#there is nothing wrong in not bothering to think about it

[loafysainz]

🎥 SENDING DIRTY TEXT TO MY HUSBAND AROUND BUNCH OF PEOPLE

cast: carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, george russell × reader!

warn: 18+, smut, minor dni

hope you guys enjoy it!

carlos sainz

Carlos is sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by his family, deep in conversation with his father when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, expecting something harmless—until he sees your message:

"I can still feel you from last night. My legs are shaking just thinking about it. Maybe you should do something about it later, mi amor."

He chokes on his drink, eyes widening as his mother pats his back, oblivious to the heat rushing to his face. His fingers tighten around his phone as he clears his throat, throwing you a sharp look from across the table. You, sitting there sweetly, sip your wine like you didn’t just set him on fire.

Carlos leans closer, voice low but urgent. "Cariño, you can’t do this to me here."

But the way his jaw clenches, the darkening of his eyes, tells you he’s already planning his revenge for later.

lewis hamilton

The music is loud, drinks flowing as Lewis chats with a few celebrities in the VIP lounge. He’s mid-sentence when his phone vibrates. Casually pulling it out, he takes a quick glance—then freezes.

"I miss having your hands all over me. Maybe we should sneak out and you can remind me how good they feel?"

His lips part slightly, tongue running over his teeth as he exhales sharply. He tilts his head back, taking a slow sip of his drink, but his grip on the glass tightens.

You’re across the room, acting innocent, but when his gaze meets yours, he smirks. Oh, you’re in trouble now.

Lewis leans against the booth, texting back, “Meet me in five. Don’t bother fixing your dress. I’ll ruin it anyway.”

lando norris

Lando is laughing, lining up his shot, when his phone dings. He doesn’t think twice before checking it—only for his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull.

"Imagine me on my knees for you right now. Bet you wouldn’t be able to focus on your little golf game, huh?"

He fumbles his club, nearly dropping it as a deep red flush spreads over his face. The guys around him notice immediately.

“Lando, you good, mate?” Max Fewtrell grins.

“Uh—yeah, yeah, just—uh, hot out here, isn’t it?”

You wink at him from the golf cart, and he shoots you a warning look, shifting awkwardly as he tries to compose himself.

Later, he grabs you by the waist, voice low and desperate. “You’re so dead when we get home.”

max verstappen

Max is in the hospitality lounge, joking with Christian and a few engineers, when he checks his phone under the table. His body stiffens immediately.

"I can still taste you on my lips. Wonder if you'd rather me use my mouth somewhere else next time."

He nearly drops his phone. His face is unreadable, but you know him too well—the slight clench of his jaw, the way he shifts in his seat.

Christian nudges him. “Something wrong?”

Max clears his throat. “No. Nothing.” But his ears are red.

You catch his eye from across the room, biting your lip playfully. He exhales through his nose, tapping out a reply:

"Hotel room. Now."

charles leclerc

Charles is lounging on the deck, drink in hand, surrounded by his friends when his phone lights up. He checks it—and immediately sits up straighter.

"I wish I were sitting on your lap right now… but not in a way that’s appropriate for this party."

His breath hitches, fingers tightening around the glass. He shifts, crossing his legs to conceal his growing problem. His brother Arthur notices.

"Charles, pourquoi tu fais cette tête?" (Why do you look like that?)

"Rien," he mumbles quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You smirk, and he glares at you before texting back, “Keep playing, mon amour. See what happens when we get home.”

oscar piastri

Oscar is laughing with his engineers when he checks his phone. His face immediately changes.

"You looked so good this morning. Wish I’d had more time to be on top of you before you left."

His breath catches in his throat. He coughs, nearly choking on his drink. Andrea Stella raises a brow.

"You okay, Oscar?"

"Yep. Fine. Just—uh, spicy food."

He doesn’t dare look at you, knowing the second he does, he’s screwed. Instead, he sends a quick text back:

"You better be naked when I get back."

george russell

George is the picture of politeness, sipping his tea while his mother chats about the weather. Then his phone vibrates.

He checks it discreetly—only to nearly spit out his drink.

"Wouldn’t it be fun if I slipped under the table right now and made you lose composure in front of everyone?"

His grip on the cup tightens, and he clears his throat loudly, shifting in his seat. His mother eyes him.

"Everything alright, love?"

"Yep, just—uh—just remembered something from work."

You blink innocently at him from across the table, and he clenches his jaw before texting back:

"You are absolutely wicked. But don't worry, I’ll make you beg for mercy later."

END

you can share your thought/ideas my box always open!! 🤍

[ditzydoe444]

haihaiahai!!!

i have a smut req: you and jay have an undercover op and have to get someone at a bar but you have to drug them but they aren’t there so you ask jay to put it in your drink to see what if feels like, (fully consented) how it feels to just be able to lay there and not have to think about anything…!!

-🍎

MDNI 18+

“are you sure?” jason was confused as to why you wanted to get drugged, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling and well doing it on a mission? wasn’t the smartest either.

“i’m sure jay, what could go wrong? we’ve trained so much this will be nothing.”

it wasn’t nothing, because you got so hot and bothered that jason was now eating you out on the hotel’s bed, devouring your cunt. you laid on the edge of the mattress as your legs were spread apart by his strong arms, the only thing going on in your head was to get fucked and filled, nothing else.

“more jay, need more,” you whined as you tugged his hair, his tongue exploding your cunt whilst his fingers abused all of your sweet spots making you feel like total gummy. “i know sweetheart, ill fill up this pretty little cunt later alright? just let me taste this one more time, you taste so damn good.”

jason was pussy drunk to say the least, the way you tasted and smelt made him feel like a mad man. it wasn’t professional by any means, but who is he to deny a pretty girl like you?

he felt your cunt soak his face, the way you whined and pulled his hair as your cunt clenched around his fingers was enough to make him come in his pants. “m-mmph jay!”

“i know sweetheart, just sit back and relax ok? we got all night.” he sucked harshly on your clit watching you squirm, the ways your thighs fidgeted and body wiggled was like a drug, you were completely at his mercy and he was going to use you. after you came on his face he wasted no time unbuckling his belt.

“need you to fuck me jacey,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes that made his knees weak. “i know and i will alright? just sit back and relax.”

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm having a bit of a downtime. I feel so conscious about my appearance. May I have Quinn reassuring me that I look good?

My love, I'm sure you're absolutely stunning. Chin up, buttercup! 🩷

Quinn hadn't participated in practice today. While he caught up on some rest, you had decided to go into the city for a little retail therapy of your own. Only it hadn't quite gone the way you had hoped. Everywhere you looked, there was a girl you felt was prettier than you, looking at something you had been interested in for yourself. It was easy to look at her, then at yourself, and convince yourself that you couldn't wear it near as good as she could. Self-sabotage and insecurity were bullying you into a early shopping trip.

It didn't matter what you did, they were all beautiful while you felt like trash. What did Quinn see in you, you wondered on the drive back to his apartment. He could have his pick of any Instagram model he wanted, so why had he chosen you? You would beat yourself up the entire time, resigning to tears after parking his car.

You had returned empty-handed.

"What are you doing back so early?" Quinn asked, seeing you walk through the door unexpectedly. He had been in the kitchen making himself some lunch, and had he known you were headed back, would have made you something as well.

"I wasn't feeling it." Your eyes were still red as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror by the door. Quinn was bound to notice soon enough. "I think I've got a migraine starting."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, babe. Do you have anything you can take?"

"Yeah."

He was genuinely being helpful, but you had blown him off and shuffled past the kitchen towards the bedroom. As he watched you go, your eyes down to avoid making eye contact, he knew there was more to it than the headache excuse. He'd let you go for now, not wanting to push you too much that you just shut down completely.

In the bedroom, you had gotten under the covers, hugging Quinn's pillow like you did when he was away on the road. You didn't want to cry anymore, but you had hurt your feelings so badly that there were no good thoughts left to give you even a drop of confidence in anything.

"Sweetheart?" Quinn asked, darkening the doorway some time later. You had almost drifted off to a nap when he called out to you, and could have faked being asleep, but you weren't trying to be mean to him.

"Yeah?" You mumbled into the pillow.

"Are you alright?"

"Sure."

You could hear him sigh from across the room and soon the feeling of him climbing in to bed with you would finally make you give him your full attention. He had laid his head against the pillow of his you were clutching. His pretty eyes waiting to catch sight of yours desperately.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked softly, his hand getting lost amongst your hair.

"Bad day."

"You seemed happy when you left." His brows pulled in slightly, trying to guess what had triggered the bad mood. "Did something happen while you were out?"

You bit your lip, pulling your eyes from his face. Why did he have to be so good at figuring out what was bothering you. "Just..."

Patiently, Quinn looked at you, his fingers giving you the gentlest scalp massage while he kept his hand buried deep in your hair.

"I just didn't feel like being shopping, that's all."

"Y|N, why don't you want to tell me?"

"Because it's a stupid reason," you choked out, eyes flicking back to Quinn's in haste.

His gaze softened, "Nothing is a stupid reason if it makes you feel like this, but I won't make you tell me. I just want to know you're alright."

"Why are you attracted to me?"

Quinn's expression twisted slightly. That was about the last question he would have dreamed you'd ask him. "What do you mean? In what way?"

"Why me over some model or something?"

He'd raise his head, propping himself up with his right arm. "I wasn't attracted to you because of your looks, sweetheart. That's just an added bonus. Do I come off that petty?"

"No, you don't. I just-- it's hard to not judge myself against all the other girls that could have my spot. I told you it was a stupid reason."

There was deep concern in Quinn's expression. There were few things he hated more than when you got down on yourself.

"As cliche as it might sound, looks eventually fade and no longer matter. What makes you, you, is your personality, baby. It's what shines through any amount of makeup or outfit. You can't fake a personality, not a real one. You know, as good as I do, that there are plenty of girls faking all of that just to get with any of us. They can't keep up the charade, and away they go, and another takes their place. Do you know how refreshing it was to meet you? How you genuinely smiled? That little snort you let out when you laughed at yourself for being nervous asking for that autograph? Do you remember how bad I blushed? I could hardly sign that jersey. I thought I was going to have to replace it because my signature looked like a fake."

You laughed softly remembering that day. He had been a little bit of a bumbling mess but it was so cute.

"You kept popping up in my head the whole rest of the day. Your eyes, your smile, hell, even that perfume you had been wearing. Drove me crazy all day. I see beautiful women everyday, but not a one of them are waiting for me back home like you are. I don't picture any of them waiting for me, wearing one of my t-shirts like you do. Each time I hear your voice when I'm away, I melt, because I get to hear it every--single--day."

You had been chewing on your bottom lip to keep the tears at bay and Quinn had noticed. The hand that had been lost in your hair moved to hold your face, and his thumb would coax your lip from between your teeth.

"You're the only person I have eyes for -- the others are just people. You're my baby, and I love you. They don't mean anything to me. You have my heart."

"Quinny~" you whispered, knowing everything he said was his raw, unfiltered truths.

"I mean it, all of it. You might think the other girls are prettier than you, but I don't. Not for a second. You're the only one I want."

