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wandaslovey · 7 months ago

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ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ; ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.3k

authors note: part two is here!! let me just say, thank you all SO so much for all the love you gave me for part one 🫶🏻. there’s a little treat for y’all at the end 🤭 comment to be added to the tag list! this is not proofread.

authors note: for part three, i’m probably going to do a time skip where the contract has been signed and their relationship has begun. don’t worry though, it will still be in the beginning stages!

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, in-depth discussions about bdsm and bdsm contracts, kissing, brief mentions of masturbation

venturing is inevitable: masterlist

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you pop in your wireless earbuds, scrolling on your phone to one of your comfort playlists. it was saturday and you were currently in a taxi on your way to the maximoff-romanoff household. it felt so surreal being in this situation. the more you thought about it, the more nervous you felt, so you opted for listening to some music to calm your nerves.

they’d texted you their address the day before, and you were surprised to find out they lived outside the city in the suburbs. not just any suburbs though—the rich suburbs. scarsdale to be more specific. it was just over 20 miles out of manhattan, so the drive usually took between 30-40 minutes, depending on traffic.

you found yourself feeling grateful that mrs. romanoff texted you early in the morning, telling you she insisted they cover the cost of the taxi as when you glance up at the meter halfway through the drive, it was already almost $100.

you’d thought a lot about your coffee “date” with the two married lawyers. you’d taken it upon yourself to do some of your own research on google the afternoon after returning home, but you quickly regretted it as all the images of people tied in uncomfortable positions frightened you. it didn’t help that the majority of the websites listed first were amateurs who didn’t truly understand bdsm dynamics or relationships—but you didn’t know that yet.

there was something else that made you uncomfortable. well, rather something that made you feel shamefully hot in a way you weren’t familiar with. you think back to a few days ago at the coffee shop, noticing all the little ways both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff gently asserted dominance: they both waited outside, the door was held open for you, they ordered and paid for you, mrs. maximoff guided you gently through the shop, mrs. romanoff hailed you a cab and they both saw you off.. it was all in the little things. all those little things which were carefully calculated and amounted to you feeling safe—cared for. you never imagined you would notice, let alone care for someone to take charge in that way, but you did. you couldn’t begin to imagine all the others things that were typically encapsulated within a dominant. things you were sure both mrs.romanoff and her wife possessed. how far did their dominating desire go? was there anything they didn’t like to have control of?

the cab driver turns down their street, slowing down after passing the first 3 well-spaced out houses and you look out the window to see what you assume to be their home. their house had a clean, modern vibe with some bold design elements. the exterior was wrapped in crisp white paneling, which contrasted against the deep black roof and window frames. the windows were framed with sleek black trim, giving the house a more modern/contemporary feel. the front porch had a few steps leading up to the door, and above it, there’s a simple black square awning that extends out, adding a cool architectural touch. it gave the entrance a little extra character while still keeping things minimal. to the side, there’s a driveway that leads to the garage, and the front featured a circular driveway that made for an easy and elegant arrival or departure. the layout felt both functional and stylish, and modern yet still welcoming.

it’s mrs. maximoff that comes out of the house to greet you. she was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button up with some white wide leg jeans. her hair was up, twisted in a messy knot that still managed to look elegant. she looked beautiful.

she quickly makes her way over to the taxi driver, handing him a wad of cash without batting an eye. you couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like more than the actual fee that was meant to be paid.

“hey, you,” her greeting paired with what seemed to be her signature smile made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. she seemed genuinely happy to see you again, and for that you felt delighted. you were equally as excited to see her again, even if the circumstances were a bit nerve wracking.

you return her greeting with a small hello, feeling a little flustered when she looks you over in a not-so secretive way.

“look at you…

you know, you really didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” she grins blithely before leading the way back through the circular drive to the front door.

“this? oh i sort of just threw it on… should i have chosen something else?” you ask shyly as you keep pace with her, walking right by her side.

you’d chosen to wear a rose taupe ruched mini dress with white high tops, and you did not in fact ‘just throw it on.’ it was the 5th outfit you’d tried on before deciding that was what you’d wear.

“i’m messing with you, dragotsennaya veshch. you look very beautiful,” she appraises you and you feel yourself blush at the attention. you remember the nickname from the last time she called you that, but you still had no idea what it meant.

she steps in front, reaching to open the door for you before you both step inside. you marvel at the interior, which was just as beautiful as the outside, however it was less bright. there were more dark tones in here mimicking that of the office at their law firm.

“wow…you guys have a beautiful home,” you muse, admiring the high ceiling in the entry way and the minimal decor.

“well, thank you. follow me.” she speaks warmly, stepping ahead of you to lead you through the house. you find yourself looking around as she walks in front of you, noticing that there weren’t very many personal touches, but they were there if you looked hard enough. in a way, their house almost look like a museum—free of dust and exceptionally organized.

she leads you into a huge open room which appeared to be a cozy living space and just a little past that, the kitchen. there were black pendant lights dangling from the ceiling above the island, which had a black and white marble countertop. you see mrs. romanoff with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of filtered water.

“natasha, our guest is here,” she announces, placing a hand on your back and gently nudging you forward closer to the counter top. natasha turns, an easy smile gracing her features.

even with just a brief glimpse, you couldn’t help but observe how she seemed to be much more at ease in her home. her usual more stiff posture relaxed and the air around her felt a little lighter than normal.

“hi there, pretty girl,” she looks you over, just as her wife did, only she does it even more obviously. “wearing another cute outfit i see,” she murmurs, but it seems like the observation was mostly meant for herself as her eyes continue skimming your figure.

“i thought the same thing! i told her she didn’t have to dress up for us,” mrs. maximoff chuckles, her wife joining in. for that moment, it was as if they were talking about you like weren’t even there, which brought back a now familiar feeling of being small in their presence.

you shrug, ducking your head forward so your hair falls into your face, covering your blush. you hear mrs. romanoff set her glass on the countertop before she rounds the kitchen island, walking until she was standing right next to you. you watch her through your peripheral vision until she’s close enough that you half turn to face her. her hand comes up to gently lift your chin, her finger curling underneath it.

“hey, we’re just teasing you. don’t hide your face from me.” her voice was gentle yet you could sense that she was being serious about you trying to hide your bashfulness from her. you nod your head very slowly, now captivated with her closeness and the air of dominance she carried over with her.

“good. i’d hate to miss seeing these cheeks blush. it’s very cute,” she adds, making your cheeks flame even hotter. she smiles at that, immediately noticing the difference in shade.

“wanda, look at her,” she muses and your eyes dart from hers to mrs. maximoff who steps over to her wife’s side, appraising your pink cheeks with a smile of her own.

“da—dragotsennaya veshch. i told you the name suits her perfectly,” mrs. romanoff hums at her wife’s comment. they both gaze at you, desire and sinful admiration gleaming behind their impossibly green eyes. you fight the urge to suck on your bottom lip, figuring it would only give them more fuel to embarrass you.

you were about to ruin their little moment and ask what name it was that wanda kept referring to you as, but mrs. romanoff suddenly drops her hand, the both of them stepping back away from you.

“do you want some water, (y/n)? are you thirsty?” mrs. romanoff asks, already rounding the counter to the cupboard to retrieve a glass.

“yeah sure,” you nod politely, reaching to grab the glass from her once she’s filled it with water. you take a swig, regardless of not actually being thirsty.

“here, come sit,” mrs. maximoff puts a hand on your elbow, guiding you into the living room area which was just a step down from the kitchen. there was a large sofa towards the center, facing a whole glass wall which stretched across the large open room and overlooked their beautiful backyard. it was so green; many trees, bushes and grass to marvel at.

mrs. maximoff sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. you sit down, your glass in hand, which she gently takes from you and sets in a cup holder to your right. as she reaches over you, even for the brief moment, you smell a trace of her perfume which smelled something like pears, fig leaves and sandalwood. it was heavenly and somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

“so, how was the rest of your week? how were your classes?” she asks, propping her elbow on the back couch cushion and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. something about having her full attention on you in such close proximity made your heart stutter.

“it was good! i only go in person 3 days a week and the rest is online. the homework load was about a medium for this week, so i wasn’t too overwhelmed or anything.” as you speak, mrs. romanoff enters the living room, sitting next to her wife on the couch. she crosses her legs, leaning close to her wife so she can see you just as well.

“what does a ‘medium’ homework load look like to you?” mrs. romanoff asks with a smirk. she must’ve remembered what you’d said at the interview about loving homework.

you sigh amusedly, giving wanda a quick glance to see a touch of a knowing smile on her face. you two were fellow academic lovers it seemed like.

“2 short essays, 3 discussion boards and 1 little worksheet thing.. no big deal,” you giggle softly when mrs. romanoff rolls her eyes at your response.

“right - okay,” she mutters though there’s an affectionate smile curling at her lips.

there was a small bout of silence which was comfortable given the light-hearted tone of the conversation, but that didn’t last very long.

“so, have you thought any more about our conversation at the coffee shop?” mrs. romanoff asks. your tummy does a flip flop at the change in subject, but you knew this was ultimately what you were here for.

“a-a little yeah,” you say, not offering anything else just yet. you look down at your lap, your hands playing with the hem of your dress ending several inches above your knee.

“anything you’d like to share?” mrs. romanoff presses, her features etched with amused interest. she loved the way you instantly became more shy with the new topic of conversation.

“uhm.. well i found some stuff on the internet.. more pictures and some examples of the..um..contracts you mentioned,” you pause, your eyes flickering up from your lap to mrs. maximoff’s face and then her wife’s. mrs. maximoff nods encouragingly, wanting you to continue.

“the contracts largely consisted of rules? is that accurate—like something you guys want from me?” you ask slowly, fighting the urge to bury yourself in a hole and hide. you could feel your skin crawling from how out of your element you felt.

“yes, our contract would have rules. we only have a few set rules for each submissive, but the others we come up with will be personalized just for you once we begin our..relationship,” mrs. maximoff tucks some hair behind your ear, her hand resting just above your knee, trying to be reassuring.

you swallow, gathering up the courage to ask your new follow-up question. “what sort of rules?” your mind thinks back to the many drafted up contracts on the internet, wondering if any of the rules you saw there were ones they’d want for you.

“before we answer that—how do you feel about rules? just thinking about it right now, how would you feel if there were rules we asked you to follow?” mrs. romanoff asks, leaning forward as she rests her elbows on her blue-jean clad thighs. you ponder her question, playing out a scenario in your mind. you remember one “sample” rule you saw online: ‘always greet your dominant kneeling by the door upon their arrival.’ that one was more extreme. you thought of two others: no touching yourself without permission and always address your dominant by their honorific. those ones made your cheeks flush red again, a deep blush gracing your features that couldn’t be ignored.

“look at that blush.. now you have to tell us what you’re thinking,” mrs. maximoff gently nudges you with her shoulder, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

you clear your throat, your fingers drawing imaginary patters on the thigh mrs. maximoff wasn’t holding. “i was just remembering some of the rules..” you reply vaguely. mrs. maximoff hums, sounding unsatisfied with your concise answer. she gently lifts your chin as her wife did earlier, her pointer finger curled under your jaw and her thumb holding your chin in place.

“hey, listen to me. if talking about this truly makes you uncomfortable, we can stop right now. we don’t have to do this if it’s not something you want,” you look into her green eyes, reading the gentleness and sincerity there. your eyes flicker over to mrs. romanoff who had a similar expression, and she nodded at her wife, drawing your attention back to mrs. maximoff.

you hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, finding great comfort in the tenderness held in her green orbs. “that’s not what i want,” you manage to speak, pausing for a second to gather your thoughts. “i’m just not used to talking so openly about this kind of stuff…or having this much attention,” you admit softly, wanting to look down but wanda’s fingers hold you firmly in place.

“you don’t have to be so embarrassed, honey, though it is really cute. still.. this is a safe space. you can ask or tell us anything,” mrs. romanoff reaches her hand across her wife and affectionately traces down your nose, smiling as she does so.

“you think it’s cute?” you blurt the question aloud without really thinking to stop yourself. mrs. romanoff grins wider, a gleam twinkling in her eye.

“it is. i don’t know if i’ve ever met somebody so innocent. it’s equally as cute as it is sexy.” you smile shyly at her words, looking back from her to her wife. mrs. maximoff smiles, her eyes flicking down to your lip which you coyly sucked into your mouth. she uses her thumb to pull your lip free from your teeth, tsking gently as she does so. your breath hitches at the action which both mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff notice but don’t comment on.

“how about this, why don’t we start somewhere else? how about you tell us why you didn’t say no right away when we posed the question the other day?” mrs. maximoff asks. you don’t have to think about her question long before you have an answer.

“i guess i was just intrigued.. i mean i guess the thought of being able to submit in some ways is..appealing to me?” you say it as a question, unsure you’re using the correct words to communicate your feelings.

“that’s a good start, detka. tell us more along those lines. what about it appeals to you?” mrs. romanoff encourages you.

you inhale slowly, looking off to the side as you think of how to expand upon your answer. “i think similar to other people, i would like a space or time where i don’t have to have control over all aspects of my life. kinda like…like i want to be able to shut my mind off sometimes - if that makes sense?” you half shrug your shoulder, looking between the two women to see if it looks like they understood your explanation.

“that makes perfect sense, sweetheart. that’s exactly what submission does. when you turn yourself over to your dominant, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with it. knowing that there’s someone you trust that is going to take control and steer you in a certain direction—and you don’t have to think or worry about anything.” mrs. maximoff’s explanation was very appealing to you. you think back on moments when life was really stressful and realize how much more doable those moments would have been had you been able to silence your mind for a little bit.

“that does sound really nice,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but both of the lawyers noticed. the two of them chuckle softly at your admission, thoroughly entertained by your cuteness.

mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff continue educating you on the many beauties of being a submissive. they’d told you it wasn’t just about the sex, in fact, the sex was never really as good if the dynamic wasn’t always held firmly in place in other aspects of life as well. you listen intently to their words, becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of signing a contract with them by the minute.

“(y/n)?” mrs. romanoff asks after a little bit of her and her wife talking at you.

“hmm?” you look at her curiously, her tone making you slightly nervous to hear her question.

“what was it earlier that had you so embarrassed? something about some rules you found online?” you swallow thickly, remembering the two rules that made you blush so deeply. up until this point, the three of you had all managed not to make this conversation so much about the sexual aspects of bdsm, but rather more the dynamics. your answering the question would change that.

“well…there was one about always addressing your dominant using their honorific and then, um.. well the other said..” you trail off, pressing your lips together as you bounce your leg a bit anxiously.

“it said what, dragotsennaya veshch? come on, i can see it on the tip of your tongue,” mrs. romanoff encourages, a devious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“nottotouchyourselfwithoutpermission,” you mumble quickly, the beginning of a blush coloring the apples of your cheeks.

“ah, what was that?” mrs. romanoff makes a show of cupping her ear and tilting her head to show you she was listening, that same wicked smile still plastered on her face. she’d heard exactly what you said.

“natalia, bud' s ney milym,” mrs. maximoff says in what sounds like a gentle scolding tone.

mrs. romanoff just laughs, reaching over and cupping your jaw with one hand. “i can’t help it, look at her!” you pout at what you now knew was her teasing.

“it really is hard not to tease you when you look like that..” mrs. maximoff murmurs in her wife’s defense, tapping your nose as she has her own more subtle version of a wicked smile.

“i can’t help it! when you guys talk to me like that, i have to blush!” you explain, a little exasperated.

“like what?? like you’re the most adorable thing ever? i could eat you up (y/n), i swear to the gods,” mrs. romanoff grins at her own words, seemingly high on the current air in the room which was very light and fuzzy. mrs. maximoff chuckles, purposely squeezing what she guessed would be a sensitive part of your thigh to get you to join in their light laughter. you shake off the ticklish sensation, stubbornly pressing your lips in a firm line as to not smile as they were openly teasing you without mercy.

“not funny..” you mutter, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting cutely.

“you’re right - we’re getting off topic. so, back to the rule about not touching yourself…” mrs. romanoff starts, her tone teasing.

“okay! we can go back to teasing me again,” you say a little too loudly, feeling less embarrassed about the topic now, but still a little nervous.

“sorry little girl, you’re not gonna wiggle your way out of this one for a third time,” mrs. maximoff pokes your side before reaching down and casually lifting your legs to drape across both her and her wife’s lap. the sudden change of sitting position and new physical contact made your tummy flutter, your attention suddenly fully locked in on the two of them.

“would you have a problem with that rule?” mrs. maximoff asks, the tone in the air quickly changing again.

“uhm..well i-“ you clear your throat, running your hand nervously through your hair. “is that one of your set rules?” you feel mrs. maximoff’s fingers begin to lightly trace a small line up and down your thigh. she and mrs. romanoff both looked so in their element and you were just here—a clueless little thing.

