#sometimes there's just nothing you can do

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. this was written in like three hours. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D now part of a trilogy! -> the link isn’t working so check my pinned post for part two which is out now!

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liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

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“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

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EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

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r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

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u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

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liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

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‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

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view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

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[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

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liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘champion’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[lovegalor333]

can you do a short little smut when paige is overstimulating the reader??? i would love that and also i love your writings

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

i can do it better

summary: paige finds your vibrator and asks you to show her how you use it

content warnings: nsfw smut overstimulation sex toy fingering munch p squirting

“Care to explain this?” You hear your girlfriends voice call out to you from your bedroom. You’re in the bathroom getting ready for bed, you were exhausted after a long day of classes and wanted nothing more than to close your eyes and fall into a deep sleep. “Explain what, baby?” You call back with a roll of your eyes, Paige couldn’t see you thankfully, you’re sure she’d have a few choice words for your brattiness but you were tired and didn’t want the hassle of whatever Paige was talking about.

“This.” Paiges voice is closer now and you flick your eyes up to the mirror in front of you, to see your girlfriend leaning against the bathroom door frame, a cheeky smirk on her face and to your dismay the small purple, bullet shaped vibrator that lived in your nightstand, in her hand.

Your cheeks flushed a deep claret as you spun around, reaching out the snatch the toy off Paige but she has great reflexes and she’s a lot taller than you, “Uh uh.” She shakes her head, holding the vibrator up and and out of your reach. “Were you snooping in my drawers?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “No, I was looking for melatonin. Now tell me why you have this? This can’t do what I do.” Paige says and she presses the small button and the bullet begins to vibrate in her hand and you feel your temperature begin to rise.

Sex wasn’t a taboo subject for you and Paige but you’d never spoke about masturbation and the fact she had your toy in her hand made you feel slightly dizzy. Truth be told, since you’ve been together you’ve hardly used that thing but sometimes Paige plays away and this summer she was hardly in Connecticut and a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

“Can you turn that off?” You ask seriously, now frowning at Paige, embarrassment more than anything creeping in. “Tell me why and how you use it?”

“Paige-”

“Just tell me.” And she places the vibrating toy against your left nipple, the thin material of her t-shirt you wear to sleep not doing much to buffer the sensation. “When you’re away…and I…” You struggle to speak between Paiges intense eye contact, your nipple being attacked and the awkwardness of the subject you don’t know what to say. “Don’t be embarrassed baby.” Paiges voice is soft and sensitive, a stark contrast to the look on her face. “When you’re away and I’m horny, I use it sometimes.” “How do you use it?” “For Gods sake Paige, how do you think?” You’re losing patience now and suddenly you’re no longer tired. Paige is being a tease and it’s pissing you off.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to show me.” Paige taunts with a raise of her brows and before you can detest, you’re over her shoulder, hand on your ass.

Paige throws you down onto your bed and hands you the vibrator, “Show me how you make yourself cum.” The husk of her voice and the stance she was in, looking down at you on your back made you ache.

You pressed the vibrator to your clit, over your lace thong, the initial sensation making your thighs shudder. Paiges gaze doesn’t falter for a second, you can practically feel her eyes burning into you, “What do you think about when you’re doing this?”

“You. Your fingers- shit- how they feel inside me.” The wet patch inbetween your legs is growing with each buzz of the toy and you need more. You pull the lace material to the side but before you can reposition the bullet, Paige is on the bed, her hand on top of yours, stopping you from pleasuring yourself. “I thought you wanted me to show you.”

“I did but it’s pissing me off. I’m gonna show you just why you don’t need this thing.” She rasps, taking the vibrator from your hand but she doesn’t turn it off. Instead she uses one hand to hold your panties to the side before dragging the toy through your damp folds. You buck your hips up, desperate for more. More of Paige. Fuck the vibrator.

Paige continues to tease and taunt your dripping cunt, pressing the vibrator to your clit before dragging it down to your hole, “Paige, please. Stop teasing.” You groan but with the way she’s looking at you, eyes hooded and determined, you know for a fact she’s not going to listen to a word you say.

“Just be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You whimper as Paige turns up the intensity and you jolt in shock, “You can be a good girl, right?” Paige asks as she circles your clit causing arousal to drip out of you. “Y-yes.” You choke out and Paige spreads your legs, a knee on each of your thighs, holding them in place.

“Fuck, you look so good spread out for me like this baby.” Paige grunts and she lets a blob of spit out of mouth and it lands on your cunt, you whine at the feeling. “Ne-need more, P.”

Paige misinterprets your pleads for her…or chooses to ignore then and further increases the intensity of the vibrator, pressing it hard and firm on your swollen clit. The band in your stomach tightens and your legs begin to shake beneath your girlfriends knees, “Fuck Paige, I’m about to- ugh shit- I’m about to cum.” You moan, eyes rolling back in your head as the band threatens to snap but the soft buzzing and intense vibrations come to a halt, “I’m not watching you cum with something that isn’t me.” Paige says matter of factly and your words are lodged in your throat as she pushes two fingers inside of you with ease, “Oh fuck!” You gasp as she hammers in and out of you, her long fingers knocking into the gummy spot with each inward movement.

Without warning, Paige adds another finger into the mix and you bite down on your lip as she stretches you out, “Shit Paige, don’t stop.” You beg, reaching down to grab onto her wrist to ensure she doesn’t rob you of another orgasm. But Paige simply bats your hand away, linking it with her free one.

You feel yourself contracting around Paiges fingers and know you’re close so you move your hips in circular motions, guiding her hand to hit all your favourite places. Paige brings her thumb to your clit, starting off in gentle swipes before she’s full on pressing and pinching your sensitive spot.

“Shit Paige, right there!” You cry out as the feeling overwhelms you and your body writhes and jerks beneath her and you come undone all over her fingers. Your heart rate is rapid as Paige pulls her fingers out of you and you whimper as she slides them across your folds and over your clit, spreading your slick as she goes, “I love how messy you are.” She purrs, taking her fingers into her mouth and sucking on them, moaning at the taste of you on her tongue.

You watch in awe as her tongue flicks and swirls around her sticky fingers, “You’re so hot.” You breathe out and Paige just smirks before she leans down, mouth inches away from your soaked cunt and she blows out two sharp breaths making you shiver.

Still sensitive from your orgasm, your moan is throaty and rough as Paige buries her face into your cunt. She’s devouring you like a woman starved and you’re her favourite meal. With every flick of her tongue, your back arches of the bed, just pushing her face further into you. Her nose nudges your clit as she slips her tongue inside, “Fuck Paige! Pleasepleaseplease!” You babble, not sure what your begging for, your head spins at every sensation and when her teeth graze your clit and fingers slip back inside, you damn near lose it.

Her movements are insatiable and unrelenting and you squeeze her hand in yours as it all begins to feel too much. “I- I can’t Paige.” You choke out as tears begin to fill in your water line. “You can.” She mumbles against you and the vibrations from her voice sent jolts of ecstasy through your body.

This feeling was different from any you’ve felt before, Paiges fingers driving into you at a pace so fast, all you could hear was the sordid sounds of your wetness. Her tongue and lips working overtime as they sucked and swirled at your clit. The ache between your legs was crushing and your head tipped back, jaw going slack as a sudden surge soared through you, from your core to your feet, toes curling and you felt an unfamiliar gush as everything went black.

Just as quick as your eyes closed, they opened again and Paige was pressing kisses to your inner thigh. She looked up at you, chin dripping and realisation hits you, “Did I squirt?” You ask, voice hoarse and breathless. “Damn right ma. This girl loves me.” She smirks sending a light smack to your pussy and your legs clamp shut, “That’s enough. You just destroyed her.” You chuckle and Paige leans over you, pressing her lips to yours and you get a taste of yourself. “That was so fucking sexy.” She whispers into your ear before trailing wet kiss down your neck.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: yall!! i know the request said ‘short little smut’ but i got carried away 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 this was rushed and barely edited and im writing this with a glass of wine so apologies in advance for any mistakes, i know i could have done better 💋👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway! love yall, send gays vibes to me tonight, im on a mission x

tag list: @paigeluvvr

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCXDP fanfic idea: You ARE the Father.

Clark Kent gets a call from his old high school situationship. Really, he liked her well enough, but both had agreed they did not want to stay stuck in Smallville forever.

Clark wanted to go to the big city for journalism, and Maddie wanted to go into the sciences - she was unsure if she wanted to do organic chemistry or engineering. His parents supported his dream, Maddie's....not so much.

While she did come from a family of intelligent women, the Paynes believed they should stay on the family farm to support the family. They could not understand why Maddie wanted to be strong and independent woman if all that would bring her was dying alone.

According to them, no man wanted a disobent wife. She argued too much with men and often wouldn't back down from her stance.

Apparently, that made her "unlady" like.

Clark never saw it. Personally, he thought women with backbone, who wouldn't take anyone shit, was insanely attractive. That's why he had approached her at the local science fair where she was steaming by her impressive solar energy powered homemade phone.

Her mother had just finished reminding her that her first place in a small high school fair was nothing to be proud of. It was, after all, only Smallville, and really, there wasn't much competition anyway.

Clark told her that she was likely the smartest person in their entire state and he was in awe by her. Maddie kissed him behind the gym the science fair was being held.

Her family forbade her from dating, which made the kiss somehow more exciting.

They met up regularly to sneak kisses or lend a sympathetic ear. Around their last year of high school, they went a little further then kisses, and really the Kent Barn is not the most comfortable place but it was hidden well enough her family wouldn't know what she was up to and Ma wouldn't question him spending the night there.

All the years of sleeping near the cows to keep them company, since he worried they were lonely, as a child paid off. Despite the numerous times they put Kent barn to work, both knew it was nothing serious.

Maddie needed a break from her family. Clark was more than happy to be her stress relief. He did worry a aweful lot about his powers and the fact he was an alien, so he needed some stress relieving of his own around those years too.

Maddie applied secretly to a big college on the Wayne Scholarship states away, and Clark planned on going to Metropolis as soon as possible for the open intership at the Daily Planet.

They were friends with benefits, but the day graduation came around, they never spoke to each other again. Neither were bitter. They had both known what would be the ending long before it arrived. It would have never worked between them.

Clark wasn't sure what Maddie had wanted after all these years, but being presented a teenage girl- the splitting image of Maddie at that age- who was flouting five feet off the ground was not one of them.

"Jazz, meet Clark Kent, you biological father" Maddie Fenton, for she was married now to the man who had raised Jazz like his own. "Clark, this is Jasmine Fenton...you're daughter"

The man of Steel felt like he's was going to faint.

Or.......

Maddie met Jack in her first semester of college. They get alone really well, and she finds herself with a pregnancy scare before she knows what happened. Sometime between the protrype portal and Jack treating her like an equal, she had found her walls coming down long enough to have a little fun.

The worst part is she is unsure of who the father is, the loveable goof she can see herself spending her life with or the kind gentle famer boy she left behind. It's only two months apart, but it was close enough it could go either way.

She tells Jack the truth, who declares that he doesn't care and gets down on one knee right there and then. Maddie agrees to marry him over the choked tears, blooming happiness and love so strong she feels dizzy from it.

A few months later, she gives birth to her Jazz, and two years later, she has Danny. The Fentons finish school, set up Fenton Works, and raise their family. She never considers telling Clark or getting Jazz tested.

She's Jack Fenton's daughter. That's all there is to it.

Until Jazz one day starts showing signs that Jack is not her father. How does Maddie know? Simple, she recognized the man flying around calling himself Superman, and after hearing of his home planet, and all the little things Clark had been too clumsy to properly cover up back in the day, it clicks.

Her daughter is half Kryptonian and her powers were awakening. Did all Kryptonians unlock thier abilities at the teenage age? Was it a puberty thing for thier kind?

Maddie didn't know, but she couldn't afford to let her daighter go in blind. Metas had tough lives. Who knows what being part alien could do. So she picked up the phone and dialed the man who may have the answers.

Meanwhile, Danny and Jazz are desperately trying to hide the fact that Jazz may have gotten some ghost abilities due to exposure from Phantom's Ghostly Wail and have no idea it's being confused for Kryptonian blood. They were careless in training, and now, similar to that whole fiasco with Spetra and her hospital, Jazz was unable to control her temporary abilities.

Jack is just happy to be there and is unaware of any of his family members' delimas.

[merps]

[Image ID: Uber Eats delivery receipt with several customer comments. The order reads as follows.

1 x Coca Cola can

Customer note: "Can this be sprite too? I'm baked and I'm scared if I go back it'll undo all this progress and I am not a smart man I would just give up and be like well I'm not hungry I guess If this is on printer and I'm making a Costco receipt I am SO SORRY"

1 x 1111 Philly Cheesesteak - ADDONS: 1 x Jalapeno Chips - EXTRAS: 1 x Extra Cheese, 1x Extra Meat

Customer note: "Thank you. From one food industry employee to another, keep doing your thing. Nothing but appreciation from me. I know you're about to make the fuck outta this Philly and I appreciate i you and love y'all and I'm sorry about order on Uber I know I'm kinda an asshole cause fuck I sometimes hate when this shit comes through but I'm sorry and I love you."

1 x Sprite can

1 x Tim's Cascade Potato Chips - CHIP FLAVOR: 1 x Original

Customer note: "Lil extra chip action"

/End ID]

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

shameless

minors. dni.

your roommate, biker!JASON TODD, still hasn’t taken his helmet off.

readers can expect: a helmet wearing jason todd x fem!reader in an undefined relationship. reader in a dress and makeup. use of nicknames like “baby” and “sunshine.” implied consent but not explicitly stated. thigh riding and some dirty talk. minor, minor amounts of fingering.

he’d just gotten home from a ride, the same time you’d gotten back from shopping. you always did the same thing after, so he’d settled himself into a chair to give you and your new clothes an audience. but the mirrored panel he’s watching you through doesn’t give you the same privilege.

you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if he likes the clothes or not.

he’s been silent the whole time, too. if you didn’t know him better, you’d worry he was mad at you. but you know him well. sometimes you think better than he knows himself. jason just doesn’t talk if he feels like he doesn't need to..or if he’s extremely distracted.

he’s leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed. the motion is making his forearms bulge. the fabric of his flannel straining, already rolled up to his elbows.

your brain is light and fluttery at the idea of his arms holding you close. his hips meeting yours with each thrust. his helmet on.

you’re itching for him to touch you. itching.

you twirl in the new black dress you got, hoping to catch a reaction of some sort.

he tightens his grip on his bicep. shifts in his seat, spreading his legs wider. the fabric around his crotch is definitely more taut than it was when you started.

but he says nothing.

you practically gulp, turning around to go put on the last thing you got.

you come back out in a new red dress. the ruching up the sides pulls the fabric tight against your skin. it ends mid thigh, but you might’ve hiked it up a little higher. might’ve reapplied your lipstick before coming back out. tousled your hair a little bit. who’s to say?

you come a little closer this time, spinning again. you stop, propping a hand onto your hip.

“what do you think?” you turn to the side.

his head tilts. he says nothing.

“okay, well, this was the last thing.” you turn, starting down the hallway.

jason mumbles, the words lost into his helmet. you stop in your tracks. spin back around.

“hm?” you step closer. “did you say something?”

the bulge in jason’s pants is too obvious to ignore now. he shakes his head, beckoning to you, patting his leg.

you have to hold yourself back from practically running to him.

you sit yourself down on a thigh, his hand immediately finding the curve of your ass. electricity runs up your spine. his other hand settles on your upper thigh, slowly inching closer to the junction of your legs. warmth unfurls in your belly at the sensation of the leather of his glove on your bare skin. you lean in, throwing your arms around his neck.

still nothing.

you’re looking at yourself in the mirror covering his eyes. it irks you. you want to see his eyes, the dark slashes of his eyebrows. the corner of your mouth rises as you bring your face in, and plant a lipsticked kiss on the plastic of his visor. jason pinches your waist. his cock twitches behind the thick fabric of his pants. he’s grateful he has his helmet on. it’s hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks.

he recovers, flipping up his tagged visor. just to make a show of rolling his eyes at you. his grip on your thigh tightens as you study the sliver of his face he’s letting you see. a tuft of hair covers his forehead, his telltale white streak cutting through the darker hair, into his right eyebrow.

he looks at you through half-lidded, deep blue eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

you smile at him, batting your lashes. the itch grows stronger.

he rolls his eyes, again.

