#that all just escalated rather quickly

[jesuis-assez]

He was just dropping her off...

[urfavisananimegirl]

walter white from breaking bad

Walter Hartwell White (Breaking Bad) is an Anime Girl!

[casuallyanidiot]

Yantober Day 1

Love at First Sight [Yandere Forest God x Gn.Reader]

Using @ozzgin's Yantober prompt list!

Tipjar :)

Tw! Dead dove do not Eat! MDNI, NSFW Noncon, oral sex (recieving), Yandere, Implied kidnapping

You go into a newly acquired piece of land to survey it for your job when things start to become strange...

1.7k words

There was something wrong with these woods.

You were used to seeing some kind of anomaly in your field studies. Maybe the deer or rabbit population was too high, or you would find that an invasive species was beating out a more native one. It was never crazy though outside of the normal, exhausting sludge that was conservationist work. You were sent out by the local government to different wildlife reserves, or areas that were undeveloped to do some basic surveying and then come back and give them updates.

This forest wasn’t any different, initially. It was a newer addition to your city’s ownership, sold to them by a smaller, dying rural town. There were talks of what to do with the land, but first you had to be sent down to make sure they wouldn’t violate any regulations or kill off an endangered species. Not that they really cared. After all, your job was to get professionally ignored.

So you went in, camping gear and your truck in tow, and you began to explore.

Again, it was normal at first.

It was an average area. Normal flora and fauna. In fact, it was kinda impressive how well the area seemed to be doing. There was hardly any trash, no signs of destruction, no weird occurrences. It made you feel kinda happy. You went about your days just noting stuff down, humming happily all the while.

It was fine until the staring started. It began with a squirrel or two. They would just sit there, unmoving, unblinking, always just in the corner of your vision. Odd, sure, but maybe they were trying to see if they could get some of your food you always carried with you? Days passed and it escalated to a couple of birds added in, perched on branches and hidden by thick leaves. Then some bunnies, not even eating or twitching their little noses.

You thought you were going crazy, but nothing could prepare you for when the bigger animals started doing the same damn thing. The deer were one thing, already unsettling and strange, but having a bear watch you, still as a stagnate pond, was terrifying. You weren’t sure what to make of it. The only time the oddly behaving creatures would move were when either you’d get too close (in which they’d back off) or when you explored the forest (in which they’d follow after you in some sort of procession). 

You noted it all down of course. You assumed that it might be an illness, or perhaps they were used to humans? But they didn’t look unwell, and from what you understood, this place was rather isolated, so there was no reason for them to approach you this often. You felt a sense of growing unease with each passing day, with each filled page in your field journal. This was getting too weird. The thing of note was obviously the staring, but you figured that it was definitely not in your area of expertise.

That’s why, after weeks of camping and surveying the woods, you decided to get the fuck out of there. 

You packed up your campsite with little fanfare, hundreds of tiny gazes trained on your back. You glanced around as you loaded up a final few things into your truck, and you had only just realized then how many of them there were. The fauna crowded around the clearing you had settled in like a bated audience, and you shuddered. If you weren’t getting paid so much to stake it out here, then you probably would’ve hightailed it much faster.

“Okay… got my keys…” You mumbled and shuffled through your pockets quickly to make sure you weren’t leaving anything behind. “Should be good to go now.”

“Go where?”

You spun around, nearly jumping out of your skin in shock. Behind you stood a man, imposingly tall with a stony expression and dark skin. You pressed your hand to your now rapidly beating chest as he towered over you with a tilted head.

“Where are you going?” He repeated, and he prompted out a hand that was seemingly carved out of a deep bark to beckon your words out. You were shocked. His hair was seemingly made of vines connecting him to the earthen ground and shifting in unnatural ways.

“Uhhhh, back home?” Was all you could say in a slightly unsure voice. Seriously, you were at a loss for words. You had never seen such a person, and through your stuttering mind, you were able to guess that whatever was wrong with this place was probably his doing.

The man’s eyebrows (which looked as if they had been carved into his face) furrowed slightly. He placed a hand on his chin in contemplation, his dark hollow eyes and pure emerald pupils narrowing slightly.

“But,” he started, and it felt like his words rung over a hundred times in your head, shaking and lumbering through every node of your soft brain tissue. “But I thought you had come to live here,” He mumbled and reached forward to touch your arm. You flinched back on instinct, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Flower…” The man chided softly. His seeking fingers were more insistent this time, and you could not move back quickly enough before he was snatching you up and drawing you close. You cried out softly as you fell against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and sighed, shivering in contentment. You cringed at the feeling of shifting, wriggling grass and vines.

“Flower, surely you must know that you cannot go,” He sighed while he ran his hands over your scalp. You blinked. Flower… why was he calling you this? You pushed him back slightly, just to look him in the face.

“I’m sorry but, who are you?” You asked. It wasn’t just a name thing, but rather to say ‘who do you think you are?’. He hummed in response, and you can see him taking in every little thing about you. Suddenly, he laughed.

“Don’t you think it’s cruel, my flower? You ask my name but I know naught of yours,” He said with affection blooming between every roll of his tongue. Your vision spun, and suddenly your back was pressed against soft earth and damp grass. You gasped and cried out. Before you could even protest, your shirt was ripped open and your pants were pulled down.

“What silly things you wear,” He chuckled and placed kisses along your neck. The feeling was strange, slightly rigid. “Is this what mortals wear nowadays? So revealing,” He murmured and toyed with the shredded fabric. Your eyes were wide, and you tried to wriggle out from under him. He merely grabbed you by the hips and pulled you back, the vines from his hair enveloping you and wrapping around your limbs. You squeaked as your thighs were pulled apart by the coiling greenery, digging into the softer flesh. 

“I must admit,” the man moved back, letting his breath ghost over your parted legs and crotch. “I was rather taken with you from the moment you arrived.” 

The strange man held you down as he buried his rugged face and strangely glowing tongue in your entrance while stroking your privates with grooved, deft fingers. Your back arched, and you desperately tried to break free. Your frantic pleas for release were soon broken by the sounds of your breathy moans, and your voice rang like a bell in the clearing. Each lap of his rugged tongue sent shivers down your spine and had your toes curling. 

“W-what? Stop that! Let me go!”

Your keys were discarded in the grass, and those fucking animals just kept staring. You could see your writhing, pinned form in the reflection of hundreds of deep, black unblinking pools. You felt sick to your stomach, and no amount of fluttering arousal could disguise that.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had company, and you come here looking like that. No, you’re going nowhere, flower.”

It felt like years were passing as he kissed, licked and held your hips in place with a tender firmness that would have you blushing if he was your lover. Or at least a lover you chose. Your begging was drowned out by your own frantic heartbeat and the humiliating squelch of your own pleasure. Never had you faced such cruel adoration, such gentle violence. Any place that had previously shown off exposed skin was kissed in a brief moment of reprieve from the onslaught. Your arms, your calves, your collar bones which had only just peaked out from under the neckline of your shirt.

Your truck, covered in mud, but still rather nice nonetheless, slowly began to be pulled into the ground by the flowers and flora rapidly growing on the vehicle. Your things! You tried to reach for them, but a hand of his reached up and entwined his fingers with yours.

Your screams of both pleasure and fear were carried by the wind, weaving through trees and filling the forest as naturally as the rustle of leaves. He continued to eat you out, and it was like you could feel his words in your head simply from the graze of his palm. It was overwhelming, and with each wave of heat, each tremble of your body, you sank further and further into his hold.

“Oh, look at you, my flower,” He pressed reverent kisses to your naval. “How you shall bloom in my care.”

More pressure, more bitter white flashes dancing across your vision as you keened and cried. Branches rustled around your face, and you wondered when they had even gotten there in the first place. They sprouted from his back and shielded you from the sun and sky. 

“-made for me-”

“-love…”

“Flower…my flower…”

You caught bits and pieces of his voice, nestled in your ears like sticky pollen. It was too much, and all at once you had come undone, spilling over his face with an anguished, strangled noise.

It was hard to think after that. All you could feel, all you could know was that you were being dragged back into those deep, dark, very wrong woods with a loving smile slotted against your lips and flowers in your hair.

[wearysparrows]

Couldn't Keep Them to Myself if I Tried

ao3/masterlist

Summary: You invite Sylus over for a simple movie night -- but he has other ideas of the definition of "casual."

CW(18+): Alcohol usage, Vaginal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Porn Without Plot, Not Beta Read, fem reader (afab), female terms are used towards the reader, reader is mc but it's not pertinent, alt title: you and Sylus have a normal one. 4.6K

This night had been your idea, and you were already beginning to regret it before Sylus had even arrived on your doorstep. Rather than go to an upscale restaurant like Sylus had initially suggested, you had instead invited him over to your apartment for a movie night – whatever that meant. It wasn’t that you had anything against the concept of restaurant dates, (could you call them dates?) but rather that you wanted something more relaxed on occasion. The frequency of your attendance to restaurants that did not have prices on the menu was becoming alarming.  Sylus was wholly unbothered by this. Any time spent with Sylus was a good time, though, to be fair. You were surprised when he agreed so readily to your comparatively low-brow idea of spending time together. You checked your phone at the thought. 

Sylus:

Be there soon. Got what you wanted on the way

10:07PM

You didn’t bother to respond, knowing he was likely coming on his bike, anyway. Just looking at the text made your heart rate increase and your stomach flip in on itself. You took a loud, steadying breath, and examined yourself in the full length mirror in your bedroom. You had originally tried not to agonize too deeply about what to wear for the occasion (it was your house, after all), but had failed in that regard. After much deliberation (and sending a million example photos to Tara for feedback) you had settled on what you thought was the best compromise between cute and comfortable. It wasn’t as if Sylus had never seen you in your house clothes before, but this occasion was intentional – and you wanted your look to reflect that. 

Thus, you had decided on an off the shoulder sweater – it was an ivory color, with an oversized cable knit that kept the cold of the night air at bay. A gift from Sylus, as it were. He had given it to you rather nonchalantly, but you felt anything but nonchalant after cross checking the price online. You tugged at it, and your collar bone poked out from the side that fell from your shoulder. Under this you had a pair of cotton sleep shorts, which were appropriately adorned with images of small teddy bears. Fabric content was important for health and comfort, after all. Though you had hated to admit it, you had agonized over your panties for the longest – not that you expected anything to happen tonight. Your relationship with Sylus definitely recently escalated on the physical level, but you had yet to actually go all the way with him. To that end, you had settled for something that was comfortable, but appropriate if things did go that direction. A simple ivory pair with navy blue stripes, with a cotton lace trim. They matched the sweater. A happy coincidence. 

Your phone dinged with the sound of a message notification, reminding you of its forgotten presence in your hand as you were scrutinizing yourself. You unlocked it, swiping down on Sylus’s text.

Sylus:

Here

10:16PM

Your stomach again attempted to cave in on itself, and made a valiant attempt to crawl out of your throat. You couldn’t pinpoint at what point exactly seeing Sylus had made your body have such a reaction, but it had only worsened recently. You were nervous. You quickly made your way from the bedroom to your front door. After you had chastised Sylus for one too many breaking-and-entering fiascos, he had changed tactics to simply texting you when he arrived (as opposed to knocking like a normal person). You adjusted your sweater and hair before opening the door, taking one of many deep breaths that night.

On the other side of the door he stood, illuminated from behind by the porch light. It made the white of his hair glow softly in a small halo. His casual dress reflected yours – which came as a surprise to you, even though you should have expected as much. It was just a movie night. He had opted for a tight fitting black tee which left nothing to your imagination, and a pair of gray sweatpants. Because of course he had. You didn’t let this thought go any further in your mind, lest it run away with it. He was holding a grocery bag, the contents of which you were certain to contain the shitty alcohol you had requested. You looked up at him. Why was he so fucking tall?

Sylus was looking back down at you. He was kindly ignoring how you had been ogling his clothing choices, but did look amused. You felt like you would never get used to the intense carmine red of his eyes. He had a knowing glint there, like usual. You felt that he saw right through you.

“May I come in? I’ve brought the goods.” He held up the bag as evidence to support his statement. You opened the door for him, stepping aside so that he could enter.

“What are you, a vampire who needs permission to enter?” You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. Sylus was in your apartment. At night. And you were going to relax. Together. At night, alone. He clacked his teeth together at you in response playfully.

Shit.

Sylus had taken your words as an invitation to entry (if you hadn’t seen him eat and drink so many times, you would have wondered if he really was a vampire), and had busied himself unpacking the bag onto your coffee table neatly. You were still standing by the open door, and you closed it, locking up hurriedly. You approached him, standing behind the coach and leaning on it, eyeballing what Sylus had brought for you to share. 

“Low quality soju, per request.” 

He had arranged three flavors on the table – original, peach, and plum. Two identical silver cups sat ready and waiting next to the bottles. You nodded your approval, keeping your expression stately. 

“It tastes like juice. Don’t knock it till you try it.” You responded, wagging a finger at him. You knew he probably would have preferred an expensive wine (which he had offered to bring from his personal collection), but you had rejected this motion in favor of forcing him to do something under the umbrella of what you considered to be normalcy. Not that he seemed particularly upset by it, minus a few grumblings about your tastes.

Sylus chuckled at your words, shaking his head. He was smiling. 

“I haven’t knocked it. Yet.” 

You felt yourself flush at his words. You were certain he hadn’t meant it to be any kind of innuendo, but you felt a twinge between your thighs, anyway. You cursed yourself mentally. Sylus gestured to the couch. 

“Sit.”

