#bc i KNEW. i just KNEW it in my balls that there would be some Bad Takes and annoying discourse

[xray-vex]

hey remember when the OFMD s2 teaser video dropped and there were people who were somehow CONVINCED that Stede was referring to Izzy when he said "I don't care what any of you say, he's actually a good guy" and not, y'know, Ed, whom they were literally just talking about in this scene?

like what the hell was that about

[tvxcue]

when people act like colin would just accept someone he's dating being mean to penelope it's just like. that's not true. he decided to eternally have beef with cressida bc she was mean to penelope one time in his presence. he hears portia being mean to penelope and immediately tells her off so thoroughly it changes the course of the entire featherington family. and u want me to believe he would be chill with someone he's dating being mean to her? be so serious.

[autosarcophagy-avaritia]

i wonder if theyve ever thought i know spanish or italian

[badbtssmut]

Magic Stick

Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset

Admin note: idea by anon

Contains: Big dick JK, handjob, some boobplay, missionary, riding, reader expresses that she is uncertain if it will fit, it takes some time getting it fully in ;), reader whimpers a bit, JK’s ex cheated on him, jk cums a lot

—

“What’s wrong with you?” You glanced over to your best friend, he has been in a horrible mood for a week and no one knew why. Not even your mutual friends knew what was up with Jungkook.

”It’s nothing.” He mumbled in response.

“Come on, I can tell something is bothering you.” You pushed.

"Fine. My girlfriend broke up with me.” He finally cracked.

"Wait, what?” You stood from the dining table, and inched closer to Jungkook who was sitting on the sofa. “Why’d she do that?" You question, shocked by the sudden news. "You two seemed so happy. What happened?"

"She… she was cheating on me.” He confessed.

"Are you fucking kidding me? What a bitch." You really couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Don’t blame her, I guess.” Jungkook said and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't be silly. You’re too forgiving." You sighed.

"It's not that. The sex, my size— it just never worked out in bed. It was never a good fit." Jungkook confessed, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"So, you're saying, she dumped you ‘cause of your dick size? The fuck? That's just shallow. Why would she do that?" You sat next to him.

"Yeah, it didn’t fit, literally. I’d hurt her, it wasn’t going to work out from the start. We tried a few times, but the whole experience was just awful. I guess she couldn't stand it anymore." He said, defeated.

“That doesn't make any sense, surely you aren’t that big? Are you sure she’s not just making excuses?” You couldn’t believe his ex would end things with him over his size.

"No, I am that big." Jungkook replied.

"Really?" You were skeptical.

"I've always had a big dick." He added.

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me." You repeated. “I just want to know if you’re bullshitting or not.”

"No." He declined, looking at you as if you said the most ridiculous thing ever, clearly embarrassed by your request.

"Oh, come oooon, we are best friends. It’s not like I’ve never seen a dick before in my life." You rolled your eyes. "I'm not going to judge you, I promise. Just let me see."

"Fine." Jungkook sighed. "But… I’m not hard now.” He muttered.

“Will my boobs make you hard?“

“Hell yeah. You got great tits." He said, a bit too enthusiastic, as if he had been dreaming of the day you’d offer your tits in return to see his cock. You stood right in front of him, loosening the straps of your halter top. His mouth was slightly open, as he looked at you, completely mesmerized. You removed the straps from your shoulders and let the shirt fall to your tummy, revealing your breasts.

"Like what you see?" You teased.

"Yeah. Very much." He was nearly drooling at the sight.

"Want to touch them?"

"Fuck, yeah." He nodded, eager. You stepped closer and his hands were instantly on you. Squeezing your breasts, rubbing his thumbs on your nipples, taking it all in. When he was done caressing your tits with his hands, he started to suck and lick on them, at which you moaned softly, and the sound of it made him rock hard. He was definitely huge, you could see the tent forming on his pants.

"Are you sure you want to see it? It's… quite big." He was almost apologetic, as if his huge dick was some sort of inconvenience for others.

“I do, show me already.” You chuckled, not sure what he was being shy for.

"Okay." He nodded, unbuckling his belt, and lowering his jeans, together with his boxers.

Holy shit.

How was a dick that big even possible? You didn't even think that dicks like that actually existed. And it wasn't just long, but also thick. No wonder his ex broke up with him. You were pretty sure that dick wouldn't fit anywhere.