“feelin’ feisty today, huh, sunshine?”

you nod, humming in agreement. jason tightens his arms around you, bringing you closer. his eyes narrow, the look in them making the heartbeat between your thighs pound harder. you squeeze your legs together. jason glances down, then scoffs, shaking his head.

“you’re shameless.” he decides.

you nod again, blushing a little as you concede.

he adjusts you, grabbing at the fabric around your hips, pulling it up until it’s bunched around your waist. he pauses when he sees the lace of your underwear covering your sex, his own heart pounding in his ears. he fights the urge to clear his throat, a nervous tic he has that you’d pick up on immediately. he can’t fuck this up. he’s been desperate to touch you since the last time you let him, done nothing but think about the pretty little sounds you’d made. he’s gotta play this just right.

“were these really necessary?” he hooks a finger on the waistband, raising his eyebrow. a giggle bubbles out of your throat as you stand up.

“..my underwear? yeah, i’d say they might be.” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you do, before pulling off them off.

jason grabs them from you, wrapping the lacy fabric around his wrist like a bracelet. at your shocked face, he shrugs.

“just for safekeeping, sunshine. i’d say don’t get your panties inna twist about it, but ‘s a little late for that.”

he looks up at you in his helmet, and even though the lower half of his face is covered, you can practically see the cocky smile he’s wearing. you set yourself back onto his leg, straddling his thick thigh. the rough fabric of his riding pants meets the smooth skin of your inner thigh, a wet spot already forming.

“well? show me how bad you want it.” he settles back.

you brace your hands on his shoulders while he folds his own gloved hands on his stomach.

you move your hips, starting a delicious rhythm. the friction makes you moan, feels so good you don’t even realize you’re making a sound. you rock yourself back and forth, back and forth. the movement jostling your tits.

jason’s eyes flicker down, his eyebrows raising. a low groan emanates from his throat. the sound takes you to another level. he reaches up, pulling the front of your dress down. his eyes flare in response, breaking his tense posture to reach up with a gloved hand and palm one.

the worn in leather on the delicate skin of your chest feels like heaven. he pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. the combined stimulation drives you to move your hips faster, gripping your fingers into the sturdy angles of his shoulders.

your hands on him has his cock aching, no doubt leaking pre all over the front of his underwear. he can’t believe what you’re able to do to him without even trying.

“that’s right, baby.” he takes in how your face changes, pleasure so acute it’s unmistakable on your features.

“use me, just like that.”

you pick up the pace just a little, your toes curling as his eyebrows raise and he nods his encouragement. his big hands sink into the flesh of your tits, kneading them as you move.

“that’s right, you’re so close, keep going—”

it builds up, and up, and up, the waves cresting as your thighs clench around his, your back arches, you throw your head back. jason is humming is approval deep in his throat. he swipes your clit a few times with his leather-clad thumb, drawing out your orgasm, making your thighs tremble.

“needed that bad, huh?”

your face grows hot, and you flip his visor down.

he pushes it up again, rolling his eyes at you as the corners of them crinkle with what you can guess is a smile. jason caresses your thigh with his hand as you slump into his chest. your breathing matches his, and he brushes your hair out of your face.

“i like this dress.”

[cheqorb]

Sotto Voce.

Gaslighting everyone into believing you’re a really shit footballer because seeing people be impressed by your sheer lack of skill is more fun than being a genius.

FEAT. Bastard München ensemble

NOTES. uhhaua cross posted on ao3 (same user) but ajyway, thought this idea was funny and because of this lingering feeling of sadness i haha managed to Complete this?? Gosh im beside myself with worry!!

WORD COUNT. 2.2k

Isagi thinks he might be seeing things. Maybe all the relentless training in Blue Lock has finally caught up to him, leading him into a football-induced delirium, because he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at right now.

You’re moving across the field with a fluidity he’s only seen in pro-level players, doing tricks and turns he’s pretty sure aren’t even in his playbook. You glide past the defence, controlling the ball with a finesse that’s nearly supernatural — hell, he thinks even someone of Rin’s calibre would be breaking a sweat to try and keep up.

And you look bored while doing it. Eyes half-lidded, posture almost lazy, as if this is just another walk in the park and not you showing off world-class football technique.

Isagi’s mind races to make sense of this. You’d always been, well, normal to him.

Sometimes you’d play in a match, most other times you’d sit out on the sidelines. And he’s usually pretty sharp about these things, so it must’ve been because you just… didn’t stand out.

Yet here you are, pulling off flawless plays with little more than a mild yawn, as if winning against the top players here would barely register on your radar. Maybe it’s just luck, some freakish one-off, right?

… Nope. You just drilled another perfect goal into the top corner of the net.

He snaps out of his thoughts only when you suddenly stop mid-play, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of panic in your gaze and he opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s about to say.

“Y/N-”

You’re stomping towards him before he can even process the whole thing, your pace quicker and more full of menace than he’s used to seeing on you. You stop just short of him, tilt your head slightly, and in the calmest voice, say, “You saw nothing.”

He tries to stammer out something, but you leave soon afterwards.

────

Tripping over the ball is harder than it looks, but after enough practice, you’ve perfected the art of falling in a normal fashion. To most people, it’s convincing. Prior to a few days ago, you’d say all people but there’s a certain someone who entertains himself by boring holes into the back of your skull with an intense, unblinking stare.

You can feel it. Isagi waiting for you to slip up.

Actually slip up, instead of the falls you’ve gotten so good at imitating. It’s detestable, honestly. You’re trying to keep things as they’ve always been, and he just wants to come in and mess with the status quo!

Luckily for you, Igaguri’s too much of an idiot to harbour the same suspicions. Right now he’s too busy practically doubling over with laughter on the floor. The guy is probably thrilled to finally see someone playing the fool even more than he does. And as much as he’s a pain, he’s also the kind of person who makes perfect cover — play the role of an idiot, laugh it off with him, and everyone’s none the wiser.

So, in spite of your (what most would call) vindictive description of him, you do believe that some sort of strange pleasure is to be gained from surrounding yourself with people like him. Though perhaps that also makes you a terrible person.

The feeling is nothing like the rationale that Noa preaches about so often. It’s an undeniable truth in your heart.

Which is why you avoid the people who actually know what they’re doing on the field like the plague.

Yukimiya, on the other hand, is way too polite to laugh outright. He at least has the common sense to stifle it, reaching out a hand to help you off the ground with a quiet charm that makes people swoon. No wonder he’s a model.

Now, the imaginary audience in your mind might be wondering why you’re talking with a guy like him? Your answer: he’s not as notable ever since he patched things up with Isagi. He’s now the kind of person you can talk to without raising any brows. Again, it sounds harsh but you see it in a positive light. He’s becoming just the kind of person you adore most!

“Try and keep a close eye for stuff on the ground, alright?”

You flash him a grin, nodding. “You know me, just a total klutz all the time,” you reply as your usual happy-go-lucky self, making sure to project just loud enough for Isagi to hear.

And out of the corner of your eye, you catch that familiar look of suspicion deepening.

────

The silence that follows is brutal. Hiori and Kurona exchange a look that’s way too long for Isagi’s comfort. After finishing whatever telepathic debate they have with each other, they both stare back at him like he’s just pitched the most psychotic theory imaginable (which isn’t entirely untrue).

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he mutters, deflating a bit.

Hiori’s quick to reply, but Isagi is aware of the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not that we don’t believe you. But, ya have to admit, it’s strange to hear Y/N… of all people, doing something like that.”

That’s code for what the fuck are you talking about, Isagi concludes with a grimace, his eyes shifting to Kurona hopefully.

“Crazy. Crazy.”

Kurona’s tone is deadpan, his gaze distant as if he’s trying not to laugh. Great.

Isagi sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he is the one who’s going crazy here. It shouldn’t even bother him this much. It’s not like you’re particularly close! If anything, he can barely remember a conversation between the two of you that went beyond asking if you’d seen so and so.

And, judging by the responses he’s getting from both of his teammates, neither of them can figure out why he’s fixated on this either.

───���

Noa is going on and on about practice drills, how to follow his instructions precisely, something about rationality and technique, blah, blah, blah. You stifle a yawn. If this is what being in one of the top clubs means, you should’ve begged Ego to be in Barcha instead. At least Lavinho would’ve been fun.

You hear his coaching style isn’t by any means phenomenal if you’re trying to improve your skills, but good thing you’re not planning on doing anything of the sort!

And just when you think you might actually pass out from boredom, you see Isagi walking over. Again. He’s approaching with that same cautious look, but it’s not enough to make him think twice about bothering you apparently. That’s also something that bugs you, he’s never a quitter.

You flash him an oblivious smile. “Oh, Isagi! Whatcha up to? Need anything from little ol’ me?”

You lay it on thick, voice dripping with cheerful innocence. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you swear you can see a flicker of annoyance on his face. That’s new. Your words have the opposite effect than what you had originally intended.

“Listen, I know what I saw, alright? You’re not fooling anyone.”

He launches into a whole spiel about how he’s seen you pull off moves that only high-level players can pull off, how he doesn’t care if it’s part of some large game you’re playing, how you should be using your skill to distinguish yourself.

…You really don’t give a shit, and in regards to his comments, you personally disagree! What’s the fun in doing all of that?

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over with wide, guileless eyes. Sure, you’re a little flattered he’s this invested in uncovering your “secret,” but the other 99% of you is totally unhappy.

When he finally wraps up his little speech, you just give him a half-hearted shrug with a smugness that he doesn’t miss.

“And who’s going to believe you?”

────

Kaiser likes to think of Isagi as predictable, average — someone who might fancy himself a hero but is ultimately just another small-time player waiting to be crushed. It’s almost laughable how seriously he takes himself. In fact, the only thing remotely worth mentioning about him recently is this bizarre fixation he seems to have developed on you.

He’s overheard your exchanges, and in short, they’re pathetic.

Isagi rambles on about how you’re hiding something, clinging to that delusion like it’s going to benefit him somehow. The psychology-lover inside him finds it almost fascinating in how utterly absurd it sounds.

So, when Kaiser spots you chatting with the ever despairing Grim (laughing so hard you have to hold back tears), he figures it wouldn’t be wrong to call you at least a little insane. Part of him wonders what humour could be found in the man’s deplorable monologues.

He figures he might as well join in on the entertainment. You’re far from his usual company, but you’ll do. For now. Moseying on over, his signature smirk is already in place.

He’s rewarded by the way your eyes immediately narrow in irritation, a look he’s all too familiar with and thoroughly enjoys on anyone really. Grim, blissfully unaware of what he’s leaving you to, heads off, and now it’s just you and Kaiser.

Leaning in closer, he asks, “What little secret of yours has got under Yoichi’s skin so badly?”

Kaiser waits, watching for the faintest flicker of reaction but you stay silent. How boring.

But! Not one to give up easily, he continues with a more direct jab, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. The one where he acts like he knows everything there is to know about everyone. “That you’re really skilled, and this whole clueless act of yours is just a cheap facade?”

He raises a brow, as if daring you to admit it. To his delight, you lift your head, finally meeting his gaze albeit with an uncomfortably polite smile.

“I was just surprised you’re interested in something like that. But, Isagi’s a total liar. Isn’t he just so annoying? I can’t stand people who just don’t know when to give up, and I’m sure you agree.”

It’s not often someone catches him off-guard, and though he recovers quickly, the flicker of surprise is still there. Kaiser also sees opportunity however. He could work with this.

“Well, if you’re not a fan of Yoichi then feel free to join my side then,” he drawls, offering the position like it’s a dream come true. In his world, he’s already the star; what better way to elevate himself than to recruit someone.

“Ah, no. You’re both terrible.”

He can’t tell what’s worse; you lumping him together with Isagi, or the fact that you immediately walk off without giving him a chance to get the last word in.

────

“It’s like asking me if I prefer cat shit or dog shit. It’s still shit, and there’s no point in picking one over the other.”

You toss the comparison out to Kiyora, of all people — a bit of a waste since he just stares blankly at you, not saying a word. Pretty cute, actually, in a clueless sort of way.

The reality is that, at the moment, if you want a shot at the regulars, you’re supposed to cosy up to either Isagi or Kaiser. And as for everyone else? They’re can either fuck off or pray for a miracle.

Of course, you couldn’t care less about making the regulars. But every now and then, you forget there are people around you who do care, people with actual ambitions. Which is why you pause when you catch sight of Hiori and Kurona.

“Oh, Hiori and Kurona,” you point out the obvious.

They both glance your way, casual and relaxed, which gives you the impression that Isagi hasn’t roped them into his latest paranoid theories. Yet.

“Are ya heading back to training already?” Hiori asks, his soft voice and accent making it sound more like an invitation than a question. There’s a kindness to it that’s almost unsettling here in Blue Lock, but you return his smile with one of your own nevertheless.

Kiyora gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he says, brief and to the point.

You’re half-considering some excuse to slip away and do your own thing, but there’s something about the way Hiori is looking at you that draws your attention. Unlike Isagi, he’s way better at hiding it, but you can still feel his curiosity prickle under your skin.

You give him a lazy smile, leaning into the idea. “I’m already so tired from this morning’s training,” you lie, exaggerating just enough. “Honestly, going to bed early sounds great right about now.”

Morning training was barely enough to get you sweating, just a couple of warm-up drills for the afternoon matches. You doubt they have any clue what you’re talking about, which is exactly how you want it.

There’s a quiet pause, and then Hiori breaks it with a gentle but firm nudge. “Well, if yer looking to get on the regulars consistently, training more could be worth a shot.”

You force a smile that probably looks more akin to a grimace. This is exactly why you don’t like smart people. They poke and prod until your story frays at the edges. He definitely asked that on purpose! With a heavy sigh, you end up walking with them toward the pitch, despite every nerve in you screaming to veer off.

You can’t help but wonder if this is a test.

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! prologue : a series of unfortunate events . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Vil pov . .

Vil sighs, scrunching his eyes shut, which proved to be more difficult than it appeared with the mud mask that he applied over half an hour ago still on his face, currently drier than the gluten free bread he bought last week. He melted into his couch, feeling an overwhelming sense of boredom settle into his otherwise restless body. 

Before he knew it, he found himself mindlessly scrolling through Magicam, looking through the self proclaimed critique’s 30 to 60 second reviews on his new movie or the finale of some show he was in, for a hit of dopamine. Which clearly wasn’t working, as each video was the same thing washed over and over again repeated with new synonyms bundled together to sound authentic (Which it rarely was) and of course, there was those few criticisms here and there, nothing uncommon. 

Vil lays his head back, scrolling some more, “Influencer Tartaglia joins the new soon to debut boyband, D!CKZ—”, he shuts his phone and tosses it to the side carelessly . . Did he ever mention his distaste for influencers moving into the entertainment industry? . . It makes his blood boil, just a tiny bit, since most of the influencers tend to ruin it for a lot of genuinely talented and lesser known actors out there, not to mention they’re so-called talent is usually mediocre at best. 

And he could go on and list all the reasons why influencers do not deserve a spot in the spotlight with the elite, and they may all seem reasonable at first, but it’s a cover-up for the real reason.

He feels some weird sort of envy, towards those individuals who put in zero effort and somehow make it, and get all these big protagonist roles right away, and how they aren’t criticized for their faults or terrible acting skills, just because they have a huge built fanbase of delusional fangirls ready to defend them from the get-go. 

Or how they aren’t criticized when they look less than perfect on screen, although he appreciates that current age viewers can acknowledge that it’s only human to get acne or maybe a pimple here and there, he didn’t meet the same fate when he was younger . .  It just makes him feel bitter . . and he’d never speak those feelings into existence, but deep down he does feel a bit hurt by the shift, it sometimes makes him feel like all those previous breakdowns were for naught. 

Vil snaps out of his pity party for one, getting up and stretching, going into the bathroom to wash off the mask before it dries out his skin (It probably already has), burn-out has hit him hard, and as much as his love for acting runs-deep, he’d rather take a break before his audience starts noticing his shift in acting. 

Which is why he agreed to hosting the show in the first place, he wanted to switch up his career, for awhile at least, he’s taking a break from acting but doesn’t want to directly leave the industry, because it’s difficult to fit right back in place once you leave, as there's always someone who could come and steal your position, and maybe even do better . . that’s why this industry is so hard to survive in, and as pitiful as it sounds, he’s practically married to his work, he can’t exactly risk it, in peace. 

