#there were Many lemme tell u | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jamminvroomvroom · 6 months ago

Note

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

taglist

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iatrophilosophos · 4 months ago

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Tbc the thing that pisses me off here is not that people are ignorant--the western medical establishment is Very Invested in keeping people's memories short with these things and the most odius shit happens not just to erased people, but as an act of erasure.

It's that people just Assume shit about recent medical history + current practice without bothering to fucking CHECK and you get mfers out here saying shit like "gay people haven't really faced corrective medical assault"" (nope) (specifically medical violence including ECT and forced hormone treatments against gay & transgender people who were CAMAB was extremely prevalent in the US in recent history and Still Happens) or "calm down, nobody's getting lobotmoized" (laughably false) (the surgical procedures are less common these days but still happen, not to mention many commonly prescribed antipsychotic medications with very similar effects! It might be happening to you, general unspecified reader!) Or act like ECT isn't still VERY MUCH USED (they even recently approved a new method of electric stimulus that is technically different, and lemme just say from all the shit I've heard ppl talking about it, the reports patients who've recieved it are giving are extremely fuckin worrying and it may actually be worse than ECT classic)

If u find urself thinking "gosh that's so horrible it can't possibly be happening, this person must be nuts/exaggerating/talking out of their ass", LOOK THAT SHIT UP & read shit with a critical eye, don't just look at sources from clinics & online medical information pages that are financially invested in selling this shit + painting it as fine and normal or even exciting and useful. Learn the history, the mechanisms of action, find some reports from people who have actually been affected by it, and form a real goddamn informed opinion!

It doesn't even matter to me if you end up with a different take than me I don't fucking care just actually learn and think about it and don't let these procedures succeed at erasing entire populations of people affected by medical assault.

Killing people with no grasp of recent medical history with hammers

#prev this isnt at you u were just the most recent person to reblog the version of the post i wanted to add to #hell yeah looking into shit #i do see plenty of ppl doing the thing it just like makes me more pissed that so many ppl r complete asses about it bc clearly it is not tha #t fucking hard to go 'huh lemme look into that' instead of telling ppl to calm down/that theyre lying without knowing jack all fuck abt what #s being talked abt!!!!!!!!#aaaaaaaaa #i did end up having a rlly lovely convo with the person who originally told me “nobodys being lobotomized” i just like.#why cant we fucking START from a place of curiosity

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mariahcarreyyy · 10 months ago

Note

currently thinking more abt possessive!lando. wondering what the reactions of the grid would be to see his partner covered in marks, or i guess the first reaction to seeing it for the first time.

i think daniel & carlos would have a FIELD DAY w/ lando LMAO. i also think lewis would tease him abt it too.

hope the finals are going well bae 😩 stick in there!!

also random question: have u seen saltburn LMAO???

— ❄️❄️

p.s. finals are OVERRRR🎉🎉🥳 thank you bae p.p.s. i have. i went into that movie not knowing ANYTHING abt it and lemme tell u nothing was pretty (other than jacob elordi's face) nsfw 18+ under beware⬇️⬇️

When the paddock first witnessed the prominent red hickeys on your neck, it had been at one of the hotter grand prix's. You'd been sweating profusely, moisture forming on the parts of your body you didn't even know could sweat until you'd decided you'd had enough. You had taken off your pink turtleneck—a rookie mistake.

"goddamn, y/n, you getting mauled by a bear behind closed doors?" Daniel guffaws from beside you, a hearty laugh slipping past his lips because ofcourse it does. Shit. Your hands fly up and you attempt to cover the expanse of your neck. Because, when I say Lando marks you everywhere, he truly does. With no shame. A pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist from behind you, and Lando has the fucking audacity to sink his teeth into your exposed shoulder. "finished my media duties, baby, what's goin' on here?" Your boyfriend's former teammate only smiles suggestively and jokes while motioning towards your tainted neck, "just wondering if y/n's dating you or a werewolf." Lando grins. Good, Lan beams internally, that's how it should be. You dating him. You being his. All his, forever.

Carlos had been standing beside you and Lando through this interaction and muttered an empathetic, 'ay, lando, give her neck mercy, you animal' because he was not a stranger to this. The brit was his best friend on the grid and the person he'd spend the most time with, so he was aware that Lan had this possessive tendency. Hell, he was more than aware. If you were in close proximity to Lando, you best believe his lips were on you in any way possible. The spaniard couldn't count on one hand how many times he'd have to talk to Lando while the latter was licking, biting, sucking at your neck and jaw.

It was safe to say that the color of your cheeks rivals that of your turtleneck now.

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asapeveryday · 3 months ago

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PICTURES -P.BUECKERS

Warnings: smut. Hello!

Summary: you love photography and she loves you. And has breathtaking ideas to show it.

Authors note: ik I haven’t written for p in a while :) here u go

“Yes, just like that.”

Taking pictures was more than just a job for you. Sure, you loved working as a photographer for Uconn’s women’s basketball. You relished in getting the perfect shot, the desperate expressions, the moments of strength or weakness. You loved the girls, and you loved your girlfriend.

Taking photos was an occupation, but also a hobby. Paige’s dorm was decorated with album covers and basketball players, but ever since she started seeing you it the walls were littered with Polaroids and printouts too.

You loved going into her room and reliving memories of you and her together. The Polaroid next to her tv was of when you two dressed up for a Halloween party. Everyone was going for sexy, but Paige had something different planned. It was a stupid costume, but you loved it.

Another Polaroid was the one near her bed; you and Paige hugging after a big win, blue confetti falling from the roof of the gymnasium and fans going wild in the background.

You liked to take new ones often, so here you were having Paige pose a bit.

Two of her smiling, one with her tongue out, a couple stupid poses.

“Paige hold your chain out.”

“I’m not doing that corny shit.” She rolls her eyes.

“C’mon…it’s funny!” You whine

“We have enough funny ones, I want sum of you.”

You pause for a moment. You’ve taken many pictures of Paige and other people had taken pictures of you two together, but she’s never taken any of you, just you, alone.

“I want a picture to put in the back of my phone case, jus lemme take a couple.” She says, getting up from her bed and holding her hand out for the Polaroid.

You reluctantly give it to her and switch places, you sitting on her bed and her standing in front of you.

When you took pictures of her there wasn’t too much of an angle because of your height, but with you sitting down and her 6-foot self standing up, the camera was fully pointed down at you. You were looking up to Paige in a way that felt compromising…almost dirty.

“Smile.” She says, and you do without hesitation.

Paige takes out the photo and shakes it. It turns out pretty good, despite the fact that you’re eyeing the camera in an unintentionally sultry way. Paige smiles at the photo and pockets it before leaning over to kiss you. You immediately lay back on to the bed, propped up by your elbows as she crawls on top of you.

You were infatuated with the feeling of being caged in by her. Paige was all legs and arms, toned muscles and confident movements. You couldn’t keep track of all the times you’d fantasized about the moments with her above you, lips entwined and eyelashes fluttering against each other.

She brings a hand to your face, but you pull away after hearing a shutter noise. With her other hand she’s still holding the camera, she took a photo while you were making out.

“Seriously?” You ask, trying to come off disinterested but secretly wanting to see how it turned out. The thought of a physical photo of you and Paige kissing was enough to make your stomach flip.

“Holy shit.” Paige mumbles, eyes glued to the Polaroid.

Holy shit is right. The photo is perfect. Your face is slightly covered by her hand and her face is slightly covered by her hair, but you can clearly tell what’s going on. It’s practically incriminating to have, and it’s turning you on.

Paige is looking at you with a twinkle in your eye that you recognize. “What?” You ask.

She thinks for a moment before saying “I have an idea.”

It was really a sight to behold, your legs spread, cunt sopping just above her face, your chest slightly heaving. The camera was slightly throwing you off, but all you could truly think about was making sure Paige was in the shot.

“You sure about this P?” You ask, voice wavering with anticipation.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a nervous habit that often drives you wild. “Never been more sure in my life.”

Before you can answer she lets her tongue circle at your clit, slowly at first, controlled and intentional. Paige wasn’t always vocal when receiving, but giving was another story. She loved how your legs would shake at the vibrations of her murmurs against your thighs.

Placing a wet kiss to your pussy, she fully latches onto you now, sucking your clit and looking up at you with the most pornographic look she can muster. The sounds of pictures being taken are easy to ignore when she’s whimpering and devouring you whole.

One hand leaves the camera to grip her head, running your fingers through her blonde hair. Looking through the camera was one thing in itself, watching her suckle your heat with no shame as Polaroid after Polaroid fell on the sheets beneath her.

“Fuck, oh my god.” You throws her head back, trying to quiet down by biting your lip. Paige’s response to this is to lap at your hole while one hand rubs circles on your clit. The extra stimulation brings a tense feeling to your core.

“What’re you gonna do with those photos?” She mumbles against into you. “You gonna use them when I’m not here to please you? Hm?”

