#“get out of my sight” <- person sending an ask in my inbox

[the-grammar-ruiner]

I’ve come to make an announcement: Shadow the Hedgehog’s a bitch ass mother fucker. He pissed on my fucking wife. That’s right, he took his hedgehog fuckin' quilly dick out and he pissed on my fucking wife, and he said his dick was THIS BIG. And I said “that’s disgusting!” So I’m making a callout post on my twitter dot com: "Shadow the Hedgehog, you got a small dick, it’s the size of this walnut except WAY smaller." And guess what, here’s what my dong looks like: PFFFFFFFFGJT. That’s right baby. All point, no quills, no pillows, look at that it looks like two balls and a bong. He fucked my wife so guess what, I’m gonna FUCK THE EARTH. THATS RIGHT THIS IS WHAT YOU GET, MY SUPER LAZER PISS. Except I’m not gonna piss on the earth, I’m gonna go higher. I’m pissing on the MOOOOOON! How do you like that, OBAMA? I PISSED ON THE MOON, YOU IDIOT! You have twenty-three hours before the piss d r o p l e t s hit the fucking earth, now get out of my fucking sight before I piss on you too!

...

WHAT THE FUCK

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, mentions of an autistic meltdown, Lando being horrendously down-bad.

Notes — I love to ramble with ya’ll about my fics, so send me as many asks as you want!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2018

Amelia liked it when the pit garages were like this. Tools neatly racked, screens idle but ready, the scent of fresh tire rubber still hanging in the air — not yet burnt.

Fernando sat on a workbench, sipping his espresso.

She was perched on the same tire she always chose, butter-yellow water bottle in hand. There was enough ice inside to keep her drink cold all day, even under the Abu Dhabi sun. She wore a white cotton dress that would probably be stained with oil by the end of the day — she didn’t care.

"You are thinking too much," he said eventually, voice low, words shaped by the curl of his accent. "I can hear them.”

She turned the bottle slowly between her hands, listening to the ice crash against the insulated metal. “You can’t hear thinking.” She told him. 

"I can when it is this loud," he replied. She frowned, staring at one of the stickers on her water bottle. Either there was a language barrier — or Fernando was some kind of mind reader. “You are worried about the new boys, yes?”

She rounded her shoulders up to her ears in response. 

He shifted slightly, the sound of his espresso cup touching down on the metal bench. “You worry they will not like you. Or not understand you. That they will say stupid things.”

“I don’t care if they like me,” she said automatically, but her voice was too tight around the words. “I just… I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Because I don’t act the way they will expect, since I’m their boss’ daughter. Or because I don’t always know how to—”

He cut her off with a short sound — not quite interrupting, just catching the sentence before it turned into something more self-deprecating than necessary. “Mi niña,” he said. “You are not responsible for the comfort of two boys. Especially not ones who still trip over their own feet getting into the car.”

She didn’t smile, but the edges of her thoughts softened.

“They come into your garage. You were here first. You are a very helpful addition.” He paused. “And you are never unkind. This is more than most.”

She tightened her grip on her water bottle. “I make people uncomfortable sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed, and his honesty was nice. People always tried to lie to her in a silly attempt to make her feel more normal. “But only the ones who do not listen properly to what you say.” He picked up his espresso again, then added, “And if they do not listen, I will teach them.”

Amelia glanced toward the open garage, where footsteps passed in rapid beats and voices moved in bursts. It was the last race of the 2018 season. Lewis had already secured the Drivers’ Championship. She’d sent a big cake to his house with Well Done for Being Fast written on it. He’d posted a picture on his Instagram, which meant he’d appreciated the gesture.

She glanced at her phone and started chewing on her bottom lip.

Thinking about Lewis only reminded her of the email — unread, unacknowledged — sitting in her meticulously organised inbox.

Toto Wolff had taken it upon himself to email her. From his personal address, not his work one — no “Mercedes” anywhere in sight.

She’d taken one look at the subject line (Unconditional Job Offer / Employment Opportunity) and promptly launched her phone across the room. Miraculously, the screen had survived.

Lewis had warned her more than once that his team principal was interested in her talents. She’d assumed it was flattery. Apparently not.

If her dad ever found out about the email, he’d have a full-blown meltdown — the kind usually reserved for her. A rival team trying to poach his daughter wasn’t just a personal affront; it was a declaration of war.

“Amelia,” Fernando said. 

She didn’t look up right away. 

"Yes?” She asked. 

"Do not worry so much,” he said, tapping the side of his cup. "It ruins the coffee."

— 

The MTC was half-empty, lit with the flat grey light of a British winter morning. Most people were still on holiday. Lando wasn’t most people anymore. 

He tugged at the sleeves of his new team jacket as he walked the corridor past engineering, sneakers squeaking just slightly with each step. It still felt surreal; being here. Not as a junior, not as a maybe, but as a full-time McLaren Formula One driver.

He was so wrapped up in the thrill of it that he nearly walked right past her.

Amelia Brown was crouched beside a cart of sorted telemetry tablets, scanning each one like she was decoding a puzzle, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed unhappily. Her white trainers were smudged, her dark hair pulled back loosely, and her signature butter-yellow water bottle was sat beside her on the floor.

Lando stopped.

“Hey,” he said, a little too loud for how quiet the corridor was.

She looked up, blinked once, then gave a small nod. “Hello.”

Not cold. Not warm either. Just… Amelia. 

“I, uh… I set two alarms now,” he blurted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “So I’m never late anymore. Not even accidentally, you know?”

She turned her attention back to the tablets. “Okay.” She mumbled, hardly eligible. 

He waited. 

Right. That was it. 

Just okay.

“You know,” he tried to remind her, smiling because he wasn’t sure what else to do with his face, “because you said I lacked discipline and wouldn’t get the promotion if I kept being late.”

“I did say that,” she said, tapping on one of the screens and letting out an almost silent sigh when the screen remained black. “It was a problem.” 

Still nothing. No smile. No teasing. 

Lando cleared his throat. “Right. Well. It’s not a problem now.”

“Good,” she said.

A pause stretched between them. 

Lando rocked back on his heels. “Cool. Alright. I’ll just— I’ll see you around?”

Still, she didn’t look up. “Highly likely.”

He gave a quick nod and turned to go, cheeks warm.

He’d always thought of himself as pretty likeable. People laughed when he wanted them to. He was decent at reading a room — usually. But clearly, none of that meant anything to Amelia Brown. 

As he walked off, he glanced back without thinking. And, like an absolute idiot, he stumbled a little when he saw her absolutely beam at one of the tablets as it flickered to life, screen lighting up her face like something out of a bloody PC World advert.

Jesus Christ. She was fucking pretty.

Not in a flashy, look-at-me way. Just… quietly, properly pretty. The kind of pretty that made his stomach do something proper dodgy. He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Yeah. Sick. Nice one, mate. You’ve got no chance.”

— 

iMessage – Tuesday, 19:47

Lando mate she’s well fit 

Max F. bro 💀

Lando can’t stop staring at her she probably thinks im a right creep

Max F. yeah probably who are you even talking abt

Lando zak’s daughter

Max F.

are you actually brain dead?

you can’t fancy your boss’s daughter, mate

Lando she smiled today not at me but i saw it 

Max F. get a grip

Lando shut up you don’t get it

Max F. it’s a miracle you’ve still got a job 

Lando is this a safe space or what??

Max F. absolutely not you’re delusional, mate she’s so off-limits it’s not even funny

Lando 

🖕

— 

The Browns didn’t really do Christmas — not in the traditional sense. No matching pyjamas, no big family gathering, no chaos in the kitchen over a turkey no one actually wanted. They kept it simple: jazz music, good coffee, and her dad’s usual schtick — “I forgot to buy you anything this year.”

Which was a lie. Obviously.

She found it parked just outside on the driveway. A muted grey, weather-worn 1974 BMW 2002. 

Amelia stood and stared at it for a long time. Long enough that the cold bite of English winter started to seep in through her socks, and the tips of her fingers began to sting.

“Don’t just stand there,” her dad called from the doorway, hands tucked into his dressing gown pockets. “Take a proper look. She’s all yours.”

She took a slow step forward, then another. The car was old, but solid — just the way she liked things. A little rust, some scuffed chrome. It was beautiful. She crouched next to the front fender and ran her hand along the edge, careful, reverent.

“You hate shopping,” she said, still staring at it.

“I didn’t shop,” her dad replied. “I emailed a man named Clive and paid way too much to have him do all the work for me.”

There was a long silence.

She stood, glanced at him, tried — really tried — to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

He gave a small nod. “You’ll need new tires. And probably a carburettor.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of her sleeves, but this time it wasn’t nerves — it was barely-contained energy. Her thoughts were already whirring; parts lists, toolkits, diagrams, weekends in the garage with grease on her hands and her favourite playlist playing on repeat.

“I— I can order those online,” she said, already calculating delivery times in her head. “And the belts. And the spark plugs. And—” She stopped herself.

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled into his coffee mug that said ‘Worlds Best Dad’ and stepped back inside, leaving her alone with her new car and barely contained excitement.

Her hands started moving at her sides — flapping, stimming, too fast to stop once they began. She shoved them into her pockets, fists clenched tight against the fabric. Closed her eyes.

She took a breath. Let it out slowly.

Old habits died hard. Years at school had taught her to mask her reactions — even the harmless ones — because they made her stand out. Because they made her weird.

She hadn’t just been ignored. She’d been mocked. Not always loudly, but enough to stick. The way she flapped her hands. The way she didn’t make eye contact. The way she talked too much about one thing and not enough about everything else.

There was a reason she’d chosen not to go to university, even though she loved learning. Even though engineering made perfect sense to her in ways people often didn’t.

She could get a degree. She’d probably be good at it.

But it would drain her — the social minefields, the unspoken rules, the overwhelming noise of lecture halls and shared spaces and trying to be something she wasn’t just to fit in.

She’d spent so long trying to pass as normal. To not stim in public. To not talk too much. To not be too much.

Once, a girl in her class had said, in a tone that Amelia guessed was meant to be kind, “At least you’re pretty. You wouldn’t be able to tell that you’ve got, you know… issues.”

She still thought about that sometimes.

How it was supposed to be a compliment.

How it hadn’t felt like one at all.

— 

2019

The lights were off in her dad’s office. Just the soft hum of the monitor on standby, the gentle click of the old wall clock, and the warm, familiar scent of coffee baked into the furniture. She curled up on the old leather couch, knees tucked close to her chest, head resting against the arm. She had her weighted blanket on. Her yellow water bottle was beside her, half-full. The room felt like a safe haven. 

After yesterday, that was all she wanted.

The meltdown had come on fast — she’d been too hot, the lights too bright, someone had changed the layout of the front-desk without warning her, and it had all just spiralled. She hated how quickly she lost herself in the emotions. Hated the looks people gave her when she couldn’t hold it all together.

She’d apologised more than she should have. Her dad told her that she never needed to apologise for being who she was.

The office door opened.

She didn’t move, but her eyes flicked toward the sound. Her dad stepped in first, deep in conversation, and behind him were Carlos and Lando.

“I told you, she’s probably curled up somewhere charging like a phone,” her dad said lightly, then saw her. His voice softened. “Ah. There she is. Amelia — this is Lando. And this is Carlos.”

She blinked. Sat up a little. “I already know Lando.”

Lando almost tripped over his own feet. “Yeah! Yeah, we’ve, uh— run into each other a few times. Around. Just, like—hallways. And stuff.”

He scratched the back of his neck. His face went bright pink.

Amelia stared at him for a moment before she turned her attention to Carlos. “Hello.”

He gave her a small smile. “Hola,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a small pause.

Her dad cleared his throat, cheerful as ever.

“Carlos is one of the good ones,” he said. “No nonsense. I like that in a driver.”

Amelia nodded once. That made sense. She respected no-nonsense people, too.

She tucked her knees back under her chin. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Carlos smiled again, just a little wider this time. Still cautious, but less unsure.

Amelia didn’t return the smile — not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t always remember that she had to. Instead, she reached for her water bottle and unscrewed the lid. 

“You retired in Australia,” she said. 

Carlos blinked, then gave a small laugh. “Yeah. Not the best start to the season.”

“It was the power unit,” she shrugged. “Renault engine. Unreliable. It wasn’t your fault.”

Her dad gave a low chuckle. “She doesn’t miss much. Reads through race data like it’s the morning newspaper.”

Carlos tilted his head slightly. “You work with the engineers?” He asked her. 

“I don’t work anywhere,” Amelia said. “But I sometimes sit in on meetings. And I fix things when they’re wrong. Fernando used to let me be in his garage. He said I was very useful.”

“You are useful,” her dad said automatically, from across the room.

She didn’t respond. Compliments were difficult — they always made her feel like she was meant to do something with them, and she never quite knew what.

She looked at Lando. He was already watching her.

She blinked. His eyes widened a little.

She let out a quiet sigh through her nose. She hated not knowing what expressions meant — what came next, what was expected.

“Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” Carlos said, breaking the silence.

Amelia took another sip of water. The right words settled on her tongue this time.

“You overshot Turn Nine,” she said, turning back to Lando.

He coughed. “I—Yeah. I know.”

“You let off the brake too early. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

Carlos let out a small, choked sound.

She frowned at him. 

Lando shifted. “I don’t always do that.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “You did it at Monza in 2018.”

“Okay.” He said. His neck was going red. 

“But you’re getting better,” she added. “You were twelfth. That’s good, considering the partial engine fault.”

He looked at her for a second too long. She didn’t know why. Then he said, “…Thanks.”

She nodded once, and then tugged at her blanket. 

There was a quiet pause — the kind Amelia usually didn’t mind. Lando shuffled his feet. Carlos glanced toward the door, then back to her.

“Right then! I’ll come find you later,” her dad said to her. “We’ll get something nice for lunch.”

“Okay.” She agreed. 

Carlos gave her one last polite nod. “See you around, Amelia.”

She didn’t say goodbye, just looked at him, then at Lando. “You should eat more complex carbohydrates before qualifying sessions,” she told him. “You looked quite pale.”

Lando stared at her. “I—yeah. Alright.” He paused, then added quickly, “It was, uh, nice seeing you again.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together in a way that, for her, was close to a smile.

— 

iMessage – Thursday, 10:51

Lando i’m fucked like properly fucked

Max F. bro come on

Lando she’s unreal and actually insanely smart

Max F. mate this is such a catastrophically bad idea

Lando she remembered i locked up into turn 9 in monza like three years ago i think i’m in love

Max F. you’re not in love you’re having a breakdown

Lando can’t it be both

Max F. lando i’m staging an intervention where’s jon⁉️ does he know you’re acting like this

Lando jon just keeps saying i should be stretching more he doesn’t care about my emotional wellbeing

Max F. he’d start to care if he found out you were thirsting after zak browns daughter 

Lando gonna make her my wifey 😏

Max F. fucksake lando 

— 

Amelia stood behind the screens at the back of the McLaren pit garages, fingers looped through the sleeves of her jacket. She’d already organised the weekend’s tyre allocation list by compound, colour-coded the data feed to match, and adjusted the ride height figures twice. Not because she needed to — just because she could.

It was her first race of the year.

The first time back since before the winter break. 

The new chassis looked better in person than it had in the renders. She liked the way the papaya paint caught the light.

“Amelia,” someone said softly.

She turned her head slightly. One of the engineers — Greg? Grant? She still hadn’t learned his name. She was terrible at remembering names. 

“Telemetry’s live when you’re ready.” He told her. 

She nodded once and moved closer, careful to avoid the cables that trailed across the floor like snakes.

The numbers lit up on the screen in front of her. Speed. G-force. Delta times.

She exhaled, long and slow. 

“Morning.”

She looked up. Lando.

He was already in his race suit, helmet tucked under one arm, hair a mess and half-damp. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly after his shower.

“Hello,” she responded.

“You’re here,” he said, smiling. Then quickly added, “I mean — yeah, obviously. It’s only the third race. But still.”