Vil dries his face with a towel and then moves to grab his moisturizer, when his work phone rings. 

“Hello, this is Amanda from Descendants. Inc. We talked before reguardinging ‘Late nights & Flashing lights’ . ” . . . “So, due to a multitude of reasons, we’re kind of in a time crunch to get the premiere launched, by the end of this month actually . . . but, we’ve received confirmation on who’ll be co-hosting with you, Y/n L/n!” 

“ . . . excuse me?” 

“This must be such a shock, but Y/n has actually been our top pick for this role, and the internet seems to really want to see the two of you on-screen together, considering your screen presence, I honestly think you two will be a perfect match for the show.”  

“I—”, Vil’s voice was hoarse as he tried to mentally wrap around all the information that was just dropped, “Ah—That’s time, we’re so excited to see you on set next week.” . . . “If you’d like, I could send you y/n’s number beforehand, so the two of you could talk things through?”, that seems to snap him back to reality, as the professionalism seeps right back into him, “That would be lovely, thank you.” 

The doorbell rings, informing Vil that his takeout that he ordered about two hours ago had finally arrived, but he didn’t feel like eating anymore.

Drinking is completely legal at 18-19 in my country, so I'm just putting that over here before someone tries fighting with me about it (This has happened before), also Vil is currently in his late 20's.

Don't expect everything to play off of Vil in-game, since this is placed like a decade into the future, so things will be changes and messed around with to fit the current age and setting more. <3

Profiles | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

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© devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

Now I am the first person to understand that sometimes you don't see something

HOWEVER

There was a roomate, she could have just asked

I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

That's what I would have done

But she didn't, that was a desicion "Tina" made ...

Also, the word SQUASH was used severall times IN WRITTING

I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it.

Squash and rat do not even remotely sound teh same

Also, there are NO vegetables that are fury

Also Also, half frozen or thawed mice/rats are very specific to te touch, I have never touched anything else that was this very specific mixture of hard and soft

AND

The conversation the Women in question was narrating showed that "tina" very obviously had recognised the rats as rats

AND FINALLY

As teh women pointed out

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

SO what happened was

Tina

was instructed to cook SPECIFICALLY squash

saw the bag with the un-flayed un-gutted rats

and thought, close enough

-> Again, there was a roomate she could have made sure with, and she choose not to ... that was a choice ...

And wenn the kitchen started smelling like ass, she didn't make sure with the roomate that she had done the correct thing

She just thought nothing

And I tell you why that happened

Becasue not so deep down Tina doesn't really see disabled people as people

SO feeding them food that is clearly not meant for human consumtion (again un-flayed un-gutted) is not something that rings any bells in her mind

She doesen't wonder because she already thinks disabled people are disgusting perverts, why would it suprise her that they eat un-flayed un-gutted rats?

Text recounting of the full events below but oh my god please watch this person explain the wildest thing happening to them

[image text]r/trueoffmychest post by CptnSpaceCase

Today my aide cooked what should not be cooked

I have to get this out, because today feels like an actual nightmare I keep expecting to wake up from.

I'm disabled, and need help with stuff around the house. Today was the second day with a new agency and new home health aide, "Tina." I set it up so she would come by in the morning while I'm sleeping (insomnia is killer), and I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it. I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

Now, I have three pet ball pythons. They eat rats that I thaw from frozen in the fridge in a reusable plastic bag. Yes, that's where I'm going with this.

Tina couldn't find the squash, and so, obviously, that meant she should roast the first other thing she could see that was technically also encased in plastic, in a completely different area of the fridge. The FUCKING RATS. In butter and salt, in my nice baking dish.

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

And the smell. Good God baby Jesus the SMELL. It woke me up and had me gagging the moment I opened my bedroom door. Definitely not squash. Or food-smelling for that matter. At first I thought the squash had spontaneously rotted overnight and she'd tried to cook it anyway. That would have been slightly less insane and much preferable.

I had to pull it out of her what she was cooking instead when she said she couldn't find it (it was in plain sight), had to open the oven and see my snakes' dinners in place of my own and still couldn't process what the fuck was happening, what I was looking at and smelling. I don't like yelling at people and generally avoid it. Today was a day for exceptions. And at the end of my half-crazed, dissociative rant, I told her to get the whole dish and its contents and herself out of the fucking house. And to not come back.

Suffice to say, I've contacted the agency to report it and am requesting a new aide. Now I'm sitting at a cafe trying to calm down and eat something despite the scent memory that's taken up permanent residence and turning my stomach. The whole house reeks like musty, sewage-dipped pork that had been left out for a whole day before being cooked in rancid oil, and I'm not sure Febreeze is gonna cut it. I don't want to go home. 🫠😭

[retiredteabag]

Uncle sukuna

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Uncle Sukuna hates children and that just makes kids like him more.

They are practically magnetized to the man.

If he was being honest, he's really just afraid of hurting them, that and he has no idea how to handle a crying child. So, he avoids them at all cost.

Sometimes there's just nothing he can do though, especially when a little monster like his nephew is napping on his chest.

Which he does frequently.

Sukuna would be mean. Straight up telling the kid he was annoying. Yuuji would almost never care.

Almost.

“Don’t even think about it you little brat.” Sukuna would protest, seeing Yuuji crawling across the sofa. “Nu uh. No. Get your sticky little hands off of me!”

But eventually he would have to give in, rolling his eyes as Yuuji found his place- drooling over Sukuna’s shoulder.

Sukuna was also the type to say no and never mean it.

“Can we watch my show kuna?”

“No.”

Five minutes later? They’re smooshed together watching Yuuji’s stupid cartoon.

“Uncuna… can you help with my math homework please?”

“No.”

The next second Sukuna is in full tutor mode.

You might think that he’s the type to make a kid cry over their geometry work, but he is typically more patient than expected.

“Kuna can you make me some cinnamon toast?”

“No.”

“Pleaseeeee?????”

“No, Yuuji.” He’s firm.

Yuuji knows he’s getting that toast.

Sukuna has a love hate relationship with the kid. For Yuuji, it’s just love. That’s why, on the rare occasion, Sukuna might be just a little too rough on him.

It would likely be after a long day, maybe he worked late, maybe he had to deal with a rude person, maybe he didn’t sleep well. Whatever the case, the tattooed man would have an already short fuse when he walked in the door.

Unaware of his bad mood, Yuuji would flip around on the sofa, hearing the key turn in the door.

“KUNA!!!”

Yuuji would bound off the couch, racing for his uncle. Sukuna would sigh and roll his eyes as the boys grubby little hands encircled his leg.

“Kuna kuna! I had a presentation at school today! And I did a really good job because everybody clapped at the end like this-“ the boy smacks his hands together over and over, a big smile on his face, “I was so nervous but now that it’s all over, I wish I could do it again! It was so fun! I can’t wait for my next presentation-“

“Oh my gosh Yuuji will you shut up? I really do not care about your school project.” Sukuna would know the second it left his mouth it wouldn’t be true.

Yuujis little arms would fall away from his uncle. A frown would cover his face. “O-oh okay.” He would stumble back, watching his uncles face.

Sukuna would groan inwardly. Knowing he had been too harsh. He never actually minded hearing about his nephews day, he was just overstimulated and now he felt awful. The little boy was holding up a strong facade but his lip wobbled. The man would sigh.

“Ugh, Yuuji, I’m sorry kid, that was wrong of me-“

“No.” The boy would sniffle, “s’okay. M’sorry for making you mad.”

Oh, now Sukuna might as well walk into oncoming traffic.

He sighs, “No, Yuuji, you didn’t do a thing wrong. Don’t apologize for anything, alright?” He would run a hand through his cropped pink hair, “listen, I’m glad your presentation went well, that’s good, how about we go get dinner after I wash up, whatever ya want.”

Yuujis eyes would widen, a big grin coming back, “Yeah?!” Sukuna would sigh at the kids forgiving nature.

“Yeah, kid, I’m starved.”

Yuuji would bounce up and down, then, without a moment’s hesitation, throw himself around his uncles leg.

Sukuna would pat the boys hair, cursing himself for being so short with the kid.

And after being so annoyed just a second ago, after watching Yuuji race off to change his clothes, Sukuna realized he had forgotten what had ruined his day to begin with.

Cute little brat.

[r0-boat]

MC and the seven Demon concubines Headcannons

Instead of taking a human lover, You had other tastes in men.

You're so busy trying to really your kingdom you sometimes forget how loved you are! Your lovers are happy to remind you.

Satan

Satan is your military Commander, a force to be reckoned with in battle. But you're the only one who can tame him, (or make him worse). Using your body or letting you use his body as a stress relief, He's more than happy to fuck the stress right out of you.

Even though he is a demon, you can't help but worry for him when he goes out to fight Your battles for your kingdom. He writes to you often and brings gifts from war. He tells you not to worry about him since you always do, even when he cannot see you. And when he gets home, he will make it up to you ;)

Satan frequence the training grounds where he can practice all sorts of weapons as well as the barracks where he spars and chats among his soldier and Conrad's at arms. If you ask he is more than happy to train you in combat. There is nothing cuter than you're serious face as your hand grips a sword tightly in your hand.

If you manage to beat him in combat, his eyes will stare blankly at the sky, lying on the ground. He's never been so turned on in his life. He'll take you right then and there caring little for how many soldiers in his army see. To his knowledge the soldiers are smitten with you as whis will be a great reminder that you are his.

Mammon

He was yours from the start. The arrogant demon is so confident to win and buy your attention. As the richest, wealthiest man in the world, He knows his assets, and he's proud of them. Your kindness and humbleness not only confuses him but makes him fall harder. Your personality is just as beautiful as your face and body and you are made to be spoiled.

He worships the ground you walk on and peppers every inch of your body with his lips. Despite having a kingdom You still hold so little to your name. Mammon has known Kings and queens that have the rarest riches in the realm. But you give everything you have and to your kingdom and that kind of generosity attracts him like a moth to a flame.

Mammon is not only the devil of greed but also a successful businessman and merchant. Traveling across the realm to collect more riches and do business with other kingdoms. He showers you with gifts about 10 times a week. Or at least tries most the time you politely decline his generous gifts and it takes him a lot of effort to make you accept what you deserve.

At least you accept his pleasure in bed, when he greedily tastes you with his tongue like a starving man. Fucking your body like he owns it. You already own his.

Leviathan

Your fiance in an arranged marriage. She tells you over and over again that This marriage is only to join your kingdoms in an alliance and you agreed since he offered Not only your independence from his kingdom and yours but also his unwavering support.

Leviathan is starting to regret not joining your kingdoms as you gain more concubines and more rivals to your love He wished he could have just became emperor.

Unbeknownst to you, he's loved you for a while now, But having never experienced this emotion And the fact that you are still technically a rival kingdom, His feelings for you are complicated. Leviathan's followers and devoted subjects constantly stir the pot just so they can have their beloved emperor to get more excuses to be with you more.

Another way to air out the weight in his heart is to write love letters from a "secret admirer"

Beelzebub

The wandering eldest prince to the throne of his kingdom ran away since he hated work leaving his best friend Bael his "brother" to run the kingdom for him. When he traveled to your kingdom he fell in love with not only the great food but the beautiful scenery and the nice people. Finally contacting his "brother"He struck up a deal. To become your concubine in exchange, you would help protect his kingdom.

The Sly Prince wanted this to be a business only transaction but of course he had to fall in love with you over time. When he isn't traveling to other kingdoms, He is by your side.

He travels to other lands, writing letters to you and sending you gifts And when he comes back, he talks greatly about his travels and wants you to come along on his next trip.

Beelzebub is is a bad influence on you. To him all you do is work, work, work, and he tries to coax you into spending the day with him. If you've never been out the palace before he will have a good time trying to dress you up in disguise so the two of you could frolic out of the palace walls.

Lucifer

Was once the eldest son of a powerful empire now kicked out for his arrogance and pridefulness, he is a powerful paladin night with a talented gifts of healing. He treats the sick and wounded. Now he is building his own paradise Kingdom filled with all kinds of people from all different walks of life.

He met you one one day you felt ill from a deadly disease. The people in your court begged Lucifer to help and they do anything... He didn't understand his feelings then when his heart felt lighter, and he felt as though he couldn't breathe. When his eyes gazed upon you're sleeping form he was transfixed. Something about you pulled him toward you. Something about you He must have.

For healing you He asked for your hand. He does not need your power or your people. Since he could grow that himself. It is you he wants and you he shall get.

Even though he is technically your concubine Lucifer and you see each other on equal footing. Lucifer wants you to choose him, But he is still busy growing his kingdom. So the two of you are right often. When he does visit, he acts as though he's your knight in shining armor. Kissing your hand and standing by your side as if to protect you.

Belphegor(+Beleth)

He thought becoming your concubine would be a hassle. He was only doing this for the good of his own kingdom. But that opinion quickly changed when he actually got his first taste of you. Now he's obsessed So obsessed that His "advisor"Now wants you.

If it wasn't for the fact that you're so far away and he needs to still keep an eye on his subjects and kingdom he would not hesitate to live in the cozy chamber you prepared for him when he does stay.

You're such a diligent and hard worker so passionate to better your kingdom All he wants to do is support you, (by sleeping in bed supporting you in spirit)

But you can't help but notice Beleth His advisor had been eyeing you more recently. Maybe he wants you just as bad. His advisor looks more like his knight he probably is to

Asmodeus

You're not sure how you scored an audience with The king from one of the most feared kingdoms on the map. A kingdom known for its lack of laws. With impenetrable rock walls and a thick iron gate being heavily heavily guarded. The Kingdom feels more like a prison than a home. Perhaps that's why most people end up going if they have nowhere to go.

Asmodeus had everything handed to him and he wonders why you're different. He wonders why you hesitate to fall to your knees... He's puzzled by the fact that he actually has competition to compete with.

You're not sure why he's fond of you so. He brings you mountain of gifts some you don't even want to open and many many steamy love letters. It has been a painfully long time since he wanted someone so bad before.

He's fine with being your concubine for now as long as he has in your bed he is But even then that will soon to be proved not enough as he continues to crave for more and more of you.

[niechys]

I'm sorry. I'm so not sorry but also so so so sorry. But I can't stop thinking about it.

from @keferon tf mecha universe

(Also if you don't want me tagging you please do tell. I didn't want to bother, just want to credit cuz it's glorious)

it's because of this post.

Happened after This event

I'm sorry in advance for all the grammatical errors.

I also don't know wo else would be the science guy to take this position of explaining the thing. I feel like there has to be someone else that's not Shockwave too. Sorry to all of Brainstorm's fans out there. I think he's not a bad guy. Just too excited for the possibilities.

---------------------------------

Something lingers inside that mech. Although there is no hard evidence of a human soul or spirit or ghost haunting it, most people who had anything to do with Vortex agreed that it was best to believe its first pilot never leave the cockpit of his mech. After all, nothing else would explain the freak accidents constantly killing all but the latest pilot.

Human are prone to be superstitious. It's normal to believe in something like ghost in the machine, really.

But one would not think a man of sciences such as Shockwave would take the rumors seriously. No one knows if the scientist really believe it or not. He

Regardless of the rumors' validity, it sure did inspired him.

"You're kidding me" Swindle stood, blinked, looked at the incomplete repair of Blurr's mech then back to the technician in front of him. Brainstorm was prattling on at speed faster than Blurr's F1 record.

"Not kidding. Why would I kid? This is a great breakthrough. Lives can be saved and there are much we could do with the tech, I don't know why it never occurs to me or Shockwave that the neural link tech could have been used in this way---"

Swindle turned his brain off during all the scientific mumbo jumbo all and only really heard him again at "It's nothing all that weird really. Some people disagree, but you can't go against Shockwave when he put his mind to it. If you think about it, it's just like Vortex"

"What?" Swindle blinked again.

"Vortex. That mech, I mean the mech's first pilot, crazy psycho, crazy good at slicing up kaijus"

"I know who Vortex was. I worked here when he started piloting. What did that asshole has to do with this?"

"Oh, everything. If, a big if. If that guy's consciousness was still in the mech like people been saying"

"Haunted" Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes at Brainstorm. The technician corrected him.