"Wow." You couldn't believe your eyes.

"Told you. It's big. You wouldn’t believe me." He shrugged.

"Can I touch it?" You asked, still unable to avert your eyes.

"If you want." He agreed, a little surprised but not put off by the idea.

You grabbed his dick and slowly moved your hand up and down his length, marveling at how big and heavy it was, how thick. His cock was truly impressive, and it seemed to get even bigger as you stroked him. You wondered what it would be like to take him.

“Wow. This is amazing. How can you fit this inside a girl?" You were truly impressed, and couldn't help but keep stroking his cock.

"I can't." He admitted, his breathing starting to quicken. “No girl can take it, they always start out confident but when it’s actually in… they can't take it. Not even halfway through. I have never met a girl that can take me all the way, even the ones that brag about having experience are not able to." He sounded dejected.

"I bet I can." You challenged him.

"No. You can't. There's no way." He scoffed. All of the girls said the exact same thing, and it never worked out, ever.

“Want to bet? If I can’t take it, I’ll give you 200 bucks.” You said, not convinced by his pessimism.

"200 dollars? That's a lot of money." He said, surprised by your proposal, but he shrugged. “But alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

—

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“If you ask me one more time… I will leave." You said, annoyed.

"Sorry. Just don’t want to hurt you." He apologized with a defeated sigh. It made you feel bad for getting annoyed, but Jungkook really had nothing to worry about.

You got this.

Jungkook held onto his cock as he pushed the head of it against your slick pussy lips. Your body tensed a bit, but he took his time, working on you slowly. You breathed deeply and relaxed, spreading your legs further as his shaft dragged against your sensitive skin. His cock was so hard and thick that it rubbed against every single inch of your folds.

Jungkook continued to move his hips back and forth, his errection dragging against your clit with each thrust. The sensation was amazing, and your body was trembling in pleasure, and he wasn’t even in yet.

The tip poked against your lower belly as he continued to rub the shaft against your pussy, his hips moving slow and steady.

“Want it.” You whined.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

"Yeah."

He lined himself up with your entrance, pressing the head against it. You tilted your head back, fuck, that was only the head, how could you feel this full already?

Jungkook began to slide his cock into your wet, aching pussy. His cock was stretching you out so wide, it felt incredible. He stopped when the head was all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust. Jungkook slowly pushed his cock deeper inside you, inch by inch. You could feel his cock filling up every inch of you, the stretch and pressure so intense, it was almost too much.

"Shit, you’re stretching me so good…” You moaned, as his cock kept going deeper.

"How are you taking it so well? I can't believe you can take it this far, pussy takes big cock so good, baby." He pushed in more, eager to fill you with every inch.

You couldn't speak, the sensations were overwhelming. It felt like your pussy was being stretched to its limits, and there was a pressure deep inside you that made your mind go blank.

Jungkook's cock was buried all the way inside you now. You were filled up completely, and it was the most amazing feeling you'd ever experienced.

"Don’t move,” It felt as if he would rip you in two if he pulled out even a little bit. "Not yet. Give me a minute." You whimpered, as you adjusted to his length and girth.

Jungkook nodded, kissing your neck, his hands cupping your breasts.

“This is how pussy feels, huh? Fuck, this is amazing. So tight, warm, perfect." He whispered against your ear, as he kept his dick deep inside. “It’s like my cock is being choked and squeezed, so good.”

“Told you… I could take it.” You said in a shaky breath, sitting up only to peek at where your bodies were joined, impressed to see how your body managed to take that monster cock in.

“You can move now." You gave him permission.

Jungkook started to move his hips back and forth.

The pressure from his dick was too intense, it felt like you were being split open, and you thought you were going to pass out from how good it felt. You held in your breath, unable to moan as you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his cock stretching you wide.

Whereas you were silent, Jungkook was grunting, groaning, panting, moaning, he couldn’t contain his pleasure. Jungkook was overwhelmed by the feeling of being buried deep inside you. His thrusts were slow and deep, his cock pushing against your inner walls, massaging them.

You opened your eyes and glanced at his face, he looked like he was in ecstasy, his mouth was open and he was moaning with every thrust.

His cock felt incredible, so big, so deep.

You had never felt anything like it before.

"I can't believe I'm fucking a pussy that can take my whole cock. Shit, it feels amazing. Pussy is so tight and wet. So fucking good. Never felt anything like it. Fuck!” Jungkook licked his bottom lip, picking up the pace.

