#they have no choice but to find each other

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC The Witch and The Ghost

On the subject that came up in my recent post, in my head, Sam and Danny are constantly having beef with each other. But never seriously.

The thing is, Danny has a lot of issues with a lot of things. He is not dead and not alive and then somehow both at the same time. He lives with parents who literally hunt him for sport, even if they are shit at it. His godfather is another can of worms that he refuses to touch entirely. On top of that, there's school, and occasional bullying, and hormones acting up, and ghost problems to deal with.

Which is why Danny is frustrated most of the time. He does a good job at keeping it at bay and not snapping at people for the tiniest inconveniences - partially, it's because he knows that his mild snapping can possibly leave the recipient frozen in a block of ice and humans are prone to hypothermia.

So, Danny is putting a lot of effort into staying reasonable and calm. And he is doing a good job at it!

And then, there's Sam. Sam is used to arguing with her parents at any given moment over literally anything. Sam is an activist who can and will insist on coming out victorious out of any fight she picks at, be it the choice of a salad dressing or discussion of global warming. Sam has opinions and is not afraid to share - more like enforce, actually - them. What's more, Sam is liminal, and she can withstand a lot more blunt ghostly force than any other human being.

Sam and Danny are friends, there's no doubt there. They love each other, they support each other, they will quite literally tear the world apart for each other.

They also argue about every fucking thing on earth. They fight over whose turn it is to pay for burgers every time they get them - which is at least thrice a week - and over the best phrase to teach a pet parrot, and the difference between 'affect' and 'effect' used in context. They put some discussions on pause just in order to find and provide research, and then they slap each other with piles of said research across the faces and get into a fist fight over water pollution.

Sam treats it as a fun activity and maybe a test run for her other fights and discussions with other people. She doesn't mind Danny's frustration and his occasional violence in the slightest, knowing perfectly well that he is no danger to her, and if she asks, he would stop at once.

Danny, on the other hand, gets a great outlet to vent and release all his pent-up emotional baggage. Sure, sometimes their fights get gruesome, and sometimes they hold grudges for days, and sometimes they can barely tolerate seeing each other because of it. But he also knows that in the end, they are friends, they are fraid, and he is safe with Sam no matter what he says or how offensive something sounds to her. Because in the end, it doesn't really matter to her. Not more than him.

Tucker is just very chill with both of them. He doesn't bother sticking with any of the sides of the arguments, switching between them or not taking part at all. He knows they are fine. He knows they just like fighting, for some weird reason. To be fair, he also picks an occasional fight or two with Sam just for the fun of it.

Gotham in general, and Batfam specifically (or Justice League, if you want) are so not prepared for the three of them when they move out of Amity. Especially if there's also Dani and/or Jazz thrown in the mix to spice things up. None of them truly bother to keep from using their powers, albeit mildly: some little hex and jinx here and there from Sam, a frozen patch on the pavement to make someone slip from Danny, some minor hacking from Tucker, a prank or two using the intangibility from Dani.

It leads to a lot of very confusing situations.

Like Batman showing up to the recent Riddler scheme to find two random teens loudly arguing over the answer to the puzzle while Riddler himself looks completely given up on getting their attention back to the important thing. The important thing being a bomb with a ticking timer on it.

Or Robin finding two siblings brawling on the rooftop, growling and screaming, rolling around and kicking their feet. He is not quick enough to catch them from falling off the edge of the three-story building, but when he peeks down, the siblings are still fighting down on the street, seemingly not even noticing the fall.

Or Red Hood having his guns miraculously stolen midfight because three kids have decided to have a sharpshooter competition with the goons acting as target practice. He honestly can't bring himself to mind, though, they really are great at hitting all the kneecaps within range. He is rather grateful they haven't included his own kneecaps in the heat of it. At least their responsible adult - a very pretty redhead - had apologized and returned his guns back.

Spoiler absolutely loves it when, right as she is about to get caught in Poison Ivy's trap, two teens show up to simultaneously wrestle with the mad greenery with their bare hands and lecture Ivy on the imprint she is leaving on the ecosystem of Gotham.

However, Red Robin absolutely hates that someone keeps getting through all of his firewalls just to leave a few cheeky comments on his recent case files. It doesn't matter that they leave some valuable intel and provide a good conclusion as well, it's the principle of the thing.

All in all, Danny and Sam are the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object, but they trade and switch places constantly and they are most definitely enjoying themselves while at it.

Everyone else, though? That depends on the circumstances.

[enwoso]

hey i absolutely love the lovie fics and i had a request for a fic about lovie getting into alessias make up or one about her as a newborn and meeting alessias family at her parents house

DAB TO FAR | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

the faint hum of the hairdryer had been the background noise for most of the afternoon for alessia's as she was preparing for the fifa awards in london.

the award show being a significant event, her and a few of her other teammate's nominated for the fifa best XI and alessia wanted everything to be perfect.

she tasked her brothers, luca and gio the job of baby sitting you for the night. admittedly they were not the blondes first choice — that would have definitely gone to her mum and dad. but they were out of town choosing to extend their winter holiday in the sun.

so her brothers would have to do. but while alessia was getting her hair and makeup done. it had been surprisingly quiet in her home, too quiet.

her hair stylist, louise finishing up her curled bun as she quickly excused herself telling the girl she should probably check up on you in which she just laughed waving the blonde off to do whatever she needed to do.

alessia's gut twinged as she walked up the stairs, her hair styled perfectly with each hair having a place. but something wasn’t right.

you weren't exactly known for being silent, especially when you were at home. alessia had a hard time getting you to be quiet in the comfort of your own home. you were more of a constant giggler, singer or babbler.

alessia slipped the salon cape on the banister at the top of the stairs, "guys?" she called out.

walking into the room where she could hear gio screaming at what she discovered to be the tv, as he was glued to the gaming console, headset on, controlled in hand as he sat on the edge of the bottom of the bed.

luca was sprawled out on the spare bedroom bed, sound asleep over the noise of gio, his mouth slightly open. typical.

gio was too immersed to even notice her approach. "gio," alessia said, hands on her hips.

he jumped, scrambling to pull one side of the headset off as he noticed his sister with a not too impressed look on her face.

"oh, hey less. your hair looks nice, louise's has done a grand job!" gio smiled as he tried to waver the unimpressed look of his sisters face.

"where's lovie?"

gio face went blank, then turned to mild panic before he stuttered out a response, "uh- i..i thought she was with you?"

alessia's sharp inhale could have rivaled a gale-force wind, "you thought she was with me?"

"well, yeah, she was here a second ago-"

"giorgio!" she groaned, cutting him off as she spun on her heel to try and find you, she didn't have time to lecture him right now. her mind raced as she checked the kitchen and the backyard calling out for you.

"lovie, baby where are you?"

but i wasn't until she was doing the second check of the the upstairs when she passed her room that she noticed something odd. the door was slightly open, and alessia could distinctly remember shutting it earlier.

she gently pushed it open and froze as she poked her head into the room.

you perched on the vanity chair, one leg swinging back and forth as you were surrounded by an explosion of makeup.

eyeshadow palettes were wide open, power dusted across the table and floor like a multicoloured snowstorm. lipstick tubes uncapped and their contents smeared across your tiny face in bold streaks of red and pink.

alessia's blush brush clutched in your tiny hand, its bristles now dipped in an alarming mix of colours.

noticing your mummy in the mirror stood behind you a small wince on her face as you turned and look to her with wide innocent eyes.

your lips - mostly your chin - coated in a sticky uneven layer of alessia's favourite lip gloss.

"mummy! i pretty like you" you declared proudly holding up the brush as if it was a magic wand.

alessia bit back a laugh, she wanted to cry over her ruined makeup but the sight of you so proud of your work melted away any frustration that was building.

"lovie," alessia said crouching down to your level as you sat on the vanity chair, "what have you done?"

you big smile faltered slightly, "i getting ready for the awards.. like you!"

alessia let out a small sigh, softening her tone, "lovie, you know you can't play with mummy's makeup like this. it's special to me and not for little girls"

your bottom lip trembled and alessia quickly reached out to wipe a bit of lipstick off your cheek. "it's okay but we're gonna have to clean this up together alright?"

you nodded solemnly your hands still clutching the brush and a half melted lipstick tube.

after cleaning up majority of the mess - and giving your face a thorough wipe, alessia was matching back into the guest room as you sat downstairs in the living room watching a programme in a fresh pair of pyjamas.

walking into the room, alessia flicked off the tv in the middle of the game gio was playing as she stood blocking the view of the tv.

"hey! alessia!" gio protested, glaring up at her as the gaming controller fell from his hands to his lap.

"don't you 'hey' me. you and him are supposed to be watching her" alessia gestures to downstairs. "you know where i found her? covered in my makeup! luca's asleep and your here playing a game i know you spent more than 12 hours a day playing!"

gio winced, sensing the slight frustration in his younger sisters tone, "she was quiet so i thought.."

"exactly! she was quiet that should have been your first clue!"

alessia didn't spare him any more words as she moved over to were luca lay sprawled out asleep on the bed. jabbing him slightly hard in the shoulder causing the boy to jolt up.

luca rubbed a hand over his face as he blinked groggily, "what's going on?"

"you're supposed to be helping watch lovie, not napping!"

"she's fine" luca mumbled defensively as his eyes fluttered closed again.

"erm she's wasn't actually, she was busy picasso-ing herself with my makeup in my room!"

luca groaned but alessia was already on her way back downstairs knowing her the makeup artist here to do her makeup would be waiting as she muttered under her breath about her useless brothers

as the makeup artist did the finishing touches as you sat comfortably in your mummy's arms getting your hugs in before alessia left as alessia couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of your colourful face.

you may have made a mess and ruined a bit of her makeup that she would no doubly have to replace but there wasn't anything she would trade it for then to have those memories with you.

she would however think twice about trusting her brothers with babysitting duties again...

[likeumeanit9497]

blue pill | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: alternate outcome of this;)

warnings: unprotected p in v; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; switch!matt; matt the munch (yes pls); dirty talk; use of boner pills; deepthroating; 18+

notes: here u are my matt queens!! if u start reading this and think ummm hello i've read this before????? no u haven't dw this has the exact same beginning as red pill the reader just makes a different choice when things start gettin hot;) if you've read red pill already and don't feel like u need a refresher on the buildup skip to the bolded sentence. i hope y'all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!! love u all so so much <333

─ ⊹ ⊱ �� ⊰ ⊹ ─

“This is so fucking stupid.” Matt groaned, sitting in between his brothers on the living room couch, holding a single red pill delicately in between two fingers as though it was a toxin. “Bro you’re the one who came up with the idea and bought them.” Chris retorted, inspecting the identical pill in his own hand. “Yeah, and I have no fucking clue why I agreed to this.” Nick chimed in, his voice filled with misery. “Because you can never turn down a competition.” I replied cheekily from my place on the other couch, giggling at the boys’ petty arguing.

Leaning forward, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket — opening up the timer app and hovering my finger over the start button. “Now hurry up and take them dummies, I’ll keep score.” I peered up at them as they gave each other tentative looks, seemingly hoping that one was going to have a change of heart. When nothing but silence followed, they all seemed to unanimously commit, dropping the red pills on their tongues and chasing them down with soda. As soon as they swallowed, I started the timer and sat back; crossing my arms across my chest with a smirk plastered to my face.

After the guys had posted the video at the gas station where Matt was talking about his idea for the sex pills, I had jokingly messaged him saying that I would gladly keep score if they really did it. Taking my message seriously, Matt had secretly gone out and grabbed three pills before inviting me over tonight. Thinking we were all just going to hangout, I was shocked when I showed up to find the pills neatly lined up on the coffee table and the three brothers pacing around the room arguing. After plenty of deliberation, Matt finally convinced Nick and Chris, and now here they were; awkwardly looking between themselves and me.

“How long do these even take to kick in?” Asked Chris, toying with the can of Pepsi in his hand. Grabbing one of the packages from the coffee table, Matt examined it for a moment. “It says thirty minutes.” He replied, sighing and running a hand through his messy hair. “This is ridiculous.” Remarked Nick, shaking his head as though he was disappointed in everyone in the room. Still giggling, I stretched my legs along the couch. “Oh come on,” I whined, “Relax, get comfy, and let the games begin.”

𓆩☆𓆪

“Okay, this isn’t working.” Nick deadpanned, locking his phone and throwing it beside him. “Really?” Asked Chris, turning to face his brother. Dropping his jaw, Nick made a disgusted face. “Is it for you?” Chris smirked bashfully, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m feeling somethin’.” He replied, to which Matt and Nick both groaned. “What about you Matt?” I asked, eyeing his still-relaxed frame leaning against the couch. Jutting out his bottom lip, he shrugged. “No, nothin’.” Chris groaned beside him, and I couldn’t help but notice him adjust himself slightly. “Great, now I feel weird.” He said, grabbing a blanket and swiftly draping it across his lap. I laughed and slowly pulled myself up from the couch.

“Looks like you might end up being the loser.” I teased as I began tidying up the packages strewn around the room. “I will n-” Dropping to my knees, I collected torn up pieces of packaging that had gathered at Chris’s feet. Noticing that Chris’s words had been cut short and now the room had fallen into heavy silence, I glanced up at him through my eyelashes. His eyes — which from up close seemed glassy and dilated — were on me, his mouth open slightly from his disrupted speech, and even his breathing seemed slightly rapid as his chest rose and fell.

Noticing this, Nick threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Chris are you serious? See I knew this was a fucking horrible idea.” His sharp words pulled Chris’s eyes away from me, and he winced at his brother. “I’m sorry,” He replied, his words aimed at both Nick and myself, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me.” He added, seeming to grow increasingly uncomfortable. I giggled nervously before pulling myself back up to my feet. “It’s okay.” I reassured him before bringing the packages to the garbage; using the short walk to recover from that oddly intense moment.

As I returned, I suddenly noticed Matt fidgeting in his place on the couch, his brows knit in what seemed to be anguish. With Nick scrolling on his phone and Chris burying his head in his hands, I seemed to be the only one noticing Matt’s sudden discomfort. I chuckled as I slid back into my seat. “You good Matt?” I asked, teasing him. His eyes shot up to mine, and I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Uh…yeah. All—all good.” He replied, his voice thick and slightly raspy.

Glancing down at my phone, I check the timer. It had been 32 minutes since they took the pills. I smiled gently. “Right on time.” I replied, shooting him a knowing look which just made him grow even more visibly restless. My comment grabbed the attention of Nick and Chris, and they turned to look at their rosy-cheeked brother. “You too?” Nick shouted, jumping up off of the couch. Matt grimaced, shrugging his shoulders again. “It’s not like I can control it.” He replied, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. Sighing, Nick began walking towards the stairs. “Whoa! Where are you going?” Chris asked him. “Nothing is happening to me dumbass! And I will absolutely not be sitting around you two anymore now that you’re both bricked up.” He sassed as he began climbing the stairs. “Good luck Y/n!” He called as he disappeared into his bedroom.