"Lingering consciousness. Either way, Blurr is in much better shape than Vortex. Brain still intact . So is most part of his body. We wired him to the neural link to allow him control of the mech. So when we are ready, he can still go about his task from within that mech"

"What . The . Fuck"

Swindle's eyebrow twitched. No, it's NOTHING like Vortex's case. The asshole died and probably refused to leave this world. Blurr, on the other hand, was still alive. Sure he wouldn't be the same. Maybe he would be scarred for life, paralyzed from the waist down or something. But hardwiring a person to a mech?

"So, you were working with Blurr before now, correct? That's why we would like to bring you in as his handler. Not like you have to do maintenances and stuff, just take care of him and, the publicity and all that. Like being his manager" With that, Brainstorm handed him a folder before excusing himself.

The guy wasn't bad most of the time, Swindle thought. But sometimes, just sometimes, his passion for science overshadowed the moral compass.

Like how he wished that his own greed would take precedented in his state of mind. They must have thought he would jump at the chance to milk more profit from Blurr. Hell, he wouldn't be feeling this bad if that was the case.

He wanted to refuse. Profit be damn, even he didn't feel right. Blurr saved them. He should be allowed to preserved his humanity, his dignity. Not preserving his brain in a jar inside a mech. If the pilot died and the mech is reparable, you find a new pilot. If the pilot lived but can no longer pilot, you also find a new pilot. Not..this.

But refusing means they will bring someone else on board to manage Blurr. He's pretty sure he wouldn't like that.

Fuck

------------------

**note. Blurr is not reduced to brain in a jar. Most of his body is intact, just hard wired to the mech.

I tink they can add robot parts to him later all stuff. But since they probably value Blurr as a money cow pilot first. If they can't use his face, they can still use his mech.

Sorry again ehehehehehehehehehe

[felix-01000101]

Idk if I've reblogged this before, but anyway, this made me wanna yap abt about me and how ppl shit on the label 'lesboy'

I am abrogender, so my gender is always all over the place. One day, I'm more of a man. One day, I'm more of a woman (not very often though). One day, I'm both. One day, I'm neither. One day, I'm everything. One day, I'm nothing. One day, I'm everything AND nothing. And one day my gender can just go "fuck the gender spectrum, I'm a cat/robot/magical spell/eldritch horror/void/etc". And god forbid the days when I'm some weird fluctuation of all those sentences.

And yet, I can always pick out one or two things about my gender that never changes.

It is always queer. And it is never binary.

Even if I'm a boy, I will never see my gender as that of a cis man. In fact, sometimes it's not even that of a trans man. It's masculine, and is best described as "boy", but it has nothing to do with the binary genders. Of course, it's still aligned with the Western binary (because it's all I've known), but it is noticeably distant from it.

And when I'm a woman, it feels more like an aesthetic attraction instead of a solid identity (hence why my gender isn't usually solely woman). There is a clear connection, but it is clearly untypical. It is stronger when connected to other genders (eg boy, neutrois, androgyne, agender), but it can exist on its own.

As a result, it influences my attraction (when I do feel it). My attraction to men is not straight (even when I'm a woman), because my gender is queer. My attraction to women is not straight (even when I'm a man), because my gender is queer.

Yet, I cannot use labels like lesboy without people going "you're just a straight man". And that really pisses me off because pretty much my ENTIRE IDENTITY revolves around me being queer and non-straight in every way possible. When you claim that I cannot be a lesbian because "I am a man" and therefore straight, you are not only denying me of my identity. You are taking its core, throwing it on the ground, stomping on it, shitting on it, peeing on it....you get the point.

Anyway rant over, how we doing guys?

why have us queer people as a community normalized terms like "boygirl" or "girlboy" or other things like that but not like. the actual experience of being multigender. i swear some people will be like "ahaha its so cool and swag to be a #girlboy #boygirl" then turn around and be like "MEN DNI THIS POST IS ABOUT WOMEN" "MEN CANT BE LESBIANS (because no man is ever a woman too)" etc etc like come on guys

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Part One

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[fluoneia]

further continuation of pitfighter!vi | part 1 | part 2

sypnosis. vi left an impression on you more then you thought she did. but, you left even more of an impression on her. and you can’t control a feeling like that, can you?

warnings. dom!vi, lowkey hate sex, use of a strap on, lots o angst !! (in the beginning), uhh i tweaked the timeline a lot so this doesn’t exactly follow everything going on. bear w me!

damn.

you were surprised vi stayed true to her word. it was two months since she initially left. you tried to move on with your life, forget her, and try to remember that she was with that someone that she mentioned.

if she stayed, that means she’s happy. right?

right?

stupid feelings. truth was, you wanted her to come back. she wasn’t just any other client to you at this point.

god, how did you get yourself into this mess? you vowed to not get involved with a client. yet, here you were.

“you seem distracted.” your friend, and co-worker says while she combs through your hair. you’d gotten close to her over the past two months, her being your only viable source of comfort in the moment.

you frown as you look into the mirror.

“it’s nothing.” you shake your hand, glancing down to your hands.

“are you sure?” asta cocked a brow as she placed the comb down. “come on. you’re acting so weird lately.”

you run your thumb over the indents of your palm, following your fingers.

“well..” you start, “i.. there was a client. around two months ago. she was..” you snort, “different, that’s for sure.”

“.. okay..” asta looks into space as she thought.

“she told me she wasn’t coming back— that she couldn’t. her heart was taken by this enforcer girl. said she couldn’t give her up.”

asta is quiet for a second. you turn to look at her. “.. so, what i’m getting from this, is you’re getting your heart involved in a client you took twice.”

“what?” your back straightens. “no! no, my heart isn’t involved, i’m just.. curious. that’s all.”

“uh-huh, okay.” asta snorts with a roll of her eye. “who is this, anyway?”

“oh, uh.. her name is vi.”

asta’s eyes widen so far her eyebrows shoot up. “the fucking vi? as in the vi everyone here hates?”

“i guess so.” you frown.

“hah! no way you’re falling for that little sadistic fuck.”

“asta!” i cry.

“i mean, seriously, y/n! she’s no good, especially for you.”

“i’m a whore in the undercity. i’m not exactly amazing.”

“still, though. i can’t believe you wound up having to take her as a client twice, i mean, are you alright after that?”

you glare. then, you smile at the memory. “actually..” you feel a blush creep on your cheeks. “you’d be surprised. it’s not just her that got to take control.”

“you.. vi? being submissive? oh, you’re crazy.”

“crazy good.” you snort, pushing off your chair. “besides, i’m not falling for her.”

“yeah. sure you aren’t.”

“i mean, i can’t, anyways. i’ve already made that mistake before and i’m not about to make it again. my heart is never being involved with my clients ever again.”

asta takes a second to respond. then, she says, “you know, sometimes it isn’t all that bad.” she shrugs. “i met my husband through this business.”

“it does more harm then good. plus, aren’t you two having problems because of the job that you met in?”

“well.. kind of. but still.” she places a hand on my shoulder, “not everything in your life has to be dictated because of what you do as a job to survive. it’s rare you feel a connection with your clients, right? especially you.”

“i don’t have a connection with her.”

“you keep telling yourself that.” asta chuckles, “that’s what i said about my husband before he started courting me.”

“whatever!” i cry, pushing her hand off me. “i have a client.”

“don’t go imaging it’s vi!”

“ugh, shut up asta!”

a week later, you’d made up your mind. obviously, vi wasn’t going to come back. it’d be best for you to just move on.

your hands tighten around eachother.

so damn stupid. you were so damn stupid. your feelings were so damn stupid— she went to you out of convenience, nothing more.

she was under the influence, on a sex drug nonetheless. you went too far with her. you never should have given in to her pleads in the first place.

“come on, slow-poke.”

you still.

“slow-poke is a bit cocky for you to say. i recall you saying i was moving too fast, when i tried to—“

“okay, are we seriously talking about that right now?”

you’d recognize that voice anywhere. it was haunting your thoughts for the past two months.

and you don’t dare lift your head. you feel your breath pick up as you glance forward.

your breath catches in your throat as your eyes land on her. on vi. what the hell was she doing here?

without another thought, you flick your hood over your head. your body curls in on yourself, staring at your feet as you walk forward, moving past her.

“you used to be all over me,” a posh, matter-of-fact voice says. “now, you can barely even look at me.”

“we’re on a mission, caitlyn. we’re not talking about our relationship right now.”

her voice becomes louder as you grow near.

“when will we?”

“soon! just.. just not now.” vi grumbled.

you try to ignore the warmth in your skin as you knock shoulders with her as you pass.

“hey! watch where you’re going—“

vi stops herself as you glance over your shoulder.

you watch as her eyes flicker, the redness seeping into her skin as she flushed.

“wha.. y/n?” she says in almost a whisper.

your eyes glide toward the girl beside her. a pretty woman, with sharp features and rich, navy hair, tied into a ponytail. she held herself so well.

no wonder vi was so enveloped in her.

vi feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest. she glances toward caitlyn, who gives you a weird look as you stare at her.

what. the. fuck.

that’s all vi can think.

her eyes flicker between you and caitlyn.

vi watched as you slip the hood off your head. you bring your head up with an inhale, forcing a strong front.

“.. hey, vi. funny seeing you here.” you say in that soft tone that’s been haunting her thoughts and her dreams for months since you’ve been apart.

“you know this girl?” caitlyn says as she stares at you. you glance toward caitlyn, brows furrowing. she stared at you like you were filth— and you probably were, body being tainted by the hundreds of hands that have touched the most vulnerable of all— your body.

vi swallows. “yea.. yes, um—“ she closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “old friend.”

old friend? really?

you glare at her.

“can i, um.. can i have a second to talk to her? alone?”

vi’s hand rests on caitlyns shoulder. her skin looked so soft— so clean.

you try to ignore the flame of jealousy in your chest as caitlyn’s hand rests atop of vi’s, before nodding her head once.

“don’t take long.” caitlyn lets her hands drop to her sides. vi gives a small nod, shoulders relaxing as caitlyn steps back, moving out of earshot.

and then she turns to you.

“i thought you said you were never coming back.” you frown as your arms cross on your chest.

“this isn’t me coming back.” vi says curtly. “we’re on a mission.”

“a mission? are you some sort of enforcer now?”

vi says nothing.

you freeze.

“you.. you’re an enforcer.”

“temporarily.” vi raises a hand, “it’s not anything to do with—“

“just go.” you spit. “an enforcer from zaun. it’s not an honour to be labelled that, violet. you’re a pawn in whatever plan they’ve conjured up.”

“it’s a plan to help zaun.” vi says in a whisper as she glances at someone passing. she winced. “can we talk about this elsewhere? preferably not in an open alleyway?”

your eyes shift to the caitlyn girl she treasures so much. she’s staring at the two of you.

“or we could just not talk.” you push off the wall you’d been resting on, “continue on with your mission. you have no use of me, by the looks of it.”

“actually, i do. someone we’re looking for passed through babettes brothel, and we need a—“

“i’m not helping you with this.” you shake your head. “find another worker there to interrogate.”

“y/n.” vi says firmly.

“stop saying my name like that.” you narrow your eyes. “just because you were my client doesn’t entitle me to help you with your stupid investigation. you were a client to many there— ask them.”

“i was more then just a client and you know it.”

her face tightens with anger.

“not really,” you tut your tongue, “you paid, and i gave. nothing more.”

“you can’t be serious.” her hand finds your arm, and she leans closer, glancing around. “you took my virginity. that’s not nothing.”

“you were hardly a virgin when we first met.”

“yeah, not in.. that sense, i wasn’t.”

you hated that she was right. virginity was a prized thing for most people— hell, you used to hold principles like saving your virginity for marriage. and now, look where you were.

but, much like other people, you never forgot your first. a boy from piltover— you were young and naive, much like violet.

“i should have never done that.” you shake your head, “that was too far of me.”

vi’s eyes soften. she glances back at caitlyn, before looking to you. she steers you away, moving out of eyeshot.

“it’s not that i.. regret it. if that makes any difference.”

you huff.

“you said you weren’t coming back. yet, here you are.” you gesture.

“for a different reason.” she tightens her grip on my arm, “come on. help me with this investigation and i’ll leave you alone. for good.”

but that isn’t what you wanted. you didn’t want her to leave— you didn’t want her to be her right now, with her new prized girlfriend, but she was still here. you hated how your heart jumped with glee at that fact.

you inhale a deep breath, clenching your jaw.

“fine. i’ll help you.”

vi exhaled in relief. “thank you.” she whispers. her hand loosens on your shoulder, before slowly slipping off, her fingers trailing over your skin.

“what’s the big deal, anyways?” you furrow my brows.

“cait will tell you everything.” she cocks her head behind her. you nod your head, and follow her as you walk back to caitlyn. it hit you that she was tall, and it made her even more menacing— towering over you with a mean look on her face. you couldn’t tell if that was just her face, or she just didn’t like you. probably both.

“so she’ll help, then?” caitlyn says, turning to vi.

vi nods. “yeah.”

“i can’t promise i’ll actually be of help to you.” you cross my arms on your chest. “just because i agreed to tell you what i know doesn’t mean it’ll be any use.”

“worth a shot, right?” vi shrugs. i give her a brief nod.

“we can’t talk about this here.” caitlyn says.

you sigh. “we can go back to my house. it’s just ‘round the block. but again— i only have an hour.”

they give a nod of agreement. you inhale a deep breath, before paving a way back toward your house.

suddenly, you felt unconscious about your living space. you hadn’t cleaned it, and there was no doubt clothes left on the floor, leaving it a mess. you mentally curse yourself as you unlock the door, pushing it open.

“make yourselves comfortable.” you mumble, kicking some clothes out the way.

vi doesn’t take another glance at the house as she walks inside, following behind you. caitlyn hesitates, looking around the messy room, before following suit.

i grab a glass of water, jumping up onto my counter.

“alright. so, what did you need me for, exactly?” i look to caitlyn.

caitlyn slowly turns her head toward you. “oh— yes, um..” she clears her throat, obviously distracted. “a few days ago, someone passed through the brothel you work at.”

she fumbles through her bag. your eyes glance toward vi, who leans against the counter parallel to you, crossing her arms on her chest. the blue outfit just looked so.. off on her, yet, she still held herself the same.

she didn’t seem that bothered by the mess— partly because she’s seen it before, and partly because she’d already been in your house, in your bed—

stop it.

caitlyn places a sheet of paper on the island. i pick it up.

“have you seen this girl?”

your eyes move around the paper. you had seen this girl before— quite an oddball, but she was funny. blue hair, tied into long braids. your eyes train on the JINX — PILTOVER, WANTED.

“uh.. yeah.” you nod. you’d never expect her to be a wanted criminal, but who wasn’t down in the lanes?

“how? where did you see her last?” caitlyn says. there’s a gleam in her eyes as she leans closer.

“well.. maybe two or three days ago she came around the brothel during my shift. she was a client.”

vi pushes off the table abruptly. “you took my sister as a client?!” she stalks toward you.

“well, yeah.” you shrug. your eyes widen as you realize. “we.. no, she didn’t want anything.” uou chuckle at the memory, “she just wanted to talk.”

vi seems to calm down, her shoulders slouching. you give her a brief look, before turning to caitlyn.

“she.. i don’t know why she came to a brothel to just have a chat, but she isn’t the first one to do that. it’s honestly not that weird for clients to just want to talk like normal people when they have no one else.”

“i didn’t give it that much thought. i don’t remember much about her.”

you glare at vi. “not that it’d be any of your business what happens with my clients.”

vi puffs a breath of air through her nose, ripping her gaze away from you. she didn’t understand why she was so.. so jealous, so riled up over the memory that you still worked at the brothel, that you still took clients, that other people were touching you.

she had no right to be possessive, yet, here she was.

“.. anyway.” caitlyn clears her throat, brows furrowing as she senses the tension between you and vi, “what can you tell me about her? did she say anything about where she was going?”

you shake your head. “we talked for the hour she paid for, then she left. that was it. i didn’t see where she went.”

caitlyn sighs in frustration. vi looks to her, “this was a big waste of time.”

“it was the only lead we had.” caitlyn pushes off the wall. “if we ask some of the other workers, they’ll probably have seen the direction she went.”

“at this point we’ll miss the last departure. it’s too long of a walk back to piltover if we want to be safe.”