She tilted her head. “Yes. I’m here.”

A pause. His mouth opened like he was going to say something else, then closed again.

“Okay, cool,” he said finally. “Sick. Um. Good luck out there.”

“I’m not driving,” she frowned at him.

“Right.” He turned and walked straight into a support beam.

Amelia blinked, then returned her attention to the screen.

Lando’s throttle trace was spiky again. She’d make a note of that.

— 

The garage was quieter now. Not silent though. It was never fully silent. Engineers were keeping their voices low. Tools clinked still, but in a less urgent rhythm. Some of the pit crew were already sweeping up debris from the floor. Wiping away a mess that no one wanted to talk about.

Amelia stayed where she always did, behind the screens, legs crossed on the floor like it helped anchor her in place. Her yellow water bottle sat by her knee, half-empty and warm now. She hadn’t drunk much since the race started.

DNFs always left a strange taste in the air. Bitter. Like metal.

She hadn’t seen the full replay yet, but she didn’t need to. Lando’s car had made it twenty-eight laps before something failed; she’d seen the warning signs creeping into the data before the radio call was made. His voice had been clipped. Tired.

The flap of the garage partition opening made her flinch. She didn’t look up. She didn’t need to.

It was obviously Lando. His helmet was gone, race suit peeled halfway down, sweat-damp fireproofs clinging to his arms. He stopped just beside her.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice cracked a little. “In case anyone’s, you know. Wondering.”

Amelia didn’t respond.

He hovered.

She tapped the edge of her tablet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Kind of was.” He dropped onto the floor beside her with a groan, back against the wall. “Clipped the kerb weird coming out of six. Probably jarred something.”

“No,” she said. “You were nursing a power unit issue from lap seventeen. You did what you were supposed to.”

He looked at her, then away again, picking at the velcro on his gloves.

She watched him for a second. Tried to decide if she was supposed to say something else. If there was something people usually said in moments like this.

Nothing came.

So she offered the only thing she could give. Facts. “You did better than the data predicted.”

Lando glanced at her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

She squinted at him. Hadn’t that been obvious? “Yes.”

He smiled a little. Just with the corner of his mouth. “Cheers.”

They sat there in silence for a while. A few people came over to touch Lando’s shoulder and offer him sympathy. His jaw got tighter every time. 

Eventually, she picked up her tablet and started rewatching his onboard. Then she angled it toward him. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly what I did wrong, aren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded.

He let his head thump back against the wall. “Brilliant.”

—

The motorhome had quieted after media duties and the two-hour race debrief. Lando sat slouched on the drivers' lounge sofa, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling. Carlos was across from him, arms folded, watching with a look Lando had come to recognise: the I know something you don’t want me to know look.

“I need to ask you something,” Carlos said, tone casual. But the accent gave it weight — Som-theeng.

Lando didn’t look up. “No.”

Carlos chuckled. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say, coño.”

“I do.” Lando groaned. “And the answer is still no.”

Carlos leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You like her.”

“What? No, I—” Lando paused, brow furrowed. “Like who?”

Carlos tilted his head. “Come on. Don’t play dumb, amigo. Amelia. You like Amelia Brown.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. We’ve barely talked.”

Even he could hear the lie in his own voice.

Carlos raised a silent eyebrow.

“I’m just being respectful!” Lando snapped. “She’s—she’s McLaren royalty, basically. And she knows more about my car than I do half the time.”

Carlos shrugged, eyes sharp. “Sí, she’s smart. And I like her. But...” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You need to be careful, cabrón.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. “Why? Do you like her? Is that what this is?” The words came out sharper than he intended, something hot and ugly twisting in his gut. Jealousy. Stupid, immediate, and impossible to hide.

Carlos blinked. “Ay, no. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Lando didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said he wasn’t convinced.

Carlos sat back, arms folding again. “She’s not a paddock flirt, okay? She’s not like the grid girls or the influencers who want a selfie and a race pass. She is your boss’ daughter. You screw that up, it’s not just her you lose — it’s your job, your reputation, and the respect of thr whole damn garage. If you haven’t already lost your seat.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “Why does everyone act like I’m some... idiot teenager with zero self-control?”

Carlos held his gaze. “Because you are a teenager with zero self-control.”

“I’m nineteen!” He argued. 

“Exactly.” Carlos exhaled through his nose. “So, listen to me. If you’re serious? Fine. But don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “I’m not a total dickhead, y’know.”

Carlos gave him a long look, then nodded. “Bueno. Just remember what I said.”

Lando muttered under his breath, “Still worth it.”

Carlos groaned, grabbing a cushion off the sofa and chucking it at him. “Ay dios mío. You are so getting yourself fired.”

— 

Amelia was sat on the low wall outside the McLaren hospitality unit, sipping from her water bottle, tablet balanced on her knees.

She heard him before she saw him — Lewis never really moved quietly. Valtteri was beside him. 

“Morning, little genius,” Lewis said, slowing to a stop.

She looked up, blinked once. “Good morning.”

Valtteri gave a small nod. “You’re looking well.”

“I’m fine,” she said, glancing back down at her tablet. 

There was a pause. 

She sighed softly before looking up at them both. “You can tell Toto thank you,” she said, tone even. “For the offer. I appreciate it, but I’m not interested.”

Lewis blinked. “Offer?”

“Yes. The job.” She paused. “I assumed he’d told you.”

Valtteri and Lewis exchanged a glance; surprised, a little caught off guard.

“He didn’t,” Valtteri said slowly.

Lewis folded his arms. “He reached out to you directly?”

She nodded. “From his personal email. Not the Mercedes one.” That felt important.

Lewis let out a low whistle. “Damn. That sneaky bastard.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Amelia went on. “And I’m staying with my team. With my dad. Loyalty is important to me.”

Valtteri raised his brows. Lewis looked at her for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. “Well, he’ll be disappointed,” he said, voice lighter now.

Amelia shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

“Guess we’ll just have to beat you on track then,” Valtteri added, grinning.

She frowned down at her tablet screen. “You have a significantly better car than us.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah. Guess we do.” 

— 

“Miss Brown, I’d like a word.”

She turned, blinked, and then frowned.

The team principal for Renault smiled at her, a little too wide — it was off-putting.

“I’ll just jump straight to it. I think you could be a great asset to our team. We’d love to have someone with your brain power. I could offer you a very generous employment package.” He said. 

She blinked at him. She’d been getting these exact kinds of propositions ever since the season started. Every team, it seemed, was suddenly interested in her ‘brain power’. She wasn’t sure what had changed. Maybe they had followed her on Twitter. 

“I am happy where I am,” she said flatly. “Thank you.” 

The man was still smiling, though it was starting to fade just a little. “Are you sure? We’d be willing to work out a very appealing arrangement for you. It could be a great opportunity.”

She wasn’t interested. She didn’t need to be polite. It didn’t take a lot of effort to walk away from the conversation. She took a step back, her fingers clenching around her yellow water bottle.

As she moved past him, she heard him call after her, but she didn’t stop.

Gosh, she thought to herself, as she made her way back to McLaren motorhome. Could none of them find anyone better than a 19-year-old without a degree?

NEXT CHAPTER

[marks-bby]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘

⸝⸝⸝ ࿔ how the bats ( bruce and jason ) leave you ᵎᵎ

⸝⸝⸝ ࿔ disclaimer !! these are not accurate depictions of the characters. please do not let this influence your view on the selected characters written and/or mentioned.

BRUCE WAYNE ᵎᵎ

the newspaper rolled up at your feet gifted you a present you feared. the picture of bruce and selina walking out of a fancy restaurant made your swell up. but what was worse was the headline.

'POTENTIAL MRS. WAYNE ?!'

you drop the paper, gasping.

a tear slips through your water line, rolling down the apple of your cheek. the memories of bruce and you sharing intimate moments rolls in your mind as your body stands still in shock. the possibility that he could've been with her the day before and after baffles you. the sweet promises he whispered in your ears were now recycled and given to her.

that's why he kept you a secret...he didn't want any controversies.

maybe it was your fault. maybe you were at fault for thinking that bruce wayne, the prince of gotham would actually stoop to your level of notoriety and become a 'normal person'. someone of his stature shouldn't be caught dead with you, you told yourself.

for the next few days, you brainstormed your next move. you also took into consideration how you'd be in the aftermath. you'd be lying to yourself if you said bruce wasn't your love. you poured yourself into him. the detachment process would be a battle.

move from gotham? no, you're not that much of a loser to run away from your problems. but could you bare seeing his face everywhere after this? what if you got word that she was pregnant? or the extravagant wedding he hosted just for her. seeing her dolled up like a princess on the day you dreamed of with him.

you made your plan.

bruce was out doing his duties at Wayne Enterprises and wasn't expected to return back to the Manor for a few hours. you could buy plenty of time.

JASON TODD ᵎᵎ

"do you not understand how your words contradict the shit you do?" you argue, trying to get him to look at you. every time you moved into his line of sight, he turned away; like he was ashamed to see you.

his anger from being revived grew and grew. it was taking a toll on your relationship. the benign robin you knew from your teenage years was gone. his face was always contorted into a scowl at any given moment. he was never happy.

his eyes screwed shut as he heard the same words he heard every single time. yes, he did feel pain every time you cried due to his lack of compassion and his absence of love. but could he change? he didn’t know. nor did he try.

“you keep stay after it happens again and again. just fucking leave. you keep wasting your breath on the thing you don’t like knowing i won’t change. i’m not changing so you can experience your little fantasy you want with me.”

his blunt words make the crease in your brows relax. your jaws goes slack in…shock? pain? realization?

you didn’t know. but his words made your cheeks burn and your eyes gloss.

“it’s your fault that you keep staying. i don’t have to change.” he sneers, finally turning to you. for the first time since this conversation started again, his first look at you is in anger.

“that’s it?” you manage to choke out.

“that’s it.”

happy thanksgiving, y’all! my inbox is open for requests and i’m on a dc high rn ( especially for adrian chase! ) and if you want a follow up or add characters, ask! so send em ! request forum.

[heyimkana]

Sweet Neighbor Yuuta

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu x Female Reader

Word Count: 5K (I feel like I should apologize but if you’ve seen my other works, this is considered super short I’m being fr rn)

Summary: Yuuta is your new neighbor, and everyone loves him because of his sweet and kind personality. He has a crush on you, but you’re a married woman, so you can’t reciprocate his feelings the same way. But when your husband starts cheating on you, you can’t help but turn to him for comfort.

Content Warnings: alcohol, swearing, adultery/cheating, age gap (Yuuta is in his early twenties, reader is almost in her thirties), unprotected sex, also Yuuta going down the yandere route at the end I'm not playing so if it's not your cup of tea don't read

A/N: wrote this in one sitting after aleks @yuutito said something about yuuta and older woman that rewired my brain (how dare she went to sleep after casually telling me this like I wasn't going to just just sit there thinking about *redacted*-ing this ver of him in 124352 different positions). i was supposed to be watching my kids playing in my backyard but i wrote this instead. pls don't call child support. this is also supposed to be a drabble 🤡 🔫 i was going to send it to her on discord but a few people were asking if i was dead (girl, only on the inside lol) cause i haven't posted in a while so hi everyone guess who came back from the war (i'll go through my inbox asap i promise ily)

P.S: don't use your brain when you read this cause i certainly didn't use mine when i wrote this only my dick

Yuuta Okkotsu is your new neighbor. 

He lives across the street, and you’re not close to him, not yet. He’s younger than you, much younger than you—a fresh graduate from a reputable university who’s lucky enough to be able to work from home. He doesn’t go out much, but he’s friendly, always leaving good impressions around the neighborhood. Everyone knows Yuuta. Everyone loves Yuuta. 

The first time you asked about him, purely out of curiosity, was when you greeted your neighbor next door, an older woman living alone ever since her late husband passed. She just got home from, what you assumed, another trip to the clinic. You saw him stepping down from her porch after making sure she was okay and bidding her with a polite bow. You traded smiles with him, but he didn’t stop for a conversation. You just saw his face turn scarlet at the sight of you, and he dropped a quick “Hello” before he bolted.

“Who was that?” you asked.

“Oh, he’s our sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

“Sweet neighbor Yuuta,” you laughed a little. “He just moved here like three days ago, and everyone calls him that.”

“Because it’s true!”

“Uh-huh, and what did he do that was so sweet to you?”

“He’s helped me with my chores—washing the dishes, bathing my cat, mowing my backyard. He saw me having trouble crossing the street yesterday, so he offered to take me to the clinic today. Such a sweet boy, that man. Very handsome, too.”

That last part you could agree with. Instantly. 

You see Yuuta occasionally, always by coincidence, like maybe in the morning when you leave the house to put out your trash or grab a newspaper. He always seems like he’s eager to strike up a conversation but gives up before he can, simply because his heart can’t take it. You know he has a crush on you; it’s clear as day. He’s young, and he’s in love. It’s cute. But you’re married and committed, so that’s that. 

You meet him more frequently when he starts going to the same local supermarket. You bumped into him in one of the aisles, with him approaching you first because he saw you struggling to get that ketchup bottle on the top shelf. He’s so polite, and he’s, indeed, very sweet, especially to the elderly, always taking his time to humor them when nobody else seems to pay them any attention. He grabbed the bottle for you, and you ended up chatting with him while waiting in line. He offered to help carry your groceries, and you were thankful because you weren’t sure you could bring everything alone. He walked you to your car, bade you good night, and told you to take care. 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta. 

Things haven’t been going well with your husband. It’s fight after fight after fight.  At first, your relationship became so strained because you couldn’t conceive even after two years of marriage. The truth is, you don’t want to have a baby, not too soon, not when you still want to focus on living your life, but he wants it terribly, and if you want your marriage to work out, there’s no other choice but to try. You’re somehow glad that the universe seemed to work in your favor, at least for now.

You’re unsure if it’s your fault or his—you don’t have the money or time to get yourself tested. Nevertheless, he kept trying, turning your sex life into a string of dull experiments, one after another. It didn’t come as a surprise that after a while, he gave up. What did come as a surprise was when he started cheating. 

You have reasons to back your assumptions from all the evidence you’ve found along the way. The lipstick stain on his shirt, the hint of female perfume in his car, the way he never left his phone out of reach, terrified of you looking into it. It’s enough. 

It’s Friday night. Your husband won’t be home until late. Still got a bunch of stuff to do at work, he said, which is another way of saying, I got my secretary sucking my dick since you barely even bother anymore. Which is true.

You’re tired of him. You’re tired of having sex with him where he only cares about him cumming inside you and nothing more. You’re so tired of fighting. And now that he's cheating on you, you grow too tired to care. About him. About your marriage. About everything.

So, you head down to a bar one night just to distract yourself. And there he is again. Yuuta. Sitting by himself, watching a football game on the big screen with a beer bottle in hand. He looks rather… lonely, a new face that makes your heart twitch a bit. His solemn look makes him more gorgeous in a way, more mature, more mysterious, and girls love that, don’t they? A slightly dangerous aura to a very sweet face, unapproachable yet inviting.

But that doesn’t last too long because the moment he sees you, his face brightens entirely. He smiles, standing up from his seat to greet you, and you meet him halfway. You end up chatting all night. He’s a fantastic listener, and he’s so kind and thoughtful with each word, comforting you the way you need the most. It’s embarrassing that you nag about your husband like this, but he seems genuinely interested in helping you convey your emotions, and you just can’t stop. It feels so liberating.

Yuuta buys you your favorite drink but also reminds you not to get too much alcohol in your system. You begin to trust him, knowing for certain he won’t take any advantage of you. He walks you home right after. It’s true that he lives right across your house, but he makes sure you get inside safely. He leaves only after he sees you close and lock the door behind you. You spy on him from the window, wanting to see what he does after you’re gone. You see him rubbing a hand over his face, flushed from ears to neck, looking extremely happy that he got to spend time with you. 