The command of a man who was used to getting his way from other people. In your own home, no less. You were hoping the relative darkness of the room would hide the redness of your face. With no reason to argue, you made your way to the other side of the couch. Sylus sat down before you had a chance to, on the far right of the furniture. He motioned to the space next to him. You filled it with your body, unsure of how close in proximity he wanted you to be. Or how close you wanted to be. You settled for a respectful two inches or so of space, and drew your bare legs up next to you. Sylus had his legs spread open, as he usually did. Despite his casual attire, you thought his striking beauty looked out of place in your simple apartment. His knee tapped your thigh gently. Your eyes snapped to his face, breaking you from your thoughts on his looks.

“Did you have a movie in mind? I’ll pour our ‘juice.’” 

He reached for the cups and alcohol as he said so. You tried not to openly admire his bare arms, and promptly failed. The muscles in his forearms rippled under his skin as he reached for the cups. How often was he working out? 

You scrabbled quickly for the remote, taking it from the coffee table and turning on the TV. You did, in fact, have something in mind. You had decided on something that wasn’t too serious, and would allow for conversation – if it happened. You figured that you wouldn’t be at one-hundred percent focus after a few cups, anyway. You quickly opened the movie on your streaming service.

“One-thousand and One Vampire Knights?” Came Sylus’s quizzical voice from beside you. It nearly made you jump in your focus to find the film. You turned to him as you hit play on the movie. He handed you a cool silver glass, full of the clear liquid. His fingers were so large that it was nearly a struggle to neatly take the cup from him. You kept making contact with the sides of his index finger and thumb with your own. He was incredibly warm, despite the coolness of the cup. You managed to take it, after a short struggle.

“Don’t complain,” You poked his bicep with your fingertip as you spoke. 

“You agreed to this. You can handle a corny vampire flick, right?” Sylus flexed his bicep – just the tiniest amount – under your touch. He drank the contents of his cup swiftly. You watched the bob of his Adam's apple – the flexion of his tendons in his neck as he did so.

His lips were a touch wet as he spoke.

“Not complaining. There isn’t much I wouldn’t handle in the name of monopolizing your time.”

You needed to drink after that comment. You immediately downed the contents of your own glass.

Yeah. Like juice.

Sylus had poured you the peach flavor. You licked the residual off wetness from your lips. You felt more than saw Sylus’s gaze on you. Even in the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the movie, his eyes were piercing. They reflected what little light there was like a predator illuminated in the night. He was already refilling your glasses. You were certain you had yet to turn your attention to the film at all, yet. You turned from him hurriedly. Sylus, who had his arm that was free from soju duty on the back of the touch, took the opportunity to wrap it gently around your shoulders. He pressed you to his side, moving your whole weight easily with just one arm. The movement made your drink nearly spill, and you quickly drank it before it could go anywhere besides the inside of your mouth. 

Sylus always had a way of making you feel small, especially like this. Pressed against his side, you were curled up like a cat against his thigh and chest. Your heart was beating so loudly that you weren’t certain he couldn’t hear it as well. His warmth seeped into the bare skin of your legs and shoulder. You hadn’t realized how cold you had felt until you had felt his body against yours. You could smell his aftershave. It was something sort of sweet but spiced at the same time. You couldn’t quite place it.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes still focused on the movie, but his voice was close to your ear. 

“You looked cold with all that bare skin.” He was whispering, as if not to interrupt the characters on screen. You still hadn’t actually paid any attention to the film. He took your cup from you, and set both his and yours back on the table. With his other hand now free, he pulled your knees and thighs into his lap. He rubbed his hand over your bare calves repeatedly, and squeezed the tops of your cold feet. His hand was so warm. You had been so focused on acting normal that you really hadn’t taken notice of how cold you were. Your feet felt like ice, even with Sylus’s proximity. You had an inkling this wouldn’t last for long, though, because his relatively innocent ministrations were making your body have a reaction. Even just touching your legs and feet was enough to rile you up. He just had that effect on you.

You bit your lip and tried to actually watch the movie. You really did – but it was near impossible with Sylus’s hands running up and down your legs, rubbing your calves and feet idly. His eyes rarely seemed to stray from the screen, but his grip kept you pressed firmly against him. 

Someone on screen was being sucked dry by an innumerable number of vampires. You hardly registered this, as you were thinking about what would happen if you were to sit squarely in Sylus’s lap and tell him clearly what you wanted from him. You did not act on these thoughts. Instead, you reached for the alcohol and glasses from the table. Sylus let you leave his grip for a moment — though he seemed reluctant to do so. He had a hand on the inside of your knee, making sure you didn’t fall as you leaned from the couch to pour the drinks. Something about it felt even more intimate than his earlier touches. When was the last time anyone else had touched the back of your knee ? Maybe never. 

You poured the drinks, shoving one into Sylus’s hand. You needed less of a clear head for this situation.

“Drink.” You commanded.

Sylus bowed his head at you, going along with your desires.

“Yes, ma’am.” You heard rather than saw the smile in his voice as his lips pressed against the glass. You mirrored him, and quickly poured more. You both drank again. This repeated itself two more times before Sylus halted your pouring with his index finger on the lip of the bottle.

“What’s the rush, baby? We have all the time in the world.”

This always happened with Sylus. Even though you were certain he had a ridiculously high tolerance, he switched into even more intimate pet names for you when you drank together. You flexed your ankles, stretching, nervous energy having nowhere else to go. You could feel the dilation of your veins even in your fingertips.

“No rush. I just like this stuff.” A half-truth. It was good. Bad for your health, but good for lowering your inhibitions and anxiety levels around him.

You set the drinks back down reluctantly. You hesitated for a moment about what position you should return to in relation to Sylus – but he answered your unspoken question for you. Your knees were drawn up over his lap, resting against his abdomen, your feet on the couch on the other side of him. Your torso was still pressed into the grip of his arm. It was almost like he had you in a princess-style carry, but while seated. 

You could feel the easy rise and fall of his chest, the movement enough to move your knees up and down. His fingers were grazing along the backs of your thighs now. The movement was so gentle, it almost seemed absent minded. Just when you thought they were straying close to where you wanted him, they were going the other direction. You were definitely wet, now. You put a hand on his chest, and scrunched up his shirt there. An attempt to ground yourself, lest your soul leave your body because of the situation. He seemed to take this as encouragement. His voice tickled your ear, breath warm against it.

“You’re so soft here.” He cupped the back of your thigh, petting it. His voice sounded almost like he was making a comment on the nature of a piece of art, rather than the current state of your skin. You suppressed a small shudder. You willed him with your mind to just stick his fingers inside you already. He was nearly cupping your ass, anyway.

“And you’re very warm. And you smell good.” You said instead. The alcohol had you feeling a lot more honest, suddenly, and a touch more relaxed. Sylus’s hand paused for a moment, before it resumed its movements. He peered at you, blinking. A smile graced over his features. It made your heart twist up in knots. You hoped you were the only one who saw this side of him.

“I’m happy to warm you up any time you’d like.” He turned his gaze back to the movie, but his fingers were dragging over the space of your inner thighs now, just above your sex. Never actually touching it, save for the briefest ghosting of knuckles. You could feel the rate of your breath quicken. If he moved down the slightest bit, he would be touching you there. You tried with all your willpower to focus on the movie. You hadn’t a clue what was happening. A great many people dined at a banquet on screen. 

Sylus’s fingers finally found their way under your shorts. He pressed in between your cunt through your panties with his index and middle fingers. Just brushing there, up and down through the fabric barrier. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you – you weren’t entirely sure that he was actually going to do anything of the sort. You were already so wet that you knew he could feel it through the fabric. Even with just the gentle touch, there was a slick sound. His other arm kept you pressed tightly to him, still. 

He hadn’t even taken his eyes off of the movie.

You glared at him, half-heartedly. It was hard to be mad when he was giving you exactly what you wanted from him – no matter how much you disliked admitting it. While you were attempting to burn a hole in his face with your gaze, he had pressed your panties to the side, and was stroking you lightly with two fingers, just the same as before. You squeezed your thighs together involuntarily. As if in response, he began slowly pressing a finger inside of you – slowly . Despite how easy it would have been to slip right in with how wet you were – he took it knuckle by knuckle, curling it inside of you as it bottomed out. You put a hand over your mouth to stifle any sounds that threatened to escape. You felt that if you alerted him to your pleasure, he might stop altogether. He put another finger inside you, much more roughly this time. You keened into his touch.

His gaze did meet yours now – finally leaving the screen. He was watching you intently, looking down at you. You felt yourself relaxing into his domination of the situation – cradled in his arms, fingers inside you. His thumb found your clit, circling it there. You hadn’t had much time to get off recently, so you were feeling extra sensitive – especially under his touch. He seemed to sense this, and doubled his efforts, fingers curling inside you as he did so. You spoke from behind your hand. 

“Sylus,” you breathed. “ ‘m gonna cum quick.” 

“Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you.” His voice was a low command. As he spoke, his thumb worked harder at your clit. The fingers inside you alternated – one pressing in, the other pressing out. He was trying to stretch you. You took your hand from your mouth. Your moans echoed in the small space.

“Sylus –” You choked out. 

He had put a third finger in. The pleasure was already too much – your head felt hazy and hot from the attention and the alcohol. Your orgasm found you suddenly, white hot and mind-emptying. Your body arched into his touch. He worked you through it, fingers still stretching you out. You twitched under him, much too sensitive for him to continue. You pulled your bottom half away from his lap, which removed his fingers from you unceremoniously. There was a lewd sound as you did so. Instead, you flipped yourself around so that your head was nearly in his lap, laying on your stomach. You supported your weight with your forearms. 

Because of the nature of your previous position, you hadn’t been able to feel his arousal at all – but you could see it squarely in front of your face now. It was straining against his sweats, the outline overwhelmingly visible, a wet spot just at the tip. He was looking down at you, and carded a hand through your hair. The cool air hit the parts of your scalp that were free from the weight of your hair under his touch. You tugged at his waistband impatiently, which elicited a rumbling laugh from him.

“Do you see how hard you get me? Look.” 

 He helped you pull his waistband down, freeing his length. It bounced out against his abdomen, visibly leaking precum from the tip. It left a mark on his expensive black shirt. The sight had you newly wet. 

You did look. Technically, you had seen it before – but not in real life. Only over text. Per your request, of course. Somehow, it managed to look significantly larger in person. A thick vein pulsed on the underside. He was sporting girth and length. You swallowed thickly. He twitched under your gaze, clearly enjoying being admired from this angle.

You gripped it, experimentally. It was hot and hard under your touch. Your fingertips could hardly wrap around – they didn’t even touch each other on the other side. 

Fuck.

You gave him a few experimental strokes. You heard him exhale in response through his teeth. You sat up, crossing your legs underneath you while facing him on the couch in order to give your hands better leverage to touch him. You spat on them before continuing. Sylus’s eyes were hot on your skin. Your palm, slick with saliva, rolled over the head of his cock. He groaned lowly in his throat. Even in the low light, you could see the flush gracing the skin of his face. The combination of the sight and the ingestion of alcohol had you feeling like you wanted to tease him – just a little. You paused your movements.

“Show me how you do it yourself. So I can do it how you like it.” The confidence in your own voice surprised even you. A little knowing smile came over Sylus’s features, and his hand replaced yours for a moment, the movement gentle in its own right. You put your hands in your lap, feeling a little empty with the loss of him.

“Watch closely, then.”

You watched him intently as he stroked himself leisurely under your observance. His confidence even while jerking off in front of you only reminded you why you liked him so much. His breath had increased, and you could see the quickening rise and fall of his taut abdomen and chest. He licked his lips as he focused on his own pleasure. You resisted the urge to kiss him, as you were busy studying other things. He started with a tug at the base that turned into a clockwise movement of his hand around the shaft, curling around himself to get in contact with more surface area. He was still wet with your spit.

“You’re looking so intently. Do you like watching me like this?” 

Even while he was getting off in front of you at your command, he was teasing you. You huffed, shooing his hands away again. He set them aside with a quickness that he didn’t bother masking. It was clear, even with his earlier words, that he wanted your touch in place of his own. You replaced your hands around his cock, attempting to replicate the motions he had done on himself. His hips bucked up involuntarily into your hand. You wet him with more spit.

“I like watching. But I’d prefer to do it myself. Is this…good?” You peered into his eyes for a response. Despite the confidence in your words, the concern that you wouldn’t be able to finish him off with just your hands was there. His pupils were blown wide. He nodded his assent, eager.

“You’re making me feel so good, sweetheart. You make me feel – ah – good.” His words were momentarily interrupted by you palming the head of his cock while he spoke. His hips kept stuttering into your hands. He was leaking so much now that you no longer needed spit to lubricate him. You doubled your efforts, and felt him get impossibly harder in your grip. You couldn’t believe you had him falling apart in your hands like this. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Where..” He had to start again, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Fuck – where should I cum?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you weren’t entirely sure why he was even asking. You squeezed him harder.

“Cum in my hands.” You replied simply. You could tell he was right on the edge. 

Something about your words must have done it for him, because he did, without much warning other than reaching his hands around yours as you stroked him. He squeezed his around yours, and came in thick ropes over your fingers. You stroked him through it until he chuckled  in a stuttering sort of way that sounded overstimulated – but he didn’t complain. He laid his head on the back of the couch, chest heaving. Your hands were covered in his cum. There was a lot. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were struggling with the fact that you had just given Sylus a casual handjob on your couch. You saw him looking at you in your periphery for only a moment before you suddenly felt his lips crash into yours. It was rough – one of his rough palms pressed the back of your head to him, and your teeth clicked together at his insistence. Your hands were still covered in him, having nowhere to go. The kiss made you feel hot all over again after just having had a moment to cool down, and you ignored the urge to stroke Sylus back to life and ride him on your couch.