“yes, it is,” mrs. maximoff responds. you swallow thickly again, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower tummy. just the thought alone was beginning to make your body heat up. what did they do if their submissive did touch themselves?

“oh…what would you do if your submissive broke that rule?” you ask curiously, unable to keep that question to yourself.

mrs. romanoff looks at her wife and you could see a brief silent conversation happening with their eyes. they both turn their attention back to you before mrs. romanoff speaks up.

“there are a few punishments we would most likely choose from: a spanking, edging or overstimulation. the punishment our submissive would receive would depend on who is delivering the punishment and also what the submissive is okay with and work within her limits.” she explains it so casually, but you find her words anything but casual. you were surprised that the thought of being spanked made you shamefully hot. it was starting to seem like they were awakening something in you you didn’t know existed.

“edging..? is that like an orgasm denial thing?” you ask the clarifying question, both of their ease and openness on the topic beginning to rub off on you a bit. it really did feel like a safe space.

“mhmm, that’s exactly right,” mrs. romanoff nods her head, giving you an encouraging smile.

“so…why that rule?” as you ask your question, the short lines mrs. maximoff was drawing on your leg turn to intricate circles. she seemed to be doing it absentmindedly.

mrs. romanoff purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with desire. “because, detka. if you agree to be our submissive, your pleasure will belong to us. every sound you make, every twitch, every thought we want to be apart of—to possess and control.” her facial expression turns a little harder as she speaks, an air of dominance surrounding the three of you like a little bubble. you feel your mouth go dry, your legs unconsciously pressing together at her words.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” mrs. maximoff asks, noticing your cheeks flush and your legs press together as they still lay across her and her wife’s lap. she knows exactly why you’re suddenly more restless, but she can’t help but tease you a bit with it.

“mhmm, i’m fine,” you squeak, your voice cracking which you try to cover up by clearing your throat. your mind scrambles to think of another question—anything to get the intense attention off of you, even for a moment.

“what do your submissives call you?” you ask, hoping their answer wouldn’t make your panties any wetter than they were already becoming.

mrs. maximoff raises a hand to the side of your face, curling some hair behind your ear as she simply replies, “mommy—they address me as mommy.” she then reaches blindly to the side, cupping under mrs. romanoff’s chin. “and they call natasha, daddy.”

you hear your own breathing hitch, their honorifics taking you back a bit. somehow, they encapsulated those names perfectly but hearing mrs. maximoff say them out loud was a different thing. you picture yourself addressing them as such, and you feel your panties becoming wetter. you mentally slap yourself. you needed to get a grip otherwise you were going to start dripping onto your thigh.

“you like that, don’t you, krasivaya devushka?” mrs. romanoff asks in a low voice, her eyes drinking in your thighs which were now noticeably pressed firmly together.

where your mouth once felt dry, it was now watering. your lips part as you exhale breathily. you look from mrs. romanoff to mrs. maximoff who was now leaning closer to you, glancing at your lips. you lick them subconsciously, leaning closer to her. you feel her hand come to cradle the back of your head, her other hand cupping under your jaw, gripping it more firmly than you’d expect. your breath is shaky as your heart begins to pound in your ears, the smell from mrs. maximoff filling your nose as she leans even closer to you until your faces are merely inches apart.

“do you want this, dragotsennaya veshch?” her voice is seductive and slow as she enunciates her words. her green eyes were hooded, her lips looking so very tempting.

you nod your head, not taking your eyes off of her lips. you see a hint of a smile there as she closes the small gap, her lips parting slightly before she presses them against yours. her lips tasted faintly of grapefruit and you instantly want more of it.

your arms reach up to wrap around her neck as she kisses you slowly but deeply. she hums into your mouth, one of her hands sliding down your arm to your hip and gripping there firmly. so caught up in the sensations of her lips on yours and her hands touching you so expertly, you let out a small whimper. mrs. maximoff gives your hip a squeeze after hearing that, her tongue tracing your bottom lip. just as you part your lips to give her access to your mouth, she pulls away, a pleased smirk on her face.

“a little eager, are we?” she chuckles and it’s only after her comment that you realize in the midst of your kiss, you’ve curled your legs up in her lap, your arms wrapping tightly around her as you cling to her body.

you loosen your hold, feeling a little shy at having so easily gotten carried away. “m’sorry,” you mumble, your legs stretching back out so they’re sprawled across mrs. romanoff’s legs again.

“oh sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize. it’s very cute,” she coos at the end of her sentence, her finger coming up to delicately trace your bottom lip. you look at her, your soft eyes full of wonder and adoration.

“i want to do this,” you announce, looking between mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff who had begun stroking your legs as they rest on her thighs.

they both chuckle softly at your pronouncement, finding your sudden enthusiasm amusing.

“patience, pretty girl. there’s still some things we need to discuss before we have you sign the contract,” mrs. romanoff says before continuing, “i think we’ve explored enough for today. why don’t we send you a copy of our contract, you can review it,,and then when we get together next—if you still want to—you can sign it.” she suggests and you readily agree, knowing how badly you already want to see them again and how anxiously eager you are to continue exploring this new world.

you decide to see each other again tomorrow, which was at mrs. maximoff’s suggestion, but they both seemed equally eager to spend more time with you.

they order you an uber, insisting on paying the fee. mrs. romanoff got all stern when you’d said you really didn’t expect them to pay and she told you that was nonsense and that she didn’t want to hear you say another word about them covering costs of things for you.

as they walk you to the door, you say your goodbye’s, excited at the prospect of seeing them tomorrow. you make your way over to the uber parked in the circular driveway, mrs. maximoff lingering the doorway as mrs. romanoff walks you to the car. just before you reach for the door handle, you turn to say something to her and gasp softly when you realize she’s standing very close to you. you could sense a switch had flipped in her—the one that causes her to exude so much more dominant energy.

your posture becomes less dignified, your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as you glance up at her. she leans down close to you, her finger tilting your chin up.

“don’t touch yourself tonight,” she says firmly, her eyes locking in on yours.

“wh-what?” you breath out, feeling a little disoriented with her closeness and the energy she was exuding.

“you heard me—i know you’ll want to. regardless of the contract not being signed, i don’t want you to pleasure yourself. do you understand?” her voice is sinfully sexy as she commands you in a way no one ever has before.

your cheeks blush as you glance from the front door where mrs. maximoff was still standing and then back to her wife. you slowly nod your head, swallowing harshly as your neck was still extended from your chin being lifted up.

“good girl,” she praises, closing the gap and placing a peck on your unsuspecting lips. she releases your face, stepping back and opening the door for you as if nothing had happened. you climb inside in a daze, your eyes fogged over as your mind feels a little fuzzy.

“see you tomorrow, (y/n),” she drags your name out in a slight teasing tone before shutting the door, the car driving off as you’re left sitting there stunned.

there was no way you weren’t going to sign that contract.

——————————

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#venturing is inevitable: series #vii #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff x you #mommy!wanda #daddy!nat

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callmecoke · 8 months ago

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sugar baby headcanons!

CW: Mention of sex work, This is sfw generally but still deals with adult topics so proceed with caution.

Tf141 x reader

What you’ve realised about your favourite mystery account is that A) it's run by multiple people, and B) At least one of them is called Price.

You can’t exactly pinpoint who the rest are or how many, but you’ve managed to identify a few common themes when interacting with the account.

First, you know who Price is, and you can almost always tell it's him when he’s interacting with you. He’s the one you go to first regarding bills and fees you physically can’t pay. Within seconds, he transfers you the money and never lets you thank him for any of it. He also does his weekly check-ins to make sure everything is good. “Have you eaten?” “How’d you sleep?” “Did you take your meds last night?” That kind of thing. He’s also the one who calls you ‘Dolly’, a nickname he reserved for you.

But you're also pretty sure this other guy (Simon) lurks in the chat when you’re streaming. He won’t ask questions; he just sends you random tips throughout the stream while he watches silently. He’s not as talkative as Price or the others, and that’s kind of how you know it's him. But you’ve realised that just because he’s quiet doesn't mean he doesn't want to talk. It’s quite the opposite. He enjoys hearing you talk about your life and day and silently rewards you. When you DM him, you even get a little conversation. Nothing more than money and a “Nice”, but still conversation nonetheless.

You know one other fellow spends most of his time in the livestreams and not in your DMs (Gaz). He’s the one who engages with you in conversation the most, asking endless questions about your life. And he always comes back on the next live stream, remembering everything you said in the last. He’ll want the update on that project you were working on for school or if that job interview went as well as you both had hoped. If you weren’t Live to complete strangers, you’d probably open up to him about stuff you’ve never told anyone.

Now…One more person shows up now and again, mainly in your DMs. Part of the service for the website is that people can pay you to take a selfie and give it to them. They can be dirty or completely innocent; it all depends on what you’re advertising. There’s this one person who rather frequently asks for pictures of you, especially those with you smiling. You know it’s a different guy from the others you’ve spotted because he’s the only one who's outright flirtatious with you. Initially, you were wary. A man spending a lot of money on pictures of your face and upper body just screams trouble. But you grew to trust the account, so when you sent them the image, you were surprised by how quickly he showered you with praise.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ll give a strong man a heart attack walking around that gorgous.”

“Makes me wonder how cute you look in person.” “I’m surprised no ones come along and snatched you up all ready. Can’t complain though. Means I get more of you to myself.”

You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a slight blush on your cheeks after reading his responses.

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truthscrapper · 2 months ago

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Devlog #1 📚 The Very First Devlog

We announced Truth Scrapper with a beautiful trailer this month!!! The response has been absolutely incredible, thank you so much for following me on another funky memory adventure. Throughout the development of ISAT, I have written monthly devlogs on Steam, talking about the making of the game. People liked them a bunch, so…

That’s right. It’s time. For the Very First Truth Scrapper devlog!

In case you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I am the creator of timeloop RPG In Stars and Time, and now am working on my next game, memory visual novel Truth Scrapper. It’s gonna be a good one.

Alright! Development talk time. Where’s the game at?!?!

So, right now, I have just finished writing the script for Day 4, so I "only" have the art, code, and implementation to do for that day. Truth Scrapper is divided in 7 days, with three different routes you can go through from Day 6 onwards. So really, I need to write and code 11 days. Which puts me at almost ⅓ through development! WOAHRGH!?? At this point, I know where the story is going, I know what each route will consist of, etc. I just don’t know the Details. The portraits are all done, backgrounds are done sequentially for every day, gameplay is all figured out… TLDR: It’s In Good Shape!!!

“That was a good short paragraph, but can I have the detailed timeline of the game. Please.” ok fine you asked for it.

The Big Timeline (and some images!) under the cut

📚 this image was made so early in development, it didn't even have Betz's shibari-like pink harness

TRUTH SCRAPPER TIMELINE

DEC 2022: I finish ISAT around NOV 2022. I get an idea. I write it down. It was going to be an RPG but nobody got time for that. Main themes and ending are here. I work on pre-production very slowly over the next couple months (because I am recovering from finishing ISAT and still gotta keep working on post-production stuff for ISAT)

JULY 2023: Ok fine let's make a renpy file and figure out if the most important gameplay thing can be done. AKA: can I make a book menu where the game remembers the choices you make, and how complicated is that gonna be for me to add to it down the line. It works and I am happy

📚 this image was made so early in development, it just looks very bad

AUGUST 2023: Character design. They look Not Great and character design takes me like nine months. Plot is getting somewhere though!

NOV 2023: In Stars and Time comes out. People like it I think.

MARCH 2024: I decide I need to work on something, and decide to work on that and apply for the Ontario Creates grant. This game is actually starting for realsies!!!!!!!

MAY 2024: I actually lock down character designs.

JUNE 2024: I hire Dora, who was the producer of In Stars and Time and who rules.

📚 dora and i signing our lives to one another on discord. the bond between a creator and their producer can never be broken

SEPT 2024: I work on da gaem

MAY 2025: Day 3 is implemented. We announce the game. Now we’re here!!!!

Alright, that’s it for today! This first devlog is more about telling you where the game is at, and every month you will have a whole new devlog where I can tell you about all the great things I did that month for the game. You can even comment with questions and I might answer them one day. Ok. Thank you. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THATS THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

Links! 📚 Official Website 📚 Join the Discord 📚 Sign up for my mailing list 📚 Follow Truth Scrapper on Bluesky 📚 Follow ME on Bluesky

#truth scrapper #devlog #indie game #video game #visual novel #ts important notice

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part One) (18+) | SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.7K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Phoenix had been the one to give you the final push, and right now you’re glad she did. You’d hemmed and hawed over the booking details for weeks, but when the cruise was only three weeks away, she’d insisted you finalize the paperwork and clinch one of the last available rooms.

“Come on,” She’d given you a knowing look, thin brows raised and lips curled into a smirk, “You need this.”

You do need this. Walking onto the cruise ship feels liberating, like you’re free from the shackles of the U.S Military and living a normal life. You’d been pleasantly surprised to have been granted leave by your commanding officer for the entire week, because Spring Break was a term typically foreign to the Navy. But your squadron's leave fell so perfectly in between late March and early April, so you’ll take the time off and enjoy it.

You’re really going to enjoy it. The cruise you needed oh-so-badly isn’t just an average, run-of-the-mill ship, it’s a program specifically targeted towards those wanting easy hookups.

A sex cruise.

You’d almost been scared away by the no refunds, no rearrangements notice on the cruise’s website, letting you know that you wouldn’t be offered the courtesy of a swap if your random roommate didn’t work out. After all, the point is to get over your reservations, and have a good time. But, you think, it’s only a week, and none of the people you’re seeing around the ship so far look like anyone you’d refuse to have sex with. Do you feel ashamed for signing up for a sex cruise? Slightly. But you can feel slightly ashamed after getting your back blown out by whoever you’re lucky enough to room with. Right now you just need sex, something hot and heavy and rushed, the fervent slapping of skin-on-skin to release the stress pent up inside of you for months now.

Work is tough. You’re no longer the starry-eyed aviator that you’d been at the beginning of your career. You’re older now, you’re starting to exit the honeymoon phase of your job, and to top it off, you haven’t been able to score in months.

You used to have no problem picking up a date here and there around the Hard Deck, but all of a sudden, it’s like Penny had shut off the tap of men pouring out into your lap. You can’t fathom why the entirety of San Diego suddenly decided hookup culture wasn’t for them, but you haven't been able to get laid in months, so you need this cruise. You’re partially terrified that word might get around to your squadron about your vacation, and that the slight shame you're feeling might multiply into something you'll never be able to face. Heaven forbid they change your callsign to Cruiser, or Hookup, or some other derogatory indicator that you're about to have the week of your life.

Hangman already teases you for not being able to take anyone home anymore, you can’t imagine what he’d do if he found out you got on a sex boat. You’ve always been able to bicker and banter with Hangman, dishing out as much as you take, but if he gets wind of what you’re doing this week, you might lose your never-ending stream of competitive banter once and for all.

You shove Hangman out of your thoughts; this is to get away from all of that. He’s a pest, the way he lays out teasing remarks with that saccharine grin on his face, like he’s the cheshire cat and he’s told you a particularly hard-to-decipher riddle. He’s a cheap rival at best, always poking and prodding about being number one, and how you’ll have to hike up your big girl panties if you want to be on his level, despite your record being neck-and-neck with his own. He’s never given you something you can’t return in full-force, but it takes effort to fire back the way that you do, and you’re eager to let your guard down this week and relieve your pent-up frustration.

You pass through the archway they’ve opened to the dock, big double doors angled inside over short, stubbly carpeting. It looks like what you’d find in an 80’s bowling alley, all clashing colors and wacky patterns. The railings to the stairs just in front of you are gold, and they spiral downwards elegantly over the 3 floors below you. They extend upwards 11 more, which is a scary thing to think about; being 15 decks high in the middle of the ocean. The carrier ships you’re used to aren’t small by any means, but their decks are mainly tucked away beneath the surface and shut in so that, if you ignore the rolling waves that toss you side to side, you can pretend you’re on land. Several mostly open upper decks are new to you, but if you’re lucky, you’ll stay centralized to your cabin, tucked away neatly on deck eight, getting your world rocked.

You’ve packed light, a single suitcase rolling behind you as your purse tucks over the handle. It’s an easy way to travel, and you thank basic training for the way that your muscles easily support your luggage as you drag it up a flight of the spiral stairs.

There’s noise everywhere, lights everywhere, people everywhere; it’s complete chaos. But it’s thrumming with excitement, with the promise of sex, and lust, and getting laid, and you fight to stop a grin from growing on your cheeks as you approach the registration desk.

There’s a man in front of you that’s arguing with the receptionist, something about incorrectly filed paperwork, which you don’t exactly blame the guy for. There had been about 35 forms to fill out, STD Test Results here and Consent Questionnaires there. You understand why they’re necessary on a sex cruise, and you’re glad they’re keeping their passengers safe, but they were a pain to fill out.

