#viewer rush adrenalin

[usagii-bun]

⭑.ᐟ 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌| 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 ! 𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝗑 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝟣𝟪+

— (𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗂𝗆𝗒𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗑.)

part 1

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒...in which you are a cam girl and he is your favorite viewer OR in which you are a final year college student and he is your new professor.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌... smut, rough sex, oral sex (f and m),possessive sex, hair-pulling, vaginal fingering, spanking, masturbating( f and m), doggy style, mating press, language (these warnings are for all 5 parts)

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾... this is from my ao3, so enjoy <3

4.6k words

usagiibun2024🐇

Your half-open laptop sat forgotten on the couch, glowing with the low hum of an unfinished series you had tried to binge the night before. Eyes half-closed, you reached for your phone, fumbling to check the time.

8:30 a.m.

“Shit!”

You shot out of bed, tripping over the tangled sheets, heart pounding with the cold rush of adrenaline that only comes from missing something important. Today wasn’t just any day; it was the first lecture of the semester, and you were running late.

You quickly ran into the bathroom, throwing your clothes off and jumping into the shower. Your heart racing frnatucally as you quickly showered and turned it off almost slipping when you got out. The mirror offered you little comfort after you had tied your hair up messily, and threw on the first outfit you managed find—a crumpled sweater and jeans—looked less like ‘casual academic chic’ and more like ‘someone's given up.’ Still, it would have to do. You can go for the 'casual academic chic' tomorrow. Grabbing your bag, you bolted out the door, barely locking it behind you.

The world outside was already moving, buzzing with the noise of morning commuters and their routines. Your apartment building—an old, ivy-covered structure crammed between a café and a bookshop—seemed to blend into the city as you jogged down the street. The crisp autumn air clawed at your skin, urging you to move faster as the sounds of traffic and chatter filled the space around you.

The university campus wasn’t far, but today it felt like each step dragged you deeper into a sinking swamp. Your mind still swirled with the fog of sleep, your heart pounding as the towering lecture hall loomed ahead. A relic of academia, the stone building had seen its share of anxious students, no doubt making their way inside just like you. You could practically hear the ghost of every misstep made before you echoing off the ivy-covered walls.

You pushed open the heavy door, wincing as it creaked. The dim hallway was bathed in the dull yellow light of old fixtures, a stark contrast to the loud murmur of conversation from students filtering in. The quiet tap of your shoes on the worn wooden floor seemed deafening to your own ears.

Don’t be too late. Please.

Reaching the door to the lecture hall, you hesitated, already hearing the smooth, unhurried voice of the professor inside. His words were clear, deliberate, and somehow both calm and utterly dismissive. You slipped in quietly, praying no one would notice.

But then that voice, cool and laced with biting sarcasm, pierced through the room like a knife.

" Ah, nothing says commitment like showing up halfway through the lecture. Punctuality is, of course, the mark of true brilliance."

Your heart dropped. The entire class shifted uncomfortably, the air heavy with awkwardness. Your eyes flicked to the front of the room, but the professor hadn’t even glanced at you. His attention remained fixed on the screen, as if your tardiness was barely worth acknowledging beyond his cutting remark.

You ducked your head, praying you could melt into the crowd of students who were all pretending not to notice.

Settling into a seat at the back, you let out a slow breath. Great. First lecture of the semester, and already, you’d made an impression.

Alhaitham stood at the front, illuminated by the projector’s glow, a man who seemed entirely comfortable in the unyielding rigidity of academia. His pale skin stood out against the dark slate walls of the lecture hall, and his gray hair caught the light—silver at the tips with faint turquoise strands peeking through, subtle but noticeable. His eyes, those unnerving turquoise and gold-rimmed orbs, scanned the room without emotion, as if every student were a puzzle to be solved. His presence commanded attention without demanding it; there was an effortless authority about him, cold and unapologetic.

Everyone knew about him—the prodigy with an unrivalled intellect. But it was his pragmatism that made him infamous. He didn't mince words, nor did he soften his criticism. In his mind, academia was a battlefield, and if you weren’t equipped, you’d be left behind. At just 27, he was already regarded as one of the brightest minds in linguistics, with a list of publications and conference talks that read like someone twice his age. The department had celebrated his arrival like a prized acquisition after the sudden retirement of his predecessor.

As the lecture went on, his words became a blur, and your thoughts wandered. You’d heard the stories. Alhaitham had published papers before most people could finish their dissertations. He was already considered a leading figure in linguistics, and he’d barely been teaching for a year.

You looked around, catching glimpses of students furiously scribbling notes, trying to keep up. But you… you weren’t even processing his words. You were too busy stewing in your own frustration. He wasn’t just smart—he was smug. His entire demeanor screamed ‘I’m better than you,’ and somehow, that got under your skin.

The worst part? He was brilliant. There was no denying that. The ease with which he unraveled complex theories was almost infuriating. It wasn’t just knowledge; it was a performance of intellect, delivered with such cold precision that it made you feel small.

Your phone buzzed causing your eyes to widen as you quickly looked up towards Professor Alhaitham explaining something from a slide. You slide your phone on your desk as you glanced down briefly.

A request for a private session.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. The cam sessions weren’t supposed to interfere with your life like this. It was just supposed to be something you did on the side. Something that helped keep the bills paid.

When you’d started, it was out of desperation. You had needed to make money, and quickly. Your mother kicked you out due to a dispute —getting by was a struggle. At first, you had gotten a regular job at a coffee shop. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Then a friend had suggested camming. At first, you’d been horrified by the idea. Sitting in front of a camera, doing… that? It felt disgusting, degrading. But after months of struggling, you’d caved. What was supposed to be a temporary fix had become part of your routine. Log in, entertain, log off. Now, it was less of a thrill and more of a chore. You hated to admit it, but it paid better than any job you could have found as a student.

Pushing those thoughts aside you tried to pay attention to professor Alhaitham but you ended up doodling inside your book and also ended up writing a grocery list.

Finally, the lights flickered back on as the lecture ended, and Professor Alhaitham’s voice broke the silence once more. "Chapters two through four by next week. We’ll see who’s keeping up."

He snapped his laptop shut, a final punctuation mark to the end of the lecture, and students began packing their bags. You sighed, stuffing your own notes away as you slung your bag over your shoulder, the door creaked open behind you.

“Hey, wait up!” Layla’s voice pierced through your haze.

You turned to see her weaving through the chairs, looking equally disheveled but far less bothered. She caught up to you with an apologetic grin, her messy hair bouncing with each step. “You okay? You looked pretty rattled back there.”

You huffed, running a hand through your own hair. “I was late. Professor Alhaitham made sure everyone knew. God, what a prick.”

Layla snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no. What did he say? I was kind of zoned out”

“Something about ‘dedication’ and ‘showing up halfway through.’ Like he’s never been late to anything in his entire life.”

Layla chuckled, shaking her head. “I swear, that guy is an enigma. Alot of people dislike him for the way he behaves, but alot of people are desperate to be in his class.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“He’s a genius, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s more than that. There’s something about him. He doesn’t care what people think, and he never panders. Some people like that kind of honesty.”

"Honesty, my ass. He’s just an asshole."

Layla laughed, nudging your arm. "Maybe, but also I've heard some people have joined his class just because of how hot he is, a bit ridiculous I do say." she says as a yawn escapes past her parted lips, her head gently resting against your shoulder as she tries to fight off fatigue.

You glanced back toward the front of the lecture hall. Alhaitham was still there, gathering his things with calm efficiency, his sharp features illuminated by the faint sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. His movements were deliberate, controlled, like everything in his world followed some intricate set of rules only he understood. You hated how Layla had a point. He was good-looking, in a detached, untouchable kind of way.

You noticed Layla almost falling off to sleep on your shoulder so you gently poked her nose causing her to wake up in shock.

"I think you need to lay off those thesis papers for awhile and get a good sleep" you said to her as she mumbles something and pouts.

You and Layla left the hall, your thoughts drifted again to the complicated web of your life outside these walls. The nights spent streaming, the chat boxes filled with faceless usernames, the anonymous attention that came with your side job. You pushed it to the back of your mind—this wasn’t the time. But still, that strange double life you led lingered like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake.

You slipped back into the comfort of your cluttered apartment, the memory of his sharp words lingered.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, the weight of the day clung to your shoulders. Dropping your bag by the door, you let out a heavy sigh and kicked off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet space. It had been a long day—longer than you expected.

You shuffled into the kitchen, deciding to fix yourself something simple. Your fridge wasn’t exactly stocked, but you managed to throw together a sandwich, something to take the edge off your hunger. As you ate, your thoughts wandered to your schedule for the evening, how it always followed the same routine, a strange comfort in the predictability of it.

After a quick meal, you headed into the bathroom. The warm water of the shower washed away the lingering stress of the day, soothing your muscles and easing your mind, if only for a little while. You stayed under the spray longer than necessary, letting the steam fill the room as you tried to clear your head.

But in the back of your mind, you knew what was coming. Once the clock hit nine, you would become someone else—someone confident, mysterious, and unattainable.

Toweling off, you took your time getting dressed, slipping into some comfortable clothes for the moment. You still had some work to finish before the night began.

As you sat at your desk, staring at the open notes on your laptop, your mind started drifting again. It wasn’t just the lingering tension from class that tugged at your thoughts. There was the constant reminder of why you were doing all of this in the first place.

Your mum hadn’t spoken to you in months, ever since she cut you off financially. Her voice echoed in your head, that final conversation where she’d made it clear—you were on your own. You weren’t doing things her way, and so she wasn’t going to help you anymore.

It had been hard to accept at first. The distance between you, the harshness of her words. But you had no choice now. You had to make things work, no matter what.

That was why you found yourself here, every night, doing things you never thought you’d do. Because you had to survive. This was the only way to keep your apartment, to stay in college. And you couldn’t afford to fail—not now, not with everything at stake.

Your eyes scrunched as you diverted your attention from those stressful thoughts to your notes, a few minutes past as you scrolled through the pages as the hours passed and the sky outside darkened, you checked the time. 8:45. Almost time.

You stood up, crossing the room to your closet. Opening the door, you rifled through the few pieces hanging there before finding what you were looking for—a delicate baby pink lingerie set. The fabric was soft, a stark contrast to the role you were about to step into.

Changing quickly, you adjusted the straps in front of the mirror, checking yourself from different angles. You pulled your hair up into a neat ponytail, a subtle touch that helped keep the two sides of your life separate. The girl in the mirror was confident, poised, ready to perform.

But it wasn’t quite 9:00 yet.

You walked over to your laptop and started setting up, adjusting the angle of your webcam, ensuring that it captured your body

By the time the platform loaded, it was exactly 9:00. Notifications immediately began popping up on your screen as you entered the chat. Regulars and new subscribers alike greeted you, their excitement palpable.

They asked about your day, how have you been as the night played out. After idle chatter with your subscribers, it was finally time for what they actually wanted to see.

The highest bidder requested you to use your pink dildo vibrator. A small smile graced your lips. "As you wish, master" you murmured, pulling out the vibrator. Your eyes darted to the chat window, scanning for familiar usernames, but a disappointed pout formed as you noticed he hadn't joined yet. 'He didn't join yet,' you thought, your mood dampening. The chat flared up with messages as viewers noticed your sulky expression.

You quickly plastered on a smile, bringing the dildo close to the camera, then to your face, smiling seductively.

"So, what do you want me to do first?" The next few minutes blurred into a haze of overstimulation. The bluetooth vibrator buzzed inside you, your fingers rubbing against your pussy lips as shudders coursed through you.

Your clit trembled with the constant intensity, and your body gleamed with a sheen of sweat. Your baby pink lingerie clung to your body as your hand found your nipple, pinching and playing until you came again.

The viewers paid extra to speed up the device, pushing you further and further.

Eyes fluttering open briefly, you scanned the chats again.

Your heart skipped a beat when a familiar username appeared User1102. Your thighs trembled as the vibrator reached its highest speed, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came, making a mess along your legs and lingerie. Breathing erratic, vision blurred, you were practically limp from the overstimulation.

User1102: Bunny... take a break. The chat was filled with other messages, people tipping for extra time or requesting private sessions. But your attention was glued to his message.

User1102: I'do like a private session.

[User1102 tipped $100!]

A soft smile formed on your lips despite your exhaustion. The other subscribers seemed annoyed, trying to out-tip him, but you already knew your choice.