The vibrations from her voice are driving you insane. “Shit,” your voice cracks. “Paige, oh, yes.”

Your response, the fact you’re even able to speak, is an act of defiance in her eyes. She spits on your cunt before upping the friction on your clit as she eats you out. “You can’t do shit.” Paige grumbles. “Your fingers can’t compare to me. You think you can fuck yourself better?”

You want to scream out no, because it’s the truth. Your hands couldn’t compare to her fingers, her mouth, to anything Paige had to offer. As much as you wanted to tell her this, the friction was becoming too much and you couldn’t get any words out.

It’s the best orgasm you’ve had in a while, and the best pictures you’ve ever taken in your life.

#fanfiction #fanfic #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #rpf #smut #uconn women’s basketball #paige buckets #polaroid #paige bueckers x reader smut #paige smut #paige bueckers smut #wlw smut #wlw ns/fw #wlw

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remlionheart · 5 months ago

Text

you're the thoughts that can't be tamed

and i'm trying to be sane

⋆˙⟡♡ MDNI. whewww. the people demanded more high / toxic!megumi and the people got more high / toxic!megumi. tw for angst, daddy issues, drug use, smut. 4.3k words. all characters aged up 21+. ๋࣭ ⭑ life held no promises - it was a fact that you and megumi were made well aware from a very early age. from sleeping under blanket forts as kids to sneaking through windows as teenagers, he'd always been your one constant in a sea of variables. but what happens when the tides become strong enough to pull him away too? ๋࣭ ⭑ this was fucking emotional to write, not gonna lie. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ⋆˙⟡♡

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

“No one else has what we have.”

Those were Megumi's favorite words to say to you.

On the nights where both of your dads would take off together, deciding that they were done being responsible for the two of you for a few days, you would hide under blankets in his room and laugh at the things that only 9-year-old you would understand.

You'd keep yourselves occupied with video games and books and dive so far into each other’s imaginations that you'd completely forget about the world around you.

It was all late-night summer air, swinging in your backyard for hours, and the way that you two were somehow able to turn something as damning as parental abandonment into adventure.

As teenagers, reality became harder to sugarcoat but there was still that same unfettered energy between both of you that made it doable.

At 14, you'd sit on the edge of his bed during the wintertime, drinking beer that you'd stolen from Toji's stash and exchange secrets in-between drunken kisses that neither one of you would be brave enough to acknowledge the next day.

You'd walk to school together with matching tired eyes and unkempt hair and he would tell people to fuck off when they’d ask you why you'd been wearing the same hoodie for a week straight.

He'd sneak through your bedroom window on the nights that your house didn’t feel safe just to lay with you, running light fingers through your hair while sharing a set of tangled headphones to drown out the sound of your parents arguing.

The things that he couldn’t tell his other friends, the things that he couldn’t tell his family, the things that he could barely tell himself – he'd tell you.

You were two halves of two very broken homes. Rigid and unstable when apart but perfectly balanced when together. From spending practically every weekend together to essentially raising one another since none of the adults in either of your lives had any interest in doing so – he was right:

No one else had what you had.

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

Nobara's ceiling fan creaked steadily above you as you stared back at it, trying but failing to swallow down your emotions.

You rolled over, careful not to wake her as you reached for your phone to see the time "3:33" displayed across the screen. With a heavy sigh, you unplugged it from the charger and crept out of bed, keeping your movements light as you made your way into the living room.

You wrapped one of her knit blankets around your shoulders, sinking down onto the couch like you'd done so many times over the last few weeks you'd been staying here. There were bags under your eyes that you were convinced would never go away. Tear stains on your cheeks that felt like they'd been permanently adopted by your skin.

Thinking about Megumi was nothing new, it was the unfamiliar pain that came along with it that you couldn't quite adjust to. The way your chest tightened and your insides burned with each memory that surfaced. What used to be the most comfortable part of your brain was now the one place you were desperate to stay away from.

"So you're leaving then?"

You'd replayed the last conversation you'd had with him so many times, it still felt like you were in his room most days. A ghost that wandered the halls, hopelessly waiting for him to come back no matter how much time passed.

You had struggled to look back at him that night, his pupils dilated from the Oxy he had taken. There was something so unnerving about being so close to him and so far away from him at the same time. How physically, he was within arm's reach, but mentally, there might as well have been galaxies separating you.

Your voice betrayed you, shaking as you fought to keep your resolve. "That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

He was silent, his worn-down demeanor saying more than his voice was capable of at the time. You watched his hand twitch at his side as if his own body was attempting to fight against his sentiment. "Just go."

You stared at him, forcing yourself to take in his pale face and hollowed out blue eyes. You'd seen the whole thing. The entire progression of the boy who used to build blanket forts with you to protect you from the outside world to the boy who'd taken your virginity on a rainy September night when you were 15 because "you both deserved to know what it felt like to be loved" to the vacant 22-year-old who was standing in front of you with nothing left to offer to you or himself.

You'd been there for every day and every moment that had led the two of you down that one pivotal breaking point, but you still couldn't fathom it. You didn't have it in you to fight with him. Didn't have it in you to push back or yell or fall apart in front of him like you both thought you would.

Instead, you did something much more damning: you mirrored him. Leaving him with an empty, "Okay." as you closed the door to his apartment and disappeared back to your car, realizing that his words still reigned true, only they held a new meaning - no one else had what you had, not even you.

You nestled into the couch, using your phone to put the same song on repeat as you tried to close your eyes again. Out of all the grievances you'd experienced throughout your life, you had never considered until recently how much harder it was to mourn the living than it was to mourn the dead.

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi had barely slept in the last three days. His thoughts were blurred by hazy white pills and scattered flashbacks of the things he should've never said to you and worst of all...

The way your face used to light up when you'd wake up next to him and what a jarring contrast it was to have his eyes flutter open to an empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand instead.

"I feel awake when I'm with you."

He'd said it to you one morning when you'd both just woken up, his fingers running lazy circles over the top of your shoulder, his arms still wrapped protectively around you from the previous night's sleep.

"I'm listening." You hummed, propping your head up to meet his blue eyes in quiet encouragement.

He wasn't always the best with his words - you both knew that, but he still tried as he kept his fingertips featherlight against your skin. "I'm always so tired, but... not when I'm with you."

He remembered the way your pupils bloomed while he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting himself say the things he'd usually be too afraid to admit. "I... feel like the only time life really makes sense is when we're like this, you know...? When we're both half asleep tangled up in each other."

You cried, your hands finding the back of his neck as your lips met his in a gentle mid-morning daze.

It was the first time you'd said it - it poured out in between breaths and tears, opening up like a floodgate once it began: "I love you." you whispered against his lips. "I love you." You repeated while you pulled him on top of you. "I love you." as he slid your shirt above your shoulders. "I love you." only, it was his voice this time fanning across the nape of your neck. "I love you." he exhaled again, carefully sliding into you. "I love you." you moaned, your eyes completely fixated on him as he thrusted harder.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

The nostalgia was so intense it rang through his ears, his stomach churning violently. No matter how much he tried to bury you, you were still everywhere. Stuck to the walls. Stitched in his blankets. Embedded into his skin.

Panic swelled in his chest, his hand shaking as he dug the cellophane baggy out of his hoodie pocket and promptly shoved two oval-shaped pills into his mouth.

"That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

The answer wasn't yes because he didn't love you, the answer was yes because he did love you. Because after all that you'd been forced to deal with between your dad and his, the last thing you needed was for another man you trusted to let you down the way he was.

"Just go."

It wasn't that he wanted you to, it was that you needed to.

𓆩🖤𓆪

"You're not responsible for him." Nobara said as she handed you a cup of coffee, taking a seat next to you on the couch. "You realize that, don't you?"

Despite her rough edges when it came to men, she was truly the gentlest friend you had. She was patient. Kind. Non-judgmental. She listened to your feelings no matter how repetitive or morbid they may have been. There really weren't enough 'thank you's when it came to how much she'd been there for you over the last few weeks.

You dropped the blanket from your shoulders and took a sip, struggling to look back at her. "I know, I just -" you faltered, your eyes still locked onto the steam rolling off of your mug. "I just hope he's okay..."

It was the longest you'd gone without seeing him and no matter how many times she'd tried to remind you that you couldn't hold yourself accountable for his well being, you still felt an odd sense of responsibility for him. It was a feeling that you'd held onto for so long, you weren't sure how you were supposed to even separate yourself from it now.

Nobara let out a stifled breath, shooting you a pointed look as she took her own sip. "Has he ever been okay?"

The question was damning enough to bring your attention to hers, your breath hitching in your throat as you looked back at her.

"Look, I know you love him." Her hand was on your shoulder, her eyes softening a bit. "But you can't save him."