The receptionist sees you file in line behind the man, looking all too grateful for the distraction.

“If you could just step to the side here,” He gestures, waving the man to the left of his place at the counter, “I’ll call someone down to help you with that, sir.”

The man looks displeased to be put on hold, but you take the opportunity when it comes to you, handing over your printed email confirmation that’s got your room number inked in bold black lettering.

“Ah, 838,” The man smiles, “Your roommate’s already gotten his key. Maybe you’ll meet him down there. But if not, you’re welcome to explore the ship. Here’s a map, we have plenty to do if you’re not quite ready to get started.”

The man hands you both a stiff key card, printed with your name and general information, and a map of the ship. It really is huge, and you marvel at how much there is to do besides sex. Maybe if your roommate doesn’t work out, you can hang out in the piano lounge.

The instrument makes you think of Rooster and his attention-grabbing routine at the Hard Deck, whenever he’s in the mood to go home with someone that night. Ladies love a piano player, and if this cruise doesn’t work out, maybe you’ll pick up the instrument yourself. If it were any other voyage, you’d probably be wishing your fellow aviator was on board to serenade the ship, but you’ll count your blessings that he’s not here to see your desperation.

You decide on the elevator rather than the stairs for the sake of your luggage, not wanting the suitcase to get battered hitting each step on the way up. There’s a crowd formed at the doors to the lifts already, humming with conversation and dripping with sex appeal. Two of the three men there are already shirtless and in swim trunks, and you hope you look half as stunning in the bathing suits you’d chosen to bring with you. One of them catches your eye as you sidle into the elevator and the quick wink he sends you lightens your mood. Even if your roommate doesn’t work out, maybe you can branch out and get Elevator Guy's number.

The ride up is cut off by someone on the sixth floor who manages to squeeze into your elevator. Then someone steps out on the seventh, and finally, you make your departure on the eighth. You mourn the loss of Elevator Guy, but you’re excited to meet your roommate, whoever he is.

There’s not a long walk from the elevator to your room, but it’s a bit of a maze figuring out which hallway to take. You’re the third door down the corridor furthest left, and you slide your key card into the door with excitement brewing in your stomach.

Will he be handsome? Will he be drop-dead gorgeous? Will he have a six pack? Will he have a dad-bod? Will he have a beard? Will he be a brunette? Will he… be invisible?

He’s most likely not invisible, which means he’s just not in the room. The door swings open to a lovely space, portholes showcasing the dock and a single, queen-sized bed against that wall. There’s a suitcase stacked against one side of the bed, but no passenger to accompany it, and the bathroom light is off, too.

There’s a hat resting on one of the pillows, a blue-and-white patterned thing you recognize as rooting for the Dallas Cowboys. It’s the team Jake won’t shut the fuck up about when the game is on, so you’re well accustomed to seeing the color combo. Jake always accentuates his southern drawl when he talks about the Cowboys, just to remind everyone that he’s a certified Texan, as if anyone might have forgotten in the time it’s been since the last game. You hope that whoever your roommate is isn’t just a fan, but a southerner as well, because Jake’s twang would be ridiculously attractive if it wasn’t coming out of his arrogant mouth. But the hat has no owner in sight, so you can’t analyze their accent, and for that you heave a sigh.

He’s not here.

You’re a little let down - does he not want to meet you? - but you suppose that gives you time to go find the buffet, as well as explore the ship. You’d elected to skip lunch on the way to the port and eat on the ship instead, hoping for a debrief with your roommate before you hit it off tonight. But eating alone isn’t the worst thing in the world, and you can muscle through one meal. You take a moment to admire the room, a bright, clean space that you’re going to love messing up. The sheets are crisp and white, but there’s an imprint of your roommate on one side, like he’d stretched out for a while before heading back out. The dip in the bed looks large, and blossoms of excitement bloom in your stomach: he’s beefy.

You deposit your suitcase in the closet, filling out the hangers with your outfits and setting your lingerie on the shelf. You want easy access; you’re probably not going to look very sexy rooting around in your suitcase on all fours for a bra.

You refrain from changing, already in a weather-appropriate sundress that’s a pretty mix of pink and baby blue. You do a quick check in the mirror: no flyaway hairs, dress laying right on your hips, gloss properly lining your lips. You make sure you don’t need to reapply deodorant, perfume, or any other nice-smelling substance, and then you’re off in search of the buffet, eager to see the soft serve machine they’d advertised on their website.

The ship really is crowded, and you appreciate the unique atmosphere that comes from everyone knowing they’re only there for sex. You’re there to fuck and be fucked, and it means you can ogle the man that emerges soaking wet from the pool, slicking his dripping hair out of his face as he prepares to dive again. A woman eating with who you assume is her roommate gives the hem of your sundress a once-over, catching on your thighs beneath the fabric, and glancing back up to your face to level you with a momentary smirk. Confidence flows through your veins as you make your way out towards the wood-lined deck of the ship, looking out over the bright ocean illuminated by sunlight.

A gust of wind blows the hem of your sundress to the left, but not enough to raise it, so you don’t bother catching it. The sea is beautiful, and you’re thrilled to have a relaxing time on one; you don’t normally get those on giant carrier ships.

There’s no runway here, no reserve of jet fuel, there’s just sun, fun, and lust.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in, uh, room 624, would you?” A voice pipes up from your right, and you turn to see a slightly younger man, clearly sun-drying from a dip in the pool. His hair hangs past his ears but he runs a hand through it backwards, and it means you get a better view of his face, adorned with an impressive scruffy beard, the same brown shade as his hair. However, there’s a ring of slightly lighter hair around his mouth that you hope is from what you think it’s from. His face is more squarish than long, skin a tone darker than the impressive tan Rooster sports after a day at the beach.

“Ah, no.” You laugh lightly, and the overexaggerated slump of his shoulders hints that he was expecting your answer. You take pride in the fact that he’d wanted to ask anyways, and you flash your key card at him, “838.”

“You mind if I remember that?” He leans against the railing of the deck, and once more you appreciate the open, bold atmosphere of the crowd you’re in, “If my roommate doesn’t mind not being exclusive.”

“I don’t mind at all,” You smile, feeling a slight flush come to your cheeks. This is going to do you a world of good. If your roommate has even half of this guy’s good qualities, his charming smile, his toned arms, his slight southern drawl, you’ll be more than happy to share your week with him.

“Daniel,” He sticks a hand out, fingers thick and rough-looking. You wonder what he does for work; something laborious by the look of his hands.

“Y/N,” You smile back, turning to shake his hand. He takes you by surprise by raising your knuckles to his lips, and you remind yourself once again that this cruise is geared towards romance. Or, at least lust, but you’re flattered he’s throwing in the extra component.

You try tamping down your obvious grin as you turn back to the ocean, “You haven’t met your roommate?”

“Nope,” He grabs a shirt from a nearby lounge chair, patterned with a faded band logo that you can’t place, what must be a waterproof watch gleaming in the sunlight that hits his wrist. “I was hoping to get lunch with’er. Hey, have you eaten yet?”

“Actually, I haven’t.” You straighten from where you’re leaning against the railings, “I was waiting for my roommate too.”

“Well,” Daniel holds out an arm, toned and muscular, and you hook yours through it, “Fuck ‘em.”

You laugh at his bold choice of words, still having to remind yourself that you’re in a strictly adult environment. You don’t need to worry about your sailor’s mouth, there’s no kids to overhear, nor parents to get upset.

Daniel’s arm is strong where he leads you to the dining area, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fixating on the feeling of your bicep locked to his side by his own. The buffet is a little classier than you’d expected; instead of all-you-can-eat french fry stations there’s trays of pastas, stews, and meat for the taking, thin silver utensils laid out neatly over each container.

You keep it light with only foods you know won’t upset your stomach with the rocking of the boat. That’s the last thing you need, and you manage to find an open table while Daniel waits in line for pizza. You’ve barely had a chance to spread your napkin over your lap, your sundress putting forth a valiant effort to cover your upper thighs, when Daniel sits across from you and smiles through his beard.

“So, where are you from?” He questions, biting off the end of his pizza slice so that you have a chance to reply.

“I live here,” You attempt to pick up one half of your sandwich, lettuce and tomato making it slick and difficult, “I’m actually, uh- stationed here. With the navy.”

His eyes bulge for a second, and he swallows while nodding, “Wow. Okay, that’s cool. I’m guessing that’s why your arms are practically bigger than mine?”

You try not to spit out your sandwich laughing along with him, grateful for the flimsy paper napkin you’d snagged to hide a smear of tomato juice along your lip.

“You should see one of the other guys from my squadron,” You think of Jake- Jake who’d famously torn through a t-shirt (albeit, a flimsy one) by just flexing the muscles in his biceps, “I swear his arms are bigger than my neck.”

I’m sure you guys need ‘em,” Daniel muses, sipping at his drink. He’s listening to you with rapt interest, something men don’t usually do when they find out that your job is something traditionally masculine. He’s not boasting about his own job, he’s not rattling off gym stats: “So you’re a sailor?”

“Aviator,” You correct him, used to the misconception, “I fly.”

“I don’t think I knew the Navy had planes,” Daniel admits, crunching a potato chip between his slightly crooked teeth, “I thought that was just the Air Force.”

“Everyone thinks it’s just the Air Force,” You grin, stacking two pickles on the end of your fork that had somehow escaped your sandwich.

“Sorry,” Daniel looks bashful now, his smile sheepish, “I bet you’re tired of correcting people.”

“No! Don’t worry about it,” You’re absolutely tired of correcting people, but you’re not about to tell that to a man who’s mustache has lighter ends than the scruff of his beard against his jaw, “What about you, what do you do?”

“I just work at a post office, I sort mail.” He divulges, and you’re instantly more fond of him; a civil service worker who wears tight little shorts? You’re not quite sure if Daniel has a downside.

“Are you local?”

“I’m in Oceanside. Not too far,” He muses, “I only drove an hour here.”

So, he’s good in bed, he’s good in uniform, and you could easily make weekend visits. You’re starting to lament the fact that you’ll be sleeping with someone else for the week.

“Are you sure you’re not in room 838?” You tease, “Maybe they misprinted your card, or something.”

“Believe me, if I could get it reprinted, I would,” He confesses, setting his fork down to brace his elbows on the table. He leans forwards, his chin propped against his clasped hands, “I know they’re all strict about not changing roommates, but listen, if yours doesn’t work out, I’ll propose an arrangement to mine. And- uh, even if yours does work out,” He stifles a smirk, stuffing a chip into his mouth instead, “-ask him if he wouldn’t mind swapping for a bit.”

You both admire and appreciate his desperation. You’re used to aloof sailors, or men in bars who wish you had less muscle and more tit. Something about the way he’s leading the conversation, not forcing himself on you but begging for a chance, makes your stomach flutter.

“We’ll work something out,” You promise, nudging your foot against his beneath the table, “Coming straight out and asking is working on me, if I’m being honest.”

Daniel laughs, so you elaborate: “So many of the guys I meet try pretending like they don’t care. Or- or maybe they don’t, I guess, but it’s still frustrating. It’s nice that you care.”

“Of course I care,” Daniel blinks incredulously at you, cheeks stuffed as he struggles to swallow before speaking, “You could choke me out with your thighs, babe. I’m not stupid enough to lose that opportunity.”

Your cheeks burn. Evidently you’re still acclimating to the brazen atmosphere of the ship, and you struggle to hide your sheepish smirk as he kicks his foot against yours beneath the table, the same as you’d done to him.

Daniel’s only gaining more popularity in your mind when he takes your plate to the trash, scraping away the remnants of the lettuce and condiments from your sandwich and stacking his own on top of it where they’re about to be washed. He sends you a dazzling smile as he gestures for the doorway, and you’re honestly surprised that he doesn’t say ‘after you’ when he lets you go first.

“Eighth floor?” Daniel verifies when you step through the doors of the elevator, and it’s much less packed than when you’d been there before. You nod, and he presses only 8, not 6 for his own room. You’re almost nervous that he might try to come into your room with you, because you’re not sure whether your roommate is there, and you don’t know how kindly he’ll take to you bringing another man in without meeting him first. But you swallow your nerves as the doors slide shut, leaving you in the elevator with him alone.

You can feel him staring at you, and you meet his gaze with a smile. He smiles back, and you lock eyes for a tense moment, then all of a sudden you’re both lunging forwards, frenzied as something in the air tells you to jump each other. Your hands sling around his neck as his lips press to your own, the scruff of his beard grating against your skin. It stings slightly, but it’s delicious as his lips fit between your own, and your back presses to the cold metal wall of the elevator. You suppose you should be a little ashamed, letting your tongue ghost over his bottom lip, making out with a man you've just met in an elevator, but it appears everyone is either boarding or eating, and no one bothers you on your journey up.

To add yet another thing to Daneil’s list of perfect traits: he’s an excellent kisser. He lets you lead, and when he feels your tongue prod at his lips he groans, gladly licking over your top lip. You open your mouth, seized by the moment, and he ventures inside without hesitation, his tongue hot and wet as it laps over your own.

You’d moan if you could, spout some breathy expletive or test out his name on your drool-coated tongue. But you can’t, he’s a presence, an enigma, and you let him occupy your mouth so much that words won’t.

You’d been on the fourth deck when the doors had shut, and it’s not a long trip to the eighth. When the elevator jolts to a stop you reluctantly push Daniel away, not wanting to expose yourself to the hall of deck eight.

“Uh,” You breathe, wiping at a smear of drool on the side of your mouth, “Fuck, that was-”

“Yeah.” He agrees, similarly breathless as he runs a hand through his hair that you’d tousled slightly, “I’d love to do that again sometime.”

“Me too.” You laugh bashfully, “Uh, maybe not in an elevator, though.”

“Like- like in a bed.” He concludes as the doors slide open, revealing a safely empty hallway. “Or- or just a room, or something, like a- a couch, if you don’t want- not a bed.”

“A bed,” You assure him, endeared by his caution, “I’d love to do it again sometime in a bed, Daniel.”

“Alright,” He grins, reaching out to catch the doors before they can close on you as you depart, “838’s right there. I’d walk you, but,” He points at a door only two down from the one directly in front of you, and you wave him off with a grateful grin.

“No worries.” You laugh, “Thanks, Daniel. Uh- I hope I see you again.”

“Me too,” He smiles, and it might be the most charming sight you’ve ever seen, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The doors slide shut on him, and you feel like the next appropriate step for you is to go into your room, close the door, and slide down the backside of it. You can’t fathom reacting any differently to the mind-blowing, butterfly-inducing kiss you’d just engaged in, especially with the excitement of doing it in an elevator. The desperation you’d felt and received back was exhilarating, and you’d be happy to get off the boat now and savor the feeling.

Coincidentally, the ship’s horn sounds, and an announcement comes over the loudspeakers, “Passengers, brace yourselves for some slight rocking,” You hold onto the wall, just in case, “Because we are on our way! We’ve just set sail, and for a day and a half, you’ll be at sea. Then we’ll dock on beautiful white sand beaches by Wednesday morning. I hope you enjoy yourselves, and I wish I was one of you, because I do not get a roommate. Unless- Rick, you feel like- no, no, okay! Okay,” The captain laughs, “My co-captain isn’t interested. Well, folks, enjoy yourselves, and please don’t make messes in the pools.”

You’re feeling generous, a bounce in your step from being kissed stupid in the elevator, so you let out a light chuckle at the captain’s humor. Any other time, you might have found it corny, but you’ve just been made out with, and everything seems better than it would have before. You hear muffled cheers from the rest of the ship, and dig into the pocket of your sundress for your key card. You retrieve the smooth plastic, slot it into the door labeled 838, and take a deep breath.

If he’s anything like Daniel, you’ll have a great time. And if he isn’t, you’ll see Daniel again.

With that, you push down the silver handle, hearing the door click with the motion, and you step inside.

The first thing you see is a pair of socked feet sticking off the end of the bed. The bed is perpendicular to the doorway, and the upper half of it is hidden by the bathroom. You clock the pair of toned, tan, mouth-watering legs that rest on the mattress, a sight you already want to sink your teeth into. You’re shocked that you’re bold enough to think that you wish he didn’t have briefs on, especially considering the sizable bulge in their fabric. You take a step closer, and a similarly toned torso comes into view, impossibly muscled and something that belongs in an art museum. There’s a pair of thick, bulky biceps raised above the man’s head, and when he turns his head to look at you-

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

You freeze in your spot. One foot planted in front of the other, your weight distributed between them equally. Your eyes go wide, your stomach twists awkwardly, and you damn near drop your keycard.

“Hangman.”

Your fellow aviator's face is equally as shocked, but it curves into a familiar cocky grin all too soon, “What do we have here? Y/L/N?”

“No fucking way. Jake?”

“Y/N,” He matches your pattern with a hearty chuckle, “Oh, this is too good.”

“You’re in the wrong room.” You decide, “This is 838.”