"I'm super tired right now, so I'm only taking one private session! Thank you, guys, see you next week Tuesday~" You threw in a small finger heart, trying to ignore the love confessions and anger from you ending your live so soon.

After ending the public live stream, your heart raced as you adjusted your hair and lingerie, sending a private request to User1102. The request was accepted, and your body appeared on screen.

You smiled, head tilted slightly. "Hi, what can Ms. Bunny do for you tonight?" you asked, your voice low and sultry, though your heart pounded with nerves. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing in your head.

Why do I always get so excited for this particular subscriber? Why does he make my heart race faster and my cheeks flush pink?

The first time User1102 appeared in your live stream, someone had requested you to overstimulate yourself to the point of discomfort. Eyes glazed with tears, you tried to push through the discomfort, but your mind kept wandering. Rent was due, and the $400 being offered was something you couldn’t turn down. But you felt pathetic, disgusted even, for putting yourself through that pain.

That was when User1102 first message caught your attention.

User1102: Stop what you're doing. You're clearly uncomfortable.

The original requester got angry, but then

User1102: tipped $400.

User1102: End the live. I'd like a private session with you.

[User1102 tipped $200]

Your movements had stopped, stunned by the sudden change. The other subscribers were furious, but you nervously smiled and ended the stream. His private session that night had been different from any other. No requests for anything sexual just for you to drink water and change into something comfortable. He'd only stayed for a few minutes to make sure you felt better, then sent a simple message before leaving.

'Don't do things you feel uncomfortable doing.'

You were utterly confused, could the person have been someone who has mistakenly tumbled upon your stream from an ad?

You had'nt expected to see him again, but he came back for the next session. And the one after that. And eventually, you started looking forward to his presence, even if you didn't know what he looked like. --- You let out a soft sigh, your fingers shaking slightly as you adjusted your lingerie on screen.

User1102 message popped up again.

User1102 : are you okay bunny to do something small for me ?

You quickly nod your head eagerly, already ready to do whatever he asked (as long as it wasn't some weird ass kink).

User1102: okay, Bunny, grab the dildo you used earlier.

Your eyes widened slightly at the straightforward request. Hesitantly, you reached for the pink dildo that was still slick from earlier. You toyed with it in your hands for a moment, waiting for his next command.

User1102: Spit on it.

You froze for a second, processing his request. Sure, you'd done things like that before, but it was unexpected from him. Still, you complied.

Leaning forward, you let your saliva drip onto the tip of the dildo.

User1102: Now, Bunny, be a good girl and clean your mess up.

Your pussy throbbed at the words. Slowly, you began sucking at the dildo, cleaning off your spit with your tongue, trailing it down the length of the toy. As you worked, a notification flashed on the screen.

User1102: Play with yourself, Bunny.

Your hand left your breast, fingers finding your clit as you jolted on the bed. The added stimulation forced a moan out of you, louder than you'd intended, but you couldn't stop.

User1102: You're so pretty, making a mess all over.

The tension in your stomach tightened, your vision blurring as you angled your fingers just right. The coil in your stomach snapped, your body was trembling as the final wave of pleasure hit you, vision blurring as you came undone. The clear liquid dripped down your thighs, making a mess of your lingerie and the sheets beneath you. You lay there panting, catching your breath, feeling the heat slowly dissipate from your body.

User1102: You were amazing. Good girl.

Those two words sent another shiver down your spine. Your heart fluttered at the praise, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out of your mouth, genuine and raw: "Anything for you..." Your cheeks flushed red immediately after.

You couldn’t believe you had said that out loud. Your mind was in a haze, the warmth of the afterglow still lingering, but a strange conflict bubbled up inside you.

A small part of you, buried deep down, wanted to scream at yourself for how you felt about this man, a random stranger hidden behind a username. It was foolish to feel like this. A ridiculous crush, on someone who could very well be as old as your father. You closed your eyes for a second, lost in your thoughts, but his next message broke through.

User1102: go clean up, just take it easy when you do so. maybe run a hot shower or bath to relax your muscles. you did really good today.

User1102: Rest now. Goodnight, Bunny.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you read the message. There was something so caring, so comforting about how he ended things.

He didn’t push for more, didn’t ask for anything beyond what you were comfortable with.

"Good night" you said sweetly, your eyes widening at the 400$ tip he left as he logs off. At this point you should just do private sessions with the amount of money he spends on you.

As the session ended, the room fell into a heavy silence. The screen of your laptop went dark, leaving you in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You let out a tired sigh, rolling onto your back. It was late, and exhaustion was starting to weigh you down. You grabbed your phone to check the time, but instead, you noticed a notification from your email.

A familiar name caught your eye. Professor Alhaitham. The email had been sent before you even started your session. You clicked it open and skimmed through it, rolling your eyes the moment you saw what it was about: a pop quiz.

"Ugh, that asshole" you muttered under your breath, tossing the phone aside. The last thing you needed was a quiz first thing in the morning. And of course, he just had to schedule it for 8 AM. You groaned in frustration. Now, you'd definitely need a good night's rest.

You’d barely slept the night before, and it showed. Your body still ached from the public and private session you’d done, and your limbs felt heavy as you dragged yourself through the hall. Luckily you had awoken around 5:30 am and was at campus around 7. You still had a few more minutes to spare until your first lecture and the dreaded pop quiz.

You knew shit cause you didn't revise saying that you would do it in the morning. Well that was a lie.

'I'll just wing it' you thought as you walked into the café to grab some coffee. The café’s comforting warmth felt like a small refuge. You needed caffeine, something to drag you out of this groggy haze. The barista handed you the cup. The place was packed with students and lecturers as you squeezed through people. Distracted by your thoughts, you barely noticed where you were going.

And that’s when you collided into something hard.

You walked right into a firm, solid chest. The impact sent a jolt through your body, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. The smell of something clean—like freshly washed linen, with the faintest hint of sandalwood—filled your senses, grounding you even as the embarrassment flooded your face. Your nose twitched from pain as you let out a small 'ow'.

You looked up, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

It was him.

The devil himself, the man who thought it would be great to have a pop quiz in the morning.

Professor Alhaitham.

Oh and also the man who had humiliated you in front of the entire class just yesterday, his words sharp and cutting as if you were some lazy student who had rolled out of bed with no care. And here you were, nearly doing the same thing. You opened your mouth to apologize, but then your eyes met his, and something inside you froze.

He stared at you with a wide-eyed look, his usual unbothered, calm demeanor completely gone. For a moment, his face seemed to soften, surprise mixing with something else you couldn’t place. His light turquoise eyes were framed by long lashes, and you were momentarily struck by how striking his gaze was. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no sound came out.

What was his problem?

You shifted awkwardly, your body still brushing against his, and suddenly you became hyper-aware of how close you were. His chest was firm beneath his clothes, his body warm, and for a brief moment, you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. His presence felt… overwhelming. The scent of him, the way his tall frame seemed to block out everything else.

And yet, there was something off. His reaction wasn’t what you’d expect from someone as stoic and composed as he had seemed in class. His eyes flickered with recognition—like he’d seen you somewhere before. But how could that be?

Before you could piece together what was happening, his eyes darted away, the strange look quickly masked by his usual indifference. He straightened, but his hands twitched, as if he were unsure of what to do with them.

You blinked, quickly stepping back, trying to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely able to look at him. You felt like your face was on fire, and all you wanted to do was escape the situation.

He said nothing at first, still staring at you with that strange intensity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice deeper than you remembered from class. But there was something in his tone, something that almost felt… uncertain.

You mumbled another apology, your heart racing, and without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and rushed out of the café, the sound of your pounding footsteps drowning out the whirlwind of confusion in your head.

What the hell was that? You couldn’t shake the strange feeling his reaction had left you with. Was it embarrassment from the way he had insulted you in class? No—this was different. The way he looked at you wasn’t just surprise. There was something else in his eyes.

You shoved the thought out of your mind. It didn’t matter. He was just your professor, and you had to keep it that way, no matter how weird things got. Your eyes brighten when you noticed you didn't spill your coffee as you hurried down the cafe and took a right turn towards the lecture hall that Professor Al haitham's lecture will be held.

Unaware of the turmoil you had just left behind, Alhaitham stood frozen in place. His hands were still shaking, heart hammering in his chest, and he couldn’t stop replaying the moment over in his mind.

It was you.

The cam girl. The one he’d been watching for weeks. The one he had subscribed to under an anonymous name, indulging in those private sessions like they were his guilty pleasure. He had never planned on it becoming more than a fleeting escape—a place where he could admire you from afar, behind the safety of his screen.

But now, standing there, his chest still tingling from where you had bumped into him, the reality hit him with terrifying force.

He knew your body, your voice, the way you moved in front of the camera. But you… you had no idea who he was. To you, he was just the arrogant professor who had mocked you in class.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

His pulse quickened, his mind racing through the implications. His favorite cam girl was now his student, and she didn’t even know.

part 2

[pretzel-box]

Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

[lxndonorris]

streamer max - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: Smutish, Teasing Max is live when you decide to have a little fun in the chat x word count: 1420+ taglist: @game-set-canet gif by me open for requests :)

The dim glow of your phone screen illuminates your determined expression as you create the mysterious alter ego, "goldenbooty1." It is an alias embedded with memories and an inside joke that only your boyfriend, the avid racer and streamer Max Verstappen, would comprehend.

You called him that the first time you saw him in his dark blue racing suit, accentuating his form perfectly. Since he is wearing his golden boots a lot, you combine the two and choose a similar image as your icon.

As you watch his racing stream unfold, headphones plugged in, your fingers dance across the touch screen, ready to inject a playful touch into the chat. The adrenaline rush of orchestrating this secret banter heightens your excitement. Max is in the midst of a high-speed race, navigating through virtual landscapes with finesse.

Then, he loses his rear for just a second, catching himself right after. Yet, you can't help yourself. Rubbing your back against the sofa cushions behind you, you bite your lower lip.

"Got your rear under control, huh?" You type, the message blending seamlessly with the scrolling comments. The chat erupts with laughter, and you can't help but smirk, knowing you have inserted yourself into the stream under the radar.

Max glances at the comment, his eyebrows furrowing in amusement. The connection between the words and your username must have given it away, but you cannot tell. He might have seen another comment.

But then Max licks his lips. Undeterred, he responds, "I'm always in control, goldenbooty." His rough voice echoes through your headphones, sending shivers down your spine.

His virtual car speeds on, leaving a trail of digital dust behind. A few people reply to you, most of them trying to get in on the joke, but it means much more to Max coming from you.

You continue to sprinkle comments, each one a carefully crafted blend of teasing and familiarity. The banter unfolds like a well-rehearsed dance, your connection growing stronger with every exchange.

"You're a naughty one, aren't you, booty?" He looks right into the camera, slightly biting his lower lip as he tries to hide the smirk spreading across his lips.

The chat erupts with emotes and laughter, mirroring the amusement you could almost picture on his face. Even though Max tries to stay cool and not show too many emotions, the light in his eyes makes it easy for you to tell he's enjoying it all.

You know, however, that he's just waiting for the race to end. Just by the way he's looking at the screen, the sly smirk, and the narrow eyes, he's contemplating how to get back at you.

"Don't tell me you don't like it rough, Max." You type quickly, followed by, "I mean racing, of course." The smirk on your face widens, and you hold back your laughter.

Max's eyes sparkle slightly before he tilts his head, unable to stop himself from smiling brightly.

"Of course, racing." He lifts his eyebrows, emphasizing 'racing', with his voice a little deeper than usual.

Your chest tingles as you get goosebumps, and all the other viewers in the chat add an element of thrill to your playful interaction.

Max crosses the finish line shortly after, finishing first. As he leans back against his chair, he strokes his chest gently, the sly smirk still present.

"That was fun." He says, looking right at you through the screen, licking his lips quickly.

As you watch him reply to a few other people in chat, you try to come up with another sassy line, but then, "Okay guys, give me a moment. Alright?" Max nods and turns the camera off.

Adrenaline rushes through your entire body. Your heart pounds heavily, anticipating him to confront you.

Before you can hide any evidence, you turn your head toward the door and find Max casually leaning against the doorframe. He watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

You attempt to maintain an air of innocence, but he could read you like an open book. "Already done streaming?" You ask him, showing off your best poker face, but it isn't really effective.