He’s so cute, you think to yourself. Like a high school lovesick boy, kind of cute.

Yuuta then notices your husband’s missing car, meaning that you’re alone in the house. He looks sad on your behalf, which is so kind of him to think about your feelings that much. Then he turns upset, as if he was thinking, how dare he stay out so late, leaving her without protection like this. Looking visibly worried, he then texts you, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? My door is open for you anytime.” You smile and promptly reply to him with, “That’s so kind of you, thank you.” 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

These friendly sorts of private meetings between you and him go on for a while. Your husband often arrives late, usually drunk out of his mind or too tired to stay for a chat, and he heads straight to bed without even giving you a goodnight kiss. It hurts, but it’s fine. The more your husband breaks your heart, the harder Yuuta will try to mend it and make it whole again. And he did. Every night, when you’re lucky enough to see him, you’ll feel like a heavy weight is lifted from your chest. You feel… happy, even in this terrible situation, and it’s all because of him. 

You usually hang out with him at the bar, but sometimes you don’t feel like going for a ten-minute drive, and you choose to just cross the road and knock your fist against his door. No matter what hour you visit, day or night, for a morning latte or evening tea, he always greets you with the prettiest smile.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

Weeks passed by, and now you spend most of your free time chatting with him, sitting on the couch in his living room, and talking about yourself more than you ever did with your husband. He likes listening to you talk about yourself, and he tells you that you shine so brightly when you talk about the things you’re passionate about. He always stammers out his praises, looking like he’s seconds away from combusting into flames just from calling you beautiful or something. He’s so young, so inexperienced yet passionate when it comes to love and romance, and it shows.

You ask questions about himself, too, and you can understand why it’s addicting for him to watch you speak, because the second he does that, he’s breathtaking. 

You find out that he likes the things you like, he’s watched the movies you’ve seen, and he’s read your favorite books. It’s not just a coincidence, is it? Maybe you’re a match made in heaven. But even so, nothing happens. He’s too respectful, and he makes you respect yourself. You’re married, and he’s a close friend of yours. That’s it.

He’s just your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

One morning, you find a bouquet sitting on your porch. Oh, right, today’s our anniversary. Your husband has this habit of sending you your favorite flowers on your anniversary. He does this every year, which is nice of him, but you really didn’t think he’d send you one this year, seeing how he barely exchanged more than three sentences with you. So now that you receive his flowers, you’re beginning to think, oh, maybe he’s trying to fix things between us. You’re not sure if you want that, though, not anymore. Most of your heart already belongs to someone else, which is terrible since you’re married, but you can’t help it. 

You pick up the flowers anyway; too pretty to be thrown away. You open the card attached to it. I will love you forever, it says, written in his handwriting. The way he wrote the letter f is a little different. Looks like he wrote in a rush, you presume. Either that, or he just didn't care enough. And it’s whatever; you didn’t expect much anyway. You appreciate the thought until your eyes land on the name he wrote.

That’s not my fucking name.

He must have sent flowers to his secretary at the same time and had his card switched. That fucking cheater.

You thought you didn’t care about him anymore, but God, now you’re livid.

Yuuta shows up at the perfect place and at the perfect time. He invites you over to have dinner together at his place. “J-just, you know, as friends,” he says, unconsciously giving you the confirmation that he does not think of you as a friend. Not at all.

So you come over in a beautiful red dress later that evening, and he stares at you, completely in awe, for a good three seconds. “You, umm—” He blushes madly, his head so full of steam he could barely think. “You look like… like a goddess.”

“Thank you,” you simper. That was so corny for him to say, but he meant every word, which makes it endearing. “You look amazing, too.” And he is. God, he looks so handsome in his black buttoned-down shirt, and his parted hair, and his sweet, sweet smile.

I want to fuck the shit out of him.

It’s the monster inside you who speaks it. The part of you that’s been neglected for so long, that’s never been touched in the way you wanted to. And it’s screaming, begging for Yuuta to love you.

But no. We’re friends. We’re just friends, aren’t we, Yuuta?

Yuuta cooks, too, apparently. Every dish looks fucking delicious, and everything else is perfect. The table setting decorated with your favorite flowers. The scented candles with your favorite fragrance set up romantically on top of the cozy fireplace. The soft music playing in the background, a piano instrumental of your favorite song. It’s like a date. A celebration. Like something you should’ve had with your husband today.

“You did all of this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?”

You gesture to your surroundings. “We’ve read the same books and watched the same movies. Okay, fine, maybe we have the same taste. But this song, those flowers, everything you’ve set up in this room, you did all of these for me, didn’t you?”

He pauses before he tucks his chin, avoiding your gaze. “I just… wanted to make you happy,” he confesses bashfully. “Is it… Is it too much? Do you not like it?”

“Yuuta, of course, I love it.” You stroke his arm, washing his worry away. “I just… I’ve never had someone care about me this much before…”

He melts under your touch, and there’s so much he wants to say, but his lips form nothing but a sad smile. He caresses your face with tender hand, his fingertips quivering slightly when they land on your cheek. His heart must be beating like crazy right now, you smile to yourself, leaning further into his touch to soothe him.

“I would do this every day for you if you let me,” he whispers, promise behind each word. “I would make you happy, so happy you’d forget what sadness feels like. What loneliness feels like.”

That stirs something inside your chest. “And what do you want in return for that?” You slide up a hand, testing his limit.

He stops your hand by covering it with his own. For a second, just for a brief second, he emits a different feeling. There’s intensity behind his gaze that burns you as if he wanted you all to himself. And that’s understandable. No man, especially one who’s so desperately in love like him, would want to share his woman with someone else, but he knows the situation they’re in, doesn’t he? It’s just not possible for you to be together, not now, not completely. Maybe that’s why he switches back in a blink, smiling until his eyes crinkle adorably. “Nothing,” he answers. “As long as we can be friends like this, it’s more than enough for me.”

He’s a terrible liar, you think, slightly amused. It’s cute how he tries so hard to conceal his feelings and you still can read him like an open book.

The food tastes as amazing as it looks, even down to the last bite. You don’t talk about the bouquet, afraid that you’ll ruin the mood, but Yuuta is always so attentive when it comes to you. He asks you what happened, and he hugs you the second he sees tears brimming in your eyes. You’re not sad. You’re fucking angry. And thank God Yuuta is there to let you vent your frustrations. You go as far as telling him almost every little shitty thing your husband did to you behind your back, as well as the slutty secretary that’s been sleeping with him for money. It feels relieving to finally say their names out loud, with so much hatred, so much rage, and to have Yuuta respond with, “No matter how pretty she is, she’s nothing compared to you. Your husband doesn’t deserve you. If I were him, I would’ve—” he stops himself, just in time, flustered and mortified under your gaze.

You’re older. You’re older than him by eight, no, nine years even. You know what’s going to happen if you encourage him to say the words he’s been dying to say. You know what it’s going to do to your relationship. But fuck that. If there were one man in this world who knew how to treat you like you deserve…

It’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

So, by the time the two of you move to the couch with some wine in your system, you lean forward, letting your fingers trace the protruding vein on the back of his hand. His eyes widen at the way your dress does very little to hide your cleavage, but he averts his gaze right away, being the gentleman that he is. But tonight, you want him to be the opposite of that. You don’t want him to be sweet; you want him to let his desire win. There’s a monster hiding inside him, something much more terrible than your own. You sometimes caught its glimpse when he thought you weren’t looking his way. The amount of obsession that fogged his eyes, his fixation over you, turning his sapphire blue eyes so dark, so deep, so intense, like he wanted to have you locked up in his room, tied up and used and thoroughly fucked until you found no strength to stand and no will to escape. It should’ve been a scary thought, but it wasn’t. It was… exciting.

“I want to hear it, Yuu…” Seduction lays thickly in your voice as you lay a gentle hand on his cheek, guiding his eyes back to you. You stare up at him from underneath your lashes with this look in your eyes that makes his breath hitch in his throat. “If you were my husband…” You wet your lip, your tongue a sinful dance to his eyes. “What would you do to make me feel…” You purposely drop your gaze to his lips, letting him catch your message. “…loved?”

You watch him gulp, goosebumps breaking on his skin. You watch his eyes fall to see the way you rub your thumb over the bumps on his knuckles. You watch them turn half-lidded as they linger a second too long on your lips. And you watch him break all control he has over himself, and you let him devour you the way you’ve been wanting him to.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

And he tastes even sweeter with your cum on his tongue.

It’s happening too fast, yet it feels like it’s not going fast enough. He starts by holding you by the face, slotting his lips against yours, passionate and gentle at the same time. He pulls away for a moment to see your reaction, and when you kiss him back, he lets out this sinful moan that causes your stomach to churn.

He’s so fucking sexy. Even without trying, he is. 

In the next second, he’s eating you out on the couch, spreading your legs, and kneeling on the floor with his head trapped between your thighs, wanting to get as much of you as you can give him. When his tongue circles your clit, and he’s moaning against your heat, it feels so good you almost run away, not used to experiencing this much pleasure. It’s scary how easily he plays with your body. How fast he can tell which part of yours likes to be licked, which ones want to be sucked, and which ones want to be fucked. He moves agonizingly slow, but each touch feels so right that you find no reason to complain. He’s sure to take his time with you, to make you feel loved in the way a wife should be when her husband makes love to her.

He takes hold of your thighs, holding you tight, but you want it even tighter to the point of leaving bruises all over your skin so you can show them to your husband later. His gaze is intense, constantly keeping his eyes on you. Your expression turns him on, making him ache so bad within the constraints of his pants that his eyes turn watery, desperate for release. He’s too ashamed to ask you to touch him, and maybe he doesn’t want to be touched, not yet, he just wants to focus on pleasuring you for now. So he keeps sucking your clit into his mouth, and he slides one hand into his own jeans to grip his cock tightly. He fucks his fist as fast as he fucks your hole with his tongue, groaning, whining, whimpering against your cunt. He’s pathetic. You love it.

You push him down to the carpeted floor after you drench his mouth and chin with your juice, and you push his fingers, coated with his own cum, into your mouth. He curses once at the sight, and it’s so sexy when he does it. After all this time hearing him talk so softly, so innocently, hearing a low, “Fuck, you're making me lose my mind,” tumbling off his lips is such a fucking turn-on. 

You tear yourself away from your dress before you rip open the buttons of his shirt, not caring if the two of you are in the middle of his living room, visible for anyone to see if they dare take a peek through the window. You wish the light in the room were brighter. It would’ve been a lovely show for your husband if he came home to see you riding another man’s cock, using Yuuta to your own satisfaction, and watching him make you cum the way he couldn’t. 

Yuuta, oblivious to your thoughts, is gasping out your name, one arm hiding his beet-red face while his other one is gripping your thigh. “W-wait,” he flinches, his breathing tattered. “You’re going—too fast—”

You know you are, but it’s so good that you can’t stop. His cock rubs your walls so deliciously as if it was made solely for this purpose. You cum so fast, so hard, and he follows almost right away, unable to hold it even longer when he sees you looking like that when you cummed. 

Your body is still trembling when he suddenly lifts you off his cock and guides you to his face. “Ride me again,” he says, begging. “Please, Angel, I want to taste you again.” And you do, sitting on his face and letting him lick, suck, and lap at everything that seeps out of you.

He’s staring at your swollen clit, licking his lips and seemingly dazed as he rubs his thumb softly over it. “I’m sorry I came inside you,” he says, genuinely feeling guilty about it despite you giving him permission to.

You shiver, still feeling so sensitive for receiving so much stimulation at once. “It’s okay. I can’t get pregnant anyway,” you laugh it off. “I haven’t gotten myself checked yet, but we’ve been trying for two years, and nothing has happened yet, so…”

His gaze darkens. “I see,” is the only thing he utters before he scoops you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. You’re surprised; you really thought that was it. Both of you came twice already in, like, fifteen minutes. That’s enough, isn’t it? But he’s still young, and he has a lot of energy that leaves him insatiable. If you let him, he’ll have you for the entire night.

It’s not a bad thing, not at all.

So you kneel in front of him on the bed, bite the corner of your lip to drive him even more insane, and stroke him slowly with your hand. “You still want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, the muscles in his abdomens tautening. “Yes, Ma’am, please…”

Ma’am? You almost laugh. How does he keep getting cuter and cuter?

“Okay.” You reward him with a little kiss on the head of his cock, robbing a soft whimper out of his mouth. Lying down on the bed, you spread your legs, sliding two fingers down your body to do the same to your cunt. “Come here and love me again, Yuu.”

He obliges in a split second. Yuuta has so much love to give, and he lets his mouth, his tongue, and his cock paint a perfect picture on your body.

Everything feels like heaven until he suddenly stops in the middle of thrusting his hips, earning himself an impatient whine. His blue eyes have lost their warm, pretty light. They’re as dark as the night, but lust and greed are the perfect colors for him. He sits on his knees, resting your ankles on his shoulders, breathing heavily. 

“Yuuta?”

He’s not listening, too captivated by the way his tip slides in and out so easily. You’re so fucking wet for him; it’s embarrassing, but Yuuta would take a picture of you like this in a heartbeat, with your wedding ring still wrapped around your finger and his cock sheathed deep inside you, should you allow him to.

He splays his hand over your stomach, giving a little pressure to your womb. You squirm, suddenly feeling like you no longer have control over anything, over him, not like the way you did before. It’s frightening and thrilling at the same time. “Yuuta, what are you—” Your jaw turns slack at the sensation when he thrusts inside, just once, just to see how far it goes within your walls. He’s so hard and thick and throbbing that you could practically feel him poking from inside of your stomach. And perhaps he’s thinking the same thing, his eyes glistening when he feels a bulge forming under his palm. He swallows. He looks… hungry.

“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” he says, running a tongue across his lower lip, his eyes still fixated on the way you’re taking him so well, all stretched out and tight around him. “You know what I think?” He pulls himself out completely, shivers in his breath. “I think you’re wrong.” He slams his hips forward so abruptly, and with so much force, you have one hand shooting past your head to keep a safe distance away from the headboard. 

“Yuuta—” You gasp out, struggling to match his rhythm. “Wait—”

He only smiles a little, chuckles a little. He’s so far gone. He leans forward until you’re pressed chest to chest, folding you in half before he laces his fingers together with yours. “I think you can get pregnant.” He moves closer to your ear, whispering with his lips caressing your lobe, “And I’m going to show you how.”

He fucks the breaths out of you, swallowing each cry with his mouth, embracing you so tightly you can feel his heart beating against yours. “I’m sorry,” he pants, “It hurts, doesn’t it? I—” He’s interrupted with a low groan, feeling you clenching around him.“—really am sorry—” He smashes his lips against yours, smothering you with his kisses, too. “I know I’m being too rough, but I can't—”  He has one hand gripping the top of his headboard, giving him more support to drive his hips even deeper. “I can’t—stop—” He fucks you again, and again, harder each time until you find yourself unable to make sounds. “You’re so good... You feel so good around me... My angel…” You’re being folded, handled, trapped, and he fucks you until you’re drained, until you’re filled, until he’s spent. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Just a little bit more..." He kisses your forehead and your cheek to soothe you down, cradling your head as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His hips start to move erratically. “Don’t ever leave me… I will love you forever, so—ah, God—” He chokes out a sob when he feels you spasming around him again, reeling in another wave of orgasm that hit you so intensely, you see white.

It takes him a little over an hour until he finally lets you go. For now, at least.

But once he gives you a chance to breathe, he cleans you up so gently, dabbing a warm towel over your skin, peppering kisses as soft as butterfly wings down your back, your thighs, your chest, before ending his journey at your stomach. He rubs the supple flesh of your belly and smiles, completely satisfied after giving you his everything. And it scares you a little bit because… You might really end up getting pregnant this time.

“I have to go before he comes home,” you say, feeling your body ache terribly when you try to raise yourself off the bed. They’re not shown vividly yet, but there will be bruises in the morning in places you’re not sure you can cover. 