You didn't know what to say. His ability to melt away any bad mood you were dealing with, soothe any hurt feeling you had, and reassure you through it all had been a natural talent. It was times like these that you didn't feel like you deserved him, but you'd never tell him that. You knew already that he hated when you put yourself down and when you thought you should have less. Instead, you'd try to be thankful for him taking the time to explain his reasonings to you.

"I'll reassure you more, if you want me to. I just need to know. I'll do whatever I can to make you feel better, just to keep stuff like this from happening. I just don't want you to shut me out, okay?"

You'd give him a nod. "I'm sorry to be this way."

Quinn smiled, "It's alright. Do you think I don't wonder why you put up with me half the time?"

"But I love you!"

"Exactly! Because I know you love me -- that you truly love me for me and not the other stuff-- I don't have to worry about anything else; I don't let the other stuff rule me. Does that makes sense?"

"Mhm," you nodded.

"And before you say it, you don't need to be sorry. Things happen, and sometimes we just need a little more to see what we've been overlooking."

The air went out of you like a balloon. Quinn's ways with words left you speechless more times than you thought he realised.

"If it would make you feel better, I'll take you out sometime next week and let you know how beautiful I think you'd look in anything you try on. Anything you like, it's yours. No limit."

"Quinn~"

"I mean it. If it makes you smile, I want you to have it."

"You make me smile."

He laughed softly, "You have me already, silly."

You'd roll over on your back as he climbed on top of you, lips hovering just above each other's. "Unless you're wanting something more. Then I can give you that, too."

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her. 

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.) 

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home. 

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately. 

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep. 

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone. 

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop. 

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?” 

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else? 

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation. 

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch. 

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies. 

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?” 

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.” 

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game. 

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking. 

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.” 

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it. 

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly. 

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?” 

“no,” you say. 

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise. 

“can i help you, hon?” 

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?” 

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?” 

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.” 

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name. 

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark. 

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist. 

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!” 

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls. 

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold. 

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap. 

“baby,” she says. “listen.” 