“Looks like we’re in a 1 v 1.” I said, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly. I registered the look of torment on the faces of Matt and Chris, and decided that it would be in my best interest to hold back my laughter. “Let’s see who can make it to an hour.” I added. Chris grunted as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I’ll be lucky if I make it another five minutes.” He replied, his voice also more gruff than usual. “Aww c’mon, you can do it.” I encouraged, moving to place a reassuring hand on his knee but deciding against it. As the room fell back into silence, I could hear Matt’s heavy breathing permeated by the occasional soft whine.

Although I was trying to keep things light-hearted, their overwhelming arousal was growing more and more palpable. My wandering eyes flittered from Matt’s bottom lip pulled in between his teeth to Chris’s temple coated in a sheen of sweat. As I focused on their features, it was as though their chemically-induced lust was contagious. I began to feel my own heart pounding in my chest, and I noticed a dampness in my panties that hadn’t been there before. In that silent room, all of our desires suddenly fell in sync with one another, and it was growing harder and harder to ignore.

“I need to go deal with this.” Chris suddenly blurted out, his voice laced with urgency as his focused eyes stared straight ahead. “You’re throwin’ in the towel?” Asked Matt, his lips curling into a smile infused with what seemed to be an odd combination of arrogance and relief. Chris winced as he tried to lean forward, nodding his head intensely. I watched in painful silence as he folded his hands together and pressed them against his plump lips, deep in thought. Very slowly, his eyes were pulled in my direction.

I froze under his gaze, the look he was giving me was worth a thousand words. My brows furrowed momentarily, instinctually denying what his eyes were asking me, before I felt my body begin to react. Heart pounding in my ears, I leaned back against the couch and crossed my legs; dying for some relief. “Hey—what’s going on?” Matt’s voice infiltrated mine and Chris’s stare-down. Picking up on the shift of air in the room, his eyebrows shot up. “Chris, no! That’s not how this works.” He exclaimed, turning to face his brother. Still looking at me, a smirk pulled at the corner of Chris’s lips. “We never laid down any ground rules kid.” He replied, and I felt my throat go dry.

“Well…” Matt’s exasperated voice trailed off for a moment, “Well, who said you get to fuck her?” The words sat heavy in the air around us, the reality of the situation being verbalized for the first time. I couldn’t manage to get a single word out if I tried, nor did I have the power to pull my eyes from Chris’s heady gaze. Chris chuckled, pulling himself off of the couch before slowly beginning to walk towards me. “No one,” He began, his voice suddenly menacing, “That’s up to her.” He finished just as he stopped in front of me, his frame towering above me with his tantalizing bulge directly in my line of sight.

Very slowly, he leaned down so that we were once again face-to-face. I felt my cheeks burn red from the situation I had suddenly found myself in, and the desire was radiating off of me in pulses. “What do you say?” He asked, his dilated eyes flooded with amusement. I swallowed, trying my best to re-instate my own vocal chords. Just as I was about to squeak out a response, a mindless gasp fell from my lips as Chris ducked his head down; his face buried in my neck.

My eyes fluttered shut momentarily, but once they opened they immediately landed on Matt’s tense figure sitting on the couch. His eyes were wide open, showing me just how badly he was suffering in that moment. The sheer need radiating from his gaze on me was infiltrating my mind, but the feeling of Chris’s warm breath dancing against my neck made it difficult for anything else to matter.

That is, until my eyes trailed down to Matt’s lap.

In between his fidgeting thighs, I saw the perfect outline of his cock. His pitiful arousal was evident in the shaded contours of his length in combination with the dark bead of pre-cum leaking through his grey sweats, letting me know that he had made the unsavoury decision of skipping on boxers. The visual of it — him being so transparently aroused while simultaneously ashamed — caused my mind to wander.

It wandered to the thought of me on my knees, wrapping my lips around his satin-skinned cock while he twitched and moaned out my name; dying to give into a release that was almost too much to handle. It wandered to the feeling of his sharp breath against my skin as he whined into my touch; bucking his hips as I teased his sensitive tip. It wandered to the idea of him taking out his insatiable hunger on my core — now slick with arousal —licking, sucking, groaning against its heat.

My silence flooded the room, and as I fought against the urge to drool at the thoughts swimming through my mind, a look of recognition flashed across Matt’s flushed face. I kept my eyes glued to him as Chris’s mouth traveled across my neck, and watched his heaving chest and white-knuckled fists at his side. His eyes — now four shades darker and twice as droopy as they usually are — were telling me a story. A story of exactly what he wanted to do to me — what he wanted me to do to him. And then — just as Chris nibbled against a particularly sensitive part of my neck and my eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, another soft whine slipped from the lips of the man watching me. The one who so clearly needed my help.

Using all my self restraint, I placed a gentle but firm hand on Chris’s chest. “I’m sorry Chris,” I spoke, feeling bad about my inability to help out both brothers. But, I knew for a fact that Chris had a much longer roster than his triplet brother, and was sure that he would be able to have someone over in less than 10 minutes to help him out. At my words, Chris released a disappointed huff of air against my skin but didn’t fight against my hand. As he stood up, I had to force my eyes away from his own visible arousal that was still within my reach.

“I wouldn’t recommend staying out here, I’m gonna get Marie to come over.” Chris grumbled, his voice still thick with arousal, before shooting his brother the middle finger and heading for the stairs leading to his bedroom. Once we were alone, the weight of the situation seemed to fill the space between us, making it difficult for me to breathe. The intensity of Matt’s gaze, never once leaving me, didn’t make things any easier — his retinas might as well have been screens playing out all of the filthy scenes that were running through both of our minds.

Forcing myself back to reality, I gathered all of my thoughts and nudged my head in the direction of his bedroom down the hall. “Should we go?” My question elicited the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple, and a curt nod of his head. On shaky legs, I stood up. He wrapped an uncertain, hovering arm around my waist and together we began walking towards his bedroom. As we walked, I felt, more than heard, his breathing grow more and more rapid; his pulse radiating from his body into my own.

Just as we passed the kitchen and entered the hallway, Matt stopped in his tracks. “Wait, Y/n,” Gently, he grabbed onto my hips and pressed me against the wall, standing in front of me with concern etched into his face. “Are you sure you’re good with this?” His question a paradox to his obvious desperation to get relief, I stifled a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I replied, amused. Still not satisfied, he continued. “I just don’t want you to think that you have to do this, I mean I got these pills as a joke and really just invited you to keep score. You’re my friend and I don’t want you to think this was my pl—”

I cut him off with a finger pressed gently to his soft lips. Although his concern was charming and even comforting to me, it was entirely unnecessary. “Matt,” I began, my voice dropped to a low whisper as I looked up at him through my eyelashes, “I’m good with this.” Tracing the tattoos on his arm slowly, I continued, “See for yourself.” His eyes scanned my face for a moment, confused, before a glint of understanding appeared. Very slowly, his eyes dropped to my lower half and wordlessly I encouraged him by widening my stance slightly. One of his hands that had been resting on my hip began toying with the waistband of my shorts, before it creeped down the front of the cotton material blindly.

As soon as his long fingers reached my slippery heat, we both released simultaneous groans. His skin was so cold against my own, and as they gently slid in between my folds it sent a delicious shiver down my spine. “God,” Matt breathed, his eyes glued to my clothed heat as though he had x-ray vision. I bit my lower lip as I fought the urge to moan from the feeling of his exploring fingers, but all restraint disappeared once he reached my throbbing bundle of nerves. As the erotic noise fell from my lips, Matt’s eyes fluttered back up to mine before he pulled my lips into a feverish kiss.

Drawing slow circles against my clit, Matt’s tongue slipped delicately into my mouth with a certain hunger I hadn’t quite experienced before. Even as I relished in the taste of him combined with the exquisite pressure he was using against my nerves, I recognized that he was holding back some of his desperation. “Like that,” I breathed against his lips, panting as he worked me into a frenzy. He released a puff of air through his nostrils in response, shifting on his feet as he struggled to keep his composure.

“S-so wet for you.” I continued egging him on, finding his resistance to let go erotic. “S-so wet.” He parroted, his breathing rapid against my swollen lips before they traveled down my jaw and onto my neck. My eyes fluttered shut as I felt his mouth toy with my delicate skin, though the feeling was cut short as he pulled his head back slightly, his breathing hot against my ear. “D-don’t love that.” He muttered, running his thumb along my neck where I was sure his brother had left dark purple bruises just moments before.

Grabbing his jaw, I gently pulled his face up so that I could lock eyes with him. His fingers were still circling my clit, so through breathy gasps I spoke, “Why don’t you plant your own somewhere else?” I watched as his face suddenly grew overcome with aching fervour, before his hands slid back to my waistband and he sunk to his knees; taking my shorts and thong down to my ankles with him. My gaze followed him to the floor, and with a slacked jaw I watched as Matt took in the sight of me exposed just inches away from him. His hands crawled back up my thighs and his thumbs brushed delicately against the silky smooth skin of my bikini line before he brought his mouth to my pelvis.

His tongue swirled against my skin in a place I was sure had never been kissed before. He groaned, the sound muffled by his suckling lips, and I felt as though I might melt away from how worshipped I felt in that moment. My skin began to grow warm under his nibbling and sucking, and my stomach flipped from the sight of the angry purple bruise he had left once his mouth began moving closer to my aching core.

Just as Matt’s nose brushed against my heat, he pulled back slightly and used his grip on my thighs to pull my legs further apart. With a look of anguished hunger, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth as his thumbs spread apart my folds; granting him an unrestricted view of the arousal dripping from my core. “Jesus,” His singular word held the weight of all of the desire radiating between the two of us, and like the snap of an elastic band, all of his self-restraint dissipated as he impulsively ran his flat tongue along my heat; causing me to cry out in ecstasy as he savoured my sweet arousal against his tastebuds.

As if he was an addict and had just had his first fix, Matt turned into someone unrecognizable with his face buried between my thighs. His fingers wrapped so tightly around my thighs that I was sure he was going to leave a bruise as his tongue flicked deliciously against my swollen bundle of nerves. “Oh god, Matt!” I cried out, lacing my fingers through his hair and pressing my heat against him desperately. He responded to my pathetic moans by throwing one of my legs around his shoulder; granting his tongue a new angle that sent shock waves down my spine.

“So fucking good.” He groaned against my cunt, his voice more hoarse than usual. His tongue slid from my bundle of nerves down to my entrance, which he circled for a moment before plunging the strong muscle into it; lapping up my juices as I struggled to stand upright. He used his tongue to fuck me, his own moans echoing through my walls as his nose simultaneously rubbed my puffy clit, and the short hallway filled with the wet sounds of my needy cunt being worked towards my impending orgasm.

“F-fuck Matt,” I whined, rolling my hips hungrily against his face, “I-I’m gonna-” Without even finishing my words, Matt grunted in approval before fumbling blindly with his sweatpants. Through hooded lids I watched in glory as Matt slipped his pants down just enough to let his veiny cock free. Without removing his working mouth, he slid two fingers in the shape of a V through my folds to collect my juices before bringing his slippery hand to his cock; stroking it in rhythm with his movements against my cunt.

My legs began to shake and my vision grew blurry from my fast-approaching orgasm, though I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Matt as he milked his cock; clearly grown too desperate to wait another moment for relief. Just as he released a throaty moan against my cunt and I felt myself begin to give in to the overwhelming pressure radiating through every nerve in my body, I froze at the sound of the front door opening.

Chris’s lucky roster pick.

Matt and I locked eyes, sharing a look of mutual anguish before he jumped to his feet. Without even bothering to get dressed, I slipped out of my discarded bottoms and silently headed for Matt’s bedroom, the heat of his own brooding frame close behind me. As soon as we were behind the closed door, Matt tried to drop to his knees once again. Although it took nearly all of the self-restraint that I held in my body, I grabbed onto his shoulders to stop him. “Matt, you’re torturing yourself.” I whispered, dropping my eyes to his throbbing cock — bright red and swollen at the tip.

He pouted, running a gentle hand through my hair. “But you taste so fuckin’ good.” He breathed out just before engulfing my lips with his own; allowing me to taste my own sweetness against his slick tongue. His hands toyed with the bottom of my shirt, tugging it gently as though asking for permission. I pulled away from his mouth, drunk from the way I tasted on him, and allowed him to slip my shirt over my head. His pleading eyes dropped to my tits, and he ran the pad of his thumb along my pebbled nipple before dropping it back down to the bundle of nerves between my legs.

“You were so close to cumming,” He added. His voice was deep yet laced with the whine of a man who needed something bad, and it numbed my mind for a second. He pressed his thumb against my clit, slowly adding more and more pressure as I bit my bottom lip. “We can cum together.” I offered, looking up at him through droopy eyelids as my stomach flipped from the thought of him inside of me at last.

That thought seemed to have been mirrored in Matt’s mind as well, because his blown out eyes grew hazy and his brows knit together in wistful lust. Taking his expression as my answer, I gestured toward his bed behind him. With a curious smirk, Matt slipped off his t-shirt and began walking backwards towards his bed; using his grip on my hips to pull me with him. As his heels reached the frame, I gently pushed him down so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Although a part of me wanted to straddle his lap and sink down onto his gorgeous cock immediately, instead of following him onto the bed I dropped onto my knees before him.

His eyes glimmered for a moment. “What are you doing?” He asked, the mild concern on his face worked paradoxically with his hands gathering my hair into a make-shift ponytail. I snaked my hands up his legs, letting them rest just centimetres away from his cock; the nearly-there contact making it jump. “Just wanna taste you too,” My seductive words caused his hands to subconsciously tighten in my hair just as I wrapped my lips around his spongey tip.

His savoury pre-cum on my tastebuds intoxicated me, and I lapped it up hungrily before bobbing my head in a rapid, but steady, rhythm. A whiney groan fell from his lips, his thighs twitched under my hands as I let his cock reach the back of my throat; swallowing around it and relishing in his needy reaction. “Mmm Y/n,” He groaned, his breath rapid as he struggled to keep his composure, “F-feels so good,” His grip in my hair was firm, as though that was what was holding him steady, but I felt his thumbs gently brush my neck in a way that was comforting to both of us.

Relaxing my throat, I pushed myself all the way down his long cock so that my nose pressed against his flexed stomach. A sharp whimper filled the room as I gargled his entire length until tears began streaming down my face, and already I felt his cock begin to swell in my throat. “Oh god baby, not g-gonna la-ast — s-so clos-se.” His words were choppy, punctuated by his rapid breathing as his body grew red from the hot arousal. Panties flooding, I took his words as motivation and swallowed his cock fervently; knowing that he had to be close to pain by how hard he was.

A chorus of sharp, rapid whines began slipping from Matt’s lips, and I felt his body begin to tremble under my touch as his balls tightened against my chin. His hips lifted from the bed in uncontrollable pleasure, and after a final, exquisite moan, I felt the warmth of his cum as his powerful orgasm washed over him. I fought the urge to gasp at the sheer amount of fluid that filled my mouth, but was pulled back by the addicting taste of him on my tongue. Greedily, I swallowed everything that he had before continuing to slowly bob my head.

