in the case he might hurt you. He’s always like this at the beginning, and every single time, you reassure him it’s okay.

You let out a muffled mhm, his signal to keep going. Din’s fingers flex, guiding your head further in as his hips slowly meet you halfway. He’s holding his breath, you can tell in the way his belly twitches. But the moment your swallow reflex triggers around him, he’s gone. “Oh, shit-” he moans ragged, his hips never fully retreating before he’s bucking into you again. “Oh, sweet girl, fuck-” he gasps. “Always so perfect, feel so perfect around me, stars, baby-” he praises, his hips moving at a comfortable, steady pace now.

You moan around him, eyes rolling back at how good and heavy he feels coasting the expanse of your tongue. Your spit drips further down your chin and neck with each thrust, the messiness of it all mirroring itself between your thighs. Your hands leave the expanse of your thighs and reach for the blankets underneath you. As best as you can, you shuffle them in between you, using it to grind your hips on it, giving you a much needed relief. The material catches on your clit deliciously, pulling a muffled gasp from your throat, sending the sensation up Din’s spine.

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groans, his eyes fighting to stay open at the raw pleasure coursing through his veins as he starts thrusting into you harder, faster. “So pretty, baby, fuck- thank you, pretty girl,” he rambles. “Maker, you feel so damn good.”

Your moans and whines don’t stop, they reverberate off each metal wall and into his ears, providing him with the sweetest song. Din, ever the talker, is long lost in the way you feel and the way you move.

“Keep moving those hips, sweet girl, rub that pretty pussy on our blankets, baby.”

“Gonna cum like that again, baby? Gonna make a mess where we sleep?”

“Shit, gonna make me lick it up and clean it? Please make me clean it, baby,” he whines, his hips beginning to falter.

The last thing he says to you is what sends you over the edge, your fingers gripping the blankets below you, bringing it flush against your core as if it were Din’s curls you’re hanging onto. Your hips speed up, chasing the orgasm that is just right there, and with one last thrust forward, you’re cumming. You’re breathing heavily through your nose, tears streaming down your face as you whimper around his dick, begging for the one thing you know he’s not gonna give you.

With a few more thrusts, you can feel his cock start to twitch, and just as you suspected, he pulls out of you before he can finish.

“Baby, no,” you cry, leaning yourself forward, chasing after him. Right away, he’s dropping down to his knees, hands still on either side of your face as he’s finally eye level with you.

“Baby, cyar’ika, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” he repents, his chest rising and falling heavily, still out of breath from edging himself. “I just- I didn’t- I… I wanted to cum somewhere else, baby,” his voice falls quieter, shyer.

Your scowl fades, forming into a more mischievous demeanor, more hungry. You can’t quite argue his reasoning. Because, you, too, would very much like him to finish… elsewhere. “Yeah, baby?” You taunt. “And where do you wanna cum, sweet boy?”

He swallows thickly, his needy eyes on yours, blacked with a ferality he’s addicted to. “In- inside,” he whispers.

“Inside?” you’re quick to repeat. “Wanna cum inside me, sweet boy? Fill me up? I’ve made so many messes today, is it your turn to make one, baby?”

He leans in to meet your kiss, but you pull away slightly. Answer me, your face tells him.

“Y-yeah- yes, stars, yes- fuck- please, baby, I wanna cum inside you, wanna make a mess of you so fucking bad, please-” he starts to answer. Satisfied, you cut him off with your lips on his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lips never breaking the seal, you pull him over you as you lay yourself down on your guys’ bed, scooting farther up for your head to reach a pillow, your back barely missing your puddle of arousal. Din multitasks, grabbing one of the other near pillows and placing it underneath your hips as your body lands on the ground. Your legs are already hooked onto his waist, not giving him the space to stray too far.

Once you’re settled, Din’s hand is cradling the back of your head while the other reaches for his cock, covered in your wetness and leaking with his own arousal. He guides himself to you, running his tip along your slick folds, stopping to tap on your clit before bringing himself back down to your entrance. He breaks the kiss when he does this, his eyes laser focused on where you two connect. His hand on the back of your head pushes to angle you down, so you can watch, too, both of you observing and listening to the lewdness of it all.

Finally, his head catches at your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He’s always a stretch, always something you’ll never quite really get used to, but you love the feeling. Obsessed, even. There are some days where you rile him up on purpose just so he gives it to you, no preparation or foreplay. On those days, he has you screaming, your fingernails digging deep into his back to tether yourself to reality in some kind of way. On his softer days, you have to beg him to, reassure him that it doesn’t hurt—in a bad way.

As soon as he’s seated all the way to the hilt, he pulls back out entirely before he thrusts back in. You both moan out at the action, your pussy immediately releasing a fresh new wave of arousal around him. “Oh, fuck,” you both mutter at the same time, your eyes meet, and a euphoric smile graces each of your faces.

“Y-you feel so good, baby, s-so fucking big,” you mewl, your hands tightening their hold around his neck, both the tips of your noses kissing each other.

“It’s like you were made- fuck-” he stutters, his hips slowing for a brief moment, allowing himself to really feel you. “It’s like I was made for you,” he corrects himself. “I was made for you,” he says again, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you say against his lips. I love you. “And I was made for you,” you squeak out, your head bobbing back and forth as the pleasure brings your mind further and further into space.

“Shit, mesh’la,” he grits between his teeth. His hips speed up at that, loving the way his native tongue sounds on yours. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he repeats back to you. “I’m yours, cyar’ika. Yours,” he murmurs, his head crashing into the crook of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting at the sweaty flesh.

He sits up on his haunches for a second, hooking the crook of his elbows into your knees before leaning back over you—the angle allowing him to hit so deep and allowing his pubic area to stimulate your pulsing nerve with every thrust in—you scream out as he repeatedly makes you feel things that no one has ever been able to do, not even yourself.

“Din,” you keen, his name leaving your mouth like a sinful prayer. “Din, baby, please, I think I’m gonna- fuck-”

“Gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He smirks. “Fuck, I’m never gonna stop saying this- you’re so fucking perfect. Come on, baby, cum for me, fucking soak me. Soak me before I make you fucking overflow with me, my sweet girl,” he snarls, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss, truly a dance of tongue and spit as he fucks into you at the same pace that brought you to yet another climax.

Your hands yank on his fluffy curls, back arching into his body as much as this restricting angle allows you to. “Din, oh my-! Fuck- so fucking good, fuck-” you wail out, your heart beating out of your chest as your pussy pulses around his cock, making an utter mess between your two lower halves.

The flutter of you and the instant wetness consuming him is what sends Din to his finish line. He continues thrusting, shakily, through his own orgasm, his load coating every inch of you, both inside and out. You wanted a mess, so he truly gave you a mess.

He releases the hold on your legs to wrap his arms around you, his entire body flush against yours as your legs wrap themselves tightly around him again. He’s still inside you, his hips softly still moving in and out as he leaves kisses all along your lips, your jawline, your neck.

The way you feel, full of him and him, has your hips meeting his small advances, both of you reveling in the aftershock of your highs as you use the pleasure to ease you back down.

“You okay, mesh’la?” Din asks eventually when you both come to an exhausted, satiated halt.

“Perfect, my sweet boy,” you smile, repeating your sentiment from earlier. “You okay, though?” You ask hesitantly, and not about what you two just did together. He brings his lips to yours. Soft, and not in a way to arouse you again. In a way that says thank you and I love you in a way spoken tongue will never be able to convey.

“I will be,” he answers truthfully. “Pick a planet, you can pick me apart after we get food.”

“Sounds like a deal, baby.”

“Come, let’s get cleaned up.” He kisses your forehead before he untangles himself and pulls you up to your feet as well, both of you making your way to the refresher.

In the corner of his eye, he sees his now semi-shiny boot, starting to dry off in the midst of everything else you two did. He smirks to himself.

You catch it, of course. “What’re you smiling at, Djarin?”

“Nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “Just… I clean my armor and boots after every bounty.”

“And?” You ask, still not realizing where he’s headed.

“I don’t know if I wanna clean my boots anymore.”

Your eyebrows raise to the middle of your forehead, eyes bulging out of your face. “Din!” you slap his chest. Then, your face goes stern. “You will be cleaning those boots more often if you want me to do that again."

Oh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Please let me know what you guys think, I really love hearing your guys’ reactions and feedback!🫶

Also, did y’all clock how many orgasms reader had in this damn thing?! Coochie of fucking steel fr 😭😭

Moon divider by @saradika-graphics 🩶

@pedrostories

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dontexpectmuch · 4 months

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i know how much you guys love this series, so i give you a new part. this one how ever will be;

comments/feedback is highly appreciated! please, im getting desperate :d

Habits Jude Bellingham might develop before you guys get into a relationship!

(a Lost in Madrid drabble!)

it is no secret that jude just loves to talk. he genuinely enjoys it so much to share any and every thought that goes through his mind, no matter how small it might be. he couldn’t tell when it started exactly, but suddenly he found himself on his way to you, a tired student that just wants to finish their work. as soon as he lifts his hand, knocks on your door and enters the room his lips start moving, talking so lively and fast that you need some time to register what is even happening.

“what do you mean ‘m talkin’ your ear off? you literally study literature and shit!” - “it’s more about reading, jude.” you sigh, wishing for any kind of help at this moment.

it is also nothing new for you to receive messages from jude during your quiet evenings when you decide to stay home. jude recently got into sending audio messages, you being his number one victim [forced] friend, whom he shared this new passion with. and most of the times he won’t even say anything important. he’ll just sing a new spanish song he has learned that past week. and he will sing. no matter how terrible it sounds and how much it makes your ears bleed. though, you also always listen to those audios, even though you know what the content will be.

“jude?” opening your door after hearing a desperate knock, you did not think that you would see your [not] friend standing there. he looks tiredly at you, clothes wrinkled and sandals on, “mum wanted me to bring you some cake she baked.” he gives you the tupperware filled with slices of cake, energy low. you feel your shoulders relax as you look up at him, “tell her i love her, please.” he just nods. and even though he always complains to you about how he is not some delivery boy, he can’t help but get excited at the thought of seeing your soft eyes when you receive food his mum made. it makes him feel giddy inside.

he makes you trip purposely whenever you walk in front of him, and then giggles and jogs away to join the others on the field when you send daggers his way with your glare.

he forces you to play two-touch, even though you have told him multiple times already that you cannot play really well. he quite literally forces you to become better, giving you tips while making you pass the ball against the wall back and forth. “i don’t want to do this anymore, jude.” - “well, that’s too damn bad.” his gaze serious as he corrects your form once more. “bitch.” you murmur under your breath, praying for him to just disappear somewhere and leave you alone.

“what?” you ask as you look up from your notes, eyes wide as you watch jude place a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll onto your desk. “i heard that you like sweets, or whatever.” he says, [desperately] wanting to look cool. your heart starts to pick up in speed when you look back and forth between jude and the things he just gave you, warmth spreading through your body. “thanks.”

“watch me.” he smirks at you, who looks quite annoyed tired at him. “i’ll hit this first time.” - “like you did to me on my first day here?” - “dude! i told you not to talk about it anymore, ‘t’s a sensitive topic for me, ‘kay?”

heartfelt conversations between you are not as rare as one might think. whenever jude comes to you to talk your ear off while toi work on your research, you sometimes tell him about your own stuff. that leads to various topics you two discuss, which also results in sharing some intimate thoughts. it makes jude, who usually looks so confident and well put together, look more human, like a 20 year old guy who also learns something new every day.