Yuuta hugs you from the side when you barely have one foot on the floor, whispering against the bare skin of your hip, “I’m not letting you go.”

It makes you happy. You feel so wanted, so loved, even after all the affection he gave you all night. The truth is, you don’t want to leave. Ever. To walk into your own home after experiencing what heaven feels like… It would be torturous.

“I wish I could stay with you, too.”

“You do?” He looks up with big, round eyes, hope residing in each one of them. “Would you stay with me forever?”

“If I could,” you reply and it’s true. God, if only you could stay forever with him, let him love you this way, forever. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?

“That makes me happy…” He takes both of your hands, kissing you on each wrist before he does the same to your palms. “That makes me so happy…” 

It tickles, so you laugh a little. He makes the same sweet sound, the sound of a boy in love. 

“I really need to go, though…” You whisper, hypnotized when he starts pushing your digit past his lips. It’s warm and wet inside his mouth, waking up the butterflies in your stomach. He keeps his eyes on you, looking so sensual as he sucks around your finger, enveloping it from base to tip. “Yuuta…”

“I understand.” He pulls away, ending it with a kiss. He seems disheartened, his smile doesn't shine as bright anymore and it hurts you. "I guess you left me with no choice."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He returns your embrace, just one more time before you have to let him go. “Can you turn around for me, please? I want to give you something,” he softly smiles. “A present. It will be quick, I promise.” 

You do as he says, excited at the thought of it. What will he give you? Knowing him and how he went through so much effort to prepare a dinner for two friends, you just know it would be something incredibly romantic. Yuuta kisses your nape, open-mouthed and lingering. You nibble on your lip to suppress your moan as he trails his lips from between your shoulder blades down to your spine. 

“Yuuta,” you sigh, squeezing your thighs together. You’re aching for him again, and it’s dangerous. Your husband can come anytime soon. “I know what you want, and really, I wish I could stay,” you say from the bottom of your heart, looking over your shoulder to see him, and you’re immediately answered by a kiss. He presses his chest to your spine, one hand cupping half of your neck and your jaw to keep you in place so he can deepen the kiss. His mouth moves with fervor, filling you up with desire, and if it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s car moving into your driveway, you would’ve let him take you there for another hour or two.

“I need to leave. Now.” You break away to gather your clothes quickly. Except you can’t.

You can’t move your hands.

Robbed out of your balance, you fall face-first to the floor. Your breath catches, your heart plummeting to your stomach when you realize you have your hands tied behind your back. You feel something rough grazing against your skin. There’s a rope ensnaring your wrists together, and it’s digging painfully into your flesh every time you struggle to break free. 

Panic rises quickly to your chest. You look up, your body froze with terror at the sight of him smiling at you. 

He’s not your sweet neighbor Yuuta. Not anymore.

This is the monster you caught a glimpse of before, in full form. His handsome features suddenly feel unrecognizable, not when you can no longer witness the warmth in his eyes.

What is happening? You breathe fast, frightened beyond your mind. Why is he doing this?

“I told you I’m not letting you go,” he says, walking slowly toward you. With every step he takes, your urge to escape grows bigger.

The second the dread sinks in, you part your lips to scream for help, but he clasps a hand over your mouth just in time. “Sshh shhh shhh,” he whispers, bringing you back to your feet. “We wouldn’t want your husband to find out, would we?” 

You try to kick and toss your body around, but he’s strong, much stronger than you could ever imagine him to be. From your peripheral vision, you see him taking out a syringe from a drawer behind him, fitted with a hollow needle to inject the clear liquid into your skin. You feel your heart pounding in your throat, your scream muffled as he sinks it into your skin. “There, there. Off you go, honey,” he whispers in your ear, as you begin to lose your will to fight. Your consciousness slowly wanes away with each second passing by. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. It’s only scary at the beginning, I promise.” He tosses the syringe away, now empty. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did you like the card I gave you?”

The card? What card?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry for tricking you like that,” he says with a little pout. “Truly, I am. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to do something to push you over the edge. I knew you liked me too from the start, but you wouldn’t make the first move. You kept staying faithful even when your husband was cheating on you like that. I admire you for that,” he sighs, utterly smitten by you, but only for a second before his tone drops. “But I was getting impatient, you see. And I knew you were, too. I watched your favorite movies. I read your favorite books. I learned everything about you and did everything you liked, but you still wouldn’t leave your husband for me. So you left me with no choice. I have to make you understand,” he slides his hand up your stomach, passing the valley between your breasts before he chooses to linger there, squeezing, teasing, pleasing. “That no one can touch you like I do. No one can love you like I do.”

You can feel him kissing your neck, licking a stripe up from your collarbone to the spot below your ear. “It was quite tricky copying his handwriting like that. There’s one letter I still can’t do very well even now. But it was enough to trick you, so I think everything’s fine in the end,” he chuckles, the sound filling your chest with horror, though you could barely register it now, not with the drug flowing in your system.

“You asked me what I would do to make you feel loved if I were your husband.” He carries you closer to the window, letting you see, with all the little power you have left, your husband closing the door of his car. Yuuta embraces you from behind, his hands tangled around your waist as he lets you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna show it to you.” You watch your husband make his way to your porch, oblivious to what’s happening in the dark room across the street. “I’m gonna love you, Angel. I will love you forever. With all my heart. And I’m gonna take my time. I’ll be so thorough with you that once I’m done, you won’t be able to spend a second of your life without me.” 

Your husband closes his front door, and with it goes your last chance of escaping, if there was even one.

You start losing strength in your legs, in your arms, but you’re still able to cry, and so you do just that. It won’t help you, nothing will help you, no one will help you, and no one will know what he’s doing to you, not when everyone thinks so fondly of him. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He kisses your tears away, landing an even softer one on your temple. “Don’t be afraid of me, my love. After all, it’s just me.” He meets your eyes in the reflection of his window, smiling with his hand holding the front of your neck.

“Your sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

***

[rookiesbookies]

Inspired by my lovely mutual @shotmrmiller and a second submission to #Soapitup (im summonimg you again @glitterypirateduck ). Im actually going to name this one and it’s called:

A doll and his loser.

Its loser!reader x sex doll!Reboot!Soap

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Especially let me know if you want part two

Fic under the cut as always.

Edit: im incredibly dyslexic im so sorry for typos

When the line of 141 sex dolls, which were based on random men she had never heard of who seemed just magically created for this line, showed in a sketching email in her inbox, she must have been truly weak that night. She had been incredibly drunk and disappointed by a man who just didn’t even bother to bring her pleasure. So of course she ordered the sketchy, ‘satisfaction guaranteed’ doll. There were choices, quite a few actually. But it was the beefy Scottsman that stood out against the rest, she couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it was his soft face, his muscles, or maybe the outfit he came with, it could even be his hair. Sure there was a photo of what his cock looked like on the sight, a normal length with a great amount of girth, but she wasn’t too picky.

She had completely forgotten about the lifelike sex doll she ordered, she learned was named ‘Johnny’ until the giant box that weighed more than she did sat on her doorstep. She quickly shoved the package marked ‘fragile’ in her door. The gibberish language on the side of the box wasn’t one she recognized, she realized as she struggled to get the box in. She gently put the box on its side before grabbing a butter knife from her kitchen.

When she got the sides of the box open she saw his face. So much softer in person, with his long lashes and plush cheeks. She traced her thumb over his cheek and over his lips before his eyes gently fluttered open at her touch. He seemed almost surprised before his eyes relaxed. It must be the personality software? It did say something about that. His eyes a crazy blue, the kind that looks like the ocean meeting the sky, they were so glossy and sweet, they seemed, truthfully, real. She brushed it off, its just a doll, this was a high tech sex doll, at least that's what the marketing said.

He studied her features and watched to lean into her warm touch, but his rigid body wouldn’t allow it.

She did her best to get the heavy doll out of its box. Dragging it into her bedroom. Even his hair is life-like, which was crazy.

When she got him onto her bed she propped him up against the headboard of her bed, his eyes watching her every move as she walked back out to search for his manual.

“Stupid company didn’t even send me a manual.” She grumbled, a few things were written on the box.

‘Ejaculates like a real man!’ ‘Life-like groans!’ ‘Tease him to get him up!’ ‘Built like a real stallion!’ There was a forth thing that the words had pulled off of when she tore off the tape, now it was illegible but she saw it pointed to the lips, so she assumed they were ‘soft like a real man’s!’

He was almost static in whatever position she put him in, one of his arms hovering in the weird position she left it in.

He seemed almost too lifelike, the way his eyes watched her.

“What?” She asked, “you seem surprised.”

She was met with silence.

“Oh, who am I kidding, you’re a fucking doll. You’re not going to reply to me, this isn’t some X rated Toy Story movie.” She grumbled before her stomach grumbled back. So she left her doll man to get some food.

She cooked herself a quick meal then went to go shower, completely forgetting about the doll as she stripped until she noticed the large bump in his change.

“I didn’t realize stripping to shower meant teasing,” she thought out loud. “At least now I can check if you were marketed correctly.”

She gently undid the belt on the doll’s pants, which seemed like real high quality jeans a real person would wear, before undoing the button and the zipper. Sliding down the waistband of his underwear she noticed the monster.

Her eyes flew wide, “maybe I should ask for measurements next time,” she mumbled, she wanted to faint. “They didn’t tell me you had a horse cock, big guy,’ she chuckled to herself, his eyes almost looking prideful, pupils seeming larger with almost bedroom eyes. They must have some crazy tech.

“I must really be losing it, talking to myself,” she sighed.

She let her fingers gently graze his dick before she spit on her hand, she wrapped her fingers around his fat cock delicately, not reaching all the way around. She sighed before getting up to pull more lube from her night stand. One of her hands, now covered in lube, began to massage him while her other hand began to rub around her pussy.

She hummed, mumbling about how needy she was, how guys had disappointed her in the past, what she wanted. This went on for a few minutes until she was sure she was prepped, awkwardly climbing on top of her beefcake sex doll before lining him up with her hole and sinking down. His eyes rolled back but she didn’t notice because her’s did too.

“Oh fuck,” she mumbled almost pitifully, letting her head fall against his hairy chest, a tattoo of a Scottish flag pulled tight on one of his pecs. “I haven’t been filled like this in so long.”

She sat there and adjusted, hands balled into fists against the doll’s chest. A chest that felt so warm and inviting.

She slowly began to rock her hips, soft whimpers and moans falling from her lips that got louder as she began to bounce on him. She supported herself with one hand while the other was in her mouth to suffocate her louder moans. Her eyes teary from the girth of him.

The doll let out little groans and moans too that slipped from behind his sealed lips.

It wasn’t long before her tight walls began to flutter, he came almost instantly when they began to flutter, she gasped at the feeling but kept going until she reached her own peak. But it wasn’t quite enough, so she kept bouncing. He came faster and faster, cock starting to ache because of the bonnie lass that was riding it. With a cunt like that on him he couldn’t help but shoot hot, white spirts into her.

When she got off him, it slid down her inner thigh, she swiped it up and stuck it in her mouth which made him almost faint.

“Jeez, it tastes real too,” she said like a question before walking away.

She got a wash cloth she had been planning to use for a shower and cleaned up the dolly with gentle touches. She felt like she needed to treat him like a real man, he was so close it seemed. She zipped his pants back up and set him on the ground before putting a sleep mask over his eyes.

“Nothing personal, I just don’t know how to put you in sleep mode and I don’t want to accidentally turn your dick on again when I get out of the shower.” She said before hopping in the bathroom. Her pussy was sore to say the least, but the good kind, the kind that makes a girl feel well used and fulfilled, she did her best to get the most of that fake cum out of her cunt.

After she scrubbed herself clean of the day and of that fulfilling session with her doll she made her way back into her room and flopped on her bed before crashing and falling asleep.

She used him about every other day or so for the next couple weeks before she started ovulating. She was like a bitch in heat, her body couldn’t calm down. She was flushed and couldn’t stop. She had two days off from work and pulled Johnny from where he had been set on the chair, returning him to her bed. The weird doll must have realized something weird was happening because it- he- was immediately hard. She immediately got on too of him, she had tried other positions but cowgirl was just the easiest by far with Johnny. She immediately lubed herself and him up, pumping him twice to make sure he was fully hard before sliding on.

The broken moans that fell from her mouth were a chorus of angels singing in his ears.

“I feel like such a loser,” she whined, “talking to and fucking a sex doll instead of a real guy, i feel like a weirdo.”

She put her head to his chest with whimpers falling from her mouth. He had already cum, his noises turning to the broken ones they always did before he came, a nice audio cue for the doll to have.

“Just a little more, please,” she whined to her doll.

After she rode out her high she laid sprawled out against his chest.

“I wonder how you’d be im bed if you were real,” she asked no one in particular. She was so especially weak right now. Ovulation making her so needy and sad, she couldn’t help but place a gentle kiss to his stiff lips as she let her eyes flutter closed to take a breather before the horny took back over.

She didn’t feel his stiff body relax, she didn’t notice anything until his plastic-y fingers ran up and down her waist.

“You won’t have to wonder any more, bonnie lass.” His voice was a low grumble in here ear, his scottish accent loud and clear. “How do you want it, I’m going to take good care of you.”

Hope you have a wonderful day, lovely reader💜 you deserve it

ALSO SIMON’S IS UP NOW.

[sunnie-angel]

ahhh this my first time sending an ask! So pumpkin carving + Jason's s/o reader who got murdered somehow (it could be targeted or not) what do you think he'd rage like Achilles? Maybe try bring them back?

i'm so honoured to be your first ask 🥹 fingers crossed that i'll see you in my inbox again in the future. i hope this was what you wanted!

jason todd has always known his capacity for violence could be devastating. apocalyptic. has had that knowledge thrumming in his veins since the day he woke from the dead. but that knowledge has always been tempered by you. you with your sunshine smiles and hands so tender. you hold him back from the abyss, a chain around the snarling beast's muzzle, and he loves you for it.

a bullet, wrong place wrong time wrong target, blots you out. takes all that sunshine and sweetness away. even as you're gasping out your last breaths, you beg him not to lose sight of himself, of the peace that he's earned. but those are promises he cannot keep, not while he's keening and cradling a body that has betrayed him by not housing you anymore.

sing oh muse of rage, but its not the rage of achilles they should be worried about. it's the blood that runs like water through the streets, that decorate the walls of shady warehouses and gang hideouts. it's the man that's rending flesh from bone with his bare hands like its nothing. nothing matters to him anymore. nothing but the promise that even though his killer is still living, yours won't be.

terror grips the city, the kind of noxious toxic fume that not even the bats can put out. there's a new kind of monster out there and he won't rest until the debt's been paid. cronies and henchman all scrambling like rats from sinking ships turn up floating in the harbour. kingpins and commanders in pieces in the gutters. its the kind of chaos that consumes, that eclipses the heartache with the repetitive thunk of fists on flesh, the slick drag of blade against skin.

and then it's over. every last person even tangentially connected to your killer is dead. there's no one else to kill. and every day jason has to wake up to a bed with a cavernous void where you should be, drink from only one mug in a matching set, stumble around the pile of laundry you had been meaning to get to. it's no kind of living.

but there are whispers, whispers in the underground of a pit with special powers, hidden and guarded by a league of mercenaries, of assassins. it scratches at the doors to memories he'd thought long locked away. for good reason. but it's a chance, it's a choice, one he thought he would never have. jason leaves gotham behind, still echoing with his rage, one foot in the grave already and only your closed casket to keep him company.

you can request more head canons as part of sunnie's soft autumn

[bernardsbendystraws]

Pink Petals

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

See pinned post for (series) masterlist and (oneshots) masterlist and more.

Summary: Chris had a past with a few girls who had left him burned. Y/n had succumbed to the utter tragedy of giving up on her high school sweetheart a while ago. Chris walks into Y/n’s flower shop, searching for  a bouquet of flowers for a girl. A blind date takes the lovelorn pair into fate’s hands. Chris isn’t holding back his true colors anymore. He’s a true romantic. Handwritten letters, cheesy compliments…and maybe some flowers. 