Jungkook was pounding you now, his cock thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, hitting all the right spots. Fuck, you were seeing stars, your whole body was on fire.

You couldn't stop yourself from screaming in pleasure. You spread your legs as far as you possible could, allowing him to thrust even deeper into you. Jungkook continued his relentless rhythm, his thrusts were hard and fast, the sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy filled the room.

The feeling of his dick filling you up was indescribable, it was pure bliss.

“Want to ride you, want to sit on that cock." You needed to feel in control, and you wanted him to watch you as you sat on his massive dick.

Jungkook pulled out and laid down on the bed, his dick standing straight up, and you couldn’t wait to take it all again.

You straddled his hips, hovering above his erection and you slowly lowered yourself down onto his cock, gasping as it slid into you, the pressure and friction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Jungkook's hands were on your ass, helping you move up and down on his cock. He was thrusting his hips upward, matching your rhythm, driving his dick even deeper into you.

"God, you look so hot riding my cock. Never would’ve thought to see this.” He bit his lip, his eyes roaming over your body.

"So big…” All you could think of was how his cock felt inside of you, how shallow it might sound… you couldn’t even think of the person attached to it.

Jungkook was now holding onto your hips, pulling you down harder onto his dick. His thrusts were strong, and fast, and it felt so fucking good.

"Fuck, I can't last any longer. Gonna cum soon." His thrusts became erratic and he was moaning loudly, his whole body shaking. You rested your hands on his chest, grinding against him, trying to match his rhythm.

"Y/N… like that, love it just like that." He moaned, his breathing unsteady, his fingers now gripping into your thighs.

“Yes, yes…” You whispered, riding his cock, feeling your own orgasm build up inside of you.

“Ah!” Jungkook beat you to it, his body stiffened as his cum spurted inside of you, filling you up. He was gasping for air, his face was flushed, and his grip on your hips loosened, he ran his fingers through his hair as he squirted his cum deep inside of you. It was as if he had a never ending supply of cum, shooting spurt after spurt, his cock throbbing as it emptied its load inside you.

“Keep going, y/n, you didn’t come yet, I’ll stay hard, take what you need, keep going." He encouraged, his breathing still shaky, his dick was still hard, and it was pulsating inside you.

"Yeah." You whispered, continuing to bounce on his dick, the feeling of his cum inside of you and the sight of him beneath you, sweaty, breathing hard, his hair sticking to his forehead, was so incredibly sexy. The sound of your drenched in cum pussy sucking him back in was loud, his cock coated in your juices and the cum that was spilling out of you was bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You leaned back, resting your hands on his thighs as you moved up and down, faster, deeper, until you were finally climaxing, your orgasm taking over your body. Your body shook and your eyes fluttered open and shut as the warmth spread through your whole body, you had never felt anything like it before. You could feel the hot cum leaking out of you, and it just kept coming.

Your hips slowed as you rode out your orgasm, and when it was over, you collapsed onto the bed, panting.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You owe me 200 bucks.”

[mona-risms]

hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

[joeyfranchise]

cuz you know that it’s delicate

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: what happens when joe’s teammate slips a joke about your size difference and it sends you spiraling? being in love with joe since college has been tough but what happens when he starts figuring it out and trying to unravel you more?

warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, MDNI. heaaaavy size kink, joe being a smartass should be it’s own warning, language, p in v, fingering, oral (f. receiving), roughness. probably more? this one was so much fun, plzzz stick around til the end. 🤭

word count: 3.1k!

note: heyyy everyone! my first joey smut 🤭 i hope y’all love it and again MDNI!! (shoutout to my boo @slimshiesty, hate me later and that stray ball part is rotting in my brain, so i snuck a lil of it in here as an ode to you. ily bbg. 💗) (also another taylor swift title bc i fr couldn’t think of anything else plus i used it a bit.. i swear i’m not trying to steal anyones thing i love all the joey swifties)

tags: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 (plz message me or send an ask to be added!) part 2

sexual frustration has to be one of the worst things in the world. sexual frustration at the hands of your best friend, however, takes the cake.

it started at a party two weeks ago when you were invited out by joe, the star nfl quarterback, certified dweeb, and your very best friend all wrapped into one.

flashback

you were sitting around with joe and some of his teammates, listening in on their conversations and people watching the rest of the time. it was easiest for you to hang out with joe and ja’marr since you knew them from college, but the rest of their teammates and their teammates partners were really cool too, and all so welcoming to you.

everyone was laughing and joking, having a laid back time, picking on each other for random things. that was, until, someone mentioned how funny it was to see you standing next to joe, being that he was well over a foot taller than you.