You had to brace him with your forearm. He was looking into your face, wondering why you had pushed him off.

“I need to clean up.” You showed him your cum covered hands. He followed your gaze, as if he had forgotten. His eyes widened. He had the good grace to look a bit sheepish.

“Shit. Sorry, love. Let me help.”

At some point during his insistent kissing, he must have put himself back into his pants, because he stood, and scooped you up from the couch. He could have thrown you if he wanted. You yelped involuntarily, but he was already on his way to your bathroom. Your hands still had nowhere to go – you couldn’t even hang on to him. Still, you knew he wouldn't let you fall. He set you gingerly to your feet on the bathroom floor, and turned on the faucet for you, guiding your hands to the stream. He pumped soap on them. He was leaning against your back, practically eclipsing your form while you washed. You could smell the arousal still coming off of him. His hands moved over yours in the sink – helping you clean yourself. The movement felt so absurdly intimate that it almost made you laugh nervously. He turned off the faucet for you, and you dried your hands on the hand towel beside the sink. Before you could even get a word in, he had you back in his arms, and was returning the two of you to the couch. Instead of returning you to your seat, however, he kept you in his lap. 

“I think we may have missed the movie,” He said, deadpan. You smacked his bicep lightly. 

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine.” He grinned, looking very pleased with himself. You couldn’t have gotten away from his grip, even if you had wanted to. You settled for laying your head on his shoulder. He put his nose in your hair, and inhaled deeply. You had never felt a peace quite like the one in this moment.

[visenyaism]

genuine question why are charter schools to blame for decreased literacy in your opinion? Because of the remote learning aspect or smth else also?? I went to one & honestly did better with it than traditional hs but I had very high reading comprehension already, had no busses in my area & no parent that could drive me to school so it was a pretty specific situation where that environment worked out better for me

Well I’m glad it worked out for you but institutionally charter schools are so detrimental to public education. Let me explain why:

The principle behind charter schools, that increased competition will force public schools to be better, frames education as a product rather than a public utility. If education quality is determined by the free market, the winners and losers are children, which is just a morally unacceptable outcome to me.

Shouldn’t ignore that the school choice movement started as a way to advocate for the perpetuity of segregation. On average charters are more racially segregated than publics.

The way in which public schools receive funding varies state to state, but most states do some amount of funding per pupil. What that means is that when students switch from public schools to charter schools they take that per people funding with them if you’re leaving an underperforming public school that’s underperforming because it’s underfunded you are making the problem worse. Not everyone can leave.

Charter schools can legally kick students out if they want to. This means if students stop performing well, or if disabled or english-language learner students need extra support, they can just be removed. A lot of “charters have higher test scores” is just charters only admitted high-performing and low-need students, which puts even more of a strain on public schools.

They are really unregulated. Many “charter-friendly” states have minimal accountability measures for charter schools in a way that leads to many running the gamut between negligence to committing literal fraud instead of providing free and appropriate public education. Charter networks are multibillion dollar businesses this system gets exploited by private equity all the time.

That lack of regulation or accountability also shows up in disciplinary outcomes. The school to prison pipeline is already unforgivably bad in a public environment, but unregulated charter schools often implement draconian “zero tolerance” policies that result in black and brown students getting treated like they’re in a police state. Public schools can’t suspend or expel you or call the cops on you for how you wear your hair. They can’t escalate to dramatic consequences as quickly or do a 3 strikes demerit system. There are no legal guardrails against this in charters.

Often exist to circumnavigate teachers’ union contracts and other labor laws. This means teachers at charters are often overworked, underpaid, micromanaged, and have EXTREMELY high turnover. The additional strain on teachers and overrepresentation of first-teachers who burn out in the system and get replaced makes for bad educational environments in a lot of places.

All of these are even more of a problem because of the way that charter networks like KIPP were marketed as a way to fix public schools in black and brown areas, and have just kneecapped public schools while providing students with subpar educational outcomes instead.

[vienssunshine]

It's Too Much

pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader nsfw: dom!reader, inexperienced!Choso, premature ejaculation word count: 1.5k author's note: this idea took third place in the poll, but i was extra inspired from a tiktok my friend sent me description: Choso has been touch-starved for so long that, when you touch him, it can be a lot, maybe even too much

Choso has never felt another's body against his own that wasn’t attempting to hurt him. For all 150 years he’s been alive up until he met you, physical contact meant pain. But now, he’s beginning to learn that that isn't completely true.

There are similarities between a touch of pain versus…pleasantness might be the word—he hasn’t sorted it out completely yet—as a feeling lingers after contact. A strike leaves an aching bruise, the afflicted area reminding him of the injury whenever the slightest pressure is applied, but when you place a gentle hand on Choso’s shoulder while speaking to him, it leaves behind something entirely different. 

The best way he can describe the initial feeling is as a warmth, and not just due to the intrinsic heat from where your flesh meets his, but one that swells in his chest and spreads out to the rest of his body. After you leave, your touch doesn’t require a mark on his skin or a painful sting like a bruise needs to be remembered, rather, the outline of where your fingers laid on his shoulder simmers on his skin for the rest of the day. 

You fluster him with your casual touches–placing your hand on his forearm or leaning your head on his shoulder–but it helps him work up the courage to start acting on his own desires to feel you. He appreciates how you let him take his time as he explores the little things, like the feeling of holding your hand, intertwining his roughened fingers with yours. He looks up to your face, making sure what he's doing is okay, and you give him a gentle smile, telling him he's doing great. There is that warmth in his chest again. He realizes he likes the feeling of you praising him—a lot. 

Soon, he starts asking for more: to cup your cheeks, pet your hair. One day, he asks to hold your body against his on the bed, feeling your softness and warmth while working hard to regulate the influx of emotions your proximity inspires. Yet, it gets the better of him and he asks something that’s been on his mind for a while: if he can kiss you.

You accept, of course, and with your lips so soft and sweet, things quickly develop, escalating to the point where you are on top of him, straddling his big legs, and kissing down his bare chest to his waistband. He tries to keep still, but your lips feel so good and his hips betray that, gently thrusting up and into you.

“S-sorry,” Choso says, “I…I can’t control it.”

You look up from his chest. “It’s okay, Choso,” you say as you drag your hands down his abs to his waistband, deepening the pink dusted upon his cheeks, “It seems like you want more.” 

“Mhmm,” Choso whimpers, watching as you tuck your fingertips into his waistband and pull it down, freeing his sensitive erection.

Your hands wrap around his length and his eyes flutter closed in bliss. Being touched there is a new sensation for Choso and it’s stirring up a feeling he hasn’t had much experience with.

He thinks it’s arousal, which is, according to Mahito, what causes humans to “fuck.” But Mahito always spoke about fucking in a negative light, describing it as disgusting, primal thing humans do. That perspective doesn't make sense to Choso anymore because whatever you are igniting in him, if it is that aroused feeling Mahito described, feels so good he thinks he would die if you stopped. 

“Do you like this, Choso?” you ask as you stroke him. Hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips sends a shiver through Choso’s body. 

“I-I do,” he says, moaning when you pay special attention to his pink tip, stimulating the sensitive area with your fingers in a tight circle. He’s been unconsciously bucking his hips up into your fist, chasing more of this unfamiliar sensation that has pressure to build up in his stomach.

“Then, would you like it if I put it inside of me?” 

He hadn’t considered that as a possibility, already so pleasure-drunk from feeling your palm against him, but there’s no way he can refuse your offer. 

“Yes. Yes—fuck—please do that.”

“Alright, Choso,” you say, getting off of him, “You just sit still, okay?” 

His breathy whine tells you that the last thing he wants to do is sit still. You smile, he looks so cute when he’s desperate.

“Just a little bit longer,” you say, intentionally moving slower than necessary just to see how long the poor curse can hold out.

He watches as you pull down your underwear, and the second you remove it, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you back on top of him. Then he’s pressing hot, sloppy kisses to your neck, devouring it like a man starved. His passion and intensity make up for his lack of experience, though you note he’s getting the hang of it.

Choso’s barrage of affection is halted by a surprised gasp when you grip his erection and align yourself with it. The hunger in your eyes reminds him of how out of his element he is, but he doesn’t let it scare him, rather, he lets it feed his desire of making you feel as good as he does. 

You hold the tip to your entrance and Choso’s breath hitches when he feels the wetness and warmth of your hole. Slowly, as to not overwhelm, you sink down on him, and he moans—sweet and unbridled—from the way your walls hug him. 

“I’ve—hah—never…felt something like this,” he says, eyes pressed closed, wrinkling the thin black mark running just underneath them. 

Your hands fall onto his built chest as you make it all the way down on him, driving the entirety of his long, slender dick deep within you. His hands fly to your hips when it happens, but then one grabs for your wrist on his chest, circling his fingers around it, needing you to help him through this new sensation. 

“Feels good?” you ask, your voice breathy.

“Feels s’good,” he says, “Too good.” He shifts around underneath you; the pressure he was feeling earlier when you were touching him is becoming inescapable, sweeping through his stomach like a vicious undercurrent. 

“I’m going to start moving now, 'kay?” you say. 

Choso nods but is woefully unprepared for when you begin to lift your hips up and down, pushing his length through your gummy walls. Your movements on top of the information already flooding his senses–your warm skin, rapid heartbeat, fluttering eyes—it's so overwhelming. His head falls back, and even though you’re going at such a slow pace, it feels like your walls are milking him, intent on making the tightness in his core snap.

Choso knows it’s too much for him, but watching your eyes close in pleasure and your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, it makes him want to keep going, to not cum just yet. But with the sight of you naked on top of him and the way your insides are squeezing him, not cumming is a near impossible task. He wants to do a good job for you, to hear you tell him that, but he's sure he won’t last. 

“Fuck, I’m s-ah-sorry,” Choso whines, “I can’t…if you keep moving, I can’t-“ 

“You’re gonna cum already, Choso?” you ask, a wickedness in your voice, “You feel that good?”

You’re teasing him, despite how you find your view beyond erotic: he’s a squirming mess underneath you, with his eyebrows pressed together, face flushed with warmth, and fingers tight around your wrist as he just fights the urge to cum.

“Yes—ngh—you feel s’good, s’good-I’m sorry,”—you feel his cock twitch inside you—“I can’t, I’m sorry, m’gonna-“

He groans, thrusting his hips up into you with a force that requires you to grab onto him to stay put, and empties his load deep inside you, sweet moans interspersed with apologies.

You’d be more disappointed in him for not lasting long, but with this being his first time in a while, you’re willing to forgive—especially after being treated to his endless, pretty noises.

When he comes down, you press a kiss on his cheek, “Too much, Choso?” you ask.

“I’m sorry, you just felt so good,” he says in between pants. His poor body is shaking, his chest is heaving, and a pink flush burns all over his pale skin. 

“It’s okay,” you say, “I enjoyed that.” Only, you wish you had been able to cum, too. Seeing him writhe underneath you has your cunt aching for attention.

He sits up, and you feel his cock move inside you. “Still, I wanted to last for you.”

“Sweet boy,” you say, pushing a few strands of dark hair out of his face, “You did great. I know it’s been a while since you’ve done anything like this.” 

He’s still pouting, but his frown turns into a smile when an idea hits him. He flips you over with ease—sometimes you forget how strong he is—and pulls out of you, keeping your legs open so he can bring his face down to your cunt, wetness mixed with his own cum seeping out of it. 

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let me make it up to you, I haven’t gotten to feel you on my tongue yet.” 

[keefechambers]

I wanna be blunt about this ongoing James somerton suicide threat issue but I don't want to connect it to my IRL Twitter to comment on the dogshit takes I'm seeing there or the good and well meaning but maybe too kind takes I'm seeing here.

Obviously, I hope that this is a false alarm cry for help fake threat. Yes, it would reinforce that Somerton is a self-centered egomaniac who can't handle consequences but that's preferable to dead.

But I work in local news and let me tell you something. I've covered half a dozen family annihilating murder suicides and heard hundreds of men making suicide threats over police scanners and a huge swath of these don't happen because they're depressed or because people are mean to them on the Internet. They're punishment. A person with an enormous amount of entitlement towards people around them gets backed into a corner and they punish the people closest to them by killing themselves or threatening to kill themselves.

No one wants to talk about this feature of suicide because...you want to help people who are struggling and guide them away from this path and being blunt about the fact that sometimes people die of suicide as a consequence of their own shittiness towards the world does not really help actively suicidal people. But suicide rates are higher in men not just because they have higher rates of untreated mental illness (a societal issue we must address for the sake of all) but because some people, often men, use suicide (but more often the threat of suicide) as a tool of abuse and control.

I'm not saying somerton is like, an icky abuser bad guy, he's just a run of the mill grifter scumbag, but his actions in the past show a clear pattern of escalating behavior that aligns with this.

Somerton gets called out -> somerton alleges physical threats of violence against himself and his fans rally around him supportively -> Harry calls somerton out in a bigger way -> Somerton says he's hospitalized but there are inconsistencies with the story but no one wants to talk about that because you wanna be nice-ish about a guy who just tried to kill himself and now he's trying to be framed as tragic but it doesn't really stick -> somerton apologizes again but his apology is rightly called out for lies and manipulative framing as well as his continuing attempts to profit off the community he betrayed -> James posts a suicide note publicly putting the onus of his own suicide on the loss of his friend Nick who he repeatedly threw under the bus and now everyone is rallying to say nice-ish shit and wring their hands in concern over poor james -> indefinitely repeat this vicious cycle forever until he actually does die or finally gives up and gets real, intensive therapy and a day job.