“That’s what it said on my key card, darlin’.” Jake snatches the card from the sleeve stuck to the back of his phone, flashing it at you where you can see the clear print of the numbers, “Guess we’re fated or somethin’.”

“Shut up.” You snap, knees easily bending as you fall back against the loveseat opposite the bathroom, “Shut the fuck up, Hangman. There’s no way I’m staying here.”

“No room changes,” He grins, and you want to smother the expression off of his face with a pillow, “And no getting off, either. We just set sail.”

You bury your face in your hands. There’s no way you’re surviving this vacation. Not with Hangman- Hangman who acts like a toddler and pulls your hair whenever it’s not in the regulatory bun. Hangman who snatches food out of your hand if you hold it up for too long without eating it because you’re speaking. Hangman who delights in insulting you over the comms in the air, offering you flying lessons ‘’cause that move was pretty rusty, darlin’.’

There is absolutely no way in hell - which feels like your current location - that you’re taking a sex cruise with Jake Seresin, end of story.

“So, sex cruise, eh?” He muses from his spot on the bed, and you shoot him a glare so vicious you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead.

“Yeah? You’re on it too, Hangman.”

“Easy,” He holds up a placating hand, “Wasn’t an insult. Just didn’t think you were the type.”

“To fuck?”

“To be desperate.” He shrugs, “Y’know, Y/L/N, if you wanted to have sex with me this bad, you could have just asked.”

“Stop it right now.” You insist, “This was not my doing, and so help me god I’m considering ripping that stupid porthole out of the wall and jumping ship. Clearly I’ve done something to upset the universe, so do not fucking expect me to enjoy this, Hangman.”

“You’re very pissy,” He notes, only making his observation more clear as your scowl deepens, “Relax, Y/L/N. I’ll give you a good time.”

“All you’re capable of giving me is a migraine.” You spit, a headache already brewing behind your eyes, “God, and why are you naked? Have some fucking class.”

“Class?” He repeats incredulously, a chuckle shaking his stupid, exposed chest, “This is a sex cruise! I’m near naked ‘cause I thought we’d fuck!’

“I’m not having sex with you.” You vow, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I’ll cycle through this entire ship twice before I even think about letting you at me, Hangman. Do you understand?”

“I understand’ He salutes, and the tease pisses you off, “Y’know, Y/L/N, I think you should let loose. Live a little, don’t be so uptight the whole time.”

“I’m uptight because you’re sprawled out over my bed without clothes on.” You groan, and then your brain comes late to another earth-shattering conclusion, “Oh, fuck, that’s the only bed!”

Hangman laughs, the sound thick and full of that cockiness you despise, “Damn right it is, darlin’. You gonna snuggle up next to me tonight?”

“No!” You gush, readjusting yourself on the loveseat so that you’re curled up on its cushions, “There, see? This is my bed. I’m sleeping here.”

“Oh, relax,” He scoffs, patting the space beside him. He’s turned towards you now, propped up on his elbow and boring into you with his stare “There’s plenty of room here. I’m just messing around.”

“I’m not.” You insist, “I’m not sleeping with you, Jake. Either way.”

“Well, you called me Jake,” He notes, shrugging his broad shoulders and settling back onto his pillows, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re getting nothing.” You hiss, turning onto your back on the loveseat, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve this?”

“A week on a sex boat with me? Must’a bought a homeless man some groceries, saved a starvin’ puppy, caught a runaway baby stroller, that kinda thing.”

“It must have been the time when I scratched that Tesla and didn’t leave a note,” You groan, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Jake’s never been one to take insults or teasing gracefully. He retaliates with his own, his eyes still burning holes against the side of your face, “So, Y/N. Seen the shops yet?”

“No.” You grumble, “Didn’t know they had any.”

“Oh, yeah. Real nice stuff,” Jake drawls, “Y’know, lingerie, vibrators, sex chocolates, all that stuff.”

Your cheeks blaze and you honestly think you’d rather be back on base than here, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I’m not lying!” And to his credit, you believe him. But lying isn’t the issue, it’s teasing, and you’re not sure you can handle seven days of it non-stop.

“I wonder if Daniel’s seen the shops,” You grumble, maybe just a little smug that you’d already hit it off with someone, assuming Jake hadn’t had the time to make out with anyone in an elevator yet.

Your brag works, and the muscles in his jaw tighten ever-so-slightly, such a small movement that you wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t been studying him.

When he speaks, there’s a familiar tension in his eyes, one you're used to seeing when someone ignites his overinflated sense of competition, “Daniel? That the guy you tongued in the elevator?”

You let out an incredulous cry, as if he’s wrong, “What? What- how did you know that! We didn’t tongue,” You scoff, reminiscing on the heavenly feeling of Daniel’s tongue smoothing over your own.

“Mhm. Sure. That’s why your lips are all swollen and shiny. ‘Cause you two stood six feet apart.”

You feel judged opposite Jake’s narrowed eyes, and you retort, “Okay, fine. We kissed. Is that a bad thing? This is a sex cruise, I’m supposed to get lucky.”

“All I’m sayin’ is you were snappin’ at me to have some class, but I’m not the one who frenched someone in a public facility. Did you even wait for it to be cleared out, or did you just go at it in the crowd?”

“It was empty.” You huff, practically slamming your head back down onto the couch cushions, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I bet he pushed all the buttons to make it take longer,” Jake snickers, “Or- or did he back you up against ‘em? Smash your back into the panel and light the whole thing up like a Christmas tree?”

“Shut up!” You gush, taking one of the cushions from the couch and jamming it over your head, blocking his irritating voice from your ears.

You’re fucked.

Actually, you’re not fucked, and that’s the problem. You’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, but if you had your pick, you’d be in a different room, with a different roommate. One who wants to spread your legs and feast on what’s between them, one that wants to jam your throat with his cock until you’re begging for air. But you’re here instead, bunched up on a stiff loveseat, an itchy pillow over your face, and enemy number one lounging on the bed you have to share with him tonight.

You’d rather be fucked.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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sevikaswinkinghole · 29 days ago

Text

A Weekend in Paradise˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

you and sevika take a trip away from everything

NSFW

modern!subtop!sevika, powerbottom!reader, pet names (doll, sweetheart, pup, etc.), scissoring, drunk sex (between consenting adults obviously……), Sevika is extra needy-

Word Count: 2.4k

𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚

“Come on vika it’s just for a weekend!” You exclaimed, trying to hold your phone in Sevika’s face to show her the website you had been perusing. You’d spent the last 15 minutes trying to convince your stubborn girlfriend that she needed a vacation.

With the stress of both of your jobs, the mundanity of everyday living, and life in general, it felt like your relationship was falling into a hard domestic slump. Sevika was usually so busy and stressed that you were getting stressed just from her energy around your shared apartment. You happened to find a good deal on a resort stay in Jamaica, and the plane tickets weren’t too pricey that time of year. The thought of relaxing on the beach with a drink in your hand and Sevika next to you made your heart swoon and your stomach flutter.

The biggest problem was going to be getting the most loyal work obsessed person ever to take a break for once in her life.

“I have a lot of work to do (Y/N)..” she spoke tiredly, not looking up from the slew of paperwork on her desk. Her position as a diplomatic counselor was incredibly important, which meant she put all her time and energy into being as orderly and focused on the tasks at hand, which also meant you recently became second on her list of importance. The long nights of paperwork, meetings that ran well past her work hours, and early morning conference calls were starting to get in the way of the one you love- and the sex life you wanted back.

Sevika hadn’t touched you in weeks purely from stress, and she was usually too exhausted to be touched. So this trip was your big attempt to pull her out of the dark cloud of work and onto a sandy beach and a private resort.

“Sevika, my love, you work so hard.” You pulled her office chair away from her desk before plopping down on the larger woman’s lap, both your hands trailing up her clothed torso before cupping her strong jaw “I’m worried you’re spreading yourself too thin! You can take a couple days off from diplomacy to spend some time with me..can’t you?” You spoke softly, your eyes locking with hers.

Her tired grey eyes softened at the glint of hope in yours, her mech arm resting on your hip as she rubbed small circles into your side. Sevika knew how distant she had been for a while, and even at her busiest she missed the warmth of your touch. Work was driving her crazier and crazier by the day, and she hated letting it get in the way of her time and energy for you. She was truly starting to feel the effects of burn out, and a vacation away for a weekend would probably solve more than she ever realized. “Alright doll….if it makes you happy, we can take the trip-“

You squealed in excitement before she could even finish her sentence, peppering a million kisses all over her face as your legs kicked happily “Yay thank you baby! We’re going to Jamaica!!!!”

After another week of planning and scheduling everything from resort stays, to transportation, to activities for a long weekend trip, the traveling day finally came.

You and Sevika woke up at the ass crack of dawn to get to the airport on time. She insisted on keeping up with everything you owned and acted like a dad the entire time. You just stood next to her while she handled getting luggage in the uber, handling passports at the airport, even when TSA stopped your carry on for a bottle of perfume she almost argued the guy down for it. You had to pull her away and assure her you’d get more later.

The flight was long but the moment you touched down on the island it was truly a paradise. The views on the shuttle to the resort were beautiful and sevika took a million pictures and grinned like a kid the whole ride. It made your heart swell seeing the child-like wonder in her eye as she looked at the lush green foliage and blue waters of Jamaica.

Once you made it to your resort and Sevika did a million different room checks of your bed and closets, you practically passed out across the bed. The plush hotel sheets felt like heaven after a day of long travel and you wanted nothing more than to sleep the weekend away already. But you were so excited for the trip that you made reservations for a romantic dinner on your first night of vacay together.

Sevika laid next to you on the bed, her flesh arm immediately finding your waist and pulling you close “I’m glad we did this..” she admitted softly, a gentle blush creeping up on her cheeks. Her honesty making up for any hesitance she had about taking a break.

You smiled happily “I am too. You deserve time off Vika…working is important but you need time for yourself.” You spoke quietly as you caressed her cheek, getting a bit lost in her stormy eyes before pulling her in for a gentle kiss. It was innocent at first, Sevika’s scarred lips moving against yours with knowing precision, like she had a map of your lips engrained in her mind.

But as her tongue grazed past your lower lip, your body moved faster than your brain as your leg swung over Sevika’s hip. She instantly grabbed the underside of your thigh and pulled you closer, the movement deepening the lust filled kiss.

Her clothed thigh slotted perfectly between your legs as her tongue explored your mouth, your body melting into her touch and your hips unceremoniously grinding against the muscle in Sevika’s thigh. She pulled away from the kiss and groaned against your lips, her flesh hand gripping the plump skin of your thigh as her mech hand slid down your stomach.

“Baby what about dinner-” you pouted, the sun was beginning to set outside and you wanted the romantic first night you planned.

She nodded and kissed along your cheek and down to your earlobe, nuzzling the skin around it with her nose before gently biting on your lobe “We can go after i’m done with you..” she purred in your ear, sending a flood of warmth straight to your clit.

“Noooo we can do this after dinner!” You exclaimed hesitantly as you pulled yourself away from your girlfriend’s strong grip to get dressed. Her bruising strength could overpower you any day, but she loved you too much to fight back. So she instead decided to grumble under her breath the entire time it took her to shower and get ready for dinner.

Your legs carried your sluggish body through the halls of the resort. You and Sevika had a lovely dinner by the water front, and the food was some of the best cuisine you’d had in your life. But after an eventful dinner, Sevika insisted on “checking out” the resort bar next to the restaurant. And after one too many strawberry daiquiris and a couple shots of Jamaican rum at the bar, you two faced the challenge of getting back to the room.

You were no lightweight. But even after years of college drinking, adult drinking, and even some underaged indulgence, nothing could ever compared to whatever they poured you at that bar. Sevika was a tall lady, it took a lot to barely get her tipsy. You once tried to out drink her when you first got together, but you don’t remember getting home that night and woke up to a losers hangover. But even big strong Sevika was swaying on her way back to the room. You unlocked the room door and pushed inside, immediately stripping from your dress and heels as the intoxication made you all giggly and ready to lay down.

“Dinner was soooo good Vika” Your voice slurred a little as you laid on your back across the hotel bed. Sevika had been unusually quiet since you left the bar, but you were so drunk you barely noticed. She stripped down to her boxers and took off her mech arm before meeting you on the bed. As she hovered over you and buried her head into your chest, you casually ran your fingers through her hair, barely hearing the whiny groan that reverberated into your chest and sent the vibrations down south.

“You okay hun?” You ask, looking down at the love of your life cuddled into your skin. She was notably warm and fidgeting against your touch, her hips rutting against your leg as her soft grey eyes looked up to meet yours. Her pupils were heavily dilated and her hands gripped at your sides hopelessly.

“M-Missed your touch..” She groaned softly as her leg slotted between yours, grinding against the muscle in your leg needily. You rarely saw Sevika drunk, with her high tolerance and ability to control her intake. But with her guard dropped on vacation, you realized why you never saw her this inebriated. She’s a submissive horny drunk. “Missed you…” She whimpered pathetically, sending pressure to all the right places.

You move your hand to caress your lover’s cheek as your other free hand moves to assist Sevika in slotting her clothed mound onto yours. The poor thing was already soaking through her boxers as you pulled her close “You missed me sweet girl?” You spoke, helping her get into position “Show me” Your voice deep and sensual, sending a shockwave of heat and fire down to your love’s clit.

Her flesh arm looped under your leg and placed it over her shoulder as she settled on top of you, her covered clit bulging through her boxers and pressing against yours deliciously. Sevika moaned as her hips moved against your hungrily. You watched through hooded eyes as your big and strong girlfriend whined and whimpered for some over the clothes dry humping. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her eyes shut tightly as her clothed cunt weeped for more.

“Need-” She started, her voice trailing off as she got lost in the motion. Her eyes almost rolled back as she thrusted into you “..need more of you” She whined like a desperate slut. You moaned at the sight, your gorgeous girl getting so flustered on top of you she couldn’t help but whine oh so pathetically. It almost made you want to flip her over and make her cum all night. Almost.

“Okay sweet girl,” You cooed, helping her take off her boxers before taking off your own underwear. Once Sevika was freed from her damp cotton prison, she immediately got back into position and started grinding her needy clit into yours. Her slick coating you and your thighs while she moaned like a whiny pornstar on top of you. People often assumed because of her height and stature that Sevika was always on top, putting you through the mattress, and taking charge. But at times like this, you knew you had all the control.

“Fuck I love this pussy..missed it s-so much…” Sevika stuttered, your hands moving to grip at Sevika’s thick thighs as you moaned at the view of her between your legs. Her desperate movements sending pure pleasure through every blood vessel in your body.

“You look so good like this Vika…fuck you’re drowning me” You groaned out, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your own slick was adding to the sinful sounds that filled your ears and allowed for your girlfriend to move faster against your cunt.

“S-Shit you can’t say things like that” She whimpered as her hips sputtered, you could tell the liquor was helping her get her nut faster. You moved your hand to push her away gently before pressing into her lower stomach to rub her clit, collecting the sweetness you made together. As your other hand pulled her back down to grind harshly against your clit, your honey coated fingers slipped into Sevika’s mouth to coat her tongue.

“You know you like it, be a good pup and clean up” You mewled as your fingers toyed inside her mouth. Sevika moaned loudly at the taste and sucked your digits clean as her eyes rolled back. She rut against you like she was a wolf in heat while you watched in pure intoxicated arousal. The alcohol in your own system working to get you to the finish line just as fast.

“R-Right there vika mhnnn..” You moaned and met her thrusts, your eyes falling to watch your clits coat each others in perfect sinful melody. Your hand left her mouth and reached down to rub her clit with your thumb, the swollen nub slipping out to meet your thumb with every thrust. Sevika groaned pathetically and kissed the inside of your knee, her brain fuzzy and fogged out from the intense pleasure.

“(Y/N)..I-It’s too much baby please…” Sevika whined as her thrusts got sloppier, hinting to her impending climax “Please let me cum..”

“Let it out big mama, cum for me” You commanded as the tight coil in your stomach pulled tighter and tighter. When you looked back up, Sevika was gone and lost in her own gratification. Her eyes shut tight as her hips stuttered and seized, a strained sound leaving her body as thick white sap pooled at your core. It wasn’t long before the coil snapped and your own orgasm crashed into your body like a wave. Your toes curled as your vision went hazy, the come down mixed with the liquor spins making the pleasure even more enjoyable. Your bodies were coated in a thin layer of sweat as Sevika laid on top of you, trying to catch her breath and come down as well.

“Damn..I’ve never seen you like that Sevika” You laugh tiredly, the mention of her name making her sober up almost instantly. She sat up with wide eyes, her cheeks warming up as embarrassment flushed over her sweet face.

“Yeah um…I don’t get this drunk often.” She cleared her throat and stood at the end of the bed, stretching casually like she wasn’t just begging to cum on top of you less than 5 minutes ago. You laughed and rolled your eyes playfully, standing and walking over to kiss her soft lips.