“we can’t leave while the trail is hot! if we wait another day, it’s just another night wasted.”

you h ump off the counter. “just stay here.” you place your glass in the sink, “i have a guest bedroom.”

that was a horrible idea.

it was like your mouth was on autopilot as you say this— stuck on the fact that if vi left now, you’d never see her again. it was stupid if you to offer, yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it.

caitlyn glances toward you. then to vi. she raises her eyebrows as if to say, “well?”

oh, and vi was even more stuck. seeing you again drove her crazy— much less sleeping in the same house again. no doubt it’d grab at her head, keeping her awake at the last memory in this very house.

her chest puffed as she tried to regulate her breath. she wasn’t sure if she could handle herself in such close proximity to you again. it’d surely drive her mad.

but, she too was stuck on the fact that this might be the last time she saw you.

so, vi nods. “sure.” she chokes. her voice is tight as she avoids her eyes, glancing down at her feet.

you huff at the memory of your shift.

“the guest bedroom is just down the hall. make yourselves comfortable.” you move past them, shoulder grazing with vi’s— on purpose, on accident, you couldn’t tell. “i’ll be back soon.”

you still as you see caitlyn move out of the kitchen, glancing around. once she was out of earshot, you back up a few steps.

“oh, and, vi?” you lean closer to her, moving to her ear. “try to control yourself. i can sense your tension from a mile away.” you rest your hand on vi’s shoulder. “if you want me to take care of that.. another time, yeah?”

you pull away without another word, giggling under your breath. you pat vi’s shoulder as you slip away, grabbing your coat and bringing it around your shoulders.

and as you close the door, you leave vi’s head in utter shambles again.

she stands in the same spot, mind processing your words.

try to control herself? after you’ve just said that, and you’re looking like the most beautiful women she’s laid her eyes on?

fat chance.

she’ll get you eventually.

you were released early from your shift, as the night was slow. you kind of dreaded getting back to your apartment, knowing both vi and caitlyn were there.

you wanted to help them. honestly. but you werent sure what would.

your mind recalled the memory of that jinx girl.

you remembered you tried to advance on her— assuming that’s what she wanted, like many other clients. but she stopped you.

she surely wasn’t well. rambling on about life and death, about family, and about how no one can be trusted, and all that.

and after that, she disappeared as soon as she payed. you turned to say goodbye, but she was already gone.

you huff as you open your apartment door, slipping your coat off your shoulders. you hear laughing from your living room, and walk toward it.

as you turn the corner, you see caitlyn and vi laughing together.

“vi, i’m serious!”

you linger in the background as you watch them.

“i mean, the look on my fathers face. he couldn’t believe it at first.”

“well, you won’t be able to get rid of me, anyway.”

your face tightens as you watch her place her head on caitlyns shoulder. she spins a pen in her hand.

“i’m the dirt under your nails, cupcake.”

you decide to leave it alone there.

you step back, running a hand over your neck. so she was happy. you grimace as you walk down the hall, entering your bathroom.

“stupid.” you’d whisper to yourself.

here you thought you had vi wrapped around your finger. but really, you were wrapped around hers.

asta was right, anyway. she was no good for you, and you were no good for her. she was right in the fact that your heart was involved. it was involved tenfold.

you were stupid to ever think that you and vi had a chance.

you were a whore from the undercity. she’s an enforcer now.

nonetheless, she was still from the undercity. she was still a zaunite, just like you.

you strip yourself of your clothes. you step into your steaming shower, and let the water run over your body, your hair.

you close your eyes as you try to drown out your thoughts.

it wasn’t until midnight you left your bathroom.

the house was quiet. you deemed that they had gone to sleep, and move toward your room.

you throw on one of your favourite sets— a gift from a reoccurring piltover client from when you used to work there. you loved the silk texture, the white pearly fabric.

and since you hadn’t eaten much today, you move toward your kitchen.

you huff as you walk down the hallway, quiet against the hardwood floor. you grab your glass from the sink, turning on the tap.

“y/n.” a voice says behind you. you jump, spinning around.

“oh. it’s just you.” you sigh in relief as your eyes land on the familiar black of her hair. vi sauntered toward you, leaning against the counter.

“i.. i had a question.” vi whispers. her voice is laced with sleep— she had stayed up to talk to you. alone, finally.

you stare at your hands as you pour the water down the sink, picking up a bag of pretzels. “and what’s that?”

vi bit her tongue. then, she spoke. “what did you mean, before?”

you furrow your brows.

“when you said.. if you want me to take care of that.” vi shuffles. “you said, another time.”

you still. youd forgotten youd said that— mostly to test the waters around her.

“what did you think i meant?” you hum, placing a pretzel on your tongue. you lean your hip against the counter parallel to her.

vi says nothing.

“look— if you’re gonna act clueless, whatever.” you scoff. “but don’t rope me into something that’ll just cause a mess.”

you turn away from her.

as you move, your stopped by a hand on your wrist. she yanks you backward, your back landing harshly on her chest.

you gasp.

“i don’t really care if it causes a mess.”

you feel her breath on your shoulder. her hand smooths over your hip, pulling you against her.

“you’ve been messing with me ever since we bumped into eachother in that alleyway.”

you stare harshly at the wall in front of you. her thumb dips into the fabric of your shorts, resting it there.

“and you show up in these little shorts and expect me to contain myself?”

you feel her lips against your ear.

“what’s with the sudden switch up?” you say breathily, head leaning against her shoulder.

“you know what you’re doing.” violet scoffs against your ear. you feel your skin blaze alight as she presses her lips to your neck. you feel her tongue glide across your skin.

“violet.” you say harshly. you’re not sure how you feel about the sudden change in the air— vi wasn’t the girl she was last time she was here, no, she was how she was in the brothel the first night you met.

this girl really did give you whiplash.

“this is wrong.” you say, hand placing over the hand on your hip. despite your words, you lean into her touch. “aren’t you with caitlyn?”

vi stills for a second at caitlyn’s name. “one more night can’t hurt.”

“that’s what i thought the last time we met.” you hum, leaning into her touch. “one more night.”

vi spun you around, stalking forward, pushing you back until your back hit the counter. her arms caged around you, her eyes so dark, so unrecognizable.

all night, vi had been thinking about how you’re working your shift, having other people touch you. all night, she thought about you.

all she wanted right now was to distinguish herself from the others— to prove to you that unlike all the others, she cared. she cared for your pleasure, she cared for you, despite her mind screaming at her that she shouldn’t.

another wave of jealousy washes over her. she leans closer, hands gliding over your stomach, pushing up the silk shirt.

“you remember how you said to stop thinking so much around you?” vi says with a smirk, nose touching eachothers, her lips parted. you feel her breath on your skin, her hands on your stomach. they truly did feel warm, so calming, so right, unlike the others who have touched you there. you didn’t feel violated under vi’s touch, you felt.. comforted. it gave you a chance to actually feel the pleasure of another persons hand, rather then focusing on giving pleasure.

her hand splays against your back. her lips were so close to yours, merely one movement away. you wanted nothing more then to feel them again.

“that’s what i’m doing.” vi says, voice husky. “cmon.” she gives a toothy smile. “don’t leave me hanging here, cupcake.”

and it’s like everything changed.

your face closes to a deadpan. you push her off, slamming your fists on her chest.

“wha..” vi gives you a look of confusion.

“you’re so.. arrogant!” you lower your voice as you remember caitlyn is still there— the same caitlyn that vi had said that same nickname too a mere few hours ago. “and stupid!”

“what the hell are you talking about?” vi’s brows furrow.

“that nickname.” you spit. “you’d dare to call me that after using it on caitlyn?”

her mind recalls the memory.

i’m the dirt under your nails, cupcake.

her eyes widen. truth was, she was thinking about you when she said that. she said it because she’s your dirt underneath your nails. she came, and now she’s never going to leave, like a thorn in your side.

“really?” vi deadpans. “that’s what you’re worked up about?”

you purse your lips.

she lets out a chuckle that only fuels your anger. she takes a step toward you, before lowering her voice.

“i knew you were listening.” vi explained, “i was saying that to you.”

you still.

“though, this jealous side of you is kind of cute.”

“shut up.”

“just saying. now, can you stop throwing a fit? kind of holding myself back here.”

“ugh, shut up!” you cry before you grab her face, crashing your lips against hers. vi stilled for a second, taken aback, but she feels a rush of passion flow through her body.

her hands are on you in an instant— clawing, grabbing at your clothes so roughly. her lips are just as you remembered; soft. yet this time, they held a sense of dominance unlike the last time you kissed her.

she hummed against you. and you feel so much.. anger, hatred, jealousy, desire. vi was enjoying this way too much, and you hated that.

you feel her hands on your hips once more, her tongue gliding against your bottom lip, as if asking for permission. you give it by pushing your tongue past her lips, her own finding yours as they tangle and dance for a sense of dominance— to see which way will overtake.

but vi leaves no room for argument. her fingers dig into the skin on your thighs. you squeal as your brought from the floor, her hands holding you up as she picks you up.

your legs dangle loosely around her torso, hand smoothing into her hair, pulling, tugging, holding on so she’s forced to never leave.

you didn’t really know where you were going, but now, you were moving. her tongue glided through your mouth, running along your teeth, your tongue, your gums, everywhere, forcing herself through every part of your mouth until there was nothing left.

and oh, did you miss this feeling.

this feeling of passion, of lust, of desire. this feeling of recklessness. you both know you shouldn’t be doing this— but who can stop desire?

you realize she had guided you to your room when you feel your back hit the fur of your bedspread. she pressed herself between your legs, pulling away from you.

“fuck..” she whispered under her breath, hands smoothing up your stomach, cupping your barely clothed breasts.

“don’t talk.” you loose out, grabbing her face again and pulling her lips back onto yours. she takes that as an understanding, fingers unhooking every button oh so slowly.

you lift yourself off the bed to tear the shirt off your shoulders, throwing it to the side.

vi’s eyes flicker as she pulls away, looking at your body. her eyes land on your budding breasts. just so fucking beautiful. every bit and piece of you was perfect in violets eyes, and she hated how she felt that way.

“i missed you.” she whispers, both forgetting and ignoring your demand of silence. she pulls away, taking her jacket off of her shoulders. clothes fly in a haste, leaving you both naked in mere minutes— well, you naked. she kept her bandages on.

you can’t help the next thing you say. “missed me or missed my body?” you huff, sitting up on your elbows.

vi’s brows furrow. her nose twitches, before she crashed her lips back against yours without a word.

ah. got it. you’d think.

whatever. you shouldn’t have expected much with a hookup.

truth was, vi didn’t know. she didn’t know if her actions were based off purely lust, or something else. she tried not to think about it much— she couldn’t think much, anyways. you were just so soft, so beautiful.

her hands smooth over your body, and you were so drunk on her touch you decided not to care about anything else. her hands, touching you, possessing every part of you.

vi’s lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, onto your neck. you relish in the feel of her tongue, of her teeth scraping against your skin. her hands, smoothing over your thigh, toying with the strand of your panties. you feel your mouth go agape as her tongue glides over your neck, leaving red splotches, marking you.

you gasp as you feel her hands quiver over your clothed core, pressing so gently it made you whine. she was toying you, being so gentle when she knew you wanted her to be rough.

“don’t think i’ve forgotten.”

you couldn’t process her words— not when her fingers slipped underneath the cloth and dipped into your slick. your head throws back, a jolt of pleasure ripping all throughout your body. a shock to your nerves— finally, a touch that was pleasurable.

“oh, you’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

your brows furrowed. what the hell was she talking about?

you let your mind fog again when her fingers dip inside of you, pressing so deep. you gasp, feeling your skin grow ablaze, the ache in your stomach only growing. you grasp onto the bedsheets, shocked at how fast this was moving— ten minutes ago, you were accepting the loss of whatever this relationship was. now you were thinking, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“you’re gonna feel everything i felt that night.”

she says this so close to your ear. you feel her breath on the shell of your ear, her teeth nipping at your skin.

“though, you won’t be under a drug like i was. i’ll just have to make up for that.”

her fingers press up as if to further move her point. you let your eyes close, body leaning toward her, hips pressing against her wrist.

“where do you keep those things, hm?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you huff, eyes slowly opening to look at her.

“you know,” she leaned closer. oh god, her eyes. that smirk. you were done for.

your brows furrow as you thought. her fingers slipped out of you, causing you to frown at the loss of her touch.

she ran a hand through her hair as she looked around, before reaching over you to open a drawer. your eyes catch on the glimpse of her bicep, a glimpse of the tattoo that ran down her back. gods, it only turned you on further.

“ah.” she says. you’d hear her fumble with something before moving back to you.

and your eyes shift to the thing in her hand.

one of the strap ons you owned— and never used, just by the sheer size of it. black, girthy, and big.

“nonono, violet—“you back away from her. she could not use that one, not now.

“oh, yes.”

there’s a certain gleam in her eyes as her hand grabs your hip, pulling you closer to you.

“told you.” she says as she leans back, fumbling with the straps. “i’m gonna get you back.”

you were in for it now.

for someone who’d never used a strap on before, you were pleasantly shocked.

you’d moan into your pillow as her hips slam against yours, over and over and over again. her hand smoothed over your back, pressing it down so your hips pushed up.

you’d never felt this.. this good, this full.

your entire body shook, every bone weak and practically useless. it took everything in you to hold yourself up, to not pull away from her, from her hips.

“oh—“ you groan, “vi!” you’d lost yourself, suddenly not caring about your voice. once vi realized that, she dragged her hand under to your chest, pulling you flush against her.

her hand moved over your mouth, silencing your cries.

at the new angle, she only pushed deeper.

your eyes widen, every nerve, every muscle twitching and shaking with pleasure. you couldn’t handle it, you simply couldn’t.

“not so tough now, huh?” she huffed, her voice out of breath and tight. you feel her being her hips back, just barely, before pushing back into you with such force you felt tears well into your eyes.

how could one woman have this much stamina?

you’d lost count at the amount of climax’s she’s brought you to.

she abruptly pulled out of you, flipping you over, pressing your back against the bed. it was like your body was drained of any sort of will— her strength easily able to manhandle you in every way she could, every position she wanted you in.

she placed herself back inbetween your legs. you saw that smirk on her face, so cocky and confident.

you couldn’t form words to comment something about it.

she brushed her hand over her forehead, inhaling a deep breath of air.

“i kind of like this.” she said breathily as she lowered her hand, aligning the tip of the silicone cock to your hole. as you feel her push back inside you, you let out a damned scream.

she’s quick to cover it, lips pressing against yours to silence your cries.

your legs touched either side of the bed, her hands pinning them down. your hips ached at the stretch— your core ached at the raw stretch the strap-on gave you, and as she pressed further deep inside of you, you swore you saw stars.

“god, oh, i— fuck!” you cry against her lips, hands gripping so hard on her back, nails digging into her skin, leaving crescent marks on her shoulders.

“shh, shh..” she hushed, hand smoothing across your thigh as a sense of comfort, yet, it only riled you up more.

she was so deep, so insanely deep— somewhere surely no one’s ever touched before.

“wouldn’t want anyone to hear you, would you?” she’d taunt, “see you in this position..”

her hips pull back, before bullying her way back into you, at such a slowed, tedious pace— to mess with you, no doubt.

you didn’t care. you didn’t care for anything— you couldn’t, not after this. you were sure you’d never felt anything like it— it was even better then the first night at the brothel.

“i— i can’t—“ you’d cry, head pushing into the pillow to hide your face. you just.. felt so fulfilled.

“oh yes, you can.” she mumbles, eyes flickering over every expression you’d made, engraving it in her mind.

her hips were flush against yours, filling you to the brim. her body pressed against your chest, her hands moving to grip onto the pillow on either side of your head.

“oh, fuck.” she said so softly, wincing as she felt the pressure against her own clit. then, her hips pulled back, and slammed right back into you. she found out, in this new position, it also gave her pleasure.

with how sensitive she was, even the short amount of pressure could help the ache between her legs.

a gleam found her eyes.

her pace became faster, harder, like a damned piston jolting inside of you.

you bite hard into your lip, hands falling limp and falling on either side of you.

“a little longer, princess..” she huffed into your ear. “come on, you can take it.”

“no, i—!” you cry, legs clamping around her torso. “mmmph—“

“just..” she let out a sharp exhale, adjusting her hips so the base hit her clit just right. she moaned into your ear, eyes rolling back, and the sight was just so damn beautiful.

you feel the cord in your stomach grow hot, your body shaking with every thrust she made.

at this rate, you weren’t sure how much you could handle— it was too much vi, so much vi, you were going to go mad. vi, vi, vi.