—————————————

surpriseee! hope you like it!! :)

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #football x reader #football one shot #x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #football #jude bellingham fluff #lostinmadrid #relationship

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90ekz · 7 months

Note

ive head this nagging thought in the back of my head that satoru has some kinda random spot on his body that’ll make him instantly pop a bone. I DONT KNOW JUST WORK WITH ME HERE PLS 🙏 i love your works btw 😘

✧ sweet spot, ft. satoru gojo

✧ tags: mostly fluff, whiny satoru, ‘baby’ as a nickname, did i say mostly fluff already??, dry humping, overstim, loser satoru cs he’s mushy and in love

✧ an: this idea is now living in my head and not paying rent, thanks a lot anon :/

satoru usually just does his own hair care, and he’s very meticulous about it. he wants everything to be clean and pristine—not that you weren’t capable of doing that for him, he’s just very, very dramatic. he didn’t even know this spot was sensitive until… literally now.

he’s standing in the bathroom as you brush your teeth, absentmindedly rubbing his hand over his growing undercut. he figured it was time for him to cut it anyway, but his arms were very sore from some training he’d done with the kids yesterday.

“babe.”

“y’esh?” he chuckled at your mouthful of the minty paste, and just waited for you to finish brushing. when you finally did, you turned to face him as he brushed his thumb over the white pooling on the corner of your mouth.

“can you cut my hair today? ‘arms are so sore.” satoru whined, his finger still tracing your lip lazily.

“have you washed it? i don’t need your lice transferring to me—ouch! okay, okay, plug in the clippers!” you giggled as he pinched your lip. the clippers rested on his side of the sink, and he plugged them in wordlessly. you stood behind him, lightly brushing the area with the small brush you know is the most comfortable for him. satoru sighs lightly as you do this, and his shoulders relax.

he didn’t know exactly what it was, but your hands felt different than his. you made him so sensitive usually anyway, but this was weird. his cheeks were heating, and everything was tingling, not just his neck.

and then you did it.

the clippers worked in upward strokes as you trimmed the hair down, and suddenly your thumb brushed over some magical pressure point of his. satoru felt pleasure shoot down his spine like he never had before, and a almost girly squeak slipped out before he could stop it. your eyes go wide and you remove the clippers from his neck. satoru is deathly still, and you watched color bloom over his cheeks in the mirror.

“…you okay sato’?” the nickname drips off your tongue like honey—so effortless, so intimate, and he hates that you decided to use it right now. he can’t take it. you’ve never called him that, and he can hear the amused tilt in your voice.

satoru gulps, because he doesn’t know what to say. how does he say that he wants you to keep going, to keep brushing over that exact spot so he can pinpoint exactly what that feeling was just now? he’s never felt anything like that when he cut his own hair…

he settles on a weak little “i’m fine, baby,” because frankly? he doesn’t trust himself to say any other words right now.

you give him a little smile in the mirror before your hands start working again, and you finally start getting somewhere with actually cutting his damn hair. he doesn’t feel anything out of the ordinary happen anymore, and now he’s finally cleanly shaven again like he likes. you did an exceptional job, and satoru peppers you with kisses as a reward.

he mostly stops thinking about it after this.

yeah, maybe the thought lingers in the back of his head for a few hours after, and maybe he stands in the bathroom rubbing his thumb over the back of his neck for a little longer than considered normal, but it was fine.

except for when you call him down to finish watching the movie you’d started earlier, and he’s laying on your chest as you run your fingers through his hair. satoru isn’t even paying attention to what your hand is doing as he yaps about the plot of the film, and you listen.

“he’s a piece of shit! i mean, he stayed with his side piece on the plane, and made his wife drive in the snow? fuck mike ‘till it’s backwards.” satoru spits, his attention fully focused on the movie’s plot.

unlike you, who’s mind was still in the bathroom, cutting satoru’s hair.

you haven’t stopped thinking about the little noise he’d made as you’d accidentally pressed your finger over the nape of his neck, right where the hair started. he sounded so weak—so vulnerable, and you decided right then that you needed to hear much more of that.

your mind was now solely focused on one thing, and your hand was moving just as it was in the bathroom. you twirled your fingers around strands, until finally threading your fingers through his hair and giving a small tug. this tore a stuttered breath out of satoru, and you smiled. he’d gone a little more rigid against you, and his commentary had stopped as you payed so much attention to him. he was losing focus of the movie, too.

“b-babe,”

“hmm?” you hummed back, fingers now traveling from his hair to his lower neck, tracing small circles there. you knew what you were looking for, but why not tease a little first?

satoru couldn’t answer you if he tried—every word in his throat dies as you press down onto that spot once more, and he’s slamming his hand on-top of yours to make sure you don’t move it. he isn’t sure why he does that exactly, but why does it matter? why does anything matter when you’re touching him like this?

he can’t do this, just one press on his spot has his dick rising and stiff against your thigh, and even you can hardly believe it.

“sato.” you grip his hair to pull him off your chest, just enough to look at you. he whines from the mixture of the nickname and the sting of his scalp.

“b-baby, please.” satoru breathes. you know what he’s asking for, and you figured you’d done enough teasing for a while. you grin, rubbing your thumb back and forth over the pressure point back and forth, up and down, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he came just from this based on the sounds he was making. he hovers you, his arms barely holding his body up, and he’s heaving into your neck.

“breathe, satoru.”

“mmph—i will! i will, just please don’t stop,” satoru whines, his hips grinding down against your thigh. sure, this whole thing is embarrassing as hell, but he couldn’t help the cheeky grin that stretched across his face as you indulged him. as you ran your acrylics over the sensitive part of him, he dropped his head back into your shoulders, and his own started to shake violently.

he was laughing.

you were shocked by this, but you didn’t dare stop. at some point, you couldn’t help but snort a little as he grasped onto you. it was cute—the way his giggles melted into moans, the way he couldn’t control himself or his emotions in the moment. there were no coherent thoughts forming in his head except for fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

and you loved it that way.

#gojo x black reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru x black y/n #gojou satoru x you #satoru smut #syno’s picks 💌#this idea is so funny to me #imagine just lightly touching the back of his neck bc you just like doing that and you’re a physical person and he just moans like LMAO #this also kinda goes into my touch starved gojo agenda but that’s a later convo 🫡

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being-addie · 11 months

Text

The Glow Up Game

Part One: Pretty on the Outside

A comprehensive guide to getting your shit together. You heard me. We are done standing on the sidelines, looking at people living their dream lives being rich and hot and happy. WE'RE DONE.

This is a long guide, filled with pointers covering EVERYTHING regarding physical glow-ups. I'll be editing it and reblogging it whenever I come across new ideas and information. It covers everything from head to toe. I mean this literally.

Note: This is for people who want to do glow up physically. It is totally your choice to do anything you want to/don't want to on this list. We live in a world full of unfair beauty standards, and instead of being angry about it, I'm going to exploit the hell out of it.

Are you ready to change yourself? Here we go.

The absolute basics: These are lifestyle changes you're going to implement. Non-negotiable.

Go exercise: Don't look at me like that. This isn't optional. Find a way to move your body so you like it and you're actually breaking a sweat. Leisurely walking on the treadmill does not count, half-hearted zumba does not count. Whatever you're doing, it has to make you SWEAT. A good figure is earned. Trust me when I say you'll feel better, and like what you see in the mirror.

Change your diet: Enough sugar. Toss the soda out, and chuck out your candy stash. You really don't need it. Craving something sweet? Make a batch of healthy, homemade dessert. Or have a piece of fruit. I'm not kidding when I say the kitchen is where you make the biggest lifestyle change. It will be HARD, but every McChicken you say no to, is good for your HEALTH. You want to live longer? Cut out the takeout and heavily processed foods.

Fix your sleep cycle: Sleep is so important, and I think people overlook it so much. All your hard work is wasted if you don't sleep well. Your skin will break out, and your body will refuse to change even if you exercise. SLEEP WELL. Create a nighttime routine and stick to it. Make sure you have at least 7 hours of sleep as a minimum.

Create a skincare routine: Take off your makeup every day. And have a good skincare routine. Cleanse, moisturize and apply whatever you usually do. Exfoliate twice a week and stop touching your face. I also drink an ABC smoothie (Apple+Beetroot+Carrot+Water). This does wonders.

Use sunscreen: I cannot stress this enough. Skin cancer is real, and it will get you if you don't wear sunscreen. Use something higher than SPF 50 and use it religiously. Make sure to get your earlobes, chest and back of your neck. Cover every inch of your skin that will be exposed to the sun.

Drink your water: 3 litres of water per day. You will be amazed at the results. Your skin will clear, your breath won't stink and you won't be dehydrated. This shit works, and there's a reason everyone recommends it. Drink your water.

Moving on to each itty-bitty detail.

Eyes: SLEEP. You want your eyes to look fresh? No pesky dark circles? Get your sleep cycle right. No more late nights. Hot girls sleep on time.

Nose: Those blackhead-looking things are natural, they're called sebaceous filaments. And, no you can't get rid of them. But you can minimize them. Cleanse, moisturize and exfoliate. Don't pick at your skin.

Lips: Don't bite them anymore, for God's sake. You're going to make sure they're chapped beyond belief. Use lip balm religiously and don't overuse lipstick. Your lips WILL get discoloured when you're older. Use a light lip tint, and lip balm/gloss.

Eyebrows: If you want to shape them, go to the hairdresser and get it done.

Facial hair: As someone with naturally dark, thick hair I have a lot of noticeable facial hair. I'm planning on getting it lasered soon. Find a way that works for you and is affordable.

Body hair: I have zero self-consciousness about my arm and leg hair, so I have no desire to shave or wax it. I do wax my underarms, because of ridiculously thick growth. Understand that this is a personal choice, and you do not have to do this if you're unwilling.

Nails: Keep them short or long, always filed and CLEAN. Do not let grime or dirt build-up underneath. Don't keep your nails painted 24/7, it will 100% lead to yellowing. Give your nails some time to breathe between every manicure. When they aren't painted, keep them filed and presentable.

Hair: I have Type 3a curly hair, so my hair routine is tailored to suit me. But what I can tell you is wash your hair at least 1x a week, use sun protectant, and oil your hair before wash day(it works). And use heat on your hair SPARINGLY. If you want to colour you can, but remember it does lead to long term damage, brittleness and bad texture. Get your hair cut every 3-4 months with a trusted hairdresser. Keep switching up hairstyles and do not stick to a single part (middle part, side part) constantly because it can lead to thinning of hair there.

Acne: STOP TOUCHING YOUR FACE I am begging you. Touching your face with grimy hands is a recipe for acne. Cleanse everyday, moisturize heavily and go to a dermatologist if it gets worse.

THIS LIST WILL BE UPDATED

Go live your best life. You deserve everything, and you shouldn't let anything stand in your way, not even yourself. Now GO, you've got shit to do.

xoxo

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blitzwhore · 3 months

Note

I just saw Blitzø get called Stolas stockholm victim I can't with this fandom anymore😭

😂 As outrageously incorrect and stupid as that take is, I'm going to go on a tangent here. I hope you don't mind.

I think every fandom has annoying people with awfully terrible takes in it. People with zero media literacy. People who hatewatch. People who think they're entitled to the exact show they would've wanted, which has nothing to do with the actual, existing show.