“You know damn well it doesn’t take liquor for you to get whiny and bothered like that” You giggle and pull her to the bathroom to shower for bed. Another day of paradise awaiting you both.

𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚

This took forever to finish and I deleted SOOOOO many drafts but...I hope you enjoyyy :)

Also I went to Jamaica back in 2021 and miss it everyday and wanna write about it so...maybe this will get a pt. 2 if ya'll like it!

I love reading your comments, don't be a stranger! Thank you for reading ily ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

~Squuoosh

Taglist: @lonerslug, @mewl3tte

#Sevika #Sevika Arcane #Sevika X Reader #Sevika Smut #sevika my love #*´¯`*Fics #squuooshworks

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puppybei · 4 months ago

Text

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 4 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Past pov, in depth description of anxiety, reader and Sukunas first meeting explained, this entire chapter focuses on their past, reader is called a charity case by Sukuna, Sukuna threatens reader, lwk stubborn reader, Highschool au!, Their first kiss!!

Word count: 2.7k

The first time you met Sukuna was in High School, you had managed to get a scholarship into one of the more prestigious schools in your district. The sun glared above you, the straps of your bag suddenly feeling light compared to the weight of the swirling anxiety in your stomach.

The school was huge, no amount of adjectives you used would truly be able to capture the magnificent and almost fantasy-like essence. The bare bricked walls freckled with the overgrown foliage that was just a bit too messy to be considered purposeful. A georgian style building with gabled roofs, large windows that let sunshine peak into the corridors and classrooms with silk furnished curtains. The whole campus just screamed old money.

It just made you feel more out of place if anything, sticking out like a sore thumb against similar sixteen year olds. The white uniform shirt felt too scratchy against your skin, your tights sticking to you like second skin, heart heavy like something was weighing down every step you took forward.

But you couldn’t let a few stray butterflies in your stomach stop you from going into the school your fifteen year old self worked her ass off for. You had gotten into the culinary department, mixed with a few other classes that were compulsory to all students.

The Home Ec lab from this school was praised even in professional settings and you were buzzing at the thought of finally seeing it, state of the art equipment along with teachers that personally taught you. Graduating from their course would basically give you a head start into the culinary world, well at least that’s what you learned from reading comments on reddit and the official school website.

Your feet basically carried you to the lab on instinct and that's when you saw him for the first time, sitting on the marble countertop next to the electric stove top. His blazer strewn across the stove, tie haphazardly done, sleeves folded upwards to show the tattoos that corded against his muscle. Head turned away from the door, a cigarette placed in between his index and forefinger, smoke clouding the room in a haze. The silk curtains were pulled halfway open, letting the smoke filter out.

The window was propped open, an unfinished garden with multiple cigarette butts on the garden bed found underneath it. Sunlight poured through the window, casting half his face in a shadow as he blew smoke outside, your breath stilled for a moment and for a second all your worries had vanished, that was until he turned his head around and scowled at you, eyeing your very obvious second hand clothes with a condescending look.

“The fuck you looking at newbie?”

He got off of the countertop, throwing the cigarette butt out of the window and switching off the exhauster. The pink haired male pulled the blazer over his broad shoulders, uniform shirt straining from where it was tucked into his pants. Shoving your shoulder aside as he left the lab murmuring under his breath about some kind of charity case.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you fortunately fought the urge to curse at him. You quickly learned that the boy you saw was Sukuna Ryomen, the heir of the corporation that basically funded the school as well as the Student Council President. He was feared by the student and staff bodies, no one dared to go against him except his group of friends, and it was apparent to everyone else to not go near the Home Ec lab before the morning assembly and after the last bell. Well at the very least you didn’t seem to piss him off too much.

Contrary to overexaggerated teen shows about scholarship kids, most of the student body were from upper middle class families, and just 10% of the school were heirs of some kind of corporation. You made friends with the kids in the Home Ec and they filled you in on all the people to avoid at every cost, as well as the people you should get close to.

Unfortunately for Sukuna, you were someone who used the facilities given to you as much as you could, this was also backed up by the fact that unlike the other kids that went to the same course, you were not provided with a fully furnished kitchen and high end ovens. So if you wanted a fair chance at competing with the other kids you were going to have to use the facilities, Sukuna or not.

The next time you met Sukuna was in the compulsory English Literature classes. Surprisingly enough, to squash any rumours of the heir being favoured over other students, and to avoid any bribery scandals he was placed in the same class as the ‘scholarship student’. He was sitting a few rows behind you, looking way more like a President than when you first saw him, his gaze bore into the textbook in front of him, spinning a pen around his finger lazily. He didn’t notice you stealing glances at him.

The minute you got permission from the Home Ec teacher to use the lab after school, you immediately made your way to the culinary labs, spinning your keychain around your finger, humming a happy tune as you basically skipped to the lab.

Though you did expect to see Sukuna, it still stirred a feeling of irritation in your chest to see him walk around like he owned the school- granted he kind of basically did, but that’s an abuse of power.

Only this time Sukuna was completely lying down on one of the plain countertops, set there so that students could present their dishes in bulk. His eyes were shut in slumber, chest rising up and down in slow breaths. Pink hair fell against his forehead, a rare display of when he didn't have it gelled upwards, mouth set into a loose scowl, which came as a shock to you because you were sure he was born with that permanent frown stuck on his face.

You moved to the other side of the lab, pulling the curtains open to let as little of light in without waking up the heir. Cooking came easy to you- or atleast baking did, the quiet repetitive movements, the sweetness of the pastry, the swirl of the whipped cream. Your dream was to hopefully become a baker, or a patissiere- you hadn't yet decided. Being a patissiere meant you got to work directly with just pastries and sweets, while being a baker meant you got to work with broader horizons.

By the time you were done thinking to yourself the oven beeped and you almost fell out of the high stool chair, scrambling to shut it down and pull mittens over your hands.You had made madeleines, a comfort bake of yours.The madeleines came out near perfect if you had to say so yourself, smooth crispy outer layer with a contrasting softness when you bit into it. A giddy smile danced across your features, happy that the first thing you made in the lab came out so well even if you baked them on stealth mode to not awaken the short tempered President.

What you failed to notice when you were too busy stuffing your face with madeleines was the dark figure that loomed behind you, snatching one from your hand,

“So you’re the little rat that decided to disturb me,”

His voice came out in a low growl, threatening almost, and you stiffened up at the heat that seeped through your clothes even though he held an appropriate amount of distance between you both,

“Is this some kind of new tactic? Playing housewife to garner for my attention?,”

As you turned around he popped the baked good into his mouth, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth,

“At least it doesn’t taste like ass, should’ve expected that from the charity case,”

He wiped the crumbs off his fingers on your apron, gripping your shoulder tightly, bending down to meet you at eye level,

“The next time you pull this shit again I’m going to fucking kill you. Capisce?”

You felt your eyebrows tug upwards in shock, shaking your head no while you muttered something about facilities. You remember his face twisting into something dark before he pushed you, the back of your hip hitting the counter,

“Get the fuck out of my way pest,”

The six foot man snarled, pushing past you once again as he left the lab, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air long after he left.

No way in hell were you going to let a man boss you around after how hard you worked to get into this school- especially if he was some kind of stuck up spoiled brat.

The next day you went to the lab again, this time baking a rose tea pound cake. Sukuna sat on a stool opposite to the oven, glaring at you- basically seething as he grumbled curses every time you moved past him to peek at your creation. You ignored every word he said though, mind steeled down, no matter what offensive insult he spewed out. By the end of the day he even stole a slice of the pound cake and a small part of you was smug, there was no one who could fight the goodness of your pastries, you didn’t get into this school without a reason after all.

This cat and mouse game continued for the next few weeks, at one point the insults had boiled down to mere grunts when Sukuna would spot you. Most afternoons he spent lying across a cushioned bench underneath the huge windows, letting the sunlight dance across his features as he dozed off. He would always grab a slice of what you made though, you figured he was taking it as some kind of compensation for letting you bake in peace.

Some days his friends would come over, barging into the room and interrupting the comfortable silence you and Sukuna had formed. A loud group consisting of Gojo, Geto, and Toji who got in with Sukuna’s help, though he excelled in sports and could've gotten a sports scholarship if he wanted. Sukuna would always leave immediately when they came, casting you a glance backwards. You always left behind a little of what you made on those days, finding them gone when you checked the next morning, though you said nothing to him.

The quiet sort-of-friendship you had formed changed completely when the English Literature teacher paired you up for a project, forcing you both to talk to each other and be in slightly uncomfortable proximity. Your irritation had long disappeared for the KOC heir, now replaced with something akin to fondness.

“You smell sweet,”

Your head jerked up from where you were bent over trying to make sense of the poem you were assigned to analyse,

“Sweet?”

You questioned, quirking a brow upwards.

“Like that brown thing you use when making your shit,”

You pondered for a second, Sukuna’s sharp eyes gaze resting on your features,

“...you mean vanilla essence?”

A giggle erupted from you and Sukuna looked like you had personally offended his entire family, his ears heating up as he rested his face on his palm, elbow propped up on the table,

“Whatever. Finish your work pest,”

You smiled in return, watching Sukuna turn his concentration back to researching more about the poet’s life,

“You smell good too,”

You hummed, turning your attention back to your own work, sneaking glances at Sukuna in between. Unbeknownst to you both, Sukuna had fallen for you- hook, line and sinker. He felt his heart stutter in his chest when you giggled, nothing had sounded more soothing to him and he had already staked his claim on you long before you were even his.

You on the other hand, had started to regret your notions about the heir, unknown to the general student population, Sukuna was quite the hard worker. He would never skip a Student Council meeting, coming to the lab afterwards with a heavier gait, exhaustion weighing down on his shoulders. Other days he would bring his work into the lab, face scrunched up as he worked through the papers. He always stayed at the top of the grade, Gojo and Geto falling right behind him.

The English project lasted a week exactly, though the after effects lasted far longer. Sukuna had now deemed it okay to constantly be in your vicinity, brushing his arm or thigh against you whenever he moved closer. Even after you had moved back to your old place, Sukuna shot one look at the guy sitting next to you who scrambled away without a peep, giving the heir his seat.

The pink haired man had even started asking about your day and unfortunately your heart was betraying your brain with every month that passed by. The small physical contact you and Sukuna shared sent electric shots down your spine. Heat creeping up your neck once he moved from vaguely admitting your skills were up to standard to complimenting them. You had also started to talk more with him, he was a quiet man at heart and you were more than glad to fill the silence with your chatter.

Quiet evenings in the lab turned to him following you around or sitting right opposite to you as you baked, following your every movement with a softer gaze. He would still fall asleep occasionally but it was always after acknowledging your presence and making small talk with you. When he worked on his documents he sat right opposite to your workstation, taking breaks where he would just bore holes into your cheek as you talked.

On colder days he would drop his blazer over your shoulders, complaining about hearing your teeth chatter with a blush across his face. You accepted, perhaps even more flushed. The goods you baked were now put in a little plastic bag with ribbons, ones he pocketed and never returned.

One day he had fully switched to calling you by your first name, stopping you in your tracks as your heart thumped so hard against your chest you were sure he could hear it too. In response you started to call him by his first name too and when you accidentally called him ‘Ryo’ and he didn't seem murderous, you let it continue.

Sukuna did not allow anyone else the privilege of that and your feelings for him grew stronger by the start of the third year. When Sukuna caught you getting confessed to by one of the underclassmen in your program, he merely whisked you away with a grip on your arm, crowding you against a wall in the Home Ec lab, lifting your chin up using his hand to cup your cheek as he silently motioned for consent. You nodded and Sukuna pressed his lips against yours, it was an inexperienced naive kiss but within a few months he had mastered the art- as expected of Sukuna, even with something so intimate he would not fall second place.

Sukuna’s favorite part of the day was when he got you all to himself after school, nuzzling his head into your shoulder like some kind of overgrown bear while he had you seated on his lap, petting his hair as he grumbled about the rest of the incompetent members of the Student Council. Freshly baked goods sat on the countertop and he forced you to feed them to him while you giggled, fuck he could just die there and be at peace.

You never asked Sukuna about the nature of your relationship, not when he cornered you almost daily in the lab, not when he had you seated on his lap whenever he was in need of a little more comfort, not when he had his head on your lap while he dozed off, not when he forbade Gojo from touching your pastries, not when he glared at any guy who approached you and not when he allowed only you to see him vulnerable.

This unlabeled relationship continued well into college, where you both denied having a significant other but neither of you touched another human being on campus, he was yours and you were his and that was all that mattered back then.

Previous Current Next

A/n: Omg this was so much longer than my last one!! I put my blood sweat and tears into it haha. I hope yall enjoyed!! Feeling a bit evil as the confrontation doesn’t happen yet.. hehe.. I was so tempted to split this into two chapters but I really just wanted one chapter for the flashback. Likes, reblogs and Comments appreciated!!!

Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @nina-from-317 @katsukiseyebrows

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mangocheesecakes · 3 months ago

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Doing this "Filipino Literature in exchange for donations to Palestinian families" project during the start of the ao3 donation drive and only getting a grand total of one (1) proof of donation submitted while the fanfiction slop website gets over $200,000 and counting really brings home, above all, the fucked up priorities of all of you fAnDom-FaNdoM people during a literal genocide but also how juvenile your tastes in reading material is and how much you all lack commitment to actually seeking out so-called "marginalized voices" in art and literature.

I could not be more digusted, but I'm gonna keep going. Helping get aid to families in Gaza is what matters.

Hello, I am reading Filipino short stories, and in exchange for a minimum £5 donation to the fundraisers below, you can listen to me read it:

Karam's fundraiser, last donation 7 days ago:

Ismail's fundraiser, only 2 donations in the last 12 hours:

Rewaa and @mohamedmoner1994 's fundraiser, last donation 3 hours ago:

@yousefmoner's fundraiser, last donation 2 hours ago:

I will be reading another, different short story this week. Please look out for the posts I will make about it in the following days.

Please let this incentivize you into donating to Mohamed and Yousef's families above, but if you really have no interest in what I'm doing and would still rather read your fanfiction, at the very least be motivated by compassion for these families, and don't give any more money to the already $200,000-rich fanfic site.

Below is an audio excerpt of my recording for the story last week. I sent a full copy to the one user who submitted proof of donation, but you can still listen to the whole thing if you want. Just donate, send an ask with the screenshot, and indicate you would like to receive THIS particular story:

Content Warnings:

A slur for Romani people is used once to refer to one of the characters

Use of an exclamation with racially-charged undertones

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌙🌟🌟🌟🌟

MAY DAY EVE

The old people had ordered that the dancing should stop at ten o’clock but it was almost midnight before the carriages came filing up to the front door, the servants running to and fro with torches to light the departing guests, while the girls who were staying were promptly herded upstairs to the bedrooms, the young men gathering around to wish them a good night and lamenting their ascent with mock sighs and moanings, proclaiming themselves disconsolate but straightway going off to finish the punch and the brandy though they were quite drunk already and simply bursting with wild spirits, merriment, arrogance, and audacity, for they were young bucks newly arrived from Europe; the ball had been in their honor; and they had waltzed and polka-ed and bragged and swaggered and flirted all night and were in no mood to sleep yet—no, caramba, not on this moist tropic eve! Not on this mystic May eve!—with the night still young and so seductive that it was madness not to go out, not to go forth—and serenade the neighbors! cried one; and swim in the Pasig! cried another; and gather fireflies! cried a third—whereupon there arose a great clamor for coats and capes, for hats and canes and they were presently stumbling out among the medieval shadows of the foul street where a couple of street lamps flickered and a last carriage rattled away upon the cobbles while the blind black houses muttered hush-hush, their tiled roofs looming like sinister chessboards against a wild sky murky with clouds, save where an evil young moon prowled about in a corner or where a murderous wind whirled, whistling and whining, smelling now of the sea and now of the summer orchards and wafting unbearable childhood fragrances of ripe guavas to the young men trooping so uproariously down the street that the girls who were disrobing upstairs in the bedrooms scattered screaming to the windows, crowded giggling at the windows, but were soon sighing amorously over those young men bawling below; over those wicked young men and their handsome apparel, their proud flashing eyes, and their elegant mustaches so black and vivid in the moonlight that the girls were quite ravished with love, and began crying to one another how carefree were men but how awful to be a girl and what a horrid, horrid world it was, till old Anastasia plucked them off by the ear or the pigtail and chased them off to bed—while from up the street came the clackety-clack of the watchman’s boots on the cobbles, and the clang-clang of his lantern against his knee, and the mighty roll of his great voice booming through the night: “Guardia sereno-o-o! A las doce han dado-o-o!”