Thats not to say anyone's concern is misplaced, it's 100% better for him to be a living scumbag than a dead one. He deserves the chance to grow and learn and have a life outside of youtube.

But you don't have to portray this as the action of a sad depressed man who got bullied off the Internet. It's manipulation, whether he intended to go through with it or not and whether someone intervened or not. Not denying that internet bullying is a thing, I'm sure there were some people who were shitty directly to James but he made the choice to not unplug from this and to try and keep being a public figure rather than taking care of himself. He could have deleted Twitter, blocked anyone who was an asshole, gone to therapy and tried to move on with his life but if he'd deleted his channel he'd have lost monetization... Can't have that, right? So he posts some apology videos so his channel stays active and then complains about how ruinous this is while never trying to take real accountability.

But the reality is that people would have forgotten about him so quickly and maybe his job prospects would've been impacted but...that's on him, and that's for him to figure out but it's not actually life ruining. He chose to continue to engage knowing he'd get backlash and hate and he'd feel worse and worse and things would never get better without the time and space for people to forget.

He made the choice to make a public spectacle of his own alleged suicide. That is the action of someone who wants to put the weight of their suicide on someone else's shoulders and is morally wrong. He can be held to account for that, alive or dead.

[hiraethwrote]

Been thinking a lot lately about how Satoru doesn’t really cook.

Growing up the way he did, everyone was pulling from every direction, unloading immense responsibility on him because of the Six Eyes. So normalcy wasn’t in the cards for him.

From a young age, his schedule was packed from dusk to dawn with all kinds of tasks embedded on him. And so, dinner was simply a time of day for him more than anything else. He was served a mediocre dish, then he had to return to his responsibilities.

And then he moved to Tokyo, and was finally blessed with some newfound freedom. But he didn’t want to waste this spare time learning how to cook, especially when Jujutsu Tech served him perfectly okay meals three times a day. Who was he to not take advantage of such privilege?

Any interest of developing some culinary skills was also smothered by his insane sweet tooth. Something he’d picked up as a way to help him, quickly evolved into never ending munching — forget proper food.

Sadly for him, the number of responsibilities didn’t decrease as he entered adulthood — rather the opposite. And now, as he was technically a grown up, there was a lot less tolerance for nonsense. People expected things from him now.

Yet again, cooking dinner was deprioritised. He also didn’t see a reason to devote time to cook when it was so much easier to just have it delivered right on his doorstep. He had the means to support such an expensive luxury, so why not?

Sitting down by the dining table after a long day of duties, a warm meal welcoming him with delightful smells never even became something he missed, seeing as he didn’t know what it was he had sacrificed for choosing the easy path.

Then you came creeping into his life.

You in general, had been a surprise to say the least. After everything, pursuing anything romantic wasn’t something that had been on his list of priorities either. But once he met you, he couldn’t not try to make you his.

Everything escalated pretty quickly, and it was fairly early on that you decided you wanted to cook for him for the first time.

“I got some insane pasta cravings. You down for that tonight?” You had your phone resting between your shoulder and your cheek while you scanned the grocery isles for what you needed.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered on the other end of the line. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his comment, a tiny bit confused by what he meant. “Well, duh. I’m not making two separate pasta dishes.”

“Oh,” a moment of silence from your boyfriend as the reality set in. “Yeah, no, of course. Just habit I guess,” smearing on with his usual, charismatic voice to play off his little slip.

Because poor Satoru had only assumed you would be ordering in, since it was all he really knew. The concept of prepping and cooking a dish from scratch hadn’t even crossed his mind.

A few hours later, the same usual comfort that came from your company, welcomed him along with an assortment of the most delicious smells once he arrived at your apartment.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you smiled, rushing to give him a small peck on the lips when he joined you in the kitchen before quickly hopping back to putting the finishing touches on dinner.

A small sensation of worry filled you, because this was the first time you had witnessed Satoru completely silent. Taking the time to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was alright, you saw his eyes just taking in the scenery of the set table and the somewhat messy kitchen.

“Just take a seat, Satoru,” you chuckled nervously, nodding in the direction of what had become his designated chair. “It’s almost ready.”

You saw a weak nod before he slowly shuffled over to the table and sat down. He swallowed the small lump in his throat when you put the casserole on the table in front of him.

“Dinner is served. But it’s hot, so just, be careful.”

When he didn’t move a muscle, you tried to act as if things were normal and served yourself first, hoping he would eventually tell you whatever it was that had gotten into him.

“Satoru?”

Your soft voice of concern snapped him back to reality, his familiar smile finding its way back to his expression — though he wasn’t truly himself quite yet.

“Looks absolutely delicious!” He gushed and finally filled his plate.

You continued to eye him with some suspicion as he started to dig in. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, washed over him when he took the first bite. Then another, and another, and another — then he was suddenly ogling you with the widest eyes you could remember seeing on him.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

You pursed your lips to choke back the exaggerated laugh that was about to burst out at his statement, that you were convinced had to be a lie.

“Is that so?” You teased, carefully stepping deeper into the topic to see if he was actually being truthful.

“Babe, this-“ he cut himself off, awe overtaking him. “Where did you learn this?”

You shrugged casually. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years, I guess.”

“What else can you make?”

“Uhm, I don’t know,” you stuttered, a little taken aback by his surprising enthusiasm to what you considered to just be a simple pasta dish. “Several things.”

“Could you please cook for me tomorrow? And whenever you have the time?”

“Of course,” you smiled, shoulders resting when he now seemed to be totally fine, finishing his first portion only to take yet another huge serving.

Because to Satoru, it was more than just dinner.

Dinner and eating had always just been yet another task he did simply because he knew he had to eat. Never had there been any deeper meaning to it — but you showed him it could definitely be more.

To him, it also became a sign of devotion. You were willing to put in the time and the work to make him something nice, then you would get to enjoy it together. No one had really done that for him before.

Finally it was Satoru's turn to enjoy the domesticity of something as mundane as a home cooked dinner.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[cjayius]

MAGNETIC — PARK SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS. sunghoon had been stressed for weeks due to their comeback, and an argument with you makes him say really hurtful things, whether they were true or not. but at the end of the day, he knows you love him, and thats really all that matters to sunghoon.

pairing. idol!sunghoon x f!reader wc. 0.4k tw. kissing , slight angst , hoon and reader are fighting genre. fluff ( CATALOGUE )

the tension between you and sunghoon had been building for days. sunghoon barely spent time with you anymore. he was always at work, practicing for his new comeback, and when he was home, he was asleep.

of course, this was not sunghoon's fault at all. it's just that recently your schedules weren't aligning, and you'd rather be occupied than stay home waiting for your boyfriend, so you signed up for more work hours.

this arrangement led to the two of you being able to meet only once or twice in two weeks; you saw sunghoon less often, and you talked to him even lesser.

sunghoon wasn't stupid. he could tell something was wrong. his girlfriend had stopped responding to his messages, and this past month she had seemed off, but whenever he asked her about it, she brushed him off.

it started with a simple misunderstanding, as most arguments do. sunghoon had made a passing comment that struck a nerve, and before you knew it, the two of you were exchanging harsh words, each one stinging more than the last.

" you never listen to me ! " sunghoon's voice was sharp, you could hear the frustration oozing from his voice.

" i do listen, sunghoon, " you shot back, your own voice tinged with irritation, " you never take my opinions seriously ! "

the argument escalated quickly, fueled by the pent-up frustration and unspoken grievances. you both said things you didn't mean, and your words had cut deeper than you'd intended.

you resorted to sitting far from him, on the other end of the couch, refusing to communicate. sunghoon scoffed at your state, " you're always so quiet when it actually matters. you don't even care about us. "

his tone was accusing, and had unknowingly begun to dredge up insecurities you'd tried to bury. suddenly, the argument wasn't just about the disagreement at hand, you could tell that this had been on his mind for a while.

after a few minutes of staring, he was still met with silence from you. sunghoon stormed out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a sinking feeling in your chest.

hours passed in silence, but the argument hung heavy in the air. you tried to focus on other things, but your mind kept drifting back to sunghoon.

just as you were beginning to retire to the bedroom, the front door creaked open, and there stood your boyfriend, obviously surprised that you were still here.

he sighed, walking over to the kitchen counter behind you, pouring himself a glass of water. " i thought you wanted some space ? " he said, voice laced with annoyance.

you glanced up, you had spent enough time alone. " i don't need space, " you replied softly, voice barely above a whisper. " i need you, hoon. "

for a moment, there was silence, then, without another word, sunghoon crossed the room in quick strides, pulling you into his arms with a surprising tenderness.

" i'm sorry. " you smiled against his chest, as he whispered an apology in response to yours.

[bokunoheros]

ཐིཋྀ KINKTOBER - day 25 somno : shouta aizawa/eraserhead

warnings : afab reader, somno obvi, not consensual somno, dub-con, thigh fucking

word count :  630

🐙 note : i hate writing for him i'm sorry it's so short i cannot stand his ass

shouta often came home late, being a pro hero and a teacher was a tough life to live. thankfully aizawa had you around to relieve him of his stress, whether that be by making him dinner or giving him massages, he was always grateful for your support.

so when he came home tonight he didn’t expect you to be knocked out on the couch, a small note left on the kitchen fridge in your adorable handwriting. it read, “welcome home baby, dinner is in the fridge just put it in the microwave for about 2 minutes. lots of love!” signed with your name. shouta smiled to himself, you always worked so hard to be there for him and he appreciated it so much. 

he ate his dinner and put away the dishes, finding you still passed out peacefully on the couch in a rather odd position. he carefully picked you up and brought you to the bedroom, lying you down softly on the mattress. he looked back at your sleeping figure, you looked so peaceful. so… vulnerable. it makes his dick ache. 

after quickly stripping down to just his boxers, he crawls into bed next to you, spooning your smaller form as one strong arm wraps around your waist and the other begins groping one of your tits. he unintentionally is digging his nose into your neck, taking in the way you smell that has him feeling weak. he lets himself give you light kisses on your nape that escalates into sucking softly on the skin, leaving purple bruises along you. 

you stir a bit, causing him to pause his movements, but once you calm down he’s right back at it. he doesn’t mean to make advances on you really, but he can’t help it, you’re just so beautiful while sleeping and your body is so warm and inviting. his hips are moving on their own, as he quietly humps against your soft ass that’s hardly covered by his shirt that you’re wearing. 

“nngh—” you whimper in your sleep and shouta feels his cock twitch in his way too tight boxers, which he’s quick to pull down, just enough to free his erection, and he hisses quietly at the exposure to the cool night air. 

whatever. the air was about to get real humid real fast.

carefully he moves you so that you’re laying on your stomach with your ass up, staring at your body aizawa feels his own cheeks heat up, the sight before him is so lewd, so dirty, and you had absolutely no idea it was even happening.

he feels bad, truly he knows you never talked about this together but he can’t help himself. he looks at your lying form, so pure and peaceful. he thinks to himself it’ll be ok, they just want me to relieve my stress.

he leans down to your shoulder and gives you a kiss on the cheek, grabbing his hard cock in his hand and lining it up between your thighs, he pushes in between them and shivers at the warm feeling of your skin. pushing in and out between your thighs, fucking them gently, he holds onto your waist wrapping his long arms around them and groaning into your ear. you stir a bit but don’t actually wake up, making the idea that you could all the more enticing for shouta. he pushes until he feels that familiar knot in his stomach and he pulls out from your warm flesh to pump his dick and eventually cum on your exposed back, leaving you like that he goes to get a wet rag and lay you back down on the bed. you sleep peacefully, awakening the next morning wrapped in his arms without an inkling of what happened last night.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Meeting your ex jjk boyfriend again after your breakup

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Toji x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,1 k

Warnings: cheating in gojo's part, overwhelming emotions in every part lol

Well that escalated quickly. If you want a part two with Geto, Sukuna, Chose and/or someone else let me know 🤍

Gojo Satoru

You hate to be here. Just the thought of seeing his face again makes your guts turn. When was the last time you encountered each other?

When he was with her.

“Don’t panic, I’m here with you. Remember?”, Utahime mutters into your ear while walking up those cursed steps towards jujutsu high.

“I thought I’d never have to see that jerk’s face again…”

“Well, not when you’re the second strongest. Don’t let that idiot ruin your mood.”

You sign to yourself, gaze drifting over your beloved students.

When you found out your long-term boyfriend Gojo Satoru cheated on you with none other than Mei Mei, you dropped out of Tokyo Jujutsu High immediately. It was Utahime who took you under her wing and made you the teacher you are today – at Kyoto High.

Those past two years, you really managed to stay away from him. After changing your phone number countless times, after searching day and night for a place to live that he won’t find so easily, you finally lived in peace. Far away from the pain he caused, well distracted from your still messed-up feelings.

But now you’re back. And you will be forced to meet that prick.

“There they come”, Nobara mutters while her gaze drifts over every person that comes into frame.

“Hey, who’s that woman over there?”

“That’s (y/n), a former student here at Jujutsu High. She attended the same class as Gojo-sensei. Right now, she’s working as a teacher at Kyoto High”, Megumi explains briefly.

“Former? Why isn’t she here anymore? I’d love to borrow those boots from here. Damn, that outfit really rocks…”

“There have been some…incidents with Gojo-sensei…”

Nobara’s eyes widen in pure curiosity, her eyes scanning you up and down.

“Her, with that white-haired idiot?”

“What are my lovely students talking about?”

Megumi rolls his eyes out of instinct when the tall man comes to a stand behind them.

“Oh look, the students from Kyoto High arrives with their tea-“

His breath gets stuck in your throat when your eyes make contact with his. How long has it been since he last saw you?

You look…flawless. Your hair a little longer than in his imagination, your body well-built by the countless training hours you might have spent over there at Kyoto High.