“what? how’s it funny?” joe asked, glancing between you and his teammate. “because you make her look so tiny! like a little doll. get up and stand next to each other.”

you were reluctant to move from your seat, hating where this was leading. it was already hard enough having feelings for your best friend over the span of a few years, but this was crossing dangerous territory. kink territory.

for you, there was something about how much bigger than you joe was. he towered over you. his body was lean but built with thick muscles. he could quite literally pick you up and sling you around like a rag-doll. (and honestly if he did, you’d thank him.)

you hoped his teammate pointing out your size difference wouldn’t be turned into a big deal, but once joe pulled you out of your chair to stand next to him, it was like the gates of hell opened.

you stood side by side, your head barely even reaching his armpit. everyone around the table laughed, including joe. “damn, i guess i never really focused on how little you are, y/n.” joe laughed, and placed his forearm on top of your head like an armrest.

alarms went off in your head. ABORT MISSION. ABORT MISSION.

you cleared your throat quickly, and came to your senses, shoving joe off before getting back into your seat. “maybe i’m not small, maybe you’re just a freakishly large man.” you remark, trying to keep your voice even.

“nah,” he replied, sitting down next to you again, “you’re sooooo tiny.” he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. you flipped him the finger. “fuck you big bird.” you snarked before downing the rest of your drink. god knows you need it. you hoped that your pink cheeks would be chalked up to the alcohol and that nobody else had caught on.

the next instance came a few days later, on a sunday, and it was much worse than the first. so, so much worse.

flashback to sunday

you came to the bengals’ home stadium to watch their game, and since it was early you figured you’d go down to the field to say hi to joe and some of your other friends on the team.

you made it down and waved hi to ja’marr, tee and sam before making your way to joe. he spotted you and smiled, walking in your direction to meet you halfway.

you decided on wearing one of his jerseys and a pair of jeans, something simple and comfortable. as soon as he made it to you, the first thing he did was look you up and down and then pick up the sleeve of the jersey before chuckling.

“damn, this thing is swallowing you!” he comments. you playfully smack at his arm. “shut up, joey.”

“it’s cute, though. you look nice. are you excited for the game?”

you don’t give yourself much time to process that “cute” comment. wtf does that even mean? who cares. ABORT MISSION.

“of course i’m excited! i can’t wait to watch you guys kick some ass today—“

your sentence is cut off abruptly as joe grabs you and lifts you, turning your bodies so his back is now facing the opposite direction on the field. his grip on you is so tight that your chest is pressed into his stomach. you look up at his face, his expression a mix between anger and concern. you can feel your cheeks heat up and your eyes widen in disbelief.

“um, joe, you’re bear hugging the hell out of me right now. wanna put me down and explain what happened?”

he lets you down gently, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “stray ball was coming right at you. i didn’t want it to hit you, it would’ve hurt you pretty bad.”

you reach a hand up and pat his chest, feeling the thick muscles. “thank you!” you respond, once again monitoring your tone. “i’m gonna head up and talk to everyone, ok?” you ask, already moving to leave. “yeah, ok.” joe says, focusing his attention on the ground. you can tell he’s contemplating something, but you don’t want to ask. you want to get out of there as quickly as possible.

the final instance came a few days later when you went to joe’s house just to hang out and have dinner.

flashback to wednesday night

you park your car in joe’s garage and step out, tucking your phone and keys in your pocket before heading up the stairs. before you make it to the door, joe’s already opening it and waiting in the doorway.

“hi bub!” you call, pushing past him and stepping inside, kicking off your shoes by the door. he greets you back sweetly and the two of you go sit on barstools in the kitchen, just catching up on things that have gone on this week. you rant to joe about your job and he listens intently, offering what advice he can.

he rants back to you about things going on with the team, and frustrations he’s having on the field. you try to return the favor and offer him some advice, but you know you aren’t of too much help. joe appreciates it regardless.

soon after your food arrives, you find yourselves in the living room, sitting on the couch side by side as a movie plays. you and joe always loved just being around each other, you had so deep of a connection that oftentimes words didn’t need to be shared at all.

you both enjoyed those moments.

you felt yourself starting to doze off until joe laughed at something in the movie, the sound waking you a bit.