Matt’s body writhed under my warm mouth, and only once he released a pathetic moan from my tongue swirling around the crest of his head did I pull back; releasing his still-hard cock with a pop. My vision was blurry from my tears, but I still managed to pull my eyes from the string of saliva dangling from his leaking cock back to his flushed face; gazing down at me in shock. “I…I’ve never finished that fast in my fucking life.” His words were laced with genuine astonishment, causing me to laugh in amusement.

“We can blame the pill,” I replied, pulling myself off of the floor and climbing on top of him on the bed. As soon as my core was level with his lap, his hands gripped firmly onto the flesh of my ass and his cock flexed against the pressure of my body. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I laughed before subtly pushing him back so that he was laying flat on the bed. “Doesn’t matter anyways, looks like you still got more in you.”

My words seemed to awaken something within him, because as soon as they left my mouth Matt flipped us over so that it was now me who was laying flat against the bed. His mouth consumed my own once again, the taste of both of our arousal now floating between our tongues. My head spun from the glorious feeling of being underneath Matt, feeling somehow so powerless yet so in tune with my own body. A gasp slipped from my lips as I felt his cock brush against my heat, the urge to be filled now growing void of any ignorance.

“You still wet?” Matt breathed against my lips, using a hand to spread my legs apart before bringing it to my sensitive core. A satisfied hum fell from his lips as he felt the warm juices of my arousal not only pooled in between my legs, but smeared all down my inner thighs from the pleasure of having him fall apart in my mouth. “Oh you’re fuckin soaked baby,” He cooed, his voice gentle against my parted lips. I writhed against his investigative fingers, needing more contact than what he was granting me by admiring just how turned on I had grown.

Growing impatient, I reached down and grabbed his sticky cock, eliciting a hiss from him as I guided it towards my needy entrance. “Jesus,” Matt groaned, overwhelmed by the confirmation of my insatiable need for him, before allowing himself to be guided by my hand. Just as I felt the head of his cock sink into the crest of my aching pussy, I let go of his shaft and relied on the fervour warmth of my walls to swallow his length.

He slid into me slowly, with anguish, and once he bottomed out guttural moans fell from both of our lips. He filled me so intensely that I felt feverish, delirious with desire. My walls welcomed him graciously, though they enveloped him so tightly I was worried he may not be able to move. Just as that thought crossed my mind, Matt pulled himself almost entirely out of me before driving his cock back down to the hilt. A gasp fell from my lips as my arms wrapped around his neck, overcome with the relief that his movements granted me.

“Holy fuck,” Matt grunted, and as I looked up at him I recognized the look of strain on his face and throughout his muscles. “You’re s-so tight.” The tensity of his voice drew a soft moan from me, and by wrapping my legs around his waist I urged him to keep moving. Recognizing my silent request, he began pumping himself into me. He started slow, though on each thrust it was as if my cunt began to stretch more and more for him until it moulded to fit him perfectly, to which he responded by going harder and faster.

The squelching sound of our bodies as they joined together provided a perfect harmony to the slurry of moans that fell from both of our lips. Matt snaked a hand around my lower back, adding a new level of pressure as he held me tight against him. I cried out as he wrapped his warm mouth against a hardened nipple, swirling his tongue around the dark pink, sensitive bud as he snapped his hips into me. “Feels…so…good…” Matt’s words were punctuated by his thrusts, and his breath tickled against my skin as he spoke into my plush breast. I mewled in response, nails turning into claws against the tense skin of his back.

“N-eeded this s-so fucking b-bad. T-thank you,” Solace was already evident in his voice, and his gratitude was enough to make my head spin. He lifted his head from my chest and placed his open mouth against my own with the intention of kissing me, but we were both so caught up in the mutual pleasure radiating through our bodies that the most we could do was breathe against one another; matching the tempos of our beating hearts. Matt’s thrusts began to grow sloppier, his breath more ragged, and the heat of our bodies came crashing down on me.

“N-need you to cum baby,” Matt groaned, slight panic and desperation laced through his tone. I released a pathetic moan, knowing I was close but could sense from his words that he was closer. “P-please Y/n, I’m — so c-close,” The trepidation was evident in his voice now, and I whined as I fought to stay on track chasing my own high. “K-keep going, just l-like that,” I purred, closing my eyes as I focused on my impending orgasm.

Matt’s hand traveled down my body in between my legs, where his thumb went to work vigorously swirling against my overstimulated bundle of nerves. Immediately, I felt myself inch closer and closer to the high I had been dying for. “F-fuck!” I cried out, my body beginning to tremble from the intensity of the oncoming waves of pleasure. “Please—Please—Please,” Matt grunted with each weakened thrust, his voice thick with untethered need as I felt his cock begin to swell inside of me; ready to erupt any minute.

Finally, after another desperate swirl along my clit in sync with a quick snap of his hips, Matt drew a long string of moans from my lips and pushed me over the edge of my teetering orgasm. Upon the first erratic pulse of my spongey walls, Matt released his own guttural moan and cried out my name before I felt his warm seed spill deep into my core. Although his body seemed to want to give in to the waves of pleasure it was experiencing, he forced his hips to continue to drive into me; helping me ride out my high as my clammy back arched off of the mattress and my legs constricted his waist. I felt the indescribable release of pressure as I squirted all along his throbbing cock and lower stomach, earning a satisfied moan from Matt as he let his eyes drop to admire the sight.

Only once our bodies began to relax and we came down from our highs did Matt halt his movements; crashing his exhausted body onto mine and burying his face in my neck. I let myself sink into the soft mattress under his comforting weight, focusing on my decreasing heart rate and the feeling of Matt’s hand running up and down my side. My eyes fluttered shut, the physical exertion draining me of all energy, and I felt us simultaneously fall into a peaceful lull as our breathing steadied.

After what could have been hours, Matt lifted his head from my neck and shot me a bashful smile. “I’m never taking one of those fucking pills again.” Laughing, I propped myself up on my elbows and smiled down at him. “So what I’m hearing is that was horrible and you hate me.” Matt scoffed, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Obviously not, Y/n. The issue is that was way too fucking good. And we’re friends. Friends can’t be dogging each other like that.” Matt ran a hand through his hair, a sign that behind his joking tone he was genuinely stressing out over what we had done.

I grabbed his tattooed arm gently, getting his attention. “Hey crazy, don’t worry. It was a one time thing caused by your little boner pill. It won’t happen again.” He sighed, rolling off of me and draping his body along the bed beside me. “Won’t happen again.” He repeated softly, staring up at the ceiling with concern still etched in his face. “Hey,” I looked down at him in amusement, “At least you feel better though, right?” Slowly, Matt turned to face me with that same flushed look he had on the couch an hour ago. Wincing, he let his gaze drop to his dick — still standing straight up in the air; red and swollen at the tip.

“One more time?”

“One more time.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[gold-onthe-inside]

a pearl

who? spencer reid (post-prison) x fem!reader based on: a pearl by mitski (and also pearl diver also by mitski) written for: @mggslover's event lyrics: “You’re growing tired of me. You love me so hard and I still can’t sleep/Sorry, I can’t take your touch. It’s not that I don’t want you.” word count: 0.9k content warnings: mentions cat adams, reference to addiction/drugs & sobriety

He stared at the flickering flame in the living room, knowing he’s left your sleeping frame upstairs, and rubbed the sobriety chip between his thumb and forefinger, and he remembers the moment he had fallen in love with your smile, a warm saccharine thing that had brightened your whole face when he tried to pull a coin from behind your ear, but it hadn’t worked, only for you to find it in your pockets. He hasn’t made you smile like that in a while. Not in 3 months, 20 days, and 14 hours. Not since Cat Adams had made it her mission to ruin his life, and yours along with him. This year had just been the tip of a long-building iceberg of issues that you kept having to put up with because of him.

And sure, things were okay now. His mom was in a good home in DC, always a call and a drive away. They had gotten his murder conviction overturned. He was supposed to be safe. Then why did he feel this uneasy all the time?

He’s so lost in himself, the firelight reflecting in his soft and worried hazel eyes, that he doesn’t hear you coming down the stairs, doesn’t see the cute donut pyjamas that usually make his heart melt, and physically flinches when you touch his shoulder, the chip in his hand falling to the floor. “Sorry,” you said instantly, “I didn’t mean to… You just weren’t in bed, I wanted to make sure you were—”

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too sharply, and usually, you’re better at controlling your expressions, but it’s 2 in the morning and you’re tired, so the concern is visible on your sleepy face.

“Honey, you don’t seem fine,” you said softly, approaching him like he was a skittish horse.

He let out a breath, bending down to pick up the sobriety token, while you wait and watch him straighten. “Can we not do this right now?” he asked, sounding tired, and he can see your concern deepen, adding another wrinkle to your brow, the corners of your lips turning down. He can see the battle that rages inside you every day, every time he acts like this — do you confront him? Do you put your foot down like you had all those years ago when he was coming to work while in withdrawal? What would it take for you to finally retaliate?

“Okay,” you said, in your gentle but firm way, looking at him evenly. “Two choices. We sit here and talk, or you come back upstairs with me and get some sleep. Either way, I’m not going back up without you.” Your arms come up to cross against your chest in what you think is a firm, decisive position to take, but Spencer’s sorely tempted to smile at you, and then his heart sinks all over again. It must have come up on his face because your arms start to fall and you walked over to pull him to sit next to you on the couch. “Sweetheart, will you please just tell me what’s going on with you?” you asked, and you think your heart might crawl out of your throat when Spencer pulled his hands away from yours.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and you can see his body closing off, all your work to bring him out of his shell, to coax him into the sunlight, vanishing like smoke. “Everything’s, you know, it’s fine. The team’s fine, my mom’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before things aren’t fine again,” you said, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “Right?” You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t felt it too — the panic in the middle of the night when he’s not there, the reminder you have to give yourself that he’s not in prison anymore, that he’s safe.

“I’m so tired,” he told you, his eyes falling to your hands, where you were gripping each other for fear of reaching out to him again. He was tired of waiting to get the phone call saying his mom was gone. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of feeling afraid in a house that was supposed to be his refuge.

“Sweetheart, you can’t rest when your body still thinks it’s on the run,” you told him gently.

“Then how do I get it to stop?” he asked you, a hint of desperation rising into his throat, causing his words come out more broken and shaky than he meant for them to, and it just made his chest ache more.

You leaned closer, pressing your forehead against his and cupping his cheek, feeling the light stubble on his jaw. "Stay here," you whispered. "In this moment. You and me. Nothing else."

“In this moment,” he echoed, his voice soft and quiet, barely more than a whisper. “You and me, and nothing else.” A hint of a smile spread across his lips, and you pressed a butterfly kiss to the corner before laying your head on his shoulder while he slid his arms around your waist. You don’t move, just eventually shift so you can both lay on the couch, the fire dying out into embers as he finally fell asleep to the rise and fall of your chest.

[wisesoultarot]

Intimate life with your future spouse after marriage

Enjoy 20% off of all readings (VALENTINE SALE). (Use Code VALENTINE) at the checkout to avail this offer. Offer valid till 14 FEB. Hurry! LIMITED offer!!

💜IMAGE 1:

Your future spouse is envisioned as a vibrant and passionate individual, someone who brings a spark of energy and enthusiasm into every aspect of life. This dynamic personality should ease any concerns you may have about the longevity and excitement of your relationship. Imagine couples who age gracefully yet still maintain a lively intimacy; that’s the kind of dynamic you can expect in your own partnership.

In this relationship, you and your partner will never have to worry about boredom or fatigue creeping into your intimate life, even after the vows are exchanged. Your future spouse is likely to take the lead in the bedroom, bringing creativity and spontaneity that will keep the flame of passion alive. I foresee multiple rounds of excitement following your initial encounters, as both of you will be eager to explore and enjoy each other’s company without hesitation.

There will be no waiting or reluctance between you two; instead, you will dive deep into each experience together, fully immersing yourselves in the joy of intimacy. This connection will be characterized by open communication and a shared desire to please one another, ensuring that both of you feel cherished and desired.

Even after starting a family, your active sex life will continue to thrive, as you both prioritize your relationship and understand the importance of maintaining that intimate bond. You will find ways to nurture your connection, making time for each other amidst the busyness of family life. This commitment to intimacy will lead to a fulfilling and satisfying life together, where love and passion remain at the forefront of your relationship.

Ultimately, your future together will be marked by a deep emotional and physical connection, one that evolves and grows stronger over time. You will create a beautiful balance between family life and personal intimacy, ensuring that your relationship remains vibrant and passionate for years to come.

💜IMAGE 2:

I envision you reliving every cherished moment with your future spouse, as their touch resonates deeply within you, igniting a spark that feels both familiar and exhilarating. Each caress will be a reminder of the profound connection you share, a language of love spoken through gentle gestures and lingering glances. They will bring delightful surprises to your intimate life, introducing new adventures that leave you in awe of your choice in partner. Whether it’s a spontaneous weekend getaway or a quiet evening spent exploring each other’s dreams, these experiences will deepen your bond and create lasting memories.

Often, you will find yourselves lost in daydreams about each other's warmth and the closeness you share. In those moments of reflection, you’ll realize how intertwined your lives have become, each thought of them filling you with a sense of comfort and joy. You will crave solitude together, seeking out those precious moments where the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Each time you find it, intimacy will naturally follow, blossoming in the quiet spaces where you can truly be yourselves.

The emotions between you are profound, indicating that your encounters will transcend mere physicality; they will be acts of love, deeply connecting you both on emotional and spiritual levels. Each embrace will carry the weight of your shared history, and every kiss will be a promise of the future you are building together. The atmosphere will be filled with romance, featuring tender foreplay that ignites passion and affectionate cuddles that soothe the soul. This nurturing bond will linger long after your moments together, creating a sense of belonging that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

You will treat each other with utmost gentleness, fostering an environment where vulnerability is cherished, and love is expressed freely. This mutual respect and care will create a beautiful tapestry of love and intimacy, woven with threads of trust, laughter, and shared dreams. Together, you will explore the depths of your connection, celebrating the unique rhythm of your relationship and the joy that comes from being completely and utterly yourselves in each other’s presence.

💜IMAGE 3:

The energy here feels deeply sensual and earthy, radiating strong vibes associated with earth signs. This grounding energy creates a sanctuary where both of you can truly connect on a profound level. It seems like you both take your time to prepare the space and yourselves before diving into intimacy, creating a seductive atmosphere that builds anticipation. The careful arrangement of soft lighting, inviting textures, and perhaps the subtle scent of essential oils envelops you, setting the stage for a deeply intimate experience.

You cherish each moment, savoring the experience without rushing toward the climax. This deliberate pace allows you to explore each other’s bodies and emotions, fostering a sense of trust and vulnerability. Every touch, every whisper, becomes a part of a beautiful dance, where you both are attuned to each other’s desires and needs. There’s a palpable tension in the air, a delicious build-up that heightens your senses and deepens your connection.