“oh, vivivi—“ you whined, your body riling itself up, again and again, over and over, each thrust bringing you closer to the familiar taste of an orgasm.

you were scared. scared of the feeling, of the pure pleasure that coursed through your body each and every time. scared of that feeling, of that blinding— oh, god!

your eyes shut closed, your legs clamped around her as that familiar snap of your orgasm flooded through you.

“say my name.”

“v..” you attempted. and then, you deflate against the matress. “vio..”

“come on, you can do it.”

her hips were relentless, forcing you through your orgasm. your body aches with overstimulation, threatening to burst with each and every second.

“say my name.” she says it more directly, nearly damn demanding you to. her voice is a growl against your ear, her hips picking up in pace.

“oh, violet!” you cry, voice cracking.

vi let out a loud moan, her head pressing against your neck, whining against your skin.

and then, she deflated above you.

your body jolts and shakes with every flow of energy, every flow of pleasure. you were so fulfilled, so full, finally getting what your body had been aching for, begging for.

a proper fuck.

a proper fuck from vi.

you had vi. and that was all you needed, even if it was only for the times being.

you yelp as she flips you over, resting you on her chest. she pressed her hips deeper inside of you, and you gasp.

“n.. no! no, no more.” you cry, your head falling against her chest.

“don’t worry.” she says as she caged her arms around you, hands resting tightly on your waist. her hands run up your back. “i won’t push you.”

you let out a sigh of relief.

you fell into a silence.

it was hard for your body to recover from your orgasms when the strap-on was still inside you, pressing into that spot. with every shift she made, you felt your body rile up again.

a beat of silence.

another.

you hear your click tick. you feel her chest go up and down with her breath. you hear her heart beat.

.

.

“i missed you.”

she says this so softly. her arms tighten around your torso, her nose nuzzling into your hair.

“not your body.”

a/n. uh.. hey.. sorry this took so long LOL anyway this kid kind of rushed i apologize and it kind of sucks but blushes thank u for all the support on this little mini saga that stemmed off a one shot 🤗

taglist. @just-levyy @princesssmars @thesevi0lentdelights @kissyslut @devotedlyelectronicartisan @cheyisagirlkisser @maracujais @n1shuu @vivispace @elliecoochieeater @izu-lu @wanna1be0 @honeybunbunnie @yariany02 @dumblilb @lalalalal16 @vyvvycg @ayooooohush @slvtformilfs @the-disaster-in-waiting (some of ur tags didn’t work im sorry :( )

[minnies-puppydoll]

{ Kinkmas Day 1: }

❄️ .*•snow bitten•*. ❄️

pairing: bangchan x reader

summary: you beg chan to play in the snow with you, but who knew it would be that cold? but don’t worry, he’ll always be there to warm up his favorite little girl.

warnings: daddy kink, caretaker roles, praise, comfort, manhandling, degradation, pussy eating, size kink/mentions of being smaller than chan, slapping, nipple play, let me know if i missed any!!

the snow fell peacefully on your face as you watched the white, foggy sky. days like these with chan are always the best.

you thoroughly insisted on coming outside to play in the snow, despite chan telling you its too cold and to wait for the thermal coats he bought to come in the mail. but, he knows his girl, always so impatient.

so you throw on a sweater and a thin jacket, obviously not enough to be let outside by chan, so you slowly open the cold doorknob and let your boots hit the snow.

you step around slowly, taking in how the ice cascades along the ground, covering all the the plush, green grass that once was. you scoop some up with your hands, the little crystals bite at your hands warmth, you forgot mittens.

despite your impatient disobedience, chan was an amazing caretaker to you. it’s like he knows everything about you. your fears, insecurities, and doubts, they’re all his now. always have been. chan enjoys having someone to take care of, he loves feeling needed, you both were made for eachother it seems.

you and chan have been dating for half a year now, yet sex was still a fresh topic. sure, you wanted to many times, but chan wants you to wait. you thought it was because he didn’t want you, but he quickly made sure to correct that.

“no no, sweet girl. of course i want you, but i want you to learn to feel safe and secure without feeling like you need to have sex with me, i don’t want you to do it for reassurance. can you wait for me? daddy wants you very much, little angel.”

waiting is hard. he’s evil using that nickname then telling you to wait. you know he’s right, but progress is nothing when you run your hands along yourself, pretending he finally decided to have you.

its easy to worry about things when you’re surrounded by such peace and silence, alone with your thoughts while chan isn’t there to take them all away like usual.

what if he abandons you? or maybe you’re just holding him back? what if always having to take care of you is a nuisance to him?

chan always said they were useless thoughts, and that he’ll always love you, but its hard to not overthink with everything that happened with the men in your life growing up.

..what if you’re dissapointing him right now by sneaking out into the yard? tears start to fill up your eyes.

“i’m sorry, chan.”

you mutter under your cold, visible breath to the image you made of him standing over you, his arms crossed with a fed up expression. but, when you turn around, you bump into something, no, someone warm with firm shoulders wrapped in a thick sweater.

chan greets your eyes with a smile when you open them, one that makes you melt despite the unforgiving snow, one that fills up that empty core inside yourself with safety and security, one that shows you no signs of irritance or resent, just pure, unconditional love. nothing like the chan your insecurities made in your head.

“enjoying the snow, my little angel? warm enough?”

the nickname washes your fears away, healing your upset mind. you can only look up at him innocently through your lashes, nodding your head and playing with the button on his coat.

“mhm. sorry i left. um..chan?”

“hm?”

“..you would tell me if i was too clingy? or just annoying sometimes, right? i know it’s a hassle to always take care of me or..stuff like that.”

you say avoiding his gaze and pouting, chan pets your hair, caressing his hand down to the back of your neck to cup your cheek softly with his big, firm hands. all of a sudden you don’t wanna play anymore, you wanna be with him.

“sweet girl..i know. im not upset with you at all. nothing you can do or say could ever stop me from loving you, remember?”

all of the feelings you wished you could’ve felt back then as a little girl poured into your head and spilled from your eyes and into chans chest as you pressed closer to him, nuzzling into his comforting scent and dependable chest.

he knows how vulnerable you can get when you feel like this suddenly, so chan holds you, placing his hand on the back of your head so you feel safe. when you pull away to look at him, he takes your small hand in his, stroking your skin with his thumbs. but, he stops when he notices you shivering. the snow soaked your clothes and left you wet and cold in his arms.

“..daddy?”

“hm?”

“i want to tell you something else..but i don’t want you to get mad at me.”

you say, chewing on your nail. chan smiles fondly at you.

“what is it? you know you i love you. more than anything in the entire world.”

“..i want..to start having sex with you. not for selfish reasons anymore, just need to feel you. is that okay?”

for a moment chan is silent, its a painful silence for you. please, say something. anything. then, chan starts giggling.

“..daddy?”

“im so proud of you. using your words for me, hm? need me inside you? need to feel my heart closer to you, baby? god, i think if i loved you anymore i might really explode.”

you hide your face in his chest again, burning with shyness. you didn’t think it be this easy, now you just wish he would stop teasing and fuck you already.

“feel better? come here. lets go inside and get you warmed up, silly girl.”

i guess there is a god.

chan sits you down on the large bed with thick, winter comforters cushioning you softly.

gently, but without delay, he begins to unbutton your coat. he gazes into your eyes with every soft clasp, as if you and him are the only ones in the universe..it hums an intimate fuzzing in your head, and an un-wholesome reaction between your thighs.

your coat is smoothly brisked off of your shoulders and discarded onto the floor somewhere, not that you really care about the details right now, as he quickly learns the hard way that you weren’t wearing much under that coat.

chan doesn’t seem that suprised, he simply takes notice of the pink, lacy bra you thought it was a good idea to wear outside and looks back at you with narrowed eyes..

“this is why you were so cold, huh? my dumb, baby..im suprised you didn’t freeze to death.”

you bite your lip when his warm hands roam around your cold breasts, circling his thumbs along the frills of the bra and your sensitive nipples just below them. he knows what he’s doing.

he teases you by leaving it on, running his hands down to your inner thighs, crouching down in between them.

“lay back for me, angel.”

he coos softly with a tender smile. he tucks his thumbs under your waistband, pressing your legs up and hastily peeling your thick, thermal pants off of your legs, revealing a matching set of pink lacy panties and fuzzy, winter thigh highs.

you hid your face as chan stripped you like a doll, then you giggled a bit as he smirks and sighs at your cold weather fashion choices.

“really, sweetheart? maybe you planned this , huh? thought about me stripping that pretty body? ..what am i going to do with you? such a little slut, even in winter.”

his firm hands caress your plush hips, before landing a smack to your thigh. you yelp and squirm in his overpowering grasp, before hes sticking his thumbs in the sides of your cute panties and slowly pulls them down, revealing your soft pussy with a string of arousal connecting to your underwear.

chan parts his lips and lets out a soft noise at the sight, biting his lip and pulling them off your legs. his hand is large over your tummy, the skin is rough in contrast you yours as his strokes his thumb over you sweetly.

“sweet thing. gonna let me take you? i’ll treat this pretty pussy so well as long as you go dumb for me.”

he brings his thumb up to your mouth, you suck on it lightly and bat your lashes at him.

“whore.”

his head is perched between your thighs, pressing soft kisses on your sweet skin.

when your eyes meet his, your stomach flips. just the visual of his mouth so close to where you need him most makes you whine and grind your hips up into nothing.

you have no choice. his arms are trapping your legs open, with his hands securely holding your hips in place. you try to squirm out of his grasp, and the feeling is delicious. you can’t move an inch.

“hm? can’t move, huh? that’s right. daddy’s got you.”

he coos, with a hungry tone in his voice. like he’s been waiting for this, for the moment he has his little girl all vulnrable and desperate for his body. his kisses to your thigh reach the lowest part of you, he comes to a halt and raises his head.

chan looks at you for a second, admiring and savoring the look of you before he gives you what you want. he bites his lip and smiles, revealing his sharp canines pressing on his plush lips.

he lowers his head closer to your twitching cunt, letting his breath tease you first. your red, puffy clit throbs at the denial of his sweet mouth wrapped around it.

“ahn- channiechannie please! can’t take it anymore. i’ll do anything just pleaseplease-“

“who?”

“fuck..daddy? daddy please.”

chan ignores you. he thinks your begs and cries are so adorable, but he already knows what he’s gonna do.

the first touch of his tongue sliding against your pussy feels like suffocating magic. but it doesn’t take long before your squirming and grinding your hips for more stimulation as the tip of his tongue circles just around your tortured little clit.

but you can’t move. and he won’t stop teasing you.

“ah! stopstop stop teasing please! jus’ wanna cum- wanna cum in your mouth, daddy-“

chan shuts you up quickly by wrapping his pretty lips around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue along it, sloppily making out with your pussy like he really means it.

your back immediately arches off the bed, tossing your head back along with it. in between your legs feels like heaven, blanketing your mind with silky, glowing white as you let out an absolutely fucked out scream.

you hear a squeaky chuckle between your legs from chan, he cups your ass with his hands and pulls you in closer to his greedy mouth. his eyes meet yours again, there’s a haze of darkness that passes through his before he bites a little nip on your pussy.

you yelp and jolt up, trying to plead him to stop, but chan is quick to sooth your tortured cunt with two talented fingers working their way into his pretty dolly’s hole.

his fingering is fast paced, has you gripping his hands and squirting all over them in minutes. chan handles his girl so roughly, but he looks down at you so carefully and attentive, as if you’re really made of fragile porcelain. his gaze is full of love and adoration, letting out sweet little giggles at your reactions. he can’t help it, you’re just so cute to him!

chan crooks his fingers up to thrust into your g-spot, you already can’t take it, but you die a little bit when his idle thumb presses into your clit, thrusting in sync with the rest. the added stimulation sends soaring stars of pleasure up your squirming body, chan’s veins on his arms show as he fucks his fingers up into you harder, manhandling an orgasm out of your poor little pussy.

“g’nna cum, yeah? that’s all the dumb little dolly is good for, right? serving daddy?”

“daddy! daddydaddyfuck..! gonna cum-“

“ah, what do we say, pretty girl?”

“can- can i cum? please? ahn..gonna cum so good - ah! on your fingers, daddy…”

“such a smart girl. go ahead and cum, pup. daddy’s got you, hm?”

it only takes those words for the harsh orgasm you were holding back to burst free, soaking chan’s abs and hands. you pathetically wail as he continues the abuse your pussy, fucking you through your wet little orgasm, but you feel so safe. you know chan’ll always hold you safe and tiny in his arms in such a vulnerable headspace.

when you finally start to come down, he strokes your tummy, up to your cute breasts, and finally to your cheeks, where he plants a soft kiss to remind you he loves you.

chan stands up and wipes his mouth. you notice how he’s still completely dressed and you’re only in your slutty thigh highs. it’s a hot situation, but it won’t do for now.

you slide your foot along his belt buckle, pulling and tugging at while whining at him, wordlessly begging for him to finally fill you up.

“what do you want, pretty girl? tell me and i’ll give it to you.”

you don’t respond, you just blink up at him, going a bit non-verbal and fuzzy already, and it’s worse when chan leans down to grab your face.

“hey. you want daddy to fuck you? want daddy’s cock pressing into your tummy, baby?”

“mhm..”

“then use. your. words.”

chan almost growls in your ear, you feel the texture of denim grinding at your overstimulated clit, he’s frotting his hard cock against your pussy from the fabric, urging you to say what he ordered you to say.

“mm’fuck! chan yes!”

a harsh slap stings your cheek.

“you know my name, stupid slut. is that pretty head just for decoration, or can you actually use it?”

“m’sorry, so sorry..fuck. daddy, please fuck me? please? ill be such a good girl, such a good hole for you please-“

the more you talk the bigger the smile lights up on his face, you’re just the most adorable thing in his eyes.

“aw, who’s my good girl? is it you? fuck..that’s right, angel.”

chan takes your little fuzzy-socked foot in his hand and brings it up from his belt to his face, planting a kiss above your heel.

he places your foot over his shoulder and begins to undo his belt with hypnotizing metal clicks. you’re finally getting what you’ve wanted since you started dating chan.

his belt and pants come undone, and you finally get a view of his big, red cock. it throbs in the air just by looking at the reaction on your face, suddenly he’s a little shy, just like the channie you know. he let’s out a squeaky giggle and avoids your eyes as he pumps his cock lazily.

“you want it, hm? it’s leaking for you and those pretty hips.”

he says now biting his lip and spreading your legs back, trapping you in a mating press. his face rests near your collarbone, whispering filth desperately as far as you can hear it.

“fuck..can’t hold it anymore, need to sink into you..tight fucking pussy- need it squeezing me.”

with that, he’s spreading your folds and forcing his cock in with tiny little thrusts. the stretch is overwelming, but it’s pressing on the front of your g-spot perfectly.

when your pussy is filled all the way, he wastes no time at all continuing his pace with larger and more forceful thrusts inside you, one’s that have you breathlessly screaming.

you really can’t take it, it feels too good you don’t know what to do with yourself. you need him to slow down.

you can’t form sentences right now, so you try planting your hands on his abdomen to brace yourself, but chan swipes them up instantly, gripping your wrists together to use as leverage to pull you back down on his cock.

“fucking take it. stay still, you said you would be good, hm? this pussy’s too little to fit me?”

you’re going braindead you swear, his cock is mind-numbingly thick, it soaks your g-spot, while also being long enough to fuck spots you’re sure no dildo has ever reached before.

chan bounces you like that for a bit before taking one of your legs and lifting it up, holding it against his chest while he rolls his hips in your cunt. he’s lost in it, closing his eyes and placing plush kisses along your sock.

he brings his hand down to thumb at your clit messily, slapping it occasionally to get you there closer. he feels himself faltering in your pussy, groaning louder and leaning his head back at the feeling of you sucking him in.

“fffuck..good fucking girl..gonna make daddy cum? yeah? want me to spill inside this greedy cunt?”

“mn..mhm!”

he hears your meek response. chan places his hand on the side of your head, forcing you to hear him as he brings his face to the crook of your neck.

you don’t like this. you love the feeling of him fucking you more than anything, it makes you feel taken care of and safe, and closer to your boyfriend. but what you really need right now is his cum, and he isn’t cumming fast enough for you.