“oh, sorry. you can go to sleep.” he whispers, pulling you into his side and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. you appreciate his warmth and you rub your head on his shoulder as you get comfy. you hear joe chuckle.

“what’s funny?” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “it’s like i’m hyper-aware now of how small you are next to me. it’s so cute.”

you make no outward moves or sounds, but inside you are screaming. yelling. this is the worst one yet.

you don’t know it yet, but joe’s figured it out. he’s seen you get flustered three times now over these comments, and he knows something is going on in your brain when they’re said. he isn’t aware if you have feelings for him like he does for you, but he knows you liked when he picked you up so easily on the field the other day.

it was effortless to him, despite what you might think of yourself.

you sit next to him in silence, eyes still closed, trying to control your breathing. just try to fall asleep again you tell yourself, hoping that joe has no idea. if you only knew.

when you wake in the morning, you’re still snuggled on the couch with him as the soft morning light shines gold around the living room. you shake him awake.

“joey, i gotta get going. i need to go home and get ready for work and you have thursday practice.”

he pulls you in closer for a moment, hugging you bye, and then wishes you a good day at work. you bolt out the door and to your car as fast as you can, heading home to wash the previous day away in the shower.

end of flashbacks

so, this is where you are now.

it’s been almost a week since you’ve talked to joe, avoiding him because you aren’t sure what to say or do. part of you knows he has something figured out, but you don’t know what or how much.

you’re terrified to let him in on your feelings, what’s going on in your head, because you’re delicate and you don’t want to ruin something that has always been there for you.

the other part of you knows you have to tell him, you need to tell him. you love him, you lust after him. the comments that keep being made about your sizes are driving you to the point of insanity that nothing will fix it unless joe manhandles you as rough as you can take it and he fucks it out of you.

you’re pretty sure your vibrator is gonna be on its last leg soon.

alright, i gotta call him. i gotta get this over with.

you grab your phone off the kitchen counter and dial his number, listening to it ring for a few moments.

“hello?” he finally answers, sounding a bit upset.

“hey joey. sorry i haven’t been talking to you this week. i just— i think i need to talk to you about some stuff and.. would you mind coming over later?”

he says nothing for a moment, but you hear him blow out a long breath. “yeah, of course, y/n.” he finally says. “i can be over around 7?”

you check the clock on the stove, it reads 4:34pm.

“7 sounds great! see you then!” you say, hanging up quickly. now you play the waiting game.

all your chores are done, and you take a lovely everything shower to help calm your nerves, and you make sure to drink plenty of water and have a snack as you tell yourself affirmations.

it’s going to be okay, he’s my best friend. he will understand. he will still be my friend regardless, he’s always been there for me. if he rejects me, nothing will change that.

you sit on the couch and scroll your phone as you wait. there’s still just a bit over an hour before joey will arrive, so you waste time scrolling tiktok, cozy on the couch.

soon enough you hear the doorbell, and you jump off the couch to answer it, stepping aside to let joe in.

he sits on your couch, waiting for you to join him and start speaking. “joe, i, um.. i hav-“

he cuts you off. “you have feelings for me? you like it when people compare our sizes because it turns you on?” he smirks, leaning back on the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. he’s manspreading now, his thick thighs on full display. your mouth falls open for a moment.

“yeah. essentially exactly that.” you finally reply.

“so what are we gonna do about that?” he questions, pulling you into his lap. you place your hands on his chest instinctively, and before you know what’s happening he‘s pulling you in for a heated kiss.

his lips are soft against yours and he gently prods at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue past as you open it. he tastes like mint, it’s intoxicating you. one minute his large hands are splayed over your back holding you to him, the next he’s lifting you off the couch by grabbing underneath your armpits and carrying you down the hall, roughly body-slamming you on the bed.

“dude, save the UFC moves for ja’marr!” you groan, sucking in a large breath. joe jumps on the bed, caging you in by placing his knees on either side of your hips and his hands next to your head.