This is especially true for queer media, and especially true for queer cartoons. (Hi, yes. I was active in the Adventure Time, Steven Universe, Voltron, and She-Ra fandoms when those shows were airing, respectively. I've seen some stuff). Some people just can't handle queer cartoons, period. If the queer characters/ships are soft and wholesome, they're infantilising and boring, and if they're complex and nuanced and actually have conflict, they're abusive and problematic. You'll hear the same recycled arguments over and over again. Like, the shit some people are saying about Blitz and Stolas after The Full Moon? Is literally almost word-for-word what they said about Catra and Adora post-season 3 of She-Ra (and even at the end of the show).

Here's the thing, though! Those people and their bad takes are not what I want to think about what I think about a fandom. Those aren't the people I want to call the fans. They don't deserve that title. Not when so many other people are out there dedicating their time to making gifs and art and meta posts, and writing fic, and commenting/reblogging to show support, and sliding into people's DMs to scream and squee together about a thing they love.

At the end of the day, "fandom" is just a lot of people each doing their own thing. Which people you engage with and allow to stay within your line of sight will determine your fandom experience. Fandom can be a huge, convoluted, online space full of people who are constantly arguing with one another and whose takes make you unfathomably angry... Or it can be you and your 5 friends and mutuals who scream gleefully at one another in 2-note posts. You can't control what others post online, but you can control your engagement with it.

How? Well, here's what I personally do to avoid getting upset by people's stupid opinions online:

Filter 'critical' and 'anti' tags (eg. #anti stolitz #anti vivziepop #Helluva Boss critical #HB critical #vivziepop critical). Many people actually do tag their critical posts because they know it's the respectful thing to do!

If I come across a post that has one or more of those tags, obviously, I don't click through to see it under any circumstances.

If I stumble across a stranger's untagged post with hate/criticism that upsets me: I stop reading and BLOCK. Immediately. I don't look back. I don't finish reading. I don't engage. I just block block block. I <3 the block button, seriously.

If I feel my mind reeling from a bad take I just came across: I take a step back, close my phone, breathe, remember life is beautiful sometimes. Go back and watch an episode I really like. Clean my living space a little. Vent about it to a friend (but only if I really need to, because if not, I'd rather not dwell on it).

If I'm starting to feel the need to reply to someone's bad take (directly or via my own post), I instead make the decision to channel that energy into making fandom posts out of love. (I don't do this just with fandom. If I see something transphobic online, I usually react by reblogging a bunch of trans art or trans positivity posts on my main, for example). I like to think of it as putting some positivity out into the world to compensate for the negativity I just saw. So, for example, if I see someone shitting on my blorbo, I may make a silly post just saying how much I love blorbo. Or I'll make (or draft) a post about how interesting I find some of blorbo's actions. Or reblog another person's positive/interesting post about blorbo.

And finally, I stay the hell away from Twitter. Or at least, if I go on Twitter, I try my best to avoid any tweet that has text in it instead of just art. Even the people who have good opinions spend too much time arguing with the people who have bad opinions on there. I don't want to see people's bad takes! No, not even while reading founded and perfectly articulated criticism of those bad takes! So I just limit my time on Twitter. And again, if someone is putting bad takes on my TL (even if it is to counter them), I unfollow and block as needed.

All this to say, yes, it really fucking sucks to read the opinions of people who don't understand and who hate the characters and ships and worlds you love. Gosh it's the worst. But you can curate your fandom experience. You can focus on the things you can control. You have the power to decide if your fandom experience is draining or fun!

And because I don't know how to finish this, here, have a Stolitz kiss to heal you:

We will keep winning and there's nothing the haters can do about it. 😌

#helluva boss #stolitz #curate your experience #Long post #Kinda?#As someone who was around when Catradora seemed to be crashing and burning: we will win. Ignore the haters #Trust the process #The gays are traumatised and acting accordingly AND THAT'S OKAY #Also go and watch She-ra if you haven't <3 #And SU and AT

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 4 months

Note

Hiyya! I had a request of g!p Donna x reader but it’s their first time and it’s very gentle and sweet , I’m a sucker for fluff and smut 🥹 or Donna being very soft and needy, I dig I dig

Yess!!! Here it is!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it, and sorry about the language mistakes!! :)))

Spend the night

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, explicit smut, fluff, insecurities... Minors DNI

Word count: 5,534

Summary: You've decided that you don't want to be just a guest anymore...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Donna requests are open!! I love you all :)))) Thanks for reading!!

“And then I told him: If you don't like the portrait, paint it yourself. Surely that nose of yours serves as a brush,” you said, amused.

Donna laughed sheepishly, as usual, shaking her head.

“Is this how you deal with your clients?” She asked with a low voice, always subtle, but with a smile adorning her face.

“Well, yes. At least with those who don't want to pay me,” you stated, playing with the fork.

“You didn't deal with me like that when I went to your study,” the lady in black sighed, taking a sip from her wine glass.

You sighed in amusement, raising your eyebrows.

Your job as a portrait painter didn’t prosper very well in that dark village, but at least it made you earn some money. Thanks to that peculiar job, you met Donna Beneviento. One of the village lords at the service of Mother Miranda herself. Donna was a shy woman, who hid her face behind a black cloth. Apparently, she had run out of the paint she used to decorate those strange porcelain dolls she made.

Donna returned days later, using that same excuse. You knew that it was nothing but an excuse since the Duke confirmed to you that he continued bringing her all those materials. Something had caught her attention about you, and of course, you couldn't help her from catching your attention too.

Donna was a complicated woman, with problems that had no solution. But at the same time, she was kind, shy and very far from what the villagers thought of her. At least she wasn’t that way with you.

The relationship grew naturally. You didn't know exactly why. She didn't usually talk directly to you. The Angie doll always was the speaker of your conversations.

Little by little, that absurd shyness faded until, after she revealed her face to you and you could contemplate her true beauty, you began to have a much more special relationship. The shy kisses and date nights didn't take long to come.

The lady never said that she was your girlfriend or anything like that, but you liked to think that way. As the months passed, you realized that you really were, and you wanted to be her girlfriend.

“Oh, Donna... This is...” you said licking your lips, enjoying, like every time you had dinner together, her amazing talent for cooking. “It's so good that I want to die.”

“Don't talk nonsense, (Y/N)” the lady in black said, with a slightly more serious look.

It's true that you had to be very careful with the things you said. Her mind was damaged, in part due to traumas from her past. Many times you forgot that there were topics that could cause small crises and could cause Donna to lose control. Death was one of those topics.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry,” you said apologetically, lowering your head. “I didn't mean it literally, you know, it's a way of speaking. What I want to say is that I love the way you cook.”

“I... Thank you,” she responded, blushing at the compliment. How could a dangerous woman in Miranda's service blush over something like that? She would never cease to amaze you.

“Scare!” A squeaky voice screeched too close to you, scaring you, making you spill some wine on your new dress, a dress you had bought especially for that romantic dinner.

“Shit! Angie!” You yelled trying to remove the stain from the white fabric.

The doll fled the place laughing childishly, taking refuge behind the living room desk.

“Angie... Please...” Donna whispered, standing up embarrassed, approaching you.

You got up too, ready to revenge, pretending to strangle Angie with your bare hands.

“Come here! Show your face! You little…” You said with anger, but also with a smile. You were more than used to the doll ruining all your dates.

“(Y/N)” Donna interrupted you, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I'll pay for the dress.”

“What? Oh, come on, no. Don’t worry about it,” you said, brushing it off, gently grabbing her hand on your shoulder, turning to look at her.

Her face relaxed immediately as you got closer to her, taking that opportunity to kiss her softly on the lips, to steal one of those kisses that made you thank fate for having met her.

Unlike the other times you kissed, this time you were much more reluctant to pull away, discovering a part of yourself that you thought would never appear: desire.

Donna withdrew shortly after, smiling tenderly and running a hand over your cheek, with a softness so burning that you thought at any moment the flames would burn your skin.

“Gross!” The doll protested, approaching you timidly. You rolled your eyes and glared at her, causing the puppet to change her path so as not to walk near to you.

“Angie, please. Behave,” Donna demanded, with a tone that betrayed shame and apology, while her hands joined yours and lowered, hanging harmoniously between your bodies.

“Don’t worry, Donna,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Also, I think this color suits the dress well.”

She laughed, kissing you quickly on the cheek and letting your hands go, heading to the table.

“I promise I'll turn her off next time,” she commented as she picked up the dishes. “I'm going... I'm going to pick this up.”

“Do you want me to help you?” You asked politely.

The lady in black shook her head, giving you another of her amazing smiles.

“No, tesoro. You are my guest,” she said affectionately, walking towards the elevator.

“Guest... Great...” You whispered, looking at the wooden floor, unable to help but feel a certain disappointment. It had been a long time. You didn't want to be a guest anymore.

“Silly, silly (Y/N). You're so clumsy, you've put the vine all over your dress,” Angie hummed when you were alone, which made you clench your fists tightly, approaching the puppet in a threatening manner.

“Yes, yes... Laugh while you can, you little devil. Have you heard Donna? Next time she will deactivate you,” you said in her dark voice, causing another of Angie’s loud, mocking laughs.

“You don't scare me,” the doll mocked her.

“Yet...” you said, putting on the most dangerous look you were capable of.

“Stupid, stupid guest,” Angie repeated, dancing happily around you. “Do you want some advice?”

“No,” you said seriously, with a firm tone, looking towards the elevator, waiting for Donna to come back.

“If you want Donna to move, you have to do it yourself. She never will,” the doll said, with a tone that resembled of a confidant friend.

“What? What are you talking about?” You asked, interested in that statement.

“It's just a comment,” she said indifferently, walking away from you when the noise of the elevator doors broke the tension of the moment.

“Do you want me to accompany you home, my love?” Donna asked, approaching you again, holding your hand lovingly.

“To home?”

You could fool yourself and think that leaving was a good idea, but that tender kiss earlier made you think about the things that still needed to be done, about the desire to really love her, even if it embarrassed you.

Donna nodded with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, sending a strange shiver through your body.

“Um, well, I... I, I'd like to stay a bit longer if you don't mind. It looks like it's going to rain,” you said shyly.

Donna frowned and tilted her head curiously, looking towards one of the windows and approaching it.

“Rain? I don't think so, honey, it's a splendid night,” she commented, studying the starry sky.

You clenched your fists, not being able to send a hint clear enough for Donna to get it. You knew it was going to be complicated, but you didn't expect it to be so complicated. Maybe it would be a good idea to go home... But on the other hand, you didn't want to do it.

“Now it seems that way and when you least expect it, boom! The storm of the century hits and I end up soaked from head to toe. And it's very likely that I would catch a cold, my body is weak,” you said in a nervous tone, your voice breaking because of the shame you felt for insisting so pathetically.

The lady in black looked at you curiously, as if something inside her mind was screaming for her to react. Donna was still too shy, and too naive. She wasn't used to the pathetic advances of ordinary people.

“You'll agree with me when I have a horrible fever and can't come here to see you,” you said, feigning real concern.

“Oh, okay, I...” Donna said, approaching you again, searching for something in your eyes that she didn't seem to understand. “Wait a moment. I'm going to call the Duke to take you home then.”

“Oh, God,” you sighed when she walked away again, feeling an unbearable helplessness.

“Donna!” Angie screamed, hanging up the phone when the woman picked it up. “Are you blind?”

“What? Angie, stop that,” the lady in black protested. “You're starting to wear out my patience tonight.”

“And you are starting to wear out hers,” the doll responded, crossing her arms after pointing at you.

You opened your eyes and an evil smile spread across your face.

“What? Why you say so?” The doll maker asked, looking at you with fear.

“Silly Donna, silly Donna. (Y/N) wants to spend the night with you. Silly.”

The woman stepped away from the phone, timidly playing with her hands.