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.  

~~~

note: idk why this idea struck me as so funny i think i'm sleep deprived lol. obviously she will explain herself as best as she can and you'll forgive her. she sleeps on the couch tonight though.

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

[soleilapproves]

ex-convict!sukuna tries to talk to burnt out!reader about her feelings but she dismisses him. not proofread, sorry :(

prompt for more context

Anxiety lathered your back in cold sweat as you received your exam sheet from your TA, not bothering to look twice at your haphazard state before moving on to the next person.

You knew there was a reason why your paper was given to you faced down while your friend received hers with bright red numbers beaming up at her. You knew it was just your insecurity speaking to you, but it really did feel like the entire classroom of seventy-five people were staring at you. Even if your seat was all the way in the corner and Sukuna’s faded brown leather jacket basically cloaked you into invisibility.

You weren’t sure how you accidentally snagged it in the first place, all you remember was that you had slept with him the night before an important exam and rushed out with his jacket instead of your oversized hoodie that you sported for the Walk of Shame. It was the only thing comforting you at the moment. The familiar smell of nicotine and wet grass clouded your senses as you imagined him holding you close with his fingers stuffed in your cunt and his lips on your neck after yet another failure.

Just how many times were you going to go to him to comfort yourself? It was starting to become a habit that shaved you to your bones.

Your chest tightened as the ceiling got lower and lower to the point where you could feel the bright fluorescent lights burning the brittle hair on your scalp. The brick walls engulfed you till yours bones crunched and your muscles tightened.

Without thinking twice, you grabbed your worn denim satchel as you silently raced out the lecture hall, trembling like a fawn. Your boots splashed against the wet ground as you walked towards the back of the building and slid down on the wall while hugging yourself.

Your closed palm held your failure. Your crushed and creased exam sheet. A part of you wanted to grind it to nothing under your boots, but a part of you still had a sense of accountability so you shoved it in Sukuna’s jacket.

While fishing around in his pockets, you found two very interesting things—a leaf of acetaminophen tablets, and a pack of cigarettes. You knew he smoked with the way his jacket smelled but you’d never seen him do it. The leaf of tablets led you to believe that he must’ve been trying to quit.

You’d never been a smoker, always worried that you’d get addicted once you started, becoming a slave to the little white cylinder, but today was different. It was your last chance at passing the class. The last quiz you could get good grade on before failing the entire class even after giving the final.

You assumed he could always quit faster with one less cigarette in the box so you decided to look for a lighter and found one in his inner pocket.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A large, tattooed hand snatched the cigarette and lighter from your grasp. Sukuna stared at you like you’d betrayed him. You groaned to yourself as you rubbed a hand down your face. You’d forgotten you had texted him to pick you up after class.

This confrontation was of your own design.

“Smoking, what do you think? Give that back,” you got up and tried to snatch it away, but he had managed to grab the box from you as well and thrown it down on the ground, immediately crushing it with his boots.

“I can’t believe you’d destroy pricey cigarettes like that,” you quipped as you shrugged off his jacket, but he grabbed on to your shoulders, preventing you from doing so. “It’s cold.”

Of course, a man of few words when it finally came to talking about something than yourself. “Come on, I’ll drop you home,” his large hand grabbed yours as he briskly walked to his jeep that was parked nearby.

Like clockwork, you pulled him into a rough kiss as he got into the driver’s seat, but he pulled away, a string of saliva thinning into air as held you in place by your shoulders. “What’s wrong?” Your usual routine with him was very predictable—you’d call him to let out some stress, make out a little in his car once he’d come and get you, then go to his place.

Not once had he complained, except for a few instances where he’d insist on fucking you after making you come, not even bothering to ask you to return the favor; a strange occurrence for a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement. Especially with someone as rugged as him.

Usually jail would harden a man up, turn him into an insensitive boor, but it felt the opposite when he’d treat you rather gently: a hand on the small of your back as you’d try to get into his monstrous jeep, or checking in with you after you’d pass out as soon as he pulls out.

It was unexpected yet strangely welcoming.

“You look terrible,” he grimaces. Your cold sweat begins to dry up with the heat of your rage. “Wow. I know I’m not the hottest girl out there, but you really didn’t need to rub it in. I’m out.” He grabs your satchel before you can leave with it. It hangs between you both much like your relationship.

“Don’t get out. I didn’t mean it like that. You just… look really tired.”

You stare at him for a long time before you place your bag back in your lap. You stare ahead at the expanse of fir trees and grass as you lean back in your seat. “Since when did you care about any of that? Let’s just go to your place.”

“When was the last time you had a full night’s rest?” he asked as he started his car. He snatched your satchel and threw it in the backseat. A usual practice for him, although, it was you in the back with him while your bag sat in the front.

“Why are we even talking about this? You’re being weird.” Sukuna’s knuckles turn white at your comment, gripping the steering wheel harder. Your mind races about all the possible ways he could kill you right now. You never really argued with him because you were too afraid to see what he’d be like with his patience on its final thread.

However, you pushed that line today. He was over the edge. You could tell with the way his brows furrowed and his lips flattened ever so slightly. The jeep hadn’t picked up speed. Thank goodness for that.

“You’re in college. You need to take care of yourself,” he flatly said as he made a turn towards his apartment complex.

“Why do you care? You’re not my bo—“

There it was. The taboo word. He sure as hell wasn’t your boyfriend, but he didn’t like the reminder of it either. Only replying to you in grunts and hums when you’d say it. And it wasn’t like you both were that talkative with each other in the first place.

“I’m just worried about you.”

Now he was crossing the line. A boundary you built with ever so shaky hands, so thin that you’d topple over to him if he’d show the least bit affection. You knew he wanted in. You could tell with the way he’d hold your face when his lips would slot themselves on yours. When you’d taste yourself on his tongue.

But you couldn’t let him. It wasn’t right. You’re both fucked up, albeit, in different degrees, but still very messed up with the things going on in your lives.

You did not want him to know what really went on in your mind. Never open the door for a stranger. Even if he knows all about how your body sings for him when he caresses your core.

“Stop the car.”

“What the fuck? We’re about to reach.”

“I said, stop the car. I’m gonna walk home.”

“It’s raining, at least let me drop you off.”

“Stop the car or I’ll jump out.”

You didn’t look back at Sukuna’s face as you walked away. Nor did you tell him that you’d see him later. You both knew he would. Your texts would always come in when you’d be feeling even lower than you presently were.

And then from Sukuna’s jacket (that you were still wearing), you took out a singular, slightly bent cigarette.

—

more ex-convict!sukuna fics

[strangeaxel]

you appear to draw isaac and gerard as being very physically close. cuddly even (:3c), and i want to learn more about this specific aspect because its so cute.. were they always like that? did they have to build up a lot of trust in each other first? how do they see and engage with touch? are/were they ever touch starved?

Drawing a made for the ask lalalala

First of all, thanks for the question! <3

In Gerard's case he used to touch Isaac's hands for example or shoulders to basically indicate he was safe with him and also try to communicate he wanted something more than a friendship with him when they were starting to know each other. I feel like even tho Gerard doesn't consider he's romantic himself in a traditional way i feel he actually is-- (Like when Susana Gimenez asked Charly Garcia if he was romantic and he said yes and Susana asked him "really? You like a dinner, with roses and candles??" And he said "i said im romantic, not stupid" lmao) He calls bitch pet names and cute things even tho she's always abusive towards him, he still tries, so imagine how much freedom could he have with someone like Isaac, a guy that has an anxious attachedment style. I feel he is the way he is in the game as a way of self defense, a way for him to cope with all the shit he has to go through all the time xD so he can't show much emotion or tries to hide it with humor, but in Isaac's world, this paradise isn't so bad, it's more,,, realistic. He doesn't have the constant need to hide his needs in a relationship like he used to (Well, only in private since ... its the 90s-2000s, duh). Gerard started to be more expressive with his physical touch towards Isaac as went time on, cuz of isaac's delusions of people being infected or sinful (this last one mostly because of his alters, for example, Demon) and also so Isaac could have time to process his own feelings, being someone who tries/tried to be a devoted christian this relationship felt wrong in all senses, it took him some time to accept he indeed liked him. Isaac isn't someone who would be nagging you on the streets is he saw you in, for example, a gay relationship, he's ignorant mostly, he doesn't have evil intentions (he also uses this ignorant/innocent view as a way to cope with his own emotions towards man).

While in Isaac's case, once he accepted it/half accepted it started to do your typical couple stuff, only in private, he gets mad when Gerard holds his hand on public and even tho this bothers Gerard a little bit he just can't complain, he understands but also well... his wife was much worst than this. Isaac feels safe cuddling with him, he feels like nothing wrong can happend when he's around (even tho Gerard's bad luck follows him everywhere lol), sometimes when he's having strong episodes because of his delusion it feels like he and him are the only non infected. Isaac has BPD so touch and words mean a lot to him even tho he isn't the best showing his love in a conventional way + he's non verbal for most of the time, it's like they both have two different types of autism lol

I think that's all i have to say about this at least for now, i'm still working on the ship but these types of questions really help me to understand and think of ways to improve it, thanks a lot for the question once again, i'm glad people are interested in knowing about my au/ship.

The song i used as lyrics for the drawing (i love this Tribute so much, please go check it out):

[asterafroditis]

Ur writing is so nice! Could I request Leona x reader, hurt/comfort? Whatever comes to ur mind! ^_^

𐔌 . ⋮ second to none .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Leona Kingscholar x gn! reader

𓏵 849 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, angst, hurt/comfort

yayyy, first request done (๑°ㅁ°๑)‼✧ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Leona knew better than to let himself care. Caring led to expectations. Expectations led to disappointment. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

And yet—here you were. Again.

Sitting beside him in the dim glow of the Botanical Garden, unbothered by his sour mood, by the way he kept his back turned to you like a wounded animal trying to hide its injuries. You didn’t prod, didn’t push—you just sat there.

That made it worse.

"Kifaji again?" you finally asked, voice careful but not hesitant.

Leona scoffed, running a hand through his tangled mane. "What else is new?" His tail flicked sharply against the grass, irritation rolling off him in waves. "‘Prince Leona, you must do this. Prince Leona, your duty is to your kingdom.’ Blah, blah, blah—what a joke."

"It’s not fair that they treat you like that."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Fair? Oh, don’t gimme that. You’re smart enough to know the world doesn’t give a damn about ‘fair.’" He finally looked at you, and for a second, the weight of his exhaustion nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. "And neither should you."

You frowned, leaning closer. "Leona—"

"No. Don't start." His voice dropped lower, rougher, like the walls he’d spent years fortifying were beginning to crack. "I know what you're gonna say. That I’m ‘more than just a second prince.’ That I ‘deserve more credit.’ That I should ‘believe in myself’ or some other feel-good nonsense." His jaw tightened. "I know all that. And it doesn’t matter."

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the sheer resentment in his voice—not towards you, but towards himself.

"Why doesn’t it matter?" you asked softly.

Leona clenched his fists, looking away. "Because nothing I do will ever be enough. I could be the strongest magic user in the kingdom, the best strategist they’ve ever seen—but at the end of the day, I’ll still just be the second-born. The ‘spare.’" His voice wavered, but he swallowed it down, forcing a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "If I can’t change that, then why the hell should I bother?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling your heart twist.

This wasn’t just bitterness. This was defeat.

He had already convinced himself that he would never be worth as much as his brother. That his best would never be good enough.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong—not in the eyes of his kingdom.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t wrong to you.

"Leona." Your voice was quiet but firm. He still wouldn't look at you, but he didn’t pull away when you reached for his hand, fingers gently brushing against his calloused skin.

"You’re right," you admitted. His ear twitched, but he stayed silent. "You can’t change how your kingdom sees you. You can’t change the fact that you’re the second prince. But that doesn’t mean you’re worthless."

His grip tensed, knuckles white. "Tch. That’s easy for you to say."

You held onto him tighter, rubbing your thumb over the rough skin of his palm, grounding him in the moment. "Maybe. But I mean it."

The night air was thick with the weight of his silence. His breathing was shallow, controlled—like he was forcing himself not to let your words sink in.

Like he was afraid of believing them.