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, mentions of SA, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

Part Six: On The Floor

Chris’s POV

I was disappointed to wake up alone. Tired from filming the past couple days, I roll over to see my clock striking just after three in the afternoon. Letting out a loud huff as I curl a pillow against my chest, I feel myself frowning from the lack of hair tickling my nose. 

I miss her. 

The thought alone made my gut clench with fear. I was scared of getting hurt for the longest time. But, that was no longer my biggest fear.

My biggest fear had nothing to do with her. It had everything to do with me. I knew what I wanted–I knew I wanted her. From what she had shown me, all of me was determined to stay as long as she wanted me. Sure, I didn’t know her like that back of my hand, but I felt like I could. Even without that type of understanding, I knew her enough to see she wasn’t the girl that had ripped away at my heart. 

She had long nails that soothed over my skin caringly. They didn’t claw even though they could. 

Emily. Emily had practically scratched my heart out of my chest. Being naive, I gave her everything. I didn’t know what I was doing, I still didn’t know what I was doing.

But, I wanted her. 

Looking back at it, it was quite shallow. I wanted to experience love and she was the prettiest girl in my grade at the time. I liked her, I had strong feelings for her, but I never loved her. 

It was all the same still since I felt like my heart had been ripped into shreds. Love would’ve required me to truly know her beyond the person she showed to me. The perfect, sweet girl she portrayed was far from the truth. 

Giving someone everything and then feeling so humiliated for it was the origin of my avoidance towards any sort of true romance beyond a fling. But, I got tired of those. I got tired of avoiding something I knew I wanted because I was scared I would mess it up. 

Embarrassment and lies weren’t my biggest fears. Despite the trauma, the deep seeded beliefs of betrayal did nothing to compare to my actual nightmare. 

It being me. 

I knew I wasn’t a bad person, but I was human. I made mistakes. But, I couldn’t even begin to swallow the idea of fucking up a perfect puzzle with a piece painted with lies. Again, I never seemed to think before I acted. My ego got the best of me at times and honestly, being clueless made me want to curl up into a ball and cry. 

I didn’t want to hurt someone with my own scars. 

Especially not her. 

Picking up my phone from my nightstand, I see a goodmorning text from her. My lips curl into a smile, quickly typing a message back. 

[ To Y/n: Goodmorning flower girl ] 

Pushing send, I imagine the smile on her face reading my text. 

Would she like it?

Mindlessly beginning to scroll on social media, my thumb quickly swipes back up. Retracing the motion, my mouth runs dry at the sight in front of me. 

A blurry picture of Y/n and I with our hands intertwined in the aquarium. No doubt from the fan who had hurriedly rushed away after asking for a picture. 

Due to the dim light and foggy details, our identities were not able to be confirmed. I hadn’t worn the shirt out and around since it was new. There were no videos or pictures with the jeans I had worn either. 

I mean, I had gone shopping to find the perfect outfit. 

I just wanted to look good for her and feel confident. 

Silently thanking myself, I read the comments. A multitude of people are not entertaining the post in the slightest. The clothes are unfamiliar, my hair looks a bit darker than usual and more styled, and there was no evidence technically. It was just a claim. 

The anonymous instagram account was right about the claim, but that meant nothing to me. It only mattered if people believed it. 

Part of me wanted to hit the message button and ask for it to be taken down. 

Processing the idea, I came to the conclusion that it would draw more attention. Maybe the account would even post the DM and then that would be proof in itself. 

I can’t. 

Thinking over every possibility, the best option was to stay silent. 

My head starts to ache by my temples from the overload of information. I turn off my phone, letting it fall on my chest as I rub my hands over my face. 

Only five seconds into the day and I was already over it. 

Think, Chris. Don’t fuck this up. Think. 

_

Y/n’s POV

The teenage girls in front of me had pestered me ruthlessly. I had even taken a peek at my appearance in my phone camera, making sure there was no food stuck in my teeth. 

Seven times. 

Over the course of the past two hours they had paced around the same ten feet of space in my shop, I had offered help seven fucking times. Each time, they brushed me off. They were definitely teenagers, but they weren’t young enough to be acting how they were. I could see the school lanyard in the girls wallet dangling, year 12. 

A senior in high school on a weekday was in my flower shop with her friend, giggling like thirteen year old mean girls. 

I was fucking annoyed. 

The fifteen minute timer had gone off on my phone a while ago. I had warned the girls and they continued to just walk in the same circle around the display and whisper in each other’s ears. 

As the final alarm sounded, I happily ushered them out as they looked a little defeated. I flip the sign to close on the door, watching as they look around the shop front in circles. 

Someone needs to get their goddamn kids. 

Organizing the few receipts that had piled up throughout the day, I hear my phone ringer echo. Flipping over the device, I smile as I see Chris’s picture and name clouding my screen. 

I swipe accept, placing the phone on speaker as I start wiping down the counters of my shop. 

“Hello?” I answer. 

I hear a rumble of noise on the other side of the phone, presumably traffic from the resemblance. 

“Hey, um…I was wondering if you would want to hang out and go on a date or do anything, really. I’m close by and I know you get off of work at this point usually. I, um, I might already be five minutes away…” Chris’s voice sounds. 

My eyes widen as I scurry the wet wipe rushedly over the counter surface and toss it in the trash. Looking down at my appearance, I bite my lower lip with annoyance. I felt lazier than usual this morning and that was noticeable in my outfit choice. 

Loose, straight cut jeans with a light wash and an oversized shirt that read ‘Plant mom’ in green on white fabric. The most I had going for me were the small gold hoops adorning my ears. My face had been irritated by sleeping in makeup when I accidentally fell asleep with Chris on my couch. Deciding to give it a break, my skin and face were bare besides a couple pimple patches stamped over the blemishes. 

“I, uh…I don’t really look presentable right now, I–” 

“Uh-uh-uh," he tuts. "--that’s incorrect. I mean, I can’t see you–but you’re wrong.” I inhale sharply as I smooth my palms over my clothes. “Anyhow, can I come pick you up?” he asks. 

I close my eyes and suck in my lips. Why right now? I can’t. I can’t let him see me like this. He’s not gonna want me if I look like–

My thoughts get cut off by the sound of his voice. “Please? I really wanna see you.” he pleads. 

Pouting at the sweet confession, my mind numbs my doubts. “Yeah, of course. I’m still at my shop and I–”

“Turning in now, hold on, I’ll come to the door.” 

The line goes dead as I hear a car door shut in the background. 

Fuck. 

I had gotten so excited, my heart spoke before my mind. 

Although it wasn’t ideal, it had me squinting my eyes in confusion. 

I always thought things through. In fact, I thought things through too much. My mind never stopped swimming in doubt. I drowned at night. That’s why it was so hard for me to sleep. I retraced over every word, every mistake I had ever made. The water filled my lungs with self depreciation.

But, he seemed like a breath of fresh air. 

It was concerning how little my mind worked around him. His presence alone gained my undivided attention as I picked up every detail about him. I had never been that observant of other people, I was always too stuck in my own head to even notice any small detail that wasn’t shoved in my face. 

Not with Chris. 

My mind seemed trained on keeping an ever going list of small details about the man. He was always fidgeting with something, even if it was calmly. I had seen him fiddle with the string on his hoodie an uncountable amount of times. Chris also had a painfully ignorant habit of constantly messing with his lips or mouth. I swear, my eyes wouldn’t linger so much on his soft pink lips if they weren't always puckering together as he sucked on a mint or candy. 

I didn’t mind though. 

I really didn’t mind.

But, it did drive me nuts. His mouth made my mind go numb, but the aftertaste of his kiss always had me retracing the lingering flavor to a mint or a sweetened sucker of a sort. Chris was obviously good with kissing. That included both his lips and his tongue. Although, the habit had an effect on me greatly. 

I found myself imagining his mouth on me–all over me. 

In fact, the day after he had slept over, I had gotten lost in my imagination. The thoughts as I rubbed over myself were embarrassingly about him and only him. I had finished, moaning out his name as I imagined his head in between my thighs. 

A load of shame had me questioning if I could ever look him in the eyes again. But, as the door of my shop swung open and rang the bell with the movement, I found my answer. 

Chris steps inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. He turns the lock swiftly. He spares me a wave as he walks over to me with open arms. I laugh as he wraps the limbs around me, squeezing me tightly. I find myself letting out a deep breath as I hug him back, no longer worried about the pimple patches decorating my face. 

As he pulls away and looks down at me, he runs his hands down my hair on either side. “You’re such a liar. You look as pretty as ever.” he proclaims. 

Flushed in the cheeks, I avert my gaze to the side to stare out the shop window. I’m immediately frowning at the sight of the teenage girls laughing and giving quick glances to me. 

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, following my gaze. 

I see him follow my gaze in the corner of my eye. The girls both take out their phones, pointing them at us. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

As the words leave Chris’s mouth, I squeal. He pulls me down quickly. 

Crouching under the counter, I lose balance. I feel his hands grip around my shoulders tighter, but gravity prevails. My back lays roughly on the ground, an added weight flushing against my body.

I flinch, anticipating the impact of the hard floor on my head. With my eyes squinted shut, his body warmth radiating around me does little to ease the clenched muscles in my abdomen. 

This is gonna hurt.

My head falls into a semi-hard surface. I open my eyes to see Chris strayed on top of me. As he maneuvers his fingers, I recognize the cushion between the floor as his hand. 

“Fuck,” he whispers out with little air. My gut clenches yet again, but not for the same reason. I look lower, his body pressed on mine sending a wave of heat burning me all the way up to the tips of my ears. “--are you okay? I didn’t mean to knock you over, I–”

“You’re fine.” I squeak out. 

Chris nudges a questionable glance at me. His face eases into a small grin as he lets his free hand brush over my tinted cheeks. 

“--’m making you nervous again, huh?” he teases. 

Swallowing thickly, I shake my head, unable to speak. Chris laughs at this while gently caressing my burning cheek. The lava pools lower as my legs dart together, only to be stopped by his torso. 

The vibrations rumbling in his chest grow louder at the action. My hands on his shoulders push against him as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm the chuckles down. 

“No, no,” the hand calloused around the back of my head rubs soothingly. I attempt to look away from his face as he focuses on me. The same soothing touch grips my head securely, but not rough, simply redirecting me to meet his gaze again. “--’m sorry, it’s just so fun teasin’ ya.” he murmurs. 

Rolling my eyes, I huff out. “Yeah, yeah.” I state. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Chris leans forward. My chest rises as the air gets stuck in my lungs. I feel his nose graze mine, drifting down the side of my cheek. “--you like my teasing, don’t you?” he purrs.

My mouth runs dry at his words. The obvious sultry behind his faux sympathy driving my nerves wild as my veins electrify with excitement. I focus down to the pressure between my hips, pressure not just from his body pressed onto mine. 

A kiss along my neck makes the baby hairs stiffen. I find myself physically restraining my hips from grinding onto his lower stomach. “Chris…” I whine out. 

Trailing a multitude of pecks down to my collar bone, he stutters the movements, speaking with an open mouth still settled on my skin. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks. 

My hands pull into his hair, grasping at the soft stands before guiding his lips to my own. The butterflies swarm up and down every inch of my body, piling in the bottom of my gut as he places his tongue into my mouth sloppily. 

Letting out a hum of contentment, I chase his passionate movements while tugging harder with my hands. Kissing around the side of my lips, Chris shifts his hand around the back of my head lower, cradling my neck upward. With the exposed skin, his lips wander over my throbbing pulse in my neck. 

“You never answered me…” he breathes between kisses. 

I hum, urging him to retrace the conversation as my thoughts run to a halted stop. My knees crane inward, chasing a relief from the pressure that feels scalding hot, torturing me between my legs. 

“I asked,” his lips gravitate back up my exposed neck. His hand caverns my head back downward, his lips pressing onto mine swiftly. “--if you like my teasing.” he finishes. 

With the teasing pecks of his lips grazing around my mouth, I start to furrow my eyebrows with frustration. Noticing my silence, Chris stares into me, searching for an answer in my parted lips. 

“Are you gonna–”

Pulling back by his hair, I collide our mouths together once more swiftly. I let myself part from his mouth, gasping for air. 

“Shut up and kiss me. You know the answer is yes.” I remark.

At this, our lips meet both in search for each other. The messy movements leads  a dribble of saliva gliding down my chin, carelessly being ignored as I let his tongue dance in my mouth. Passion and anticipation explode, interrupting any wandering thoughts and keeping them trained on him. 

“Mmmm..” he hums into my mouth. 

The vibration makes my hand grip tighter into his hair, eliciting a noise more strained. Sloppy movements become harsher. I feel his free hand wander underneath my back and the floor, arching me into him. 

“Ya know,” I get out quickly before getting cut off once more by his lips. He lets out a subtle hum of a question. “--I,” another planted kiss leads to me breathlessly chasing his lips in between words, “--Chris,” I whine out, still reciprocating the heavy kiss as he purses his lips over mine. 

“What? What is it, pretty girl?” he asks. 

The strain and lack of air in his words with heavy pants makes my back arch further into his grip. He tightens his hold, keeping me as close as possible. His lips trace my jawline as I scratch gently along his scalp. 

“We gotta stop before we end up fucking on this floor and,” as he reaches my sweet spot just beneath my ear, a subtle moan breathes out from my lips. 

“There it is, hm,” he hums against the skin before immediately reattaching to the sensitive flesh. 

The volume of him slurping sends my eyes rolling into the back of my head. I attempt to retrace my steps back to my previous sentence. 

Breaking away from the spot with a soft kiss, he starts trailing his lips against my jawline once more. “--what were you saying? Something around fucking on the floor and…” he trails off, continuing to glide his kisses onto the other side of my neck, craning my head with his hand supporting the back of my head. 

“I,” I find the instinct to pull him closer, my eyes darting open to see the security camera pointed at us from the corner. “--we gotta stop before, um…” my breath hitches as he nibbles lightly on the end of my ear. “--uh, gotta stop before we fuck on this floor and in front of–oh god,” I let out, pulling him in closer by the hair as he finds the sweet spot on the other side of my neck. 

“In front of god, hm?” he teases. 

I shake my head with small movements. “No, in front of, um…in front of,” I trail off mindlessly as I feel his lips curl into a smile against my neck. 

“C’mon, you got it.” he praises with a fake genuine tone.

Biting on the inside of my cheek to bring my mind at bay, I try to ignore the tensing in my gut, failing as I cling tighter with my legs around his torso. 

“I, we gotta stop, Chris. Not here, not in front of the, um—security cameras, oh fuck,” I whine out as I feel his teeth gently clamp on the delicate spot. 

He breaks the hold on the skin, making me intake a large breath of air. I flinch as he kisses gently over the sensitive skin. 

“You don’t want it on camera, hm? I mean–” 

A pounding on glass sounds through the shop. The interruption sends us both exchanging concerned glances. Chris sits back on his knees, carefully peeking over the counter. 

As soon as his eyes dart over, his ruffled hair bounces upward as he falls back down rushedly. I sit up, going to creep above to see, but I’m stopped by Chris. 

Looking back, I see him with a distressed expression. I tilt my head with a concerned look as he shakes his head with a disappointed sigh. 

“Don’t try to look. Please.” he says. 

He sits defeated, leaning against the back wall with his elbows on his propped up knees lazily. The shift in energy leaves me clueless. I desperately want to look over the counter, but his pouty face draws my attention more as I start scooting next to him. 

My back hits the wall, my arm grazing his as I let my legs rest flat on the floor. I start to itch at my fingertips in my lap nervously. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong–”

“No,” the snap in his voice sends my shoulders shrinking inward. “I…no, I’m sorry. I’m frustrated and I don’t know what to do, okay?” he shakes his head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “This morning, I saw a blurry picture of us at the aquarium. Thankfully it was such a shit picture no one is spreading it further or even believing it, but…”

As he falls silent, I curl into his side. I let my head fall onto his shoulder. I feel as he lets out a heavy sigh. “--but?” I repeat his statement, urging him to continue. 