“gonna cum, yeah? look at what you’re doing to me- ah!”

chan tenses as you pull up his shirt to pinch at his nipples, rolling them in your fingers. his arms shake around you as he writhes, but he isn’t thrusting anymore.

“please..don’t stop, channie..you’re almost there, need your cum..”

he starts thrusting again, fucking you closer with him, the feeling of his cock inside you and your hands on his nipples has him throwing his head back, sending electric sparks of pleasure to his cock.

“mm’fuck can’t take it- oh fuck, cumming!”

you feel chan spraying warm cum deep inside your already messy cunt. the feeling of his warmth flooding inside you is what sends you over with him, his twitching cock still prodding at your g-spot desperately.

your orgasm is strong, you close your legs shut while cumming shakily around his cock till he softly pulls it out. you both rest for a second after cumming so hard, but chan’s shy laugh breaks the silence, covering his red face.

“oh my gosh..i cannot believe i just came from that!”

you can’t believe that this is the same man that just called you his whore unprovoked. you pull him down to lay on you, resting your face in his shoulder and wrapping your legs around him. chan instantly relaxes in your arms.

“…all warmed up now?”

“mhm..chan?”

“anything, sweet girl.”

“i love you. love you so much..thank you for doing this. i know taking care of me can be alot and-“

“ah, ah. i told you to stop saying that. never. it’s never a burden to make you happy. thank you for trusting me to give you what you need. i loved you then, i love you now, and ill love you forever. if you forget, then ill always be here to remind you, ill say it over and over again each time.”

his soft, lovely words paired with your exhaustion seems to be the perfect recipe for you to fall asleep in his arms. chan just hums and strokes your hair, he loves his girl.

“goodnight, sweet girl. ill be right here when you wake up too.”

tags!!

@estella-novella @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @theresstardustinmyblood @annafeebou @pancake-freckle @elizalabs3 @minniesverse @loxgirl2004 @mintymintmint251 @y-ur--i

[missroserose]

The link is back to being paywalled, so here’s the article text:

Sharon Maxwell spent much of her life trying to make herself small. Her family put her on her first diet when she was 10. Early on Saturday mornings, she and her mother would drive through the empty suburban streets of Hammond, Ind., to attend Weight Watchers meetings. Maxwell did her best at that age to track her meals and log her points, but the scale wasn’t going down fast enough. So she decided to barely eat anything on Fridays and take laxatives that she found in the medicine cabinet.

Food had long been a fraught subject in the Maxwell household. Her parents were also bigger-bodied and dieted frequently. They belonged to a fundamentalist Baptist megachurch where gluttony was seen as a sin. To eat at home was to navigate a labyrinth of rules and restrictions. Maxwell watched one time as her mother lost 74 pounds in six months by consuming little more than carrot juice (her skin temporarily turned orange). Sometimes her father, seized with a new diet idea, abruptly ransacked shelves in the kitchen, sweeping newly forbidden foods into the trash. Maxwell was constantly worried about eating too much. She started to eat alone and in secret. She took to chewing morsels and spitting them out. She hid food behind books, in her pockets, under mattresses and between clothes folded neatly in drawers.

Through Maxwell’s teenage years and early 20s, eating became even more stressful. Her thoughts constantly orbited around food: what she was eating or not eating, the calories she was burning or not burning, the size of her body and, especially, what people thought of it. Her appearance was often a topic of public interest. When she went grocery shopping for her family, other customers commented on the items in her cart. “Honey, are you sure you want to eat that?” one person said. Other shoppers offered unsolicited advice about diets. Strangers congratulated her when her cart was filled with vegetables.

As she grew older, people at the gym clapped and cheered for her while she worked out. “People would say: ‘Go! You can lose the weight!’” she says. While eating in public, other diners offered feedback — and still do to this day — on her choices, a few even asking if she wanted to join their gym. Some would call her names: Pig, Fatty. Sometimes people told her she was brave for wearing shorts, while others said she should cover up. She was always aware, whether she wanted to be or not, of how others viewed her body.

Maxwell tried just about every diet she could find: juice cleanses, Atkins, SlimFast, South Beach, Mediterranean, Whole30 and Ezekiel, a regimen based on biblical references. She tried being vegetarian and vegan and paleo. She tried consuming less than 500 calories a day and taking HCG, a fertility hormone rumored to suppress appetite but flagged by the F.D.A. as risky and unproven for weight loss. During periods of religious fasting at her church, she would take the practice to an extreme, consuming nothing but water for days (and on one occasion, two weeks). “I passed out a few times, but I did it,” she says. Sometimes she exercised more than three hours a day in high-intensity interval-training sessions and kickboxing classes. Eventually, she started vomiting up her food.

Every day, Maxwell stepped on the scale and internalized the number as a reflection of her self-worth. Often, the number on the scale went down. But if she let up on her rigid food rules even briefly, the number shot back up like a coiled spring. “I just cycled through that,” she says, “but it became harder and harder each time to get the weight off.”

During the many years of dieting and deprivation, Maxwell experienced mysterious health problems. For a decade, starting when she was 16, she almost never had her period. She was always cold. She often had dizzy spells and occasionally passed out in class. When she was in college, she fainted three times in one day and was taken to the emergency room. For an appointment with an endocrinologist one year, Maxwell took a purse full of small plastic bags. Each one contained a day’s worth of hair, clumps that accumulated in her brush or had fallen in the shower drain. Her head was pocked with bald spots. The doctor was pleased with her weight loss and, to her memory, didn’t seem too concerned about her other symptoms. “Anything that made the scale go down,” Maxwell says, “I was given a pat on the back.”

Four years ago, at the age of 25, Maxwell walked into her primary-care doctor’s office near Scottsdale, Ariz., where she lived and worked as a middle school teacher. She was there for an annual physical, and she was prepared to be told to lose weight, as she had almost always been instructed. But this time, the doctor, an osteopath, started asking unusual questions. Maxwell’s blood work showed abnormally low iron and electrolyte levels. The doctor asked Maxwell what she was eating and what she was doing in relationship to food. Was she starving herself? Was she vomiting on purpose? Maxwell was surprised by this line of questioning. “These are things I had hidden my whole life from my family, my friends, doctors,” she says.

The osteopath told her she thought Maxwell had an eating disorder and suggested arranging treatment right away. Maxwell would later be diagnosed with atypical anorexia nervosa, an increasingly common yet little known eating disorder that shares all the same symptoms as anorexia nervosa, except for extreme thinness. Just as many people, and possibly many more, suffer from atypical anorexia.

At the physical, Maxwell stared at her doctor in disbelief. She always thought that eating disorders were for skinny people. “I laughed,” she says. “I don’t use language like this any longer, but I told her she was crazy. I told her, ‘No, I have a self-control problem.’”

For centuries, the eating disorder that would become known as anorexia nervosa mystified the medical community, which struggled to understand, or even define, an illness that caused people to deliberately deprive themselves of food. As cases rose over the course of the 19th and 20th centuries, anorexia was considered a purely psychological disorder akin to hysteria. Sir William Withey Gull, an English physician who coined the term “anorexia nervosa” in the late 1800s, called it a perversion of the ego. In 1919, after an autopsy revealed an atrophied pituitary gland, anorexia was thought to be an endocrinological disease. That theory was later debunked, and in the mid-20th century, psychoanalytic explanations arose, pointing to sexual and developmental dysfunction and, later, unhealthy family dynamics. More recently, the medical field has come to believe that anorexia can be the product of a constellation of psychological, social, genetic, neurological and biological factors.

Since anorexia nervosa became the first eating-related disorder listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders in 1952, its criteria have shifted as well. Initially, anorexia had no weight criteria and was classified as a psychophysiological disorder. In a 1972 paper, a team led by the prominent psychiatrist John Feighner suggested using a weight loss of at least 25 percent as a standard for research purposes, and in 1980, the D.S.M. introduced that figure in its definition (along with a criterion that patients weigh well below “normal” for their age and height, although normal was not defined). Doctors who relied on that number soon found that patients who had lost at least 25 percent of their body weight were already severely sick, so in 1987, the diagnosis was revised to include those who weighed less than 85 percent of their “normal” body weight (what qualified as normal was left to physicians to decide). In the 2013 D.S.M., the criteria shifted again, characterizing those who suffer from anorexia as having a “significantly low weight,” a description that would also appear in the 2022 edition.

In that 2013 edition, a new diagnosis appeared — atypical anorexia nervosa — after health care providers noticed more patients showing up for treatment with all the symptoms of anorexia nervosa except one: a significantly low weight. Those with atypical anorexia, doctors observed, suffer the same mental and physical symptoms as people with anorexia nervosa, even life-threatening heart issues and electrolyte imbalances. They restrict calories intensively; obsess about food, eating and body image; and view their weight as inextricably linked to their value. They often skip meals, eat in secret, adhere to intricate rules about what foods they allow themselves to consume and create unusual habits like chewing and spitting out food. Others exercise to the point of exhaustion, abuse laxatives or purge their meals. But unlike those diagnosed with anorexia, people with atypical anorexia can lose significant amounts of weight but still have a medium or large body size. Others, because of their body’s metabolism, hardly lose any weight at all. To the outside world, they appear “overweight.”

Starting in the mid-2000s, the number of people seeking treatment for the disorder rose sharply. Whether more people are developing atypical anorexia or seeking treatment — or more doctors are recognizing it — is unknown, but this group now comprises up to half of all patients hospitalized in eating-disorder programs. Studies suggest that the same number of people, even as many as three times as many, will develop atypical anorexia as traditional anorexia in their lifetimes. One high estimate suggests that as much as 4.9 percent of the female population will have the disorder. For boys, the number is lower — one estimate was 1.2 percent. For men, it is likely even lower, though little research exists. For nonbinary people, the number jumps to as high as 7.5 percent.

Across the board, the pandemic exacerbated eating disorders, including typical and atypical anorexia, through increased isolation, heightened anxiety and disrupted routines. Hospitals and outpatient clinics in the United States and abroad reported the number of consultations and admissions doubling and tripling during Covid lockdowns, and many providers are still overbooked. “Almost all of my colleagues, we’re at capacity,” says Shira Rosenbluth, an eating-disorder therapist who specializes in size- and gender-diverse clients. They are seeing clients who practice more extreme food restriction and experience more intense distress around body image and eating habits. “The demand has increased, the level of severity has increased,” Rosenbluth says. “We’ve never seen waiting lists like this for treatment centers.”

Despite its prevalence, atypical anorexia is still considered widely underdiagnosed and under-researched, and many primary-care doctors have never heard of it. “Some people being at a standard body weight or overweight can be perplexing to the untrained eye,” says Karlee McGlone, senior manager of admissions and outreach for U.C. San Diego Health Eating Disorders Center. “It is still a surprise for nonspecialized clinicians.”

Patients, too, are in the dark about atypical anorexia. “Most people in higher-weight bodies are shocked to hear that they have anorexia,” says Rachel Millner, a psychologist based in Pennsylvania who specializes in eating disorders among people with larger bodies. “Nobody ever told them that you can be in a higher-weight body and have anorexia, and they’re convinced that their problem is their weight.”

In 2020, Erin Harrop, an assistant professor of social work at the University of Denver, completed a survey of 39 people with atypical anorexia, most of whom were obese, and found that participants endured the disorder for an average of 11.6 years before seeking help. They lost an average of 64 pounds, and a quarter of the group had yet to receive treatment. (By comparison, the treatment delays for anorexia are, on average, 2.5 years; for bulimia, 4.4 years; and for binge-eating disorder, 5.6 years, according to a 2021 review.)

To make it easier for people with atypical anorexia to be screened, treated and insured, there’s a growing movement in the field to collapse the categories of anorexia and atypical anorexia into one — to no longer see them as separate illnesses, to decouple anorexia from its virtually synonymous association with thinness. “For years, we have thought about anorexia nervosa in one way,” says Carolyn Costin, an eating-disorder therapist who founded an eating-disorder treatment center and is a co-author of “8 Keys to Recovery From an Eating Disorder.” “But the way people think about it and how they want to define it is changing. It would be a paradigm shift within the field.”

Many, however, are fiercely resistant to letting go of the metric of weight. It would require altering the organizing principle by which the public and the greater medical field conceive of the condition. It would also require recognizing that anyone, in any body, can starve themselves into poor health — and you’d never know it by looking at them.

It took Maxwell a long time to process that she had an eating disorder. She had been so steeped in the gospel of dieting that it was hard to accept that restricting her food was not unequivocally healthy. But as her doctor instructed, she began making visits to the hospital for intravenous fluids and started taking iron supplements. At night, she began attending outpatient sessions at Liberation Center, a now-shuttered facility in Phoenix, where she ate dinner with other clients and attended group therapy. The staff at Liberation told her she needed more intensive treatment and recommended attending a residential program.

In the summer of 2018, after teaching through the rest of the school year, Maxwell agreed to go to a center in Monterey, Calif., that was covered by her insurance. A day after she arrived, however, her insurance rescinded approval: Because of her weight, the company didn’t believe she was sick enough to meet the criteria for residential care for eating disorders. She was at once ashamed and incensed. Her aunt drove five hours to pick her up, and she spent much of the next 10 days on the phone with the insurance company.

Her insurance eventually authorized her to go to another facility, the Center for Discovery Rancho Palos Verdes, which sits on the Southern California coast. Maxwell’s three-month stay would consist of group meals, outings to restaurants to practice dining in public settings, yoga and therapy. “I went with the expectation that as soon as I walked in the door, they would be the people who would help me finally become thin once and for all,” she says. Instead, on her first day, a dietitian at the center explained that she would need to eat three balanced meals and three snacks a day to recover. Her treatment plan also required that she abstain from almost all forms of exercise so her system could recalibrate. Maxwell panicked. She had never consistently eaten that much in her entire adult life, and she still felt that her body was a problem to be fixed.

Maxwell already harbored a deep mistrust of the mental-health profession. When she was growing up, she remembers a pastor at her church preaching that psychiatry was the work of the devil. The message seemed to be that anxiety was sinful, a sign of faithlessness. Maxwell had left her church two years earlier, but its lessons were still lodged deeply in her mind. She couldn’t abandon her long-held belief, one that her doctors reinforced for much of her life, that thinness was the primary measure of health.

Maxwell forced herself to go along with each step of the treatment program. She tried to eat three meals and three snacks a day, even though it caused her excruciating fear. For years, her thinking had revolved tightly around food and exercise; and during twice-weekly individual therapy sessions and daily group therapy, she tried to learn how to redirect these thoughts. She started to talk about the self-judgment, shame and childhood trauma that led to rigid behaviors and an overreliance on control, both central features of restrictive eating disorders.

About five or six weeks into treatment, it dawned on her just how much damage she had done to herself. Her esophagus burned from years of purging. She experienced heart palpitations and was often dizzy from orthostatic hypotension (a type of low blood pressure that leads to dizziness and fainting), and her hair and nails were thin and brittle from malnutrition. “I started to realize, holy shit, this is real,” she says. “I started to see what it had done to my body, the magnitude of it.”

Over the ensuing weeks, Maxwell began eating enough food that the staff allowed her to go on walks and swim, not to burn calories but as a part of learning how to live a balanced life. Her physical symptoms started to ease. Her vital signs and blood work improved. She felt less dizzy, her heartbeat more regular. She got her period back for the first time in a decade. And perhaps most surprising, she was not gaining weight despite eating more food.

To help her overcome her self-judgment, a nurse suggested that she look in the mirror and express what she liked about her body. At first, Maxwell couldn’t think of what to say. She could hardly make eye contact with her own reflection. But eventually she thought of something. “I’m grateful for my curly hair,” she said, looking at the nurse in the mirror.

When a human body is starved for long enough, it undergoes a complex series of biological, metabolic and hormonal changes to ensure its own survival. Every system moves to conserve energy, and the body begins to mine muscle and fat for glucose to keep the heart running and the brain functioning. The metabolism slows, which is why some people can eat very little and hardly lose any weight. Digestion simmers down, sometimes causing gastrointestinal trouble, and body temperature plummets while blood flow decreases. Many people who chronically undereat shiver with cold, their hands and feet feeling especially icy. If malnutrition worsens, their hair becomes fragile and falls out and muscle mass dwindles, including within the heart.