“(Y/N)... Is that true? Would you... Would you like...?”

“Um, yes, I would like to,” you said, taking advantage of the unique opportunity that Angie gave you.

“Oh, okay... Okay... Well...” she said, looking away, getting closer little by little, looking for a place to look that wasn't your eyes. “I, I guess that's... Fine.”

“If it's uncomfortable for you, I'll leave,” you said, unsure of her reaction.

“No, no, wait, wait,” Donna interrupted, grabbing your hand as you made a gesture to leave. “I… Well, I would like you to stay.”

“Really?” You asked, not bothering to hide the joy her words provoked, cupping her face in your hands.

She nodded before your lips brushed against hers again, sealing an important deal.

“Okay...” the lady sighed, moving away from your increasingly hot kisses.

“Can you show me your bedroom?” You asked, perhaps with a too seductive tone. You knew that you couldn't be direct with her. You didn't want to be either.

“Oh, of course... I... Well if you're going to sleep with me you'll have to go down and... Of course, of course. You want to know where it is and it makes sense and...” Donna stammered, nervous as you had never seen her before, apart from her involuntary crisis, of course.

You decided to silence her as you knew best, with another of your tender, deep kisses, grabbing her waist and bringing her body closer to yours, demonstrating with your actions that everything was fine, that there was no reason to worry.

“Donna,” you said in a whisper, resting your forehead on hers. “Listen to me.”

She nodded softly, unable to hide the fear on her face.

“I just want to sleep with you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I have no ulterior motives. We won't do anything you don't want to.”

“Oh, well I... It's okay...” The lady in black murmured, sighing in relief.

After a quick kiss, you let yourself be guided to the unknown part underneath the house, a strange and claustrophobic basement. Through several corridors, you arrived at your destination.

“Wow... There are no windows here,” you said, looking at the curious bedroom. It was a dark place for a dark woman. Appropriate.

“I'm sorry. My parents built the house like this,” she apologized, sitting on the bed with trembling hands.

“I didn't mean that I think it's wrong, I'm just looking,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. You joined the woman, sitting next to her.

There was a moment of tense silence, as if neither of you really knew what exactly you were doing there. Donna cleared her throat, shifting nervously in her place.

“(Y/N)” she said with a low voice, almost inaudible.

“Mm?” You murmured, in the middle of your scan of the area.

“I... I want to do it,” she said, grabbing the sheets tightly, pulling them so hard that it seemed like they were going to tear.

“To do what? Oh,” you said, instantly embarrassed. You weren't really thinking about that, you just wanted to move further in the relationship. You couldn't deny that it crossed your mind, but you didn't think she wanted it as much as you. Did she?

“But... But I'm afraid,” she whispered timidly. “I… I… I’ve never…”

“Hey, Donna…” you said, grabbing her hand so she would stop ruining the sheets. “Calm down. I feel the same.”

“You? Have you ever...?” She asked curiously, suddenly looking at you.

“Well, I really haven’t... You know what? It doesn’t matter,” you said, avoiding acknowledging a truth that embarrassed you. “What… What really matters is that I would like to share that moment with you, but I don't want to force you to do so.”

Donna smiled, shaking her head. You couldn't know what she was thinking, but you knew that she was terribly nervous.

“I just... I just know that... that I love you,” you said, being the first time you verbalized your feelings towards the woman in black. “And I want to live everything with you, I want to truly love you, share my entire life with you.”

“You... You... Do you love me?” She asked, with a wide smile on her face, with a look of genuine excitement.

“Yes,” you said dryly, accompanying her smile.

After a nervous gasp, she launched herself at your lips, kissing you messily, excited by that statement.

“I, I love you too,” Donna said, with a tear sliding down her cheek. The level her emotions reached was surprising. You wondered if she had ever had anyone who said those three words to her. The most logical response made you feel an overwhelming sadness.

“Donna...” you sighed when her caresses returned to your face, while you brushed that annoying tear away from hers, getting lost in her gaze.

Immediately and without warning, she moved away from you, as if something had scared her.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” You asked, worried about that sudden action.

“There... There is something you don't know about me,” she told you, looking away, with her hands trembling in yours. “I... Well, since... You know... Miranda adopted me... I... Well, no, I haven't been the same... I...”

You interrupted her by putting a finger on her lips, understanding what she wanted to tell you.

“Shh, don't say anything else, honey. I already know it,” you said amused, moving her hands away so she wouldn't squeeze them too hard.

“What? Do you know about..?” She asked startled, breaking free from your hold. You nodded with a dangerous look.

“Do you remember our date at the river? The picnic?”

Donna nodded, blinking repeatedly.

“That day you were quite excited,” You joked, running a hand up her leg. “It seemed like my kisses made you very, very happy… I could feel it. Literally,” you whispered in her ear, making her nervousness increase.

“Oh, well... I'm sorry,” she said shyly, but with a mischievous smile discreetly appearing on her face.

“Don’t be. Everything's fine. I love you just the way you are, Donna… And I still want to take that step with you, if you agree, of course.”

The woman in black nodded just before your kisses caught her again. She responded by deepening hers as well, abandoning the play of her hands to travel directly to your cheek, caressing it gently, keeping your head next to hers, so that your kisses wouldn't dare to stop.

Silence became the main element in that room. There were no more insecurities nor stupid questions or statements, just your kisses traveling, tasting your lips.

You stood apart for a moment, staring at each other, as if trying to communicate without words. With an anxious sigh, you resumed your feat, kissing every spot on her face as you climbed on top of her, your legs on either side of her hips.

Her hands, normally shy and chaste, ran over your back, pushing you closer to her body, traveling down your hips, caressing you as if you were made of porcelain, as if the slightest touch would break you into a thousand pieces.

You couldn't help but gasp at the feeling of being treated this way, like the delicate and precious object you were to her. Your hands rested on her chest, brushing the black fabric of her dress while your mouth continued down her neck, causing a shy gasp and an incipient tension in her body.

“I... I would like…” Donna said, silent, elegant, shy. “I want… I want to look at you. You know, without… Without clothes.”

You opened your eyes and smiled. You didn't know anyone who would be kind enough to ask such a thing, to ask permission even if she knew she didn't need to do it.

“Fine,” you said, giving her one last kiss while her gaze was lost on your body.

Caressing her chest as you stood up, you brought your free hand to the restraints of your wine-ruined dress. The night breeze was present in that closed place. There was no chance the cold air from outside had gotten in there, you figured it was due to nerves. You had never gotten naked in front of someone and although your shyness paled in comparison to Donna's, you couldn't help but feel insecure.

The fabric fell to the floor and you had to fight not to grab it at the last moment and cover yourself. Even though you were afraid to look at Donna, to know what expression her face had, you did. Her smile was delirious, as if she were in a dream. The tension once again led to a rough grip on the sheets, while she tried to say something at the sight of your half-naked body.

“(Y/N)... I have never seen anything as beautiful as you in my entire life,” she sighed, reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you gently, bringing your trembling body closer to her “Your body… Your beauty is so… You are a miracle,” she said before running her fingers over your chest, looking at you from below, not wanting to lose even the slightest detail of what she was seeing.

“You are going to make me blush...” you joked, reassured by the soft touch on your wrist, by the hand that ran up and down your body.

“I'm just saying what I think...” Donna whispered in a sensual way, releasing your wrist and grabbing your body with both hands, pulling it until her lips made contact with the lower part of your chest, planting shy kisses on your skin, raising and lowering her hands so not an inch of your body was left without being worshiped by her.

You gasped at the pleasure of her touch, following your impulse to get back on top of her, climbing up her body as she looked for a way to continue her actions.

The kisses returned to your lips, this time with an incipient need growing between you, with a desire that made you deepen them more and more, feeling like you could almost melt.

“Can I…?” She asked. You didn't understand what she meant until you came to your senses. Those deep kisses had made you forget where you were, or what indecent feats her hands were carrying out. You noticed them right at the closure of your bra, waiting for your response.

“Of course you can...” You whispered in her ear, making something like a moan leave her lips when with a click, the garment released what it contained.

With an elegance that only Donna could have, your bra was removed from your body. Her delicate fingers played with the surroundings of your breasts, not wanting to run, repressing the desire they had to caress them, to feel them...

With a moan, caused by her fingers grazing your nipple, you pushed Donna so her back rested on the bed, staying astride while her desire to caress your entire body grew stronger and stronger.

“Wait,” you said, pushing her chest down, keeping your back straight over her, feeling a pleasurable cramp when you noticed the contact of her arousal with your body. “I think this is unfair.”

“Unfair?” Donna asked, moving to make the friction less unbearable for her.

“Yes...” You whispered, not letting the contact be lost as you ran your hand over her breasts, covered by the black fabric of her dress, perhaps with less care than her, hiding your desire in a pathetic way. “Get naked, Donna. I also want to enjoy your beauty.”

“Well, I...” She said with a shy smile, breathing hard, not being able to take her eyes off your bare chest.

“Don't worry, I'm going to help you,” you said, laughing, going down to her neck to kiss it tenderly, making her hands tense when yours began to get rid of the buttons of her dress.

Her pale skin was revealed to you. She trembled, but she didn’t cease the action of kissing you, caressing you, squeezing a neglected nipple between her fingers, causing an involuntary moan from your lips, a moan that bounced off her bare chest as your lips touched it.

Donna leaned up, letting the sleeves of her dress disappear from her body. Her arms reached for your head, grabbing it carefully, bringing it back to hers and kissing you passionately as she turned you around, switching positions. She was now reigning over you.

“You're beautiful, Donna...” you said when her bra disappeared in the tangle of kisses and caresses that had settled on the bed.

“No, I'm not...” She said, sighing, swallowing as if your words had made her uncomfortable.

“Yes, you are. And if I hear you say something stupid like that again, I'll grab my clothes and leave,” you threatened, catching your breath and grabbing her chin so she couldn't look away.

She laughed, still unsure of the sincerity of your statements.

Your hands ran over her breasts, making her gasp embarrassingly with each touch, with each caress, causing an involuntary movement of her hips, which she repressed by lying on top of you and kissing you in an elegant, delicate way, not wanting to lose that gentleness that made you fall in love, that kind and tender way which she treated you with.

Donna sat up as her hands went further down your body, running along your legs, bringing them closer to her mouth to kiss them carefully, slowly, going higher and higher.

You, taking advantage of her concentration, brought your hands to the edge of her dress, lowering it slowly, moving it away from her body forever.

When you saw for yourself what level of arousal you had caused her, you bit your lip, unable to look away.

“What are you looking at, tesoro?” She asked, amused, continuing her path of kisses along your legs.

“Oh, nothing...” you said amused. “Is it so hard… Just for me?”

“What do you think?” She responded, moving so you couldn't have a clear view of her erection. You knew she was embarrassed, even if it didn't seem like it.

“You’re flattering me,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss her quickly. You couldn't do it the way you wanted, because her hand pushed you, making you lie down on the bed.

“Let me flatter you the way you deserve...” she said in a voice so low that you barely heard it. Maybe she didn't speak so quietly. Maybe your heavy breathing was simply camouflaging it.

Her kisses went higher and higher, reaching the fabric that remained on your skin, separating you from the nakedness.

Donna paused for a moment, looking into your eyes, running a hand over your body; from your collarbone to the lower part of your belly. She seemed to be thinking about something. You didn't want to interrupt her moments of doubt.

“(Y/N), I want to make you feel loved, will you allow me to do so?” She asked, almost pleading, holding the edges of your underwear with her hands.

“Do it,” you said, your voice hoarse from desire, from the unbearable humidity you felt between your legs.