"I'm just taking a short break." Max tilts his head, his voice carrying a mixture of playfulness and curiosity.

Nodding, you lock your phone and pull your headphones out, putting them away. He then approaches you confidently, wearing a tight Redbull shirt and shorts that accentuate his athletic build. You can't help but be captivated by how good he looks.

He runs a hand through his messy hair and across his chest again before he stands right next to you, tilting his head. "So, goldenbooty1, any idea who that might be?" Max asks, obviously knowing the answer already.

You feign ignorance, avoiding his gaze, but the mischief in his eyes hints at his determination to uncover the truth.

Denying any involvement, you insist, "No clue; a nice username though." However, your attempt at evasion only fuels his certainty.

With a knowing smirk, he closes the distance between the two of you. Suddenly, he starts to tickle you, knowing all your most sensitive spots.

His fingers lightly trace along your sides, sending shivers down your spine.

"Come on, spill the beans; I can tell when you're hiding something," he teases, his touch becoming more insistent. You try to suppress a laugh, but his expert tickling technique proves too effective. To make matters worse, Max climbs on to the sofa, pinning you down.

Laughter bubbles up as you squirm, trying to evade his fingers dancing all over your body.

"Okay, okay, it's me! I couldn't resist teasing you a bit," you admit between giggles. His triumphant grin signals that he has achieved his goal.

With his face hovering over yours, you try to catch your breath when he leans in, kissing you lovingly.

"Mhmm." You breathe into him, embracing his mouth on yours in an instant.

"I really love that username," Max purrs into you as his body grinds on yours.

Tilting your head to breathe, you expose your neck, inviting him to place kisses all over it.

"I hoped you'd know it's me." You hold back a low moan when his warm breath and soft lips touch your skin again and again.

Lifting your arms, you grab his waist before tracing his waistline right to his butt. His shorts are barely able to contain him, so you touch him, holding him close.

"Fuck!" Max chuckles, seemingly enjoying your firm touch. Then, he grinds his crotch against your thighs, letting you feel the desire building up inside his body throughout the last thirty minutes.

"You make me so hard," he growls deeply, breathing down your neck.

"Max," you hug him, stroking the small of his back before your hands slide underneath his shirt.

His body is tensing more and more, and you keep stroking him lovingly. Running your hands across his body, you reach his chest, and his muscles react to the slightest touch of your fingertips.

"So, naughty." He leans his head back, making it easier for you to touch his chest.

Both of you are out of breath, getting more and more into it.

At last, you run a hand down his chest, right to the bulge forming inside his shorts. 

As you touch him, he bites his lower lip, looking at you with a fiery spark inside his beautiful eyes.

"Will you keep watching the stream?" He grunts, bending down once more to kiss you again.

"If you want me too?" You smile, touching him again, enjoying the effect you have on him.

"Hope you enjoy the show." Max smirks before he gets off the sofa, fixing his clothes with a casual yet deliberate motion. You seize the opportunity to have another good look at him: he runs his hands across his chest, shorts, and through his hair, letting out a low guttural moan.

Hearing his voice sends shivers down your back, causing you to giggle quietly.

He then winks, turning around and returning to his room. The way he carries himself exudes confidence, and you can't help but appreciate the subtle ca´harm in the way he moves. His athletic build and tense muscles are accentuated by the snug fit of his shirt and shorts, leaving an indelible impression.

You pick up the phone and plug the headphones back in, just in time for the camera to come back to life. Max licks his lower lip, raising an eyebrow.

"I hope you're ready for another round." He smiles, and you enjoy the rest of the stream.

[aangelkeii]

❝𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄❞ | Oops - Tweet, Missy Elliot ❦ ❀

Kinktober Day 3: Cock Warming (k.tober 2024)

A/N: GOD DAMNIT. okay so i rushed this im sorry it's not my fav but it's what you're gonna get. i'm so tired rn i should've listened to my girlfriend bro oh my gawd. also the photo of him on the ground is really tasty ngl

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

wc: 1.7k (hmm..) | warnings: fem! reader, singular use of the word 'cunt' (sorry, couldn't be helped), cock warming obvi, uhh li'l praise? literally the tiniest bit, this goes on during a stream so like.. voyeurism? viewers are adults dw, pornstar! kuroo is mentioned cuz i think that's so funny, kenma whines. o.0.

Wake up, eat a protein bar, turn on the computer, stream for however many hours, sleep for 3, repeat. 

That’s been Kenma’s routine for the past few weeks. He’s been doing charity with Kuroo, ‘Kodzuken: After Dark’, a cheesy title for a program where he does what he regularly does, just for an all-adult audience. He’s dealt with the guy for this long, and he’d do this stupid thing for him. It’s not good for him, though. It’s absolutely terrible, visible in the dark circles under his eyes and the extreme exhaustion written across his face, but he’s been doing this kind of thing for so long that he doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

You beg to differ.

Of course, you support him through his career because it’s what makes him happy (and what makes the money), but it’s gotten to a point that you’re living with a walking zombie instead of your sweet, loving boyfriend. You don’t want to be annoying and pester him about his unhealthy habits, but sometimes you just have to be stern with him. 

Sending him a quick text while he was streaming, asking if he could come to bed soon, proved to work somewhat. He did curl in next to you earlier than he usually did, but it was still considerably late at night. The worst thing about his habits is the fact that even with a total of 21 hours of sleep a week, he still manages to look so good, and feel mostly unaffected by it. Most of his exhaustion comes from the drop of adrenaline after a good stream.

You decided to do something about him. Not in a regular way, but in a way that would make him understand.

In the middle of a stream, you opened the door to the office and peeked your head in. Kenma heard the door creak a bit and muted his mic, turning in his gaming chair and pulling one side of his headphones off of his ear. 

“What’s up?” He muttered, half of his face illuminated by the harsh light of the computer. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, stray pieces tickling his cheeks every time he moved his head. 

“How’s the stream?” You made sure that your face isn’t visible to the webcam. Kenma didn’t want you to show your face to his fans just yet. You understood, flattered that he cared so much early on in your relationship. Even if it’s been 3 years since then, he still stood by his words. “Jus’ wanted to check in.”

He looks back at the screen, reading the chat as they greet you with ‘Lady Kodzuken’, a title that started off as a little joke. It’s the only thing they call you now, not knowing anything about you. “It’s good.”

He looks back at you, giving you a look over while his eyes are away from his nosy viewers. “You going to bed soon?”

You shrug and step into the room, softly closing the door behind you. Kenma’s hand hovers over this stream deck in case he needs to change the screen, but you walk to the side of his desk where the webcam can’t reach. Your hip leans against the desk, his eyes following your every move.

“You gonna come with me?” Your tone is a bit snarky, but mostly teasing. 

He looks back at the screen, the look on his face answering your question. You figured he wasn’t, but you’re still slightly annoyed. “There’s a few more levels, then I’ll join you.”

Nodding slowly, you peek around the screen to read the chat. They’re asking where you went and what you were doing.

You step into frame, and Kenma barely reacts in time to switch the screen, going to ask you what you were doing when you took his face in your hand. Your warm palm pressed gently into his cold cheek makes his eyelids falter just a bit as he relaxes. You soothe his cheekbone with your thumb, looking down at his golden eyes. He has a small look of confusion, brows upturned in question.

“Can I stay here with you?” Your soft voice has him nodding before you even finish your sentence. He doesn’t question you when your free hand goes to the drawstring of your pajama pants, undoing the tie and shimmying them down your legs. It’s only when you step out of them and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants that he snaps out of the trance you put him in.

“Wait–” your hands freeze at his hip bones. He has an internal battle with himself, debating on whether or not he should just end the stream and take you to bed like you wanted or let you sit on his lap with barely anything separating the two of you, but your thumbs delicately brush over his lower stomach.

He gulps and releases a shaky breath, reading the look in your eyes. You don’t plan on just sitting here with him. You’re planning something more.

He nods and you resume your actions, tugging the waistband down, and he lifts his hips for you to pull them off entirely. His hand rests on your hip as you settle on top of his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. He knows immediately that this was a mistake.

He can feel how warm you are, seeping through his bones and warming him from the outside-in. Your knees settle on either side of his hips, digging into the back of the gaming chair, and lean down to kiss his neck.

He feels you shift on his lap, seemingly accidental, but the purposeful roll of your hips down on him tells a different story. The seemingly innocent kisses and tender touches was just a ruse for you to fuck him.

“Babe, I’m streaming,” his voice strains when your fingers creep underneath the band of his boxers, peeling them down enough for his hardening cock to spring up. Your hand palms him, pressing the head against his sweater and leaving a small wet spot on the fabric. It’s embarrassing to him.

“I won’t be bothering you,” you spread the pre cum down his cock, taking your hand away to pull your underwear to the side, sitting against him and rolling your hips. He slips between your lips, knocking against your clit over and over, the stimulation enough to make you clench around nothing. When you raise on your knees and press his tip to your slit, his hands shoot up to the sides of your thighs in warning. 

Sliding down on him slowly, giving yourself enough time to stretch out around him without hurting yourself, Kenma’s already a panting mess beneath you. When the back of your thighs meet the top of his, a pitchy noise leaves his lips and his head falls back in an attempt to control himself.

“Go back to your stream, baby.”

His eyes dart to yours alarmingly, looking at you as if you were crazy. You expect him to continue on like he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you? How can he act like everything’s normal?

You lay your head back into the crook of his neck, taking in a deep breath of his hoodie, tightening your arms around him as you settle down. A slight shift of his hips has you clenching around him and his head feels like it’s going to roll off of his shoulders. But, he does as you say, unmuting himself with a quiet apology as he switches the screen. Now, he wishes he had set up that screen for when he’s not using his webcam.

The rest of his stream goes by agonizingly slow, periodic twitches of your cunt around his dick that makes him buck his hips involuntarily. You have an impressive talent of keeping yourself dead quiet at times, and he’s entirely grateful for that at this moment. The chat questions every time his face burns a darker red and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, but he brushes them off with some lame excuse. Either his chat is clueless or stupid, because it should be entirely obvious that he’s stuffed inside of you while you cockwarm him with no care in the world. 

His tip keeps nudging against your sweet spot, and after a torturous hour of small, faltering movements, your hips start to pick up in speed. Kenma slams his hand down on his stream deck, switching to some random idle inimation and muting his stream before his hands grip onto your hips, head falling back with a moan. He hasn’t gotten softer with little to no stimulation, only growing painfully more hard. He can feel how wet his boxers have become from how you’re dripping around him, and it’s overstimulating when you increase your speed even more.

“Oh, oh fuck, mmmhn, s’good,” he babbles on, mouthing near your temple, head foggy and determined to come. The slight praise sends a bolt of electricity between your legs, clit pressing harshly into his pelvic bone, stimulating a fire inside of you. It’s a sudden rush of want and need that forces Kenma to reach up to the back of your neck, dragging you away from his neck to slam his lips against yours in an effort to muffle the pathetic whines that pour from his lips. The warmth of his cum inside of you is enough to make you come, too, huffing out your own noises of pleasure as you ride it out on top of him.  

It feels like forever until the heat finally subsides and you lie limp on his lap, arms circled around his torso as you catch your breath. Kenma ends the stream quickly afterwards and plans to tweet out an apology or something, saying it was a technical difficulty, hoping to god that no one points out the obvious signs of his bliss with you. He knows that it’ll spread like wildfire if even a single person mentions it, but he’ll worry about that later.

“I didn’t like that,” his breathless voice speaks into the quiet air.

“Oh?” Your head lifts, slightly worried. Did you cross a line? 

He looks at your face, pupils dilated and face warm from the rush of blood throughout your body. “An hour was too long. We could’ve been in bed by now.”

Your worries are forgotten. You smile and lean closer to kiss him, cradling his face in your hands.

© aangelkeii - do not repost, translate, plagarize, or claim any of my works as your own.

taglist: @ggriwm @ppsucker3000 @cstandsforchaos @jakeyjakies @cphlo @dumbwaystolive

[joocomics]

ಬ baby all mine

pairing: streamer!keeho x fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 1166

contains: sub!reader, fingering, spanking, exhibitionism kink, praise kink, established relationship

Keeho’s hand loosens up the tie around his neck as he stares at the computer screen. The movement radiates frustration as he pulls and tugs roughly.