Flashbacks of an 11-year-old, chubby-cheeked version of him smashed through your mind. The way the warmth of his hand contrasted the coldness of your feet as he helped sneak you in through the sliding back door. You apologized to him for having to risk getting him in trouble just to let you in, but you couldn't be at your house for another minute. Even at his young age, he looked so perplexed by your guilt, shaking his head as his eyebrows furrowed. "If you're ever in trouble, I'll always come get you."

There was such an indescribable amount of safety laced into that one sentence alone.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

Nobara's grip tightened on your shoulder, gently trying to pull you back to reality, but his words were suddenly everywhere. His promise echoing on an unwanted loop as you sat your mug down on her coffee table and grabbed your phone.

Even with the falling out you'd had, he never stopped sharing his location with you. It wasn't an invitation back into his life by any means, but it was proof that his sentiment from all those years ago still held merit. That no matter what happened, he'd always know where to find you and you'd always know where to find him too.

Her expression was serious as she watched you, trying to find a tactful way to say what she needed. "I can't stop you." She finally exhaled, "And you know that I'll never tell you what to do, but..." It was that same sense of comfort you'd felt as a child, only this time it came in the form of protective brown eyes. "Remember that you're important too, okay? You matter just as much as he does."

Your body stilled, your stare lingering as you nodded back at her. A wave of the same fear you'd felt that night on his back porch swept over you again. "I know." You said softly. "We both matter. That's why I have to at least try."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi stood under the warmth of his shower, letting steam fill the room as water beaded off of his pale skin. His eyes were heavy, his stomach struggling to keep up with the deficient mix of painkillers and nothingness he'd been offering it the last few days.

He was tired - physically, mentally, spiritually.

Absolutely drained in every sense of the word.

He let the water pour over him until it began to run cold, his hand finally reaching for the dial when he was certain there wasn't a drop of heat left for him. He reached for a towel, haphazardly running it through his hair before wrapping it around his waist. The bloodshot stare of his reflection was haunting, a painful familiarity laced into the tidal wave irises looking back at him.

"One day you'll understand." It was something that he had heard more times than he could count growing up. "One day you'll fuckin' get it." Megumi had always written it off as a jaded excuse from the man who'd raised him. A despondent explanation for his father's shitty behavior in place of an apology. But as he stood in front of the medicine cabinet in his empty apartment, he realized that for the first time maybe it wasn't an excuse for his father's neglect. Maybe it had been something much worse: a warning.

His fist slammed into the mirror without a second thought, an impulsive blur of blood and shattered glass flying past his face as he watched his hollowed-out reflection fracture and drop to the ground in tiny, severed pieces.

"Megumi...?"

Any fleeting amount of relief that he'd gained from the impact was instantly stolen by the softness of your voice.

His head snapped up, the bathroom door cracked open just enough for your eyes to lock with his.

He'd heard as a kid that the only time angels were visible to human beings is when they were needed the most. He didn't believe it back then, but it was the only explanation he could find to explain seeing you in his hallway.

He blinked back at you slowly, his gaze drifting from his battered knuckles to the blood staining the wall in front of him, to the floor that was covered in glass shards.

You didn't hesitate. Didn't pause to ask for an explanation. Didn't flinch at the scene you'd walked into. You just stood there, observing him in quiet understanding.

Time felt like it had come to a grinding halt as he watched you extend a hand out to him with all of the patience in the world. You were goodness incarnated and he was so undeserving.

"Let me help you."

𓆩🖤𓆪

His grasp was warm, his cut up fingers tangling cautiously into yours as you helped pull him away from the wreckage.

He followed behind you, letting you guide him back to his room where you promptly began cleaning and bandaging his injuries. It was almost nostalgic to be sitting with him like this again. Memories of middle school and the way he'd plop himself down on the edge of your bed after his most recent fight surfaced through your mind as you tended to his wounds.

You were almost done, lifting his wrist up to double-check your work when his hand broke free from yours. His thumb suddenly finding the underside of your chin to tilt your face up to his. It was the first time all night that you'd been able to look into him rather than just at him.

"You have a pretty big gash on your middle finger, but -" your voice was barely audible, completely overruled by the way he was staring at you. "It should be okay..." you swallowed, struggling to hold onto the calmness that you'd fought so hard to maintain thus far. "Where's your vacuum? I'll grab it real quick and –"

"Why're you here?"

Your mouth opened and then closed again, the wheels in your head viciously turning as your eyes searched his. There was an extensive list of reasons as to why you were here. A never-ending list, really. And he knew that just as well as you did.

You looked over him carefully, drawing in a shallow breath before pulling away from his hand. "A promise is a promise, right?"

His pupils widened, a glint of what almost resembled anger flickering across his face. "You've gotta let that go, you're smarter than that."

It was enough to snap your attention back to him, resentment settling heavily into the pit of your stomach. "Yeah well, unlike you, when I said 'always', I meant always - not 'always' until it got too hard. Or 'always' until I'm done. I meant fucking always, Megumi."

He leaned in closer to you, his tone every bit as sharp as his expression. The heat from his body was suddenly noticeable as it filled the small space between you. "God, you're dense sometimes. You really don't get it, do you? I didn't tell you to leave because things 'got too hard' or because I was 'done'." His stare was piercing, his face only centimeters away from yours. "I told you to leave because no one deserves to treat you like this. No one deserves to hurt you. No one, not even me. I don't get some pass just because of a promise we made as kids."

The scorned rebuttal you had lined up abruptly died on your tongue by his last sentence. The air felt stagnant and far too thick to breathe. Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill the longer you looked at him, but you fought with everything you had to keep them at bay.

"I guess we're both facing the same problem then." Your tone was light despite the crippling weight your words held. "Because no one deserves to hurt you like this either, not even you."

It felt like every late-night conversation, every right and wrong decision, every major life lesson that had played out between the two of you had only been practice for this one grave moment.

You watched the first small crack form in his concrete demeanor as you rested your hand on the back of his neck. Could almost hear the second one splinter down when his fingers traced along your jawline, catching tears you didn't even realize had fallen. Could practically feel the reverb of how shattering the third fracture was as he leaned in and attentively parted your lips with his tongue.

"I think the only time life makes sense is when we're like this."

You pulled him in closer, letting the past and present blur together through gentle, desperate touches. His grasp tightened around your waist, neither one of you able to stop what you'd started. You'd kissed him so many times before, groveled for him in so many different ways, but you weren't sure that you'd ever known this type of fervency for anyone or anything else in your life.

His hands were calloused, damaged but still tender as they ran through your hair, pulling your head back slightly. His mouth drifted to the side of your neck, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. "I love you." It was so faint that you weren't sure if he had actually said it or if it was just another part of your past coming back to haunt the both of you.

He hovered over you, gradually leaning you back into the mattress as the towel wrapped around his waist fell to the floor. You followed his lead, letting him delicately slip your t-shirt up over your head. Your heart stuttered in your chest, watching his eyes roam over you as he unbuttoned your shorts.

There was something so intimidating and overwhelmingly comforting about how well he knew you. Every freckle. Every scar. Every blemish. There wasn't a single part of your body that he hadn't familiarized himself with over the years.

His fingertips traced easily over the inside of your thigh, his eyes locked intently with yours. "You're sure this is what you want?"

His movements were calculated as he drew up towards your center, keeping his touch featherlight and his voice low. "You could have anyone else you wanted, you know that? Probably even have a pretty normal life without me.”

You shook your head at him, trying not to squirm as he slid a slender finger into you. "Just you." you whispered.

His thumb brushed against your clit with just the right amount of pressure while he added another finger. "I'm hard to love." He reminded you, his eyes glazing over as he watched your hips thrust up towards him.

"D - don't care." you moaned, trying to keep your focus despite the way he was picking up the pace, plunging innn and outttt of you, only going deeper with each time you tried to speak. "I... don't - oh, f...fuck."

"You don't what, baby?" Your walls were wrapped around him so tight, swallowing him hopelessly as you writhed beneath him. You opened your mouth again, but your thoughts were all but stolen from you as he slammed into you, rendering you a whimpering mess. "Words." he demanded.

You were trying so hard to keep it together, trying so hard not to soak him, but your release and emotions were all threatening to flood out at once the harder he went. You were grabbing onto him, clenching around his fingers as they continued their relentless assault on you.

"I don't want easy," it was almost one word with how breathlessly it came out. "I don't want easy –" you repeated, your body needily bucking up towards him again. "I want you. I'll always want you." you were finally at your breaking point, drenching him as he looked down at you with feral adoration. "Fuck Megumi, please."

He withdrew from you, his composure a bit more feverish as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard, urgent.

"Bend over for me." He said against your lips.

He helped you roll over, grabbing your thighs to lift you into position while you arched your back for him and buried your face into the softness of his comforter. The absence of his fingers was short-lived, his tip suddenly prodding at your entrance.