The rhythm of your connection is marked by a step-by-step approach that showcases your harmony and synchronization. You move together like a well-rehearsed duet, each note perfectly timed, each movement fluid and intentional. This shared understanding creates a safe space where you can both express yourselves freely, allowing your desires to unfold naturally. The anticipation builds, creating a magnetic pull that draws you closer, igniting a fire that simmers just beneath the surface.

Once you shift from a slow pace to a faster one, it’s as if nothing can hold you back. The energy transforms, becoming electric and all-consuming. You find yourselves lost in the moment, swept away by the intensity of your connection. It’s a thrilling release, a culmination of all the anticipation and desire that has been building between you. This exhilarating shift leads to sleepless nights filled with unrelenting energy, where time seems to stand still, and the outside world fades away.

Each encounter leaves you both breathless, fully immersed in the intensity of your shared moments. The afterglow lingers, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, as you bask in the satisfaction of your connection. You find yourselves exchanging soft laughter and tender caresses, relishing the closeness that you’ve cultivated. In these moments, you realize that it’s not just about the physical act of intimacy; it’s about the deep emotional bond that you’ve nurtured, the trust that has blossomed, and the joy of being fully present with one another. This is a sacred space where your souls intertwine, creating a tapestry of love, passion, and connection that is uniquely yours.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change Of Heart - 5 (Edited ver.)

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky stood near the dock, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. The waves lapped gently against the wooden posts, a rhythmic sound that did little to soothe the restlessness inside him. The sky had begun to darken, shades of deep blue swallowing the last traces of daylight.

"Sir, it's getting dark," his secretary reminded him softly, standing a few steps behind.

Bucky didn't respond immediately. Instead, he exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Did your parents divorce?"

The secretary blinked at the sudden question. "No, sir. But my sister did. She divorced her first husband."

Bucky hummed, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. "Was it the right choice?"

"I think so," the secretary admitted. "She smiles more with her second husband. He was divorced too. Somehow, they complete each other. It’s like they both learned from their past mistakes."

Bucky finally turned to look at him. "How long have they been together now?"

"Five years."

Silence settled between them. Bucky lowered his gaze, staring at the ground as if lost in thought. His parents divorced when he was young. His father changed wives like the seasons, to where Bucky had lost count of how many stepmothers he'd had. And his mother—she had become a well-known rich cougar, the kind who made headlines.

When two broken people come together, they begin to heal. But what happened between him and you... something still hurts deep down. Though both of you completed each other, seeing you leave felt like it wasn’t enough.

Bucky had spent years running from his past, avoiding the feelings he buried deep within himself. He'd been afraid of truly connecting, terrified that giving in to love would mean vulnerability—and he’d never allowed himself to be vulnerable. But with you, something changed.

He started to open up, piece by piece. He had found solace in your presence, a kind of comfort he never thought he’d experience. You made him feel like maybe it was okay to be human.

But even as the wounds began to heal, a part of him remained fractured. The scars weren’t completely gone. And as he watched you walk away, that deep-seated fear—of losing someone, of being left behind—came rushing back. He realized he wasn’t as whole as he thought he was.

Without another word, Bucky pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen momentarily before he made the call. He held the device to his ear and started walking, his steps slow and aimless as he paced along the dimly lit dock. A few streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the worn planks beneath his feet.

The therapist answered after a few rings.

"My advice?" The voice on the other end was calm. "Let her go. Don't stop her. If she wants to come back, she will."

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His grip on the phone tightened. He didn’t agree.

"Do you have any sexual desire toward her?"

"No," he answered without hesitation.

"Do you feel safe when you're around her?"

"...Yes."

"Do you want to come home faster when you know she's waiting there?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose. "Yes."

The therapist paused before asking the last question.

"Do you have feelings for her?"

This time, Bucky hesitated. His lips parted, but the words didn't come as easily. "...No." But his voice lacked conviction.

The therapist remained silent for a beat before finally speaking.

"It will grow on you. Just wait and see."

Bucky lowered the phone, staring at the dark waters ahead. The wind picked up, tousling his hair, but he barely noticed. His chest felt tight, the answer lingering in his mind.

Had he really meant it?

The Next Day

Bucky followed you.

He shouldn’t have, but he did.

He was already waiting by the dock when you returned from your scuba diving lesson. You looked different—lighter, freer. The usual quiet presence he was familiar with had been replaced by someone more expressive, more alive. You laughed while talking to strangers, engaging with them in a way he had never seen before. When you were with him, you spoke to his colleagues, sure, but never like this. With them, it was polite conversation, surface-level. But now? You were glowing.

And Bucky didn't know how to feel about that.

You spotted him standing near the railing, and your smile faltered for just a second before returning. Surprise flickered in your eyes, but there was something else too—relief, maybe.

"You're still here," you said, your voice carrying a mix of disbelief and quiet gladness.

Bucky was about to respond, but then his gaze caught on you peeling off your wetsuit.

He froze.

It wasn’t like you were undressing provocatively—you were simply taking off your gear. But in the two years you'd been together, neither of you had ever seen the other completely bare. You had shared a home, a bed even, but always with an unspoken distance.

His throat went dry, and he forced himself to turn away, his jaw tightening.

Bucky had seen countless women undress before, but this—this was different. This was you. And it was as if some part of his brain refused to process it. He waited in silence, staring at the dark water until he heard your footsteps approaching.

You had changed into dry clothes and now stood beside him, leaning against the dock railing.

“I guess Grandpa won’t allow you to come home,” you said.

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re right. But I guess… I failed. You don’t want to come back.”

“Not yet.”

Silence. The waves rolled in and out, filling the space between you.

You looked out at the sea, your expression unreadable. Then, as if speaking more to yourself than to him, you asked, “Do you ever wonder why we’re compatible?”

It was a good question. Because in truth, on paper, you shouldn’t be.

Most marriage contracts like yours didn’t last. Some couples couldn’t even stand each other for the duration of their agreement. They broke it off before the ink had dried.

You exhaled through your nose, then said with a smirk, “Because both of us are ambitious as fuck.”

Bucky scoffed. He almost laughed, but he held it in, shaking his head instead.

Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “If you love me, why are you leaving?”

You turned your head to look at him. Your eyes were softer now, but firm, steady.

“Bucky, I know you’re not ready for this. And I won’t push you. You need to figure it out yourself.”

His chest tightened.

He had spent years figuring himself out. Years battling the demons that kept him tethered to his past. But had he actually moved forward?

“I used this marriage contract to get money,” you admitted. “To have a higher status than my father. Feeling superior to him gave me satisfaction.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He understood that. He understood it too well.

He had never wanted to be in a relationship—not out of fear, but as an act of rebellion. His parents' marriage had been a disaster, a revolving door of broken vows and replacements. His father cycled through wives like a man cycling through business investments. His mother had responded by becoming one of the most infamous rich cougars in town, collecting younger lovers as if to prove something to the world.

Love, as far as Bucky had seen, was nothing more than a transaction.

He had despised it.

But now, standing here, he wasn’t so sure.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So this is goodbye, then?”

“For now,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just want to do what I’ve been holding back. I want to grow up.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean? We’re already in our thirties.”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was knowing, understanding.

“I mean growing up from the trauma.” Your voice softened. “Bucky, both of us were stuck as kids because of what happened to us. Our pasts kept us frozen in time. But I don’t want to stay stuck anymore. I want to move forward. I want to leave the trauma behind.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He couldn't.

“The reason I didn’t come back,” you continued, “is because I still love you. And that terrifies me. I’m running away because I can’t be near you without feeling everything too much.”

Bucky sucked in a slow breath.

This was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him like this—with honesty, with vulnerability. It was the first time he had ever received a love confession that wasn’t transactional, that wasn’t tied to expectations.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

You stepped back. “I hope that the next time we meet, everything will be different.”

Bucky watched as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a long moment. Then, slowly, he let out a shaky exhale.

Something was shifting inside him, something he didn’t have a name for. It wasn’t just loss. It wasn’t just regret.

It was something deeper.

A few moments later, he pulled out his phone and dialed his therapist.

When the call connected, his voice came out rough, almost reluctant.

“I think I’m starting to have… sexual desires toward her.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then, finally, his therapist sighed.

“Well, Bucky,” they said, “it looks like you’re finally catching up to your emotions.”

He decided to leave you alone, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring. No matter what, you had been there for him for two years. Marriage contract or not, you left a lasting impression on his life.

When he returned, his grandfather was waiting for him, clearly hoping you would step off the plane with Bucky.

When he saw Bucky coming down alone, Tom clicked his tongue. “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky sighed. “Give her time. She’ll be back.” Even though he's not sure when you'll be back.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

One Year Later

The café inside the park was quiet, tucked away between tall trees and winding pathways. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light onto the wooden tables.

Bucky sat alone, a tablet in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. He scrolled through reports, half-reading, half-listening to the sounds around him—the soft chatter of other patrons, the occasional bark of a dog, the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Then, a voice behind him made him nearly drop his tablet.

“I see you’re still a workaholic.”

His heart clenched. He knew that voice.

Slowly, he turned around—and there you were.

You stood before him, looking different yet familiar. Your skin was sun-kissed, your hair slightly lighter, and your presence felt… freer. There was an ease in your posture, a confidence in your stance that hadn’t been there before.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, as if making sure you were real. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I don’t work as much as I used to,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Really? Who’s been keeping up with all your work, then?”

“My parents.”

That made you pause. “Your parents?”

He nodded, setting down his tablet. “Yeah. I finally faced it. The whole mess.”

And it had been a mess. For years, he had avoided confronting the real cause of his fears—his childhood. He thought that refusing to engage in relationships was an act of defiance, proof that he had broken free from his parents' toxic cycle. But in reality, he had been trapped just like them. Stuck in the same story, just playing a different role.

It wasn’t fair.

They had lived their lives—moving on, getting remarried, collecting younger lovers, burning through money—while he had been the one frozen in time, afraid to take a single step forward.

So he had done something drastic.

He had cut them off.

No more allowances, no more endless funds. Their luxurious lifestyles had been fueled by company profits, and Bucky had put an end to it.

“This company is not a charity,” he had told them. “You’ve used its assets to fund your lifestyles for too long. If I let this continue, we’ll go down in history as the first corporation to bankrupt itself paying alimony.”

His father had been furious. His mother had scoffed. But in the end, they had no choice. They had to start working.

They had been terrible parents. But, ironically, they turned out to be decent employees.

"Both of them have stopped acting childish," he said. His parents had also stopped playing the roles of sugar daddy and cougar. It turned out money was the solution.

Now, here he was, sitting across from the one person he had waited a year to see again.

"I fixed my relationship with my parents, especially my dad," you replied.

"That's good to hear," he responded.

After spending some time with your dad, you realized that without the rivalry, he's an easygoing person. You started contacting him daily.

“Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Does this mean you don’t love me anymore?”

Your gaze softened. “No. I never stopped loving you.” You smiled, almost shyly. “I just had a feeling this time would be different.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I see. So you’ve completed your self-discovery?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, lighter than it had ever been. You talked about your travels, the people you had met, and the experiences that had changed you. Bucky listened, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark or a teasing comment, making you laugh. It felt easy—natural.

Then, as if it were nothing, you casually said, “I broke my leg climbing down a mountain.”

“What?!” His eyes widened, panic flashing through them.

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Some nuns from a nearby chapel helped me. They took care of me for a month.”

Bucky frowned, his mind racing. So that’s why you didn’t post an update for a month.

You nodded. “Yeah. They prayed for me.” Then, after a pause, you admitted, “I’ve never prayed before. But I started to. Admitting my anger, my sins… it made the weight feel lighter. I guess I’m sharing my burdens with God now.” You studied his reaction carefully. “Do you think I’ve turned into a religious freak?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. As long as you found peace.”

Silence settled between you, but it was a comfortable one.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

“Caramel Macchiato, hot, less sugar… right?”

You blinked, then gave him a thumbs-up. He smirked before getting up and heading toward the cashier.

When he returned, he placed the coffee in front of you, watching as you took a small sip.

Then you said, “On my way here, I passed by a cinema playing Interstellar.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with interest. That was his favorite movie—the one he always watched when he had time alone.

“Really?”

“You interested?” You pulled out two tickets and held them up.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Let’s go.”

As you both walked side by side, he glanced at you.

“You know,” he said, “you could share your burdens with me too.”

You turned to him, your expression unreadable.

Was that… a proposal?

Bucky continued, his tone calm but firm. “We’ve known each other for two years. You left for one. And yet, you came back with the same feelings. And I waited a year for you to come back.”

Your heart pounded.

This time, it wasn’t just a contract. It wasn’t a transaction.

It was something real. Something earned.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

This time, there was a difference between them.

Before, they had been trapped—chained to the past, repeating old patterns, clinging to wounds that refused to heal. They had mistaken their pain for identity, their fears for inevitability.

But now, they had changed.

Not because time had passed, but because they had made the choice to move forward.

They had faced their demons, made peace with their scars, and learned to let go. Bucky was no longer a man protesting love out of spite. And you were no longer someone running away to find yourself.

You had both found your own way—separately.

And yet, in the end, that path had led you back to each other.

-The End-

Epilogue:

Bucky suddenly remembered something. “I should call Grandpa to let him know you’re back.”

You chuckled. “Oh, I already met him when I landed. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head. Even after a year, you still cared about Tom.

After watching the movie, he will take you to meet Tom. His grandpa will welcome you with open arms and finally stop calling him an "idiot."

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[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader valveplug, minors don't interact!

based on this delicious ask about orion overloading from inhaling your pheromones and some tags provided by @tom-foolery-incorporated <3

word count: 800

Holding Orion’s helm on both sides, you pull him toward you, feeling no resistance from the startled mech. His faceplate lands against your chest, and you immediately envelop him in warmth, letting him sink into the softness of your human body. The familiar shape of your torso and the rhythmic symphony of your heartbeat give him a sense of comfort and belonging, as if, after a long, exhausting day, he has finally found his way home. Orion lifts his optics to you and smiles in gratitude, though you cannot see the expression.

“I missed you,” you murmur tenderly, pressing a kiss to the top of his helm.

“I am glad that our feelings…” he begins, but his words are abruptly cut off by the sudden, unfamiliar scent flooding his olfactory sensors.

It is sweet, unmistakably yours, yet tainted with something unknown — something he cannot name. Has no time to analyze it before the scent overwhelms him, urging to flee, to pull away before it does irreversible damage to his processor. Escaping should not be a challenge; after all, you are not restraining him, granting him full freedom to move. But the problem is that he hesitates to run.

One breath. Then another. And another. Each inhale draws the scent deeper, seeping into his very core, coating his spark, his tank, until it finally reaches the most sensitive parts of his frame, teasing them mercilessly. It creeps behind his interface panel, wrapping around his spike and valve, luring them into a dance with the desire that consumes him in an instant. Just moments ago, all he had wanted was to hold you close, whispering sweet words in your ear, but now — now, the image of sliding his spike into your tight, burning-hot folds is the only thought left in his processor. The only thing he wants to think about. The only thing he can.

Orion takes another involuntary breath, stress-induced from the sudden onslaught of overwhelming need, and it seals his fate.