Your free hand moved without thinking, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles, lingering in a way that felt too intimate to be casual. You could feel his pulse, steady yet tense beneath your touch.

"I wish you saw yourself the way I see you," you murmured.

A flicker of something passed through his sharp emerald eyes—something unreadable, something dangerous.

Leona was always good at pushing people away before they got too close, but this—this was different.

"And how do you see me?" His voice was quieter now, almost wary.

You hesitated for a moment, then tightened your grip on his hand.

"I see someone who’s brilliant. Strategic. Strong." Your voice softened. "Someone who doesn’t just follow the path set for him, but carves his own, even if no one else understands it."

Leona let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. "Doesn’t change the fact that it’s a path to nowhere."

"Then I'll walk it with you."

That made him pause.

You bit your lip, then continued, voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "You keep acting like you have to prove yourself to people who refuse to see your worth. Like you have to do everything alone." You sighed. "But I see you, Leona. And I’ll keep seeing you, whether you want me to or not."

He stared at you, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a huff, he looked away, running a hand down his face. "You’re too stubborn, y’know that?"

You smiled faintly. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

He scoffed. His tail flicked against the grass, irritation laced in the movement, but his fingers curled more securely around yours. Holding on like he wasn’t sure how else to keep himself standing.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wanted to believe you.

And for now, that was enough.

[fellominaarcher]

GOT MARRIED - YOO JIMIN / KARINA AESPA X FEM READER

11. Away From You

We Got Married, entering 9th month

So much has happened since the seventh month of shooting We Got Married reality show.

Despite the fact that the show is currently in production, Jimin and Y/N must continue to fulfil their idol duties.

Y/N was always eager to discuss the girl's confession because she was intrigued by it.

To the point, it bothered her and made her unhappy at times.

Jimin remained silent as well because she was unsure if what she had spoken was the result of alcohol or the expression of her innermost sentiments.

She was troubled by the idea that Y/N would misinterpret it, which bothered her as well.

Following that night and within their eighth month as a phoney couple, the show continued to film as usual. Doing things that married couples do together, but without the sex.

DayDream recently released a single as a thank you to their fans.

Their dancing practise video for the single album had been fully recorded. As the choreography came to a close, all of the girls were exhausted, so they took some time to rest.

Y/N laid on the floor. "Oi, why are you lying there?" Dajeong questioned her.

She was holding her drink in one hand and gently kicking Y/N's thigh with her foot.

The lead vocalist gave her a glance. "Ha? What? I'm tired," she responded and her eyes were droopy.

Dajeong made a disgusted face, "On the floor, you know people literally could step on shit with their shoes, right?" she told the girl in a reprimanding tone.

Y/N rose from the floor and sat on her butt, her arms crossed over her legs

She sighed, "Do you think people tell the truth when they're drunk?" the confused girl queried with a somber look on her face.

Dajeong gave her an odd look while raising both brows. If one's eyebrows can raise above one's head, that would be Dajeong's expression.

She joined Y/N on the floor. "Oh, I remember the both of you were drinking in an episode before..." she brought up Jimin's drunken night.

Dajeong was looking at Y/N with caution, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind.

Y/N slowly nodded her head. "Sureee," she answered in a tired manner.

"Tell me the full story." Dajeong commanded as she was invested in it.

The WGM couple hadn't met in days because filming on the show had been put on hold. They still have regular conversations at times. Due to their increased workload, they seldom ever call anymore.

But somehow they still communicate.

The year was also coming to an end. Many kpop groups will be required to prepare for another year-end award ceremony.

Well, another award show is on the way, making this a busy month.

Everyone put in a lot of effort to prepare, and it was imperative that nothing will go wrong.

The award ceremony will take place today, and the winter season is just around the corner.

Aespa sat in their car, patiently waiting their turn to exit the vehicle and walk down the red carpet.

"They haven't told us where we are going to sit with," Minjeong expressed her sadness with a pout on her face.

Jimin heard of it. "It's okay, it's okay I know you miss Yurim." the leader assured her with a comforting smile.

Ningning faked a cough. "While you are missing Y/N," In between her pretend coughs, she mocked the leader.

She jokingly shot the maknae a frightening glance and she also gave her a goofy expression.

Ningning's gaze averted, "What? What? Nothing!" the maknae exclaimed but she couldn't help but smile.

The cute smile that soon turned into a loud contagious laugh. Typical Ningning. Everybody loves her.

Minjeong had been whining about how she wished she could meet Yurim Daydream again. Because it has been a long time since the two groups have spent time together.

Their car came to a halt outside the entrance to the award ceremony. The girls stepped carefully out of the car and walked slowly down the red carpet.

While doing so, they waved to the cameras and posed for photos with fans or signed autographs as they went.

Aespa members wore opulent, stunning attire that evening that perfectly expressed their beautiful looks.

On the red carpet, they had their interview.

Sadly, Aespa and DayDream aren't seated next to one another this time for unclear reasons.

Jimin frowned at the idea and appeared a little disappointed that she couldn't sit next to Y/N.

The award show was certainly entertaining, watching the junior groups performing and the senior artists killing the stage professionally.

But having to watch all of this without Y/N by her side made her heart sink.

The show's MCs are Jeon Somi and Treasure Asahi, who are currently speaking their lines and making announcements.

Jimin was simply sitting there, staring at the floor. She'd occasionally look up at the top seats, where DayDream sat.

Her eyes were clearly looking for Y/N, and the 'newlywed' would occasionally make eye contact.

Y/N was the first to look away, while Jimin would stare at her face for a few seconds before looking away too. At this point, she doesn't care if this moment is going to be recorded and go viral on the internet tomorrow.

Jimin didn't notice that Aeri's spot had been taken by someone else because she was still staring at the floor with a pout on her lips.

"Look at Somi, she's so pretty. Why aren't you looking at her?" Y/N alerted Jimin loudly enough.

Jimin awoke from her trance, her heart skipped a beat, and she looked in the direction of the voice.

Her mouth was slightly agape, as if she couldn't believe what she had witnessed and she's really happy to be able to be next to Y/N again.

"Last time I checked, I slept with you not Somi." Jimin answered. She fired back.

She side-eyed Y/N and averted her gaze as she forced herself to concentrate on the stage; the poor girl was sulking.

Y/N looked at her with a devilish grin on her face "Did you missed me? Why?" Y/N asked and she just loved teasing the Yoo Jimin of Aespa.

Jimin had a sour expression on her face and her gaze was fixed on Y/N. "What happened to Aeri?" Jimin wondered.

When Y/N pointed above, Jimin immediately looked up to the pointed location and Aeri saw the couple then immediately waving her hand cheerfully at them.

It turned out, Y/N had asked Aeri earlier if they could switch places for a few minutes before their group's performance.

Jimin returned to her own world without saying anything. Externally, Jimin tried to look fine but her heart was messing with her and her body, making her feel strange and electrifying things.

A staff member approached them and informed them that Aespa, DayDream, and Stray Kids were in line to perform next.

Jimin motioned the other girls to the changing rooms as the two idols nodded and rose from their seats.

DayDreams and Aespa walked down the hall together, heading to the changing rooms. Jimin dragged Y/N away from the peers by grabbing her wrist.

They are in the restroom down the hall, and Y/N is waiting for Jimin as usual by leaning against the wall.

Jimin washed her hands for no reason because she's a little flustered with Y/N around and looked in the mirror before approaching Y/N.

Trying to get into her element.

Jimin suddenly showed off her back to Y/N, and Y/N could only stare in utter confusion because she had no idea what she's supposed to do.

"Zip it!" Jimin instructed, she looked over her own shoulder.

She was waiting for Y/N to zip her dress. "Come on wife, pull it up!" she told the younger girl with a hint of authority in her voice.

How Y/N manages to be so composed around Jimin, the literal Karina from Aespa, is still a mystery.

Y/N pulled the older woman's dress' zip as instructed, but she did it deliberately slowly.

She utilised the tiny object to physically draw Jimin close to her while still holding onto the small zip.

She took advantage of the situation to tease the goddess-like woman. "Why are you trying to seduce me now?" Y/N inquired in a deep, quiet voice, almost whispering.

"Weren't you just now mad at me?" Y/N added.

Jimin arched her brow, trying to keep it cool, "Well, because I've missed you." she answered it with confidence.

She had a stern yet seductive and attractive expression on her face. Y/N would never be able to get over her.

Y/N is a lucky shit for having such a view, a literal beauty served before her eyes. The younger idol noticed that her heart was beating in a quick rhythm.

"You look sexy in this dress and really gorgeous." those damn praises.

Jimin simply sneered. She knew the power she had over this girl, "Thank you, you look really good too and attractive tonight." the Aespa leader returned the praise.

Jimin also purposefully left her zipper a little open while on the way to the restroom. They remained in that position for some time, but Y/N had finished with the zipper.

She laid her palm flat against Jimin's back. "I wanna see you without this dress, Jimin," she told Jimin in a deep voice.

While her other arm tightly, almost possessively encircled Jimin's torso, Y/N's fingers gently made their way down her back. The naughty fingers of Y/N's traced their way down to her waist and right thigh. She gripped it tightly.

It's almost surreal how they're already acting like a couple while they haven't exchanged no words of love or devotion.

Y/N's arms left Jimin's body, distancing from the Aespa's member and walking away after successfully seducing the older girl.

"For the record, I miss you more." Y/N halted for a second at the restroom entrance, she turned around and gave Emma a last one observation.

The younger girl walked out of the restroom with a smug expression on her face, leaving the older girl alone.

Actually, the DayDream member was about to combust, about to release the biggest gasp and about to fall to her knee that's why she made her leave.

Jimin was sexually frustrated and she realized it, "I wanted to kiss her so bad just now!" she expressed out of frustration.

The night passed, the award show concluded but SME hosted a small celebration to congratulate the winners.

It meant the two couldn't meet again for the night, and Jimin was going insane because she longed for Y/N and Jimin needed her to be by her side for the whole night.

We Got Married, ending.

They're filming the final episode of We Got Married today. Nobody anticipated it to be this quick. The finale of everyone's favourite programme was approaching.

Their mothers must have enjoyed the show as well.

Y/N was nervous, and the events of We Got Married had caused her to overthink a lot of things.

She had no idea that things would turn out this way after their initial meeting, the garden proposal, the karaoke, the house decorating, the magazine photo shoot, and the drunken nights.

The makeup artist had just completed her makeup, "Are you okay?" Hayeon asked, concerned.

Y/N's group members were accompanying her for the filming of the last episode. The vocalist shrugged it off, "Yes, but I'm a bit nervous." she answered with a weak smile.

"Hey, trust me that it's going to be okay, you know." Hayeon assured her friend.

Hayeon rubbed Y/N's back. "Thank you, my idiot." with a mischievous grin on her face, Y/N thanked.

"OKAY, WE'RE READY TO SHOOT!"

The production team had a surprise planned for the couple. The production team are also renting a local auditorium for this plan. They had all decorated the balcony with fairy lights and flowers, and there was also a table seat for two.

Not to mention a piano too at the center of the stage.

"Okay, ready!" the director gave a cue.

"ACTION!" he gave the command to start working right away.

As Ningning and Aeri assisted Jimin to walk to the intended spot, the camera filmed the scene of her with her eyes covered with a blindfold.

While Minjeong trailed along behind them. The girls carefully guide their leader to the assigned spot.

"Okay, we're here!" Aeri informed as she assisted the girl in untying the blindfold. Jimin first fixed her hair and made herself comfortable while observing her surroundings.

The Aespa leader was taken aback by how beautifully decorated the location was and she let out a quiet "Woah!"

Furthermore, the sun was about to set, and there was a candle on the table to accentuate the ambiance.

"Woah, these are so pretty!" she exclaimed excitedly as her eyes continued to scan the surroundings.

Ningning poked her leader's shoulder and she pointed to Y/N, who was slowly approaching them.

When Jimin turned around to see who it was, her eyes lit up as she saw it was Y/N with a rose in her hand.

For the final episode, the production team suggested that Y/N sing a song to Jimin for their farewell.

Y/N couldn't believe she had to do this, therefore her face was filled with anxiety and a hint of stress. Sadness too.

It's not that she doesn't want to do certain things for Jimin yet she felt nervous and ashamed about singing for her in person.

"Why are you dressed up so well?!" Jimin asked eagerly as she laughed while covering her mouth.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. "I don't look stupid, right?" Y/N inquired, rolling her eyes and smiling.

The older woman was laughing, "No, no, I think you look cute!" she reassured the younger girl with a smile.

Even if Y/N half disagreed and still believed she looked silly in this position, Y/N simply nodded to Jimin's answer.

Minjeong and Ningning gestured for their leader, Jimin, to sit on one of the seats in the auditorium while Y/N was making her way to the stage, to where the piano is.