He went in slow, watching you carefully as he held onto your hips for support and pulled you onto him. His pace was determined by your breathing. You were taking him so well, your body practically melting under his touch as he entered you, but he wanted every confirmation he could get that you really were in this as much as he was.

"I love you." you panted, tilting your head to look up at him over your shoulder. "I love you." you said again, feeling the hesitation from him finally start to dissipate.

His grip dug into your sides, each thrust rougher than the last. "Say it again." He nodded.

But you could barely get the first word out before he buried himself into you, taking away every last bit of resolve you had left. He leaned over so that his body was locking yours in place, his breath trailing across your shoulder as you shook underneath him, heady little whines filling the space between you.

His hand wrapped delicately around your throat while his voice picked up where yours had left off. "I love you." he exhaled.

Your eyes widened when they caught his. There was something so irrevocably binding about the way he was looking at you, it almost felt like an agreement. A soul tie. A meeting between angels and mortals. A promise where "always" really meant always.

"I love you." You whispered, not breaking away from his stare as his pace quickened. His thrusts were unyielding, his body becoming just as needy as yours while your nails dug desperately into his sheets. "I love you." you let out again, your walls nearly smothering him. "I love you." you whined, feeling yourself clench and spasm around him. "I love you." He groaned, holding you in place as he filled you - his cum mixing with yours, sealing the unspoken contract you’d both created.

"I love you. I love you. I love you..."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi was careful not to wake you the next morning. He slipped out from under your grasp with all the caution he possessed as he got to his feet, throwing a pair of boxers on and sliding a black hoodie over his head.

He grabbed the empty bottles that were littering his nightstand before closing the door to his bedroom and heading to the kitchen. It was the first time he'd woken up sober in roughly 3 weeks. The clarity that came along with it was almost too much to handle as he looked over the state of his apartment. The piles of dishes. The destroyed bathroom mirror. The blood stains on the floor of the hallway.

It all told a story, painted an entirely too vivid picture of his own self destruction. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, finding a cellophane baggy filled with the last 4 Oxys he had.

He took a breath, looking over them. Knowing that they were the one thing that could make everything feel so much more bearable and all it would take was one quick swallow. "God damnit..." He sighed.

Your footsteps were too light for him to hear as you crept around the corner, watching him dump the contents of the baggy into the kitchen sink.

He hastily turned on the water, fighting the urge to fish them out as he let them disappear down the drain. Today might hurt. Tomorrow might hurt. But as he turned around and caught your eye, he quickly realized that they weren't the only thing that could make everything better, they were far from it…

"Need some help?"

No matter how out of control life got, he would always have one advantage: No one else had what he had.

𓆩🖤𓆪

#jjk x reader #rem writes #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #jjk megumi #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x angst #megumi smut #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk fanfic #toxic!megmi #megumi angst #jjk angst #jjk drabbles #megumi fushiguro angst

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sambambucky · 9 months ago

Text

NOT A WEEK GOES BY THAT I DONT THINK ABOUT THIS AT LEAST FIC ONCE

Anyone else read that Sambucky fic 'Sunday Mornings'?

It's the one where Bucky is a photographer and needs a model and Steve's asks him to watch over/keep occupied Sam, who may or may not be dating Steve, or they might’ve broken up, because they're both telling different stories. And Bucky starts develop a little crush. Drama ensues. There's dancing in a club. 😄👌

It's by an Anonymous author, but it's so good, and as yet unfinished.

Anyway, more people should go read it and leave comments because the last two comments are both from me and I don't want to be creepy or a pest by bothering the author repeatedly. 😂😅😅

But I need to know how it ends!

#i looooove commenting i loooove wideeely reading in the sb tag #but this does mean i have read MANY an unfinished work and boyoboyyyy lemme tell ya #some of them never leave me alone #this is one of them #chaotic and hot sam hitting ‘a rough patch’ w this steve..#mhm mhm mhmmm #the mystery of stevesam yeahhhh and the buckys pov of #‘he always gets what he wants cuz hes hot but not from me’lol #LOL ITS SO GOOD #read it if u have any tolerance at all for wips #i might read the shit again idc if its never finished #ALTHO GENUINELY WOULD MAKE MY YEAR IF IT WERE UPDATED #other peoples fic

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anisespice · 1 year ago

Note

tokyo revengers boys when their horny but their s/o is too busy to deal with their shit? (u can add bonten-)

aye aye, anon! 🫡 needy men are my favorite flavor 🤤 thank you so much for your patience, and requesting ♡♡♡

pairing: tr x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI. cursing, vague descriptions of sex, teasing, mild nipple-play, empty threats, crack!fic coded behavior, a tiny pinch of barely-there angst in mikey’s with a hint of misogyny, and i think that’s it :D feel free to lemme know if i missed anything!

notes: something about this request screamed sano to me, and maybe even throw sanzu in the mix for a little treat ( ˘ ³˘). also may have strayed a little from the original plot of the request, but the premise is fairly the same >:)) hope you enjoy !!

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow

“Get outta there.”

Though your tone sounded stern, your demeanor remained placid as you continued typing on your laptop, making no move to actually stop the hands from creeping inside your sweater. You were well aware of their destination, and it was anything but harmless. SHINICHIRO was latched onto you the moment he arrived at your place, excited to spend his day off alone with you, and away from the prying eyes of his siblings for once. Rarely did the two of you get alone time due to your conflicting schedules, savoring the moments you did get without outward distractions in the way.

Things were going great for the most part…until your boss decided to dump busywork into your email, last minute.

“…tell ‘em to go fuck himself, so you can focus on fucking me,” Shinichiro grumbled into your shoulder, calloused hands feeling up your chest with slow, deliberate touches. You chortled, masking the small moan that nearly slipped out when he gently grazed your nipples.

“Good idea, Shin. But wait, oh shoot, fucking you won’t exactly pay my bills, now will it? So, knock it off.”

“Who says it won’t? I’ll pay your bills for the next month, hell, the next six months, if it means you’ll let me just stick it in, baby, please..”

You hissed through your teeth at the small pinch he gave your sensitive nubs, dick damn-near throbbing against your lower back as he rutted against you. Should’ve known sitting on his lap while you worked would backfire, poor thing’s so wound up, you felt a little bad. It’d been nearly three weeks since you and Shinichiro had even a second to breathe the same air, let alone touch each other.

You weren’t immune, craving a taste of him just as much, there’s nothing you wanted more than to succumb to his persuasion. But, having been on bad terms with your tyrant boss one too many times, you couldn’t afford to procrastinate.

“Shini,” you spoke, breathless as he suckled on your neck, growing more bold with his touch, “a-as much as I’d love for you to do that for me… you don’t exactly have the funds to make such an offer.”

He huffed, nipping playfully at your pulse. “I’ll get another job. Good? Good, problem solved, can you take your clothes off now?”

“Tempting…but no. Appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Shinichiro whined in the crook of your neck. His hands slowed to a stop inside your sweater, slipping down to rest on your tummy instead. It sent a tiny shiver up your spine, but was ignored all the same as you attempted to resume typing, seeming to have put a damper on his resolve. Or, so you thought.

Not even a minute passed when you felt his fingers searching for something else to play with. Something that has been calling his name since he waltzed through your front door. “Shin…”

Your warning fell upon deaf ears. Shinichiro merely shrugged, feigning innocence while his hands breached the waistband of your sleep-shorts, stopping right at your pelvic bone. Leaning back in the chair, the ravenette spread his legs further apart, forcing yours to do the same, giving him even more access to your already accessible center. Despite his lanky stature, homie had grip—Try and close your legs all you want, you’ll pull a muscle before pulling out of it. Your heart was borderline going Macarena, focus jumbled up to the point there were more typos than words in the report you tried completing.

You huffed, though your tone sounded less stern compared to the first time. “Shinichiro. If you don’t let me finish my work…I’ll ban your dick from ever entering me or this house for a whole month.”

On any other given day, that empty threat would’ve done the trick, hands flying off you so fast you’d think he got electrocuted. But, this wasn’t any other given day. This was already a two-week long hiatus of his most favorite place to be, in between your legs, and the only thing keeping him from it was your lack of underwear beneath thin-cotten shorts. Threaten him if you must, but it won’t work.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Playing hard to get could take you so far, but he knew you were mere moments from crumbling to your desires you tried so hard to suppress, no shot you’d last another day, let alone a month. He was determined, and you were being stubborn—An immovable object verses an unstoppable force. Eventually, someone had to give. And it wasn’t about to be you.

It went on like that for another few minutes, him feeling you up and you batting him away. It only worsened the second he went further in your shorts, teasing your sex until you soaked through the fabric. You could feel his smug grin against your shoulder, no doubt thinking he was winning this battle. However, Shinichiro wasn’t aware of your trump card, your Charizard, if you will.

It’s a dirty trick. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

By slamming your fists atop of the table, startling him right out of your shorts, you turned to look him dead in the face, and said, “Don’t make me call Mikey.”