“[Name]!” he cries out, voice breaking. His concealed spike spasms, and from its tip, thick strands of pink transfluid spill out, splattering against his panel before slowly dripping downward, seeping into the seams, finding their way out. Some rivulets trail down his thighs, while others pool onto the floor beneath him.

“Orion, did you just come?” you ask bluntly. Watching the way his back arches, his optics roll upward, and listening to the symphony of his stifled moans, you are certain of the answer. You should be surprised — after all, you had barely given him any real stimulation to get him to overload — but you know your partner well enough to have learned just how little he needs to unravel. Still, the meaner part of you, the one that always surfaces when Orion is deliciously pathetic, wants to see undeniable evidence of his overload.

“Move your head. I want to see.”

“Ah!” Orion whimpers. “N-No, do not look,” he pleads, suddenly ashamed of the intensity of his own desperation.

His embarrassment does not last long, though, because Orion does not want to pull away. He does not want to lose this intoxicating sense of helplessness, this loss of control that breathing in your scent grants him. He wants to stay right here, drunk on your sweetness.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now you’re getting shy? Please, I’ve seen you worse.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, barely processing your words. He inhales again, this time intentionally, and just like before, your scent floods his body. His still-hard, aching spike throbs, pleading for another overload, and his valve clenches around nothing, echoing the demand. He has no choice but to take in more of your scent, to drown himself in it. He presses himself against you harder, as if trying to meld into your body, rubbing his faceplate against your chest in a desperate chase for another untouched, hands-free climax.

Forgetting his own immense strength, he unwittingly forces you several steps backward, making you struggle to keep your balance.

“Hey!” you yelp, giving him a light, scolding pat on the helm. “I almost fell!”

That, finally, seems to snap him out of it — at least for a moment. Orion lifts his optics to meet yours, guilt flickering in his gaze. “A-apologies,” he murmurs, but his focus does not last long. He immediately buries his faceplate back against you, sensitive olfactory sensors dragging over your torso, trying to provoke another overload.

“Ah! [Name], please, help me!” he whines, his voice raw with need. He has to be inside you. Needs to ground himself, to find something solid to cling to, or else he fears he will completely lose his mind.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “As you wish, love.” and Orion hurriedly retracts his transfluid-slick interface panel.

[the-travelling-witch]

bnha x farming sims

katsuki, or bakugo as he insists you call him, is the black smith with the foul mood and even fouler mouth. he’s not happy you’re bothering him so early in the morning and he’ll let you know. still, you make it a point to visit him regularly (and definitely not bc seeing him work by the forge in sleeveless shirts has you looking respectfully) and slowly but surely, he’s starting to warm up to you. well, katsuki’s way of warming up to someone, but progress is progress nonetheless. now take the shovel he totally didn’t make specifically for you before he whacks you over the head with it.

deku can be found running around the general store most of the time. he’s bright and cheery as he greets you, carrying heavy crates of produce like they weigh nothing. if it wasn’t for midoriya, you think you might have had a few more breakdowns, both mentally and physically, when you started life on your farm. you were of course also grateful for his help lugging animal food around but his friendly attitude and warm presence meant everything to you when you moved to a town where you knew nobody.

todoroki shouto is the mayor’s son, unwillingly following behind his father as he comes to greet you on your first day. afflicted by the nerves of your fresh start, you interpret his court greeting as immediate dislike and make a note not to bother him much in the future. however, one evening at the tavern, deku waves you over to their table and helps bridge some of the gaps between you. noting it’s not a dislike of you and just shouto’s natural stoic demeanour, you can’t help but warm up to him, heart fluttering when he graces you with a small smile.

kirishima is intimidating… for about 0.2 seconds. then he’s already showing you a bright smile and clapping a big hand on your back, nearly knocking you over. it doesn’t shock you at all to learn that he does a lot of the physical labour around town, from carrying materials around to splitting wood for the winter. the only surprising thing about him is the choice of his best friend because seriously? katsuki?? nevertheless, seeing kirishima always puts you in a more cheerful mood and he’s always more than ready to help you when you’ve run into a problem or another.

at first, you give kaminari a wide berth. not because he has done anything bad to you, per se, but more so because his reputation precedes him. you wouldn’t think someone could be branded as a flirt in a town as small as this, and yet he proves you wrong. it doesn’t help that, when you introduced yourself, he wiggled his eyebrows and dropped a line that made mina slap him upside the head. though, inevitably you come to find that a reputation isn’t necessarily the entire truth. and denki could really be quite cute, making you laugh with a dumb joke or another, when he wasn’t thinking with what’s in his pants.

keigo is in and out of town like a whirlwind, travelling between your more remote village and the more bustling locations some distance away. you come to learn that todoroki enji relies on his information quite a lot. your farm opens up more possibilities for trading routes in and out of town again, so it’s inevitable that keigo comes up to strike up a conversation sooner or later. his laissez-faire attitude is a pleasant breath of fresh air compared to the mayor’s gruff comments and you can’t help but laugh along with him. as you see more of each other, becoming close enough to chat over drinks at the tavern quite often, he brings you back interesting trinkets from his trips. in your minimalist home, they make the living space feel cosier and actually lived in; not to mention, you can’t help but think of the blond whenever you look at them.

[nabi-unveiled]

I'm now watching this show for the ??? time. I've lost count. This is NOT normal for me, but I'm finding comfort in the rain. Thanks to @respectthepetty, I've put my hearing aid in and turned my headphones up, listening for every little drop of water or sound I can discern (like the sizzling/cooking sounds during certain conversations). Which has only made my fixation worse...😭.

The series uses rain as a symbol of affection, of passion, and of desire, which means water has a story to tell.

Hagiwara hears the rain from his apartment.

The rain doesn't physically touch him, but he's aware it's there.

Kaori used to hear it too. Their passion was once shared.

However, the rain no longer keeps Kaori up. She now sleeps leaving Hagiwara to endure the rain by himself. Note: Kaori is the one sleeping here, and it's by HER choice.

On the other hand, Sei doesn't hear the rain at all.

To be more precise, Fujisawa has moved them somewhere where Sei CAN'T hear the rain.

And Fujisawa's TELLING Sei to go to sleep.

Fujisawa was out in the rain.

Fujisawa stays awake. He's not asleep and he's out in the rain. But he didn't even realize it was raining until he came inside. It's yet another warning that Fujisawa's not going to realize his actions until after the fact. This is echoed in his own comments.

Hagiwara takes care of his needs while immersed in the shower ALONE. Water is all around him. Sei covertly takes care of his needs in bed ALONE, washing his hands vigorously afterwards. This handwashing definitely plays into the whole "sex is dirty" symbolism.

However, it's also a symbol of how Sei limits himself. Sei isn't allowing himself to be immersed in the water at this point. He actually seems to be spiraling emotionally here before he gets the email from Hagiwara. There's a water sound here too once Sei reads the e-mail. Draining maybe? Like a release of water that had been held back? Feel free to correct me if I misidentified the sound.

Sei decides to stand in the rain after a party that he typically wouldn't attend. He WANTS to experience the rain. More importantly, Sei and Hagiwara experienced this rain TOGETHER. Separated, but side-by-side. Each taking measures to prevent the rain from touching them, but surrounded by the rain nonetheless.

They return the umbrellas TOGETHER giving up the protection they offered. The relationship builds. The rain keeps coming.

They shelter from the rain TOGETHER, because the time wasn't right. They still hadn't reached the point where they were willing to immerse themselves in the rain.

The rain stops as they discover the identity of their "penpal", but Hagiwara invites Sei to listen to the rain. He's not letting the rain stop.

I might argue that the museum was not the starting point for Hagiwara, but Sei IS right. The museum WAS where it started for Sei. It's where he was invited to listen to the rain. It's where the rain was given a way to enter the house that blocks the sound of rain.

Sei knows a storm is coming.

And the storm does come.

Sei and Hagiwara willingly go out into the rain. They get soaked in the rain TOGETHER. Totally immersed in one another and the rain.

But heavy rain can be scary, and not everyone is comfortable with it.

So now, Sei has locked himself up in a dry place ALONE and Hagiwara's back in the shower ALONE. One trying desperately to put himself back to sleep and ignore his feelings, while the other drowns in his.

However, this impasse can't last.

Because when any strong storm passes, destruction is left behind.

Because when it rains, it pours.

Because both Fujisawa and Kaori have found out.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay you said you like angst so a ominis x mc x sebastian where she ends up breaking down because to pick one would be to hurt the other and neither deserves that. they both have been through so much

An Impossible Choice | Sebastian x Reader x Ominis

UGH okay this was TOUGH, so many directions I could have taken this, but I think it turned out good (and angsty ahah) enjoy!!

Words: ~2,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Hurt/No Comfort

You never expected to find yourself here—trapped between two people who mean the world to you, each step forward feeling like a betrayal of the other. But lately, that’s all your friendship with Sebastian and Ominis has felt like: a careful balancing act, an impossible equation with no solution.

The three of you have been inseparable since fifth year, bound by shared secrets, whispered laughter in candlelit corridors, and the safety of knowing that, no matter what, you’d always have each other. But something changed. And you don’t know when, or how, or why, only that the weight of it presses down on you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It’s in the way Sebastian’s gaze lingers too long when you speak, as if memorizing the shape of your lips. It’s in the way Ominis’s voice softens when he says your name, something reverent and unspoken curling around the syllables. It’s in the sharpness of Sebastian’s posture whenever Ominis leans too close, the flicker of something dangerous in his brown eyes. And it’s in the way Ominis stiffens when Sebastian’s hand brushes yours, his grip tightening on his wand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Neither of them has said anything outright, but they don’t have to. You feel it in every stolen glance, every tense silence. And the worst part is, you love them both.

Not in the way a friend loves, but in the way that keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the knowledge that no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt.

So you try to ignore it.

You pretend that everything is fine, that nothing has changed, even as the moments between you grow heavier, thick with things unsaid. But ignoring it doesn’t stop the way your stomach knots whenever Sebastian throws an arm around your shoulders, his touch possessive in a way that makes your skin burn. It doesn’t stop the way your breath catches when Ominis murmurs your name, tilting his head toward you as if you’re the only thing in the world worth listening to. It doesn’t stop the guilt that coils inside you like a living thing, twisting and writhing every time you laugh too easily with one of them while the other watches in silence.

You tell yourself it will pass—that they’ll move on, that you’ll somehow find your way back to the friendship you once had. But deep down, you know better.

Because you can feel it. The tension, the inevitable breaking point, pressing against your ribs like a warning as you sit between them, a book open on your lap. You haven’t turned a page in ages—not with the way Sebastian and Ominis keep shifting, the air between them drawn tight as a bowstring, poised to snap.

They’ve been like this all night. Every glance between them is sharp-edged, every word that passes their lips too carefully measured. It’s not a fight. Not yet. But it’s something close, something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the wrong word, the wrong move, to send it all spilling over.

You pretend not to notice. You keep your eyes on the book, fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. If you acknowledge it, if you so much as breathe wrong, everything will collapse.

Then Sebastian shifts beside you, leaning in, his arm brushing yours as he points at a passage in the book.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for minutes,” he murmurs, voice low, amused. “Need me to read it for you?”

You barely have time to react before Ominis snaps.

“Do you ever give her any space?”

The words lash through the air, cold and cutting. Sebastian stills, his expression darkening as he turns to face Ominis.

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Ominis lets out a humorless laugh, standing to his full height. “Is you, Sebastian. You can’t go five bloody minutes without draping yourself over her like she belongs to you.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenches. “And you can’t go two bloody minutes without acting like you know what’s best for her.”

Ominis scoffs. “Someone has to.”

It’s spiraling too fast. You sit up straighter, reaching out. “Can we not—”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy hovering, you’d realize she doesn’t need you to control everything she does,” Sebastian bites out, ignoring you entirely.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Ominis sneers as he gets to his feet. “Coming from you. The man who never knows when to stop.”

Sebastian’s hands curl into fists. “You want to say that again?”

“I’d love to.” Ominis tilts his head, voice sharp as glass. “You’ve always been selfish, Sebastian. Always taking, never thinking. And now you can’t stand the idea that you might not be the only one she cares about.”

Sebastian rises, and for a moment, you think he might actually swing at Ominis. You shove yourself up between them, pressing a hand to each of their chests.

“Enough,” you say, breathless, desperate. “Both of you. Just—stop.”

But neither of them are looking at you. They’re locked onto each other, eyes burning with something raw, something ugly, something that has been coming for a long time, creeping in at the edges of their friendship, poisoning it from the inside out.

And you? You’re the catalyst. The excuse they need to finally let it all unravel.

The thought makes you sick.

“You really think you’re the better man, Ominis? That you’re any less selfish?” Sebastian laughs. “At least I don’t hide behind self-righteous bullshit and pretend I don’t want her.”

Ominis' expression flickers—just for a second—but the crack is there, sharp as a splinter. His lips part, then press into a thin line as if he’s forcing something down, something dangerous. When he speaks, his voice is quieter now, but no less venomous.

“And yet, you act as though she’s already yours.” His head tilts, eerily precise. “Like you have some unspoken claim on her.”

Sebastian’s laughter is sharp, humorless. “Oh, I’m sorry—am I supposed to sit back and watch while you play the noble, brooding protector? While you pretend you aren’t thinking the same damn things I am?” He steps closer, pressing up against your hand. “At least I’m honest about it.”

“This isn’t a competition,” you snap, your voice cutting through the rising tension. “I’m not—”

But Ominis speaks over you, his voice razor-sharp. “Honest?” He laughs, a brittle, scathing sound. “You think she doesn’t see through you, Sebastian? That she doesn’t know how you manipulate everyone around you when you don’t get your way?”

Sebastian’s eyes darken. “And what about you? Hm? You stand there, acting like you have some moral high ground, pretending you’re her protector, her friend—but you’re nothing more than a coward. At least I have the nerve to fight for what I want.”

Ominis’ lips curl, but there’s something restrained in his stance, something barely held back. His next words come slow, deliberate. “No, Sebastian. You don’t fight for what you want. You take. You push. And you never think about the consequences.”

Sebastian scoffs, stepping even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he looms just inches from Ominis now. “You’re so full of shit.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch, but you feel it—the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his throat bobs, the sharp intake of breath like he’s fighting to hold something down.

“Tell me,” Ominis says suddenly, turning toward you. His voice isn’t cruel, but it’s raw, pained. “Are you just going to stand there and

let him decide everything for you? Let him pull you into whatever game he’s playing?” His head tilts, the weight of his words pressing into you, sharp and insistent. “Or do you have something to say?”

Sebastian’s hand twitches at his side. “Don’t put this on her.”

“I’m not putting anything on her,” Ominis counters, voice low, controlled—but there’s something beneath it, something breaking. “I’m giving her the chance to speak for herself. Which is more than you’ve ever done.”

The air is thick with tension, suffocating. Your heart pounds against your ribs, loud enough that you swear they must hear it, too. Your mouth feels dry, your fingers curled into fists at your sides as their gazes burn into you from both angles.

And the truth is—you don’t know what to say.