And it was May again, said the old Anastasia. It was the first day of May and witches were abroad in the night, she said—for it was a night of divination, a night of lovers, and those who cared might peer in a mirror and would there behold the face of whoever it was they were fated to marry, said the old Anastasia as she hobbled about picking up the piled crinolines and folding up shawls and raking slippers to a corner while the girls climbing into the four great poster beds that overwhelmed the room began shrieking with terror, scrambling over each other and imploring the old woman not to frighten them.

“Enough, enough, Anastasia! We want to sleep!”

“Go scare the boys instead, you old witch!”

“She is not a witch, she is a maga. She was born on Christmas Eve!”

“St. Anastasia, virgin and martyr.”

“Huh? Impossible! She has conquered seven husbands! Are you a virgin, Anastasia?”

“No, but I am seven times a martyr because of you girls!”

“Let her prophesy, let her prophesy! Whom will I marry, old gypsy? Come, tell me.”

“You may learn in a mirror if you are not afraid.”

“I am not afraid, I will go!” cried the young cousin Agueda, jumping up in bed.

“Girls, girls—we are making too much noise! My mother will hear and will come and pinch us all. Agueda, lie down! And you, Anastasia, I command you to shut your mouth and go away!”

“Your mother told me to stay here all night, my grand lady!”

“And I will not lie down!” cried the rebellious Agueda, leaping to the floor. “Stay, old woman. Tell me what I have to do.”

“Tell her! Tell her!” chimed the other girls.

The old woman dropped the clothes she had gathered and approached and fixed her eyes on the girl. “You must take a candle,” she instructed, “and go into a room that is dark and that has a mirror in it and you must be alone in the room. Go up to the mirror and close your eyes and say:

Mirror, mirror,

show to me

him whose woman

I will be.

If all goes right, just above your left shoulder will appear the face of the man you will marry.”

A silence. Then: “And what if all does not go right?” asked Agueda.

“Ah, then the Lord have mercy on you!”

“Why?”

“Because you may see—the Devil!”

The girls screamed and clutched one another, shivering.

“But what nonsense!” cried Agueda. “This is the year 1847. There are no devils anymore!” Nevertheless she had turned pale. “But where could I go, huh? Yes, I know! Down to the sala. It has that big mirror and no one is there now.”

“No, Agueda, no! It is a mortal sin! You will see the devil!”

“I do not care! I am not afraid! I will go!”

“Oh, you wicked girl! Oh, you mad girl!”

“If you do not come back to bed, Agueda, I will call my mother.”

“And if you do I will tell her who came to visit you at the convent last March. Come, old woman—give me that candle. I go.”

“Oh, girls—come and stop her! Take hold of her! Block the door!”

But Agueda had already slipped outside; was already tip-toeing across the hall; her feet bare and her dark hair falling down her shoulders and streaming in the wind as she fled down the stairs, the lighted candle sputtering in one hand while with the other she pulled up her white gown from her ankles.

She paused breathless in the doorway to the sala and her heart failed her. She tried to imagine the room filled again with lights, laughter, whirling couples, and the jolly jerky music of the fiddlers. But, oh, it was a dark den, a weird cavern, for the windows had been closed and the furniture stacked up against the walls. She crossed herself and stepped inside.

The mirror hung on the wall before her; a big antique mirror with a gold frame carved into leaves and flowers and mysterious curlicues. She saw herself approaching fearfully in it: a small white ghost that the darkness bodied forth—but not willingly, not completely, for her eyes and hair were so dark that the face approaching in the mirror seemed only a mask that floated forward; a bright mask with two holes gaping in it, blown forward by the white cloud of her gown. But when she stood before the mirror she lifted the candle level with her chin and the dead mask bloomed into her living face.

She closed her eyes and whispered the incantation. When she had finished such a terror took hold of her that she felt unable to move, unable to open her eyes, and thought she would stand there forever, enchanted. But she heard a step behind her, and a smothered giggle, and instantly opened her eyes.

#palestine #free palestine #mutual aid #yousefmoner #mohamedmoner1994 #karam_maner

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leonalovesalot · 3 months ago

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Freaky on camera I

Brother’sBestFriend!ArtDonaldson x Camgirl!Reader

18+ MinorsDNI

wc: 2.5k

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Being a student athlete while maintaining a high enough GPA to keep a full-ride scholarship was no easy feat. Art had spread himself too thin and had barely gotten a taste of that college life he had been so excited for. Between practice, tournaments, exams, and assignments, Art sometimes didn't have time to eat dinner, let alone party. And the one time he did force himself to go to a frat party on a Friday night, he began yawning and felt his eyes getting heavy by ten pm. He called it quits, left without saying goodbye to his friends, and just came back to his dorm to pass out.

He was exhausted and was counting down the days until the summer. A few weeks off school was exactly what he needed. He just had to get through the final stretch of exams and he'd be done. He was already dreaming of driving back home and seeing his parents. Eating a home-cooked meal and sleeping in a room that wasn't the size of a shoebox. He'd hang out with and finally catch up with Patrick after months- just thinking about it was making him smile.

Art had a pretty simple routine. After class, he'd have practice, then he'd come back to his dorm, shower, and study until the words on the page started blurring and floating around. He'd then call it a night, and get in bed with his phone in one hand and a sock in the other. What? He needed a way to relieve stress and it's not like he'd gotten a girlfriend during his time at college. A girlfriend who'd be eager to suck him off whenever he needed. A girlfriend who'd be ready to please him anytime. No, he hadn't found anyone and so his hand would have to suffice.

Lately, though, the usual videos didn't do it for him. Watching two people go at it wasn't personal enough for him- it got him hard but he was still craving something else. He was embarrassed to admit, but he wanted to feel seen, noticed - he wanted interaction.

Tonight, like any other night, he was ready with his earbuds in and phone in his hand. He looked up the usual site he visited and typed in his usual search. He clicks on a video that looks appealing and starts to bring his hand down under his boxers waiting for the page to load. The page loads but he's met with a pop-up ad instead. In large, pink letters it read "Want company? The hottest girls are only a click away. No bullshit!" Art groans, annoyed, and is about to click the small 'x' on the corner but something makes him pause.

Isn't this what he wanted? Interaction? Not to be alone?

It looked like a cam-girl website which intrigued him. Why hadn't he ever tried this before? He knew it wasn't free, but he was curious. Maybe just for tonight he could check it out? See if there's anything worth his time (and money). He pulls his hand out of his boxers and sits up in his twin bed. He goes ahead and clicks on the ad which then directs him to a new page.

A bunch of thumbnails of women, some naked, with a big red 'LIVE' in the corner. Woah, this was the real deal. He scrolls down for a moment, familiarizing himself with the site until it asks him to sign up and subscribe 'for all your fantasies in one place'. There was a week-long free trial, and after a few minutes of heavy debating, he decided to sign up.

Username: _________

Art pauses and thinks for a few seconds. He couldn’t use his actual name but maybe he could rearrange the letters?

He types in slowly: GoldenSon

He makes up a quick password and mindlessly agrees to the terms and conditions. The account was ready.

He repeats to himself he was only doing this to feed his curiosity. He'd definitely cancel after the free trial ended.

When the paywall finally went away, he continued scrolling. The amount of people watching some of these videos was blowing his mind. One woman had 12.6k viewers. So, almost thirteen thousand people were watching one woman pleasure herself. Art thought it was kind of laughable but realized he was here to do the same. He scrolled down further and the numbers of viewers began to decrease.

Coming upon people with a few hundred viewers was a lot less intimidating. He thought that maybe this is what he was looking for. His eyes raked over the whole webpage before him and suddenly widened at the sight of a specific thumbnail. His eyes squinted and he zoomed in to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Art gasps, his breath catching in his throat. He turns his phone off, and hurls it toward the foot of the bed. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his face was burning up.

That couldn’t be right?

That… no.

No.

He sat on his bed with his face buried in his hands.

He thought he saw you. Patrick’s sister. On a fucking cam-girl site.

He shakes his head. No no. He was definitely mistaking you for someone else. No way.

He catches his breath and lifts his head from his hands. His eyes dart to his laptop on the desk across the room. There’s no harm in making sure right? He’d be doing this to keep his mind at peace.

He swallows and pushes the covers away. He knew his plans for the night were cancelled as he made his way over to his study corner.

Art sits down, opens his laptop and types in the website's name. He pauses to take a deep breath. Okay. Here we go.

He scrolls down slowly, eyeing every thumbnail.

He didn’t know what he wanted. If it really was you, what would he do with that information? Would he tell Patrick? Should he?

Even if it wasn’t you, he still finds the whole situation a little weird. Why was he picturing you, of all people, on this site? And at this time of the night?

Art had known you your whole life. At least that’s how it seemed. He didn’t know you that well because you were always just ‘Patrick’s sister’ to him. He could count on one hand the number of conversations he’d had with you, one-on-one. But he still, loosely, knew what you were up to and the type of person you were. A nice girl who kept to herself and had a tight-knit group of friends. Not much else to it.

He finally scrolls down far enough and comes across the videos with a few hundred views. He took a deep breath and carefully ran his eyes over each row.

His eyes stopped at one thumbnail. And he felt like his heart was going to follow suit.

It was you.

Holy fuck it was you.

It was larger on his laptop screen so he clearly recognized your face, your hair, your eyes, and your lips. He reads the alias you've created for yourself - 'YourRoxy'. He then hovers his cursor over the small box and debates clicking.

His curiosity was fist fighting his self-restraint.

Curiosity won.

Art closes his eyes tight and clicks on the thumbnail.

“Ooh! A new viewer. Hey, welcome.” Your voice sounded different than it usually did. You were putting on a persona, clearly. One with a low and sensual voice that spread goosebumps all over his body.

Art opens his eyes, and stares at you properly now. You took up his whole screen. His eyes began to look everywhere, but at you. It felt wrong.

The chat at the side of the screen was filled with men, and women it seemed, sharing their dirtiest thoughts and questions. There were currently a hundred and four people watching you. Some sent money along with their comments and those were the ones you were enthusiastically responding to.

Art takes in a shaky breath.

His eyes finally wander back to you. He’d never seen you in such little clothing. A skimpy, white tank top that barely covered your breasts. God, what were you doing? How was this real?

Your eyes narrowed at a comment and you read it to yourself under your breath, “are you single?”

Art’s ears perk up.

You giggle softly, “I am, yeah. I have yet to meet a man who can handle me.” You smirk at the camera and tilt your head.

Art hadn’t even blinked since he started watching you. You knew what you were doing. How did he not notice how fucking sexy you were when he’d come over before? He shakes his head. No, that’s wrong. Why would he think that way? That would jeopardize his friendship with Patrick.

“Yeah? You could handle me Dan96?” You smile sweetly, “I’d like to know how. Tell me.”

Oh my god. How could you say these things? And why couldn’t Art just turn away?

Dan96 had sent you $50 for that one question. You made fifty bucks in, literally, one second.

Art shakily brings his hand up to the keyboard and types in the question: how does this work?

He sends it in and notices that you hadn’t responded.

No, you were too busy flirting with Dan96.

You bite your lip and smile, “you’d choke me while fucking me? I like that. A little choking never hurt anyone”

Art’s eyes widened. He’d never heard you say such explicit things. What’s more shocking though was that he was starting to get hard. He groans- this was so wrong!

He swallows and decides to send in his question again, but this time attaching five bucks to it.

GoldenSon: how does this usually work?

He chews on his lip while he waits. You stop mid- sentence while talking to Dan96 and look at the new comment.

“How does this usually work?” You chuckle gently and Art feels himself grow slightly embarrassed.

“I’m guessing you’re new uhm.. GoldenSon. Aw, what a cute name.” Art covers his face with his hands. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He was getting more aroused by the second. It really had been a while since he talked to a girl. A pretty one too. God, you were pretty. How had he not noticed?

“This can work however you’d like. I’m here to chat.. we can talk about your day. My day- anything really. Or if you’d like me to do something .. like take off my clothes,” Art’s breath hitched. “Mm you want me to touch myself? You want me to talk you through it? I’m here for anything. I’m here for you. All I want is to make you feel good.” You lick your lips.

Art was drooling onto his keyboard. There was a tent in his boxers now that was getting uncomfortable to ignore.

Fuck, he wanted to touch himself so bad. He wanted you to touch him.

Oh, god. This was a mistake.

He should’ve just gone to bed. Why did he click on the ad? Why did he make an account? Why did he scroll so far down? Why did you have to be so alluring? Why was he typing into the chat again?

Why was he asking you to help him get off?

GoldenSon: Talk me through it

Art trembled as he moved his hands over the keyboard.

He watches your expression morph into one full of intrigue.

"Alright, baby. Are you hard for me?" You tilt your head and lean a little closer to the camera, accentuating your tits.

Art gulps and brings his right hand down to his throbbing cock. There was a wet spot forming on his boxers already. This was going to be quick.

GoldenSon: So hard

You read his comment and smile immediately. Art mentally pats himself on the back like he was desperate for your approval.

The disturbing fact that you were his best friend's sister was still rattling around in his mind but was silenced by the overwhelming arousal he was feeling.

"I like the sound of that. I wanna get you off. I wish I was there with you, GoldenSon," You brought your hand up to rest your chin on. It was all strategic because your pinky finger was resting on your bottom lip which was then parted and your pinky was in between your teeth.

Art stared like a deer in headlights at your pretty lips, and your pretty mouth.

Did you mean it? He shivered. Did you mean what you said about wanting to be there with him? Have you ever thought of him in a sexual way? Or was he just Patrick's friend to you?

A moan interrupts his thoughts as he looks down and realizes he had his hand wrapped around his girthy cock and was moving it up and down.

He brings his free hand to type into the chat again.

GoldenSon: wish ypu wer here too

Normally he'd be annoyed about the typos but his focus was fully on his pleasure and your face.

"If I was there, I'd be ready for you- on my knees. Ready to make you feel good. You must be a hard working man. You deserve someone to make you feel good. Oh, I wanna taste you so bad." You let out a small whine and brought your hand to your breast and squeezed it.

Art's eyes widened and he couldn't believe the sight in front of him. This was like a million layers of fucked up.

You were Patrick's sister.

He was Patrick's friend. Best friend.

You had no idea that he was the one speaking to you like this.

You had no idea he was jerking off to your fucking tits when he'd barely spare you a glance on most days.

Art tightened his grip, applying more pressure, and continued the motion as he stared closely at your breasts.

GoldenSon: im cloxer

You smile at his typo, which probably indicated to you that he was more focused on something else.

"I want you to cum for me, baby. Oh, I wish I could taste it. I'd lick it all off you- every last drop. Clean you up with my tongue. You want that don't you?" You pulled your tank top down and one of your tits sprung out, which you cupped and played with.

Art watches in shock. He then shuts his eyes tight and feels himself reach his climax with the image of your tits on his mind. He feels hot release drip down his palms and he groans as he milks himself. He pants and catches his breath, still in a daze.

GoldenSon: Thank you, Roxy

"Of course, baby." You blow a kiss at the screen, "I'm here Tuesday's and Friday's after ten pm," You cover yourself up with your tank top again. "Will I see you again?" You were staring into the camera with your twinkling eyes.

You had him in a trance. Patrick's sister had him in a trance.

GoldenSon: Yes

[GoldenSon has gifted you $20]

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If I told you I wrote half of this while in line at the bank would you believe me?

Thank you for reading, as always!!

#challengers #challengers fic #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #Spotify

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what-even-is-thiss · 10 months ago

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If you’re having trouble picking a language to learn you might want to evaluate why you want to learn a language in the first place

Do you want to do it to connect with your relatives? Because you’re moving to a country where you don’t speak the language? Then you already know what you have to do. Get out there and start watching YouTube videos and bothering your grandma to teach you, silly. Just do it.

If you just want to speak a second language for its own sake and don’t really care what, just pick a language that’s common in your region and/or will help you in your career. These types of languages will likely have local news stations in the language, local people to talk to, local language exchanges, a presence on streaming services in your country, etc. In the US this is almost always gonna be Spanish. Sometimes it might be something like German or Chinese but it’s usually Spanish. I give this suggestion because then your motivation is always staring you right in the face at the library when there’s a whole section you can’t read and motivation can sometimes be the hardest part of language learning. And if there’s a lot of stuff to watch and a lot of people to talk to that can also keep you from getting bored.

If you wanna be quirky or different but still want something easy just pick a language with a lot of speakers that isn’t spoken much near you that preferably also has a large presence online so you can watch and read content in that language. So if you live in the US likely something like Mandarin, Japanese, Portuguese, Arabic, Hindi, Russian, Korean. These languages also have a lot of monolingual speakers so they have a lot of tv, books, and movies made for them and they’re writing in their own language on social media websites.

If you want to learn a dead language decide which ancient culture you’re personally most abnormal about and pick that one. If you’re doing it for spiritual reasons to read a holy book then again you already know what you’re supposed to be doing, silly. Get reading. Find a quirky teacher on YouTube.