She smiled, lowering her hands slowly, studying the new parts of your body.

“Donna...” You said without meaning to, as if you were already feeling the contact you wanted so much.

That was like a signal to Donna, who went down immediately, kissing your navel and slowly going down to the required place, caressing your legs so that you wouldn't forget that, despite being a lustful act, love was the only thing she felt, and love was what she wanted to make you feel.

Her lips reached that area of your body, delicately passing over your skin, kissing you softly, without revealing her lack of experience.

Her tongue sent an electrical current through your limbs as it made contact with your folds, licking them gently.

“Oh...” You moaned, letting yourself fall back, closing your eyes as you felt that pleasure so unknown to you, and to her. “Donna…”

She moaned into your body, without ceasing her feat, sucking just where you needed it, joining one of her hands to that mischief, separating what could bother her actions and touching and stimulating your clit carefully.

After a few moments of unmatched pleasure, your body tensed. Surely she thought adding a finger to the fun would be a good idea. It wasn't. Noticing how her finger entered only caused you to completely lose your self-control.

“You are delicious, my love...” Donna said, satisfied with how she had made you feel, continuing to caress you up and down, playing with your moisture on her fingers.

“Come here,” you said with a serious tone, pulling her wrist so you could kiss her and notice your own taste in her mouth.

After some messy kisses, the excitement returned to your body. You lay down on the bed, head resting on the pillow, dragging Donna by her hand so she was on top of you again, right between your legs.

Among the mess of your kisses, your hands became themselves again, reaching for Donna’s underwear, which was having serious problems hiding what the woman was ashamed of. You didn't want to wait any longer, and, above all, you didn't want to make her wait any longer. She had been kind, delicate, gentle with you. It was time to return the favor.

“Tesoro... I...” She said pulling away from your kisses as her erection was released from its prison. “I want I want…”

“Shh, don't talk...” you said, drowning her words with another deep kiss, as your hands brought her body closer to yours, making her dick meet your entrance for the first time.

“(Y/N)... I'm so...” She said trembling, moaning at the contact. “You are, you are perfect… your… Your body… I need… I want…”

“I said not to talk, darling,” you said jokingly, rocking your hips to increase the friction, causing a lustful gasp to echo off the walls of the room.

“Please... don’t, don't play with me. I need you...” Donna said, starting to sound terribly desperate.

Maybe you were trying to buy some time to get used to the idea of doing it, of Donna being the first. You wanted her to be the last too. Your shame could not come to light. If she knew for a moment how nervous you were, she would have stopped.

“Okay, Donna, make me yours but...” You said, avoiding her gaze, something she prevented by moving your chin slightly, searching your features for the shadow of doubt or insecurity.

“But...” She repeated, with the tremors of her body evidencing her anxious need.

“Be gentle with me, will you?” You asked, closing your eyes to drown out your fearfulness.

“Honey... I would never dare to treat you any other way,” she said, sighing, kissing you briefly, but tenderly, before checking for the last time that you were sure of that. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?” You asked back, laughing amused, noticing how her body pressed against yours desperately.

“No,” Donna responded, laughing and shaking her head before kissing you again as her hand moved down to place her length at your entrance.

Little by little the tip made its way through your moisture, entering you little by little. The feeling was much more overwhelming than you thought. You had already gotten the idea that it was going to hurt. It didn't worry you, although you couldn't help but make a strange face as she went deeper and deeper.

“Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?” Donna asked, her eye radiating concern, pausing her slow, respectful movements.

“No, don't stop, please...” you said immediately, caressing her cheek, shaking your hips, which made Donna moan at the contact.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I'm going to do it slower this time,” the lady whispered, holding your hand lovingly as she introduced her penis deeper and deeper.

“Oh, wow... It's... It's big,” you said, letting your body get used to the intrusion. She looked at you bewildered.

“I'm sorry,” she said apologetically, positioning herself better so that you both were more comfortable. You couldn't help but laugh.

“Oh, are you sorry? You must be the only one in the whole world who apologizes for something like that,” you said amused, closing your eyes, noticing how her body was dying to move inside you.

“Can I move? Please,” she asked you kindly, running her hands over your hips. You nodded, thus beginning a slow, soft rhythm, accompanied by kisses on your chest, on your shoulders, accompanied by her soft but anxious moans.

“It feels... So good...” Donna said with a brusque tone, with a marked accent that revealed that she was losing control of her emotions, in a good way, of course.

“Yes...” you moaned, unable to process all the pleasure you were feeling. Your walls stretched, adapting to her body in an almost prodigious way.

Your bodies were united, melted in a warm embrace. The soft, rhythmic movements of her hips followed yours. You were crazy with pleasure, you moaned like you never thought you would.

Donna was gentle, just as you asked. She gave you the time you needed, moving only when your hips told her to.

You couldn't believe how close you were to ecstasy.

Letting your desire control your actions, you wrapped your arms around her head, leaning down until you were on top of her again, her arms holding you, hugging you, her nails digging into your skin.

You moved your hips to give her pleasure. The sensation in your body was pleasant, you felt her inside of you. You felt you were hers.

Donna kissed you quickly, holding back most of her moans. Her rhythm was still gentle, but the tremor you felt at your entrance told you that she wanted to get out of control. You weren't going to stop.

“Donna... Please... I'm so close…” you whispered into her ear, hissing when her nails dug into your back again.

“Me… Me too. I don't think I can hold it anymore...” she gasped, grunting with pleasure, letting your hips act on their own, increasing the speed with which she moved inside you.

“Don't stop, Donna... I'm so, so close...” you said, clinging to her body, dancing on her hips.

“Honey, I'm going to...” she said just before hugging you tightly, pressing you even closer against her body. You could feel her release inside you, her wet heat filling you, sending that familiar cramp through your limbs that made your entire body tense as a guttural moan joined hers.

“You know what, Donna?” You asked after catching your breath, getting into the bed next to her, still naked, still euphoric from the pleasure of your first time.

“Mm?” She murmured, stroking your hair, keeping your head on her bare chest.

“I would like to spend many more nights like this,” you said, rubbing your face against her skin, trying not to forget all the unique sensations she had caused to you.

“Maybe... Maybe you'd like... you know... Well, I've seen your house and it's quite small and damp,” Donna said, avoiding your gaze, making you smile and sigh.

"Yes, Donna, I want to live here with you," you said, sitting up to look at her face.

“Well, that's what I was going to ask you,” she said nervously, caressing your cheek.

“Great, deal then. Can I ask you something else?”

“What do you want, tesoro?” She asked curiously.

“Can you hold me, please?”

Donna laughed, lying down.

“I would spend my life holding you next to me.”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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evvlevie · 1 year

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Shifting and Manifestation Epiphanies by Evil Evie at 1AM thank you very much for that

I am going to make this quick:

Here are the rules that every single one of us is playing by when it comes to shifting and manifestation (it's the same thing literally)

You are never changing you reality. You are always "just" becoming aware of different realities that you are a part of. Therefore: you are not changing the 3D. You are experiencing another reality in which the 3D is different. Two different pairs of shoes!!! (this is literally a German saying, but you get the message)

You can only manifest who you are. The Physical reality is a physical expression of the things going on inside of you. It has to bend to your imagination always and as a matter of fact, can't do otherwise. Therefore: "Jack doesn't love me" ➡️ Jack doesn't love you and behaves accordingly to that. Therefore also: "I am the best shifter ever" ➡️ you shift effortlessly.

Time is not real. Continuity is a very human way of interpreting reality. All there ever exists is the now. Which is why you either have what you want, or you don't. There is no waiting. There is no time schedule. You either are aware of your manifestations/DR or you simply are not.

"But Evie I have been affirming this and that for days now and I still see the 3D in front of me". Imagination should be your only validation. The physical things you can see are only an interpretation of your imagination anyways. As you can only shift awareness of realities, and not physically change the 3D in the way we think we do, all you need to do is become aware of the actual reality you want to partake in. Becoming aware of the person who is living that reality specifically. You are never shifting physically as in changing places with your body. It's like running around in a forest at night with a flashlight. You see the tree you are focusing the light on. All the other trees exist in that forest still, you just can't see them. If you turn around and shine a light on the other tree, you are now seeing a different tree. You are becoming aware of it. That's basically what you are doing by manifesting/shifting. You are aligning your thoughts/identity to the person who already has what you want, in order to become aware of that version of your realities.

think of it like you are a magnet for realities. If you align yourself with the version of you who has what you want, you pull in the physical form of that. The reality you want to shift to/ the reality in which you have your manifestation. This is a process that usually needs a more or less extensive bridge of incidences that will take you from reality A to B. The way this bridge of incidences may look like is not up to us, and it's actually not our job to make that happen. This bridge can be describes as the events that happen in order to take your story the way you want to. Like if you want to manifest a higher salary, and suddenly you get laid off which makes you find this amazing job offer that pays way more than your old job and now you have your manifestation.

If your 3D triggers you, because it hasn't been showing you what you want to see yet : relax. First of all, the only validation is imagination. Second of all: You could be right in the middle of the bridge of incidences without realizing it and third of all: if you see things you don't like you just ignore that, because you are not aligning with the version of you that doesn't have their manifestation anymore, so that shit happening has nothing to do with you. That's a reality you have left ages ago, remember? You are in reality B now. Go into your imagination to align yourself with that reality again, and feel the fulfillment of knowing that reality B is your actual home now, and reality A is dying out right as we speak. Think from the perspective of You_2.0, have conversations in your mind as that Person, feel the way it feels to be them and accept, that this You_2.0 is the actual you. You_2.0 is not made up. If you can observe You_2.0 and become aware of You_2.0 through imagination, then you ARE You_2.0. The only thing left to do is accept that fact, and embody it despite the things that are left of reality A to experience but those don't matter anyway, REALITY A IS NOT YOUR ADRESS ANYMORE. Just imagine you moved houses. You moved from house A to house B. Some of your mail still goes to house A instead of house B. Would you call the person who sent you the mail and inform them of your new residency or would you go to house A and be all like "OMG THATS SO RIGHT I DO LIVE HERE EVEN THO I FULLY AND OFFICIALLY CHANGED MY ADRESS AND BOUGHT A NEW WHOLE ASS HOUSE AND RENOVATED THAT PLACE!!! THANK YOU DEAR MAIL FOR TELLING ME WHO I AM!!!" no you wouldn't. If a letter gets addressed to your new house and the person it was sent to is named "Katherine Bucket-face" you'd think "Who the fuck is this person" and not "oh since I do live in this house I must be Katherine Bucket-face thanks for the memo!" I hope you get the metaphor but my point is: the 3D doesn't tell you who you are and what is happening. Only you can decide that and the 3D has to follow those instructions regardless of how long it might look for all of that to happen.

#reality shifting #shifting realities #law of assumption #loa #shifting #law of attraction #manifestation #shifting community #law of manifestation #current reality #desired reality #spiritual community #spirituality #spiritualgrowth #spiritual development #spiritual awakening #reality shift #shiftblr #shifting tips

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harley-sunday · 2 years

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Champagne Supernova

Summary: You literally stumble into Charles Leclerc one evening and somehow end up with custody over his tuxedo jacket? Weird. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [f] Warnings: None Word count: 2.7k AN: Sometimes an idea just *mimics explosion with hand* pops up all of a sudden and won't go away until you write it down (I mean, I was literally in bed already but…). So here we are Also, written on mobile (eL, don't @ me) so apologies in advance for shitty formatting and for not editing. Also², I live for validation so comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! That is, if you like it, of course :)

It’s warm inside the ballroom of the hotel you’re in and so you’re trying to fan yourself with a copy of tonight’s program because now that the formal part of the evening is over it really doesn’t serve any use anymore other than to help you cool down. You’re standing in the corner of the room, close to the bar, observing the crowd - Monaco’s elite; a strange mix of old money and self made millionaires that have come together for tonight’s fundraiser.