But your cold gaze is still the same as on that fateful day that still repeats itself over and over inside his head.

Fuck.

“Look who’s there”, he jeers from afar.

You feel like vomiting all over the floor. Were you really dumb enough to think your feelings just disappeared into thin air? You force your eyes away from him and to stare at his students instead. You just need to get those few days over with. Only those couple hours and you’ll get away with not seeing him for another 2 years.

“Shut up, Gojo”, Utahime warns him next to you.

“It’s nice to see you’re still as weak as before, Utahime! I wonder if you’re still crying all the time-“

"Funny, Gojo. It's nice to see your arrogance is still compensating for your insecurities. Some things never change."

The air around you freezes when those words leave your mouth, everyone around you going silent in an instant. It’s only you and him. Him with that suddenly so hardened expression, you with eyes that spit venom his way.  

“Why don’t you save your breath for someone who cares and just leave us alone until the competition starts?”

"Touché. But if you're going to psychoanalyze me, how about we do it somewhere private? We have some catching up to do."

There it is again. That cheeky smile you know painfully well, the way he tilts his head to the side oh so playfully. Your heart wrenches, bleeds out like it did on that day you saw him.

In Mei Mei’s bedroom.

While she was naked.

“I’d rather die, asshole.”

Without gifting him another look you storm away. Towards the main building, as far away as possible without anyone being able to follow you.

Fuck, you swore to yourself you are over this shit. You shouldn’t care about him, shouldn’t even feel bothered by looking at him anymore. Only one glance at him and you’re completely losing it? You thought you were better than this, stronger than you were two years ago. But apparently, nothing changed. You’re still crying over someone who betrayed you in the nastiest way possible.

A gentle grasp on your wrist rips you out of your nightmares and catapults you in an even worse one.

“Let go of me”, you hiss through gritted teeth when his bright blue eyes meet yours.

"I definitely won’t make that mistake again. You can run all you want, but you know we need to talk. You can’t keep avoiding this... or me.”

You yank your wrist away with full force when something inside you snaps.

"Talk? About what, Gojo? How you always think you can just waltz back into my life whenever it suits you? I’m done with your games."

„Stop calling me Gojo like we’re strangers. Just hear me out-“

"Strangers? That’s what we are now, Gojo. Whatever we had, it’s over. You don’t get to decide when I listen to you."

Fuck, you hate the way tears start to burn in your eyes, how his sheer presence shakes you right to your core. Truth is, you never stopped loving him. Not even when he abused your trust like he did, not even when you caught him with Mei Mei that day. Until now, your stupid heart didn’t get the message, still clings onto him for dear life.

And it hurts like hell.

Gojo takes a deep breath in and takes a step towards you.

"Please, just listen. That night - it wasn’t what you think. I was trying to protect you, but I messed up by keeping you in the dark. I would never betray you like that. You have to believe me."

"Protect me? I saw you in Mei Mei’s room. If that wasn’t what it looked like, then explain why you were there. Don’t expect me to just forget what I saw and the way it made me feel. As if your fucking words mean everything!"

You lose it completely, your composure, those rough years of keeping you together. In that second, you lose yourself.

“That night she called me because she told me about a special grade curse that was hunting after you. I entered her room just seconds before you stumbled in. If I had known this, that she only tries to entertain herself with spreading that fucking misunderstanding between us, I would have never-“

“Have you any idea how I felt that day? You…You were my life, Satoru! I would have died for you! And you didn’t even care enough to follow me!”, you now cry out seething with emotion

“I thought I was doing the right thing!”, he shouts so roughly that you flinch.  

“I thought you needed space, that we’ll talk things out when you didn’t respond countless times. I never thought…that you’d actually believe I was cheating on you! You meant everything to me too, and the thought of losing you, of not even knowing where you were, has been killing me. I’m so sorry for not chasing after you. Until this day, there’s nothing I regret more than giving you space in that fucking moment, I should have fought harder to make things right. Fuck, I missed you every single day since you were gone and it kills me, it fucking kills me I can’t call you mine anymore!”

Are those…tears glistening in his eyes. Is that really Gojo Satoru, standing in front of you, crying?

“Seeing you like this… I don’t know if it makes things better or just harder. Maybe you’re genuinely sorry, but the pain you caused me is real. It’s not something that can be fixed with words or tears alone…”

“Just one kiss.”

He draws closer, the heat of his body paired with his signature perfume now so close that you feel like fainting for a second.

“Give me one kiss and I’ll leave you alone.”

“A kiss?”, you breathe out.

His lips haunted you in your dreams frequently, how they felt pressed against yours and comforted you through everything. You hated how your mind always remembered you of what you’ve lost.

Those kissable lips, that mouth that never failed to make you smile.

But now…a kiss?

"Just one kiss, to remember what we had, to see if there’s still something between us. If it doesn’t change anything, I’ll walk away and give you all the space you need. But if there’s even a spark left… I need to know."

Your mind races as you consider his request with a wave of feelings rushing over you like a tsunami. Memories of your shared moments flood back, the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his touch, and the sweetness of his kisses that used to light up your whole fucking world. But what if he hurts you again? What if all those words are nothing but a filthy little lie to play with you all over?

Your heart pounds while you close your eyes briefly, trying to push through the pain and the intensity of the situation. The idea of that one kiss, despite everything, pulls at your heartstrings. That moment of vulnerability and a chance to confront what’s been haunting her dreams, close enough to touch and feel...

Finally, you open your eyes and nod slowly, your voice barely a whisper.

"One kiss."

Gojo’s eyes soften with a mix of relief and hope as he leans in, his breath warm against your oversensitive and touch-starved skin. His lips meet yours with a gentle, hesitant touch. A bittersweet mixture of longing, regret, and a lingering affection that speaks of all both of you once shared, the feelings that still rise from the ashes between both of you – feelings that never really disappeared. Truth is, you never really stopped loving Gojo Satoru. Even if he shattered your heart into thousands of pieces, even if your heart still aches, you can’t escape his gravity.

Out of instinct, you wrap your longing arms around his neck like you always did, press your body even closer against his. Only that one touch, that one kiss in order to feel that he lied.

But instead, the taste his falling tears on your tongue, feel his desperate hands on your waist. Did…Gojo Satoru miss you as well?

As your lips part, a tear slips down both of your cheeks while heavy breathing fills the cramped room between you.

"From the moment you left, I’ve been lost without you. I thought I could move on, but every day without you has been unbearable. I missed you more than I ever thought possible. I’ve been living in a world where everything reminds me of what we had and what I threw away by not following you that night. I never stopped loving you, not for a single fucking day.

I know I’ve made mistakes and I’ve hurt you in ways I can never fully make up for. But standing here now, feeling your arms around me and knowing that you still care... it’s more than I deserve. I love you, and I’ve always loved you. If there’s any chance for us to rebuild what we had, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I need you to know that my feelings for you have never faded, and they never will.”

You look at him with a mix of longing and hope, your eyes silently asking for what you’re yearning for.

"One more kiss," you whisper,

"just to see if it’s real.”

Toji Fushiguro

Your eyes are focus on the glittery liquid that swirls around in your glass, too focused on the play of color to even listen to that jerk opposite of you.

“(y/n), are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, go on”, you mutter through your hand without even looking up.

To be honest, your dating life has been a mess since that one guy. Dates each and every night, nameless men who cling onto your rock bottom for dear life. Getting showered by meaningless compliment that are supposed to drag you into their beds, the bitter taste of gammahydroxybutyricacid on a regular basis.

Just like now. Liquid ecstasy.

You raise your eyebrows, allow yourself a glimpse at that muscular guy with a face that looks like out of every plastic surgeons dream and that fake rolex around his wrist. As if you’d be dumb enough to actually swallow that shit. But on the other hand, you might as well wait until he spent all his money for you in that way too expensive restaurant before leaving him standing in the rain.

“You have to be the prettiest woman I’ve even seen”, he jeers while grabbing your hand.

You force down that wave of puke that threatens to take you over and put on the sweetest smile you have to offer.

What a loser, honestly. Not even able to read a woman properly.

But none of the men you’ve met since him were.

“Aren’t you thirsty? Don’t you like your drink?”

Yeah, like you’re dumb enough to drink that shit.

“I’d actually like to eat something before drinking. Otherwise, I’m drunk immediately”, you give back oh so innocently.

He lets out a disgusting laughter, his hungry eyes almost pilling you out of your skintight dress. Well, that’s what you get for going on a date with someone who calls himself selfmade CEO of something that has to be another lousy pyramid scheme.

Let’s get this over with.

Your eyes dart around the room aimlessly in order to find a way to escape later on. Unfortunately, the toilets don’t provide a window and as it seems, you won’t be able to escape that main hall. Screw those fancy restaurants and their high alert.

It’s a feeling that crawls up your spine so suddenly that your head yanks to the right out of instinct.

Cold eyes. That scar on the corner of his mouth that flinches when he catches you staring at him.

So familiar cold eyes that you feel like fainting for a second.

It can’t be him, it’s impossible that it’s him-

“Toji?”, you breathe out.

You haven’t seen him since that day.

Since the two of you broke up.

You swore to yourself to never see that man again, moved to Tokyo on order to get lost in the crowd, went on countless dates to fuck his face out of your mind.

But as soon as your eyes land on him, your guts twist just like they did before, a wave of fright washing over your usual so broad back.

“I need to go”, you mutter, not even caring about that douchebag on the other side of the table anymore.

You need to get out of here, need to hide in some lonely corner, need to move to another city. Or another country? It seems like he’ll always find you, no matter where you go.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall as you stumble out of the restaurant. Where are you supposed to go? Aimlessly, you haste through the next alley, eyes darting behind you as if you’re haunted.

That toxic fucker, that crazy man who apparently didn’t accept your breakup at all. Toji is no one to be messed with, a maniac when it comes to his toys.

And you are one of those toys. Well, you hope you were.

“Think you can escape me like that?”

The next second, you find yourself pinned against a wall with no way out.

“Let go of me, you freak”, you press out, not even daring to look up at him.

Fuck, you’re absolutely screwed. There’s no way you’ll get out of here like you did last time.

“Is that how you greet the love of your life, huh?”

He grabs your cheek firmly and forces your head towards his.

There they are, those dangerous eyes. Up close, in their full glory.

You feel like puking.

“I don’t love you anymore. You treated me like shit.”

That’s what you told yourself over and over again, literally tattooed on your heart. You can’t love a guy like him, he’ll never give you what you need and want.

“So you’re telling me that guy who wanted to fuck after your blackout is better? Can’t tell me you didn’t notice that loser put something in your drink.”

“It’s none of your business”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Everything that has to do with you is my business, babe. You did a good job hiding from me for a few months. But you can’t escape me”, he mutters against your ear.

His hot breath against your naked and oversensitive skin almost sends you over the edge, forces that knot inside your stomach to start pulsating all over again.

That fucker who knows your body so well. That asshole who plays with your feeling all over again.

“We’ve broke up”, you remind him with unsteady gaze.

“So you have no feelings for me? Hate me? Just because I killed that guy-“

“You killed so many people that I lost count. I can’t do this!”, you blurt out.

“But do you love me?”

Your heart almost pounds out of your chest, sweat now covering your forehead only by looking at him. So many nights, you’ve drank enough to forget your own name.

But you never forgot his.

“Doesn’t matter…”

“So you do.”

Before you’re even able to protest, he lifts you up and cages you against the wall. And your lousy traitor of a body? Wraps your legs around his waist as if none of this ever happened.

“I’ll make it up to you, princess”, he mumbles into the crook of your neck, now placing gentle kisses on your bare skin.

You want to tell him to stop, want to yank your body out of his demanding grasp.

But instead, you let your head fall back and close your eyes.

Fuck, you missed this. You missed him.

“And don’t ya dare to run away from me again. You’re mine.”

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[arieslost]

the other papaya | op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader (brief pato o’ward x fem!reader)

summary: something something the first five times you hear the name “oscar piastri” and the one time you say it

wc: 3,165

warnings: mention of covid lockdown, a wee bit o’ angst, drinking

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

The first time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it was said in contempt.

You knew your boyfriend didn’t hate him, but you also knew that Pato could practically hear the phone ringing with the offer to drive for McLaren in F1 right up until he found out that the seat was going to someone else. To Oscar Piastri. The “kid,” as he so aptly referred to him.

“He’s only two years younger than you,” you admonished him one night, soon after the announcement was made public.

“Exactly. A kid.”

“I’m two years younger than you.” You said, and that made him wrinkle his nose.

“Point taken.”

You would describe your relationship with Pato O’Ward as puppy love. Things between the two of you escalated a little too quickly, as many things in 2020 did. You went from going on a whopping four dates by the end of 2019 to living together for the foreseeable future when everything went on lockdown. Your mother had voiced her concern about it, but if you didn’t live with him you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Besides, you liked each other so much that it only made sense that you continued to build your relationship in the comfort of his spacious apartment. The two of you settled into a decent rhythm, and you took the time to learn more about motorsport. When he was finally able to hit the track again, you went to every race you could, decked out in papaya, cheering him on no matter what. And you continued to do so even though he lost his chance at driving in F1 to “the kid.”

The second time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it came from the man himself when you ran into him at the 2024 Australian Grand Prix.

It was the first time you felt rather hesitant about going to a race with your boyfriend. Pato was welcomed to the McLaren F1 team as a reserve driver, and that was how you found yourself feeling extremely out of place in the McLaren garage. You met Oscar’s girlfriend before you met him, and while she was kind enough to get you a pair of headphones and offer to sit with you during the race, the entire interaction had you feeling like you should’ve just stayed back at the hotel. All the other WAGs were dressed to the nines, looking effortlessly beautiful, and you were wearing ripped jeans and a jersey with Pato’s number on it, like you always did, even though he wasn’t racing. With Pato busy in a debrief, you were busy just trying to stay out of the way and not stick out like a sore thumb.