“I swear to god…” He leans back in his chair, his right leg is bouncing up and down under the desk - a sign that he’s slowly loosing patience. The bright light of the monitor picks up on every twitch of his sharp facial features, but that only emphasises their attractiveness.

“Stop talking about my girl y’all, that’s not cool. I can see the comments you know?”

His lips form a smile; a forceful one which is quite different than his usual expressions during his streams.

The comments keep piling up.

show her to us bro

i bet she’s hot af

if i were you i wouldn’t be here rn

“Nah, forget about it,” he scoffs, “that’s not happening.”

we saw her ass once let us see the rest

didn’t she show it off on purpose anyways ???

she wants to be seen

… and after that comment he starts noticing it too. You didn’t dislike the attention from the viewers. You keep bringing him snacks and drinks during his streams knowing the camera will catch your swaying hips, your seductive thighs exposed from the loose little shorts. The mic always picks up on your gentle voice, leaving the people want more.

It’s almost like you’re having a secret game with them and he’s the one left out.

“Your viewers really like me.”

Keeho shoots you a quick glance. You’re leaning against his desk, dressed in one of his shirts. He doesn’t need to look at the comments section to know they’re blowing up with questions about you.

He proceeds with the game, but the way you step closer distracts him, and clicking the keyboard becomes more and more difficult.

Your back is now captured from the camera; your bare legs are on display. One quick move and Keeho’s shirt will expose your panties to everyone.

His eyes accidentally look at the comments which make his blood boil.

“They like your ass.” His big hand lands with a smack on your butt cheek.

It feels good - showing people that he can do that while the only thing they can do is jerk off pathetically to the thought of you.

“They want me.” You speak out the second word more firmly and clearly. Emphasising the facts.

You lift one leg and swiftly straddle your boyfriend’s lap. His chair moves backwards a bit as his hands leave the keyboard to get a hold of your hips.

The surprise on his face is apparent, but it quickly melts away after you kiss him. You humm from the pleasant dancing of his lips that leads yours, as his fingertips grip the sides of your body with more eagerness.

You break the moment, then look into his eyes. They’re still gazing at your lips and even your next words can’t shift them away.

“Show them who I belong to.” You place a wet kiss under his earlobe, feeling him get harder under your clothed cunt. Each word you say is a new wave of adrenaline rush that floods his veins. “You owe me, baby.”

His fingers fidget with the shirt, dragging it slowly up your waist to expose more of your skin to the camera; more of the pink lace of your underwear.

“I do,” he breathes out. “I do.”

The number of viewers watching grows bigger with each minute, but only Keeho can see it, because he’s standing next to the gaming chair while you kneel in it, being streched out by his long fingers. He doesn’t need to move them too quickly to prove how wet you are. You’re drenched, and the slow gliding is enough to produce lewd sounds that reach the audience just fine.

“Goddamn it, baby,” he pulls them out, slapping one of your cheeks. Your ass is on full display, showing off his handprints in pink color as his shirt is scrunched up at your waist. “You’re soaking wet for everyone to see.”

He swipes through your puffy folds with one finger to collect from your essence, then sucks on the digit, savouring the sweet taste.

“Looks like my pretty girl likes showing off her pretty pussy, huh?”

You humm in agreement meanwhile Keeho spreads you out nicely with his two big hands, allowing everyone to see you in all your glory. The arousal is glistening, gushing out of you as your desires grow every time he touches you.

You wonder how many people are touching themselves to you right now; do they want to see you cum, and do they wish they could see your boyfriend fill you up?

“All mine.”

He shoves his fingers inside you again, curling them more harshly this time. Your voice cracks in the middle of your moans when he begins to thrust them in a wild possessive speed, causing your arousal to drip down your inner thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuck, baby… so good—“ you babble uncontrollably with your desperate fragile voice. The slamming of his hand causes your cheeks to jiggle in front of his eyes simultaneously filling the room with skin on skin slapping in addition to the wet noises from your cunt.

At first Keeho thought he wouldn’t be able to listen to you knowing there are hundreds of other people hearing your moans too, but since the moment you opened your legs for him, he hasn’t thought about those people. Your sounds are still just for his ears only.

You’re seconds away from cumming for him.

“Ah, ‘m gonna—“ your jaw falls open for a silent scream that puts an end to your incoherent sentences. It leaves you only whimpering and panting.

The sensation has you barely holding onto the back of the chair. Your thighs shake, your voice too, as you whine from Keeho’s rough fingers pushing against your g-spot with full force till your climax fades down.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty…” Keeho mutters under his breath. His hard cock has been putting pressure on him for a while now, it starts to become unbearable, and it’s showing in his heavy breathing. “The prettiest girl with the most perfect pussy.”

He empties your swollen hole, and you gasp from the feeling. He observes carefully how it clenches from the absence of his hand, how it leaves a string from your juices connected to his fingers that he breaks by licking it off. He groans from pleasure meanwhile your mouth waters at the sight of the tent in his pants.

“Baby, I need you.” Your one arm reaches for Keeho’s crotch, caressing his bulge, but even your palm squeezing his dick doesn’t affect him as your doe eyes glowing with lust and yearning do.

You sense Keeho going to his desk. You stay in one place since you prefer to keep your face private and wait for him to give you a signal.

“The show is over, perverts.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[wwereaderinserts]

May I request Fem!reader’s team wins against Judgement Day after reader distracts Damian by kissing him. The faces celebrate their win but reader & Damian can’t stop touching their lips.

Title: Distractions Pairing: Damian Priest x Reader Word Count: 1,249

You and Rhea have been at each other’s throats for the past few weeks, and with Damian wanting another shot at Braun after his loss to him last week, each of you gladly took up the offer to kill two birds with one stone by having a mixed tag match when the opportunity was presented to you.

Though you’re almost certain that Damian himself is the catalyst for tensions between yourself and Rhea finally reaching boiling point - that she fears you’re becoming a distraction for him, that you’re trying to purposefully worm your way in and pull him away from the Judgment Day somehow.

Admittedly, spoken to Damian more in passing as the weeks have gone by, and you can’t deny there’s definitely something that’s shifted in how you act towards each other. Lingering gazes, light touches, the way you both light up that bit more around each other…

Damian has never explicitly said anything to you, but he feels it, too.

You’re currently splayed out at ringside, dazed, battered, and bruised while you try your utmost to recover from Rhea’s cheap shot on you in an attempt to keep you down and out of the match.

“Suck it!” Rhea yells and taunts you before she starts retreating back to her respective side of the apron, deciding she’s rang your bell more than enough, that she’s sure you won’t be clambering back up to your feet to help out Braun, your tag team partner, at any point. He’s currently in the ring battling it out against Damian, and as it stands, the odds are most definitely in the Terror Twins’ favour.

With a groan, you’re able to hoist yourself up onto your knees after a minute or two has passed by. The aftermath of the beating you just received hurts like hell, but you lean against the ring in time to see Damian firing himself up to hit Braun with what is inevitably the killing blow of the match.

Your mind is telling you it’s a rather sly, self-indulgent tactic, but it’s almost as if your body runs on both adrenaline and autopilot. You act quickly and stalk around the edge of the ring to find your way to an unsuspecting Rhea, and you sweep her legs from under her to send her tumbling down to the ground.

“Yeah, how d’you like that?!” You scream, returning the favour and giving her a beatdown of her own, only ceasing your assault once you’re satisfied with the outcome. Certain that she won’t be getting back up, you rush to the adjacent side of the ring and climb up onto the apron in time to see Braun shove Damian back in your general direction, which, unbeknownst to your partner, works absolutely perfectly in your favour.

There, you quickly signal Braun to hold off on a follow up attack, instead reaching out to grab at Damian over the ropes in an attempt to catch his attention. You prevail, and he’s quick to turn on his heel, a mix of surprise and confusion flickering over his features when he comes face to face with you.

Despite knowing Damian shouldn’t let this sidetrack him, he feels like he’s been struck by lightning when his eyes lock onto yours, and little does he know that the feeling is more than mutual.

“What are you doing?” Damian asks while his gaze softens at the mere sight of you, and it isn’t until then that you realise your hand is still granting you both skin-to-skin contact. Slowly, you retract your hand, your skin and his still respectively blazing from the accidental lingering touch.

Subconsciously, he takes a step closer to you, his gaze still intently focused on you. It feels as though time stops around you both, and nobody else exists - not the crowd in the arena, not your opponents, not even the viewers at home. Despite all the jeers and whistles from the crowd during your face-off, the two of you are all that matters in the moment.

“More like what are we doing?” you fire back at him and support yourself on the ropes, subtly leaning in closer to him to continue your distraction, “We need to both stop pretending. It’s gone on for long enough-”

“(Y/N), this isn’t the time or place for this and you know it!”

Damian dismisses you with a shake of his head and a brief wave of the hand, and just as he’s about to turn around and focus his attention back on Braun, you’re quick to reach out and grasp hold of his wrist. His head snaps back up and he glances back at you, and you tug him towards where you stand on the apron.

The subsequent series of events all happens in quick succession. Reaching out to him, you cup his face with both hands and draw him into you, slamming your lips against his in a last ditch effort to prolong him turning his attention back to Braun.

You feel Damian tense for a moment, failing to reciprocate the kiss as he processes what’s happening, but you can pinpoint the exact second that the penny drops for him. Your lips move in near-perfect sync against each other when he finally kisses you back, and the only thing that stops it from growing in passion is the fact that you’re vaguely aware that you have a crowd of thousands watching you two right now.

They cheer and wolf-whistle at you both while you’re lost in the moment, and before you get too engrossed in it, you pry yourself away from his kiss and cast a glance to a patiently waiting Braun.

“I’m sorry-”

You murmur to Damian, so rushed that he almost doesn’t catch it and doesn’t even have more than a second to react. Widening your eyes at Braun and rapidly nodding your head, he takes the hint and marches over to an unsuspecting Damian and practically rips him away from you before he lands a kick to the gut and drags him to the centre of the ring.

There, Braun delivers another flurry of blows on Damian, then he hoists him up to hit him with a vicious Yokosuka Cutter right in front of you. You look on at Damian sprawled out on the mat with a pang of guilt that strikes you equally as hard as the blow he just took, looking on as Braun pins him and gets the three count.

The bell rings and Braun rises back to his feet in victory, beckoning you into the ring with him to celebrate while Damian drags himself into the corner of the ring nearest to him.

“Don’t know how you came to think of doing that, but it was genius!”

Braun lets out a deep chuckle and raises your arm up in victory, and you let out a small laugh and beam from ear to ear as you revel in the celebrations with your tag team partner.

Trying to be as subtle as you can, you raise a hand to your lips, tracing your index finger along where Damian’s lips met yours mere moments ago. You glance to the corner where he sits, slumped but mirroring you as he ghosts a finger over his lips, undoubtedly having the same thought process as you right now.

You both lock eyes, and you’re sure that what’s just transpired will lead to a rather interesting conversation between you both later - possibly even more than that, too.

[hardlyinteresting]

Any Other Way

Tyler Owens x Reader

As voted on by you the people. Relationships aren’t too unlike Tornadoes when you really think about it.

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, passing mentions of childhood injuries and bull riding accidents (nothing detailed or graphic), depictions of storms and tornadoes. (please let me know if you want me to tag anything else).

Word count: 1.3K

Masterlist | Talk to me about Tyler and Jake

The first time he ever saw a tornado touch down it was only a couple miles outside his home town. it's the same town he met her in. A force of nature; upending his life in ways neither of the two of them would have been able to anticipate in that bar all those months ago. 

He thinks now that nature and fate must be much the same, dictated by some higher power he's always believed in but never truly understood. As terrifying as it is mesmerizing, he finds him head over heels for her and it scares the shit out of him. 

Life moves faster when he's just falling into it. He's fallen out of trees as a kid, and been thrown from horses; an adrenaline rush halted only by a sudden and painful meeting with the ground. Love feels somewhat the same. He'd heard the phrase whirlwind romance, but he never expected it to be so life-altering. 

She rides shotgun in his truck and wears his favourite flannels, she changes the radio station while they are driving and he doesn't even flinch. As terrifying as it all is he chooses to look for the beauty in all of it. Tucked safely in his truck harnesses as the world spins around them he's certain he's finally found a safe place to land. 