The rest of Aespa members move back to give the fake married couple a space, joining the production team and we're only watching from a distance.

Half of the light in the auditorium went down, focusing only on Y/N on the stage and Jimin at the audience area.

Jang Y/N took a seat on the piano stool, clearing her throat softly as her heart pounded against her chest. Her fingers hovered over the black and white keys, poised to play, waiting for her cue through the in-ear monitor.

The song began to play. The first key was pressed, and Jang Y/N slipped effortlessly into her professional self - a well-polished K-pop idol, showcasing her skill as the lead vocalist of the girl group DayDream.

"You are a gift, sent down from the sky. In this lonely world, I will protect you..."

Y/N sang passionately, pouring every emotion from her heart into the lyrics. Each note was a confession, each word a fragile thread woven with memories she couldn’t say out loud.

Though her marriage to Yoo Jimin was virtual - performative and crafted for national TV - it was real in a way neither of them could explain. It wasn’t just a show. Every month they’d spent together had been worth it.

Karina of aespa, known offstage as Jimin, sat alone in the front row of the empty auditorium, save for a few scattered crew members filming the scene. Despite herself, she felt the sting of tears welling up. This was farewell.

Y/N fought hard to disassociate from the sadness threatening to spill from her eyes. She focused on the song, grounding herself in the melody, determined to sing for Jimin - not for the cameras, not for the show, but just for her.

But Jimin was already crying. The tears came freely, unchecked. It was cruel, really - how the entertainment industry had paired them for the nation’s enjoyment, only to tear them apart when the final episode is near.

They were both young. Both passionate. And somewhere along the way, feelings had tangled themselves into the script of We Got Married.

For the nation’s entertainment, they’d become a "fake" married couple. But the emotions? Those had been real.

"Even the painful memories I wanted to forget, can be washed away with the raindrops..."

Y/N’s voice soared, rich with emotion - the very sound Jimin loved most in the world.

Y/N played the final notes, her fingers pressing softly against the piano keys as the melody faded into silence. The lights in the auditorium flickered back on, casting a warm glow over the empty seats. She sat there for a few seconds, her hands resting gently on her lap, letting the weight of the moment settle.

In the front row, Jimin quickly buried her face in her hands, trying to hide the tears that had already fallen.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

A/N: I used English translation of Sudden Shower.

GOT MARRIED

[jsbluu]

pillow humping | p. jisung

req here ★

➨ pairing: park jisung x fem reader

➨ genre: smut (MDNI)

➨ word count: 939

➨ warnings: pervy jisung, sub(?) jisung, i probably used the word “mess” too many times

jisung knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. not when you were just with him a few hours ago, sitting way too close on his bed, laughing at something he said that wasn’t even funny, stealing bites of snacks that weren’t even yours. not when your perfume still lingers in the air, the sweet scent reminding him of how intoxicatingly sweet you were.

he shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling in hopes these thoughts will go away, but it’s useless. he can’t stop his body from reacting, his cock already straining against his pants—harder than it was before.

the way your lips parted when you spoke to him, the look in your eyes you’d get when you’d stare at him for a bit too long for it to be platonic, the way your fingers played with the hem of your sweater when you got shy.

his breath shudders as he squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can, hoping, praying it’ll make it stop, but it doesn’t. he can’t ignore the heat pooling in his abdomen anymore.

he knows it’s wrong and pervy, and if you found out you’d probably be disgusted. but he’s way too fucking horny to think about morals right now as he gently runs his hands down his toned chest, stopping just above his waistband.

he knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop himself as his hand travels under his sweats and wraps around his rock hard cock. he lets out a small moan, bucking his hips up into his hand. he’s barely touched himself but he’s already so sensitive, so close to cumming, and that’s all because of you.

he moves his hand back and forth, using his precum as a way to slide his pump himself faster. he bites his bottom lip as he tries to stifle back a whimper, but he ultimately fails. he can’t stop your name from falling out of his lips, it rolls so smoothly off his tongue like you’re the one giving him this pleasure.

it feels good, but it’s not enough. his grip tightens, his thumb brushing over his tip and he swears under his breath, his brows furrowing and he becomes more hot and bothered by the second. still, it’s not enough. his hand is nothing to what you’d feel like. he can almost imagine it, your pussy clenching around him, your smaller hand wrapped around his dick, teasing him however you’d like.

he exhales frustratedly as he turns onto his side, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he blindly reaches for the small throw pillow on his bed. his fingers gently grasp the fabric, hesitating for a moment before pulling it closer.

he’s way too far gone at this point to feel shame, as he aligns himself with it.

“f-fuck..” he breaths out as he buries his head into the mattress as a way to ground himself. he moves his hips gently against the pillow, rocking himself against it to get any type of friction he can.

and just like that, any restraint is gone.

his fingers grip the pillow tighter as he moves, rolling his hips experimentally. his mind is a mess at this point, thinking back to earlier when you were in his room, on his bed. he sniffs the sheets, moaning out loud when he smells another whiff of your perfume.

“y/n..”

your name falls from his lips again in a breathless whisper before he even realizes he said it. but hearing it out loud makes it worse, makes it real. make his movements more desperate than before.

he ruts into the pillow harder, his precum leaking through his sweatpants making an already sticky situation worse.

he can feel himself approaching his orgasm way faster than he ever has, faster than the other times he’s made himself cum to the thought of you. maybe it’s the fact that he had you so close today, close enough to touch, but not enough to keep. maybe this was his way of filling in the gap of being close to you that he so desperately needs.

the friction is maddening, dragging over his cock just right, but it’s not enough. his body craves more, his pace becoming more frantic and messy as he becomes more desperate.

“y/n.. y/n…..” he chants your name like a mantra as he pictures you underneath him, your nails clawing and creating scratches at his back as he snaps his hips into you at an inconceivable pace. your sweet whimpers and pleads filling his ears and encouraging to go faster.

his voice is shaky and strained as his hips jerk a few more times against the pillow, approaching his orgasm. a loud whimper falls from his lips as he cums, his mouth wide open and his hands gripping the mattress so hard it starts to cramp. his cum leaks through his boxers and onto the pillow and the mattress, his white ropes coating his bedsheets and creating a dirty mess that he’ll for sure have to pay for later.

it takes a second, maybe even longer, to come back to reality. for his breathing to slow, for the haze in his mind to clear just enough to register the cold wet feeling of the fabric sticking against his body.

and then it hits him.

“shit.”

he pushes himself up on shaky arms, breath still uneven and face completely flushed as he looks down. the pillow, his fucking pillow, is completely ruined, and he can’t even begin to process what this means.

what the fuck did he just do?

© jsbluu | please do not copy, reupload, or translate my work.

a/n: omg this was so freaky of me.. this was supposed to be like 400 words max but ummm somebody got a little carried away! if you know me irl don’t read this Please .. also theme change coming soon be warned

[blueskrugs]

I Know I Could Have Loved You | Brock Boeser

at long last, it's here! this is my fic for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange, written for @one-night-story! Once again, I am SO sorry this is a bit late, but I had a really brutal week.

I hope you enjoy!!

length: 2000 words

You met Brock Boeser in 2015 when you were both freshmen at the University of North Dakota.

He wasn't your best friend at first. 

In fact, he'd rolled his eyes and when you were forced to partner with him for a stupid project in your intro to stats course. You don't remember exactly when he did become your friend, but  before you knew it your weekends were spent watching hockey games, then going out for fast food french fries with Brock, or lounging in each other's dorm rooms while you did homework. (Or while you did homework, and Brock pretended to do his own.) 

You don't know when you fell in love with Brock Boeser, either, just that you did.

Brock dated a few people while at UND, like most of the hockey players did. They stuck around for a few weeks or months before disappearing. Brock never bothered to introduce you to any of them. You tried to not let it bother you. 

“You should move to Vancouver, "Brock said suddenly one summer day. He'd signed his ELC just a few months prior—instead of returning to UND with you in the fall, he’d be off to Vancouver for training camp with the Canucks. 

You were both tanning by the lake, and you lowered your sunglasses to look sideways at Brock. He wouldn't meet your eyes.

"Brock, some of us have to actually finish college before getting a job," you said. You still had 2 years before graduation. "And why the hell should I move to Vancouver?"

Brock shrugged, all forced nonchalance. "Well, I'll be there."

You scoffed. "Sure, from October to April." You didn't know anyone in Vancouver, excluding Brock, who only counted during hockey season anyway.

"But I'll miss you," Brock argued. "What am I supposed to do without you?"

"I think you'll manage just fine, Boes," you told him. "You survived this long without me before we met, didn't you? You can keep surviving now, too."

Brock pouts at you, but doesn't argue the point further, so you think that's the end of it. You put your sunglasses back in place on the bridge of your nose and settle back against your chair. You can’t deny that it leaves a nice fuzzy feeling in your chest that Brock thinks he’ll miss you so much that he’s begging you to join him in Vancouver.

Brock doesn’t bring it up again that summer, or for the next two years as you’re finishing up college, and you forget about the whole thing. The years pass; you graduate. 

Brock comes to your graduation party, kisses you on the cheek, and spends the afternoon charming your parents and your friends from high school and from UND. Brock always manages to stay within your orbit, never more than arm’s reach away from you. It’s nice, to have him back at your side like this. 

It's only when the party is over and Brock is helping clean up that he springs the question on you again.

"Have you thought about it at all?" he asks, apropos of absolutely fucking nothing.

You've had a few drinks, and it takes your brain a few seconds to catch up. "What?" you ask. "Thought about what?"

“Moving to Vancouver with me."

You already have a job lined up in your hometown. You haven't thought even once of moving to Vancouver instead.

"Brock, I can't just move to another country."

"What if I want you to?“

"Oh, sure, that will go over well on a visa application. ‘Because my bestfriend wants me to.’"

Brock sticks his tongue out at you.

"You should at least come and visit me," he pleads, "I really think you'll love it."

You roll your eyes at Brock. "I guess I can make time to visit,” you say, ignoring Brock's exaggerated cheer before he squishes you into a hug.

Brock manages to talk you into visiting him in June, because—in his words— "It's prettier in the summer."

He's not exactly wrong, you have to admit, after a week of traipsing around the city with Brock. You're watching a firework show with your head on Brock's shoulder when you realize you're starting to picture yourself in Vancouver, starting a real life here.

"D'you really think I could get a job here?” you murmur to Brock during a pause in the fireworks.

"What?” Brock asks. He turns to you. His blond hair glows in the light of the fireworks overhead. "Never mind,” you whisper back.

You begin searching for jobs in Vancouver that night, in the quiet darkness of Brock's spare bedroom.

Before you know it, you've lined up the perfect job—even better than the one you'd originally found back home, not that you'll ever tell Brock that—and Brock has helped you find an apartment in the city. 

"It's not far from me,” Brock had told you when he was helping you move in, "so you can come over and walk Milo and Coolie whenever."

"Oh, is that the real reason you wanted me to move out here?” you tease. "Free dog walking?"

Brock shrugs innocently but chuckles. "Well, I need someone to watch them when we're on road trips and stuff.”

You throw a wad of bubble wrap at him.

Later, while you and Brock are eating pizza on your living room floor, Brock flops into his back and sighs. You poke him in the head with your foot.

"You good, buddy?” you ask.

"What do you think of dating apps?” Brock says, which isn't really an answer.

You've always been too scared to try dating apps yourself. Instead of telling Brock that, you say, "You're a professional athlete.” And a very attractive one, but you don’t say that part. "What do you need dating apps for?”

Brock looks up at you from his sprawl on your floor. "Because I'm tired of being single?” he asks.

You flip him off. You don't say, I'm single, too, you could always date me. You got used to putting aside your feelings for Brock a long time ago.

"And you think dating apps are the solution? You didn't have any issues getting people to date you in North Dakota.”

Brock rolls his eyes. "I didn't play for the Canucks, then. It's all people I meet now seem to care about.”

You're still not sure how dating apps will solve that problem.

As if he hears your unspoken question, Brock continues. "At least this way, I can weed out puck bunnies or whatever a lot faster, instead of wasting my time.” He cranes his neck around so he can look at you directly. "So will you help me or not?” 

You think you'd rather get stabbed directly in the heart than to help Brock date someone else, but you never could say no to him.

"Fine, whatever,” you say. "Gimme your phone.” 

You're already regretting your decision less than ten minutes later as you watch Brock scroll through his camera roll to add pictures to his profile.

"You can't use your official headshot!” you tell him, trying to snatch his phone. "People are going to think they're getting catfished.”