The mechanic widely blinked. But, his shock was short lived as he fixed you a sarcastic look, bringing his slick-coated fingers up to the light and right into his mouth to be even more obnoxious. After pulling them out with a wet pop!, Shinichiro called your bluff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“And would. Emma’s probably dying to catch up with me anyway, since I haven’t been around as much lately. And we both know Mikey would come just to spite you.”

As you continued to hold his stare, not backing down or giving any indication that you were joking, the sardonicism began to melt off his demeanor, and soon realization took its place. Shortly after that, betrayal. How could you be so cruel? He was already competing with an inanimate object, he’ll be damned if his siblings get added to the list. Taking a moment to weight his options, or lack there of, his face soon resembled a kicked puppy with his bottom lip stuck out and everything; you could’ve sworn his eyes started to water. “t’s not fair…been waiting all damn day…”

“I know, baby. But I need you to hang on for just a little longer f’me, okay? And once I’m done, then I’m all yours.” You cooed, placing a small peck on his nose as an olive branch. It seemed to do the trick, his frown softening as he pointed at his lips, puckering them. You snorted, but happily obliged, even placing a few more across his face until you got a smile. Shinichiro soaked up whatever he could as he leaned into you for more.

When it seemed he was satisfied, you turned back to continue working…only for the ravenette to try his luck one more time. “Can I get one here, too?”

You peered at him from over your shoulder—Give you one guess where he was pointing, wearing that all too pleased grin from before. You deadpanned.

“…I’m calling Mikey.”

“NoOO—”

—

“That’s considered sexual harassment, Mr. Sano.”

If he could time travel, MIKEY would beat the breaks off his past-self for ever encouraging you to fill the role of secretary at his work. At first, it seemed like a fantastic idea—Standing at his side, his pretty little assistant, wearing a tight uniform that left nothing to the imagination. He’d bend you over his desk and fuck you anytime he pleased, you’d call him Sir, and walk around the office filled to the brim with his cum until time to go home, then he’d fill you up all over again—The perfect work-life balance.

However, the gangster didn’t account for one teensy thing—You, actually taking the job seriously, and setting professional boundaries the moment you were hired on the staff. No matter if you’d be practically all over him in the car moments prior to clocking in, the second your kitten heels touched the marbled floors of the lobby…he wasn’t your lover anymore. He was your boss.

And he hated it.

“Sexual harass—You’re my s/o, [______].”

“Not within these walls, I’m not.” You continued reading one of the files left on your desk to review for tomorrow’s meeting, only for it soon to vanish right before your eyes. After a long blink, you held out an expectant hand to the stubborn blonde. “May I have that back, please?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sano-”

“If you address me formally one more time, I’ll take you right here in the middle of this hallway. Try me.” He hissed, holding the file out of reach.

You pursed your lips, fighting a grin. Seeing him get so worked up over not being able to get his dick wet was entertaining to say the least, but you were well aware he wasn’t kidding. Clearing your throat, you attempted to tread lightly as your expression morphed back to neutral.

“Alright. Mikey,” his eye twitched, but you continued, “would you be so kind as to let me finish reading the material for your meeting tomorrow? I would hate for anything to be amiss because I didn’t do a thorough review.”

“Tch. Where’s Kakucho? I distinctly remember assigning this task for him. Not you.”

You raised a brow. “You sent him on an impromptu errand to fill up the time he was spending ‘idling at my desk’. You remember that?”

Mikey averted his gaze. “…Don’t recall.”

“‘course you don’t,” you exhaled. “Mikey, with all due respect-”

“Not that name either.” He commanded, slapping the file back on the desk before placing his hands upon it to lean forward, towering over you. You couldn’t fight the grin this time, tilting your head up at him, amusement in your gaze.

“That’s your name, is it not?”

Mikey glared. “You know that isn’t the one I’d prefer you to use.”

With a shrug, you easily replied, “It’s what most of your employees call you. And last time I checked, that included me-” Mikey was quick to grab your chin, forcing you to look deep into his dark, deranged eyes. Man’s was definitely toeing line of his limit, and you were pushing it.

“And last time I checked, you aren’t like most employees. You’re my partner who’s working on my last nerve, and should really consider dropping this whole ‘professionalism’ act before I remind them why they were hired in the first place. And no, it wasn’t for your work ethic and attention to detail, or whatever bullshit Koko told you in the interview.”

Ouch.

Not to say you didn’t figure there were ulterior motives behind getting approved for the job, especially under the circumstances that you were heavily under-qualified to work in their type of environment. But, you tried your damnedest to keep up, do your part, and not be a burden on the team. For him to call it nonsense and boldly confirm such suspicions outloud? You think he realized his mistake the second your face reverted back to its neutral state. Wiggling out of his grip, you leaned back in the chair with your arms tightly crossed to your chest.

“That so? Well then, Michael, how ‘bout I remind you why a man shouldn’t mix his business with his pleasure. Things could turn ugly for him, maybe even end up losing both a loyal employee and a lover all in one day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Out of all the names, that one made him cringe the most. A clear indicator of his grandiose fuck-up, one that if he didn’t fix immediately, he’d soon suffer the consequences. And your wrath.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It came out wrong-”

“Oh, I’m sure it didn’t. You’re a man who speaks his mind, after all.”

Mikey, though subtly, panicked. This wasn’t at all how he expected the conversation to go. But, it’s not his fault! It was his dick doing all the driving. With you working for Bonten, his long hours became yours, and by the time you both got home, sex became scarce due to your exhaustion. He was immune to the taxation of the job, while it was kicking your ass. And to top it off, he couldn’t even cop a feel of his own s/o, in his own damn building, because of ‘power imbalances’ between a boss and secretary that was ‘socially unacceptable’, according to you…as you work for the biggest crime syndicate in all of Japan.

Flawed reasoning aside, it drove him insane.

But, no thanks to his lust-clouded brashness, if Mikey thought getting some action at work was difficult, his chances at home just got a whole lot worse. He’d be lucky if you even slept in the same bed tonight.

“[_____],” he sighed, reaching over to grab your hand, though you moved it away at the last second. “You do a fantastic job here, angel. Exceeded all my expectations, actually-”

“Well, based on the merits of why you hired me in the first place, that doesn’t sound like much.” At that point, you went back to reviewing the file he threw back on the desk, seeming disinterested. But, Mikey knew better.

He’d hurt your feelings. To be reduced to nothing but eye candy for him, when you were busting your ass off like everyone else, it stung. It was playful at first, but now the blonde had crossed a line. With determination, Mikey removed the file from your sight once more, rounding the desk before crouching down so he could level with you this time.

You allowed him to take your hands in his, still indifferent. Mikey spoke with a tenderness only reserved for you, one that never failed to melt any cold front you built to wane his efforts.

“I was being childish. I shouldn’t have diminished your role like that, and I apologize for making you feel like your work isn’t appreciated. I’m glad to have you as my loyal employee. Even if a visit in my office from my lover from time to time wouldn’t be too bad, either…”

His words trailed off, along with his gaze as he reminisced. You chortled, shaking your head. Mikey looked back at you, ghost of a grin on his face. “I’ll back off. Promise.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “You mean it?”

“Mmhm. Under one condition.”

You groaned, “Mikey-”

“Manjiro.”

“Oh, is that the condition?” He lightly pinched you for the snark, resting his head on your lap. But, before you could reprimand him for his inappropriate position, your words catch in your throat.

His stare was intense as they gazed up at you with hidden hunger, the tenderness still swimming in the inky pools, but not as present compared to moments ago. Mikey licked his lips, nuzzling against your plush thigh.

“Work less hours. Don’t want you to run yourself ragged trynna keep up with the rest of us. We’ve been doing this line of work a lot longer than you have, baby. No need to overcompensate. I’m already proud of you.”

Steadily did those words make your heart melt, until your were practically mush once they’ve set in. To hear his pride in you almost made you kick your feet, for that was all you really wanted at the end of the day—Acknowledgment. Validation. Praise. And working less hours would definitely benefit in more ways than one, more so on your mental health. You won’t lie and say this new job hasn’t been a challenge, all the talk about blood, death and drugs, one could only handle so much.

“Thank you..Manjiro.” He lit up at the sound of his name spilling sweetly from your lips. “I greatly appreciate you saying that. But, what’s the catch?”

He hummed, hands releasing yours to caress your calves all the way back up to your hips. Mikey didn’t pull nor tug, more so just holding you in place as he continued to watch you like a hawk. Eventually he shook his head, tresses fluttering with him as they curtained the sides of his face.

“No catch. Work your hours, I’ll leave you be…But once those hours are up, you better be sitting pretty on my desk with your reports in one hand and your underwear in the other, waiting for me to choose between my business and my pleasure. Deal?”

—

“Pout all you want, I’m not sitting on your face.”