The sound of the tornado passing right over the top of them echoes in his ears, and his eyes after all these years of chasing are still never quite sure where to focus. At a distance he's practiced at identifying precipitation patterns, analyzing the structures and collapses of storms; he's made a living doing it. But, in the centre of the storm, it's the pounding of his own heart rate that grabs his attention. Riding out a fear isn't the same as ignoring it, so he chooses to let it ground him. He focuses his mind on the science and the still unfathomable pulchritude of the natural world. 

Unrestrained and blithesome, laughter escapes him as the dust settles and they climb out of the truck. Her smile is as big as he's ever seen, it as she jokes along with Boone who clambers out of the backseat camera in hand. With an excited prompt from his friend, and the camera pointed in his direction, Tyler is quick to explain some of the science to their viewers breaking down their tornado experience into layman's terms. It's one of his favourite parts of the job; spreading joy and wonder. 

A few feet away he watches her grinning as she observes first-hand the soft purpling of the sky above in the wake of the storm. These are the good days. 

On the bad days; hours in the truck, and nights spent on bad mattresses havoc on everyone's bodies. A lack of promising storms on the radars leaves them pacing gas station parking lots, and sitting around the motel rooms they swore they didn't want to spend time in except to sleep. 

The air conditioner buzzes, humming an air of uneasiness into the already tense room. The room is silent otherwise and Tyler wishes one of the two of them would say something, but after 12 hours of nothing but waiting there doesn't seem to be much conversation left to have. She sprawls out on the bed, her arm draped over her eyes blocking out the yellow incandescent lamp light. He scrolls on his laptop, wading through radars and projections, searching for a new destination and a new objective, his fingers tapping an untimed beat against the bedside table. It's the calm before the storm. 

He can't pinpoint when the tension began to grow though in hindsight he's sure he should've seen it coming. But next thing he's in a shouting match, his own behaviour thrown at him as a heavy insult, he knows he's saying things he doesn't mean. In the middle of it all his heart races, waiting for the calm once more so he might be able to understand what happened. The door slams behind her when she leaves, and the brown shag carpet is scratchy against the palms of his hands as he lowers himself to sit next to the bed. Defeated he tries to analyze her actions and his own, accessing the potential damage as he goes. 

Who's to blame? who's at fault? He doesn't care as he replays the events of the day in his head. The bigger questions rattle around his skull begging for his attention, where did she go? Should he go after her? The aftermath is always the hardest part of a storm. 

A sudden flash of red illuminating his laptop screen has him on his feet and across the room again in a heartbeat. An unexpected, oncoming storm. His stomach feels lead-lined as he taps her contact on his phone; gutted when he hears the rhythmic vibration on the nightstand. Her phone lit up with his contact photo. 

There's a hopeless in it, the wind howling through the small town, whipping around the tiny motel. He hopes they're not in the direct path of the storm, but he doesn't take the time to check. Texts from Boone and Dani confirm they're sheltering with Lily and Dexter. Tyler texts back: looking for her. 

His breath rattles in his chest, and he ignores the way his hands shake as he calls out her name, hoping beyond hope that she's near by. Surely she noticed the shift in the weather and found somewhere safe. Surely this isn't how he loses her, on the back of a stupid fight. 

He thinks his knees might buckle if he lets himself stand still for too long, a foolish brand of restlessness stirs him into moving. The thought of what he stands to lose pounding in the back of his mind. The air is thick, and the rain that's now falling makes it hard for him to see the ground in front of him. He fights his way forward without a thought of himself, it's not the storm that scares him, but rather what it might take that strikes the chord of fear he's wrestled his whole life. 

He manages to make his way across the parking lot of the eerie quiet town, the echo of a storm siren blaring in the near distance. The window of the motel office has been shattered by some kind of debris and he has to shield himself from the wind even indoors, crouching low as he moves. He calls her name again, he voice cracking in a desperate plea. 

“Tyler?” A tear filled voice calls from behind the counter. 

He finds her curled on the floor under the large front desk, the sweet motel owner Doris holding tightly to her. He slips himself beneath the desk taking note of where it's bolted into the ground, a good distance from the windows; she's a clever girl. “I'm sorry,” she gasps out quickly, her eyes locking onto his own, “me too, darlin’,” he swears, “but we'll have time to talk about it later”. 

The world grows quiet again, pounding rain, and vicious winds slowing before stopping, air pressure releasing its heavy hold. He helps Doris out from under their hiding place, the gray haired older woman patting his hand in thanks as she catches her breath. He helps his girl up next not at all shocked when she throws herself against his chest. The familiar smell of her shampoo, and the feeling of his own flannel shirt on her frame ground him. 

“We're okay, baby,” he promises. 

“I got you these,” she says holding out a now crushed packet of milk duds. “I just wanted to clear my mind and I saw them in the vending machine. I was on my way back to the room--but the storm. I didn't mean to scare you”. 

His smile is wide despite the weight of tears behind his eyes, “honey, you scare the hell out of me and I wouldn't want it any other way”. 

[hyuny-bunny]

cybersex | camgirl! x skz

prologue . chapter II

MDNI (18+): this series will depict sex work and acts of sex. content warnings will include the following for this chapter: mentions of body image issues, girl x girl sex, mentions of sex toys, female masturbation, reader is actually bi but i did not explicitly state it in the chapter, it's a pretty mild chapter

genre: skz x camgirl!reader, use of she/her/hers wc: 2.2K

Chapter 1

It had been about 6 weeks since you had done the first live-stream, at the start, it was mainly about getting comfortable in front of the camera. Sana, being your mentor through this, started off by bringing you onto her stream. With Mina’s permission, Sana proposed the idea of allowing her to guide you through the first live. Mina trusted both of you deeply, she always understood that while this started off as a hobby for extra income it had become a job for Sana. In the same breathe, they would never compromise their relationship or boundaries. Mina expressed she was completely okay with it, she had even extended her offer to join you for this if it made you more comfortable as she often did join Sana in her streams as it brought even more views and money. 

Clothing was the first obstacle. The idea of going full frontal made the idea of jumping into a frozen pool more appealing. So to get you to dip your toes in the water, less was more. It was all about a tease. Sana had gotten you to wear a black slip dress, no bra but panties were optional. As for your face, you had found a black lace masquerade eye mask that complimented the dress well. Similarly, Sana often had a white lace masquerade mask with bunny ears that stood tall, a lot of her viewers liked the mask even after her face reveal, it played into her branding and persona. 

Sana had brought you into her cam room where she prepped you both for the live-stream. She went over all the rules and safewords, reaffirming you could stop the moment you felt uncomfortable or didn't want to do it anymore. She made sure you were familiar and settled in your headspace before beginning, you allowed her to do your hair and makeup a slow guide to calm the nerves. For Sana, these were opportunities to take her out of reality, into a space where she had control and power. It was her way of artistry, of performing, this was her stage and where she felt empowered. You had agreed to make the live no longer than an hour, so that’s where it would begin, you sat in front of Sana situated between her legs. Positioned perfectly behind the camera was a TV screen-sized monitor where you could see yourselves and the chat, comments rolling in once the camera was turned on. Mina sat in for the live quietly to take control of the live setup so she could immediately shut things off if you gave the signal, she often did this when Sana was soloing her streams. 

Although you feared you’d back down the minute the camera turned on once the compliments rolled in, you felt the adrenaline pumping. It was a head rush to see so many gawking and begging to see more of you, it didn't matter who these people were or what they looked like. It was a rush you had never felt before. So there it was, your close friend feeling you up, kissing along your neck as you guided yourself through an orgasm with your legs spread in front of the camera for all her followers to see. By this point, the other two present in the room were shocked but turned on by the show you put on. All they could focus on was your moans and whimpers, it was almost angelic and the scenery was just as heavenly. Prior to this, an account was set up for to continue with this if things worked out. Mina had taken the initiative to pin your username that would link your account, amassing two thousand followers 20 minutes into the stream and by the end, you would walk away with a total of four and a half thousand.

Once the live had finished, you felt a little embarrassed by how quickly you felt you escalated things but Mina & Sana had reaffirmed there was nothing to be embarrassed by, they were proud of how well you had done. With the gifts and donations that you had accumulated from that first live you were able to start saving for your own equipment. You had decided to solo two more lives that week, getting more comfortable and only ever masturbating/teasing for the duration to situate yourself with things you liked and disliked. At this point, you were beginning to question if you even needed your waitress job. Thus began your search for your own apartment. You had maintained a consistent amount of streams twice a week for an hour over the next four weeks, allowing you to spend time apartment-hunting. 

“You know, if I had known this little hobby would drive you out of my apartment, I would have never gotten you started,” Sana spoke as she made her morning coffee while you sat at the breakfast bar eyes lasered into the apartment listings. Sana enjoyed having you in her apartment but understood the importance of having your own space to continue doing these lives. “What am I gonna do with you gone?” she asked pouting as you hadn’t even so much as glanced at her.

“Please stop acting as if I’m dying or never coming back,” You grumbled as your eyes began to strain from the laptop's brightness. “You’ll still see me at work and I promise to come over all the time to continue to annoy you every waking chance I get.”

The apartment scene hadn’t been as glorious as it was. Luckily for you, a listing had just opened for a building not too far from where you lived. It was an open floor-plan apartment, with big arched windows and exposed brick walls. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an air conditioning unit, and hardwood. It was an interior designer's wet dream. The rent was just in your range and it was a second-floor apartment with a small balcony. You had arranged to see the apartment that day and were pleasantly surprised to find you could see the place in the next hour with only a 15-minute commute from Sana’s place. Apartments like these were hard to come by, the fear of not having a backup option ate away at you which is why you still sat at the computer. You slammed the computer deciding to just scout out the building now would be better instead of sitting here

“Well, I am off to see this place, do you want to come with?” You asked Sana as she sipped away at her coffee. 

“I’d love to but I promised to take Mina to the farmers market this morning, she’s finishing up as we speak. Call me right after though and we’ll grab lunch together.” She kisses your cheek disappearing back into her bedroom. You hum in agreeance heading towards the door, you feel a familiar nudge at your leg only to find your fur baby. Jiji was your gorgeous white and grey cat that you found on your way home after a particularly terrible shift, she had always been there to get you through the hardest times. 

“And you, my little muffin, I will see you later. Mommy’s gonna get us a nice big place for you to run and terrorize all on your own. Get you a nice big tree and the biggest fluffiest bed imaginable.” She purrs pleasantly as if she had a complete understanding of the promises you just made her.

After giving her a shower of kisses, you headed down the street to find the building. It was about 3 blocks over, it was a relief to know you could stay in an area that was still familiar to you. It was a quaint area, well-kept. There was a coffee around the corner you frequently passed on your way to work but never found the time to stop in or bothered to visit when the one closer to you had always just been across the street. You leaned against the brick wall that stopped at your hips

while waiting for the relator. Your ears perked hearing someone come out of the building. As you turned to peak at the stranger, you were met with two familiar but unexpected faces instead. 

“Fancy seeing you here, stalking us?” Seungmin was the first one to say something as they came down the stairs.

“Hmm? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you two before this very moment,” You said as they now stood at the bottom of the stairs. Seungmin and Jeongin were two waiters from the restaurant you worked at. You were always friendly with both of them, but your friendship never went beyond the walls of the restaurant unless it was a particularly rough night and you all went out to the bar down the street for some after-work drinks.

“Are you wait for someone?” Jeongin asked. He always had such a cute that was simultaneously sharp and made him look older than he was. Seungmin on the other hand had a very boyish face, he was cute like a puppy but something in his mannerisms always said that he wasn’t as sweet as he may look.

“Sort of, I’m waiting on a realtor to tour an apartment here.”

“The one on the 2nd floor?” Seungmin asks in a higher pitch than you anticipated. 

“Actually, yeah. How’d you know?” You ask as Jeongin mutters a ‘damn’ under his breath.

“We were looking at it ourselves, we wanted to upgrade the living space. It’s incredibly nice though, it’s big, and the rooms are huge too for an apartment like that. Hard to come by.” Seungmin says as he slaps a hand on Jeongin’s shoulder. “You and Sana moving out together?”

“Oh no it's just me! I figured It was time to give her and Mina a space to themselves.” A half lie but truth be told, they did indeed need their own space.

“But it’s a two-bed-” Jeongins question gets interrupted by the realtor announcing himself.

“Hi, so which of you was touring the apartment today?” It is a short, stout man who speaks up his suit was a beige two-piece completed with a white button-down. You raise your hand in response. “Perfect! Follow me then.”