Because every word you could give them feels like a betrayal to one of them. Every choice, every step, every breath feels like tipping the scales in a way you can’t undo.

Sebastian’s eyes are locked onto yours now, something desperate, something pleading flickering behind the frustration in his gaze. “Just tell him,” he murmurs, voice softer now, edged with something dangerously close to vulnerability. “Tell him that you—”

“Don’t,” Ominis interrupts, and his expression is unreadable, his hands trembling just slightly at his sides. “Don’t try to put words in her mouth.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of both of them, the history, the heartbreak that you haven’t even let yourself acknowledge until now. This is it. The moment where everything shatters.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

It’s barely a sound, but it’s enough.

Sebastian’s face falls, just slightly, just enough for you to see the hurt flash through his features before he masks it behind a clenched jaw. Ominis exhales sharply, sounding almost relieved, before he schools his expression into something carefully composed. His shoulders loosen, and there’s the briefest flicker of something in his posture—hope, maybe, or something close to it.

Before you can speak, Sebastian brushes past you, his hand shooting out to grip the front of Ominis’s shirt.

“Don’t look so fucking smug,” Sebastian snaps, his voice low and dangerous. “She hasn’t said anything yet.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch. He stands his ground, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line. His hands remain at his sides, but you see the faintest tremor in his fingers. His voice, however, is steady when he replies.

“Does it scare you, Sebastian?” he murmurs, his head tilting just slightly. “The idea that, maybe, for once, you’re not the only one who matters?”

Sebastian’s grip tightens on Ominis’s shirt, and for a moment, neither of them moves. The air is taut, stretched thin like a wire about to snap. Ominis is taller, his presence sharp and imposing, but Sebastian is the one with strength on his side, his stance coiled tight like a drawn bowstring.

“Say that again,” Sebastian growls, his voice dropping even lower, roughened by barely restrained fury.

Ominis doesn’t hesitate. “You heard me.”

And then, to your horror, Ominis reaches for Sebastian’s shirt in return. His fingers, slender but firm, curl into the fabric, mirroring the grip Sebastian has on him. It’s not quite a shove, but the tension between them spikes, raw and volatile. Your breath catches, panic clawing at your chest.

“Ominis,” you breathe, stepping forward, but neither of them acknowledges you.

Sebastian’s fingers flex against Ominis’s collar, his jaw locked tight. “You think this is about me?” he spits. “You think I don’t care what she wants?”

“Do you?” Ominis presses. His grip tightens. “Because all I’ve ever seen you do is pull and pull and pull until she’s too caught up in your orbit to break free.”

Sebastian’s whole body goes rigid, like Ominis just landed a direct hit where it hurts most. You see it in his expression—that flicker of something deep and wounded before it twists into anger.

“She’s not yours to defend, Ominis,” Sebastian bites out, voice shaking with barely contained frustration. “And she’s sure as hell not yours to decide for.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ominis returns, unyielding. “Acting like the only person who gets to have a say is you.”

The muscles in Sebastian’s arms flex, his fingers trembling against the fabric of Ominis’s shirt, as though he’s on the verge of pushing, of shoving, of—

“Stop it!”

Your voice cuts through the space between them, raw and desperate.

They freeze.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You take a step back, breath shuddering, hands curling into fists at your sides. You feel the heat rising up your throat, the sharp sting of frustration prickling behind your eyes.

"You—" Your voice shakes with something raw, something close to fury. "Do either of you even hear yourselves right now?"

Sebastian's gaze snaps to you, still burning with frustration, but something else flickers beneath it—something hesitant.

Ominis’s lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

"You’re both acting like children," you spit, your voice rising. "Like this is some petty fight over who gets the last fucking piece of cake instead of a real, human person standing right in front of you!"

Sebastian tenses. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you snap, cutting him off, chest heaving. "Don’t you dare try telling me this isn’t exactly what it looks like. Like I haven’t just stood here and listened to you two rip each other apart over me."

You shake your head, anger curling hot in your chest, almost unbearable. "Neither of you are fucking listening. Neither of you are stopping for one second to actually ask me what I want. You’re both just deciding, making assumptions, thinking you know what’s best, thinking you have any right to—"

Your voice catches, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

"Did it ever occur to you—either of you—that if you wanted to know how I felt, you could have just asked?! And if you had, then you'd know—" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "You'd know I can't choose!"

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into the space between you. You don't even know if you mean won’t or can’t. You just know it’s the truth, and you want them to hear it, to feel it, to finally understand the weight they’ve been forcing you to carry.

Sebastian’s mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can even start.

"Because if you had asked," Your voice wavers, and you hate it, hate the way your throat tightens, the way tears burn at the edges of your vision. "You’d know that every time I’m with one of you, I feel like I’m hurting the other. That my heart is breaking constantly because I see it, I see the way it destroys you both. And I don’t know how to fix it."

Your breath is unsteady, fists clenching at your sides. "You think this is easy for me? That I like feeling like I’m being torn in two? Like no matter what I do, I’m going to end up hurting someone I love?"

You shake your head, feeling heat creep up your neck, anger and grief colliding in a whirlwind you can’t stop. "I am so tired. Tired of feeling guilty just for existing in the space between you. Tired of knowing that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough for either of you because you both want me to be something I can’t be!"

The silence is suffocating, but you don’t stop.

"You think he pulls me into his orbit?" you snap at Ominis, eyes blazing. "Then what the hell do you think you do? You sit there, self-righteous and brooding, waiting for me to prove something to you, like I have to earn your permission to exist between the two of you!"

Ominis swallows hard, and for finally, his composure cracks.

"And you," you turn on Sebastian, breathing hard. "You think he’s the only one who makes decisions for me? You do it all the time. You assume what I want, what I need, what I’m thinking, and you don’t even ask before making a choice for me!"

Sebastian’s expression shatters, his hands flexing like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare.

You take a step back, throat thick with everything you’ve held inside for too long. "You both act like you know what’s best for me. But you never once stopped to listen—to really listen—to me."

The words hang heavy between you, and in their silence, you finally hear it. The sound of your own breaking heart.

You exhale shakily, swallowing hard before whispering, "I love you both."

Sebastian lets out a quiet, almost pained breath. Ominis turns his face slightly away, as if the words physically struck him.

"And I hate it," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "I hate that it’s not enough. That no matter how much I love you both, it's destined to end like this. With fighting. With pain. With one of you walking away while the other pretends they’ve won something."

A pause. A silence so thick it almost drowns you.

And then you take another step back.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Sebastian inhales sharply. Ominis’s hands twitch.

You shake your head one last time, voice hoarse, empty. "If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t put me in this position at all."

With that, you turn and walk away.

[youssefguedira]

the thing is abt the joenicky wouldn't have stopped searching take is that like. they're not Better Than andy / quynh and they don't necessarily love each other More. i find it interesting to examine the idea that THEY think they couldn't have stopped but ultimately because it's not them i think they'd have no way of understanding andy's position + circumstance would've made them stop in the end. again like in my tag rant i think they're both too concerned with the greater good. they would not place each other over that. in the end.

[lunaswicked]

Sweet Talk

Paring: College!Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Two roommates— You and Jimmy—find yourselves caught in a whirlwind of tension, desire, and unspoken feelings. What begins as teasing and frustration between you evolves into a night of unexpected intimacy that blurs the lines between hate and attraction.

Tags: enemies to smutville😫, roommates, 18+, p in v, teasing, dirty talking, 9 incher jimmy uso, dickstressing, AND WHATEVER ELSE, ENJOY😋

You and Jimmy rarely saw eye to eye. It wasn’t that you outright despised each other, but the two of you had a way of constantly butting heads over the smallest things. Maybe it was because you were both stubborn, or maybe it was because neither of you ever backed down from an argument. Either way, there was always a tension between you—one that never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed.  

Both of you were college students, navigating your own paths, yet your lifestyles couldn’t have been more different. You poured yourself into your studies, determined to excel in every class, while Jimmy had an almost single-minded obsession with football—both playing it and watching it. If he wasn’t on the field, he was glued to the screen, yelling at players who couldn’t hear him or analyzing plays with the kind of intensity most people reserved for final exams.  

When he wasn’t fixated on football, he’d be locked in his room, spending hours on whatever video game he and his twin brother, Jey, were obsessed with that month. It was almost impossible to get a word in when he was deep in competition mode, his focus unwavering as he trash-talked through his headset. Sometimes, it felt like college itself was just a background noise in his life, something he did because he had to—not because he cared.  

But despite all of that, you knew Jimmy was smart. In fact, he was one of the smartest people you knew, even if he didn’t always act like it. He had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and an ability to break things down in a way that made even the most complicated subjects seem simple. The problem was, hardly anyone ever got to see that side of him. He didn’t apply himself the way he could have, and more often than not, he played the role of the carefree guy who only lived for football and video games.  

"I'm not going. I got lab tomorrow," you said into your phone, shifting against the pillows as you tucked yourself deeper into bed.  

Bianca groaned dramatically on the other end. "Girl, you always busy! Every time I call, it's the same thing—lab this, assignment that. And don’t even get me started on how you be stuck in that house with Jimmy all the damn time."  

You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn’t see you. "First of all, I am not stuck with Jimmy. We just happen to live in the same space. Not like I have a choice."  

"Uh-huh, sure. And yet, every time I ask you to come out, you got an excuse, and he's always somewhere in the background, being annoying," Bianca shot back. "One day, imma just pull up and kidnap you, no warning."  

You laughed, shaking your head. "And do what? Drag me out in my pajamas? Not happening."  

"Don’t test me. I’ll snatch you right up, bonnet and all," she teased. "Seriously, though. You need a break. When’s the last time you had fun? Like, actual fun. Not school, not arguing with Jimmy—fun."  

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. It had been a while since you let loose, but between school, deadlines, and dealing with Jimmy’s daily antics, going out just felt like another task on your already overflowing to-do list.  

"Exactly," Bianca said, as if she could hear your thoughts through the phone. "Look, just think about it. Even geniuses like you need a night off."  

You sighed, glancing toward your closed bedroom door, where you could still faintly hear Jimmy and Jey shouting at their game. "I’ll think about it."  

"That’s what you said last time," Bianca huffed. "I ain't falling for it again. You better show up, or I will come get you."  

You smiled, shaking your head. "We’ll see, B. We’ll see."  

She let out an exaggerated groan but didn’t push it further. "Fine, but don’t think I’m letting this go. I’ll call you tomorrow, and you better give me a yes."  

"Goodnight, Bianca," you said, smirking.  

"Mmhm, whatever. Goodnight, miss I got lab."  

You hung up, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. Maybe she had a point.

Your stomach let out an impatient grumble, loud enough to make you sigh in frustration. You hadn’t eaten in hours, and at this point, there was only one thing that could fix it—a slice of your favorite vanilla cake with extra whipped cream. The thought alone was enough to get you out of bed, pushing aside your tiredness as you made your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

The house was quieter than usual, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant noise of the TV from the living room. Normally, Jimmy would be in there, glued to whatever game had his attention for the night, but the lack of his usual shouting made you pause. Maybe he had finally gone to bed for once? That would be a miracle.

But as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, that hope vanished.

Standing by the open fridge, fork in hand, was Jimmy—mid-bite, chewing your cake like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Wearing a fitted black shirt with yellow shorts that showed too much thigh.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your brain needing an extra second to process the sheer disrespect of what you were witnessing.

"You gotta to be fucking wit' me," you said, your voice flat.

Jimmy turned his head slowly, fork still in his mouth, his expression completely unbothered. He raised an eyebrow as he chewed, finally swallowing before answering. "What?"

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared him down. "That was my cake, Jimmy."

He had the nerve to glance down at the plate in his hand, then back up at you with a smirk. "You sure about that?"

You let out an exasperated breath, stepping closer. "Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about that cake all damn day. It was the last slice!"

Jimmy shrugged, taking another slow, deliberate bite, as if to rub it in. "Was the last slice. Past tense."

Your jaw dropped. "You are actually the worst person I know."

He chuckled, licking a bit of whipped cream off his fork. "Damn. All this over some cake?"

You threw up your hands. "Jimmy, I needed that cake."

"You needed it?" he repeated, clearly amused. "You make it sound like life or death."

"It is!" you shot back. "I’ve had a long day, and all I wanted was to sit down, enjoy my damn cake, and go to bed happy. But noooo, because somebody just had to be greedy."

Jimmy leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking entirely too entertained. "Sounds like a you problem. You shoulda got here faster or sum."

"Or you could’ve just not eaten something that wasn’t yours," you snapped.

He shrugged again. "You ain't put yo name on it."

Your eye twitched. "We don’t do that in this house, Jimmy. Because normal people have respect."

Jimmy let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he scooped up a piece of cake with his fork. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled toward you, a smug smirk playing on his lips.  

“Here,” he said, holding the fork out in front of you, the fluffy vanilla cake and whipped cream practically taunting you. “You wanna bite?”  

Your arms folded over your chest, and you scoffed, giving him a sharp glare. “I’d rather die before I eat off of you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.  

Jimmy chuckled, tilting his head as he took another step closer. “Dramatic much?” he teased.  

You held your ground, eyes locked onto his, but the way he was staring at you—intense, playful, like he was daring you—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

He took another step, closing the space between you, his free hand lazily slipping into the pocket of his shorts. He was close now, too close. You could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the sweet vanilla lingering on his breath.  

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, voice low, taunting. “Scared you’ll like it?”  

Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to scoff again, turning your head to the side. “Please, as if.”  

Jimmy let out a soft chuckle, lifting the fork slightly. “Then prove it.”  

You swallowed, glancing at the fork, then back at him. His eyes held something unreadable—dark amusement, challenge. You could feel your own stubbornness warring with the stupid, undeniable craving in your stomach.  

Your eyes flicked back to the cake, the whipped cream looking way too good to pass up.  

He smirked, sensing your hesitation. “C’mon, I ain't got all night,” he murmured, voice smooth, teasing.  

You clenched your jaw, irritation flaring, but your hunger was stronger than your pride. Damn it.  

With an exasperated sigh, you snatched his wrist, steadying his hand as you leaned in. You hesitated for half a second before finally parting your lips and taking the bite off the fork, your tongue barely brushing against the metal.  

Jimmy stilled.  

Your eyes flicked up to his as you pulled away, chewing slowly, the sweet vanilla and cream melting on your tongue.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke.  

His expression darkened just slightly, his smirk fading into something slower, heavier. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he stared at you, watching the way your lips closed around the fork before you finally pulled back.  

Something about the look in his eyes sent a heat crawling up your neck, your stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the cake.  

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “Happy now?” you muttered.  

Jimmy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave.  

“Could’ve just said you wanted a taste,” he murmured.  

Your breath hitched, but you quickly covered it with an eye roll, shoving his wrist away as you stepped back.  

“Shut up, Jimmy.”  

He let out a low chuckle, his smirk never fading as he twirled the fork between his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark amusement mixed with something else—something heavier, something that made your pulse tick faster than it should have.  

"You act like you hate me," he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his body heat now palpable. "But here you go, eatin' off my fork."  

Your throat felt dry, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. "I was starving, Jimmy. Don’t flatter yourself."  