If you want to learn an endangered language and/or are interested in language preservation see what endangered languages live near you and if they’re open to outsiders learning them. Local universities often work with minority language groups to make dictionaries and they may have a program locally to help preserve the language you might be able to participate in. If that’s not possible where you live for whatever reason, I’d suggest finding one that you just really like and whose speakers are happy to teach to outsiders. If you’re looking for ones with a lot of resources available to you then something like Hawaiian or one of the Celtic languages would likely be your best bet, but look around. There’s a lot of people out there doing the work to make endangered languages more accessible.

If you wanna play on hard mode then pick a language that’s spoken in a country where almost everyone speaks English because you’ll have to defeat the locals in 1v1 combat before they’ll let you speak to them in their own language. So basically learn a Scandinavian language.

If you want to learn a conlang (why?) then decide which kind of nerds you want to make friends with. If you want to make friends with regular nerds, learn something like elvish or Klingon. If you want to make friends with people that just like conlangs, learn Esperanto. These are generally the most active conlang communities. If you want to just learn a language in a week and only sort of approximately say what you mean then learn toki pona.

If you’ve fallen hard in love with a language then pick that one. It doesn’t matter if it’s impractical or you don’t have a concrete reason. If you know that your love for that language and its culture is enough to keep you going then it’ll keep you going. You’ll find resources if you’re determined enough. Go. Be free.

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love-ardour-anarchism · 2 months ago

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sorry y'all (not sorry) I just heard about the "unemployed friend" meme and I gotta say, yeah, I'm the unemployed friend.

i'm on an actually surprisingly livable disability pension (yippie, till they slash it) so when I'm not busy doing ALL the shit I need to keep my fairly low standard of living up by jumping through all sorts of hoops, polishing psych ward and doctors office doorknobs and begging the government to let me live another year I'm THAT unemployed friend

things I've done within the last year or so that are a bit random but cool:

clean up a bunch of fashy graffiti and stickers just as I walk around town on my silly little mental health walks

ask a local retirement home for a ladder to get rid of some particularly nasty stickers WAY up high (prolly shouldn't tell them I'm a LITTLE mobility impaired and def shouldn't be doing those kinds of impromptu acrobatics)

repair a bench in front of a grocery store that senior citizens sit on a lot that became a safety hazard because it was broken and the store claimed it was "the city's" and the city claimed it was "the store's"... i just went there with a powered drill and some screws and fixed that shit

helped a neighbor do some laundry just cause, also learned that the washer/dryer situation in the building is shit so I offered my personal washer/dryer for use

removed some fash graffiti that was on the back of the door of a government office only for the gov workers there to proclaim me the savior of the broken or some shit which made for a very funny conversation as I stood there with my "acab antifascist" punk patches

first email then call a local government branch incessantly to tell them about ALL the ways their website is fucking broken and inaccessible, then got to talking with them about the specifics which they said they'd relay to their IT department which then proceeded to email me back to let me know their website's fucking broken links are "client side" (sure lol)

paid for some guy's bus fare and had an argument with the bus driver who wouldn't let me use my "my support worker rides for free with me" bus pass cause that random old man who doesn't speak good German "isn't my support worker" when the bus driver was about to call the cops on me for "fraud" I just smacked down my pay card and was like "okay I'll pay for him then", the old man then blessed me and said I'm going to heaven and my "husband... or wife" is very lucky to have me

almost got mugged but when I joked with the 4 guys surrounding me while talking to me aggressively they suddenly eased up and were like "you're cool, actually" to which I responded with "haha cool I thought I was gonna get mugged" to which they replied "you were" so I just smiled politely and walked away in a leisurly pace

given a guy some rolling tobacco, papers and no cigarette filters because he doesn't like the taste and been given a VERY expensive chocolate in return because I refused his loose change in return for the loose handful of tobacco and 1 rolling paper, I offered him the whole open bag of tobacco and he said no he doesn't smoke

removed ANOTHER shitty graffiti (there's too many of those, geez) and got asked by a guy if I'm "from city council" (imagine me, wearing combat boots, a punk vest and covered in tattoos) which I responded to by saying I deny any such allegations. man who asked thought that was very funny and asked if I take tips, I said I don't, he was disappointed and left.

So yeah, I do a little mischief and a little community service when I can

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 3 months ago

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“autistic people’s interests not ‘restrictive’ that be pathologizing language!!!” n then cue example of low support needs level 1 autistic with PhD n it’s like

so right now be in extreme fixation stage of something that stick around long enough be call special interest

extreme enough that it overrode my main special interest for 4+ years. just like that.

here what “extreme” mean:

am active do that special interest moment am wake to moment go sleep. constant. as non stop as possible.

sleep about 2-4 hours a day, n sleep at all because human body need sleep. this be 3rd or 4th night in row where do not go sleep until 6am, 8am, wake up at 10 AM, 12PM. AM NOT TIRED. just want do Thing (ppl who know me irl follow this account so shouldn’t admit this or else get concerned spam but brain even too occupy abt that right now. shh.)

btw this lack of sleep probably reason trigger my GI issues. n it really bad. it look like dysmotility, stomach, intestine, maybe, who tf knows. eat 2 bites for “breakfast” before feel like too full will throw up from be stuffed, but even by dinner time maybe stomach growling but not hungry n can’t eat more than another 2 bite. which then cause severe constipation. etc etc etc whatever. know my lack of sleep definitely contribute to it n idk if go catch up w sleep will fix it or if that be trigger worsen episode that gonna stay for while. even with these consequences, no, can’t go sleep. Can’t.

also my eyes blurry from constant use (bc need for do Thing) n lack sleep. will am be able go sleep? no.

basic activities of daily living (ones that can do) too boring to do. spend time eating chewing, that be time away from Thing. minute or two of go bathroom take too much time away from Thing n am almost rushing back so can do Thing. push off get help shower because that take precious time away from Thing. n upset about interruptions. can’t handle interruptions. can’t handle anything be pull out from my lil world of Thing. do those bADLs not pull me out my internal world of Thing. zero attention elsewhere. most ppl even level 1 & maybe even some of 2 autistics not understand what mean by “too bored by bADL to do them” n they think it just spoiled not want do it but no

this be busiest time of semester (online school). have 3 finals this week n already behind (haven’t studied for 2). it not matter. nothing got done. try listen to audio n 20 minutes later realize been zone out somehow thinking abt Thing again. try open up something link really just few clicks n spend 30 minutes because “oh website loading let me just go look at Thing real quick” n 30 minutes pass bc cant stop. my brain occupied. any information need memorize for school for other things simply not fit no space bc whole entire mode on Thing.

write this post fucking painful bc just NEED get back to think about this thing bc write this post be interruption n in fleeing moments (minutes) of can think about other things been thinking abt write this post. if post sound extra confusing or frantic that because am frantic get back. again reminder this blog (disability) be part of MAIN SPECIAL INTEREST FOR FOUR PLUS YEARS it just get kicked off like that. use to check tumblr multiple times day n now go DAYS without check tumblr. n coincidentally this be time be one of post escape containment so get constant notif one point to 2k before cleared it. now again probably another 2k

hope this post fucking make sense bc brain too occupy to think abt write anything that unrelate

haha fuck! me!

okay to reblog this incoherent post in fact please do bc autistic interest can be EXTREMELY restrictive. it can be this level of restrictive AND MORE. can make you genuinely not able do ADLs n cause health issues from things you not doing n you suffer from it but it not change anything

#what #loaf screm #actually autistic #actuallyautistic #level 2 autism #level 3 autism #high support needs #high support needs autism #long post

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thelikesofus · 8 months ago

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Buddie Fic Recs

REC LIST NUMBER 7! I’m finally home so I can finally share with you the over three months worth of Buddie fics that I have read to keep me sane while I was traveling around the UK. As always, please show these authors some love in their comments xx Find my other Buddie Rec Lists HERE

REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

What's Easy is Right by @half_bakedboy | G | 18k

Buck romances Eddie the way that he deserves. It was so refreshing to read a fic like this where everything just goes right for them. They just get to fall in love and be happy without any conflict or "big bad thing" arising. They were allowed to just be in love and happy and I love that so much <3

my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) by @colonoscopys | G | 1.9k

Buck and Eddie unknowingly commiserate with each other through a website entitled: inlovewithmybestfriendandgoingtodie.com! This fic is absolutely incredible. I could literally cry, it's so good!!

loves a game, wanna play? by @exhuastedpigeon | M | 57k

Love Island AU. In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together. I have never watched Love Island, or ever wanted to, but if this fic was a real season I would EAT. IT. UP!

Eddie vs Romance by @littlespoonevan | T | 27k

This lovely two-part series in which Eddie does a lot of self-learning and then gets romanced as he deserves.

Too Often the Power of Touch is Underestimated by @xjustlikeyou | T | 15k

Five times a touch knocked Eddie off his feet, and the one time he got to return the favor. I have no words to describe how wholly and profoundly perfect this fic is to me. This is THEE Buddie touch-centric w/ pining Eddie fic of all time!

Until the Dancing Ends by @phoenix-angel-suyari | G | 4k

Eddie finally sees footage of Buck's reaction to him getting buried in the well and Eddie reacts proportionately by kissing him in front of everyone. So, so good!

i'm here with the door wide open by @eddiebabygirldiaz| T | 24k

Eddie copes with the absence of Chris but also the presence of Buck. I adore this fic, Eddie finally learning to allow himself to feel things and to accept that he deserves to love and be loved in return and that what he feels for Buck doesn't need to be stamped down and hidden. The ending is so beautifully soft too!

you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by @sibylsleaves | E | 24k

Buck breaks up with Taylor, moves out of the loft and in with Eddie. Let the Buddie Roommates and Pining Era begin! As all of Sibyl’s fics are this is just incredible and I devoured it!

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys | E | 18k

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up AKA Eddie has magic and a lot of complicated feelings about his best friend.

there ain't no turning back by @42hrb | E | 28k

After dropping Chris off at College, Eddie begins his journey home only Buck to fly out to crash his Sad Dad Cross Country Road Trip™. This fic made me feel a hundred billion emotions so strongly. Incredible.

Hot Ghost Problems by @ebjameston | T | 40k

Not Actually Dead™ Ghost!Buck and Witch!Eddie. This fic is actually incredible! 10/10. Five Stars.

Season of Hope (After the Flood) by @saryasy | T | 58k

Eddie learns a lot about himself while waiting for his son to come home. The pinning and beautiful, KARENEDDIE BESTIE-ISM FOR THE WIN! And a beautiful tender happy ending xx

the going water and the gone by @try-set-me-on-fire | T | 31k

Eddie Diaz presumed dead? Again? More likely than you think. I live for these sorts of fics and this one set Post Cruise Ship is so good!!

come and be my baby by @colonoscopys | T | 21k

What is Buck and Eddie got together in season 2? This made me laugh and cry and feel all kinds of emotions and it's just so beautiful!!!!!!!

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies | T | 58k

This fic really doesn’t need any introduction because I think we are all obsessed. GIRL UNCLE!EDDIE + ICE CREAM TUESDAYS ❤️

bottle episode by @transboybuckley | T & E | 14k

The 118 has a 24-hour shift, and zero calls. The softest bottle episode, full of Firefam love, Buddie, and which is somehow also about crying over trees.

when everything's on fire by @glowingyears | T | 15k

Eddie and Chris move into the loft with Buck after a house fire and then they buy a house together. SO COZY SO LOVELY THERE IS JUST SO MUCH LOVE IN THIS FIC.

From the Ground Up by @blueberrytwoberry | M | 17k

Eddie finds a massive dog on his porch and can’t seems to get rid of it. THE DOG IS BUCK! BUCK IS A DOG! DOG BUCK!

cold rain, warm skin by @gayhoediaz | T | 2.5k

Just the softest coziest morning kisses ever known to man <3

death wish love by @eddiebabygirldiaz | E | 15k

After his break up with Tommy, Buck goes to Eddie's, he wakes up the next morning only to be pummeled by his hangover and his attraction to Eddie. No words can possibly describe the soft comfortable and loving cocoon that this fic creates.

We Both Go Down Together by @xylodemon | T | 4k

A near death/drowning experience, a love confession and hospital pronounced husbands, what's not to love!?!

#buddie #buddie fic recs #buddie fic rec list 7 #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #911 #911 fic recs #meegs rec list

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neiptune · 3 months ago

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the entire party thinks we're dating

cw: 4.5k wc, female reader, sendo registers oliver on one of those rent a boyfriend for a day websites as a prank and you just so happen to need a date for another wedding you really don't want to attend on your own—

When you swing the door open, you can’t help but blink a few times at the sight before your eyes.

“Oh”, you say.

The man staring back with a lopsided smile, hands buried in the pockets of what looks like an expensive suit, raises his brows.

“Oh?”, he parrots, “thought we could start with hello, nice to meet you”.

“Sorry, it’s just…”, you tilt your head, “I get why you’re so expensive. They weren’t kidding with that description”.

When you leave the door open and waltz back into the living room, Oliver takes it as an invitation to come in.

“Can you remind me what that description said?”, the sound of the door being softly pushed closed echoes in the silent room while you’re busy checking yourself out in the mirror above the couch.

“Friendly, tall, incredibly charming, devastatingly handsome. Something like that”.

He smirks, catching your gaze in the mirror.

“And you just validated all that, huh?”.

You click your tongue.

“We’ll see about the friendly, incredibly charming part”.

“Devastatingly handsome it is then, I’ll take the compliment. You look really good in that dress, by the way”.

“Don’t”, you scoff, “you’re too hot to be that much of a clichè”.

He hums, amused.

“Not too hot to tell the truth. You know, for someone so wary, it’s surprising you’d let me pick you up at your place”.

“Not her place”, Chisako’s voice startles him and you sigh, turning to the mirror once more: your hair is being exceptionally stubborn.

“Listen… what’s your name again?”, your best friend eyes him up and down, hands on her hips.

“I’m Oliver”, he replies, seemingly amused. You meet his gaze in the mirror once more.

“Listen, Oliver. You do anything to her, anything, and I’ll kill you. Won’t even go through the fuss of pressing charges, you hear me?”.

“That’s sweet”.

She narrows her gaze.

“You think I’m kidding? Hands to yourself and don’t try anything funny”.

“Hey, just a quick reminder, she rented me”.

“You, don’t talk to my friend like that”, you finally whip around, exasperated, “and you, please don’t scare my very expensive date away yet. I still need him”.

With a scoff, Chisako lightly slaps your finger away from her chest.

“Fine. Share your location and call me if you need anything. Keep your phone with you”, you soften when you read the sincere worry swarming in her eyes and smile.

“Deal. Thank you”, with a deep breath, you grab your purse and take an uncertain step back, “do I look okay?”.

“More than okay, you’re…”.

“Beautiful”.

You both look at him, skeptical.

“You don’t have to do that”.

“Do what?”, Oliver chuckles, “let me guess, you think that was also a lie”.

“Hot and smart? You really are the whole package”, with a scoff, you walk past him and toward the front door, where you slip your very pretty, very uncomfortable heels on.

Still evidently amused, he opens the door for you and offers his arm to walk you down the stairs of the old apartment complex. Chisako waits on the balcony, arms folded and resting on the black railing. You look up and she waves, making you chuckle.

When Oliver leans forward to open the car door for you, you look at him astonished.

“You came… in a porsche?”.

He grins.

“I mean, you did pay for the whole package”.

Right.

“So, we’re gonna need a story, right? Am I your boyfriend or are we just casually dating?”, the smaller space you’re now sharing is ruthless in making you notice the details you couldn’t catch in your friend’s apartment. The man starting the engine and now sitting dangerously close to you smells unfairly good and the deep rumble of his voice, low, intimate, feels as soft as velvet. It almost resembles the purr of a big cat.

“Boyfriend. We met about two months ago and only recently made it official”.

“Sounds good to me”, he briefly glances at you with a smile, “whose wedding is it, anyway?”.

You grimace.

“An old colleague. She’s never gonna buy this but we can do our best”.

“Are you doubting me or yourself right now?”.

With a snort, you gesture vaguely.

“You’re an incredibly attractive guy who drives a sports car. No one at that wedding is going to believe I could bag that”.

“It’s my job to make sure they do”, Oliver clicks his tongue, “besides, I think I’d have a much harder time charming you. I’m pretty easy to bag”.

His absolutely serious tone makes you melt into a chuckle, which he seems to appreciate. Head slightly turned, you focus on his profile for a brief moment. The bridge of his nose, full lips, long lashes. You wonder if he’s using contacts. He must be, right? There’s no way he’d be blessed with those eyes too, among everything else.

“You’re staring”, he mutters, still focused on the road. The playful lilt of his tone makes you shift in your seat.

“You’re nice to look at”.

He huffs out a sound that sounds like a chuckle, both amused and somehow coy.

“How come you ended up on that website? You don’t seem like the type who’d need to rent a man”.