“Excuse me,” someone said, and you assumed you were in the way, so you apologized and started moving when the person grabbed your arm to stop you. “No, sorry, I just– hi. You’re Pato’s girlfriend, yeah?”

Your eyes widened when you recognized the man talking to you. “Um… yes, I am.”

“I’m Oscar. Piastri,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, accepting his handshake and telling him your name in return. “Are you here to tell me I need to leave?”

“What? No, of course not. Pato told me you were here, so I wanted to come say hi.”

“Oh.” You could feel your face starting to grow hot, because you really weren’t sure what to do in this situation.

Pato lost a chance at a seat to this guy, and you remembered his disappointment well. But you didn’t expect Oscar to come up to you in a million years.

“That’s really nice of you,” you continued, trying to smile without looking too awkward. “Congrats on getting the seat. You must be pretty talented.”

“Ah, thanks.” He looked at you for a moment, and you looked back. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi.”

You giggled in spite of yourself. “You said that already.”

“Right, yeah. Well, it was nice to meet you,” he said, hesitantly tacking your name onto the end of his sentence. “Thanks for being here.”

“Nice to meet you too, Oscar. Good luck today.”

Two races later, Pato messaged him to congratulate him on his podium, and you mentioned wanting to thank and congratulate him yourself. You got Oscar’s number, and after his quick response, the conversation died out, just as you expected. You didn’t have anything else to say to him anyway, but soon after, you got a follow request from him on Instagram. You accepted without a second thought– just one papaya supporting another.

The third time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it was when a TikTok showed up on your feed talking about the “shocking split” between him and his girlfriend. You were reasonably surprised; his girlfriend was beautiful and kind, and from an outsider’s perspective they seemed quite happy with each other. The video went on to discuss speculation that his girlfriend was the one who had ended the relationship, and there were pictures of him looking visibly upset at the latest race. You closed the app, feeling like you were massively invading his privacy even though the first thing you saw upon opening Instagram was a statement on his story confirming the breakup. You couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

“Ah, so you saw, too,” Pato said, adjusting his workout clothes as he leaned over your shoulder.

“It’s terrible,” you sighed, shutting your phone off. “They seemed so happy together.”

“High school sweethearts, too. That makes it worse.”

You gave him a look. “You can feel bad for him, y’know.”

“I do!” Pato raised his hands with a laugh. “But if he wants to sit out of a race because of this, I won’t be upset.”

“You’re terrible, get out of here.” You shoved him playfully, and he left with a kiss on your forehead.

The last race weekend before summer break brought you a taste of the heartbreak Oscar went through only a couple months prior.

Pato had been in one of the older cars running some tests, and came home a little later than usual. He didn’t even answer your question of how his day was before he was sitting you down on the couch and looking anywhere but at your face.

“Pato, what’s going on? You’re kind of freaking me out,” you laughed nervously.

“I think we should break up.” He said, face stony.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a little while,” he began, “and I think it’s for the best.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” You asked, shifting away from him as you felt your heart begin to pound.

“Ever since I became a reserve driver.” He confessed, and you scoffed.

“Are you serious right now?”

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to a F1 seat.” He said, like that made breaking up logical.

“Yeah, I know. And you know how I know? Because I’ve been around for years.” You hissed, standing up and walking towards the bedroom. “But I guess that means nothing to you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Pato protested, following close behind. “This is my career. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“Right. Of course.” You nodded, moving about the room to collect as much of your stuff as you could with shaking hands.

The rest of the week went by in a blur. You packed up all your things and took the soonest flight to Australia to try and forget about the fact that Pato had just thrown away years of being together for a fleeting chance at driving a stupid race car.

The fourth time you hear Oscar Piastri’s name, it’s on the other end of the phone.

The two weeks following your breakup are uneventful and entirely consist of you, the warm Australian sun, and the spare bedroom in your aunt and uncle’s house. You haven’t deleted any of your IndyCar posts, nor have you posted any more. In fact, you haven’t posted anything since the last time you were in Australia, only a few months ago. Your Instagram has become stagnant; a reflection of your real life. You haven’t told many people about your breakup, so you’re surprised when your phone rings. Even more so when you see who it is.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Oscar. Piastri,” he adds his last name like an afterthought, just like he did when he introduced himself in the garage.

“I know,” you say, pushing yourself into a sitting position on your bed. “Caller ID. Although you’re probably the last person I’d expect a call from.”

“Listen, are you not around anymore?” He asks, evidently not in the mood to beat around the bush. “I haven’t seen you, and you haven’t posted about IndyCar or anything.”

“Ah, um, yeah, no, I’m not.” You clear your throat uncomfortably. “Actually, Pato and I broke up. Well, he broke up with me. So, no reason for me to be around, I guess.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, his loud sigh crackling through the microphone. “I figured something was wrong. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I’m uh… I’m sorry too. Seemed like you had a good thing going.”

“Thanks. Seemed that way for you, too,” he mumbles. “So… I guess things have really been sucking for both of us lately.”

“Pretty much.” You laugh.

“This is a terrible idea,” he begins after a moment of silence, “but are you in Australia right now?”

You debate lying to him, because it is a terrible idea, and you have a feeling you know what he’s going to say next. You don’t care. “I am.”

“Alright, well, it’s summer break for F1 right now, and to be honest you’re the only person I know that understands what I’ve been going through.”

“Are you asking me to be your wallowing buddy?” You ask.

“Something like that. My plan was pretty much along the lines of drowning our sorrows in alcohol.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and for some reason that does you in.

The fifth time you hear Oscar Piastri’s name, it’s through a cheap karaoke microphone.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve spent with him, and you feel like you’re still a little drunk from the night before when he breaks open a bottle of champagne.

“What is this, a celebration?” You ask, stretching your arms and legs out so you look like a starfish where you lay on the living room floor.

“It’s whatever the fuck we want it to be.” He takes two glasses and pours the champagne out.

You giggle at him while he dramatically sets them both down on the coffee table at your side. “You definitely pregamed before you got here.”

“I did not,” he protests, but you shake your head.

“No, no, you say curse words like that when you’re drunk.”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘oh my God, this champagne is so fucking good.’” You mock him after taking a sip, and he starts laughing too.

“Fine, you caught me.” He throws his hands up. “I pregamed. But, I walked here, so who cares?”

You’re glad that your aunt and uncle are out for the night, because a few hours and countless glasses of champagne later find the both of you in the attic, discovering a karaoke microphone without a machine to match.

“Screw the machine, we don’t need the shitty machine,” Oscar rolls his eyes, watching you put batteries into the microphone. “We’ll just find something on YouTube. Does it work?”

You flip the switch and hold it up to your mouth. “HELLO? It works.”

You regret putting fresh batteries into it as soon as Oscar gets up to sing. You think that he might not be half bad if he’s sober, but drunk, his singing is absolutely insufferable. You would care if you weren’t equally as drunk as him. He pulls up a karaoke video of Last Friday Night by Katy Perry, only after getting you to swear on the lives of your entire family that you won’t tell anyone what you see or hear. You consider secretly recording him, but the second he starts, you’re practically folded in half from laughing so hard at his antics and the fleeting idea is gone.

He’s so dramatic with every lyric, like he’s trying to act all the words out while he’s singing about a stranger in his bed and pink flamingos in his (nonexistent) pool. When he gets to the part of the chorus talking about taking too many shots, he gestures for you to hand him the champagne bottle. You hand it over immediately and watch as he stops singing entirely to take a long drink straight from the bottle, ignoring how attractive he looks the whole while. You actually think that you’d really like to kiss him. You’re drunk, and you’re heartbroken. You just want to laugh and forget about it all. So when he chokes on the champagne for a moment and flounders to find where he’s supposed to be in the song, you do just that.

The song ends both too soon and not soon enough, and you give him a round of applause, chanting, “Encore!” a few times as he takes a bow.

“I’m Oscar Piastri,” he yells, “and I fucking hate relationships!”

You cheer loudly. “Speak on it!”

“Except I have a problem,” he says, all of a sudden dejected as he flops onto the couch beside you, still speaking into the mic. “I have a biiiig, huuuuge problem.”

“Tell the all-knowing, and she shall answer,” you turn onto your side to face him and reach out to… you don’t remember what you wanted to do. Maybe touch his cheek. Or his nose. Or his lips.

Your hand ends up resting on the top of his head, fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair.

“I think I might really like you,” he whispers, his words muffled by his lips smushing against the top of the mic. “Which is not good. I mean, it’s good, like, I think you’re amazing, but it’s not good, because I broke up and then you broke up, so we both broke up, but not with each other, with other people, and–”

You cut him off by taking the mic from him with your free hand and switching it off.

“Sorry.” He says, blinking at you slowly. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“We do,” you begin, petting his head. “Eventually. But not now. I am way too drunk to talk about this.”

This makes him start giggling, so you start giggling, and then you’re both cackling and clutching your stomachs.

You want to laugh, and forget about it, and you want to do it every single day with Oscar.

The first time you say the name Oscar Piastri, it’s while you’re laying in a hospital bed.

You’ve always been notorious for getting easily bruised, but breaking a bone is a first. Especially when it happens in the public eye.

You were only trying to make a cute, aesthetic TikTok showcasing your first race weekend as Oscar’s official girlfriend when you tripped and fractured your ankle in front of half the McLaren team. Not to mention the throng of fans mere feet away.

The two of you didn’t start dating until half a year after his drunken confession, and when you first started going out you had to be very discreet so fans didn’t expose the both of you before either of you were ready. Most of your dates ended up being at your aunt and uncle’s, which had become your home too once you got a job and started really getting yourself together after your breakup. He flew out to see you all the time, and as soon as he suggested that you come with him to the race of the season, you jumped on the opportunity. You didn’t think you’d ever go to a race again, but here you were. You were both happy, and you were both ready.

And now you’re fuming, mentally cursing yourself as you look down at your boot-covered ankle that has now effectively ruined your entire weekend.

Oscar comes rushing into the room, and you hold up a hand.

“Don’t tell me. Do not even tell me.” You shake your head. “Just tell me if it’s somewhat safe to go online or if I should just throw my phone out.”

“What?”

“I know people are talking about it. Oh, no.” Your eyes widen. “No, no. I’ve become a public embarrassment for you. I knew it. It only took me a few hours.” You cover your face with your hands. “Oh, my God… I am so sorry.”

“Again, what?” He asks, prying your hands away. “Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, aside from that,” you gesture to the boot, glaring at it before your eyes shoot back up to him. “Wait a second, how did quali go? Did you do your media stuff already?”

“I’m starting P5. I came here right after, no media.” He rushes out, pulling up a chair so he can sit right next to you and hold your hand. “They’re letting you go, right?”

“Yeah, just have to do some paperwork and get a prescription– why didn’t you go to the media?”

“Because they told me you got hurt? And you needed to be hospitalized?” He says, like it’s obvious.

“Oz, you get fined for that!” You exclaim. “Oh, no, this is so bad! First I embarrass you– no, not just you, probably the entire team, and now you’re here and not there and you’re going to get in trouble… fuck, what if you get fired?!”

“Baby, baby,” Oscar laughs, grabbing both of your hands now. “I’ll get fined, but I’m not gonna get fired just because I skipped media one time. Zak was fine with it, if that makes you feel better.”

You’re still worried, and he can see it in your eyes.

“What’s got you so worked up about this?” He asks softly.

“I just… don’t want to be a risk towards your career.” You say, feeling ashamed that you can still hear Pato’s words from the day he broke up with you. Oscar knows immediately.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, leaning in and kissing you on the lips, and then your nose. “None of this means anything if I don’t have you.”

You’re still taking it slow, but this is the closest either of you have come to saying “I love you” without saying it, so you pull your hands from his and cup his cheeks to pull him into another kiss.

“Oscar Piastri, you are my whole world.”

Ten minutes later, Lando comes bursting into the room with such aggression that he almost faceplants, and he makes so much noise that a nurse runs into the room looking highly concerned.

So, you laugh, and you forget about it, and you do it with Oscar at your side, where you know he’ll stay for the rest of your lives.

note: this was a bitch to write. also i was gonna make a layout for this but i really wanted to post it tonight so it is sans layout and was edited like a half hour before it’s scheduled to post. all that being said, i hope u enjoyed!!