“Well, I’ll see you guys later!” You waive goodbye to them, Seungmin smiles with a waves, and Jeongin does the same with a look of confusion.

You followed the realtor up the stairs to the building entrance where he punched in the code. As you entered, someone from down the hall emerged from their place. He was tall with dark hair, he was wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt, and his hair was pulled into a half ponytail with some strategically placed strands pulled out that perfectly showed off the ear piercings. He had a smock thrown over his shoulder, his eyes met yours as you passed him to the stairs, there was no denying how stunning he was. The stranger offered a wink as he walked out the door. Something in your gut told you that wouldn’t be the last time you saw him. 

The tour of the apartment wasn’t very long, the photos online did not do the place justice. There was plenty of sun beaming through the window, the kitchen was painted a deep green that perfectly contrasted with golden wood and white wall accents.  The master bedroom had plenty of space, the bathroom had a claw foot tub perfect for decompressing and aftercare pampered baths. You signed for the lease once you had your fill of the place were given notice that you could move in a week from that day.

—

A week came by faster than you anticipated, you had hired a moving company to move everything for you. Work at the restaurant was slammed, you were covering as many shifts as you could to give you extra cushion to take the following week off to unpack and rest. The next time you had saw Seungmin and Jeongin, you gleefully told them about taking the apartment, and they generously offered to help you with the move-in process. You declined their offer but warmly invited them to your house warming.

Fortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot, Sana had owned most of the furniture so you had free agency to decorate the place as you pleased. Part of the move-out was agreeing to share custody of Jiji, while she was your fur baby, she was also Sana’s. You had agreed on a week-to-week schedule, this was your off week while you prepared the place. In the hunt for the most lavish and aesthetic cat furniture, you bought and assembled a cherry blossom cat tree with a matching pink cat cave for your sweet girl. After a grueling 5 days of unpacking, readjusting, and shifting, you had finally completed the place. 

Ordering so many toys, furniture pieces, and equipment for the 2nd room made you feel a little crazy. You prayed none of your new neighbors saw the number of packages that came over the days concealing the assortment of sex toys, lingerie, and camera equipment. Your camgirl room was finally complete and you had promised your viewers a special show for the long wait.

—

cybersex masterlist

a/n: apologies for the delay in upload. i'll have chapter 2 later tonight with the good spice. comment below or send my an ask to be added to the taglist !🤍

taglist (2/30): @skzooluvr @breadpuddingboys

[37sommz]

000.⠀⠀NOW PLAYING: season 3, ep. 4 [drive to survive]. ✼. view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. synopsis:⠀michaela gets on the podium. ✼. warnings:⠀none :)

✼.⠀SEPTEMBER 12, 2020 — tuscany, italy

The camera pans over the rolling hills of Tuscany, capturing the vibrant greens and golds of the Italian countryside. The famous Mugello Circuit stands proudly in the background, hosting the Tuscany Grand Prix of 2020. Being the first time the track will host a Formula 1 race, anticipation hangs in the air like the sweet scent of the local vineyards pictured in the distance.

Will Buxton sits in a graying corner of the confessional room, the stage lights illuminating his excited face. “Tuscany is more than just beautiful." the roar of Formula 1 engines mirrors the excitement the viewer can feel through the screen. "It’s a place of legends. And this year, one driver is determined to carve her name into that history: Michaela Sommers.”

Inside the Alfa Romeo garage, Michaela stands poised, her racing suit clinging to her athletic frame. A fierceness rarely witnessed by the Netflix cameras fills the air with an electric wait. Her brown eyes glisten with a mixture of nerves and stern determination. The hum of activity in the Alfa Romeo garage surrounds her as the crew prepares car number thirty-seven. The scent of oil and rubber is thick in the air as they flit around her in rapid succession; a vivid contrast to the focus she fixes over the sheet of data she holds in her hands.

“It’s surreal being here." Her accent floats in the air as the words leave her perfectly plump lips. The signature blonde of her hair is twirled into a rare curl, the pattern a bit frazzled as it struggles to break through the subtle hint of heat damage.

"I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a child, imagining the roar of the engines, the thrill of the chase." She smiles at this, lips curling at the ends. "But now, the reality is sinking in—I’m racing in Formula 1. I can’t just be another name.”

The air crackles with tension as Fred Vasseur, the Alfa Romeo team principal, strides into the garage as if in slow motion, his face a mix of focus and fierce encouragement. He observes the frenzied preparations, his mind racing with strategies. Finding Michaela tucked into herself, separate from the bustling life of the garage, he claps a soft hand onto the taller 20-year-old's shoulder.

As practice begins, Michaela slips into the cockpit, the roar of the engine vibrating through her. The car moves as if an extension of her own body. She speeds out onto the track, and the world around her blurs—a vivid tapestry of colors and sounds merging into a single, exhilarating sensation.

“Michaela has the talent. We’re here to support her, but the pressure is immense." His French-lilted words swirl through the consonants of his words.

The sun beats down mercilessly, sweat pooling at her brow as she pushes herself to the limit. The adrenaline rush is intoxicating, yet the constant threat of failure lingers at the back of her mind.

The scene shifts to the rising dawn of qualifying day—all bright and tense, the sky a brilliant canvas of blue. Michaela stands on the grid, her heart pounding in her chest, every thrum of her pulse synchronized with the roar of engines surrounding her. Fans are packed into the grandstands, their cheers rising like a tide. A young girl holds up a poster of her favorite driver, one just as female as her.

Vasseur appears once more on the screen. A gentle smile adorns his features as he vocalizes his support for the young Australian. "This weekend could define her career. We all want that first podium finish. We know she is capable of that first podium finish.”

It is Michaela's turn to provide context as she appears once more on the screen. “Qualifying is… everything." As if struggling for words, her lips purse themselves tightly against one another. Her curls bounce lightly as her head shakes for emphasis. "I have to show that I belong here. One mistake and all of this could slip away.”

As the session commences, she grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, the tires screaming for grip as she navigates the twisting circuit. Every corner demands a precision that she delivers with practiced levelheadedness. Every straightaway calls for speed, she responds in kind with the expert application of her foot to the gas. The tension builds with each passing second, and her heart races as she finds her rhythm.

When the session wraps, her name flashes on the timing board in seventh place—a stunning personal best, but she knows she has another day to accomplish the impossible.

“This is huge for Alfa Romeo and me, of course. But I know it’s just the first step. The real battle is on Sunday.” Without as much as a hint of a smile, Michaela's expression is focused even in her confessionals. Her demeanor perfectly reflects the seriousness with which she approaches every reference to her racing.

✼.⠀SEPTEMBER 13, 2020 — tuscany, italy

Race day breaks with a breathtaking sunrise that casts a warm golden hue over the circuit. The air is thick with anticipation, the scent of burning rubber and hot asphalt mixing with the earthy aroma of the nearby vineyards. Michaela stands on the grid, every nerve in her body alive with energy as the Italian national anthem plays out over the roar of the home crowd.

“Seeing Michaela on that grid is inspiring." Susie's eyes crinkle with warmth. "I’ve walked that path, and I know the stakes. This is where she’ll prove her worth.” She nods to her own words, believing sincerely that the young driver would achieve her bring moment.

As Michaela glances across the paddock, she meets the eyes of fierce faces—Lewis, Kimi, Sebastian—drivers whose accolades cast long shadows. As she continues to glance across the track, she meets the eyes of familiar rivals—Alex, Pierre, Charles—drivers she had battled every moment leading up to the one offering itself up to her now. The weight of expectation presses down on her like a heavy blanket, each camera flash a consuming reminder of the history she is trying to create.

The roar of engines reverberated through the packed grandstands at the Autodromo Internazionale del Mugello as the sleek chariots of Formula 1 lined up on the grid. The air crackles with anticipation; the stakes impossibly high, and the pressure insurmountably palpable.

The five lights go out, and the race launches into an immediate chaos. Engines roar, and the world becomes a blur of color and sound as Michaela blasts off the line. Her heart pounds as she jostles for position, deftly navigating the swirling chaos around her. The noise of roaring engines drowned out everything else as the field surged into the first corner—a high-speed ballet of carbon fiber and raw adrenaline. Heart pounding, Michaela navigated through the chaos, her instincts honed to perfection, emerging unscathed but hyper-aware of the battle raging around her.

"Michaela, you're showing strong pace. Keep pushing," her race engineer's voice crackled urgently through the team radio. With every heartbeat, she demanded more from her car, muscling it through sweeping curves and daring overtakes, her determination igniting a fire within. Kimi Raikkonen, her seasoned teammate, became both a mentor and a rival as they engaged in a relentless chess match on wheels into the sixteenth lap.

In the paddock, team principal Fred Vasseur watched with bated breath, his brow furrowed in equal parts concentration and concern at the battle between his two drivers. "She's driving like a woman possessed out there," he muttered out to no one in particular, eyes glued to the unfolding drama. Crofty’s voice cuts through the noise, narrating and dissecting every twist and turn for viewers around the globe.

As the race unfolds, dark clouds gather overhead, ominous and foreboding. The tension thickens like a brewing storm, and soon, rain begins to pour, drenching the track. Michaela can feel the fear rising around her as drivers scramble for pit stops, the slick surface transforming the circuit into a dangerous challenge she just cannot refuse.

An urgent 'box, box' comes over the radio moments later, a gentle panic rising in the depths of her conscience as she questions the decision out loud to her engineer. A simple response, "We feel it is time for inters," is all that comes across the radio, a done deal.

“This is where strategy matters." Will Buxton's voice cuts through the noise of the ongoing race. "The rain changes everything. One wrong move and it could all come crashing down, like that.” With the sound of his snapping fingers, the scene shifts back to Michaela's untimely pit stop.

As she speeds into the pits, the rain hammers down as if a thousand tiny drums. Her crew moves with the precision of a well-trained unit on a mission of success, changing her tires to intermediates. She can feel the pressure rising, the hopes of her team resting on her shoulders.

Back on the track, the rain-soaked asphalt is proving to be a challenge. Drivers struggle to keep their cars on pace in the pooling water. Michaela proves to be in her element, expertly maneuvering through the chaos. The echoes of praise ring through the action as the commentators reference the "Sommer Rain", the nickname she has so fondly picked up in Formula 3 for her thrilling overtakes in the wet.

As laps tick by in a blur of tire changes, red flag restarts, and high-stakes overtakes, tension mounts. Michaela remains steely-eyed, channeling the laser focus that had propelled her this far.

Midway through the race, the red flag is waved after a multi-car pile-up, halting the frenzy. Michaela pulls into the pit lane, her hands trembling slightly on the wheel as adrenaline mixes with anxiety. The tension in the garage is palpable as her team gathers around her.

“It's now or never. I have a chance to finish on the podium, but everything can change in an instant. I can’t let the moment slip away.” Her tone is only aided by the urgency of the soundtrack as it mirrors the intensity of the race.

With fresh soft tires bolted on, she rejoins the fray as if being unleashed from her reins, carving her way through the pack with a renewed vigor. The cars of Daniel and Checo fight tooth and nail to keep her at bay, but their mistakes prove opportunities for the young Australian to lunge for their positions as if entranced in a dance of glory.

As the final laps approach, Alex's Red Bull is in an uneasy reach. One wrong move, and she'd be in the barriers.

"This is it, Michaela. One chance to make history," her engineer's words echo into the pink of her helmet. On his heels, she waits for her moment in hungry waiting.

The sun breaks through the clouds, creating a surreal glow. The reality of her position sent electric shocks of adrenaline through her body, eager for just one more position. The crowd's roar is deafening, a living, breathing entity urging her on. Just one more position.

“Michaela is making history today. She’s not just participating; she’s competing at the highest level.” This time it is Lewis who provides his resounding input. The certainty in both tone and expression serves as reminders of his support for the younger driver.

The final few laps loom, the tension thick enough to keep the rain clouds from returning to cause havoc on the Tuscan track. Michaela’s heart pounds as she battles wheel-to-wheel with Alex. Each turn is a high-stakes gamble, and with every flick of the steering wheel, she inches closer to her dream.

With sheer determination, she launches a daring move, slipping past her friend like a bolt of lightning. Caught off guard, Alex slams a frustrated hand onto his wheel, quick to swear as he watches the Australian bolt off onto the straight.