“But, I’ve never done this. I don’t wanna bring you into something that I don’t even understand. I can’t stand the thought of hurting you. I…” he looks forward, nudging his head to the counter. “--if you peep over that counter right now, I’m scared of what would come after.” he explains. 

I sit up. Tangling my arm into his, I rest my hand on top of his knee. I turn towards him, offering a small smile with frowned eyes. “Do you want me to look?” I ask. 

Chris gives me a confused expression. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

I shrug. “Do you want me to look, Chris? I won’t if you don’t want me to. I…” I lick over my swollen lips as I let my eyes swim into his. “--I trust you. If you don’t want me to look, I won’t. I think I have an idea of what it is, but regardless, I won’t look if you’re not ready for me to.” I proclaim, remembering the girls from earlier. 

They must’ve recognized me vaguely from the picture? 

I didn’t exactly know, but I knew they seemed as if they were looking for something–or someone. 

Chris’s eyes soften. He tilts his head, glancing back forwards as he chews nervously onto his lip. “I…I don’t want you to not look, but, I’m not sure if you want you to look either. I–I don’t know. I don’t wanna feel like I’m lying to you, but I don’t wanna scare you off–”

“Chris.” I interrupt. His eyes swipe over to mine as I give him a determined smile. “I’m not nervous of teenage girls.” I half-joke. 

My smile deepens as he reciprocates a small laugh from the humor. “Really?” he counters. 

I nod firmly. 

“Watch.” I state. 

Slowly pulling myself to my knees, I clasp my hands onto the front table shelves. I bring my head over the surface, the golden sunset blocked and cut into strips through the window. 

Barely giving a peep, my eyes widen as I freeze. 

It was the two girls from earlier. The two girls plus a group of at least thirty others that seemed their age, all talking in front of the windows. A couple of girls had their hands cupped to the glass and their faces, fighting the glare of the sun to see inside the display glass. Luckily, they had been focused on the opposite side of the shop, their eyes hadn’t glanced over at me or in my direction. 

Slowly lowering myself, I swallow thickly. Trying to relax my face, I turn to see Chris over my shoulder. As he analyzes my expression, he groans. I scoot back to my place adjacent to him on the wall, placing a hand on his shoulder as he hangs his head low. 

“Hey, it’s fine, I–”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he points out, cutting me off. 

I shake my head as he looks up at me. “I was just caught off guard, it’s fine. I just assumed it’d be the two girls who had come in today who were–” My eyes go wide as I see him raise a questioning eyebrows at me. 

“Who were what?” he presses. 

I plant my lips into a tightline, shaking him off with a sigh. “It’s nothing, Chris. It’s not that big of a deal–”

“Not that big of a deal?” he interrupts. I go to speak, but as my mouth opens, it shuts with his words spilling from his lips. “It’s a big deal. What did they do, huh? Harass you? Be rude? Take pictures of you when you weren’t looking?” My face falls with a rush of confusion. I hear him huff. “See–it’s a big deal. It’s a really big fucking deal. I can’t…I can’t drag you into this. It’s selfish of me, I just–I can’t.” he says. 

My chest weighs down as my heart sinks with a heavy devastation. 

“You’re not even gonna let me make my own decisions?” Hurting, I let my anger slip onto my tongue. “--or is this just a good enough excuse for you to call it quits? Tell me, Chris. Was all this just to hurt me? Did you just need your ego boosted or–” 

“--to hurt you? I’m trying to protect you from all this. I fucking want this–I want you, you know that. I know that you know that.” he points out. I bite on my tongue as the rage subsides, leaving me with the clear evidence of his devotion with words and actions he had shown me previously. My heart bickered with my mind as I accepted the truth. 

He wants me. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, okay? I–I just…I haven’t done this in so long and I’m angry. I–I’m so angry, Chris. I don’t deserve this, I really do not deserve this.” I state with hot tears starting to cloud my eyes. The rush of emotions wavers my voice, instability and uncertainty apparent as I continue to explain, “I want you. You want me, Chris. I just, I want you to want even if things aren’t perfect. I want to be able to make decisions instead of you just–just shutting me out and—I can’t do that. I can’t.” 

I let my eyes plunder into his with intention. “Don’t hurt me trying to protect me. Please.” I let out. 

Chris lets out a breath through his nose, his chest falling as he turns his body in to face me. His bent knees widen as his arm reaches up. The hot tears brim threateningly as my lip quivers. His saddened face leaves me helpless against the flood, a stream of wet drops darting down my cheeks as I let out a broken cry. 

My body crawls into his as he embraces me comfortingly. A loud sniffle from me makes his grasp tighten, one of his hands soothingly rubbing over my spine. 

“Shhhh, shhhh, I–” his voice cracks, straining as his shoulders tremble against me. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” he says. 

I cling tighter to him as he rests his cheek on the top of my head. Cries and sniffles echo quietly as the air swivels down in temperature. 

“I’m so sorry.” he breathes out, completely defeated with a broken waver in his voice. 

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[sansaorgana]

I’m not quite sure if your requests are open or not so if they aren’t just ignore this!♥️ but if they are, hi!!! I was wondering if you could do an Austin Butler/Buck Cleven x Reader who plays hard to get with him. She is like head nurse or something, a badass who was trained by her daddy in the arts of war, like I’m talking knowing how to throw hand grenades, shooting rifles or knowing how to work a plane despite her role in modern day 1940s society. I don’t like reading abt Y/N being naive yk?

hello! 💕 this story takes place when the boys are still in the USA and training. I believe I've read somewhere they actually spent two years in Texas so... the Reader is a girl from Texas and a daughter of one of the badass Colonels at the base who is training Buck and others. she is also a head nurse at that base (I assume they also had sickbays even though those were training bases...? I literally know nothing about the military lmao). I hope she will be strong enough for you 😌 I personally don't find every sweet and more period-accurate female character to be weak or naive but it was still nice to write a different type of character for once 😅

I might post less frequently in the upcoming days because I am catching up with my uni work finally after a few weeks of abandoning it to write fics lol

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

Bucky laughed at the sight of his friend going inside the sickbay after a training flight. He was going there for the fifth time this week and it was all because his friend had a crush on the head nurse, young (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Miss (Y/L/N) was a daughter of Colonel (Y/L/N) – the Colonel (Y/L/N) – the scariest and the roughest man around. He had a scar right across his face and he was known for being so strong he could rip the tree out of the ground with his bare hands… or so the legend said.

His daughter was just like her father. She was feminine of course in her nurse’s apron and her hair done up neatly so it wouldn’t interrupt her work. Her hands were soft and her lips covered with red lipstick. But she was a tough girl who didn’t mind swearing a little and scolding all the boys at the base for their irresponsible behaviour. She probably didn’t know that they all acted this way just so they could get to the sickbay and be treated by her.

At least that was the case for Buck.

She sighed at the sight of him and rolled her eyes as she approached him when he entered the room.

“Major Cleven… Again?” She raised her eyebrows at him and he blushed. “What is it this time?”

“I am… I am dizzy,” he made up a pathetic lie and she huffed at that as she pointed at the chair for him to sit down on.

“I will give you something for that but if you keep having troubles of this sort, I’m gonna tell my daddy to not send you to Europe, you know?” She teased and he swallowed thickly at that comment.

“Please, don’t, Miss (Y/L/N),” he pleaded, his eyes carefully following her every movement as she looked at him with a smirk.

“Well, we don’t want weak pilots like you to defend our country, do we?” She teased.

“It’s not because of flying… It’s… I don’t know, it’s something else,” Buck hated himself for the way he acted around her. She was so intimidating but so tempting at the same time. The fragile part of his masculinity was simply scared of her but his other, brave side wanted to be around her all the time. And he was very well aware how many other men wanted her, too. But his feelings were real. It had very little to do with desire. He was serious about her.

She approached him and handed him a pill and a glass of water. He swallowed it and she squinted her eyes at him.

“I swear to God, you boys are the worst bunch I’ve ever dealt with,” she shook her head. “I hope in Europe I will handle real men,” she rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to Europe, too?” Buck asked as he widened his eyes.

“Of course, Major. It brings me no pleasure to be here and help buffoons like you,” she chuckled. “I signed up already and my daddy wants me to be assigned to the 100th.”

“That’s where I will go, too,” Buck’s eyes sparkled as he realised that she wouldn’t get rid of him so easily.

“Oh God…” (Y/N) sighed. “I hope you’ll be long gone by the time I get there.”

“I hope not,” he blurted out and she froze for a second before laughing.

“Oh, you’re cute, Major,” she admitted before walking away to deal with the next man entering the sickbay, coming up with some fake injury just to feel her hands examining him and hear her mocking tone scolding him for his irresponsibility.

You liked Bucky Egan because he was funny and he didn’t care about you. He could have any woman he wanted so he wasn’t showing off when you were around – or playing a victim like so many “injured” Majors, Captains and Lieutenants. You were growing sick of all of them, coming to you with every single papercut and making puppy eyes at you.

You were having a beer with Bucky behind one of the buildings in the evening. Consuming alcohol was forbidden but who would fire you? You were a daughter of the roughest Colonel in that base. And Bucky was under your protection – and one of the best pilots around.

“Alright, but if you had to go out with any of them, who would that be?” Bucky asked, teasingly.

“For fuck’s sake, John,” you rolled your eyes and leaned your head back to rest it on the wall. “It would be you.”

“But I don’t want you,” he laughed.

“You…,” you hissed at him and you both giggled. “That’s why I would go out with you.”

“Oh, you like the ones who don’t want you?”

“No, I like real men,” you told him. “Like my daddy is.”

“You know that my best friend is madly in love with you, right?” Bucky pushed your arm playfully.

“Curt Biddick?” You asked. God, that one was insufferable.

“Yeah, him too. But I mean the other one.”

“Buck Cleven?” You asked as you felt your cheeks heating up for some mysterious reason.

“Yeah, that one,” Bucky nodded. “He’s a good guy and a hell of a pilot. He’s tough, too, just in a different way.”

“Yeah, he’s cute, bless his heart,” you admitted.

“So, you’d go out with him?” Bucky raised his eyebrow at you.

“Stop playing matchmaker, it’s not gonna happen. I ain’t dating any man from this base,” you took a sip of your beer as you shook your head.

“Why not, though? You don’t want to marry a man like your daddy? I thought you wanted to,” Bucky asked.

“Y’all would be scared of a gal like me, let me tell you,” you giggled. “I can shoot a rifle and throw a grenade. My daddy wanted a son, you see. But my momma gave him only girls so he raised us like boys,” you told him. “All that discipline, I ain’t joking, Bucky,” you pushed him because he was laughing. “We had to get up at 5am, make our bed, do morning gymnastics,” you teased.

“Really?” His face became more serious.

“Nah,” you shook your head. “Only sometimes. But he took the whole business of teaching us self-defence very seriously. I remember asking him, where the hell would I even get a grenade from in case some boy was following me home, daddy? And he said: easy, sugar, they’re in my drawer next to the gun,” you laughed and so did Bucky.

“You know what I think?” Bucky put his bottle of beer down and shot you an odd glance you did not like at all.

“What, Egan?”

“You’re gonna get angry when I tell you.”

“Just tell me,” you rolled your eyes.

“I think you need a man who’s gonna see a woman in you. Like yeah, we all know you’re tough and shit. And all these boys want to be around you because you’re like a mother that they have left back home in the way you scold them and take care of them. But I think you just need someone to see a woman in you. Has anyone ever…?”

“You asshole,” you indeed got angry. You didn’t want him to be right and react in such a predictable way but you did.

You stood up and went back to the building to go to sleep, leaving Bucky Egan without a word.

You didn’t know what Bucky had said to Buck but Major Cleven hadn’t visited the sickbay in a week now and you hated to admit but you missed it. In fact, you were the most excited when it was him coming inside with some adorable injury or illness. There was something about him that was making you swoon even though you would never ever admit that. 

On that weekend most boys had a night out and you stayed inside the sickbay to deal with the paperwork. One of the head nurse’s duties sadly required filling some papers, too.

After a while, you heard a light knocking upon the front door and you sighed before standing up and opening them, shocked to see Major Cleven.

“Major?” You asked. “What is it again? The mysterious dizziness has had its comeback?”

“N-no,” he shook his head.

“Why aren’t you out with all the boys?”

“I didn’t want to go,” he admitted and you squinted your eyes at him.

“So you decided to catch me in an empty room instead? I have a gun here and I know how to use it,” you threatened although it was hard to believe that a man like Major Cleven would ever hurt any woman.

“I wanted to ask you if you’d go out on a walk with me, Miss (Y/L/N),” he widened his eyes at your threats. “It’s a warm and nice night.”

“Ugh, fine,” you shrugged your arms and grabbed a cardigan to put over your nurse’s outfit. He waited for you outside nervously with his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t want to be a bother, we don’t have to…” Buck told you as you were locking the door behind you.

“You’re lucky, Major, I needed a distraction from the papers,” you told him and joined him.

“Yeah, the paperwork. I don’t like it either,” he looked down and you two began to walk slowly towards the gates leading out of the base.

“And who does?” You chuckled and looked at him as you bit on your lip. He was adorable; something about him was making you feel protective. But on the other hand you knew from your father he was one of the best pilots and he was a man of honour. Your father was usually rolling his eyes at the mention of most men at the base. But never about Major Cleven. Your father rarely respected the young and new ones but something about that Major was making your daddy go easy on him.

“I wanted to apologise, actually,” Buck told you when you two finally left the base and began to walk alongside its fence.

“Hm? About what?” You asked.

“Bothering you five times a week with made up dizziness or papercuts,” he laughed nervously.

“And what made you apologise? You’re not the only one who’s been doing that, Major, but you’re surely the first actually saying he’s sorry,” you raised an eyebrow.

“Bucky told me it’s annoying you and that it’s not really a way to get to you,” he admitted as he looked up at your face.

“Why the hell would you want to get to me? You’re a sweet man,” you snorted at him. In the dim light of the moon and the base’s lights from afar you could see him blushing.

“What does it have to do with it, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked.

“I’m not sweet, Major Cleven. A guy like you… You should be out there in town with them boys and look for a sweet little naive doll for yourself,” you teased him. But deep down it hurt you that it was true – you were raised for a tough girl but sometimes… Sometimes you wished you were softer.

“You think so low of me, Miss?” He only shook his head with a nervous chuckle. “That type of woman you’ve mentioned… They’re nice and kind, I don’t mind them, they’re sweet, yeah. And they make good wives to lots of men but you… You’re the first one who actually impressed me,” he confessed.

You went silent for a moment. You liked that he wasn’t complimenting you while saying mean things about others.

“You’re a real gentleman, Cleven,” you pointed out. “And so smooth. You’d be a sensation if you stayed here in Texas.”

“Would I?” He stopped his walk and so did you as he turned around to face you better.

“Yeah. But if you stayed here, you’d soon realise there are more gals like me ‘round here. And I’d lose all the charm,” you teased.

“Then maybe I’d finally leave you alone, which I assume is your wish.”

“Oh, far from that,” you risked as you raised your eyebrows, waiting for his next move.

He hesitated for a while and then he smiled smugly and joined his lips with yours in a sweet but passionate kiss that took your breath away.

Bucky had been right – it was nice to be treated like a woman.

“Will your daddy shoot me for that?” Major Cleven asked with a chuckle after finally breaking the kiss.

“It’s not him you should be worried about. I can shoot, too, Major, and my daddy wouldn’t get rid of the best pilot,” you teased.

“But you would?” He grabbed your chin gently.

“The best pilot? Surely. But would I get rid of Major Cleven? Never,” you chuckled. “God, I’ve missed your made up migraines,” you confessed.