People with severe anorexia of any kind can have orthostatic hypotension, heart rates lower than 60 beats per minute and electrolyte imbalances that may cause arrhythmias or even lead to cardiac arrest. Eventually a malnourished body can shut down the production of sex hormones. From what little research on atypical anorexia exists, the medical complications appear to be the same as anorexia and occur in similar rates across body sizes, with the exceptions of bone density loss and low blood sugar, which are worse in those who are emaciated. Recent research has found that body size is a less relevant indicator of the severity of both eating disorders than other factors, including the percentage of body mass lost, the speed of that loss and the duration of the malnourished state.

Among scientists, there is consensus that atypical anorexia and anorexia share the same medical and nutritional issues, but one of the big remaining questions is whether the psychopathology is the same (some clinicians believe that it is, but minimal research exists to confirm this). In the slim populations they have studied, psychologists have observed a grim momentum to the illness: Sufferers lose just a few pounds and then, all of the sudden, they compulsively want to lose more, as if a mental switch flips. Genetic predispositions may explain why some people lose weight and their minds tip into disordered eating while others do not. Immediate female family members of a patient with anorexia nervosa are 11 times as likely to develop it as females in the general population, according to one study.

In the short term, resisting hunger pangs can make people feel powerful and even euphoric. But soon the effects of starvation on the brain set in: mental fog, difficulty concentrating, memory issues. People become secretive, irritable and inflexible in their thinking. The gray matter of the brain shrinks, and it appears that the neural pathways related to rewards can be reversed. (It’s not clear if that’s a pre-existing trait or an effect of the illness.) Food that typically results in a dopamine hit now inspires dread. The crippling fear of weight gain begins to outcompete the biological urge to eat, spiraling downward into more weight loss and distorted thinking.

In a famed 1944 study known as the Starvation Experiment, Prof. Ancel Keys of the University of Minnesota and his team observed the impact of food deprivation on people’s relationship to eating. They persuaded 36 young, healthy men to undergo six months of semi-starvation and five months of resumed feeding to determine the best means for treating people who suffered famine and forced starvation in World War II. The men lost 25 percent of their body weight. And over the course of the study, these otherwise mentally fit young participants developed many of the symptoms of anorexia, bulimia and binge-eating disorder, including obsession with eating, cutting food into small pieces, bingeing and purging, excruciatingly slow eating and, even five months after they regained weight, body-image issues. More recent research suggests that losing just 5 percent of one’s body weight can be associated with a clinically significant eating disorder.

Because of the complex interplay between the physical and mental symptoms of starvation, the first steps to recovery for people with malnutrition are to eat more and to gain weight, a process called refeeding or renourishment, before working on the behavioral and cognitive aspects of the disease. But for people who are acutely ill, eating too much too fast increases the risk of potentially fatal fluid and electrolyte imbalances that can develop in malnourished bodies. Specific protocols govern how people with anorexia are refed, and research is still emerging on how to renourish people with atypical anorexia.

A 2019 study led by Andrea K. Garber, a professor of pediatrics and chief nutritionist for the Eating Disorder Program at U.C. San Francisco, found that when atypical anorexia patients were given the same high-calorie foods in the same portions as anorexia patients, they did not recover as well. “It might sound like a no-brainer,” Garber says. “They have a larger body size, and so we believe they need more nutrition to recover.”

But clinicians, many of whom have been trained to focus on weight as a predominant health measure, have to navigate how best to advise patients who face both the perils of a potentially fatal restrictive eating disorder and the health risks associated with larger body sizes. In one case study, for example, a 15-year-old girl with atypical anorexia had stopped having her period and was hospitalized for severe malnutrition and bradycardia, a dangerously slow heart rate. Refeeding helped her recover from her eating disorder, but then she lost her period again because of polycystic ovarian syndrome, a condition that occurs in people of all sizes but is more common and often more severe in people who have higher percentages of body fat.

Some psychologists report that atypical anorexia is harder to treat than anorexia nervosa because the fear of weight gain is even greater in people who have been bullied and shamed for their size. The biggest difference in the two conditions, some psychologists believe, may be how they are perceived by the outside world, biases that persist even in places where patients go to seek help.

After she left the Center for Discovery Rancho Palos Verdes and moved to South Carolina, Maxwell started a partial hospitalization program at the Eating Recovery Center in Greenville. She immediately began noticing how her size was affecting the quality of her treatment. When she arrived, a staff member put her in a room and told her to wait, while the people with “normal” eating disorders gathered next door. Her words felt like a gut punch. At lunch, she was told to sit by herself at the back of the dining room, while the other clients sat together with their backs to her. “I was like, I can’t sit with them?” she says. The center had mistaken her diagnosis for binge-eating disorder and had a policy of separating those clients from the others.

Sometimes staff members singled her out and had her eat less than small-bodied patients. At a group-therapy session in which she was the only large person in the room, another patient shared that she would rather die than be fat. “Her literally expressing that while I’m in that room — that to be me, to live in this body that I have to recover in, would be worse than anything — it’s just ostracizing,” Maxwell says. (The Eating Recovery Center does not comment on individual patient experiences, but since 2021, it says, it has made efforts to counteract weight stigma in its treatment centers.)

Erin Harrop, the social-work professor, who uses they/them pronouns, has experienced both ends of the treatment spectrum for eating disorders. They attended treatment for anorexia in their early 20s with a small body; then, several years later, they returned for treatment for atypical anorexia. Harrop was shocked by the differences. Even though they had been diagnosed with atypical anorexia, had lost nearly 20 percent of their body weight and were experiencing orthostatic blood pressure, the therapist at the treatment center did not believe their diagnosis and even encouraged them to compare themselves to “sicker” residents — those with smaller bodies. Comments about their body from doctors, dietitians and other professionals exacerbated their disordered thinking. They were bullied by peers for their weight, and the kitchen staff limited their food intake: When their peers ate bagels, they received a bite-size one.

In their 2020 survey of people with atypical anorexia, Harrop discovered that every participant had also been overlooked, misdiagnosed or excluded. Almost everyone had approached medical providers with symptoms of malnutrition, like hair loss, dropped periods, fainting, vomiting blood or dry or bleeding skin. But it took years, and sometimes decades, for anyone to screen them for an eating disorder. As a teenager, one participant, Eli, believed she had an eating issue and approached her doctor about it. The physician disagreed, instead telling her that she “could actually probably lose a little bit of weight,” she said. It took eight more years before Eli began treatment for atypical anorexia. Another participant, Lexi, remembered a physician telling her: “You don’t look anorexic. You don’t look underweight.”

Tori, also a participant, was diagnosed by her therapist but was then denied treatment referrals by her physician, who said she was too overweight. Layla, who consumed nothing but bone broth and lost 22 percent of their body weight, was diagnosed with “compulsive eating.” Two participants had been hospitalized for being suicidal and for their eating-disorder symptoms but were barred from joining an eating-disorder support group because, they were told, they were too large. One participant, while seeking treatment at a center for eating disorders, was given a diet book.

Shira Rosenbluth, the eating-disorder therapist, has struggled with atypical anorexia and says treatment actually made her sicker. At one center, a nurse insisted that she had a food addiction and continually commented on her meals, which were dictated by the dietitian. The nurse recommended Overeaters Anonymous and the controversial GreySheet diet, a low-carb, no-sugar, no-alcohol regimen for people who compulsively overeat, even though Rosenbluth had lost significant weight. At various points, she experienced orthostatic blood pressure and abnormally low phosphorus, which can cause bone pain, irregular breathing, numbness or heart failure. Blood work showed that her pancreas wasn’t functioning properly. Still, she was given less food than smaller-bodied patients. At another center, when patients had ice cream cones, she got a kid-size one.

For two years, she went from treatment center to treatment center, hoping that each one would be better than the last. Finally, she gave up altogether and stayed with a friend, a psychologist in the field, who oversaw her meals and helped her become more stable. “For the first time,” she says, “I was getting care without a stigma attached.”

In recognition of the inconsistent care that people with atypical anorexia sometimes receive, a small vanguard of professionals in the field are experimenting with ways to improve treatment for people with larger bodies. Erin Harrop runs weight-stigma training sessions for treatment centers, hospitals and social-work graduate students. Lisa Brownstone, an assistant professor at the University of Denver, is piloting psychotherapy groups for eating-disorder patients who have been traumatized by weight stigma. Centers like Opal: Food and Body Wisdom in Seattle have hired body-diverse staff members, created physical spaces that accommodate a range of bodies and trained therapists on size inclusivity. But there’s only so much they can do before butting up against systemic challenges, and the biggest one is discriminatory insurance coverage.

Some atypical anorexia patients are authorized for treatment for only two or three weeks before they are cut off — an almost impossibly short period of time to recover. Certain insurance companies outright deny coverage for people with larger bodies. Lexi Giblin, Opal’s executive director, has seen some patients with atypical anorexia not receive authorization for treatment even though they have the same symptoms as someone with a smaller body. “The invalidation of the insurance company can certainly contribute to the symptoms themselves,” Giblin says. “They can become part of the eating disorder. We’ve had folks who are denied authorization then come back later, and their eating disorder has escalated since the last time we saw them. That’s pretty common.”

The issue stems not only from a lack of knowledge about a relatively new diagnosis; it’s also a product of how the diagnosis is named and coded. Because it is labeled “atypical” and filed under the murky “other specified feeding or eating disorder” category, it is often seen as less dangerous. “It’s an absurd diagnosis,” says Jennifer L. Gaudiani, an internist who specializes in eating disorders in Denver and the author of “Sick Enough: A Guide to the Medical Complications of Eating Disorders.” “There’s nothing atypical about it. If there’s anything atypical, it’s the people who get underweight.”

To make it easier for people to secure care, some therapists, social workers and researchers have been advocating combining atypical anorexia and anorexia by removing the requirement to have a “significantly low weight” from the standard anorexia diagnosis. But the idea of merging the categories has ignited strong feelings within the field, with fierce support by people with larger bodies who have suffered from weight discrimination, and incredulous opposition (largely behind closed doors) among some researchers who have devoted their careers to the illness as it is currently described.

Opponents argue that such a change would be premature; much remains unknown about atypical anorexia, including its brain biology, genetics and psychopathology, all of which could help inform treatment and the development of drugs. (To date, there are no pharmacological treatments for anorexia.) Distinguishing between the two, they say, is crucial to studying them effectively. “It is not helpful to us if we put the atypical anorexia nervosa folks in exactly the same bucket as the typical anorexia nervosa,” says Guido Frank, a psychiatry professor at U.C. San Diego who specializes in the brain biology of eating disorders. “I’m not saying they’re any less ill — that’s the last thing I want to say. To define and devise the right treatments for each of the subgroups, we’re best advised that we also study them in a way separately or along a trajectory.”

But proponents of the change say that the weight requirement for anorexia causes those with medium and larger bodies to be excluded from many studies. They also point out that the line between the two diagnoses is not particularly scientific and has harmful effects on patients’ ability to secure care. “From my personal patient experience,” Harrop says, “at no point was there a magic switch where it was like, oh, now I’m atypical. I notice such a difference in my thoughts than I did when I was 10 pounds lighter. To draw this line in the sand of this is when it crosses over and becomes more important and more insurable and more lethal — that line is not a very good line. It always means there’s an out group, and it always means that there’s somebody who’s not able to get treatment. So thinking about how we draw those lines is really important in terms of health equity.”

Harrop argues that the anorexia diagnosis could be structured as a spectrum, with weight as one component but not the predominant one. Physicians could look at a wider set of factors when screening, diagnosing and treating eating disorders. Eating-disorder diagnoses have overlapping symptoms anyway, Harrop says, and patients often cross over between illnesses. About 36 percent of people with anorexia develop bulimia at some point, and 27 percent of people with bulimia develop anorexia, according to one study.

Diagnoses affect not only how doctors and insurance companies categorize patients but also how people understand their own illnesses. Maxwell always bristles when she thinks about her own diagnosis, her mind snagging on the term “atypical.” She sometimes flashes to a moment in junior high school when her teacher showed the class a photo of a fat man with a shirt that read, “I beat anorexia.” It was meant to be a joke, and everyone laughed. She even laughed. But after a lifetime of bullying, Maxwell didn’t want to be a punchline. Being labeled “atypical” added another layer of awkwardness and marginalization. The diagnosis seems to live in a no man’s land of categorization. Many people who suffer from eating disorders say the differentiation further perpetuates a social hierarchy. Just as living in a thin body comes with certain privileges, anorexia itself lives at the top of a kind of disordered-eating class system.

According to Mimi Cole, a therapist who had atypical anorexia and hosts “The Lovely Becoming,” a mental-health podcast, “A common belief among people with atypical anorexia — and I shared this too — is: I need to lose more weight so that I have anorexia, so that I can be sicker. I can meet criteria. I can have a real eating disorder.”

In late 2018, Maxwell decided to be more open about her eating disorder with friends and family and started posting about it on Instagram. Over the years, she included photographs of her younger self and shared memories of her decades-long journey. Sometimes it felt brazen and edgy, but also good. “I am fat and I have anorexia,” she wrote in a 2020 post. “And I don’t have to explain my body to you.”

These days, Maxwell’s inner landscape is very different than it once was. On a sunny Saturday afternoon in May, not far from where she lives in San Diego, she did something that would have brought her waves of anxiety in past years. She went to the beach. Amid the tinny jangle of an ice cream truck, she unfurled her towel and sat down. Before she started her recovery, she would have spent her time at the beach worried about what she was wearing or not wearing, what she had eaten or would eat later and what other people were thinking or not thinking about her body. Fogged by this tangle of thoughts, she would miss the experience. Now she doesn’t give those things much thought. On that Saturday, she watched her dog zoom around the sand and laughed with a couple of friends. Her mind was not floating above her body, dissociated.

Maxwell is choosing to recover as fully as she can, but it is not easy. After 19 years of going undiagnosed, she still suffers from some of the physical, mental and social costs of anorexia. Doctors are monitoring her recovery from long QT syndrome, an electrical issue with the heart that can turn into potentially fatal arrhythmias. (Long QT syndrome is a rare side effect of anorexia.) She also has an annual endoscopy to assess the slow healing of her damaged esophagus from years of vomiting. She has incurred mountains of debt from months of treatment.

She checks in with a doctor and a therapist regularly and texts photos of her meals to her dietitian as proof that she’s eating three meals a day, a standard in recovery. She attends an eating-disorder support group, even though she has rarely seen another larger-bodied person there. She has also started to cook for herself. But to be a larger person in this world is to be constantly reminded of how other people view your body.

Often when she posts about recovery and fat positivity on Instagram or TikTok, whether it’s theatrically smashing her scale with a baseball bat or performing slam poetry in her car, a flurry of trolls rise from the backwaters of the internet to riddle her feed with insults and death threats. “You need a sign that says ‘beware of pig,’” one commenter wrote. “Moo moo goes the cow,” wrote another who created a handle (@sharon_maxwell_hater) expressly to bully her. “Society pities you because you’re eating yourself to an early grave,” another wrote.

But Maxwell has also received direct messages from people who have struggled in similar ways — they have never admitted to themselves, let alone their families or friends, how much they are suffering. “I just wanted to say that I am a fat person with an eating disorder who isn’t yet in recovery but trying,” one wrote. “Every day I have these crazy disordered thoughts and get into a spiral of how I’m not valid enough for recovery … your content has been absolutely pivotal for me and I am so happy you exist.”

Many people with anorexia describe the illness as a battle between two selves. One is a maniacal superego, hellbent on control at all costs in a misguided attempt to find safety. It imposes perfectionistic rules and restrictions in Sisyphean pursuit of an unreachable ideal. Some feel it is intent on self-destruction. This self, which Maxwell calls the conceptualized self, enforces all the expectations of one’s upbringing and the culture at large and sees the world in lifeless tones of black and white, like an old TV.

The second is what Maxwell calls the authentic self. For her, it’s the self that spontaneously breaks into impromptu dance moves and wears T-shirts that read, “Don’t be a butthole to yourself” and “Therapy is cool.” This self has a penchant for gold glitter and animal print and signs up for a rec basketball team on a whim, something she would never have allowed herself to do before. She can eat strawberries or a sandwich or an ice cream cone in public. This self is no longer concerned with being quiet and obedient or apologizing for her existence. And, perhaps most important, she has no interest in making herself small.

Diet companies won’t tell you this but starving yourself is a lot worse for your health than overeating