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze, his smirk deepening. "Mmm, nah. I think you just wanted to see what I taste like."  

Your breath caught, heart slamming against your ribs.  

"You are so full of yourself," you muttered, stepping back, but you barely moved an inch before he closed the gap again, this time with purpose.  

The air shifted—suffocating, electric. You could hear the faint drip of the kitchen sink, the hum of the refrigerator, but it all faded beneath the way Jimmy was watching you. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.  

"You sure about that?" he murmured, voice low, velvety smooth.  

His free hand brushed against your hip—not fully touching, just ghosting over the fabric of your shorts, enough to send a shiver through you.  

You should have stepped away. Should have said something cutting, something to kill whatever this was. But your body wasn’t listening.  

Jimmy noticed.  

His smirk flickered into something darker, his fingers grazing up your waist, featherlight, testing, waiting for you to stop him.  

You didn’t.  

A slow, knowing hum left his lips. “Thought so,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower.  

Your breath came a little quicker, your skin tingling beneath his touch. Your body was betraying you, leaning into the heat of him.

His fingers finally landed on your chin, tilting it up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were unreadable—dangerous, teasing, but there was something else simmering beneath them. Something that sent your stomach twisting in the worst, best way.  

"You wanna taste somethin' sweet?" he murmured, his thumb barely brushing over your bottom lip. "I can give you more than just cake."  

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening at your sides.  

You just stood there. Frozen. Trapped under his gaze.  

Jimmy leaned in, slow enough for you to stop him, to push him away, but you didn’t. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, his presence consuming every inch of space between you.  

Every nerve was alight, your breath coming shallow and uneven as Jimmy inched closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing. The scent of vanilla and his cologne wrapped around you, thick and intoxicating.  

"You gonna stop me?" he murmured, his lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low, teasing.  

You should’ve. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.  

His thumb dragged over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for any sign of resistance. When he found none, his smirk deepened, and then—  

His lips brushed yours.  

Not a full kiss, just a whisper of contact, enough to send a sharp jolt straight through you. Your breath hitched, and Jimmy noticed.  

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers grazing your ribs, your waist—barely there, but enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.  

"I’m n-" You swallowed hard, but the words died in your throat.  

He took advantage of your hesitation, closing the distance entirely. His lips pressed against yours, slow at first, testing, teasing. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his body heat seeping into you, his hand tracing up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.  

The moment you responded, the moment you gave in and let your lips move against his, it was over.  

Jimmy deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping past, claiming your mouth like he had every right to. His grip turned possessive, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the counter.  

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, and he groaned in response, swallowing the sound like it belonged to him.  

"You taste better than that damn cake," he muttered against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make your stomach flip.  

A shiver ran through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.  

"Jimmy, we cant—" you breathed, but it came out weak, needy, nothing like the warning you meant for it to be.  

"Shhh," he murmured, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I got you, baby."  

The nickname sent a new wave of heat through you, your body arching into him before you could think twice about it. His hands slid lower, fingers pressing into your hips, gripping you like he had no intention of letting go.  

"You still wanna act like you hate me?" he whispered against your skin, his breath hot, his voice dripping with amusement and something deeper.  

You should’ve said yes. Should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him this was wrong.  

But the only thing that left your lips was a soft, breathless whimper.  

Jimmy chuckled, dark and knowing.  

"Yeah," he muttered, his teeth grazing your skin before he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. "That’s what I thought."

You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, but still, you couldn’t stop. The feel of his lips against yours, the way he held you close, the pressure of his body pressing against yours—everything felt too good to resist.

You’d always found ways to make excuses, to stay just out of reach. The random times you’d bug him when you needed something opened, pretending it was just too difficult for you to handle on your own. You'd act annoyed, making a big show of how "helpless" you were, even though it was never actually hard. It was just an excuse, a reason to get him close to you. He’d always tease you about it, calling you out on how dramatic you were, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when he did, something you’d always ignored or tried to explain away. 

Then there were the times he’d bring girls over, just to sit around in the living room, loud and carefree, as if they didn’t matter to him. The jealousy it stirred inside you was a dangerous thing. You’d play it cool, roll your eyes and pretend you didn’t care. But you did. You cared so much that it burned. It wasn’t about them, not really. It was the way he’d be with them—too casual, too friendly, not even a hint of what he shared with you. He’d stay in the living room with them for hours, laughing, talking like you weren’t there, almost like he was flaunting it. 

Every time he brought a girl around, he’d still somehow find ways to be around you. He wouldn’t let you slip away completely, not with the way he’d casually touch your arm when passing by, or the way his eyes would seek you out in a room full of people. It was almost like he wanted you to be jealous, wanted to see that spark of emotion flash in your eyes when he paid attention to someone else. But he never made a move on them. Not really. You had to wonder if he was testing you, pushing your boundaries to see how far you'd go. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he was giving you the space to make a move of your own. 

Now, there was no going back. 

His lips pulled away just long enough for you to catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to steady your racing hearts. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, and his other hand had drifted to your lower back, pulling you closer into him. You could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. You could feel everything.  

“You know this is crazy, right?” you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were asking him or telling yourself. 

His eyes met yours again, dark and intense, and he gave a small, crooked grin. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lip again. “Maybe it’s what we need, ma.”

That was the problem. It wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about you. It was about both of you. And maybe you both had always known this would happen. Maybe you both had been waiting for the other to make the first move.

His hand slid up beneath your oversized tee, fingers trailing against your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your body reacting to his touch before your mind could catch up. And god—he looked so damn good in those glasses. He rarely wore them, but when he did, it did something to you, something dangerous. It wasn’t just the way they framed his sharp features, or the way they made him look even more intense. It was the way they added to that quiet, confident arrogance of his—the way he knew exactly how they affected you.

Your lips parted, and without even thinking, you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the rush of anticipation flooding through you. His eyes darkened at the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger. A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, deep and intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could process it, he moved—swift, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with no effort at all. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he set you down onto the cool marble countertop. 

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, more demanding. His hands gripped your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel every hard line of his body pressing into you. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just enough to earn another groan from him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.

“Fuck,” Jimmy mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with something between frustration and need. His hands roamed your sides, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as your hands moved instinctively to the hem of your shorts, pushing them down until they slipped off your legs and pooled onto the floor.

It had been over a year—too long since anyone had touched you like this. And yet, a single kiss from the one man you swore you couldn’t stand had you wetter than anyone ever had. It didn’t make sense. It was crazy. But you didn’t care.

Jimmy broke the kiss, his gaze trailing down your body until it settled on your yellow lace thong. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened—it sent a rush of heat straight through you. You didn’t even have to look down to know how hard he was. His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he undid his pants, never once breaking eye contact.

“You hate me for real, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but thick with something deeper, something desperate.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you forced out a soft, defiant, “Mhm.” But it came out as a whimper, betraying the war raging inside you.

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Yeah?”

Before you could say anything else, his pants and boxers hit the floor, and your breath hitched.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your fingers twitching against the countertop as anticipation curled low in your stomach.

And that’s when you felt it—the hard press of him against you, only the thin lace of your thong keeping you apart. A sharp gasp slipped past your lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you locked in place. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging in as a shudder ran through you.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured, his voice teasing but rough, his breath hot against your lips.  

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his, clouded with a mix of defiance and something dangerously close to surrender. “Ye—yeah,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.  

His smirk was slow, knowing. His grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your hips. “Bet”  

Before you could say anything else, he stretched you—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch of his dick claiming you. Your mouth fell open, a soundless moan escaping as your body arched into him. His forehead rested against yours, both of you caught in the moment, breathing each other in.  

Your hands clutched at his back, nails dragging along his skin as he pulled you impossibly closer, filling you to the hilt. The heat, the tension, the months of unspoken rivalry and buried longing—it all exploded into something neither of you could stop now.  

And you didn’t want to.

Jimmy moved slowly, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching with every deep, calculated stroke. You were used to men who rushed, who chased their own pleasure without thinking about yours. But Jimmy—he took his time, like he had something to prove. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of what he was doing to you.  

A shaky breath escaped your lips as your fingers curled against his shoulders. “J-Jimmy…”  

His grip tightened on your hips, his mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear. “What, baby?” His voice was thick, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it.  

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you arched into him. “I—” Your words faltered, another breathy whimper slipping free as he rocked into you again, slow and deep.  

He chuckled lowly, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. “You always talk back, always got somethin’ smart to say,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips brushing under your oversized tee. “But look at you now… all quiet for me.”  

Your nails dug into his back, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.  

Jimmy smirked against your skin, his grip tightening. “Nah, you love this shit,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody ever taken their time with you, huh? Always quick, always rough… but that’s not what you need.”  

You bit your lip, refusing to admit how right he was.  

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression dark, hungry. “When a man really wanna fuck a woman, he don’t rush it. He wanna feel that pussy. That’s the whole fuckin’ point, mama.”  

A shudder ran through you, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. He was ruining you, and he knew it.  

“Tell me you still hate me,” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as he rolled his hips just right.  

You wanted to. You wanted to hold onto that last shred of defiance. But all that left your lips was a shaky, breathless moan.

His grip tightened as he leaned in, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he murmured, voice thick with control. “Tell me you don’t hate me, baby.”  

Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body on fire. “I—I don’t hate you, Jimmy,” you panted, barely able to form the words as his dick hit every sweet spot in your body.  

He hummed in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted. “Mmh, I know,” he rasped, his dark gaze locked onto yours. “You just needed some dick, didn’t you?”  

Your heart pounded, fingers digging into his shoulders. You didn’t answer, couldn’t. But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Say it.”  

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your head nodding before you could stop yourself. His smirk deepened, his grip tightening as he watched you unravel beneath him.  

The tension coiled tighter, every inch of your body wound up and desperate for release. “Jimmy—Yes…” Your words trailed off into a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built.  

He read you instantly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Cum on this dick, baby. I got you.”  

And just like that, you shattered, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as your body gave in. He held you through it, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours.  

“Damn,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as you caught your breath. Jimmy didn’t let up. His grip on you was firm as he pulled you down to your feet, spinning you around with ease. His hands guided you, pressing your front against the counter as his body crowded you from behind.  

“Arch that back for me,” he murmured, voice thick with command.  

You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers gripping the cool surface as he slid inside of you, teasing, taking his time. Your breath hitched, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.  

“Damn,” he groaned, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Knew you just needed me to take care of you.”  

Your head fell forward, your lips parting. “Please…”  

He smirked at the way the word rolled off your tongue. “Yeah, baby?”  

You couldn’t form the words. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled in the heat of the moment.  

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing down your spine. “Mmh, all that attitude, all that ‘I hate you’ talk—where it at now?”  

You bit your lip, trying to hold on to whatever fight you had left, but it was useless. His fingers slid lower, finding your clit with ease. A sharp gasp escaped you, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Thought so,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His fingers moved faster as he coaxed you closer to the edge. “And you ain’t done yet, baby. You gonna gimme another one before I let up.”  

A desperate whimper slipped from your lips. “Yeah?”  

He hummed in satisfaction, his fingers working fast but firm, knowing exactly how to unravel you. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “And you gon’ take it.”  

Your body tensed, heat pooling low in your stomach as the sensation built higher, stronger, consuming every part of you.  

“Jimmy—” Your voice broke, your grip on the counter tightening as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless.  

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his arms holding you close as he followed, his breath heavy, his hands still gripping you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.  

“fffuuuckk,” he muttered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl.”  

Your knees felt weak, your breath shaky, but he held you steady, his lips ghosting over your skin as if savoring the moment.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your ear, his voice teasing, smug.  

You let out a breathless laugh, too dazed to even pretend anymore. “Shut up, Jimmy.”  

His chuckle was low, knowing. “ight.”

The night unfolded in a blur of tension and connection, each moment between you and Jimmy pulling you deeper into something unplanned. You moved through the apartment together. His dick was inside of you in the living room, slow and intense, his hands exploring with a mix of desire and tenderness. Every room, every new position felt deliberate.

It wasn’t just about the heat between you—it was the quiet tenderness in his touches, the way he’d pull you close, his hand brushing through your hair. With each passing moment, it became clear: this wasn’t a fleeting thing. Whatever had sparked between you two, it was something deeper than you’d expected. And as the night ended, you couldn’t help but wonder where it would lead.

[harostar]

And so far, we have seen how redemptions have played out for some of them.

Emerald was always the most hesitant of the group, and eventually realized things were going too far. Oscar extended his trust to her, and encouraged everyone else to give her a second chance. That's all she needed to start making amends and trying to do better.

Hazel was saved through Oscar being willing to offer him complete honesty, offering him the password and the opportunity to confirm things for himself. Hazel was finally able to understand the reasons his sister did what she did, and was able to make peace with it while sacrificing himself to save the girl he'd come to care about.

Neo was saved by Ruby, after everything she'd done. Ruby, who was tormented and driven to attempt to erase herself by Neo, recognized another broken girl that needed to find herself again. They parted having made peace with each other.

Adam is an example of someone that had chances to turn back, but ultimately refused to recognize his mistakes. He kept doubling down, until Blake and Yang had no other choice but to kill him.

That seems to be a theme with its villains and antagonists.

The theme of Choice.

Whether they pause in their actions, and choose to accept an offered hand.

Whether they refuse to reconsider, and lash out when a hand is offered to them.

The villains that pause and reconsider are saved, though this doesn't automatically mean they'll survive. Emerald, Hazel, and Neo were all saved in some capacity. One joined the heroes, one made peace with his pain and sacrificed himself, and the other has chosen to stay behind to find herself with the Blacksmith's aid.

Adam, Ironwood, Roman, Leo, and Watts all clung to their self-destructive paths until it killed them.

Cinder has kept going, but is still the Maiden associated with Choice. Her story is far from over.

Mercury is another that could go either way, depending on whether Emerald can save him.

Jax and Gillian seem poised to be Vacuo arc villains, having already hit a bump in the novel. Whether they can break out of their self-destructive co-dependence and save themselves or not is to be seen.

Tyrian? Yeah, nah. Bro is worm food and he's more than happy to go that path.

Salem of course is the main focus. She cannot be killed, which indicates that saving her in some capacity is the only possible solution.

Oscar has already established himself different from Ozpin, in extending his hand to Ozpin's enemies. He saved Hazel, where Ozpin could not.

Something I do vastly enjoy about RWBY is that while it is willing to show villains as horrible people, it's also willing to show them as human and how most were failed by society at some point to end up on this path.

Salem was failed by the gods, not because they wouldn't bring Ozma back, but because they never really understood the grief that Salem was going through and thought making her immortal would help her understand the importance of death.

Tyrian, as far as we can tell, is mentally unstable and never ended up with the help he needed. So once he met someone who was willing to save him and indulge in his desires to kill, he latched right onto it.

Hazel was also a victim of his own grief, unaware of how his sister died beyond a training accident and blaming Ozpin for it. He managed to find Salem, tried to kill her and only fell further into the idea that Ozpin had to be stopped.