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever

[bluejutdae]

Perv!Roommate Jeongin | Jeongin x you

notes: I did not edit this, so there are probably mistakes and mix ups. Enjoy :)

> PervRoommate!Jeongin seems innocent enough at first. He’s a polite and kind guy, who often asks if you need help cleaning the kitchen or around the apartment. You consider yourself lucky, you’ve heard of plenty of stories in which a roommate found online turns out to be someone crazy or an asshole. Jeongin is an okay guy, though. A bit reserved and introverted, so it’s not super easy to start a friendship with him, but nothing too alarming. As soon as the first heat wave of the summer arrives, you’re both shedding clothes. He rarely wears a shirt, or if he does, it’s one of those tank tops cut at the side. You start wearing crop tops or loose light shirts and shorts, hoping to find refuge from the heat.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin who started getting obsessed with you since the first time you two met. According to him you’re too pretty for his own good. And yours. The shorter your shirts become, the bigger his obsession. Everyday he wakes up and hopes to see a sliver of skin normally covered. Once you were stretching on the couch after a long movie and your cropped shirt showed the lower edge of your bra cup; after that, he made his mission seeing your bra fully.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin feeds his obsession with you by stealing glances when you’re not looking, his eyes tracing your legs in your sleep shorts, your braless boobs, your plump lips wrapped around a spoon. It escalates quickly, and waits until you leave the house to sneak into your room with his heart running faster than ever and he rifles through your drawers, searching for a pair of your panties.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin that hides your underwear under his pillow, heart punching behind his ribcage with a mix of thrill and guild. That same night, when he’s sure you’re asleep he takes them in his hands and buries his face in them, inhaling your scent (or rather the one of your softener, but it has to do for now). His hand is inside his shorts before he even consciously decides to, his cock hard and weeping, so turned on by what he did that even the simple touch of his too dry hand has him on the edge. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming (it actually takes embarrassingly little) and he catches his spurting cum with your panties, soiling them and marking you as his.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin starts to take advantage of your living together situation to see and touch more of you. He accidentally on purpose enters the bathroom when he knows you just took a shower, hoping to catch you naked; movie nights start later than they used to, so much that you normally fall asleep on the couch near him mid-movie, and he has all the time to stare at you, imagining you’re his. He is careful, never doing more than you let him, never spooking you, but little by little he pushes your boundaries to see how much he can get away with.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin makes it a habit to steal your underwear. He waits for the moments when you’re out, sneaking into your room to take another pair. Now he feels a little bolder, leaving subtle hints of what he’s doing. Nothing too obvious, nothing that can track back to him, but enough to make you wonder if it’s all in your mind or if there’s something really happening. Despite your doubt, you don’t suspect him. He’s your sweet and reserved roommate, so innocent looking…

> PervRoommate!Jeongin finally becomes more comfortable around you, letting you hug him and becoming more touchy; often brushing your arms, your knees or your thigh under the false pretense of friendly comfort. You notice his gaze lingering on you a second too long, but you don’t give it too much importance. He’s a timid guy, he probably has little experience with girls despite his ripped body and gorgeous face, so maybe he’s curious about girls?

> PervRoommate!Jeongin, who comes back home with four bottles of soju, asking you to celebrate his promotion with him. He looks so happy you can’t refuse. One bottle turns into two, and later you’re both tipsy (you more than him, but he doesn’t let you see that), sitting on the couch talking about friends and relationships. It’s the perfect moment for him to make his move. He leans closer, pushing away a strand of hair that escaped your ponytail. The air is thick with tension and his hand -when did he put it on your thigh?- slides a little higher.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin talks with a deeper and more confident voice, complimenting you in a way you’ve never seen him do. There’s something darker in his eyes, in his words, but you don’t mind. Unwilling to make a mistake, you brush it off as friendly flirting, just something funny when you’re tipsy, but he has a different idea in his mind. He’s persistent when he leans in and whispers “you smell so good. I wonder how you taste” in your ear. His hot breath against your skin makes you shiver. You’re too surprised by the turn of events to reject him. You can’t protest even when he suggest something more, when he suggest you two help each other; he’s suggesting a friend with benefit situation, but the soju and his breath and his voice and his hand on your thigh are too much for you to say no.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin knows exactly which buttons to push, when he looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that is a mix of innocence and absolute raunch; you’re confused. Are you taking advantage of him? Was this your idea? He uses his sweet and innocent façade to manipulate you, playing your emotions until you’re agreeing.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin insists on sealing the deal with a kiss, and the moment your lips meet, you realize he’s far from inexperienced. His hands slide under your shirt, one grabbing your hip and the other wandering on the expanse of your stomach. Despite every doubt you can have, you melt into his touch; your resistance crumbles under his lips, that are slowly but fiercely tracing a path from your lips to your tits.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin’s obsession grows even more now that he has tasted you, not what he knows what it feels to be inside you, to make you cum on his cock, to hear you moan his name. His dark desire grows and grows, and so does his belief that you belong to him, you just don’t know. Right now, he has you exactly where he needs you to be, a little confused but sated, enough interested in his twisted version of affection that you can’t seem to escape.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin who brings you breakfast in bed, the morning after, smiling sheepishly but with rosy cheeks, confessing he never expected the night to turn like it did. And every time he touches, every time you concede, he knows he has you in his grasp and he can now do whatever he wants…

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 ✩࿐

pairings: alhaitham, childe, cyno, heizou, kazuha, scaramouche, tighnari, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, comfort in a way, established relationship, protective boyfriends, persistent stranger won’t stop trying to ask you out

summary: you and your boyfriend attend a party together. however, a bothersome man keeps trying to flirt with you.

a/n: unfortunately icky people are unavoidable, but the idea of being protected from them is just <3 anyway, i hope you enjoy reading this!

ALHAITHAM

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

Those are the words you repeat to yourself over and over, echoing through your head like an overplayed melody. It takes everything in you to remain in control of your emotions and refrain from slapping the audacious man standing in front of you.

You want nothing more than to leave peacefully before things escalate to a dreadful point of no return.

And amidst all of your wishing, a saving grace comes to aid you. In other words, your boyfriend turns up at just the right moment, although you expected nothing less from someone as perceptive as Alhaitham.

“Is there a problem here?” Alhaitham asks as he walks up to you. His voice is as cold as the glacial essence of bygone winters. It’s not unusual for Alhaitham to speak in such a tone, but somehow his words feel more pointed right now.

“No,” the man blurts out quickly, regarding Alhaitham with a look filled with both curiosity and apprehension. “I was just trying to ask them out.” He gestures at you, and you internally cringe at his antics.

He really is shameless.

However, Alhaitham is unfazed by the stranger’s actions. He simply sighs and takes your hand in his.

“Good because we’ll be taking our leave now,” Alhaitham says monotonously. He begins to pull you away, not sparing so much as a glance back at the man you had been conversing with just seconds prior.

“Wh — Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” the man exclaims, trying his best to catch up with both you and Alhaitham.

Despite his efforts, he’s swept away by a tide of partygoers as Alhaitham leads you through crowds of people. It almost feels as though he had planned an escape before approaching you, observing, analyzing, and carefully calculating in a meticulous manner in order to determine the best course of action.

Once the two of you are sure you’ve successfully evaded the stranger, Alhaitham looks you up and down, scanning your body for any sign of injury. He ensures you’re alright before speaking.

“After that experience, I doubt you want to remain here any longer,” he says. Although he’s still quite stoic, there’s a certain lofty quality to his voice that makes it feel softer than it had back when he had confronted the irritating man. “I suggest that we leave right now. I was beginning to get a headache from the constant noise anyway.”

You crack a small smile. Alhaitham is as blunt as always, and that’s what you love about him. Your boyfriend is incredibly straightforward, and while other people would see his behaviour as callous or insensitive, you know that this is just how he is.

“Take me away,” you tell Alhaitham, looking into his eyes, gazing at your reflection within hues reminiscent of a breathtaking oasis in the middle of a desert. 

It’s rather fitting. Alhaitham is your refuge. With him, you feel safe, and you’re sure that if any similar situations arise in the future, he’ll be by your side to defend you.

With those words, your boyfriend leads you out the front door of the party venue, and you escape into the night, losing yourselves in the bliss found under the ephemeral lamplight of a secluded evening, warmed by each other’s touch.

CHILDE

“Hey, you,” you hear a familiar voice speak from behind you. You look back to see strands of messy ginger hair resting above ocean blue eyes. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were making my lover uncomfortable.” Childe enunciates the words “my lover”, making it clear that you’re already taken.

Your boyfriend moves between you and the man, shielding you.

You sigh. If this escalates any more, it won’t end well. You know Childe well enough to predict that the confrontation could get rather… heated if you didn’t stop it. However, you feel as though you can’t do anything.

“Who said they were yours?” the man talks back, smirking at Childe. He knows Childe is challenging him.

You flinch. Childe seems to be getting more and more irritated by the moment. As you glance at your lover, you notice a blaze of blue embers beginning to flare within his irises.

“Listen carefully, buddy,” Childe says, leaning in closer to the man. Your boyfriend towers over the stranger in an almost comical manner. “They’re my partner, and if you don’t stay away from them,” Childe pauses, “well, let’s just say you’ll find the consequences quite unpleasant.”

Childe smiles, and although he maintains a friendly façade, the intent of his words is not lost on the man. An icy chill permeates the air, and you feel shivers go down your spine.

Although he’s dense, the man before you seems to sense the change in atmosphere as well. He mutters something under his breath, glares at your boyfriend one last time, and leaves. 

“Serves him right,” Childe chuckles. “I’m glad you’re safe now.,” your boyfriend tells you, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “If anyone ever bothers you again, just tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”

CYNO

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your boyfriend’s deep voice interjects, throwing the man standing in front of you off. He’s standing behind the stranger, gazing deep into your eyes with a look that reassures you that everything will be okay.

You smile. As expected, Cyno is as vigilant as ever, especially when it comes to your safety. Nothing ever slips past him.

“Why do you want to know?” the persistent man replies, not bothering to turn around and face Cyno. It seems that he hasn’t recognized Cyno yet because you’re sure that if he did, he would back off in an instant.

“Perhaps because I’m the General Mahamatra?” Cyno refutes dryly. It’s almost laughable how casual Cyno sounds because as the stranger hears your boyfriend’s words, his features twist into an expression of shock, undergoing a metamorphosis where all hints of smugness are replaced by nothing short of pure horror.

The stranger slowly turns away from you to face Cyno. As soon as he catches a glimpse of your lover, he freezes. Soon enough, fear causes tremors to wrack his body, and he averts his gaze in order to look anywhere but directly at Cyno.

“What’s wrong?” Cyno asks the stranger. “You’re not quite as bold now as you were a few seconds ago.” Your boyfriend acts clueless, taunting the man slightly. Although it’s barely noticeable, you see his lips turn up ever so slightly in a subtle grin for a few seconds before the expression vanishes entirely.

“I — I’m sorry, General Mahamatra,” the man says. He shrinks back under Cyno’s gaze. “Please forgive me.”

Cyno sighs.

“I’ll let you off easy this time,” he mutters, “but if I catch you harassing anyone else…” Cyno trails off, leaving the rest to the man’s imagination.

The man swallows a lump in his throat and nods furiously.

“And as for you,” Cyno makes eye contact with you, “I’ll escort you away from this man,” he says.

He gestures for you to follow him, and as he leads you away from the stranger, you feel your nerves beginning to settle. The erratic beating of your heart, the restless thoughts battering your weary mind like waves tossling a ship, and the overwhelming urge to simply run away all cease to exist. Instead, a sense of safety floods over you. It’s a calmness like no other, akin to the ambience encapsulated in quiet dusks spent with the one you love most.

Once you’re far enough away, Cyno laces your fingers with his. Although no words are exchanged, you know it’s an act of comfort, and after the hectic events of the day, you find that it’s exactly what you need.

HEIZOU

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Heizou’s voice interrupts the conversation between you and the stranger trying to pursue you.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your boyfriend comes up to you.

“You have a good eye,” Heizou says, causing confusion to riddle your mind. What is he saying? Is he encouraging the stranger to continue flirting with you?

“Thanks,” the man replies. However, his eyes narrow after a few seconds. “But are you going to try to steal them away from me?”

Heizou chuckles. “Well, it’s not like they’re yours, right?”

The stranger’s features twist into an expression of shock, and as he’s lost in a surprised daze, Heizou glances over at you and winks. You sigh. Leave it to Heizou to come up with a cheeky method to get you out of a predicament.

The man rolls his eyes, and then turns his attention back to you. He plasters a smirk onto his face.

“Come on, darling,” the man says, his voice is sickly sweet, dripping with a venomous nectar, “I’m much more attractive than this idiot, right?” The stranger gestures at Heizou, and you have to force yourself to stifle a giggle.

“I disagree,” you tell him, causing the smug expression to fall from his features.

The man opens his mouth to protest, but no sound comes out.

“Man alive,” Heizou says. “I guess I’m just far too charming to resist.” He grins at you playfully and inches closer towards you.

The stranger scowls, and turns away.

“Fine,” he sighs. “You win.”

Your boyfriend kisses you on the cheek as the man walks away. You look into his verdant eyes and grin at him, thankful that he was able to get you out of the troubling situation, even if his ways were slightly unorthodox.

KAZUHA

“Excuse me, love, is this man bothering you?” Kazuha asks as he walks up to you. He subtly wraps an arm around your shoulders, making it clear to everyone in the room that you’re taken.

You feel the tension within your body alleviate as you’re enveloped in your boyfriend’s warm embrace. Even now, his touch is simultaneously as comforting as the sun on a euphoric spring day and as calming as a gentle autumnal breeze. The discomfort that you had previously felt due to the unfamiliar man trying to flirt with you dissipates.

“Oh, is he your boyfriend?” the man sneers, glaring at Kazuha with eyes that speak of malicious intent. He shuffles slightly closer to you, and you feel shivers run down your spine.

“He is. Now will you leave me alone?” you respond bluntly, hoping that your words will be enough to make the man back off.

You feel Kazuha’s grip on you tighten. Your heart melts when you realize he’s trying to protect you. He can read you like a book, and he’s the most thoughtful boyfriend you could ever ask for, unlike the man standing before you.

You look over at Kazuha, and you notice that his crimson eyes have narrowed, the stars once filling his irises turning into pointed daggers. It’s almost disturbing to see him this way. You’re so used to seeing your boyfriend with a look of pure adoration dancing through lakes of soft red, but now he looks nothing short of intimidating.

It seems that the stranger feels the same way as you because as you look back at him, you see his gaze lock with Kazuha’s. He shrinks back, and he begins to step away.

“Okay, okay, fine,” the man scowls. “I’m out of your league anyway!” He quickly turns around and walks away.