"I don't have a lot of good pictures of myself!” Brock protests.

You've nixed three more photos—all pictures Brock has evidently stolen from the team's social media—("Why the hell do you save all these, anyway?”)—when Brock throws his hands up and passes you his phone.

"You do it then,” he tells you.

Brock's own camera roll is obviously useless, so you pull out your own phone. It only takes a few minutes of scrolling for you to pluck a handful of good photos out of your camera roll and Airdrop them to Brock. He's looking at you a little strangely when you hand his phone back.

"What?” you ask.

"I didn't know you took so many pictures of me,” he says. 

"I don't take that many,” you defend weakly. It's not like you have an entire album on your phone of pictures of him, or anything. 

Brock drops the subject, but you still feel uneasy as you continue helping him finish his profile. The two of you spend almost an hour bickering over which prompts to choose or the answers Brock writes for them before Brock deems his profile "good enough”.

"'Good enough?'” you argue. “This profile is a masterpiece,” you declare. "We'll get you cuffed in time for Christmas.”

Brock snorts at you. "All thanks to you,” he says, smacking a kiss to your cheek.

You try not to feel any particular way about it.

Brock spends the next few weeks bringing you his dating app matches to "approve.” He even shows you some of the funny ones—mostly girls tripping over themselves for the chance to sleep with The Brock Boeser of the Vancouver Canucks. He gets a lot of matches. 

You try to muster the appropriate enthusiasm for Brock, as he seems to be throwing himself into this endeavor with all the energy he throws into hockey.

It's hard, though, when all you can do is compare yourself to them. You wonder what Brock sees in them that he’s never seen in you.

Brock never seems to notice if your encouragement is lackluster.

Matches turn into a revolving door of first dates for Brock. A few times, first dates turn into second dates, and even into a third date or two. 

You force yourself to stop obsessively keeping track of his dates, and to pretend like each date he goes on doesn't drive the knife even deeper into your heart.

Brock's in the middle of telling you about his latest date—you think he’s been seeing this person for nearly a month—when he stops abruptly in the middle of a sentence.

"Are you okay?” he asks.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?” you say. It doesn’t sound very confident, even to your ears. 

"You've got that look on your face, the one where you're mad at me, but trying to pretend that you're not.”

You try to arrange your face into something more neutral.

"I'm not mad at you, Brock,” you say. You don't think he believes you. 

"So why do you always get all—” Brock gestures vaguely at your face. “—pissy whenever I talk about my dates?”

"I do not! And besides, I didn't know moving to Vancouver meant a front row seat to your dating life! Don't you have teammates to talk about this shit with?”

Brock scoffs. "They don't care about my dating life, and, apparently, neither do you.” 

"Brock, it's not that I don't care—” 

Brock cuts you off. "Then what is it?”

"I care too much!”

"What?” he says.

"Dammit, Brock, why don't you want to date me?” you snap.

Brock shakes his head. You probably shouldn't have said that.

"What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

"You heard me the first time, Boeser. Why are you searching all over Vancouver for someone to date when I've been here the whole time?” 

Brock takes a step closer to you. You take a step backwards; your kitchen is small, and you end up trapped against the counter.

"The whole time? "Brock repeats dumbly.

You could slap him. "Yes, Brock. Boy, it's a good thing you're pretty and good at hockey, because you can be really stupid sometimes.”

"Hang on,” Brock says. He's moved even closer. "How was I supposed to know?”

"Do you think I'd more to another country for anyone?” you ask.

"Oh,” Brock says. Then he says, "For how long?”

"Huh?”

“How long have you been in love with me?” Brock asks.

“I don't know, sometime freshman year, I guess.” There was never really a lightbulb moment for you; your feelings for Brock grew and morphed so slowly you almost didn't notice until it was too late.

Brock kisses you then, crushing you up against the cabinets with the force of it. His hands are warm on your hips, his lips gentle and firm against yours.

You pull away, a little breathless.

Brock grins at you. “If I had known this was an option, I would have kissed you a long time ago.”

"So, can we delete that dating app now?” you ask, forehead resting on Brock's shoulder.

"We can do whatever you want,” Brock says, leaning in to kiss you again.

You suppose deleting his dating profile can wait a little while.

[98onlyboo]

big baby - k.mg

>> part 2 of: treat you better - k.mg

genre: fluff; wc: 1,3k

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

..."You know, I could treat you so much better than him..."

The next morning you woke up, Mingyu's arms still wrapped around you. You tried getting out of his grasp but his grip only tightened. "Gyuuu I want to get up" you whined. "Just a little longer" he said and pulled you on top of him. Now there is no way you can get out so you just accepted your fate.

Until you had an idea. You almost felt a little bad, especially since he was sleeping so peacefully but you had to get up. You started tickling him until he let go of you. "That is SO unfair" he said laughing. He grabbed a pillow and hit you, which just escalated the situation.

You were having a pillow fight, frequently landing some hits but also receiving some. You tackled him and started tickling him again. "STOP I CAN'T ANYMORE" he said laughing histerically. You stopped and looked at him, realising you were sitting on top of your shirtless best friend.

"What's wrong?" he asked grinning at you. He knew exactly what was "wrong". In a swift motion he flipped you around so he was on top of you. Your cheeks were burning at this point and he could see that. His face slowly moved towards yours. His eyes never leaving your lips. You were mentally preparing for what was about to happen next.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep a steady breath when you felt Mingyu's breath tickle your ears. "Don't start something you can't finish" he whispered seductively. Then he hit you with a suprise attack and tickled you without showing any mercy. You laughed until your sides hurt and tears formed in your eyes.

Mingyu then stopped and got up. "Come on, let's make breakfast" he suggested. You jumped up running towards the kitchen, Mingyu following close behind you. You opened the fridge and took out some yoghurt you had. "What do you want?" you asked. "I don't know..What are you eating?" "Some yoghurt. Want some too?" "Sure"

As you guys were eating, the room fell quiet. "How do you feel?" he asked all of a sudden. You knew why he was asking that. "Right now I'm okay I guess. Maybe I'm a little hurt that he would do that, but...maybe it was a sign. A sign that he wasn't the right one you know? I certainly think the right one wouldn't cheat" you chuckled saying the last part.

"I would never cheat on you..." Mingyu whispered as quietly as he could. You heard it but pretended you didn't. "What did you say??" you asked. "Oh nothing I just agreed with you" he smiled and continued eating his yoghurt.

-3 months later-

The thing with Brian didn't bother you much anymore. More or less it still hurt your ego a bit, but other than that you were finally okay again. It happened faster than you thought it would. Maybe because Mingyu was a great help in distracting you from it, but also helping you talk about it. It seemed like all of this made your friendship even stronger than before.

You were sitting at home, wondering what to do with your life. You decided to call Mingyu to see what he was up to.

"Hello?" someone answered, someone that wasn't Mingyu "Uhm hello? Is Mingyu there?" "He's not here right now, this is Minghao speaking. Do you want me to tell him something?" the voice said. You never talked to any of his friends before. "Uhm I just wanted to know what he was up to since I'm bored" you laughed nervously. "Well, you could come visit us at practice if you want. Then we can finally get to know you better, especially since you're Mingyus girlfriend" Minghao said. "Girlfriend..?" You asked "Well, you're saved under ___ with a million hearts so I thought you're his girlfriend" Minghao said, sounding a bit embarrassed "Oh no it's okay haha, we're just best friends. Would you send me the address though?? Then I'll come visit you guys" you smiled. "Of course!! See you later then" Minghao said and shortly after sent you the address over Mingyu's phone.

You got ready, trying to look at least a bit presentable to meet the guys for the first time. I hope he tells him that I'm coming. After you got to the company you were greeted by who seems to be one of his friends . "Hey!! I'm Minghao, the one you talked to on the phone" he said and kindly greeted you. "Mingyu has been talking so much about you, we're happy we finally get to actually meet you" he happily exclaimed. "Talked about me..?" you asked with a confused look.

"I may shouldn't have said that.." he whispered and laughed. You just laughed with him until you were infront of a door. You can hear music and some people inside. "Let me go in first" he said and motioned for you to hide behind him.

"Mingyu I have a surprise for you!!" Minghao said. "Really??" you heard your best friend say before running up towards you guys. Minghao stepped out of the way and revealed you as the "suprise". "___!" Mingyu screamed and picked you up. "I'm so happy you're here" he said after you told him to let you down. "Guys this is ___ my best friend!!" he said while you just stood there awkwardly.

You sat down with some of the guys and just started talking to them. You got along with them really really well. You laughed a lot with them and came to find out that all of them are so nice. When you started talking to Seungcheol, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. You looked around and saw Mingyu glaring at you and Seungcheol.

You went back to talking and laughing with Seungcheol, talking about everything possible. Suddenly Mingyu came up behind you and put an arm around your shoulder. You turned to look at him and asked him if he was okay. "Could we maybe go out just for a second?" he asked.

You agreed and left the room. "What's wrong??" you asked. "Do you like Seungcheol?" he bursted out. "What? I've known him for literally the past 20 minutes. He seems nice but that is way too early to say you like someone" you laughed. He apologised and you guys went back in. Why would he ask me that? And why would he care?

After some more very interesting and different conversations with his friends and spending the whole day with them you decided to go home. Mingyu accompanied you on your walk. "Thanks for walking me home" you said and hugged him. "No problem" he smiled, "also uhm, I hope this isn't too weird to ask but I've been thinking about this thing for some time now.." "What thing?" you asked a bit concerned. For whatever reason your first thought was that he wanted to end the friendship. "Us. I've been thinking about us.." he started", "I thought about how happy you make me, about my feelings in general and.." he looked down, almost acting a bit embarrassed to actually say what he wanted to say. "Please Gyu, tell me what's bothering you. What are you trying to tell me??" you said and took his hands in yours. "You know you can tell me everything right?" you assured him. 

"I love you yn" he blurted out. You didn't say anything at first. Seeing the lack of reaction, tears started welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry.." he whispered, "I shouldn't hav-" you shush him, cupping his face with your hands. "Don't be sorry Gyu. There is no reason to cry, I haven't rejected you have I?" you smiled at him. Slowly you closed the gap between you two and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. It didn't last long, but it made obvious how you felt about his confession. 

"I love you too, my big baby" you chuckled.

[utilitycaster]

I read your posts regarding c3 and what could be done differently, and I’ve always thought the way they handled Bertrand Bell was weird. He’s only in three episodes, then dies — c3 was my first campaign, and I had no idea who he was before, nor sure why I should care . Emotionally he didn’t leave an impact on the other characters (although I love Fearne’s jazz monologue) or the audience who has seen him one time before. They use his name for their party name but then don’t bother to see his grave, or remember him at all.

His death also means that we are tied to the moon plot very early on with an emotional weight so it feels like the group have to follow that story thread early on, setting up the mystery too early which then becomes exhausting to the audience. I wonder if c3 would have been better off if they didn’t bother with him, or if Matt and Travis agreed to really wait a while before killing Bertrand off, when they actually want to escalate the plot (would have had accusations of ‘scripting’ but who cares if it’s better narratively.) I think if he died around when Molly died then it would have been stronger (maybe too close a copy of c2, but at least that worked?)

I think a planned player character death can still be shocking and dramatic to the other players who weren’t expecting it, but how c3 executed it feels like a nothing burger and a waste of time. I don’t really know what would have changed if we just had Chetney at the start.

I'm going to be totally honest: I disagree strongly and I think you are assigning blame to a completely wrong place. That doesn't mean that you can't feel this moment failed to land (though I think that too is a criticism more of the overall campaign) but the concept of having a character show up, be quickly killed, and be replaced by the actual character isn't a particularly new one, doesn't require you to have a pre-existing attachment to the initial character for it to be a fun concept. It also, in my opinion, did serve a good purpose and frankly Bertrand had, in his three episodes, a stronger and clearer arc than several party members who have had over a hundred episodes.

I may put this specific piece in a separate post because I believe it's a requirement for understanding the failings of Campaign 3 but: A lot of discussion positions Campaign 3 as the story of Bells Hells, who were ill served by the Moon Plot. This is, in my opinion, incorrect. Campaign 3 is the Moon Plot Campaign, in which Bells Hells are ill-suited characters pushed through said plot because they happened to be played by the cast members. And to that end, I think that actually, introducing the moon plot immediately was a good idea. The problem was that the execution of that mystery was very poorly done. Bertrand led the party to Eshteross, and was then not long thereafter killed by a group of people working to destabilize the Chandei Quorum on behalf of Armand Treshi, so that he could bring in the Paragon's Call as a means of reinstating order in Jrusar. This presumably would also help them because then they wouldn't have to use Jiana as a middlewoman for the shipments they were receiving via her in Jrusar, and would generally increase their power. Bells Hells found out this was happening and thwarted it, but Treshi escaped.