“no, i don’t think so.” he smirks, leaning in closer until your noses are nearly touching. you felt your cheeks heating up at his close proximity, and his eye-contact with you was starting to feel intimidating, even though you had just been sharing such a passionate kiss. you hated that you could feel your wetness soaking through your panties just from him trying to wrestle you.

he blows gently on your face and you shove at him. he laughs you off and leans even closer, pressing the tip of his nose to yours before moving away and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“this would be a lot easier if you’d just admit that you want me to manhandle you. you want me to go rough, right?” he teases. you’ve had enough of his smugness. you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss, tugging at his hair and nipping his bottom lip. he groans into you. he stands from the bed, picking you up again, carrying you across the room before roughly slamming your body against the wall.

you let out a strangled moan, loving the feeling of him using all his strength on you.

“can i take your shorts off?” he asks, looking into your eyes.

“fuck yes, please.” you breathe out, exhilarated.

joe yanks your shorts and panties down your legs in one swift motion, kneeling down in front of you. he’s able to keep your body held up and pressed against the wall. he looks up at you with questioning eyes, making sure this is okay. you give him a soft nod in response.

he leans in and throws one of your legs over his shoulder. he starts by pressing the smallest kiss to your clit, and then licks a slow, languid stripe up your core. you hiss, your body arching off the wall at the new sensation. when you look down, you find him looking up at you, his beautiful blue eyes trained on your face.

your eyes roll back in your head as he continues his ministrations. you feel the hand that isn’t holding you against the wall rubbing circles on your inner thigh before joe slowly slips a finger into you.

you quickly approach your orgasm, your stomach tight with anticipation. joe doesn’t let up, working you there until your body feels like it’s being dunked into warm bath water, the feeling covering you from head to toe. it takes you a minute to regain your sense of self. joe pulls his fingers from your core and removes your leg from his shoulder, standing back up before lifting you so your legs are around his waist.

you waste no time pulling him in for a kiss. “holy shit, joey!” you moan, baffled at what just happened. he smirks into your kiss.

for the second time, you’re thrown onto the bed. you sit up, propped on your elbows as you watch joe stalk closer, his erection very obvious in his shorts. he pulls his shirt over his head and you do the same, unclasping your bra just after so that you’re completely bare for him.

you chalk your forwardness up to being comfortable with him, normally you wouldn’t have the confidence to act this way. neither would joe, actually, but you shrug it off.

you don’t remember seeing him strip his shorts off or climb on top of you, but you know you’re kissing him again. you can’t get over how good his lips feel. one of his hands traces your curves, he runs his fingers along your body until his large hand is cupping your breast.

he moves his kisses to your neck and you gasp, reveling in the feeling of him kissing and touching you softly and sweetly.

you look down at his throbbing cock and suddenly you feel intimidated. joe hears you gasp. he lets out a soft laugh.

“don’t talk a big game and then act scared of it, baby.” he teases, pressing light kisses to your cheeks. you swallow thickly.

joe reaches down and strokes himself, spitting on his hand to slick himself up. he looks at you once again for confirmation, and you nod to him. he helps you get comfortable beneath him, positioning your legs around his waist as he pushes his tip in. you suck in a harsh breath.

it stings, but it isn’t the worst thing. he moves against you slowly, sliding in inch by inch until he bottoms out. he looks down and you, your faces inches apart, and you giggle.

“what is it bub?” he asks, smiling softly. “they weren’t kidding calling you big dick joe.” you laugh out. joe laughs too.

after giving you a few minutes to adjust, he starts moving hips, rocking into yours slowly. you think this is what the peak of euphoria feels like.

he leans back down to kiss you, his hand finding your throat and squeezing ever so slightly. your back is arched, your chest pressed to his as your hands tangle through his hair. his hands move down, finding your hips and holding them down to the bed. you moan at the rough grip.

he starts going harder, his hips pistoning into yours as you continue kissing, both of you moaning out your pleasure.

“joey, i-i’m close.” you warn, your body covered in a sheen of sweat. you felt it again, you were so close to that warmth once again pulsing over your body.

until.

knock knock knock.

what was that? you thought. you tried to focus on joe but everything seemed to be slipping away.

then, there it was again. the knocking. and the shrill of your phone ringing.

you startled awake, sweat covering your body. you looked at your phone screen. 7:10pm. one missed call from joe.

you threw your throw blanket off, trying to gather your thoughts. what the fuck? what is happening?

you thought you’d just had the best fuck of your life, that everything would be okay with you and joe but… it was just a dream? you dozed off and you didn’t even know it.