You don’t belong to either of those groups but instead are here because the PR agency you work for somehow got selected to promote the event. It meant a lot of overtime in the past two months for the entire team and so your bosses - Olivier and Claire, a happily married couple with two kids, a dog, and a perfect work-life balance (of course) - promised you and your colleagues a seat at one of the tables and thus an open bar for the evening very early on in the process to make up for all the early mornings and late nights.

Dinner was a drawn out affair with seven small courses, entirely too much red wine, and a slightly boring silent auction reveal that took way too long for your liking. The promise of an after-party kept you from leaving early but it’s Monaco, it’s rich people, and so you could and should have known that their idea of an after-party is more champagne, bragging about who paid what despite it being a silent auction, and a guy with a comb-over and an ill-fitting tuxedo playing the piano, dragging out “Les Lacs du Connemara” way beyond the six minutes the song usually takes.

Next to you, Olivier and Claire are having a small domestic because Claire, slightly intoxicated, wants to stay but Olivier, scarily sober, has promised the babysitter they’d be back before one. Your other two colleagues are trying to persuade (read: threaten) the piano guy into playing “Sweet Caroline”, and you are feeling more miserable by the minute - one of your shoulder straps keeps sliding down, there’s a headache coming on, and your feet hurt like crazy in the stilettos you had no time to break in, so to say you are over it and ready to go home would be an understatement.

You wait for a lul in Olivier and Claire’s argument before you turn to them and tell them, “I’m heading out, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Olivier nods but Claire starts to protest and grabs your wrist, “Babe. Stay.”

You shake your head and try to free your hand but Claire doesn’t let go. Looking at Olivier for help you tug again but her fingers remain deadlocked around your wrist and you know it’s because she’s drunk and wants someone in her corner when Olivier decides to stand his ground and make her go home in about five minutes or so, but it is annoying as fuck and so you pull a little harder and start to walk away. “Claire,” you warn her, “let go.”

She still doesn’t.

Until all of a sudden she does and it makes you stumble forward and bump into someone and then everything seems to happen at once - you flail your arms trying not to topple over, reaching out for something- Anything you can hold onto. It’s the arm of the guy you bumped into but as you steady yourself against him he loses control of the drink he’s holding, a quiet, “Oh, merde,” your only warning before-

“Holy shit, that’s cold!” You jump backwards in shock, fingers plucking at the fabric of your dress as you try to stop the liquid from dripping down in between your boobs while quietly cursing your best friend who made you wear this stupid dress with its stupid plunging neckline in the first place. The fabric is already clinging to your skin, your chest and stomach absolutely soaked and you look around for an easy exit, first to the toilets maybe, to save yourself from the horrified looks around you and any further embarrassment but then you see a stack of white napkins appear in your field of vision and before you know it you are being pat down by the man who’s drink you’re now wearing.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbles while trying to dry your dress but the napkins are white and your dress is black and so all it does is leave a trace of little pieces of fluff all over your stomach but before you have a chance to say anything he’s grabbed a new stack of napkins and goes for your chest-

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” You shake your head and take the napkins from him, gently pushing his hands back with a smile, “I got this.”

“Shit, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair and is blushing like crazy, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him as you’re blotting yourself now. “I mean, I’m the one who bumped into you, right?” The napkins really aren’t helping and so you give up with a frustrated sigh, looking up for the first time then, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” when you see the man standing in front of you. Jesus Christ, he’s hot. And apparently still upset because he stares at you with his beautiful green eyes as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Even though you’re the one who could enter, and maybe even win, a wet t-shirt contest this very second which you think is ten times more embarrassing.

“Let me at least do something to help,” he tries, reaching out his hands to you again but then thinking better of it. “Really. Anything. I mean, I will pay for the dress of course, but-”

He seems so flustered that you can’t help yourself, “Well, considering you almost went to second base just now-” you say with a wide smile and a pointed look between his hands and your chest, “-it would be nice to at least know your name.”

This makes him chuckle and earns you a smile in return, “I’m Charles.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles,” you say, meaning every word of it, and then introduce yourself. When you lick your lips you taste the champagne he spilled on you and can’t help but laugh, “What a waste of that Veuve Clicquot, though, huh?”

“I’m more worried about your dress, to be honest,” he counters with a grin.

“What? This old thing?” You motion for him to come forward and when he does you put your mouth close to his ear and whisper, “Between you and me, I think the champagne was more expensive.”

He chuckles again when you pull back and you can’t help but fall for him a little, the way he scrunches his nose something so- Adorable? Hot? You’re not sure. Either way, you want to see more of it, you decide. Charles still looks as if he’s ready to go into purgatory and so somehow you’re not really surprised when he tries again, “I mean it though. Anything I can do to make up for this.”

You look around then and even though most of the crowd has gone back to their smalltalk there are still some curious onlookers that seem way too invested in this, making you feel very exposed all of a sudden, and so, well, if he insists… “Maybe you could lend me your jacket for a hot sec and escort me out of here?”

“Of course,” he replies, already taking his tuxedo jacket off. He hesitates for a second but then drapes it over your shoulders anyway, “There.”

Instead of a ‘thank you’, a distracted, “Uhu,” comes out because it’s only now, when you see the way the white dress shirt is stretched across his arms and chest, that you see how muscular he is. He’s- Not broad but definitely athletic and you wonder what kind of sport he’s into. Before you have a chance to ask though he’s absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and you can feel your mouth go a little dry at the sight of his tanned, veiny forearms and hands. A fleeting thought of just how much you could make him apologize with those long fingers gets quickly pushed back when he holds out his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Come on,” he says and nods towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here.” He guides you through the room with ease and doesn’t stop when you reach the foyer, instead making you follow him outside where he nods at the valet.

“I didn’t drive here,” you start, because somehow you figured it’s your car he wants them to get.

“I know. Well-” he chuckles then, “-I don’t actually, but I’m making him get my car so I can drive you home. Or your hotel. I mean, I don’t want to assume-”

“Home,” you quickly reassure him. This time you remember your words and your manners, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He leads you down the front steps when the valet pulls up with his car, a black Ferrari Pista Spider that you can’t help but silently admire, and doesn’t let go of you until you’ve reached the car and he’s opened the door for you.

You try to keep the wet part of your dress from touching anything inside the car as best as you can, offering a quiet, “Sorry,” when Charles slides into his seat.

He tuts, “Don’t worry about the car, ma chérie."

And, oh- That’s- Nice. And a complete one eighty from how flustered he was mere minutes ago. Huh. Interesting.

If he does notice you clearing your throat to distract yourself, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Instead he starts the car, the engine absolutely purring to life, and turns to you with a grin, "Where am I taking you?”

Right here and right now please, you almost say, but you don’t think that’s what he meant and so instead you tell him, “Take a left at the stoplights and then a right at the next.”

As you guide him through the streets of Monaco you find out he’s an F1 driver with Ferrari who was actually born and raised in Monaco. He tells you how he’s on a three-week summer break until the end of August when the second half of the season starts with a race in Belgium. In return you tell him how you moved here three years ago when, after college, you got offered a job by Claire and Olivier.

All too soon, because sometimes Monaco really is nothing more than just a small town on the French Riviera, he pulls up in front of your house with an almost apologetic smile, “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” you echo with a nod. It’s silent for a moment before you decide to just put yourself out there, something about doing it now or forever wishing you had, “Would you like to come in? I could get changed and give you your jacket back? You might want to wash it though, I think there’s some wine- It probably needs to go to the dry cleaner’s, right? I don’t think it can go in the washing machine-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you close your eyes for a second and try again, “What I meant was: Would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I would love to but- I can’t,” he says and there’s something about him that makes you believe he’s telling the truth and that he’s sorry about it. “I have some auctioned pieces I still need to sign and I have to take a photo with the highest bidder in-” he looks at his watch and lets out a humorless laugh, “-ten minutes.”

“That sucks,” you tell him because apparently you’re now just speaking your mind without being eloquent about it.

He nods slowly, “It kind of does.”

Oh. Ok.

“Take the jacket,” he says then, “I can come pick it up later.”

Wait. What?

“Later tonight, or?”

He shakes his head, “No. Later as in, next week or something.”

“Oh, ok, yeah, that’s- Yeah, makes sense.” No need to stumble over your words, you think, you took your chances and it didn’t work out. It’s fine. It’s just that the 'or something’ kind of hurts.

He must see the disappointment on your face because he quickly adds, “I mean, so I can see you again. Later. When I’m not in a rush and you’re not covered in champagne.”

You can’t help but laugh, your mind once again too quick for your own good, “Who says I won’t be?” You let the words hang in the air with a raised eyebrow and it takes a few heartbeats but then Charles laughs as well, a burst of laughter that you want to hear again and again. You grin at him, “What?”

“You are something else,” he says, shaking his head. He reaches for his phone then, unlocks it, and hands it to you, “If you add your number I could maybe call or text you?” There’s a shy smile playing on his lips then, “About the jacket, I mean.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”

“No, that’s ok. My brothers are at the party as well. I can just take one of theirs.”

“Sure?” You try one last time.

“Sure.”

“Ok.” Your fingers fly over his screen then, adding yourself to his contacts before you hand him the phone back. Locked. A wicked grin on your lips, “Let’s see if you remember my name- Later.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.” You lean over the center console then and press a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“You will,” he says with a bad attempt at a wink, which so far seems his only flaw.

“Thank you for driving me home,” you say as you climb out of the car while trying not to flash anyone even though there’s no one around. A kind smile then as you close the door, “Drive safe.”

“Always.” He gives you a quick wave and then he’s off, the rumble of the engine echoing through the almost empty streets of the city.

***

He doesn’t call. Or text. And so his jacket moves from your living room, where it was draped over a chair for the first three weeks, to the guest bedroom slash your home office, this time draped over your office chair. Every now and then you catch a hint of his cologne and so you still aren’t able to really forget about him.

At the beginning of November you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ll probably won’t see him again, that you probably made a bigger deal out of it than it was, that he probably doesn’t even remember you - your name just another girl added to his contacts because he was simply trying to be nice - and so at some point you move the jacket to inside the closet in the guest bedroom, telling yourself that the only reason you won’t throw it away is because it’s Armani and expensive as fuck.

You’d like to say you’ve forgotten about both the jacket and Charles once December rolls around but that would be a lie. You’ve actually started to follow the remainder of the F1 season and saw him come second in the World Driver Championship. A warm feeling settling somewhere inside your chest whenever you see him getting doused in champagne by his teammates or rivals, taking you back to the night you met.

He’s been on your mind more than ever and when your phone rings one night, an unknown, private number calling you, you somehow know it’s him and so you answer with a cheeky, “The jacket you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please try again later.”

He lets out a laugh, that same laugh you drew from him in his car all those months ago, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “Salut, ma chérie, I’m sorry for not calling any sooner but-”

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way back into our lives, Leclerc,” you say as you take another bite of the apple you were eating.

“Our?”

“The jacket’s and mine,” you reply. “We are doing quite well for ourselves.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Is that so?”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “Yeah.”

“I’d like to come see that for myself.”

“Hmmm,” you draw out. “We might be able to arrange a supervised visit. When would you-”

Your doorbell rings then and you hear it both in your house and echo through your phone and- Oh. Shit.