Cinder was abused for most if not all of her childhood, promised a way out if only she could hold on. But with nothing to really help her with the abuse and finally snapping, Rhodes hadn't even tried to understand her situation, only seeing her kill and seeing it as enough to arrest her. Eventually killing him and finding Salem, everything she's done has been in the name of power and freedom because she's terrified of going back to that situation.

Neo and Roman both ended up as criminals due to a lack of love. Roman was orphaned and Neo's parents treated her as something that was broken.

Even Adam was failed, only ever given reasons to give into his frustrations and anger, eventually using it as a weapon to try to put humans beneath faunus after losing himself to his anger.

At any point things could've been different for most of them. Someone to lean on, someone to help them, maybe there could've been other paths for them.

[meanbossart]

So I've noticed you've been getting a lot of asks along the lines of "how do I make good porn like you?" and I just thought to add in my two cents, and if you agree with what I'm saying perhaps you could publish this and it might help others, if not feel free to just ignore xD

So first of all the fact that you're also a horror/gore artist adds to your skill, there's a lot of overlap between erotisim and horror in artwork because it involves being extremly familiar with anatomy and how the body moves, and in art, like a lot of things, you needs to know how something works before you know how to break it.

People also really don't appreciate how difficult horror is as a genre, it's not enough to draw someone covered in blood holding a knife, it's mood and lighting and expression, and these are also transferable skills to erotica as so much of what sells an image as erotic is everything happening around the people involved. Colour choices, the lines around the eyes, how you depict the shine of their sweat and saliva, all these little things are part of the greater whole.

Finally, I think when it comes to improving your craft when it comes to depicting erotica is that you have to make peace with the fact that the physical act of sex is wierd and gross when you look at it objectivly. You're in wierd, undignified positions, there's a lot of mucus involved, you're sweaty and red-faced, and if you're looking at it without your brain swimming in sexy hormones it's just kinda rediculous. I think once you get over that hump of "no, I have to try and make this as pretty and aesetic as possible" and reach "okay, sex is wierd and ugly IRL" you're able to start creating things that feel more real and seemingly paradoxically become able to create things that people find arousing, because it reads as 'true' to them.

Your art is beautiful and erotic because I can believe that these guys are sticky, covered in sweat and working hard to bring each other pleasure.

Like, IDK that's how I ended up being a fairly decent erotica author, you let go of the dreamy hollywood version of sex and embrace something a bit dirtier and closer to life. If you draw enough silly 'O' faces you'll eventually find one you like!

Anyway, I hope someone finds this helpful. Also the picture of Astarion with Cazador's skull is my new favourite, the way he's pushing his thumb into the eye as the head burns in the sunlight and the blood drips down is just... so powerful, I wanna print it out and stick it in my BG3 scrap folder xD

A really useful breakdown of what makes compelling erotica and/or effective pornography!

Not a disagreement perse, but I just want to clarify to anyone reading this that being familiar with horror and gory art isn't a necessary step in this process - it just so happens to have a lot of skill-overlap, like eyesofthrone said, making the transition from one to the other easier.

Thank you for doing this write-up, and I'm extremely flattered if you or anyone reading this finds my saucy art especially compelling for any of these reasons!

[evidence-based-activism]

all stereotypes are rooted in some reality (e.g. women being bad drivers). It wouldn’t be so pervasive if it wasn’t somewhat true. Men drive more, and many of them who drive vehicles for a living do it for longer periods of time through harsher conditions, they drive more difficult to manoeuvre vehicles e.g. lorries, buses, trucks etc.

Also, recklessness doesn’t mean that men aren’t skilled drivers. Recklessness is a choice, but driving aptitude and ability generally isn’t. Men are proven to be far more skilled and able drivers. You can argue that they are more antisocial drivers than women or that they don’t make conscientious choices when driving, but that is a different conversation. Women being better rule followers doesn’t mean they’re skilled lol.

So, this is in response to this post, where I explain – thoroughly – how men cause more car crashes and engage in significantly more risky driving behaviors (measure both objectively and subjectively).

I am genuinely amazed, Anon, that you somehow seem to think that men can be the more "antisocial", more "reckless", get into more crashes, and still somehow be a "better" driver than women. However, I actually have even more sources for this topic, so allow me to explain in more detail how men are worse at driving than women.

---

all stereotypes are rooted in some reality (e.g. women being bad drivers).

Incorrect. Just because you believe something is true, Anon, doesn't make it true. For example, here are my posts about how women are not worse at mathematics or spatial ability than men, women do not have lower IQs than men, and men and women do not feel attraction in fundamentally different ways.

So, no stereotypes need not be rooted in reality.

It wouldn’t be so pervasive if it wasn’t somewhat true.

I broke this out primarily to inquire if you also believe in the pervasive antisemitic conspiracy theories about blood libel? What about the pervasive stereotype that gay men are pedophiles? The racist, unscientific comparisons between Black people and monkeys?

Are you capable of recognizing that all (any?) of these ideas are baseless and bigoted? (Either way, I suggest doing some reading into the "argumentum ad populum" fallacy.)

Men drive more, and many of them who drive vehicles for a living do it for longer periods of time through harsher conditions, they drive more difficult to manoeuvre vehicles e.g. lorries, buses, trucks etc.

(Some of the following information is repeated from the replies in the original post.)

Riskier behaviors

Previous work has estimated that ~70% of all road accidents are the result of risky behavior (e.g., driving under the influence, distracted driving, speeding, etc.) by the driver(s) [1]. That makes the fact that men are substantially more likely to engage in these risky behaviors – as indicated by sources 1 and 5-9 in the original post – relevant. Within source 9 from the original post, their sources 12-17 confirm men’s greater riskier driving behaviors and 18-27 address men’s riskier mentality surrounding driving.

A bad driver is someone who puts themselves or others at risk on the road, and, clearly, men are substantially more likely to do this. And an additional report by the AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety [2] further indicated that "60% ... Most Dangerous Drivers were males, whereas 57% of the Safe Drivers were females," further supporting this finding.

Driving exposure adjustment

Men have a higher crash rate even when you adjust for their greater driving times, as supported by sources 3 and 9 from the original post. (Within source 9, their sources 8-11 also adjust for amount driven.) Source 3 also demonstrated men had greater fatalities involvement, adjusted for distance traveled, in each vehicle category.

In addition to that, this longitudinal study from Australia [3] shows that men had a higher crash rate than women even after adjusting for driving exposure. In fact, they have a higher crash rate even after further adjusting for drug/alcohol use, risk taking, training and experience, and several other factors.

They were also more likely to be in a crash in dark or wet conditions, at high-speeds, and in single vehicle crashes, again even after adjusting for all of those potential confounding variables. The only crash type women were in at a higher rate was crashes resulting in hospitalization, which can be explained by how car safety features are not designed for women. (Again, see the original post sources 10-11.)

This study from Russia [4] examining serious crashes further confirms these results, finding men were more likely to be involved in crashes even after adjusting for the number of drivers and distance driven. They are also more likely to commit “ aggravated road accidents" and drive under the influence.

This older American study [5] confirms these results again, finding higher crash rates for men than women in both the daytime and nighttime, after adjusting for the amount driven.

In other words, men get into more crashes than women, even after adjusting for the amount they drive, the conditions they drive in, and even the risks they take.

Driving for the job

Now, men make up much more of the professional drivers’ workforce (e.g., truck driving) than women, although I have spoken many times about how this is because men deliberately prevent women from joining male-dominated jobs.

Regardless, the demographic makeup is irrelevant, since when women do become professional truck drivers, they do better than men [6-7].

Male truck drivers are more likely to be "cited for a major violation of rules" and "to have a major unsafe driving violation" [6]. In addition, a 2022 update by the American Transportation Research Institute found "males continue to be more likely than females to have violations, convictions, and crash involvement" [7].

Another study [8] found "male [bus] drivers not only have more accidents but also are more likely to get involved in higher severe accidents." A result which is confirmed in a more recent analysis [9].

So, no, men's higher crash rates are not because they drive trucks or busses for a living. Male truck and bus drivers are also more likely to get into crashes/be unsafe than female truck and bus drivers.

Bonus: traffic tickets

This review article [10] indicates males are more likely to repeat traffic violations. These articles [11-12] also found men receive more traffic tickets/citations than women. As did source 5 in the original post.

Also, recklessness doesn’t mean that men aren’t skilled drivers. Recklessness is a choice, but driving aptitude and ability generally isn’t.

Anon, what exactly do you think makes someone a good driver? If someone is placing themselves and other people at risk, then they are bad at driving.

Now, not engaging in reckless behaviors may not be sufficient to make someone a good driver, but it is absolutely necessary. We are operationalizing our definition of "bad driver" as "gets into a crash and/or engages in high-crash-risk behaviors", which is necessary for us to quantify the data for analysis.

That being said, as shown above, men get into more crashes even when you adjust for their greater propensity towards reckless behaviors. So, no, men are not simply hiding their superior skills under their poor choices.

Men are proven to be far more skilled and able drivers.

No, they aren't. I have, at this point, provided you with 30+ sources explaining how they are not. Your refusal to accept factual information does not make it any less true.

You can argue that they are more antisocial drivers than women or that they don’t make conscientious choices when driving,

Yes, I have provided you with substantial research to that effect.

but that is a different conversation.

Again, it really isn't. Men choose to create dangerous situations for themselves and others on the road. This makes them bad drivers.

If a heavy machinery operator chose to violate safety regulations, you would say they are bad at their job. If a doctor chose to endanger their patients by practicing drunk, you would say they are a bad doctor. If a construction worker or architecture designer ignored building codes, you would say they are bad at their jobs.

It's the same for driving; men choose to ignore the rules and choose to put people at risk. Therefore, they are bad drivers.

Women being better rule followers doesn’t mean they’re skilled lol.

Again, following the rules for driving may not be sufficient for being considered a skilled driver, but it is necessary. Not to mention the fact that, as indicated, adjusting for risk taking did not eliminate the gender gap in crash rates.

Conclusion

Women are better at driving, as per decades of cross national research. Often repeated, misogynistic, stereotypes do not change this.

References under the cut:

McCarty, D., & Kim, H. W. (2024). Risky behaviors and road safety: An exploration of age and gender influences on road accident rates. PLoS one, 19(1), e0296663.

AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety. (2023). 2022 Traffic Safety Culture Index (Technical Report). Washington, D.C.: AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety.

Cullen, P., Möller, H., Woodward, M., Senserrick, T., Boufous, S., Rogers, K., ... & Ivers, R. (2021). Are there sex differences in crash and crash-related injury between men and women? A 13-year cohort study of young drivers in Australia. SSM-population health, 14, 100816.

Belov, M., & Kazun, A. (2024). Beware of His Car: Why Are Men More Dangerous than Women Behind the Wheel?.

Massie, D. L., Green, P. E., & Campbell, K. L. (1997). Crash involvement rates by driver gender and the role of average annual mileage. Accident Analysis & Prevention, 29(5), 675–685. doi:10.1016/s0001-4575(97)00037-7 

Scott, A., Davis-Sramek, B., & Ketchen Jr, D. J. (2024). Men at work… unsafely: Gender differences in compliance with safety regulations in the trucking industry. Production and Operations Management, 10591478241235145.

Markus, A., & Murray, D. (2022). Predicting Truck Crash Involvement: 2022 Update. American Transportation Research Institute.

Feng, S., Li, Z., Ci, Y., & Zhang, G. (2016). Risk factors affecting fatal bus accident severity: Their impact on different types of bus drivers. Accident Analysis & Prevention, 86, 29–39. doi:10.1016/j.aap.2015.09.025 

Zhu, T., Qin, D., & Jia, W. (2023). Examining the associations between urban bus drivers’ rule violations and crash frequency using observational data. Accident Analysis & Prevention, 187, 107074.

Kaur, A., Williams, J., Recker, R., Rose, D., Zhu, M., & Yang, J. (2023). Subsequent risky driving behaviors, recidivism and crashes among drivers with a traffic violation: A scoping review. Accident Analysis & Prevention, 192, 107234.

Mohammadzadeh Moghaddam, A., Sadeghi, A., Jalili Qazizadeh, M., Farhad, H., & Barakchi, M. (2018). Investigating the relationship between driver’s ticket frequency and demographic, behavioral, and personal factors: Which drivers commit more offenses? Journal of Transportation Safety & Security, 1–20. doi:10.1080/19439962.2018.1477

[fruityumbrella]

your fav zosan hcs?

hi omg im so sorry i took so long to answer this 😔

honestly confused trying to answer this bc my hcs are so fixed and also i think common w others that they are canon to me 😭

taller sanji!!

theyre both so touch starved they dont know how to handle it. the way they Do handle it is...badly

they remind each other of home!! for zoro its someone who pushes him to be better and is not nice about it at all, giving him smth to strive for on a daily basis (different to his long term plan for mihawk); for sanji ofc the rough and tumble nature of their argumentative dynamic reminds him of the baratie and lets him show his affection in the manner that is most comfortable and familiar to him

are these hcs? i fear im losing the plot...

both of them being entirely inexperienced in romance and sex, and acting like theyre certified experts. sanji quickly discovering that half the things that he's daydreamed wistfully about for years and wanted so bad kind of suck? cuddling is. uncomfortable. too hot and sticky and confining and his arm is dead and his hair is messed up and zoro snores and ugh this is not romantic at all!! but the first time he tries to sleep alone after ages of being with zoro he cant fall asleep for hours

they dont like each other in spite of their weird gross traits but because of them. its not like sanji Tolerates or tries to Fix zoros annoying habits of being unwashed and rude and whatever, unfortunately he finds that shit very hot 😭 and zoro knows sanji is not always as clean and put together as he likes to project, and his favourite thing is how sanji shows him smth truer in ways he rarely does with others. they never have to try and be anything but exactly what they are with each other

cosigning @piratehunted on the modern au car choices: zoro w a beat up jeep that everyone suspects he lived in for an indeterminate period of time, and sanji with an old but impeccably well preserved and well loved classic car courtesy of zeff. yes it takes an insane amount of upkeep and he's considering stockpiling replacement parts bc they are probably 6 months away from being taken entirely out of production, but its zeffs baby and sanji will die before he lets her fall into disrepair

perhaps there should be some kind of mechanic au for this...i loathe making zoro do anything that isnt kendo but i could make an exception for this..

oh speaking of! my "college au" hc is actually never a college au and more just an "early 20s" au bc sanji would never go to college BE SERIOUS the guy dropped out of school at 8 yrs old. hes not even in culinary school hes working shitty line cook jobs and using leftover produce to try and create his own menu for when he has his own spot. zoro is an instructor/trainer to support his dream (i like to think its still kendo or another traditional martial art but go w god. as long as its NEVER american football)

they should have a cat. my fave hc is a lil tuxedo cat named onigiri (named in honour of a cat i met at a cat cafe) but ive seen a fic where theyve got a cat named miso which is SO cute. and the bestie @bobalegsanji has proposed tiramisu as well which is adorable and true

umm ok sorry this got kind of long i think i could shrimply yap about the beautiful fucked up dynamic they have in my mind foreverrrr