“y/n, let me in!” you hear joe yell from the opposite side of the door. you’re panicking, your body is hot, your clothes are stuck to you. still, you get up and almost sprint to the door. you open it, taking in his appearance. just like your dream.

black shorts, black shirt. backwards cap.

“can i come in? are you okay?” he asks. you watch as he takes in your appearance. sweaty hair stuck to your neck, your eyes glazed over.

“um, yeah joe. i’m okay. come in.” you step aside, inviting him in, just like your dream. he sits down.

“so, what did you wanna talk about?” he asks. you sit down next to him, blowing out a long breath. this was gonna be a longggg conversation.

[heartyluv]

Note: You can —Click Here— if you’d like to see the request sent by anon! I remember when I first saw it, and how so many ideas ran through my mind despite how simple it was. Even though it’s taken me some time to get to, I hope you like how I went about this! Love you, bae!

Warning: Smut, you’re cheating WITH Caleb, he’s your ex 👀, i’m using pips/pipsqueak bc why not (i secretly love it)

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: You broke up with Caleb months ago and swore he would never get another chance, no matter how many times you’ve warmed his bed after the fact. Good luck with that.

PossessiveFratBoy!Caleb/Reader

You were cheating on your boyfriend.

Again.

It was never intentional and you knew how horrible of a person you were for doing it, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell Caleb to stop when he would kiss on your neck and lips how you like it.

The first time it happened, you had only been on a few dates with this guy Sammy you were seeing before Caleb—somehow— found out. Naturally, he wasn’t feeling his ex moving on. Not one fucking bit.

So when you got back after poor ole Sammy took you to see a movie and out to what Caleb deemed a mediocre dinner, he fucked you stupid in your dorm room while you begged him to go harder—deeper. He was balls deep when he basically barked at your roommate to get out after she got back from being with her friends.

You were so mortified that you had Caleb use his connections and charisma to get you a new room on short notice and without penalty or cost. He’s the football playing, pretty-face, funny man everyone loves—you knew he could do it.

Certainly, you couldn’t face her again, not after that. Never did you know exactly how he did it, but it was hard to be grateful when he was the reason you went that route in the first place.

But for Caleb, he liked when you came to him—loved when you needed him.

The second time, a few of his frat friends told him how they saw you and Sammy kissing in his car in the parking lot. Later that day, you were bent over his dresser before you could even try and tell him that it was none of his business.

And now, you were sitting on top of a washing machine with Caleb sucking and biting on your skin while a raving party was taking place just on the opposite side of the door.

Livid didn’t seem like enough of a word to describe him when you walked in here with Sammy, your arm hooked in his like you belonged to that son of a bitch. He hated that you broke up with him because you claimed to be sick of how he lived the frat life, yet you waltzed in here with a meek smile as the guys greeted your poor excuse of a boyfriend with a new letterman jacket and cheers.

It was okay for Sammy to do, but not for him?

Caleb never forgot the night you lashed out on him for coming to see you at nearly three in the morning after missing all your calls and texts because he was “busy and having some fun”.

When he did that, it pissed you off and worried you to no end. Wondering if he was safe, if he was cheating on you, if he was alive—it was consuming you in a way that wasn’t healthy.

The partying bored you and the excuses became too stupid to ignore. It’s why you dumped him, but that never meant he had to like it.

Sammy being a part of his fraternity wasn’t a decision Caleb would’ve agreed to had he been the person solely responsible for making it. But that was the thing about something like this. There was no such thing as a lone wolf. Even though he hated Sammy’s guts for getting close to his girl in a way he wasn’t allowed, he sucked it up for the rest of his crew who liked him and wanted him to join.

If Caleb would take his head out his ass, he’d realize that Sammy was a decent guy. But the fact that he thought you were his, made your ex see him as a threat and a problem—a nuisance.

While Sammy was busy getting way too many pats on the back and an undeserved welcome wagon, Caleb dragged you through the party they were throwing for no reason—other than the simple fact that they could—and didn’t care if you could barely keep up. His hand in yours made sure you would.

You two argued and pointed fingers after he slammed the door, bickering in that little room for what felt like years before his mouth was on you and your ass was on the cool surface of their all-white beat up washing machine.