When you informed your darling SANZU that your Saturdays were strictly for housework, he honestly thought you were joking—What idiot in their twenties would spend the weekend doing that?

Evidently his idiot, that’s who.

Imagine his surprise when he showed up, unannounced, ready to have you on every piece of furniture, only to be threatened with a feather duster the second he went to grab your ass. “Paws off. I already changed the sheets on my bed, cleaned the bathroom, the kitchen, and mopped the floors, so unless you’re here to help dust or wipe windows, keep it in your pants, Haruchiyo.”

Needless to say, he wasn’t the happiest houseguest.

After the long work week he’s had, Sanzu was looking forward to locking the two of you in the back all weekend, going at it like rabbits with no other purpose but keep the neighbors up—Pretty much until the room stank. But, thanks to this cleaning ritual of yours, that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Especially not with the various scented candles you were burning to hide the potent smell of bleach and pine-sol. God, he was getting such a headache from overstimulation…and not the good kind.

“This is such bullshit,” he groaned into the couch, where you banished him after he tried to bend you over the washing machine while you were loading another basket of dirty clothes. “Why’d you even invite me over if we weren’t gonna do anything…”

You paused from folding, side-eyeing him. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You said you were staying in all day. That’s practically code for: I’m bored, come dick me down.”

Your laugh had snuck up on you, racking through your entire body to the point you had curled forward. The leap he took to draw such a conclusion nearly gave you whiplash as you attempted to regain composure. “Maybe for freaky-fucks like you, but the rest of us usually mean it as something mundane. Like, oh I dunno, doing chores.”

“On a Saturday?? What ‘re ya, 80??”

You shrugged, placing another item onto its respective pile. “You don’t have to stay, y’know. If you have something better to do, then by all means, don’t let me keep you.”

Sanzu abruptly sat up from his position, the clothes you had laid on his back flopping onto the floor, instantly losing their folded shape. You shot him an annoyed glance, but figured some of the blame was yours for using his skittish-ass for a table. The pinkette wore a pitiful look, wide cerulean eyes piercing right through you as he gave a defiant punch to the couch cushion, “Was ‘posed to be doing you! And you are keeping me from doing that!”

With a huff, you set aside the pile you were currently working through to gather up the clothes that he so rudely let fall to the floor. “Unfortunate. Now lay back down, and be a good table. Since you wanted to be chair so fucking badly.”

“Piss off.”

He absolutely laid back down.

#🍁allspice #🍁wasabi #burnout go BRRT‼️🫠#tokyorev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev imagine #tr smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers smut #bonten #bonten smut #bonten x reader

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solbaby7 · 2 months ago

Note

*sidles up to bar*

Uh, can I have a whiskey sour, frozen, with a salt rim please? 🥃

*drops a twenty in the tip jar*

[ “i’m not the jealous type but what’s mine is mine + smut + cassian ]

and a tip too? wow this gonna be a generous pour lemme tell u 😘 *grateful smoosh*

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

It’s routine. An obligation. A means to an end.

It’s not like you actually wanted to be shmoozing up that Summer Court douchebag and yet Cassian can’t quell the uncomfortable itch under his skin at the sight of you smiling up at another male.

Sure, it doesn’t fully reach your eyes; doesn’t force those cute lines to carve their way in your cheeks or show off the pearly white teeth that have sunken their way in Cassian’s shoulder a time too many in a bout of excitement.

This is not the same—that much he knows and yet still he can’t shake off the distaste that lingers on his tongue. Reason refuses to reach that part of him that remembers flesh and blood, the sound of iron clashing against iron and the satisfaction that follows when an enemy took their last breath. “The point of this meeting is to establish peace,” Rhysand casually mentions, sauntering to Cassian’s side so silently it nearly makes him jump. “Those kinds of thoughts don’t exactly start friendships.”

He doesn’t mention Cass’ shoddy mental shields, too distracted by the way you seem to blend seamlessly into Summer Courts surroundings. From the style of your sundress to the iridescent glimmer of heels that resemble the waves in the ocean when the sun hits—gifts from Tarquin that fit entirely too well. “These friendships are becoming too friendly.”

The chime of your laugh cutting through the air has Cassian’s teeth grinding against each other, his arms crossing over his chest in favor of reaching over for the fancy battle axe anchored above the mantel and making good use of it “I don’t disagree,” Rhys grimaces at the male dragging a hand along the curve of your spine in a dangerous display of appreciation. “It’ll all be over soon. An hour tops.”

“Rhysand.”

“An hour tops,” He repeats, palms smoothing over creases in his suit jacket. “I promise.”

But not even Rhys can say no when Tarquin’s second in command all but insists on stealing you away for a quick peek of his personal gardens—bragging about its ocean view at sunset. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up and the genuine glee on the soldiers face in your presence doesn’t go unnoticed. The alliance is so close Rhysand can almost taste it but Cassian’s fingers are flexing in barely contained rage as you’re guided off down a hall separate from the others.

One minute passes and his eyes can't stop flickering towards that hallway. Five minutes go by and his stance is less sturdy, shifting the bulk of his weight from foot to foot like an antsy bull readying their hooves for a fair fight. He lasts ten whole minutes before his restraint snaps, leather boots clunking against marble floors as he all but takes off in a run towards you.

For once in Cassian’s life he gets a fraction of an understanding about how it feels to be a shapeshifter—the unbridled rage altering him from male to beast until he’s foaming at the mouth, claws protruding from blunt nails and all he thirsts for is blood. To spill crimson red and paint the walls in its luster while flaunting you as some pretty prize.

He finds you off scent alone, aureate irises latching onto you like a fish on a hook, reeling in closer and closer until you can feel the warmth of him radiating through his clothes. It’s pure luck that you’re alone, heels hanging limp in one hand as polished toes tease at sand so white it seems to sparkle under the sunlight. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Taking too long,” Cassian ignores that bewildered expression on your face, eyes darting to a set of double doors on the far left. “Had to check, needed to see you were alright for myself.” He’s touching you before you have time to fully process the panic that churns through your gut at the mere thought of Cassian being caught somewhere he didn’t belong.

It becomes all to clear that you’re the only one who cares when strong hands begin their trek around the hills and valleys of your hips. He takes the scenic route, paying a touch too much attention to the round of your ass but you don’t push him away—you wouldn’t dare. “It’s not like he was going to hurt me.”

Lips press kisses into the curve of your neck, teeth grazing along the slope of your shoulder until the flimsy little strap there falls limp along your arm. “Wasn’t worried about him hurting you, peach.” The grip on your rear tightens, spreading cheeks until you can hear the sticky separation of a needy cunt. “Wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting comfortable putting his hands places they don’t belong.”

“Cassian.” You shouldn’t be attracted to the possessive words and yet a shiver runs down your spine; anticipation awakening beneath your skin and suddenly you hope that it takes forever for Tarquins second to find that stupidly ancient tome he’d mentioned earlier. “Are you…jealous?”

“I’m not really the jealous type,” Each one of his actions contradicts that very statement. From the noticeable reddening marks he leaves along your clavicle to the harsh way your dress is wrinkled when hiked over the swell of your ass. A warm mouth crashes with yours, the groping accelerating tenfold once he’s found something sturdy enough to lean you against. “But, what’s mine is mine and it felt like I needed to get that message across.”

It’s all so rushed; movements hurried, heart thrashing against your ribcage while his leathers are unfastened and the ruddy tip of his cock is straining for a warm home to hold its release. Your ears are sharply attuned for noises, hold out for the scuffle of a shoe, the weight of a body against marble floors. Such awareness doesn’t take away from the feverish kisses with Cassian nipping at plush lips, fingers absolutely ruining the elegant curl of your hair as he tugs it back from your shoulders. “We don’t have much time.”

“Do some of my best work under pressure.” You almost find the urge to laugh but it disappears once you feel the blunt head of his prick nestling between your thighs. The sodden gusset of lacy underwear is pushed aside just enough to show off the arousal dribbling from your sex. “Hold on to me.”

The warning does you no good, the very breath knocked from your lungs as he feeds the thick length inside of you. Nails bite into the strong birth of Cassians shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you’re given a few precious moments get used to the feel of him before the Illyrian takes you as he pleases. “Cass—oh gods!” It’s not your fault, you swear; blaming the force on his thrusts for the moans that spill free.

He doesn’t even bother trying to keep you quiet, encouraging the whiny mewls and choppy groans with skilled fingers twisting along your nipples and pressing tight circles to your clit. “Not the gods peach, just me.” Wall decor tremors behind you as pleasure shoots through your bloodstream, legs curling tighter around Cassian’s waist as you push him in further—allowing him impossibly deeper. “I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this and I’ll make sure the whole godsdammed world knows it.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar x you #cassian x you #cassian smut #cassian x reader smut #cassian acotar #cassian x reader fic #cassian fanfic #cassian fic #lord of bloodshed #acotar fics #azriel acotar #blurb bar #solbabywrites #sol’s requests #i had too much fun with this #love a jealous man

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muldermuse · 11 months ago

Text

two sinners (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

ok so this is feral and I wrote it in a day bc I could feel it rotting away in my brain

Gator Tillman is a horrible guy and reader wants to get him back.