In another instant, the checkered flag waves Michaela crossing the coveted finish line, her heart pounding in her chest, disbelief mingling with euphoria. The home fans erupt into an unsettling hum of pure excitement. The history made before their eyes is not lost on their eager hearts, a frenzy of feet rushing to break through the barriers keeping them from the track.

As she pulls into the previously distant third-place slot, her team erupts in an explosion of joy, the air filled with cheers and hugs. Freeing herself from the confines of her signature red car, Michaela can hardly contain herself as she runs into the arms of her awaiting team. Tears rush down the curves of her brown face. Leaping over the barriers, Fred Vasseur envelops her in a tight embrace, tears glistening in his eyes, pride radiating from every pore.

“This is a historic moment for our team and women in motorsport. Michaela has shown that all of the sacrifice, it pays off.” Fred laughs gleefully, recalling the rush of emotions as they pumped joy into his lungs.

Michaela steps onto the podium, her heart racing as her name is called and her flag is flown over her head. The yellow, sewn laurels of her dad cap almost feel inexplicably heavy upon her head as the weight of her accomplishment lands upon her consciousness, soaring around her like a celebration of freedom. The trophy glistens in her hands, a tangible representation of her hard-won journey. The roar of the crowd envelops her, their cheers echoing like a powerful wave crashing against the shores of her dreams.

“Regardless of team loyalties," Susie laughs this time. Her white Mercedes polo stood out against the familiar gray of the confessional background.

"This podium isn’t just a personal victory; it’s a win for all women in motorsport—past, present, and future."

As the sun sets over Tuscany, casting long shadows across the circuit, the celebrations continue. Michaela stands amidst her team, her heart swelling with gratitude and disbelief. The sticky champagne doused over her head by Lewis and Valtteri embeds itself into her skin, a feeling she resolves to never forget.

The camera lingers on the beauty of Tuscany, capturing the triumph of one extraordinary driver, the spirit of the race lingering like the scent of wine grapes over the green landscape.

As the Tuscany Grand Prix of 2020 comes to a close in an electrifying spectacle, whispers of a potential contract with Ferrari for the 2021 season begin to permeate the paddock. The pressroom buzzes with excitement and speculation as Michaela Sommers' remarkable performance ignites discussions about her future in Formula 1.

Rumors swirl like uncertainty in the wind, carrying tales of secret meetings and clandestine negotiations between Michaela's management team and the more prestigious Italian racing team. Unable to remove herself from the swirl of rumors, Michaela enters the press room with a gentle air of cautiousness despite the rush of accomplishment still coursing through her.

Amidst the fervor, Michaela's every move and utterance becomes the subject of intense scrutiny, with journalists and fans alike hanging onto her every word, hoping to grasp insights into her plans.

Maintaining a poised and collected demeanor, Michaela deflects questions about her future plans with a diplomatic, easy grace. Her silence on the matter serves only to fuel the flames of anticipation, leaving fans and pundits alike on tenterhooks as they await an official announcement.

Will offers his expertise, leaning into the speculative tone of the episode.

"It's not completely out of the question that Michaela could be promoted to Ferrari." His brows raise as if eager to learn of the outcome of his narrative. "Especially with Sebastian Vettel's continued cold war with Binotto. A pairing between Leclerc and Sommers could be one of the most competitive pairings next season."

With a casual smile, the smell of champagne still lingering in the air, Michaela deflects the questions with a subtle shrug.

"I appreciate the interest, but my focus right now is on racing for Alfa Romeo. I'm fully committed to giving my best for this team, and any discussions about the future will have to wait until the right time."

Camera flashes glimmer across her smiling face, a direct opposition to her defiant tone.

"Right now, I'm excited to be here and I hope to continue working hard with the incredible team at Alfa Romeo."

She ends her statement with a soft, "Cheers," before lifting herself from her seat. The episode draws to a close as it fades to black, focusing on her retreating figure.

✼. taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@pacmacs-macs @thearchieves @doodlehunz

@lavisenri @evie-119 @bxdbxtxh

@seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn @99snse

@ginghampearlsnsweettea @alliwantisadonut @hiireadstuff

@emilyval1 @scarlettwidow3000 @anotherblackreader

@sv5beehives @mynameisangeloflife @tellybearryyyy

@melancholyy-hill @emmma323 @valluvsu

@futuristiccroissantlampsludge @treehouse-mouse @sunfairry

[vanellopes-mun]

Vanellope VS. Turbo: A Mini Analysis!

There are a million reasons why Turbo’s reveal in Disney’s Wreck-it Ralph is such an iconic and memorable scene. A scene that I and many others have replayed ever since 2012 and its impact has never left our minds. It solidified King Candy/Turbo as one of Disney's top villains ever created, surprising and shocking viewers with a plot twist that Disney hasn’t been able to overthrow with their other movies before they abandoned villains until King Magnifico but he sucks so. He WISHES he was as charismatic as King Candy plz-

But this analysis isn’t just about King Candy/Turbo, it’s also about Vanellope Von Schweetz. She’s the most important ingredient to making this scene work and play out the way it does and ultimately why it’s so fucking cathartic. ( More so than Ralph’s fight against Cy-Bug Turbo in my opinion) After watching how it was originally story boarded, the crew behind WiR perfected this scene with a specific detail that they changed. In the early storyboard, Vanellope causes King Candy’s vehicle to crash, causing him to glitch and transform into Turbo in front of the cameras. While I love love love the extended race between Vanellope and King Candy and sort of wished it could have been longer in the actual film, I am content that they didn’t go with the direction. In the movie, King Candy is revealed after trying to beat/kill Vanellope with his horn rod/pole thingy from his kart, she grabs it and glitches due to stress/adrenaline/her emotions, her blue glitch traveling through the cane and making contact with King Candy, finally putting down the facade he had on for 15 years and revealing him as Turbo to the characters in the film and the audience. It’s such a small detail, it only happens in a second, but it’s all it took for the start of his downfall and his eventual demise. 

And this is why it brings me catharsis every time I watch this scene. I could never put it into words before, but it’s beyond satisfying that the end of King Candy’s horrible reign starts with Vanellope and her glitch. The very same glitch that he caused trying to delete her code and remove her place from the game. The glitch that he used as an excuse to turn everyone in Sugar Rush against her. He usurped her throne and tried to ruin her life. Despite this, he still had the audacity to shout “Get off of MY track!” earlier. It brings his Roadblasters incident back up, it was his choice, trying to steal the thunder of another racing game that just got plugged in because he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone taking his place, only for Turbo Time and Roadblasters to be unplugged. All of this circling back and biting him in the ass. Vanellope was the key all along and he knew it, he feared her despite never really having a conversation with her as far as we know (Vanellope asking Turbo “What the-?! Who are you!?” leads me to believe that if they did converse in the past, it was not in his true form and he was most likely already King Candy. Plus it just goes to show how fast he hijacked Sugar Rush), but you can just tell by how desperate he was to keep her from racing, he didn’t want anyone to take his place ever again. 

So the scene continues and his famous line and breakdown goes as this: “I’m Turbo! The greatest racer ever! And I did not reprogram this world to let YOU and that halitosis riddled warthog TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!” It’s just so ironic, unfair and hypocritical of him it makes my blood boil! And the way he’s raising his voice, jabbing his finger at her and Vanellope’s trying to shrink away from him as he yells at her face before he tries to murder her I just- So cruel, scary, wicked and disturbing! But Vanellope, this brave WARRIOR, is reminded of her glitch after Turbo calls her for what he believes is the last time. “End of the line, Glitch!” She takes a moment, everything slows down around her as she tries to control her glitch to escape Turbo. She glitches away, missing the wall and It ends up saving her life! I just cannot stress enough how beautiful that is! She used her disability, that everyone thought would simply doom her and the game, and embraced it when she needed it most. Her glitch, while it was suddenly given to her by circumstances she couldn’t control or prevent, she took control back. It’s her beautiful superpower and it’s empowering. After this scene, it’s the “end” of Turbo before he gets nom’d by a Cy-Bug. ( I want to note that he later says “I’m the most powerful VIRUS in the arcade”, part of me wants to believe he said that because clearly Vanellope bested him as the greatest racer ever but I doubt that was their intention lol)

They’re the embodiment of Selfishness vs. Selflessness. While Vanellope had everything taken away from her, she didn’t follow the same path as him. Turbo had everything taken from him, but it was his fault and he only ever thought about himself, never about the destruction he left behind. Hell, all she ever wanted was to be one of the racers, no matter how much they bullied her and ostracized her, she never ended up being evil like him even though it would be a perfect recipe to become a villain, this is also what makes her a mirror to Ralph.  (Remember in that one deleted scene where she said she wanted to break the racers’ legs but come on can you blame her!?!?! She was so real for saying that.) VANELLOPE IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER EVER AAAA. 

Before I ramble any further, I will forever love the choices that the writers made for the climax and it just ends up being an absolutely perfect and brilliant scene and I will continue to rewatch for the millionth time. 

[nox140497]

The Depths of Love

Prompt: No

Request: No

Prompt Number: None

Summery: Afer filming a scary video where he could have gotten hurt. Sam realizes just what his girlfriend Y/N would do for him and how far she is willing to go for him.

Pairings: Sam Golbach x Female Reader

Masterlist

Prompt List

_______________________________

As I looked back at the footage we had captured, my heart pounded with fear and adrenaline. Colby and I had just risked our lives exploring an abandoned building, and the video we had filmed was sure to give our viewers a good scare. But as I watched the tense and dangerous moments on screen, a feeling of guilt washed over me.

I turned to Colby, who was grinning and high-fiving me for the amazing shots we had captured. But I couldn't shake the feeling that we had been reckless and foolish.

It wasn't until I returned home and saw my girlfriend Y/N waiting for me with a look of worry and relief on her face that I fully understood the gravity of our actions. She hugged me tightly and scolded me for putting myself in danger, but I could tell she was also relieved that we had made it back unharmed.

As I lay in bed that night, I couldn't stop thinking about Y/N. I realized that while I had been off having fun and chasing thrills with Colby, she had been worrying about my safety and waiting for me to return home.

The next day, I sat Y/N down and watched the exploration video with her. Her reaction was exactly what I had feared – she was terrified and angry that I had put myself in harm's way.

'I just don't understand why you would risk your life like that,' she said, tears welling up in her eyes. 'I love you, and I couldn't bear to lose you.'

I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. Y/N loved me so much, and yet, I had been so reckless with my life. I realized then that I needed to change and start considering the consequences of my actions.

From that day on, I made sure to always put safety first in all of our videos. Whenever I embarked on a dangerous adventure, I made sure to let Y/N know how much she meant to me and that I would do everything in my power to come back to her unharmed.

Y/N's love and devotion taught me a valuable lesson – that the love of a partner is worth more than any thrill or adrenaline rush. I was lucky to have someone who cared for me so deeply, and I promised myself never to take her for granted again.

I am grateful for that scary exploration video, not only because it gave our viewers a good scare, but also because it made me realize just how much Y/N would do for me and how far she was willing to go to protect me.

[becauseplot]

god that event was so cool, and us philza viewers got FED. phil spending the time beforehand building his arsenal. phil staying away from the crowds and checking in with fit and etoiles throughout the dinner. immediately clocking the fact that "chayanne" and "tallulah" weren't actually his kids. phil lurking in the back of the room, watching everyone get on stage for the photo, talking to forever about how skeptical he is, and just barely seeing his "kids" go code before being knocked out by the crash.

coming back to chaos. the goddamn stream music as he went toe to toe with the imposter code monsters. chat going fucking ballistic with "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD." cellbit telling everyone else to back off so phil can one-v-one the monster impersonating his son and take revenge. forgetting all of his preparations and just going full-on, old-school pvp sweat mode while being assisted by etoiles, the only guy on the server who wants the code dead just as much as he does. getting in the final hit and getting to see Chayanne was slain by [CODE BREAKER] in chat.

the real tallulah and chayanne showing up. his kids hugging him and hugging each other and asking him if he's alright and him admitting that he's a "little shaken up" but he's just glad they're okay. taking them home, putting them into bed, and collapsing back into his chair like everything that's happened has just come rushing back, a tidal wave of exhaustion as the adrenaline crash and relief come down on him.

like. holy fuck.