Charles chuckles in your ear, “Now?”

===

AN: I am so sorry for this very unsatisfying open ending. It was the best I could do for now... *sends hugs to those affected*

#F1 Fanfic #Charles Leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc imagine #Charles Leclerc x you #CL16 #Harley Sunday x Charles Leclerc

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jusalle · 2 years

Text

☆ Jude Bellingham Imagine ☆

° Oh my days °

"Fuck"

You were currently at practice, you played for Manchester United.

The practice had just ended and they extended it so they added 4 more hours so now you were late than usual to get home.

Usually during practice you would check your phone every once in awhile to see if Jude had texted you or anything.

Although today, coach had you guys practice without any breaks. It was one of those days where everyone was tense and wanted to train hard especially since we lost our recent match.

As you were sitting on the bench, you looked at your phone and saw you had 17 missed calls from Jude.

You knew he was probably freaking out since you were 4 hours late

As soon you were going to call him your phone completely turned black.

What my fucking luck, it died

You groaned and signed and everyone looked at you and could tell you were irritated, so they didn't bother you.

You got up and went to the lockerooms and grabbed all your bags, not even bothering to tell anyone goodbye or even to change.

As soon you got into your car you stared to drive home to your lovely boyfriend Jude.

You felt bad because you knew he was probably shitting his pants wondering where you are.

He's definitely going to kill me

As soon you got home you got your bags from the car and walked inside. As you walked into the living room.

You saw a very angry Jude.

" It's almost midnight, where the hell were you?!" Jude said angrily

" Love, I'm sorry they made practice-"

" I was worried sick Y/n, I was calling and you never picked up. I thought something bad had happend to you" Jude said firmly

" Jude-"

" I was calling everyone Y/n, it's fucking midnight. I was literally going crazy over here Y/n."

"Jude let me-"

" you need to stop doing stupid shit like that Y/n"

" Darling-"

When is this man going to let me talk

" Y/n-"

" Jude let me explain please, you keep cutting me off" you said quickly so he couldn't interupt you once again.

He finally stopped so you took the chance to finally tell him.

" Darling, they extended practice and they added an extra 4 hours and I'm sorry for making you worried but coach didn't even let us have a break and the time I looked at my phone it was dead." You said softly as you got out your phone and showed your boyfriend that your phone was indeed dead.

" Love, I'm sorry I would never do that to you" you said softly as you approached Jude and put your hands on both of his cheeks.

" You don't have to worry now, I'm here now, I'm right in front of you standing love"

Once he felt your touch his body and emotions relaxed and he wasn't so tense anymore and looked at your eyes with guilt.

" I'm sorry my love-"

"There's no need to apologize my love" you said gently

" It's okay, I'm here Jude" you said and you gently placed a loving kiss on Jude lips which he gladly accepted.

" I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay" Jude said whispering to him as if reassuring himself.

His body instantly melted once you said that. Although you could tell that he was still was stressing since his face looked stressed out.

Your chest ached, it ached since you caused him to stress, you simply felt guilty.

" My love, go to bed it's already late, I'll make you something." You said softly with a soft gaze.

" Darling you don't have to do tha-"

" I insist my love, please" you replied as you pleaded.

Jude looked at you and could tell you wouldn't let it go, so he walked to the bedroom and followed your orders.

You decided to make Jude's favorite dish because you simply felt bad for the man. Also this was your way of saying 'sorry' in a way.

As you finished making the meal you took it to Jude.

As you walked into the room you noticed Jude sitting on the bed just on his phone. Once you walk through the door, you catch Jude's attention and looks at you.

" I made you favorite dish Jude" you said with a small smile on your lips.

Once Jude heard that, his face instantly smiled.

You placed the plate on his lap and he began eating happily with a grin on his face.

As he finished, he looked at you with a smile and pappered you with sweet kisses.

You simply laughed at his actions and you smiled happily.

" Thank you love" Jude said as he kissed you gently

" My pleasure, my love" you replied.

You gave him a quick peck and distracted him and grabbed his plate and ran to the kitchen.

" Where are you going!" Jude hollard to you from the bedroom and you could tell by his voice he was pouting which made you chuckle.

You began laughing as you knew Jude heard you.

Few minutes later you heard Jude yell.

" Thank you my love, I love you!" He yelled once again.

You simply laughed at his cuteness and replied.

" I love you to Darling!" You yelled to Jude from the kitchen.

☆•☆•☆•

Hello my lovlies, this one was cute in my opinion but I hope you guys enjoy once again!🤍

#world cup #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fluff #jude #football imagines #football one shot #football one shots #football fanfic #football x reader #football imagine #foot

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

Note

WIBTA if I confronted my BF about not ordering from my store?

My bf (nb they) and I (m he) have been together 3 years, and have lived together half of that. I moved across states to be with them, and I am very happy being here with them.

Since moving here, I've worked at a fast food restaurant about a mile away from our house. It used to be one of my boyfriend's favorite places to eat, and they still order there sometimes. However, recently, the past year or so, they've been ordering from the location about three miles further away.

They DO still sometimes order from my location, but it is very rare. Usually when they have to pick me up from work. But outside of that, they order exclusively from locations that are further away and even more inconvenient to get to.

I think there's one main reason for this. Before I moved and began working here, they had a bad experience at my location, and this bad experience led to them (drunkenly, stupidly) leaving a couple of bad reviews. (Which was stupid of them.)

About six months into me working here, I sprained my knee, and my boyfriend met my boss and I at the urgent care. Turns out, my boss remembers those bad reviews, and she called them out on it! I think she's a total bitch, mostly for reasons unrelated to this, but her animosity towards my boyfriend explained a lot of her animosity towards me in the following months.

Anyway, my boyfriend was thoroughly embarrassed. I can't really say I blame them. But I was embarrassed too! Almost every time my boss acted like I was scum of the earth (when it couldn't be explained away by my own mistakes, which was often, because I'm actually really good at my job!) I found myself wondering if it was because of my boyfriend.

But I had to move past it, because this is my JOB. and I LOVE this job. I love the work I do, no matter what people think of it. I love everyone I work with, aside from my boss. I love learning new skills. I love the thrill of the lunch rush, and the thrill of working on a giant catering order and thinking "There's no way I'll ever finish this" until, all of a sudden, it's finished. I did office work before this, and this is so much more satisfying to me.

Anyway. All that to say, I moved past it. But my boyfriend, however, is still stuck in that stupid stage of embarrassment. No one who worked there while they made a fool of themself is still working there. No one knows or notices or cares, except for them. And I've told them this. And I'd really PREFER for them to order from my store, because it makes me feel valued and important to someone close to me. (Plus, any tip they leave is money directly back into our finances, which is good, IMO.)

I want to talk to them about it, but I know they'll just say how the embarrassment is too much for them. (Also, somewhat related, they've been trying to get me to apply for a new job further away, which is a pain because I can't drive and walking just a mile from the shop is too much for me, because I'm out of shape.)

I think they really don't want me to be here, but I WANT to be here. I think they don't like the work I do, but I LIKE the work I do. I would really appreciate it if they supported me by, at the very least, ordering from my store.

Would I be the asshole if I confronted them about this?

(Last couple details: my boyfriend always orders the club sub, which comes with bacon. They say our bacon is mid. I think they're full of shit, I've eaten so much of our bacon and think it is literally the best. I don't really see how another store could have better bacon. Also, when I first made sandwiches for them, I tended to show my favor by giving them extra meat and stuff. They said it messed with the "ratio" so I stopped doing that. Could that be why they don't order from me anymore? I don't see how that could be, since I took their feedback to heart and stopped doing it. Idk.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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tzuyuscloud · 2 months

Text

This isnt my usual post but im just gonna rant. I dont want no kind of negativity in my inbox or comments because I will not be tolerating it whatsoever.

I know we have all heard of or seen clips of the LSFM documentary.

1. I am actually so sick of people, might I add people who have no singing experience, job that has anything to do with singing or kind of teaching background or education in singing, not even criticizing BUT bullying Sakura over her vocals. We clearly know she’s been and idol for 13 years, stop bringing it up. She obviously won’t improve when people are basically calling her worthless 24/7 whenever she breathes. Hell I was an advanced choir kid since 6th grade and I still had a shaky voice and voice cracks when I would lose confidence. What she needs first is not vocal lessons but fucking therapy. Because everyone wants to be a critic, when their “critiques” aren’t even valid no real solutions of getting better.

Like yall rmbr when Momo had no confidence to sing bc yall thought the best solution was to talk shit. But now shes getting better because SHES GAINING CONFIDENCE. How do you expect one to get better at something when they constantly have two devils on both shoulders saying that they suck and need to quit.

2. Saying that the girls are “faking” or “great acresses” throughout the documentary shows how fucking sick you are and I hope you are aware that hell is insanely hot. Chaewon literally broke down because she doesn’t know why shes doing what shes doing for anymore, she doesn’t know how to be happy, had a fucking IV in her arm before filming Unforgiven, was sick but still decided to film because everyone likes to hold idols but not just idols WOMEN to high ass fucking standards but let it be (no shade at all) a man and all hell breaks loose.

This clearly shows the double standards the industry, companies, AND so called “fans” have towards female idols and male idols. A male idol can have a voice crack, bad vocals, and its seen as a bad vocal day. But let it be a female idol and suddenly she needs to quit or even worse k word herself. Have we not seen what happens in the industry when your so called “criticism” hurts idols. Have we not seen the lose of many idols who still deserves to be here on earth today. Seeing how Sakura, Chaewon, Yunjin, Kazuha and Eunchae have gone from smiling 24/7 to faking a smile. You can clearly see the hurt and tiredness in their eyes and its absolutely painful to look at. Have some fuckimg human decency and stop acting entitled to idols’ lives and their careers when all you are doing is sitting behind a screen.

3. This goes for every female idol ever compared to male idols. I don’t want anyone saying “oh well so n so from *insert bg*” no. The double standards are clearly there and let me give an example.

I AM A BLACK WOMAN. (Before anyone wants to comment)

Giselle says the n-word. Ppl hold her accountable, gives her death threats, drags it on to this very day.

Soul says the n-word. Ppl go “oh we all know Keeho scolded him after that” then everyone forgets about it.

You can clearly see the double standards. Women are expected to be 100x better from the day they start training compared to male idols who could make a mistake at a concert and not get their entire bloodline cursed and shamed for breathing.

I already know this is one thing about the industry that will never change, no matter how many lives are taken or at stake. No matter how many idols get insanely sick mentally and physically, its proven that yall only view them as objects of your happiness and once they get older (more so female idols) or mess up, you just throw them aside and look for another.

Lets be real, the reason why half of these idols are sick and unconfident isn’t just because of the companies and industry but because of yall fans as well. And imma say this. IF THE SHOE FITS THEN WEAR IT. IF IT DOESN’T PERTAIN TO YOU, THEN DO NOT GET OFFENDED. 🗣️

#lesserafim #lesserafim documentary #female idols #kpop #stop trying to control idols’ lives #kpop gg

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teamskulladventures · 4 months

Text

🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋

Team Skull x Black Belt reader:

Team: Blaziken, Medicham

🦴 🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴

*SMASH* *CRASH* *SHATTER*

You groan externaly as you make your way down the main stairs and into the living room. If it wasn't the boss, your fellow grunts couldn't help but let out their frustrations via throwing plates and chairs until someone got too tired to care anymore. When it comes to infighting, from forgetting to give back someones lipstick to straight up calling someone a "pisshead" for no reason if someone wanted to fight there would be no stopping them. Usually other grunts would leave the premises or sit back and watch. Though, when it got too much Big sis would usually step in and try to break it up.