This is when the plot began to become a mess, and while there were plenty of further opportunities to right it, I think basing the entirety of the early campaign in Jrusar and Bassuras, and severely paring down what was done in Bassuras [probably a whole other post but I'd have had Treshi remain captured in Jrusar but give up the information, making Bassuras entirely a data gathering mission, thus freeing up a lot of time in Bassuras for personal errands and bonding time] would have fixed a lot of the issues.

Again, that doesn't mean the concept worked for you, but this isn't even rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic - it's complaining about the meal that was served on the titanic 4 days prior to them hitting the iceberg.

[cyberrose2001]

Self-Humiliation

RB Chase x GN!Human Reader

Based on Rescue Bots Season 3 Episode 23 A little fic I thought of in the shower after binging some rescue bots. Trying to get myself out of a writing rut, so apologies if it isn't up to par, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mild Dub-Con, Masturbation, Sex Toy Usage, Third Person POV

Word Count: 971

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Click.

Click.

Click.

Oh, how humiliating this is.

It hadn't bothered Chase that he was confined to a wheelchair, nor the fact that he was injured. The police bot had sustained plenty worse before.

What bothered him was how helpless he felt. Chase tried cutting into the coms with the team on the ground, inputting suggestions, but had been quickly dismissed by the Chief to perform surveillance on the town. Chase felt a tiny bit deflated, though, in truth, he was rather grateful and enthusiastic that he could still play a crucial role for the team. Sitting alone in the control centre, constantly flicking through surveillance cameras around the island and calling the Chief if he saw something slightly unusual.

Chase still wasn't sure what constituted 'usual' regarding humans. So, he kept flicking through video feeds, a twinge of excitement at the thought of the knowledge he could gather. His optics were fixed even on the screen's in-between static. With current rescue scenes, the view of the main street, and the bank, he had the whole island at his fingertips. He was determined to do his job with the utmost pride and diligence.

As he ran the feed further and further, he saw live feeds of residential homes peering into the open windows, strangely enough. Surely this was a violation of some kind, Chase thought. It was Griffin Rock, though; anything can happen. Even if it called for cameras in every nook and cranny, pointed at the unsuspecting humans going about their unusual hobbies. He makes a mental note to ask about this... violation of privacy later.

There was Mrs Neederlander, a man playing a rather interesting instrument, and a couple enjoying an outside meal, which he believes is called a... 'bee bee queue'? Fascinating.

However, when he clicks on the remote to the next feed, his optics whir into pinpoints, and his digit freezes above the 'next' button.

The live feed focuses on a window, barely concealed by the thin curtain; it may as well not be there. It shows a silhouette of a human, a hand between their thighs, thrusting an unusually shaped phallic object into them.

"Oh my-" Chase covers his intake in shock. This was unprecedented. He leans closer to the screen, unsure if his optics are playing tricks on him.

No, this human was certainly pleasuring themselves.

He's heard of it before; there are police codes for public acts similar to this. But technically, this wasn't in public. This was a human unknowingly being spied on in their own home, so the thought of passing this off to the Chief quickly fizzled out.

"Ohh, fuck-"

Oh dear, Chase thinks to himself, there's audio. He really shouldn't be watching this. Every fibre of this being urges him to click 'next', to pretend he never saw anything. An emergency could unfold on the next surveillance feed, and he'd be none the wiser.

But Primus, does this human sound delightful.

A small pulse behind his panels, and Chase stiffens. Despite wanting nothing else than to continue his work, his body has a different opinion on the matter. His optics remain fixed on the human's tight hole, swallowing the inadequately sized toy; his spike would do much better work on making you scream. He bites the tip of his digits in agonising thought, fighting with his inner turmoil. It's wrong. It's so wrong to even have that passing thought.

But no one is around. Chase did a whole sweep of the base. No one to walk in on him shamelessly touching himself to a complete stranger. Let alone a human.

But, he wanted knowledge. So, knowledge he will get.

Chase quickly digs his digit into the seam of his panels, and the pressure releases with a hiss. His spike falls into his servo perfectly, standing shamelessly tall and erect instantly. His face heats up in disgrace, not believing he would ever consider doing this. Still, he lounges back, somewhat relaxing into his wheelchair, and refocuses on the human.

He watches intently, stroking up and down in time with the toy. Chase had never thought of it, but he wondered how that little human would feel wrapped around his spike. The thought sends a jolt through his spine, and he strokes faster.

"You- You little devil-" Chase moans softly as the pleasurable sensation blooms in the pits of his tanks, "Turning a bot like me into a filthy animal." He re-adjusts himself in the chair so he can spread his thighs more, a shameful display if anyone were to walk into the room right now. But he keeps stroking, pumping himself to the thought of plunging his spike into the little human. That tight, slick hole dripping all over it. Now his mind wanders again, wondering what it would be like, what you would smell like, taste like.

Chase never thought he could feel such envy like this, watching greedily as they collect dribbles of cum with a fingertip only to wrap a soft tongue around it.

It's all too much for his processor to handle; the sight of the human pleasingly sucking their finger, the toy still pressed deep inside that fleshy valve. Chase arches into his wheelchair, gripping the armrest with the same intensity as his spike and overloads. He fucks into his servo aimlessly, moaning and tossing his helm around with every erupting throb of his spike. Transfluid messily coats his digits and paints his thighs.

The police bot vents heavily and slumps back, groaning softly. His optics flicker open, not realising that he had squeezed them shut, and he looks back at the screen. The human was gone; only a tiny wet patch remained of you on the sheets.

Chase looks down at his lap, a bubble of shame creeping through his frame.

"Oh, Primus, how humiliating."

[vxlentinescookies]

could I pls request a PLATONIC fatherly red velvet x teen reader comfort fic?

like reader is struggling a lot mentally, is very lonely, and going thru a lot

And they always hide it because they feel guilty and like a burden and they don’t want to bother anyone

But one day velvet catches them in this state and he just provides lots of comfort? I think anyone needs hugs and fatherly comfort from Velvet rn these days…

→ ❛Daydreamer❜

→ Pairing ; Red Velvet Cookie & Teen!Reader → Quote ; ❛❛Im not leaving anywhere, pup, come here❜❜ → Genre ; Drama → A/N ; Sorry for the delay, here it is! (cw mentions of abusive households and bullying)

Dreams are meant to be sweet, simple and cozy, even if sometimes they’re extravagant and coat your world in curious questions and what not. However, lately, these “dreams” had seemed to have taken a darker tone, a darker connotation, and perhaps there is nothing more we could chalk it up other than…

“Im not… I dont feel good. Havent felt good in a long while.”

You looked down at your hands, looking at the little lines that ran through them, before looking up, and then, you’d think for a moment, about what led you to the current moment.

You were a teen much like any other, with your likes, your dislikes, things you loved and things you hated. You explored the world with a certain shine in your eyes that, lately, had been dying down, but why? Life at home just, wasnt easy, no, not at all. You lived hardship after hardship, with a neglectful parent and another who barely stayed home, you were barely afloat with the cold hard walls you had to see every single day. Outside of your home, things werent all that nice either, having gone through bullying for your interests, for the way you dressed, the way you were.

Life wasnt good, it hasnt been good, and probably wont be good for a long while, if truth was to be told, but you tried to cope, tried to move forward, tried to see the bright side, even if locked in your tiny room, writing and drawing of a bright future where you could live out of the things you loved the most, where you could experience all that made you the happiest. If you could only… speak up about them.

Perhaps, thats where your uncle came into view. Red Velvet, one of the siblings from your motherly side that stayed firm in being in your life. You were somewhat glad about it, that he had always and persistently stayed by your side no matter what, even if in his gaze, your life was seemingly perfect. Your parents were good actors, you see, we all are when we need to put on a facade.

So when Red Velvet came to visit that afternoon, between laughs and chit chat, you’d sneak over to your room, with nothing else in mind but to hide from the saccharine smiles and hypocritical gazes of love and affection. They didnt care about you, no, they didnt… But for him they acted, didnt they?

Locking yourself in your room, you’d sit down by your desk and start drawing again, little sketches, little drabbles, you enjoyed every single one of them with a soft hum. You drew happy homes, you drew sad homes, you drew the in between, and you drew the ideal family for you, even if it only had one parent in it. Thats when the door was knocked on, catching you off guard as you’d tilt your head before responding.

“Im busy…” Harsh, cold, it took the person behind the door by surprise, and as they spoke, you realized.

“(y/n), its me… Red Velvet, your uncle…” You had guessed wrong.

You call out to him, quietly, before walking to the door and opening it to reveal your uncle, a small smile on his face as he looked down at you.

“Hey, there” He’d say softly, before kneeling in front of you “What are you doing here? Party’s down there…”

“I dont want to be with them…” You answered, truthfully, looking down with certain disdain as you fiddled with your hands. “I prefer being in my room”

“...” He’d just stay silent, not saying much, before taking a look inside your dark room, only illuminated by the light in your desk. “Can I come in?”

Red Velvet would take a seat at your bed, as you took the side by him, rocking your legs up forward and backwards, clashing with the bed plush as Red Velvet looked around, before speaking.

“Why dont you want to be with them? Your parents, I mean…” He’d ask, looking at you as you fiddled with your hands once again.

“They’re lying, they act as if they care about me but I rarely see them at home… And when they do they’re mean…” You’d answer, truthfully, there wasnt a wish to lie about that reality after all, nor was there any wish to speak about it. “I dont want to talk about it…”

“...” He’d pursue his lips, then, he knew something was wrong, but getting it out of someone… “(y/n), whats wrong?”

So he’d ask it out plainly, looking at you with suspicious eyes, but not incriminatory, he simply looked at you for something, anything, that would give him leeway into helping you let out these feelings. But your mind had been locked into not giving in to others, into not revealing the full truth in search of not being a burden, but to your uncle you wouldnt be a burden now, would you? You didnt know, and you didnt want to find out in any way, shape, or form.

“Nothing’s wrong” You’d say, crossing your arms. “Im fine, Uncle”

“If you were fine you wouldnt be holed up in this dark room…” He’d say, sighing “Im not going to force you to speak, ok? But when you need me, you know where to find me”

He’d stand up, then, getting ready to leave when you’d extend your hand to grip on the hem of his sleeve, and then…

“Im not… I dont feel good. Havent felt good in a long while.” You said as he stopped and turned to look at you, making his eyes follow yours.

You looked down at your hands, the little hands that ran through them. The little lines natural to your body, you hummed, before clenching your hands and running to hold onto your uncle, tears soon beginning to run through your face.

“Dont leave, please…”

“Im not leaving anywhere, pup, come here”

Life was hard, that much was true, and as you day dreamed day in and day out about a new future, this once you chose to stand on earth, and explain the truth about your life. You told your uncle about everything that had happened, everything that had gone through your mind, everything that happened both in and out of school, in and out of home, you came undone and loose, letting your tears flow freely, as Red Velvet your uncle, heard you loud and clear, humming and nodding along as you spoke. 

“You’ve gone through a lot, that is for sure…” He’d start then, once you had finished speaking, and your face turned to look at him while he rubbed your shoulder gently. “But that dosent mean you had to live it alone…”

“I just didnt want to be a burden…”

“Sweetheart, you’re not a burden, not to me nor anyone for that matter”

“But Mom-”

“Your mom knows nothing” His voice would become slightly agitated, turning to see the door before sighing “Neither of us came from a healthy household, but, Im not saying this as a way to justify her actions, simply to try and see it from her point of view—She dosent know anything else…”

“That dosent make it right…” You’d counterattack, and Red Velvet would nod along.

“Of course, just because you understand someone dosent mean it makes it right” He’d explain, and you’d nod softly “What Im trying to say is, neither of us knows much other than hurt. But what we do about that, is what matters…”

You stayed in silence for a moment, before turning to see Red Velvet again, who seemed to be in thought before turning to see you in return, mismatched eyes meeting with teary ones, you clung to him as you spoke your next words.

“I dont want to live here anymore…”

“I know pup, I know” He’d say and sighed, before nodding “I’ll talk with your mom, try to make things right… If not… Leave it all to me, alright?”

He’d clean your eyes and brush hair out of your face, before finally speaking softly.

“If you need me, you know you can always come and find me, I’ll always be here for you no matter what, I promise you that much”

Life… it didnt become any easier, but at least… At least you had someone to lean to from now on, and that much was enough for you to have hope of one day, leaving and fulfilling your dreams. Because maybe someday… Someday you’ll be standing in the hall making one specific person proud, and that will be enough.