“I can fake more of them,” he smirked.

“Yes, please,” you chuckled and leaned in to kiss him again. “But let’s keep it a secret for now.”

“Why?”

“Because if my daddy finds out about us, he’ll make sure we won’t be sent to the same base in Europe and we don’t want that, do we…?” You looked up at him, your heart pounding so fast in your chest as it had never done before for any man.

“Oh, no, no, we don’t want that at all,” Major Cleven bopped you on the nose. “Who will deal with my headaches there otherwise?”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[avonne-writes]

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt!

#21 for Gale? Pretty please? 🥹🙏🏻

Again, sorry that I took so long! I'm trying to fill all the pending prompts in my inbox now. Thank you for sending this one! 🩷 I wrote a quick drabble tonight, I hope it's okay.

21. Fear poison/gas

A fist swings towards Crank's face, but it ends up colliding with the arm he raises in defence. Buck groans in pain as Hambone and Jefferson jump in to intervene and tackle him to the floor of their crowded room in the stalag. The three of them start wrestling on the floor accompanied by curses, grunts and Buck's panicked wheezing.

"What the fuck did they give him?" Hambone yells as one of the chairs is knocked over by Buck's legs kicking out.

"No idea." Crank replies, deep lines on his forehead. He throws himself down to trap Buck's shins and keep him from breaking someone's ribs with his feet. "Buck, calm down! It's just us!"

"Let me go!" Buck cries out. His pupils are blown wide, and his gaze darts around the room like a trapped, feral animal's. Cold sweat peppers his sallow, sickly face.

The Krauts took him away this morning and only just brought him back a few minutes ago. No explanation, nothing. They just dumped him on one of the beds unconscious, then left without a word. Brady ran out to get Bucky, but in the meantime, Gale woke up, and the first thing he did was attack anyone who touched him. They're all going to sport bruises tomorrow, no doubt. The familiarity of their voices doesn't seem to register in his mind, and the wide-eyed terror on his face suggests he doesn’t recognize their faces either.

Even with three men holding him down, Buck doesn’t stop trashing to get free, but the noises he’s making take an increasingly desperate edge. Crank doesn’t know how to help him when he's in this state of mind. You can’t reason with him.

Thankfully, the door swings open, and Bucky rushes inside, kicking the toppled over chair out of the way to get to Buck's side.

"Gale!" Bucky drops to his knees and cradles Buck's face with his large hands. Crank raises an eyebrow at the name, but he doesn’t say anything. "What happened? What did they do to him?"

Fear-stricken blue eyes go abnormally wide before Buck redoubles his efforts to escape their hold. More footsteps approach from the doorway, Brady and one of the camp surgeons. The sight eases the tight worry in Crank's chest just enough that he can breathe again. Bucky nudges Hambone aside to take over holding Buck's right arm himself and to give the doc space to examine Buck.

The man takes a good look at Buck's pupils, then measures his pulse at the juncture of his neck before reaching into his coat for a small box of pills. Despite Buck's ferocious protests, the four of them somehow manage to hold him still enough for the doc to pry open his jaw and force him to swallow a pill. Immediately after, tears start falling from Buck's eyes.

Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t seem to have the same struggle. As the fight goes out of Buck's body, his limbs go limp in their hold. Bucky moves Buck's arm from the floor to press it to his chest and reaches for Buck's face again. Gently, he starts wiping the wetness there even as more continues to fall. The tears glisten on Buck's freckled cheek.

It's a shock. Crank has never seen Buck Cleven cry. Through the loss of friends, through pain, cold and hunger, even on the bleakest days they’ve had as POWs so far, Buck's composure hardly ever wavered. He remained the pillar of their strength and hope through everything. It makes Crank feel guilty and selfish, but his first feeling upon seeing the fat teardrops rolling down Buck's scarred cheeks is despair, not compassion. His natural instinct of self-preservation makes it difficult for a moment to see past the crumbling Major and see the person instead. Because if the Krauts can break Buck Cleven like this, they can break anyone. They're all puppets to their cruel whim. Crank doesn’t know what to do anymore.

"Fear gas." The doc says, making a disgusted face. "Bastards are testing it on us. My guess is they picked him for his reputation."

The doc clears his throat awkwardly and moves to stand. "Gave him a sedative. We don’t have much left, but... We need the Major back on his feet, I figure."

That makes Crank feel even worse. He watches numbly as Buck opens his eyes again and blinks up at Bucky slowly. The stream of his tears starts drying out. When Bucky gives him a small, forced smile of reassurance, Buck turns his face into Bucky’s palm. As if it was the only safe spot in his world. Crank averts his eyes, and he sees Hambone and Brady do the same.

None of them wants to see. They've never asked. They don’t want to know.

Only Jefferson stares, likely not used to it yet, still trying to figure it out.

After a reassuring squeeze, Bucky lays Buck's arm back on the floor and stands up to offer his hand for the doc to shake. The doc starts talking about side effects he has seen in other men who received this so-called fear gas, but after a moment, Crank turns away from them and back to Buck again.

"Give me a hand, boys." He glances at Brady and Hambone. "We gotta move him."

No one talks. They all feel Bucky's helpless fury, but there’s nothing they can do. Crank rights the chair, sits on it and starts sanding the small wooden B-17 he’s been working on. He keeps his focus on his work and tries not to listen in when Bucky starts whispering to Buck. He knows it's not for his ears.

Together, they lift Buck's barely conscious body and put him on a bed. It doesn't matter whose. They can switch for one night. Buck doesn’t fight it anymore, dazed by the sedative. When the doc leaves, Bucky's back by his side in an instant. He sits on the edge of the bunk and puts a hand on Buck's chest to feel it rise and fall. His other hand curls into a fist on his thigh. Buck watches him with half-lidded eyes.

Tomorrow, he hopes Buck will be back on his feet. Then, they can go back to pretending that everything will be okay.

[dead-dolphins]

You've become a very lazy writer. You used to write and post constantly but now we have to beg you for an update. It's really annoying girl. At this point you'll never be a true author if you keep like this.

i wasn’t even going to respond but you sent the same message THREE times in under thirty minutes so i’m guessing you were looking for engagement. well, here it is. everyone forgive me if i’m making a scene but congratulations to this person, you officially got on my last nerve.

in the past eight months, i almost lost my cat, who isn’t just a pet but my emotional support. i watched my grandfather go through a long and painful illness until he passed away. my autoimmune condition flared up badly because i wasn’t taking proper care of myself, and on top of that, i developed nutrient deficiencies from neglecting my diet while trying to keep up with life. i’m now severely anemic, seeing a hematologist, and spending a lot of money on specialized treatment just to stabilize my health.

during all of this, i’ve been receiving hate from anons just for writing the stories i love. also some people on twitter have been behaving in creepy and invasive ways too, practically stalking me and making me feel deeply uncomfortable. i didn’t say anything. i didn’t start drama. i stayed silent and kept to myself because that’s what i’ve always done. just try to survive and hope it goes away. out of sight, out of mind.

and now, after everything, people are calling me annoying because i haven’t updated? because i stepped back to take care of myself? REALLY?

maybe you didn’t know. and if that’s the case, fine, i get it. but just so it’s clear, IM NOT A MACHINE. IM NOT SOME EMOTIONLESS CONTENT GENERATOR. i’m a PERSON trying to hold things together, dealing with way more than i care to explain in detail. i’m a PERSON who has been through a lot in a short period and is tired. and, really, i don’t owe anyone a performance of my pain just to earn basic kindness.

if a fanfic update matters more to you than a real human being’s wellbeing, then maybe take a moment to think about what that says about you bc really. bc this tells me you have zero empathy and genuinely believe i owe you something just because i wrote a story. and the truth is, i don’t. i’m sorry if that disappoints you, but i don’t owe you anything. not even a little.

now this being said: i’m tired. please leave me alone. if you keep coming back on anon, you will be blocked. and by the way, i know you're a coward, like most of the hateful anons that end up in my inbox. but next time, try sending that same ask without hiding behind anon. i’d love to see just one of you be brave enough to stand behind your words, because in the four years i’ve been here, not a single one has.

[hannaswritingblog]

Imagine: Jack Sparrow and James Norrington getting jealous of you

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

Suggested by anon [x] – I really hope that this imagine is at least close to what you had in mind and that you like it! And if you have any other suggestions, my inbox is always open. 😊

You're walking down a pier in the Port Royal harbour, trying to clear your mind. Everyone's been waiting for James Norrington to be promoted to Commodore for a while now and today, on a day of the official ceremony, the area is buzzing with excitement.

Being a part of James's immediate circle, you should feel that excitement too. Deep in your heart you certainly do. But at the same time you can't help but wonder how your life would've gone if you didn't abandon your life at sea. Your life as a pirate...

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realise you're not alone anymore until you feel a tap on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around only to see the soon-to-be Commodore next to you.

"Is something bothering you, Y/N?" Norrington says, smiling softly.

"Oh, it's... nothing, James. Nothing's bothering me. I was just thinking about... my past."

His smile immediately fades away, but he manages to keep his composure as he tells you:

"You don't have to worry about your past. Nobody around knows that you were a pirate except me, and I intend on keeping your secret safe, just as I promised."

"Thank you. But... you know who was my captain during my time as a pirate, right?"

A solemn expression crosses his face before he says:

"Yes. Yes, I know. And it doesn't change a thing."

Deep down you know it changes a lot, but neither of you is going to admit it. But even though his pride must be hurt, you appreciate that James is steady in his promise.

"I'm glad. If you could give me one more minute alone though. I'll join you soon."

"Of course."

He bows to you slightly and walks away. You wait for Norrington to be gone from your sight before reluctantly following him.

On your way out of the harbour you pass a familiar figure. It takes you a second to realise where you know the person from, but once you do, you can't help but turn around and call out:

"Jack!"

"Oh. So it really is you, Y/N," Jack Sparrow says, walking back to you. "Didn't expect to see you around, sweetie."

"As if it wasn't where you dropped me off last time we saw each other," you respond.

"Okay, so maybe I knew I'd find you here. But not in the company of an officer of the Royal Navy, for sure."

"Oh, Norrington? He's just a..." You stop for a second when you notice that Jack's usual sly smile is now gone. "Wait... are you jealous?"

"What, me? Jealous? Of some officer? Never." Only when you raise an eyebrow at him, he admits: "Okay. I might be just a little jealous. But if this is how you live now..."

"Yes. I believe it is."

"...then I won't try to change your mind."

Something in your heart stings, as if you wanted him to try. You almost ask him to, but instead you catch yourself saying:

"Thank you. I still hope you'll stick around; Norrington is promoted to Commodore today, it's a chance to have some fun."

"You should stop tempting me, Y/N. A chance to have a good time and be in your presence? I reckon I shall stick around."

Jack sends you a smile before you part ways. And that smile is how you know he's back to his usual self and besides the fun, you can definitely expect some trouble.

[poetthewriter]

Hello, I was wondering if you could write a Team Ranchers / Jimmy and Tango like maybe if they all hadn't seen each other in a long time and get reunited. (I hope this is specific enough im not great with explaining things.) If your requests aren't open you can completely ignore this. I hope you are and have an amazing day and thank you for even reading this.!!

Tell a friend to tell a friend he's baaaackkkk, Hi beautifuls! ive been gone for so long and i'm trying to get myself back into swing!! you all have been so patient with me and i give the biggest thats for that<3 for now i will be emptying my inbox and hopefully get it re-opened you can still always send me requests it might just take time!!

The Way Back Home.

Ranchers x GnReader

Life series= 𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒑𝒔&𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒘𝒔🌶️🥕🌽

smidge of : 𝑬𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔= 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔&𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔🥮🍡🍯

An alone soul was not known of in the newest game of life, each person tied to another holding them together with the bond of a soul filled string. You on the other hand were alone. maybe it was a punishment from the watchers above or maybe a gift from the ears that listened in. You would watch as the pairs lived each holding something, each other. Even if they didn't want to be they were together no matter what and once again you seemed to always remember you were alone.

One colder day, you walked over the bridge that crossed above the deep river alone. The grass crushed under the soft stomp of your feet and as you looked up you had spot and smelt the ashing woodstove of the ranch. Coming closer you saw the two men out front of the build and kept you distance continuing on your route, Tango was the first to spot your hair flying in the windy air.

Almost as bright as his fiery hair his voice yelled to the brown path calling your attention, Jimmy looked over his shoulder and soon joined in with his other half. You were confused and to be honest just wanted to return to you base, your hands were blistered with bruises and coal from the mines. You wanted to rest and to finish living out this stupid game.

With a soft tired breath you walked closer to the two men, both leaned on the fence. Tango rested his face on his muddy hands looking at you as you walked closer from the other side of the fence, on the other hand Jimmy sat teetering on the edge waiting for you curiously.

"Y/n! how do you do!" Tangos loud voice sprung, you looked at him with a confused and exhausted gaze honestly debating on whether or not answering, but you had to, the giddy smirks on their faces left you with no choice.

"How are you Tango, Timmy?" you responded trying to keep as much of a beat as you could, Jimmy didn't seem to impressed by the common nickname but let it slide, for now.

Tango and Jim continued to ask you on about you day wondering about your coal stained arms, tired eyes and slouchy posture. It was almost to much for you to process.

soon after, with a lot of pressure they finally pushed you right on inside and served you with a warm meal and bed. it was nice, comfortable, warm. A big difference from the wet, cold base you had made for your temporary stay.

After that you were never the same and by that you never left, they let you stay, more like they wanted you to stay. You grew to feel something that could never last across the known brutal ends of trials like this. They grew to love you, more than anything. And you, you grew to adore them.

As the end came your last sight was that of the two far beyond your reach, a cold and swift sword piercing you from behind. You shouldn't have gotten so connected in this game, you knew how it would end. and with that fact in mind this death hurt more than anything, cause now you had something to lose. You lost it.

It was like limbo, nothing was around you and it felt like an eternity since you felt warmth, or the touch of anything. You floated around in a dream like state till you finally woke up.

Weeks? Monthes? there was nothing and this close you mind had been from losing its self. A crystalline portal stood waving in front of you calling you name, pulling you closer, it almost felt familiar. Slowly steeping one hand through it felt warm as the sun, fresh as the sky, all you body could do was push itself through.

Standing up from the fertile grounds a view of beautiful architecture stood high, a large purple portal and many different sectors of buildings. Voices were everywhere but none were recognisable until the joyful chuckle of a cowboy rung to your ears like a whistle to a dog. Your head snapped and feet moved quick as light chasing down the sweet soft sound that you had left behind.

There, two stood.

As the trees bumbled with swishes behind them everything felt perfect and nothing could have prepared you for the moment your eyes met theirs. Tangos eyes went wide as his eyebrows turned downwards well Jimmy's shocked face rose with a still of disbelief.

"You..." Tango stumbled of his feet.

"You came home!!" jimmy yelled without a thought

"I found my way back..."

The four leg shared between the two moved like that of a lightning bolt and there they were, there you were. Back into their arms.

[qqueenofhades]

May I ask about prompts 14 and 38 for Dreamling, perhaps?

Dr. Robert Gadling presently has ninety-nine problems, and students who cannot read the module handbook are, at a minimum, ninety-eight of them. (How did they finish school? Take their GCSEs or A-Levels, any of it, while being functionally illiterate? Etc. etc. dismal condition of British state education and indeed the entire British state under the Tories, but still.) He has just fired off a hopefully polite-sounding group email advising everyone to please have a proper look at the posted content before sending him individual queries, when there's a knock on his door and he glances up, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah?"

"Rob?" It's Philippa, again, which makes his heart sink on reflex. They've already had several serious conversations intended to make him consider the possibility of becoming Head of School when her term's up next May, and -- frankly, over his dead body, which in his case is not at all a metaphor. It turns out, however, that she's not here to harass him to take on more professional responsibility, but rather to attend to his personal life. "Your boyfriend's skulking in the foyer and frightening the freshers again. Make him knock it off."