You stay silent for a few seconds, looking straight ahead while lost in your own thoughts. Truth is, you’re not quite sure yourself. It’s true: you’re definitely not the type and, suddenly, the entirety of the absurd situation weighs heavy on your chest.

You’re in a car, with a man you know nothing about, heading to a wedding party where everyone will be able to call your bluff. And you spent an embarrassing amount of money for this, too.

“I think I’m about to throw up”, you murmur.

“Excuse me?”.

“I’m seriously about to throw up. Oh, no. What was I thinking?”, your hands rise to cover your face, “stop the car, please”.

“We’re on the highway”.

“But I’m about to throw-”

“Please stop talking about throwing up, the thought of someone vomiting triggers my gag reflex”, Oliver sends an alarmed glance your way but you’re refusing to meet his gaze, practically bending over in your own seat, “think of the leather seats”.

“I don’t care about your stupid leather seats!”.

“You were fine ten seconds ago-”

“Oliver”, the way you straight out whine his name all of a sudden tucks the words back into his throat, “I don’t even know you. Oh, god, what if you’re a maniac? What if you try to murder me? I’m in a car with a man I don’t know, I spent so much money only to end up dead in a ditch!”.

“Okay, listen-”

“I’m sorry, I know this is a really weird reaction but I’m freaking out big time, I never did this before-”

“Me neither!”.

Your eyes grow in size and your jaw slacks, panic overcoming your features. Oliver clears his throat.

“I mean, I never had to convince an entire audience at a wedding. My dates were always a walk in the park, an afternoon at the mall, one movie, an ice cream on the way home”, he lies so easily it almost makes him laugh. Either way, Oliver slows down and gently stops the car, parking it on the shoulder of the highway.

“Hey”, he tentatively reaches for your wrist, to gently remove one of your hands from your face, “can you look at me? You said I’m nice to look at, no?”.

“You are. Which would make you the perfect murderer”, you whisper. Still, you comply and find an incredulous smile brightening up his face.

“Jesus. Okay, listen, I promise you can trust me. I won’t hurt you. If you changed your mind I can drive you home right now, or drop you off at the venue and leave”.

“Really?”.

“Really”.

You inhale a deep breath and relax against your seat underneath the weight of his honest, magnetic gaze.

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m insane”.

“Believe it or not, I’ve met more insane people”, he smiles.

You lower your gaze.

“It’s just… not something I would usually do. I was really tired of being always the lonely one at weddings and social gatherings, I never let the teasing get to me but I guess I started feeling”, you pause to look for the right word, “vulnerable. I don’t have to prove anything but I was just so sick of it. And this particular colleague is insufferable, she’s been with the guy ever since high school and just kept talking my ear off about true love, soulmates, all that bullshit…”, Oliver laughs and you look up from your lap.

“What?”.

“Nothing”, he raises both hands in mock protection, “keep going”.

You glare at him.

“Well, that’s the story. I was exhausted, drank an entire bottle of wine, found the website, booked the most expensive option because I really wanted to rub it in their faces. Then I almost had a panic attack about it, apparently”.

“The most expensive, huh?”, his blatant smugness makes you groan.

“You know you are the most expensive”.

He doesn’t, really. But it’s surely a pleasant learning.

“Right. Well, I’m ready to be your arm candy and piss the bride off if you’ll have me”, Oliver flashes you another smile, “you know, I’m sure she hired a good glam team but I’m willing to bet my date still looks better”.

“You’re such a flirt”, you smile and idly shake your head, “you know what? Fine. What the hell, I deserve a few hours with a hot dude who says I look pretty. Let’s go piss the bride off”.

He starts the engine again with a pleased hum.

“Please pay more attention, I remember saying you look beautiful”.

“Ugh, they really know what they’re doing on that website”, you laugh, sudden and loud and genuine.

Oliver never thought Sendo’s dumb prank was something he’d resent him for. On the contrary, he decided to go with it just one time, for the sake of having a funny story to share one day.

Now, with the vivacious laughter of the (not entirely sane) stranger currently in his car still ringing in his ears, he knows he made the right decision.

Oliver is not prepared for the way you surprise him.

He has witnessed enough unsettling transformations in his life, hell, he still sometimes becomes another person on the field, but the switch you turn on the second you both walk into the reception is… staggering.

No one would be able to tell you had a breakdown in his car just moments prior to walking into the venue. Watching the way you carry yourself, how you talk to everyone, the confidence embedded in every word and movement is mesmerizing. Makes him doubt of his own sanity because what if he imagined you almost throwing up on his expensive seats?

His thumb idly runs over your knuckles as you introduce him to yet another friend. The boyfriend renting agreement comes with some important rules: the date is to be strictly platonic and there’s a fixed hourly rate which gets higher the more requested a boyfriend is. You briefly discussed some boundaries, to make sure the other is comfortable at all times: Oliver can’t kiss you and you can’t kiss him, but everything else is pretty much allowed. You asked if it was okay for him to hold your hand and he made it pretty clear that it wasn’t a problem, or so the fingers so easily slipping in between yours seemed to suggest.

You kiss each other’s cheek and rest your heads on each other’s shoulder and your hands are so gentle as they move strands of dark hair away from his eyes. His arm feels solid and comforting around your shoulders, hand warm against the small of your back as he guides you through the garden filled with tables and guests.

Surprising Oliver is not easy but something weird happens when you call him baby for the first time. He wonders how you can make it sound so natural, where you learned to be a liar good enough to have your eyes sparkle like that, on demand. He’s there to have a fun story to share but he’s also supposed to do the work, to do what’s expected of him. Instead, it feels like you’re pulling the strings and all he can do is try to stay afloat within your current.

He surprises you too. When a few guests gather around you two, wonder shimmering in their eyes, friends asking where you even got to meet a pro soccer player, you look at him as shocked and rightfully confused as a fake girlfriend would be.

“She asked if she could get a jersey signed for…”, Oliver searches your gaze in silent demand and you clear your throat, still flabbergasted.

“Kenji”, you offer an easy smile.

The man standing on Oliver’s left, supposedly Kenji himself, gasps.

“Right, Kenji”, Oliver smiles too, “I told her I would only sign it if she went on a date with me”.

“He has that romantic blackmail thing about him, I fell for it instantly”, you ever so slightly narrow your gaze and, in response, he tightens his hold around your waist.

“You’ve been dating him for months and you didn’t think of getting us tickets to some games?”, another one of your old colleagues, Yoshio, pouts.

“You’ve been dating him for months and you didn’t think of getting us the numbers of some pro soccer players?”, your friend Yumi practically shoves Yoshio out of the way and you finally relax, melting into genuine laughter.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Guess we can still make that happen, right, baby?”, there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes when you look at him. He thinks he might get used to being looked at with such daring playfulness.

“Sure. Shuto’s always happy to go on dates-”

“Sendo Shuto?”, Yumi’s eyes get as big as saucers. This time, Oliver laughs with you.

It shouldn’t come as a shock that he’s good at what he does but you still can’t quite believe just how talented he is as a fake boyfriend. You’re aching to ask questions, the entire dinner spent wondering what on earth a famous pro soccer player is even doing on a rent a boyfriend website. Nothing gets past social media these days, wouldn’t that be news eventually? How does he keep it a secret? Is it a second job, a weird fetish?

Akane’s never been particularly traditional from what you can recall but her husband really wanted to incorporate as much traditional customs as possible in their celebration. You sit through course after course of plates and bowls filled with delicious dishes: clear soup with shrimp cake, sashimi, grilled fish glazed with sweet miso, tempura, red rice. All the while Oliver, ankle hooked around yours underneath the table, makes perfect conversation with everyone. He has an answer ready to each question and you pretend to ignore both your colleagues’ and Akane’s bewildered, inquisitorial gazes directed at you from tables away, too busy reciprocating your date’s honeyed praises and smiles.

He gets you alone in between courses, right as everyone is either taking a break or bringing the dancefloor to life before fruit and cake are served. They won’t buy it if we don’t pull away from the crowd for a little bit.

It’s why Oliver currently has you pressed against a retaining wall in a more secluded but still strategically visible part of the garden, body towering over yours and so close you can feel the heat radiating through the fabric of his white shirt.

“A pro soccer player”, you click your tongue, “care to explain?”.

“Relax your shoulders”, he murmurs and smiles, pleased, when you comply right away, “I owe you a date, not explanation”.

You deflate a bit and Oliver curls further over you.

“Fine, keep your secrets”, a pause, “won’t this be a problem if someone takes some pics and leaks them, though?”.

“I stopped caring about that stuff long time ago. But I can have everyone here sign an nda to protect you from it, just say the word”.

You shake your head.

“It’s fine. I’m not really on social media and we’ll split up by tomorrow, anyway”.

“Aw, you’ll break my heart”, one of his hands rises to rest on the side of your neck, thumb softly tracing your jaw, “even after validating how friendly and incredibly charming I am. So cold”.

There’s something about him, a stranger you paid to pretend to be your boyfriend for the sake of not attending yet another wedding alone. It’s odd and has your heart thumping in your chest, something behind your ribs catching fire whenever his fingers graze your skin so intentionally. You wonder if this is really him, if he’s the person you feel so inexplicably drawn to. If there’s a chance of you not being stupid enough to be attracted to a faux boyfriend with a carefully crafted, fictitious personality.

“Make it look like you’re kissing me”, you ignore his teasing for the sake of your sanity and slightly tilt your head up to meet the dangerous glint of mismatched eyes. Oliver lowers his head and tilts it slightly to the side, lips moving against your cheek when he speaks again.

“Put your arms around my neck”, he orders back in a murmur. Your scoff makes him chuckle as he pretends to not notice how you shiver against him.

“This is such a weird side job to have”, your embrace pulls him closer, or maybe it’s the lightest brush of your lips against his chin. When your fingers start carding through the green hair at the base of his nape, he exhales.

“Maybe it’s not a side job. Maybe I’m just here for you, just this once”.

You idly brush your nose against his cheek, a feeling warm and treacherous unfurling in your chest. He pulls back enough to lock your gaze to his once more, still so intense despite being concealed by the partial darkness of this particular corner of the garden. He is so unfairly beautiful. Not far from where you stand, guests are laughing and drinking and dancing, some of them no doubt looking at you two. It’s striking, how little they suddenly matter.

“Maybe that makes me lucky, then”, you whisper, lean into his touch when his other hand cradles your cheek. Oliver gently holds your face in his hands, seemingly conflicted as his gaze falls on your lips. You tilt your head back to give him a better view.

An absurd thought takes shape in a far corner of your mind: will this truly be the one and only time you’ll get to see him? Not that you’d ever be pathetic enough to rent a man from a website multiple times. Let alone the same man. It’s such a weird, ridiculous thing to be disappointed by. You wonder if it’ll rival the disappointment of not being kissed by him.

Oliver wets his lips, the pink flash of his tongue alluring in a maddening way. Your head spins. You don’t recall ever feeling such unusual torment before.

And then, finally, finally, he leans closer.

“Hey, lovebirds!”, Akane’s cheerful tone makes you both jump and you bring a hand to your chest as Oliver takes a wobbly step back, “we didn’t have the chance to chat, are you having fun?”.

She’s not talking to you at all, attentive gaze set on the man next to you.

“Everything’s perfect, thank you for having us. I wish you both everlasting happiness”, you smile, a little tense.

“Well, I can’t say I wasn’t surprised. One almost wishes he was around for all those office christmas parties, right? Remember how you were always the only one to show up alone?”.

You clear your throat, shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“I remember. Always alone and yet still the funniest person in every room, without fail”, with a wink, you hope to conceal the soreness caused by her ungenerous words.

Akane hums.

“I still wonder why that’s such a great coping mechanism…”

“It proves she doesn’t need a man to have a personality”, Oliver straight out grins, one hand comes to rest on your nape and gives it a gentle squeeze, “it’s what I like about her”.

She raises her brows in interest.

“Well, that’s true. She’s pretty great”.

“Yeah, she is”.

You relax under his touch and a strange thrill comes with it, with knowing he possesses the ability to make you feel at ease. He doesn’t exactly dislike such knowledge.

“I’m glad you have each other now”, Akane’s features soften, “maybe one day I’ll be invited to your wedding!”.

You cough, embarrassed.

“Let’s not go overbo-”

“Maybe!”, Oliver chimes in once again, jovial, “who can tell?”.

It almost makes you choke on air. When you look up at him, Akane’s cheerful laughter echoing in the sweet summer evening air, he’s already looking at you.

As you stumble back to join the other guests, heels sinking in the soft grass, the bride gently grazes your arm with the pads of her fingers before rejoining her husband and their closest friends. You know Akane is not a bad person, her words don’t hold any actual venom despite stinging. In her own way she means well, which is why you are so genuinely happy for her. She got the happy ending she was always destined to have. It’s just that not everyone is as lucky and it’s unfair to expect them to be just because she’s part of the chosen ones.

“Where are you going?”, Oliver hooks a finger in the low square back of your dress to pull you in, the contact setting something similar to a flow of electricity running along your spine.

“To eat cake?”, you easily dissimulate. He keeps his finger there, even when you stop in your tracks.

“Let them”, he winks, “may I have this dance?”.

You stay frozen.

“Did you just casually quote Marie Antoinette to me?”, is all you can come up with because, frankly, the idea of a man who already possesses so many blessings being also able to dance is a little too unfair.

“Can’t a man be hot and educated?”, he grins, then finally releases the back of your dress by letting the stretch fabric lightly slap against your back, “don’t think you can distract me, let’s go”.

If there’s one learning to be taken from this impossibly strange evening is that, apparently, there is no escaping Oliver Aiku. He even rivals the promise of a rich serving of white chocolate almond cake with raspberry filling.

He pulls you close on the interlocking parquet dance floor rented by the newlyweds, hands splayed big and warm on your hips as your arms, for the second time, find their way to rest around his neck. You do your best to not feel intimidated by the excessively romantic, slow track everyone else is currently dancing to as well.

Then, it’s as if a spell is cast on you. Or rather a curse.

“Who is he?”, the question surprises you and your eyes find his. Oliver is so close and he smells so unethically good.

“Who?”, yet you struggle to keep your focus, attention oscillating between the stranger you’re currently pressed against and a more familiar face your wandering eyes keep searching, dancing not far from you. Something painfully throbs in your chest.

“The man you keep looking at, who is he?”, Oliver asks softly, almost caringly.

“My ex-boyfriend”, the confession isn’t but a low whisper, “I think. I think he’s here with the woman he cheated on me with. Well, one of them, anyway”, your chuckle is bitter. It distorts the joyfulness of the evening, the mere sight of them suddenly staining, polluting every positive feeling you’ve been able to feel until now.

And then Oliver is grasping your chin, tilting his head to effectively block your view of them. You’re forced to look at him and only him, to focus on how his thumb skating over the skin underneath your bottom lip feels.

“How about you keep your eyes on me, then?”, he whispers.

“Sorry”, you stop yourself with a sigh when your gaze slides once more, “I’m sorry. It’s really stupid”.

“What is?”, his gaze, perhaps involuntarily, falls on your lips, “caring? Feeling hurt?”.

“Don’t do that”.

“What?”.

“Don’t… like, I know this is an act. But you don’t have to do that too, pretend to care. You’re a little too good at it and it confuses me”.

Oliver lets go of your chin and offers a faint smile.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you confuse me too”.

You blink a few times, taken aback. He gracefully takes one of your hands from behind his neck and lifts your arm above your head to twirl you. For a moment, his eyes appreciate the airy swirl of the hem of your dress.

“I’m only pretending to be your boyfriend”, everything else feels a little too real, he wants to add. Maybe you’ll read the unsaid in eyes he can’t seem to be able to keep on anything else but you.

“You have a gift”, with a smile, you choose to deflect, “ever thought of giving up the soccer career?”.

“For this, you mean?”, Oliver goes from having his hands on your hips to hooking his arms around your waist, effectively caging you against him. Your forehead grazes his and the wind is swiftly knocked out of your lungs at the sudden proximity.

“Something like that, yeah”, one of your hands toys with his green strands once more, nails lightly scratching the back of his neck. A sound of contentment vibrates low in his throat and it makes you want to pull him close, impossibly closer.

He tilts his head to the side and you feel dizzy because his lips are ever so slightly brushing against yours. Not quite touching them, never kissing them, just there as a faint reminder or rather an intoxicating promise.

“You have to go in about five minutes”, you whisper, perhaps for the sake of feeling more of his mouth so close yet still too far from your own.

“Mm?”, he only manages to let out a confused sound.

You let your nose brush against his own. Playfully, daringly.

“I could only afford a couple hours, not the entire night”.

Oliver welcomes the implications of your admission with a low chuckle.

“And if I stay?”.

“I may be too broke for that”.

He presses a kiss to the very corner of your mouth. Sweet, fleeting. Determined.

“My treat”.

He can keep it platonic for about five more minutes.

#oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku x you #aiku x reader #aiku x you #bllk x reader

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