[lcvebuckley]

a recipe for disaster (and love)

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 2 - cooking together | word count : 1.6k | rated : G

a little late but this prompt is the first one i've worked on and it's been in my drafts since mid-jan so i was so excited to share this!! it took a bit longer to edit cus it's my first attempt on a crack-ish fic and i'm a little skittish about it hhh also might be a little ooc for tommy but let's just pretend he can't cook 👍

enjoy! ♡

“Babe, I don’t think this is right,” the older muttered, frowning at the bowl. “How many cups of salt did you say it was? Two right?”

Silence.

“Tommy,” Evan said slowly, walking over like he was approaching a wild animal. “I said two spoons, not cups.”

Or in which Buck's cooking lesson had gone wrong.

full version below or read on ao3

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It started with a complaint. Not the typical “I’m hungry” complaint, but the kind that simmered just below the surface, coming after a long shift, a bruised shoulder, and precisely zero decent meals. Tommy had been running on caffeine and protein bars all day, the kind of combination that made him cranky enough to snap at his own reflection if it looked at him wrong.  

By the time he got back to his place, he was a walking embodiment of exhaustion and mild annoyance. Evan was already home, cheerful and relaxed, humming to himself as he moved around the kitchen with ease, a pan sizzling on the stove, the scent of garlic and something buttery filling the air.  

Tommy’s stomach growled aggressively, which he thinks was quite obvious since he noticed how the younger froze before turning around, flashing that annoyingly perfect smile—like he wasn’t out here casually committing acts of culinary excellence while Tommy was out there fighting for his life with a vending machine that ate his dollar earlier.  

“Hey, babe!” Evan greeted, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his curls slightly damp which Tommy assumed is from a recent shower. “I made dinner.” 

The older dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and trudged over, not forgetting to lean in for a quick kiss. Having Evan to come home to has been the perfect antidote for his bad days and today was no different.

The plate Evan set down was a work of art—some kind of roasted chicken with golden, crispy skin, surrounded by perfectly seasoned vegetables. It looked like it belonged in a magazine. 

He picked up a fork, took a bite, and nearly groaned out loud. It wasn’t fair. Nothing should taste this good.  

And that’s when it happened. The words escaped before he could stop them.  

“You know,” Tommy started, casually enough to pass for nonchalant—except it wasn’t. Not even close. Evan looked up, attention snagged instantly. “I’m jealous the 118 gets to eat your cooking every day while I have to wait two days just to see you, let alone have dinner together.”

Evan blinked. Once. Twice. Then a slow grin—the kind that made Tommy’s stomach flip in that irritating, lovesick way—spread across his face like Tommy had just issued a personal challenge. 

“Oh,” Evan said, leaning against the table, arms crossed in the way that made his biceps look unnecessarily good. Tommy tried not to think about that because, apparently, his offhand comment had intrigued his boyfriend more than intended. “Is that the problem?” 

Tommy realized what was happening a second too late. He could’ve backtracked. Played it off. But no, his pride wouldn’t let him. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, stabbing another forkful like it had personally offended him. Which it kind of did in a way. “Must be nice, having a personal chef at work. Meanwhile, I’m over here with dry sandwiches and sad granola bars.”  

Evan’s grin only grew. “You could just… learn to cook, you know,” his voice was dripping with amusement, his eyebrows arching like he was already imagining the thought of Tommy cooking.

Tommy shot him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if it bothers you that much, I can teach you.” Evan’s voice was annoyingly casual, like he wasn’t shattering Tommy’s fragile ego with a single sentence. “That way you won’t miss my cooking so much when I’m not around.”  

Tommy couldn't help but to feel a little offended. “I can cook,” he protested. Sure, he wasn’t exactly Evan-level in the kitchen, but he’d made eggs and bacon before. Perfectly edible eggs and bacon. There was also that one time he tried stir-fried rice… but he preferred not to talk about that.

Evan bit down a chuckle. “I didn't say you can't,” he replied, his face morphing into that smug look Tommy secretly loved—but also knew meant he was about to get teased within an inch of his life. “I just think you’re… a little amateur.” he finished, his hands waving around as if they could make his words feel less like a stab.

Tommy’s mouth opened, then closed. He couldn't even deny it.

“Which is why I’m willing to teach you,” Evan added. “I’ve perfected my skills over the years thanks to Bobby, and I think you’ve got potential—as long as you follow my instructions,” his grin stretched wide, all gleaming teeth and overconfidence.

Tommy, of course, could never say no to Evan.

And that’s how, two nights later, he found himself standing in their kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron on (which obviously comes from Evan’s apron collection), and he's glaring at a box of spaghetti like it owed him money.  

Evan’s so-called “lesson” started off easy enough. They were making pasta carbonara—simple ingredients, simple steps, Evan had said. Foolproof.

The younger moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, confident and effortless. He cracked eggs with one hand, diced pancetta with precise flicks of his knife, all while humming some random tune. He assigned Tommy the “easy” tasks, which felt suspicious.

“Just start boiling the pasta and mix the seasoning for the sauce. I’ll handle the pancetta,” Evan said, flashing a grin like this wasn’t a setup for failure. Well, Tommy's failure specifically.

Tommy nodded like he understood the assignment. In fairness, it sounded easy. Boil water. Season the egg mixture. No problem.

Except now the mixture looks odd and Tommy felt like he did something wrong. “Babe, I don’t think this is right,” the older muttered, frowning at the bowl. “How many cups of salt did you say it was? Two right?”  

Silence.

The kind of silence where you could hear Evan’s soul leave his body.

“Tommy,” Evan said slowly, walking over like he was approaching a wild animal. “I said two spoons, not cups.”

Tommy froze, the whisk dangling from his hand like a weapon of culinary destruction. His brain short-circuited. Embarrassed? Yes. Stupid? Extremely.

The younger burst out laughing and started wheezing as he clutched to his sides and Tommy groaned, dropping his head onto the counter in defeat. “I feel like an idiot.”

Still laughing, Evan slid behind him, wrapping his arms around the older’s waist in a warm back hug. His laughter softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to Tommy’s shoulder, resting his chin there. It was supposed to be comforting, probably. But it was distracting. Evan’s warmth pressed against him, his breath brushing against Tommy’s ear, and suddenly the bowl of regret salt mixture didn’t seem so important.

“You’re not an idiot,” Evan murmured, though his voice was still shaking with amusement. “You’re just… aggressively enthusiastic about salt.”

The older groaned louder, trying to bury his face in his hands. But Evan was relentless, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Tommy’s neck and shoulder, his arms tightening in comfort. “You’re doing fine,” he murmured, even though he was still chuckling. “Seriously. Look at you, whisking that mixture like a pro.” 

Tommy huffed, turning slightly to glare, but the younger just smiled and stole a quick kiss, all soft and sweet like he wasn’t still laughing internally. Tommy wanted to laugh along so bad but instead he groaned, dropping his head back against Evan’s shoulder. “I'm still an idiot.”  

“You’re my favorite idiot,” Evan whispered, punctuating the words with quick kisses along Tommy’s jaw, peppering them like little apologies for laughing. “Plus, you’re way too hot to be bad at anything. It’s honestly kind of comforting that you have flaws.”  

God, Tommy felt both flustered and annoyed. He swatted at Evan’s arm half-heartedly, but the younger just laughed and kissed him again, this time lingering a little longer, soft and warm against his cheek.  

The chaos didn’t stop there. In the distraction of affectionate teasing, the pasta water boiled over dramatically, sending a hiss of steam into the air like it was personally offended by their public display of affection. Tommy panicked, knocking over the pepper grinder, which rolled off the counter dramatically like it had somewhere better to be.

Eventually, by some miracle, they salvaged the dish. Somehow.  

The carbonara wasn’t perfect. Slightly too much salt—even when they redid the egg mixture that was Tommy’s salt disaster mix, the sauce a little thicker than Evan’s usual. But it was edible. Decent even. Good enough to stop Tommy from complaining about not having Evan’s cooking every day. For now.  

They collapsed at the table, Tommy stabbing his fork into the pasta with exaggerated exhaustion. He tasted it cautiously, then nodded. “Okay. It’s not as good as yours, but it’s not terrible.” Evan also took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before smiling. “Told you. You’ve got potential.”  

“Remind me to not ever do this again,” Tommy muttered, shoving his plate aside and reaching his hands toward Evan. After the day he’d had—culinary disasters and enough salt to season an entire city block—all he wanted was to hold Evan’s hands and forget about the embarrassment.

The younger grinned, propping his chin on one hand like he wasn’t responsible for half the chaos. “One dish isn’t gonna keep your mouth shut, baby.”

Still, he reached over with his free hand, letting Tommy intertwine their fingers. His grin softened as the older absentmindedly played with his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tommy rolled his eyes, squeezing Evan’s hand gently. “Can’t you just cook for me?” he asked, practically begging. He even tried to do one of those wide-eyed looks Evan always pulled whenever he wanted something—big, dramatic, puppy-dog eyes. But judging by Evan’s snort, it wasn’t nearly as effective. Mental note: work on that.

The younger shrugged, casually smug. “Maybe when we’re married and I become your househusband, sure,” he said with a wink. “But for now, you’re on your own.”  

Tommy blinked, pretending to be caught off guard. He forced a laugh, but inside, his heart did a somersault. Little did Evan know, there was already a ring hidden in Tommy’s sock drawer.

Yeah, Tommy thought, stealing one more look at Evan’s soft smile, maybe not for long.

[ssaalexblake]

I mean this in the nicest way as it's possible to mean something objectively kind of dickish, but at some point, the absolute cynical Need to assume that the people in charge of the media you consume are just bumbling fools never knowing what they're doing only makes the people assuming that look, uh, not super smart, and has absolutely zero bearing on the creators. That this happens on meta posts that Literally Explain what's going on and people still fail to comprehend that the work of a few different people all pitching in and agreeing on it would have been necessary for it to happen, doesn't help. And yes, it's a thing that's happened a whole bunch of times on my posts alone, let alone on random ones.

Me: hey look how theyre showing that 13's messed up!

Person: lol I doubt the showrunner knows that!

Sure, Jan. The 89 times he wrote 13 being as messed up as all the other doctors were just flukes for his blonde fairy-princess of good mental health and goodness regeneration 🤷

Well buddy, that's Your problem. It's one thing to see a messy as hell narrative with no clear ending or moral to it (think of the new star wars trilogy) and clock it was totally on the fly and that anything profound was likely to be an accident (I use this example cuz they admit this is what happened). It's another to look at a complete narrative that includes foreshadowing from the very beginning that tracks all the way to the end, written by a guy who is open about having planned it for a while, who has said that he has A story to tell and then he was done and left, and then go 'yeah he has no idea what he was doing'.

I have no idea when cynicism became the suave fandom thing in Any situation even if none is warranted, but it doesn't actually make people look cool and unaffected if that's what you're all going for, it just makes it look like you're incapable of making separate judgements on a case by case basis. I am cynical as hell over certain things because I actually thought about them and decided I was. I am not like this for everything bc not everything deserves cynicism. Sometimes, it doesn't actually matter what was or what was not intentional to start with. Anybody who has created anything, ever, has unintentionally started something and it turned out to be something they pursued. It just works like that sometimes! It's not a problem!

But if you can Honestly look at 13 doing all that messed up crap she did with no introspection over it and think it was the writer not realising she was being messed up because they didn't hold your hand and point it out every single time like they do in peppa pig, despite the fact that the character is Always to some degree messed up and this tracks with the show outside the era, and Fail entirely to consider that her lack of repentance in 13 was an actual consistent character trait and that you should use your brain to actually analyze what that means for the story and for the person... You should have paid more attention in English classes. You are supposed to think about what that means. I know it's a kids show, but it's not preschool.

The problem is not the material not having the depth to analyse, it is the audience's inability to objectively parse it. It does not matter if you love it or hate it! but people are merely displaying they lack the skills to even decide if they do or not by refusing to look for narrative reasons for things and instead just looking behind the scenes to say Obviously it was all just an accidental written by the clueless to justify not bothering. And then going on to make that fact very public.

And you know what, I don't care if you bother or not, you don't have to justify not wanting to think about it! but when people make it my problem I get sick of the crap.

Like why? Really? If you dislike it why are you blogging about it? And if you like it but feel like you're honour bound to act like chibnall is a moron every time his work is brought to your attention just to Make Sure Nobody Will Think You Like It, I mostly think you need to take a step back and smell some grass (or your own regional equivalent of an outside smellable thing).