"My boyfr -- ?" Yeah, yeah, all right, the gentleman doth protest too much. Hob hasn't felt up to taking Dream to any faculty functions just yet, but he did tell Amira the other evening at the welcome-back mixer that he was seeing someone, and the news must have spread as fast as any other juicy department gossip. Hob sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. Thanks, Philippa. I'll tell him off."

With that, not sad to get away from the horror of his inbox, Hob pushes back his chair and gets to his feet, trotting out his office door and down the stairs. Even before he descends into sight of the foyer, he can tell where the problem is located. Dream is standing spookily just inside the door, in full goth-black, long-coat, pale-faced, looming-in-your-nightmares splendor, and students are indeed outright sprinting to get past him. Others seem to think he's some weird piece of performance art from the theatre department and are asking for selfies, which makes him stare at them even more. Hob swallows a groan, speeds up, and reaches the ground floor. "Oy," he hisses at the unrepentant King of Dreams. "What are you doing here?"

As per fucking usual, Morpheus haughtily disdains to provide a sensible answer (or indeed, any answer). Hob adores the skinny eldritch weirdo, he really does, but one problem he did not foresee now that they're officially an item is that Dream has gotten downright clingy. After going a hundred years between seeing each other, with each of those meetings usually ending in disaster, Hob's still getting used to the idea of seeing him regularly -- weekly, even. It's not like he minds. Variety is the spice of immortal life, and all that. But it does mean that they need to have a few conversations about boundaries, and this is definitely one of them.

"I'm busy," Hob says, doing his best to sound stern. "I've got work to do, love. Like we do in the human world, eh? Can't all sit around in magical throne rooms, brood, and spin magical stories."

Dream looks miffed at this lightweight estimation of his professional duties. He opens his mouth for some sort of pompous reprimand, but Hob holds up a hand. "Be back at five PM and save me from the emails, and we can jog off together somewhere, all right? But not until then. And stop scaring the students, or Philippa will have my head. Or make me be the Head, and I'm not sure which one's worse."

Dream once more appears about to object -- he still hasn't gotten in a word edgewise, which is probably for the best. But Hob looks furtively in either direction, then kisses Dream on the cheek, spins him around, and propels him out the exit, whereupon he looks very much like an extremely ruffled bird -- raven, probably, which Matthew is bound to find amusing. Mother of God, Hob's life is strange.

Biting a smile despite himself, he trudges back upstairs and dutifully applies himself to the remainder of the paperwork and otherwise makes sure that everything is in order. Then at 5:04pm, he gets up, grabs his things, and heads back downstairs, where Morpheus is waiting for him. "You are," he announces stiffly, "late."

"Only by four minutes. Pretty sure the world won't end." Hob grins crookedly. "Eager to see me, then?"

Morpheus, of course, cannot countenance actually saying this aloud, but it doesn't matter. He holds out his hand, Hob decides he doesn't care who sees him take it, and does so. Then all at once, the familiar surroundings of the Department of History stretch and ripple and fade away, and the next instant, they're not there at all, or London, or Earth. They're here, in Morpheus's home. The Dreaming.

As usual, the place looks eerie, magical, mystical, and lovely, and Hob is getting somewhat more used to the abrupt transition between worlds, so he only swallows hard a few times and then is good to go. They ascend to the castle, he and Lucienne greet each other warmly, and then Morpheus jealously squires him up to his rooms at the top of the tower, beneath the vast dome. The great bed is a temptation, and doubtless they will end up there before too long, but a supper is already laid, glimmering in the fey candles, and Hob blows out a relieved breath. "Could eat an ox. You're a lifesaver, darling."

Morpheus looks the usual blend of awkward and pleased he always does when Hob casually uses endearments or expresses affection. "Does this make up for me alarming your pupils, then?"

"More 'n." Hob sinks into the chair and tries not to wolf down everything in sight. "But still. Don't do it again."

They eat (here in his own realm, in his own stuff, Morpheus eats too). They drink, they talk. It's like old times, and more. Afterward, they go outside to gaze at the stars, a thousand times brighter and more brilliant than anything on Earth, and Morpheus's tousled dark head sinks slowly onto Hob's shoulder, like a feral cat finally becoming close enough with one trusted person to let itself be petted, let itself be loved. Hob bites another smile, this one unspeakably tender, and leans in to kiss Dream's hair. Aye, his life is bloody strange, and it always has been. But he would not trade it for the world.

[gunnerfc]

I have a bunch of unused smut prompts I got from a lil nsfw prompt generator for kinktober so im gonna post like a list of them and if anyone wants a specific player for a prompt, feel free to send it in! & i'll get to them once I clear out the current requests in my inbox!

The prompts will be below the cut since they are smutty & i’m only doing players from my who I write for list! [would link it here but tumblr hates me 🙄]

Feel free to specify who you want as Person A and Person B and add any other details if you want!

-> PROMPT 1 <- Shhh. Person A and Person B are hooking up somewhere they shouldn't be. It's a struggle to stay quiet, especially when people are so close by and the thrill of getting caught gets Person B  so excited, they're biting back moans.

-> PROMPT 2 <- Person A promised Person B they could go for a certain amount of time without an orgasm. But right now, Person A's not so sure they're gonna make it.

-> PROMPT 3 <- Person A gets off on being called ‘baby girl.’ Person B calls Person A ‘baby girl’ shamelessly.

-> PROMPT 4 <- Rumors about Person A and someone else reach Person B. Dirty rumors. Whether or not they're true, Person B can't stop imagining Person A doing the things the rumors claim. Person B has got to find out for themselves if Person A has really done those things, and/or find out what it's like to do them with Person A themselves.

-> PROMPT 5 <- At first it was just that neither of them wanted to hang up, but Person A and Person B stay on the phone so long that eventually they're listening to each other masturbate. Catching stifled gasps and sighs, both getting off on overhearing each other.

-> PROMPT 6 <- What's it gonna take to get these two skinny dipping???

-> PROMPT 7 <- Person A helps rub lotion, oil, sunscreen, or some other slippery substance on Person B. If Person A's hands wander a little in the process, well…

-> PROMPT 8 <- There's a heatwave, and Person A is sweating through their summer clothes, skin glistening with perspiration and clothes clinging uncomfortably to them. Person B suggests Person A remove some clothes. Maybe all their clothes…

-> PROMPT 9 <- Hate sex. Person A and Person B are fighting. It turns into rough sex. They shove each other against walls, pull hair, cuss each other out, continue to fight even as they fuck

-> PROMPT 10 <- Oh my god Person A and Person B are roommates. What happens when they have to share a living space and Person A accidentally walks in on Person B naked or hooking up or something??

-> PROMPT 11 <- Person A and Person B have been apart for too long. The reunion sex is explosive after so much pent-up need.

-> PROMPT 12 <- Shower sex - hotter in concept than in execution. Can you make it work for Person A and Person B? I dare you to try.

-> PROMPT 13 <- Person A spits in Person B's mouth. Why? That's up to you.

-> PROMPT 14 <- Public sex. Person A and Person B hook up in public, barely out of sight - or in plain sight! It's like at least one of them gets off on the idea of being caught, huh? Or is it the sneaky factor??

-> PROMPT 15 <- Person A loves to bring Person B to the brink, then deny Person B release over and over. Person B gets increasingly desperate. Person A wants Person B to beg.

-> PROMPT 16 <- Person A's going commando. Does Person B know? Did Person B tell Person A to lose the underwear? Or does Person B discover Person A's lack of underwear on their own?

-> PROMPT 17 <- Person A is always too gentle. Person B wants Person A to hurt them and fuck them roughly, but doesn't know how to ask without scaring Person A off.

-> PROMPT 18 <- Jealous of the attention Person A receives from a third party, Person B decides to remind them to whom they belong. Person B takes Person A to bed, touching and handling them possessively, covetously

-> PROMPT 19 <- Person A is not on their best behavior. Person B decides Person A needs a spanking. For real. Person A is astounded by Person B's conclusion, and by the way they are suddenly turned over Person B's knee. Pants up? Pants down? Can't wait to find out.

-> PROMPT 20 <- After a particularly hard day, it's obvious Person A needs some special attention and reassurance. Person B takes them to bed and gives them long, emotionally gratifying comfort sex. That can be defined however you want, but might include: lots of praise, words of affirmation, eye contact, or especially intense forms of contact.

-> PROMPT 21 <- Person A and Person B break the bed. Whoops. How'd that happen?

-> PROMPT 22 <- Person A won't let Person B touch them. But Person A? Oh, Person A can touch Person B all they want. And they do, teasing Person B several times a day with gropes and caresses, till Person B is hugely pent up - all while smacking Person B’s wandering hands away. Damn, Person A is such a tease.

[captainpriceslilwife]

On your vaginismus poll my thoughts are as follows (not that you asked lmao I'm so sorry). First I mean if I'm thinking of the guys how I generally head canon them in my head (except in some super dark or super angsty ideas) I think all of them would be suitable for a partner with vaginismus as you've described it. Assuming they're loving, empathetic partners who care for you and your pleasure, and are great about consent, then I think they'd show up in the ways needed to either help vaginal intercourse happen eventually if that's possible, or they'd just be fine focusing on other acts. Even if you want to head canon that they aren't as perfect and are just very oriented toward their pleasure, I think generally they'd just expect head and still understand that they're supposed to get you off and do so. Personally I'd assume Johnny or Nikolai wouldn't be quite as great as the others in being content with non-PIV-oriented-sex as the others, but they're also the two I'm least interested in so take that with a grain of salt. I could see solid arguments for Price as well as people often head canon him as traditional.

But I think the more interesting way to think about your question of 'who would be best' is like, who would excel! I think the key ingredients to excelling here would be a pleasure!dom or like service!top coded partner - these are common routes with Gaz, John, and Simon. Alternatively someone who really likes giving and receiving head - people often like to code Simon this way. Another great option would be someone who has some other significant kink or fetish that could kind of take up space and beef up the sex if that makes sense - like giving it a focus. Like if someone was super into anal or shibari or foot stuff or impact play or idk food stuff? Or even like particular BDSM archetypes like DDLG or service or pet play etc, something that adds other activities that they consider arousing and takes up time and space in the sex act.

Anyway just some random musings. I'm new to your blog but I love it!

NEVER apologize to me for filling my inbox with thoughts. I live for this shit!!! Everyone, please send me every thought you've ever had. The more detailed the better. This is judgement-free zone (judgers are shot on sight)

And you're so right. All of our lovely boys would step up to the plate for their partner if she had vaginismus - full stop. I don't think it's something that any of them would back down from, even Johnny (our poor horny boy...), but I do think they'd all approach it differently. And I think it's really fun to think of all of the ways they might get creative!!!

For example, I think Johnny would absolutely go the fun route. He would want to make his girl laugh and giggle during intimate moments just to show her that it doesn't have to feel so scary. He's not pressuring her to do anything she doesn't want, and he seems so lighthearted that it helps her to relax around him. Even if she doesn't end up letting him hit vaginally, he manages to make the both of them feel good and have fun so she doesn't feel bad about it. And he does talk to her vagina. Regularly. Says he's just trying to 'make her feel less nervous' around him. Oddly enough, it works. "How are my bonnie lasses doing today?" "Lasses, Johnny?" "Aye, ye and yer pretty cunt :)"

I think a lot of people underestimate Simon in this category. I feel like more people lean towards the idea of him heading more towards BDSM, but...I think he just...gets it? Oh you have trauma/crippling anxiety/some muscle disorder that is out of your control and your body is literally a home for your pain? It's woven its way into the very fascia of your being? He understands. He has his own traumas, and he knows what it's like for your body to work against you, especially when it comes to muscle issues or pain. He'd help his partner relax by simply not judging them for their problem. They'd be so worried that he'd be disappointed and frustrated with them, but they're just met with a six foot something looming man shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world. "'S all good, lovie....i'll jus' eat you out then, yeah?"

Now our sweet, handsome Kyle....is secretly a freak. Bro is undercover fr, but do NOT let that pretty face fool you. He's the one that's pulling pet play or some freaky shit into it. He'll make her vaginismus part of the roleplay somehow, seamlessly filling in any gaps that she may feel she's opened up in their sex life. But he's very careful about how he frames it. I think Kyle is very sensitive to how his partner is feeling (part of what makes him such a good pleasure!dom/service!top partner), and so he'll make sure he's not objectifying her or dehumanizing her in any way that makes her feel uncomfortable. Weirdly enough, I think he's the most likely out of all of them to take a vested interest in whatever healing journey she decides to go down - if she decides to go down one. He's meditating with her, he's going to her pelvic therapy appointments, he's practicing with the dialators, etc. etc. He's right there beside her through the whole thing.

John. Everyone's favorite for this headcanon. Also my husband. His strength is in his ability to be patient (and his skill in giving head WHO SAID THAT??) Ahem...anyways. He's a slow-moving man when it comes to relationships. He gives me the vibe of a guy who can buy a fixer-upper house, and actually fix it (none of this half-finished bathroom remodel bs). Whatever project he starts, he sees it through to the end, period. And I feel like he'd kind of see this the same way. Which may also make his girl feel a little bit like she's something to be fixed. And he feels guilty as hell when he realizes. He's a good leader - he's used to taking care of everyone and making sure everything is running smoothly - but he's figuring out that his girl just wants him to accept her the way she is. And so, he does. Depending on the dynamic of their relationship, I think it could go one of two ways. 1) He's going the BDSM route. He gives me more traditional BDSM vibes, and less of the freakier stuff that Kyle is into, but I think he'd adapt for his girl if that's what she wanted. He wants to give her a feeling of safety in sex with structure, because that's a language he's fluent in. OR 2) He's not filling in the gaps with anything sexual - he's going the romantic route. He'll take her out on more dates, cuddle her, let her go as far as she wants to with sex and no further, wine and dine her, you know the rest. He'll show her that their relationship doesn't depend on whether or not he can get inside of her.

And last but certainly not least - Nikolai. I'm actually surprised that his poll isn't higher, but maybe I just have my own version of him in my mind where he's the most wonderful man in the world (also I just #need that). I kind of touched on it with @compulsivebites (hi <3) in the comments of the poll, but Nikolai is very much the type to smell the flowers, so to speak. He really is just enjoying the process of opening his girl up for him - so even if they never get to a point of 100% penis in vagina insertion, he's having a good time, and he's making sure she's having a good time, too. Something about the pressure being taken off of her to finally reach that end goal (being able to have full sex) actually makes her more likely to get there. But he doesn't care either way. He just wants his girl to be relaxed and happy. He loves to spoil his partners, and he's absolutely the type of man that can get even the most uptight people to let loose a little. Plus, I love the idea of him working me open with a dialator (shoutout @compulsivebites again) so...yeah. This is all influenced by horny.

[getlitaesthetic]

Are you dead? Did the dark AU finally catch up to you?

I am alive!! Apologies to all of my demon fuckers out there, a lot has happened. I’m disabled now, retired from the Army, bought a fixer-upper house sight unseen, moved to a state I’d only ever spent 3 days in, and I have 7 pets at the moment. I’m also working on writing my first novel!

It’s been a very long time since I’ve played the game, so while I’m still happy to mess around with you all in the Dark!AU, I will put more energy into things focused on the characters I created (the children of the dark, the horsemen, OCs like Seroth and Dalgoron, etc) and the personality traits I chose for the demons and less emphasis on trying to keep anything lore-accurate to the game. It’s also possible that my writing style may have changed some while I was gone, although I think it will still be recognizable for those of you who have been here a while.

I might also post about my book or other personal things from time to time! If I get stuck on my book I’ll try and take some time to put together a little explainer for the Dark!AU for anyone that doesn’t want to go through all of the backlog to get caught up on general info.

If you have any questions on any of this or are interested in helping me roll along in this direction, my inbox is always open for any asks, submissions, and messages.

All the love in the world to those of you that still check in here and send me things 💋