18+ only!!! Smut below. Smut includes piv sex, infidelity (pretty big thing), Gator is mean but so is reader, oral (f receiving), rimming (m receiving), slutshaming, mention of anal (f receiving), mention of cuffs used as restraints, brief nipple play, use of the word whore/slut, spitting, dirty talk, praise kink, stalking???. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

this could be a multi part fic. It was fun to write and I enjoy the dynamic so lemme know if u enjoyed!!!

He’s barely out of you by the time he says it this time. “That’s the last fuckin’ time I do this shit, we’re done”. He spits it at you like it’s acid on his tongue.

You’re lying on your bed completely naked as his come is slowly dripping out of you onto your linen. The first few times you’d done this, you put on fresh linen and lit a floral candle. He never appreciated it so you stopped. His statement would hurt you a lot more if this wasn’t becoming a regular occurrence. It’s become a routine; something it was never supposed to be.

He visits your home, fucks you however you want him to, makes you come as many times as he can, he feels guilt as soon as he finishes, he splashes cold water over his face in your en suite bathroom (leaves it in puddles across your tiled floor and organised surfaces) and then grabs his things and storms out. He’ll be back before the end of the week- he always is.

You’re getting tired of it. It should be harder now he has a girlfriend and you’re seeing a few guys from the local area. But it isn’t. You’re unsure why.

He tells you he hasn’t slept with Glenda yet. His daddy loves her, thinks she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen and he’s been vocal about his dislike of you. You think he’s a fucking idiot so you guess it’s good that the feeling is mutual. Gator can’t be with anyone his daddy doesn’t like, you’ve heard him brag about how he could get any gal he wants but you know it’s not true. You’re pretty sure that Gator knows that as well deep down.

You were sleeping together before he got with Glenda. Glenda is a church girl and his daddy’s protege. Roy sets them up and tells Gator he’s been blessed to have Glenda enter his life. Whereas, Roy thinks you have sin in your heart and you know that you do. You believe him that he hasn’t slept with her yet, if he does- it makes the whole relationship real. This is something that you know Gator is trying to avoid. His head is buried deep beneath the sand and he’s trying to find air holes to catch his breath before he suffocates.

You’re sleeping with other people, like Jax from the local store and Steve from the bar. Neither know about each other or about your Gator situation. Jax and Steve take you out on dates and fuck you in their cars and their homes. It’s passionate and sweet. It’s filled with promises and hope. Gator fucks you like he’s trying to get expel something deadly from his body. Gator’s a terrible person and you know that you are too. This is why you’re done with him, not for Glenda or Roy Tillman. Certainly not for Jax and Steve. You’re done because you want him to want you more than he ever has before. He’s an asshole and you want him more desperate than ever for you. You hear him spit in your sink as he comes back into the bedroom.

“You say this shit all the time Gator. What if I’m done with you huh?” You’re still naked and you can feel his cum drying on your inner thighs.

“You’re the one who always comes crawlin’ back to me remember? Jus’ a fuckin’ whore- that’s why I liked usin’ you though so don’t take it personal”. He giggles cruelly as he shrugs his jacket back on.

His words don’t hurt, a few months ago they would’ve made your stomach drop and tears prick in your eyes. But now? It just fuels you.

“Go back to Glenda, Gator”. That will hurt him. You never say her name, you only do it because that sentence is the equivalent of a scorching red hot poker branding his sensitive skin.

“Don’t say her fuckin’ name”. Anger flashes across his eyes. “I am so fuckin’ done with you and I mean it”. You want to laugh at how powerful he perceives his words to be.

“You say fuckin’ shit you don’t mean all the time Gator. It’s like breathing to you”. You wrap a bedsheet around you and get up to stand in front of him.

“That’s it then, you’re done with this right?” He nods. “I don’t wanna see your fuckin’ face or hear from you again. Don’t text me, don’t casually come into my work and don’t fuckin’ turn up here.

Get the fuck out of my fuckin’ house, Gator”

***

Two weeks pass with nothing. You can’t say you’re not impressed. He doesn’t glance at you when you see him on the street. He doesn’t call or text.

Glenda shares pictures on Facebook of the pair of them. She looks happy and he looks uncomfortable. You think that that sums up the entire relationship. You know he’s going to break and speak to you; it’s just waiting.

You carry on seeing Jax and Steve. Jax takes you to a drive in movie theatre and goes down on you on the backseat for the entire movie. He buys you your favourite candies and chips for the ride there and back. He makes you laugh and asks if you want to make it official- you tell him you don’t. He asks when he can see you again.

Steve takes you to a new steakhouse. He gets you a bottle of red wine and when you don’t like how your steak is cooked; he swaps your plates. You go back to his place and ride him on the couch in his living room. You spend the entire time thinking about how you couldn’t do this with Gator because he lives with his daddy. Before you leave, Steve gives you a necklace with your birthstone on. He tells you how much you mean to him, you thank him and drive home.

You don’t miss Gator. You don’t feel positively about him at all. You just like that he wants you and you like the power you hold over him. If you wanted to ruin his life you could. You could tell his daddy and Glenda that he loves fucking a sinner. That he’s fucked you in every possible way they could imagine and he loves it. You could tell them about how he’s been that pussydrunk on you; he’s told you he’s in love with you. Or maybe about how after you ate his ass on his daddy’s dining room table, he told you he wanted to run away with you and that he’d already looked into it and started storing money away. You didn’t say anything back to him, you just stored away these love drunk confessions so you could use them against him.

Gator Tillman is the worst guy you know.

And he makes you feel fucking powerful.

***

It takes 4 weeks in total for him to break.

[received on Monday at 04:32] Gator🐍💩: are u going to the church potluck on Saturday

[received on Monday at 10:12] Gator🐍💩: just bc u went last year, know it’s not ur scene tho.

[received on Monday at 15:05] Gator🐍💩: im goin with Glenda so just don’t want it to be awkward

[received at Tuesday at 01:54] Gator🐍💩: ?? Do you have a new number?

He calls you three times on Wednesday.

You ignore every text and every ring.

His patrol car is parked over the street from you on Thursday. He knows you leave for work at half 6 in the morning. You know you’ll see him again, probably during lunch as he is so fucking predictable. Every Thursday, you go for a bagel at a local deli because you love the mid week special. You can already picture his car parked outside there on the curb waiting for you. So you know it’s a great time to invite your new, very handsome, colleague called Jenson along. Jenson is new to the department and is a quarterback for a local team. He’s made his attraction to you pretty clear, he brings in a coffee for you every morning and has asked you out for drinks before.

You offer to drive Jenson to the deli and, of course, Gator’s car is parked out front. He sees you but you don’t look at him. You can feel his eyes burning into you and Jenson. You grip Jenson’s bicep and throw your head back in a giggle and something mediocrely funny that he said. As you get closer to Gator’s car, you politely smile at him and squeeze Jenson’s arm tighter.

[received on Thursday at 21:45] Gator🐍💩: Jenson Ackerley????? really??? that guys a fuckin asshold

[received on Thursday at 22:35] Gator🐍💩: *asshole

Instead of replying to Gator, you spend Thursday evening exchanging flirty texts with Jenson. You invite him to the Potluck on Sunday and ask if he wants to come back to your place for dessert.

***

He reaches new levels of desperation on Friday.

“Hi, it’s Joe on reception. I’m really sorry to disturb you on your lunch. I have Sheriff Tillman here and he just wants to come to your office if that’s okay?”

You’re sat alone preparing for the rest of your day when Joe’s call comes through. Jenson has finished early for the day and gave you a bouquet of flowers before he left. He smiled when he gave them to you and said he couldn’t wait to spend the day with you on Sunday.

You’re excited as well but for a different reason.

“Hi Joe, I’m sorry but can you tell Gator that I’m just having my lunch with Mr Ackerley so I don’t have time for a chat”

You can hear Gator speaking in the distance after Joe relays your message to him.

“He says it will only take a few minutes”

“Can you apologise for me Joe and tell him that Mr Ackerley and I will see him on Sunday at his Father’s potluck”

You hear Joe recite the message verbatim for Gator. Although you can’t see it, you can imagine the look of disgust on his face and it makes you grin.

You spend Friday evening texting Jenson and telling him in detail what you’re going to do when you get back to your home on Sunday. He asks if you want to ‘skip straight to dessert’ and miss the potluck. You tell him you can’t because you’re planning to see a friend. You don’t tell him who it is.