[kittydisk]

conditioning

this painting was meant to be cathartic so it’s a bit wonky. i am NOT a painter lmao

i’m usually not verbose with descriptions because i like my pieces being interpreted by the viewer, but i’ll share this particular tragedy.

this piece represents how trauma can condition someone into fearing something so essential and rudimentary to their existence, like light. when Victor worked at NASA, he was involved in a very unfortunate accident involving the spacecraft that *he* helped engineer. he witnessed the explosion live, and in a state of adrenaline-fueled denial, rushed to the scene. it was a manned mission, and neither occupant survived.

his mind became so heavily fixated on the light of the explosion and fire, to the point where he couldn’t even exist in a room with warm lighting. so no bulbs under 2700K, sunset/rises, candles, and any other source in that range. he was completely shut in his dark apartment for the first month, and couldn’t even use the gas stove.

over time, he gradually got better at managing the triggers with therapy and can now comfortably watch the sunset, but still showed an intense preference for cooler lighting in both his place of residence and at work.

[hobisstar]

What are you hiding from love?| Yandere!Jk x Reader III

Summary: Being in a relationship with Jungkook you’ve always noticed the signs, the red flags if you will. Being so in love with him you ignored them, until the people you loved dearly started disappearing one by one.

Warnings: Murder, Jungkook victim blaming ( like he will say i killed you because you are too stupid or whatever), Possessiveness, Mentions of Smut, Controlling, Locking up YN, Attempt Suicide.

Viewers Discretion is advised.

Taglist: vante 🫶🏾

A/N: This is made to be scary! That is all. I honestly dont like mixing smut with yandere because i read yandere fics to be spooked not horny lol. This chapter will contain attempt suicide.

2 months.

2 bloody months.

It’s been 2 months since yn found out about what jungkook does as a so called hobby.

He’s promised to let her roam around the house if need be and that he didn’t break.

The only thing was when he was at work or out of the house, he made sure she was in his office locked away from the eye.

Yn currently, was tired. Tired of being treated so nicely but so terribly at the the same time. He loves her but keeps her locked away. Why?

She swore she’d never tell a soul about anything that she has seen, as long as he lets her live peacefully, that is.

But, every day Jungkook left for work, Yn was thinking of different ways to get out. Being locked up the only way out was the window.

Residing on the 5th floor of the apartment building, the window was the only option. That was death awaiting her. Yn knew that.

But what else was left to live for? When your lover has had so many hidden lies, a life you never imagined. A life you assumed wasn’t even in his blood.

The signs were always there. But being so love yn ignored the flags.

Thinking maybe he just wants to make sure I am protected, maybe he wants to keep me safe.

This all was things she thought of plenty of times.

With a rush of adrenaline Yn went into thinking. Yes, the window is the only option, but she didn’t want to die. Maybe she could just break the window open and attempt to jump, maybe someone would see her and come help her right?

Without any other thinking she started punching at the window. Hurting yes, but the pain was washed away with the feeling of wanting to be free.

Yn continued to punch at the window seeing little cracks and not caring if her first and hands where covered in blood. She wanted out.

“One more hit..” she thought and with that one hit she heard the glass shatter and freedom was waiting for her.

Looking down she saw the ground and her heart dropped to her stomach. Would this really be the end? Al because of the being locked up? I mean he loves her, but it was suffocating.

Jungkook was smiling as he got out of his car with dinner and flowers. He stepped into the building and seen his neighbor standing at the front desk. He waved but she looked worried.

“Jungkook! Oh thank god your here! I think someone broke into your home! I headed glass shatter-“

Dashing to the elevator he aggressively pressed the button. “Fucking come on!” He yelled impatiently as if he didn’t just press the button 1 second ago.

He kicked the door and went for the emergency stairs. 5 cases of stairs? No problem. His heart was in his stomach but he swore he could hear it in his ears. She wouldn’t hurt herself to just get away from him would she? Of course not… or maybe Jungkook was wrong. What if someone broke in and oh god…

With that thought he finally reached the stairs and lucky for him there home was right next to the emergency exit. Jungkook quite literally kicked the door down and saw Bam barking at the office door.

“Baby! Baby are you in there?” He yelled through the door ,not hearing a response. Without thinking he kicked the door handle a few times and it fell to the ground.

Pushing the door open he entered the cold room and gasped.

Yn was sitting on the window frame backwards. Facing the door, well now him, Yn let a tear roll down her cheek. “Baby… whatever you are thinking about doing right now… we can talk it out, yeah? We don’t have to get hurt while doing this…” he calmly approaches her talking small but huge steps towards her.

The softness of his voice made her only want to lean back faster. “ we can’t talk, Jungkook. I’m done being in here…”, “ is that was this is about? Baby, I’ll stop locking you in here for good but please get down from the window…” at this point Jungkook was crying without even noticing he was crying.

“No! I want to be free I want to leave.” Yn stated and scooted back even more feeling the glass stab her in her hands and In the back of her thigh.

“Let me go…” she mumbled looking back at him and he froze.

“You-Your doing this… to leave me? Why aren’t I good to you?” He moved closer carefully, not wanting her to leave. “I don’t want to die! But if this is the only way to get away from you then I’m willing to take that risk…”

Without thinking Jungkook jumped and grabbed her pulling her off the window quickly which sent her into gasping feeling the glass that was in her thigh come out.

She didn’t fight she didn’t cry. What’s the point? Yn knew she wasn’t going to jump she loved her life but just didn’t like the part of this. She felt jungkook wrap her in his arms and he cried as loud as he ever cried.

It’s only begun, maybe she can use this as a way to get out of here? What if he went crazy and killed her himself? What if he actually pushed her out that window? So many thoughts ran through her head at the moment of being in his arms.

“Never say that again baby,” he looked at her tears dropping from his eyes to his cheeks, down to his shirt. “ I love you too much to loose you, why don’t you understand that?”

Maybe this was the end. Maybe this was just a sign to let her go in Jungkook eyes.

She was willing to kill herself then be with him…

He had a decision to make

[wanderingblindly]

nr 30 landoscar

Hellloooooooooo the kiss is small but trust that it's there! And comforting! here's the link for more prompts <33333

Soothsaying

He's just – you know how Lando is.

He slams the door behind him, the sound echoes through his driver room. He's nearly vibrating, shaking from the adrenaline and shaking from the frustration – sweat cold and tears hot. With a resounding knock, he rests against the door, head knocking back against it.

Thud.

Like his car spinning out on the track, smashing against the walls until it comes to a pitiful stop – tapping against the final barrier with just enough force to jerk Lando's head back.

Thud.

"Fuck," He hisses, pressing his palms into his eyes. His fingers are unsteady, they feel detached from him. Hot and cold, hot and cold, like he left al the parts of him that make sense back in his mangled car.

He's got the speed, but the mental strength. He's always his own worst critic

Lando takes a heavy step forward, staggering and uneven, before giving up; he makes a noise – some confused mix of a choked sob and a shout – and crumples to the floor, head between his knees.

He can't breathe. His lungs are spasming, tight like he's still careening towards the wall, tight like Will Buxton has his fucking hands deep in his chest and squeezes with each fucking word.

But you know Lando. Is he really world champion material?

Tears fall freely to the floor, Lando's unable to stop them. It's like he can't control his face, contorted up into some snotty, fevered, panicked mess, as he stares blankly at the short carpet between his feet.

Weakly, like a last attempt at feeling the world around him, Lando digs his nails into the floor; he tries to focus on the sensation, the scratchy-rough texture on his fingertips, bitten and picked raw since the season started. In the back of his mind – where he sits as a viewer, an occupant – he's aware of his uneven gasps, of his violent sniffing and coughing as he chokes on his own tears and spit.

It's not the look of a champion, a would-be champion. A couldn't-be champion, a never-be champion.

The door opens silently, closes with a gentle click.

Oscar doesn't say anything as he lowers himself next to Lando, sat patiently by his side, hands curled in his lap. But Lando can feel him, radiate solid warmth alongside the scratchy-rough carpet pressing into his legs. He feels like a lighthouse to a man drowning – stable upon the shore.

"I –" Lando hiccups towards the floor, any other words lost in the painful jerks of his diaphragm. "I-it's –"

"There's no rush." Oscar says simply, just like he always says simply. He leans slightly to the side, his shoulder resting against Lando's side; the pressure feels safe, restrictive like a harness as his ribs ache.

"B-bu –"

"Shhh," Oscar shifts further – adjusts until their sides are completely aligned, touching as much as possible without Lando unfurling. "Just breathe with me, ok?" He whispers, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to Lando's slumped shoulder.

After a shaky, desperate inhale: "Ok."

[wxnheart]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐡, '𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐅**𝐤' 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

note: dedicated to the lovely @bitchysouljellyfish. I absolutely enjoy our conversations and it's thanks to you that I came up with this idea. also, dear viewers, this is more a König x Ghost scenario but you'll be watching from the sidelines... because Simon says so.

POV: You're watching two of the finest men you know about to fuck like wild animals...

It's official. You hate Ghost. You hate Ghost with the force of a thousand fucking suns. Fuck him.

And fuck König, too, for cosigning this bullshit. Fuck both of them. You hope the glare you shot Simon got your point across.

Yeah, you hate them right now, but goddamn... they're fucking beautiful like this. And you can't do a damn thing about it.

It all started when Simon fucking snapped earlier. König got the best of him again and the bastard took it personally. Again. And in pure Ghost fashion, he shot the Austrian his signature glare and if you didn't know Simon well, you'd think he was trying to kill König ten times over with the way he was looking at him. But he wasn't. Not really. Not unless you count sex as murder.

Simon glared, body taut, and it was a mixture of frustration and pure unadulterated want. And poor König, looking startled, somewhat wary, and... oh—

Hard. They're both hard. Oh shit. When did that happen?

It was like a flash. They were staring each other down and next thing you know, Simon managed to tackle and pin König down on the floor. Oh shit. Bet y'all weren't expecting that.

Time to intervene—"Sit down." Huh? Say what now? "Simon—" "Sit. Down." You wanted to challenge him but... consequences, baby. And his voice sent shivers down your spine. So you sat. And you watched with rapt attention. And so was König, apparently. Huh. You thought he'd be more resistant to whatever was happening but he was just as interested in seeing this through as you were. Hell, you both wondered what the fuck Ghost was going to do next.

Well, you two didn't have to wonder long. Ghost practically ripped König's clothes off him he was so damn aroused. And oh, poor König, shocked and startled and hard and leaking... and, oh god. Fuck, Ghost...

His clothes came off just as quickly. And to hell with foreplay. Nah, it's all or nothing with this. No preparation, no fucking kisses, just the main course, a rush of adrenaline and pure and utter hate.

Goddamn, you remember the last time you and Simon hatefucked. Felt like you couldn't walk or see straight for the rest of the fucking day. Now it was König's turn. You squeezed your thighs together and bit your lip to suppress a moan of pleasure. Oh, you felt yourself getting hot. But Simon had you both fooled. No words. No indication. Just adrenaline and pure and utter hate. Shocking, wasn't it? The bastard just grabbed König's dick and made himself home on it. Slowly. Almost too fucking slow for your tastes. And König's. German curses under his breath, fingers twitching, and frustration emanating off of him in droves. And Simon's groan didn't make shit any better. ("F-Fucking hell...")

And what do you know? The motherfucker wouldn't even give König the satisfaction of touching him. Practically snarled the moment he tried to grab hold of his hips and pull him down even further. But fuck that noise. Simon didn't give a damn (well he did but that's not the point right now). Hope it felt so goddamn good he'd go insane. God, what was wrong with him? It hurt so damn much; his body was on fire but fuck if it didn't feel good, if his baby didn't feel good inside him. Fucking bastard.

It wasn't long (it felt like it though) before König was completely sheathed in Simon and it felt like you three were falling apart at the seams. Yeah, shit like this couldn't wait. Simon grabbed the taller man by his chin and made him look ("Look at me."), made him watch as—oh fuck, the way he moaned, the way he started to move, to make his taller lover fucking groan and come undone. And fuck you, König. He'd show you he could beat you where it counts. He'd show you who bested who in the end.

König couldn't complain, his breath was too busy being taken away, and hell, you weren't that far behind, watching the scene unfold before you, knowing that Simon would and could make this last as long or as short as he wanted to.

So yeah, fuck you Ghost, and fuck you, König for making this shit so. fucking. beautiful. Goddamn...

You opened your thighs. Your hand traveled lower and it wasn't long before your moans joined theirs.