However the more busy she got the more fights would occur. Not that it bothers you any. Not your problem but man did it make it hard some days to simply get a sandwich when you and other grunts are dogging flying bottles and the occasional swing of a stool. On one of these afternoons you had enough of the bickering and shouts of "BRO I DID NOT CALL YOU A DUMBASS YOU DUMBASS!" followed by "YOU JUST DID YOU FUCKING MORON" soon then replaced by sounds of slapping and knocking into walls. It was all so overwhelming, and you were trying to just enjoy your off time with Blaziken!

Stomping down the stairs your presence didn't break the growing tension. You weren't exactly the intimidating type like Guzma but, you didn't hold any seriousness like Plumeria either. If either of them entered the room they brought about respect and authority that made the whole group hush up in an instant. However you were not going to let your short stature and soft appearance keep you from some much needed peace and quiet. Walking towards the crowd of grunts who were too busy chanting and roasting each other to notice your body, you pushed and shoved your way towards to center to try and break up the fight.

Chants of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" rang around you as you tried to tell the two grunts to stop.

(Y/N): Alright! *You try getting there attention*. That's enough! *The chanting doesn't stop. You try reasoning with everyone instead.* Guys! Seriously?!? You know if big Sis were here she'd have you all scampering back to your rooms! You know the boss will be pissed when he finds one more stoll bashed into the wall!

Still nothing. Some grunts try to calm it down a little but the fight is still on as more swings and punches are hurled at each other. Your patience was growing thin as you tried to step in between the two grunts going at it in hopes they'd stop if someone got between them.

(Y/N): Guys! Seriously, stop!! *You try grabbing one of their shoulders, only for you to be shoved out the way.* Enough! *Again you try to step between them but they just shove you again.* Enough! Shit! *One last bump in your side sends you into a tiz as your Blaziken grabs ahold one of the grunts. The one that bumped into you was soon bound up in a arm lock by none other than yourself.* Fucking enough already!!! Shit! Look around you! The fucking mess you made over nothing! Literally nothing! You all better have nothing better going on so you can get this shit cleaned up before the boss comes back!

As silence fills the air the grunts stare at you in awe as your body is currently pinning someone who is twice your size with little strain. Looking at the crowd yourself you start to worry if you've oversteped your fellow friends. It's not like you have any position to hurl out threats. Releasing the grunt from your grasp, Blaziken does the same with his. The whole crowd continues to blankly stare at you until the grunt you pinned speaks up.

Grunt Zain: That was . . . That WAS AWESOME! Do it again.

(Y/N): what.

Grunt Zain: That ninja shit! Whatever you just did to me! Do it again!

Other grunts start speaking in approval.

Grunt Clair: Oh EM GEE! Like no way! No wayyy! That was like some super tough street fighter thing you just did!

Grunt Val: Yeah! Yeah! Yo like what you've been holding back this super cool trick from us or somethin'?

Waving your hands in protest you weren't used to all the attention. You normally kept to yourself and didn't really put yourself out there as a grunt. Not to mention you weren't exactly open about your past either. To be fair not a whole lot were, but some of the grunts did try to at least ask about your Pokemon since they weren't from Alola. You would then shrug them off saying you used to live in Hoenn and you tried their gym trials there before quitting and moving to Alola. Although that was true, you didn't exactly open up as much as they wanted to hear. The real reason you moved was when you started losing taekwondo tournaments left and right. Your parents weren't exactly the forgiving type either. What was supposed to be a fun activity turned nightmarish when demands from parents caused you to turn this hobby into a lifestyle you didn't want to be a part of anymore. You just weren't expecting the skills you required to remain even after years if not using them.

Grunt Zain: Yo! Dude you gonna say somethin'?

(Y/N): .. .what . . uh no! No! This is not happening!

The grunts unanimously: Uhh! WHY NOT?!?

Grunt Zain: But . . but yo and the. . twist thing you did with my fucking arm! That was tight!

Grunt Val: and not to mention super cool!

(Y/N): *Flustered* listen it . .it was just a fluke I probably can't do anything else!

The group speak again: There's more!!!

Well there was no stopping them when the got all rilled up. Out the front and straight to the back of the shady house the group practically dragged you along, bombarding you with questions about any other tricks you had. Standing in the open grass the crew sat idle, waiting for you to "show your stuff".

(Y/N): Wait! Ya'll aren't being serious?! I can't just start beating you guys for fun!

Grunt Zain: Ayye who cares about all that? Who said you's beatin us up? I'm sure you can idk . . backflip or something like . .do more cool ninja shit!

The group chimes in: Yeah! More ninja shit!

Shaking your head you start thinking about what all you can show them. It has been a while and you were a bit rusty but luckily with Blaziken and now Medicham who decided to come out of their nap, you felt a bit happy again to have people want to see your skills.

(Y/N): *deep breath* Okay. If you want to see me do stuff . .ugh. Sit down and watch! Cuz I am gonna try me best to not look stupid in front of you. Alright *You nod along with your Pokemon* Let's do this.

For the better half of the morning you spent your time exhausting every bit of trick you could remember. From simple kicks and punches to full blown Poomsae's and forms. You're Pokemon would follow along in their own right occasionally sprinkling in boughts of fire and psychic magic to make lame stances seem cooler than they actually are. Now looking at yourself through a critical lens you were bad. Oh man if your old judges could see you now they'd pick and jab at every little mistake you were making. What? You were rusty. It's been a while it was only natural you'd forget some of the Poomsae patterns and miss a kick or two but they, your friends, your family didn't know that.

To the crew you were this cool ass kicking person who was doing the dopest coolest ninja moves in front of their very eyes! Simple jabs and stances would be reason enough to scream and hype you up at every moment. It was something you missed dearly about Taekwondo. When your parents turned it into their thing, making it a competitive nightmare, no more cheers or compliments were given out, but now you felt like a star. Someone worth praising about.

As soon as you were done with all the moves you could remember, some of the grunts started asking about fighting again.

Grunt Val: So Like uhh that Poomsoo stuff . . .

(Y/N): PoomSAE!

Gurnt: Yeah Yeah! Whatever. . That move stuff you say its pretend fighting, right?

(Y/N): Yeah that's pretty much what they are. When you do em you're supposed to act as if there are other people around you that you are fighting against, but in reality we don't actually do all that in a real life situation.

Grunt Zain: Thought so. I didn't see you do that arm thing at all during your move stuff.

(Y/N): That arm "thing", is called an arm bar, and yeah in real life we have actual self defense techniques that are more effective. Poomsae is just to give visualization. Other self defense techniques are more along the lines of being able to deescalate a fight or stop someone from harming you.

The more you described the different types of self defense techniques the more excited the group got. Each member seemed to be chopping at the bit to try and urge you to showcase these techniques. Once again you tried to dismiss their enthusiasm.

(Y/N): Wait wait wait NO! Come on! Again?!? I already told you I am not fighting! You guys could get seriously hurt!

Grunt Zain: Aww stop screwin around! I am fine! My arm is fine.

Grunt Clair: Like uh yeah! We will so totally stop you if we get hurt. Nothin' to worry about!

Seeing the pleading eyes of a group of grunts staring back at you there was definitely no stopping them this time. Sighing you gave in and allowed to show them any self defense movws you had still stashed in your brain. Only on one condition, that they immediately stop if anyone felt any pain at all.

Starting off you went up to each member and, lightly, gave them a demonstration of what Zain got earlier this morning. Each grunt didn't even care that they were essentially agreeing to get manhandled for entertainment. Twisting, bending, and rotating their bodies, arms, and legs you carefully explained each technique and how each one functions in a fight. At some point you were grappling and suppressing grunts twice your size with ease as each member cheered you on. However, just as you predicted, things took a turn for the worst when Zain hissed out in pain when you were showing him how to get out of a choke hold.

Grunt Zain: *Hiss* aw fuck . . *cough*

(Y/N): *In a rushed voice* Aw . no no no no no no. OMG are are. . are you okay! Fuck Aww I am so so sorry . . Ahhhh this is why I didn't want to do this .

You're cries were cut off by the sound of laughter? Zain, was laughing?? Before you had time to compose yourself you were suddenly mer inches away from colliding with a fist to the face as Zain screams out. "SURPRISE ATTACK"

An old, yet dirty trick in the book. Hell your old instructor pulled that one on you back when you first started fighting. Feining injury to surprise attack your opponent. With power and a leap from the floor Zain was launching at you with full force. You didn't think you still had it in you. You were so sure that because you hadn't physically fought anyone in so long your body would have forgotten this. Though full of surprises, your body like instinct side stepped out of Zains path and cup kicked his side. On the same note like you expected his body went flying in the other direction as he wasn't protected by any gear.

(Y/N): OH MY ARCEUS ZAIN ARE YOU FUCKING OKAY. I AM SO SORRY!!!

As Zain lays nearly motionless he eventually picks himself up not before a crowd of cheering can be heard behind you.

Unanimously: Stomp em! Smash em! Beat em down! (Y/N), will throw you to the ground! Yeah yuah!

(Y/N): *High pitched* WHAT!

Like clockwork, although with a bit less umpf Zain was charging back at you again ready to take all you could dish out to him. Dodging and kicking. Dodging and kicking. What felt like forever you managed to wear him down as Zain became a sulking, sweaty mess. His attempts at fighting back were weak punches and sloppy footsteps at best, yet despite all that he still wanted to see you fight with all you got. Stepping up to him you go for one last push kick, one good one to knock him off his feet once and for all.

A loud noise breaks through the crowd: Aye YO! WTF is this shit?!?

Stepping into the hustle and bustle of ghr grunts was none other than Guzma and Plumeria. Now coming back to the house and witnessing a fight breaking out was nothing oit of yge ordinary but you being in the mix? Yeah it was fucking weird and not only that but it doesn't look as if you are breaking a sweat either.

Plumeria: Alright! Break it up! *mumbling to herself* Fucking leave you here for an hour and none of y'all can behave.

(Y/N): *running up to them you shakily try to explain whats going on* H . Hey *out of breath* Let me . . Explain!

But before you could speak your suddenly face first into the dirt as Zain tackles you to the ground the second your back was turned. Not even acknowledging the fact that Guzma was standing right in front of him Zain was too busy hooting and celebrating knocking you over. The rest of the group is silently shaking in their shoes as they try to process what the fuck just happened. As Zain continues to celebrate himself, his short lived victory is thrown away the second you sweep his leg causing him to fall on his ass. The second he lands you leap back into action pinning his larger form and locking his arm in a way that if he moves ever so slightly, it'll send jolts of pain throughout his body rendering him finished.

(Y/N): *Angered* Say it!

Zain: huh?!

(Y/N): *Louder* SAY IT!!

Zain: *Pained* Ackk alright! Alright *oww* stop! *groan* I'm done! I'm done!

Letting him go you get off of his back as you help to pick him back off of the floor. Rubbing dirt and grime off your body you turn back to face a very bewildered Guzma and Plumeria.

(Y/N): *strained laughing* ah ha ha ha . . heyyyy?

Sighing to yourself you can't help but smile.

(Y/N): Soooo *You kick the ground while shrugging your shoulders* wanna see me do some cool tricks? I doubt the rest of the group is gonna say no. . again.

Looking at the group they nod their heads eagerly, hungry for more.

🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋🦴🥋

🪲🖤☠️🎧🪲🖤☠️🎧🪲🖤☠️🎧🪲🖤☠️🎧

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