***

You wear an outfit you know Gator will love on Sunday. It’s a pale green flouncy dress which pushes your tits up and looks amazing. Your hair is half up half down and your make up is dewy with a strawberry scented lip gloss brushed over your lips. You text Jenson and ask him to bring an extra coat for you to wear because you’ll be cold. He doesn’t ask why you don’t just wear your own.

Jenson tells you how beautiful you look on your doorstep and he hands you another bouquet. It’s white peonies and he says it nearly matches your outfit. As you laugh at him, you pull his face to yours to kiss him. He drives to the potluck in his truck and you listen to a country album he’s been telling you about. You haven’t brought a meal but Jenson’s mom has made some pasta salad so you’ll pass that off as your own. His hand stays on your upper thigh the entire ride.

The first person you see at the potluck is Glenda. She looks great, you have to admit. Her blonde hair is in a tight bun sitting at the nape of her neck. Her dress is long, black and covers her body. A diamond crucifix hangs around her neck and you know that Roy made his son buy that for her as a token of his love for her.

You and Glenda don’t get on. You know she doesn’t suspect anything about you and Gator; her mind wouldn’t even dare think about it. You’ve known her since high school and you could lie and say that the only reason you don’t like her is because you existed in different social groups. It isn’t because of that. It’s because Glenda is a truly and fundamentally awful person. You recognised in your younger years that she enjoyed making people miserable. Shaming people about their relationships to god and judging everyone from afar.

She smiles politely at Jenson as he puts his hand on your lower back. She tries not to scowl at you as you hand her the dish of pasta salad. You know she thinks you look like a slut, she’ll definitely run to her friends and tell them about how disgraceful it is that you’ve come into a church community looking like a whore. You smile harder when you think about how Gator has fucked you in his patrol car whilst you wore this dress.

Jenson goes to the grand table in the centre of the hall. As he’s pouring a cup of punch for both of you, he gets accosted by two of Glenda’s friends who take their time complimenting him all the while smirking at you. You feel a presence next to you, you cross your arms to push your tits higher as you turn around.

“Oh, hi Roy, didn’t hear you sneakin’ up on me”. Your grin to him is saccharine and he snarls in response.

“I don’t remember invitin’ you to this, for the church community only. A community you are not part of so it’s time to go”. His voice is gruff and as you go to respond; you see Gator.

You make eye contact across the hall. He looked stressed and then as soon as he saw you; it flickered to what you can only imagine is rage. Glenda is talking away at him and he’s not looking at her. His eyes are trailing up and down your body. He recognises the dress. Jenson obscures your view as he stands in front of you holding out a cup of punch. He wraps his arm around you and whispers lowly in your ear that he’s spiked both of your cups with liquor from his flask. You giggle back at him, get on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

Although you think it would be hilarious, you want to avoid an interaction with you, Jenson, Glenda and Gator. At this point, you’re unsure if Gator’s heart could take it. Jenson gets pulled away by Glenda’s friends to help arrange the plates for the potluck dishes and of course he does it. He kisses you before he goes and as your lips touch; your eyes never leave Gator’s.

***

It takes twenty minutes for him to grab your wrist and pull you into an empty room. Everyone is too preoccupied with grabbing plates to notice you both leave.

“Real fuckin’ nice. Comin’ here dressed like a fuckin’ slut and can’t keep your fuckin’ hands off some shitty quarterback. You know what people think of you, right?” He’s in your face, the spit from his lips is hitting your mouth and cheeks.

He’s so mad.

And, of course, you fucking love it.

“Surprisingly Gator, I don’t give a fuck what your fuckin’ church girl or asshole daddy think of me…I know what you think about me though”. You move in closer to him and he doesn’t try to back away. His eyes bore into yours and you can hear him try to steady his breath. You can imagine his heart thundering away in his chest. You rest your hands on his vest and slowly unzip it.

“You think I’m a good girl. You’ve said it before- remember? You’ve said it when you fucked me in your patrol car…”

Your fingers move to unbutton his shirt.

“You whispered it to me when Glenda was downstairs and you had me on my knees sucking your cock in your daddy’s bathroom…she had no idea we were in there did she?” You giggle lightly as you feel his heart rate thumping quickly under your fingers.

“And you definitely thought I was a good girl that time you fucked my ass in your bed. Remember? We used the handcuffs, I think you called it me a few times��yeah you definitely did. You said I was such a good fucking girl”.

His shirt is half unbuttoned and his chest is basically heaving under the strain of his rapid heartbeat. You can feel his hard dick pressing into you, you smile at him and take a step back.

“I gotta go though, Jenson is probably waiting for me. We’ll probably shoot off soon, he said- he said, ha, that we’d have dessert back at my place. Who knows? Maybe he’ll get lucky tonight…he probably thinks I’m a good girl too. Maybe I can be his good girl from now on”.

He storms past you, his shoulder barging into yours on his way past and for a second, you’re devastated. Maybe you pushed him too far? Are you going to have to wait another four weeks for him to cave.

But he doesn’t leave.

He just locks the door and pushes a table against it as quietly as he can.

***

He grabs your hips and pulls them towards him.

“You fuckin’ feel that right? You feel how fuckin’ hard you make me. I’ve had this since I fuckin’ left your place four weeks ago. I fuckin’ hate you…I’ve fuckin’ missed you”. You’re not sure you would classify it as a kiss, it’s more like he’s shoving his face against yours.

He runs his hand through your hair and grips it; the power of it forces you to open your mouth. You stick your tongue out and give him your best doe eyes. He smirks and nibbles your jaw. Hard but not hard enough to leave any kind of mark. You maintain eye contact as he spits in your mouth. He raises his eyebrows at you and you swallow without objection. He smirks as you open your mouth and stick your tongue back out.

He kisses your neck and bites it lightly as you fight the urge to run your hands through his hair (Heaven forbid you mess up his slicked back hair).

“Baby, we gotta be quick. They might come lookin’ for us” he mumbles against your neck.

You go to bend over the table pushed against the door but Gator stops you before you can flip your dress up to grant him access.

“No baby, I need to see you. Missed your fuckin’ face too much…wanna watch you get e’en prettier when I make you come”

He kisses you hard as he pushes you down against the table. He gets on his knees in front of you like your pussy is a biblical experience. He kisses your clit through your lace underwear and gently nips it with his teeth.

“Gator, we don’t have time to tease” you try your hardest not to moan outwardly as you speak. You can’t let him know how much he’s affecting you, even though how wet he’s making you has completely given it away.

He rips your underwear off and pulls your tits out of your dress. He takes them between his hands and rolls your nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You can hear him mumbling under his breath but you can’t work out what he’s saying. He always gets transfixed with your boobs.

He doesn’t warn you as he notches his cock into you. You’re wet enough that he slides in with one motion. He’s on your mouth before there’s a chance for a moan to slip out. He thrusts into you slow and deep, he nudges your g spot and your eyes roll back into your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

The only sounds filling the room is the soft rhythmic creak of the wooden table, the steady thrusts of Gator’s cock into you and the stifled moans slipping into each others mouths. It’s all too much, the noises, Gator’s cock perfectly grazing your g spot, his tongue in your mouth and the thought that he’s doing this mere feet away from his daddy and girlfriend. Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere and as you squeeze his cock, Gator puts his hand over your mouth and shushes you but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Your eyes roll into the back of his head as you hear him curse above you. This is the most intense sex you’ve ever had with him.

It is so worth the wait.

You know he’s getting close; he has obvious tells that you could recite perfectly. His left leg starts to twitch, his mouth slightly hangs open and his eyes glaze over. He also either gets sentimental or speaks like he’s in a shitty Brazzers porn video. This time it’s a mix of the two.

“Take my fuckin’ come, you take it so fuckin’ good. It’s all yours- it’s all yours”. He thrusts hard inside you twice before he stills. He rests his forehead against yours and presses a soft kiss to your lips. You allow yourself a few seconds to enjoy his tenderness.

You readjust your dress as Gator moves the table away from the door. You slip on Jenson’s coat as you walk over to the locked door.

“I meant what I said y’know…I’ve missed you”. Again, you’re back in the routine. You know it well and you can’t deny how much you enjoy it. He’s going to ask to fuck you tonight, he’ll promise that it’ll be special- that’s what he usually says.

He moves to interlock his pinky finger with yours.

“Get rid of Jenson and let me come round tonight. Tell him you’re sick or somethin’. I wanna…I mean… I gotta to make it up to you. I’ll tell Glenda that I picked up an extra shift. That gives us all night an’ we can take our time”.

As you open your mouth to respond, you hear a knock on the door and Jenson’s voice calling out.

“You in there hon? I think I’m gonna head out…really fancy dessert. Y’know, if you catch my drift”.

***

You tell Jenson in the car that you’re not feeling well. He’s a good guy and offers to stay and look after you. When you say no, he asks for a coffee date later this week and you agree.

As you see his reverse out of your driveway; you text Gator that he can come round if he’s here in the next hour.

He’s back in your bed in less than forty minutes.

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