You and Kazuha watch as he leaves. Once he disappears back into the crowd, Kazuha speaks.

“Are you alright, my love?” Kazuha asks you.

You smile contently when you hear his voice soften once more. You’re so lucky to have a caring and kind boyfriend who always has your best interest in mind.

“I’m fine, and it’s all because of you,” you say. “Thank you, Kazuha.”

SCARAMOUCHE

Discomfort flows through your veins, and shivers run down your spine. The man before you is making you feel unparalleled discomfort, and at this point, you’re wondering why your boyfriend hasn’t stepped in.

You can see him in the edges of your vision. His hair, spun of midnight, sits atop porcelain skin, and most strikingly of all, a gargantuan hat obscures his eyes. As expected, he’s sitting in a secluded corner, away from all the action, but you know he’s keeping an eye on you.

“There’s no need to act so shy,” the man tells you, stepping closer to you. He smirks at you, and you feel nothing short of disgust. “I’m friendly. I promise.”

The stranger leans in, and he’s about to wrap an arm around your shoulder when all of a sudden, someone grabs his wrist.

“Care to explain what you were trying to do with my lover?” Scaramouche hisses at the man. 

When you look over at your boyfriend, you notice that there’s a certain glint in his eyes. It’s dangerous. He looks as though he’s ready to do almost anything to defend you from the unfamiliar man.

Although the stranger is stunned for a few moments, he quickly snaps out of his daze and chuckles.

“This is ridiculous,” the man says, sneering at Scaramouche.

This is not going to end well.

“Why would I feel threatened by someone like you?” the stranger glances down at Scaramouche with disdain dancing through his irises. While it’s true that Scaramouche is rather short in stature compared to the man, you think that he’s underestimated your boyfriend’s strength.

The stranger attempts to pull his wrist out from Scaramouche’s grip, but Scaramouche only tightens his hold. It’s in that moment that you see the unfamiliar man’s eyes go wide with fear and uncertainty.

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to pick a fight I can’t win?” Scaramouche retorts.

The stranger seems to shrink under the glare hosted within your boyfriend’s indigo hues. Although Scaramouche’s eyes usually resemble a serene night sky speckled with entire galaxies of stars when he’s with you, his softer side has now vanished. Instead, his irises are filled with a coldness that the majority of people who cross him are familiar with.

Scaramouche smirks.

“Listen closely because I’ll only say this once,” your boyfriend hisses in a low tone, indiscernible to the party-goers around you, and yet when his voice reaches your ears, it almost feels as though it’s been amplified. “Leave me and my partner alone. Lay another finger on them, and there will be far worse consequences.”

Upon hearing Scaramouche’s words, the man nods furiously.

You almost laugh.

Even though he tried to appear all tough earlier, the stranger has been reduced to nothing more than a trembling coward in the presence of your boyfriend.

“Now, run along,” Scaramouche releases the man from his grasp, waving his hand as an indication for the stranger to get out of his sight. “Take this as a warning.”

Without another word, the man scrambles away, nearly tripping over himself in his panicked state. Once he’s finally gone, you hear your boyfriend breathe out a sigh of relief.

“What a bother,” he says. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Thank you for protecting me.”

You lean in towards your boyfriend and give him a quick kiss as a reward. His lips are soft and as warm as ever, and butterflies dance around in the pit of your stomach, eliciting feelings of absolute bliss within your heart.

As you pull away, you note that a shade of red has dawned upon his cheeks, tinting his pale skin a hue reminiscent of vivid sunsets.

TIGHNARI

“Excuse me. Is it just me, or does the person you’re talking to appear extremely uncomfortable?” Tighnari asks, coming up to you and narrowing his eyes at the man pestering you. His tone isn’t the friendliest, but you don’t blame him. After all, it’s difficult to remain calm when a stranger is persistently flirting with your significant other.

The man chuckles, completely disregarding Tighnari’s words and turning his attention back to you. He smirks at you and then speaks.

“You’re not uncomfortable, right gorgeous?” he says, looking at you with an expression that sends shivers down your spine. It’s ironic. He insists that you’re alright, yet you’re feeling more and more unsettled by the second. Thankfully, your boyfriend is here to help.

“Take a closer look at their body language,” Tighnari sighs, staring intently at the man.

Although the stranger does take a few seconds to look you over, he doesn’t seem to notice anything. Instead, he simply rolls his eyes and turns back to Tighnari in order to refute him once more.

“I don’t see anything wrong,” the man scoffs, glaring daggers at your lover. He’s beginning to become slightly hostile, and it seems Tighnari can tell because as the stranger steps closer towards you, Tighnari wraps a hand firmly around your wrist and pulls you behind him.

“Since you’re not sensible enough to discern that you’re bothering them,” Tighnari gestures at you, his gaze steeling into the embodiment of desolate winter flurries as he turns his focus back to the man, “we’ll be taking our leave.”

Before the stranger can protest, Tighnari drags you away. He leads you into a crowd, and as you walk, you begin to feel disoriented. However, you assume it’s all part of your boyfriend’s plan to lose the man. Every left and every right begins to feel the same, but eventually, you end up outside the venue in a breathtaking spot where a gentle zephyr causes leaves to sing songs of blissful serenity and thousands of stars dazzle atop a canvas of dark night.

“Thank you,” you say to Tighnari once the two of you stop. As you meet his gaze, you notice that his expression has softened, and his eyes reflect the majestic skies above.

“Don’t thank me,” he tells you. “I was just doing what any good lover would do.”

He pulls you into an embrace. In the midst of evening frigidness, his touch causes a tepidness to blossom — a tepidness you wish to indulge in until sunrise paints the sky shades of pink and orange.

XIAO

Right now, you need Xiao more than ever, but unfortunately for you, he’s not here.

Xiao had left earlier in order to get some fresh air. You agreed to let him go upon seeing the distress and discomfort swimming through his warm amber hues. He told you he would be back soon, and you hope that he’ll stay true to his promise because at the moment, you just want him to show up and save you.

You just have to hold out until he returns.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with me?” the stranger before you asks, gazing at you with pleading eyes. You grimace under the weight of his stare, a look that feels so unbearably heavy upon your conscience.

“Sorry, I have a boyfriend.” You force the words out, trying your hardest to remain civil, even in the face of such a predicament.

The man’s eyes darken and fill with shadows reminiscent of the essence of night. Your body tenses, and a feeling of anxiousness begins to fill your heart, causing it to beat in a panicked frenzy.

“Are you lying to me?” he asks.

But just as things appear as though they’re about to escalate, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“Is something wrong?” a calm voice questions you.

It’s Xiao. He’s here, and upon realizing that, a sense of security washes over you. Your boyfriend is back, and now you have actual proof that you’re already taken.

“Xiao!” you exclaim, heart filling with elation as you glance over at him. At the moment, he looks more handsome than ever. Party lights accentuate his dark hair with various shades of the rainbow, and his irises contain dandelion hues that glow as brightly as ever. You feel nothing short of relieved to see him.

Your boyfriend looks back at you, and when you make eye contact with him, reassurance flickers through his gaze.

You’re going to be alright.

Xiao slides his hand down your arm in order to interlace your fingers together. His warmth momentarily causes you to forget all the worry that had once plagued your mind, and the tension within you unravels and dissipates, dissolving under rays of golden comfort.

Xiao looks over at the man, who appears to be frozen in shock and embarrassment. He sighs and tugs on your hand gently, signaling to you that now is the perfect time to make your escape.

You allow your boyfriend to pull you away, weaving in and out of a crowd of partygoers. He pulls you away from the commotion, and before you know it, the two of you are together alone in a secluded spot on the roof of the venue.

Xiao wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in an embrace akin to the caress of the luminous moon above. It’s comforting, and after all the turmoil, you feel like everything is alright once more.

to be honest, this probably isn’t my best work, but i hope you liked reading it! thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this, please reblog or comment!

[yamujiburo]

I get the feeling that Ash gets his pokemon trainer talent from his mother (making his father even more of a deadbeat failure in the main series timeline)- but Delia never really had a chance to figure out and use this talent.

This is more or less canon! The novel talks about how badly she wanted to be a trainer but her mother didn’t let her when she was 10. In the show, there’s a couple instances where she battles (really well) and Ash’s friends comment that “that’s where Ash got it from”

“Hanako herself loved Pokémon and wished she could have become a trainer too.

If she didn't have to take over Masara House as the only daughter of her family, Hanako would have ignored any opposition from her mother and left home to become a Pokémon Trainer when she was ten, just like Satoshi.

When becoming a Pokémon Trainer, it's always better to start young.

But it's not too late to start as a teenager.

If there was anyone else who could take over Masara House, Hanako would have left it to them and left town.

She hadn't given up yet.

However...

When she was 18... While Hanako's mother was still alive.

There was a young man hoping to become a Pokémon Trainer who stayed at Masara House and she fell in love. The relationship escalated quickly and in practically the blink of the eye they were married.

And then in another blink of the eye, the young man left town, never to return again.

And in yet another blink of the eye, her mother fell ill and passed away, leaving her with only Masara House and the newborn Satoshi.

If you were to ask her if she still loved that young man... Satoshi's father... her answer would be a flat “no”.

After leaving a woman like Hanako alone for over ten years, she wouldn't even get mad at him if he returned, she'd simply ignore him outright.

Up until the day Satoshi left home on a journey to become a Pokémon Trainer, Hanako had hung in there all by herself.

It's only natural... Hanako thought to herself.

Satoshi was her beloved child. She'd take care of him until the day he left. It was her responsibility.

Hanako had decided to continue doing her best on her own... But in the morning, Satoshi would finally be leaving.

She was sad to see Satoshi leave home, yet also somewhat excited.

... When the morning comes, I'll be free. I'm still in my twenties... It's a bit too late to become a Pokémon Trainer, but there's lots of things I could do.

Hanako briefly reconsidered the hundreds of proposals she'd rejected... Ahaha... I'd rather not... Lalala.

Hanako felt like a student about to start a summer vacation without any homework.

She then came to her senses.

Satoshi isn't leaving until the morning. She had to keep being his mother up until then.

Hanako nodded to herself and said “yeah”.”

[farfromsugafanfic]

SKZ Reaction To Being Caught Making Out

Genre: fluff, suggestiveness (not straight smut but Imma go ahead and say MDNI)

Warnings: curse words, suggestive themes

A/N: Enjoy!

Chan:

When Changbin accidentally walked in on you and Chan mid-make-out in his studio, Chan would have conflicting reactions and emotions. On the one hand, he is definitely surprised and stops kissing you. He may even weirdly try to hide you regardless of whether Changbin knows about your relationship. However, there's also a tiny bit of pride hidden in his chest, but it is superseded by the obvious blush that spreads from his cheeks and up to his ears.

Minho:

Embarrassed, but doesn't show it immediately. When Seungmin walks in, he'll act dramatically and yell at him to leave (though it's obviously not malicious). If Seungmin giggles or smirks at the scene, he'll make some baseless threat, but by the time Seungmin leaves, his ears are bright red. Minho will get up and lock the door quickly. Before continuing where you left off, the two of you will probably laugh and promise to buy Seungmin a meal later.

Changbin:

Binnie might like to put out a "dark" and "hard" era, but this man would be capital E embarrassed. I imagine him trying to act as if it wasn't happening and asking Hyunjin what he needed. He would only get angry if there had been an expectation of full privacy (locked door, etc.) or if things had escalated to the point of removing some clothing. Mostly, he would just want to forget it happened and would probably keep your future make out sessions in private, locked spaces.

Hyunjin:

Surprisingly, normally dramatic Hyunjin isn't too embarrassed. He might be a bit surprised, but he doesn't really get the big deal when Jeongin walks in and catches the two of you making out. Hyunjin is a romantic and kissing is fairly casual to him (think of all his paintings and sketches of couples kissing), and even though you were a bit more hot and heavy, he doesn't really care as long as the two of you were clothed. With that said, he will make sure you and Jeongin are not too embarrassed. But, overall, he's fairly nonplussed which surprises you.

Jisung:

In contrast to Hyunjin, Jisung flips the fuck out. He's not angry, but his face is bright red and he'll even hide himself in your neck when Felix catches the two of you. He probably won't even say anything and Felix will probably end up just apologizing and leaving the room quickly. Poor Jisung will probably be mortified for the rest of the day. Eventually, he will be able to laugh about it, and may even get more used to smaller public displays of affection. Still, it doesn't stop him from leaning down and kissing you again.

Felix:

Felix is also a member who doesn't really see the big deal. I mean, he'd rather not be caught by Changbin, but it doesn't embarrass him really. Sure, Changbin might tease him a bit, but the members all knew that he was head over heels for you, so he basically just shrugged it off. He will make sure you aren't too embarrassed and if you are, he'll privately talk to Changbin later to make sure he doesn't mention it around you. I don't think he would necessarily restart the make out, but instead, just wrap you in his arms and watch a movie.

Seungmin:

This puppy does not get embarrassed easily. But when it comes to you, he, for some reason, blushes even if a member just mentions your name. So, when Minho walks in on you two, Seungmin becomes half protective of you and half embarrassed by wrapping his arms around you, but you can also feel the heat coming off his face. He'll probably be polite and ask Minho to leave, even though anger started to settle in. Still, he keeps a level head but is unable to continue because he doesn't want to get caught again.

Jeongin:

He's not the most embarrassed of the group, but his shy smile and the way he looks down tell you that Chan walking in startled him. But, while embarrassed due to the situation, he's willing to face pretty much anything for you, even negative emotions. Though, his hyungs tease him enough that after a few hours, he's mostly moved on. Still, from that day forward, he's much more careful.