As he sucked on your flesh hard enough to bruise, you meddled with his belt buckle while your pussy clenched at the way the metal clinked.

“You don’t even deserve my cock, do you, pips?” he whispered into your heated skin. “You love to keep pushing me. Love to test my limits.”

“Stop talking,” you replied with frustration, part of it sexual and the rest directed toward him and yourself.

“What?” he teased. “You hate to hear the voice of the man who knows you better than you know yourself?”

You didn’t answer him when you unbuttoned your jean shorts and briefly helped shimmy them and your panties down your legs.

“So fucking desperate for it,” he chuckled, pulling you forward, angling and tilting you back so you were right where he needed you to be. He pecked your lips a few more times as you two worked to get his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock.

“Condom,” you said quickly when he grasps himself at the base. He looked into your eyes and irritation fueled him.

“The fuck do we need a condom for, huh?” He rubbed his seeping tip against your clit. “We never used one before. Don’t tell me you’re letting him touch what’s mine, pretty.”

“I’m not your—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts you, yanking your shirt up and over your tits that are annoyingly covered by your simple bra. “Don’t piss me off more than you already have. Now, I either fuck you raw or I walk away and leave you with a needy cunt and a bad attitude. You tell me what you wanna do.”

“F—fuck,” you breathe, pushing your hips forward to get him closer. You only wanted a condom because you were afraid you would end up pregnant and then you would really be stuck with him. The idea of that happening has plagued your mind each time you went behind Sammy’s back.

But in this moment, you couldn’t care. Consequences be dammed. His cock was waiting to spear you and you needed it.

“Just—just put it in,” you whined, scowling at the smirk on his stupid handsome face.

“Where’s your manners, pipsqueak?”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you snap.

“I’ll wait.”

You shuddered when his tip would catch right at your hole, both of you hissing when he slipped in just a little bit.

“Please fuck me, Caleb,” you choked out, feeling shame wash over you but your desire was far greater. “Please…”

He didn’t say another mocking word, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder so he could get deep. In one fluid motion, he was buried in your heat to the hilt and thanks to the thumping music that shook the house, you could be as loud as you wanted to when you took him in.

Immediately he found his rhythm. How could he not? You’ve done this so many times already and your wetness and heat was his home.

Your nails gripped and clawed at his shoulders, thankful for his tank top that let you get a hold of his skin so you could feel him. Caleb’s large hand wrapped around your jaw to make you look into his eyes when you tried to let your head fall back to avoid his gaze. His hips rocked into you with talent and vigor, shaking the hunk of metal beneath you with each punishing thrust.

“Don’t be ashamed,” he cooed breathlessly, rubbing his thumb along your lower lip before sliding it in between to make you suck it. “This is the only cock you’ll ever have, anyway.”

You moaned around the digit, your eyes heavy with lust as he reminded your pussy who owned her and you. Each time your skin made contact, your body vibrated with pleasure and even more so when he would grind against your aching bundle of nerves.

With one hand braced behind you and your other tugging on his hair at the nape of his neck, Caleb never let up on your cunt. His cock was soaked in your essence as he filled you with his.

“Why him?” he growled, nipping at your jaw roughly to make you cry his name. His pressured kisses trailed down to the top of your pillow breasts that nearly spilled out of your cups the more they bounced. “Why?”

“He’s not like you…” It’s a lousy answer, but that’s all you could give him.

He laughs, the tone of it exasperated and fed up. “You’re right. He could never be me. I’d never let you sneak away to get fucked by another man.”

You gasp when he grips your hips and gets rougher, hitting in you so deep that you feel you might fall off. He’s claiming you, that’s for certain.

How doomed were you to want him to do it more than once?

“C—Caleb…I’m about…you’re gonna make—”

“I know,” he gloats, biting his lip when you clench him so tightly that it nearly makes his knees buckle. “You’re breaking up with him tonight and we’re cutting the bullshit.”

“That’s not fai—“

“You’re breaking up with him,” he finalizes again sharply, grabbing you by the throat with barely any pressure to slam his lips onto yours once more.

“And you’re gonna do it with my hand on your waist and my cum in your panties.” His breath is warm against your wet and puffy mouth. “You’ve never been loyal to him and you never could be with me around. Make this easy for us, pips.”

“I h—hate you,” you shakily say through a moan.

“You’ve never been a good liar, baby. Don’t worry, that’s what I’m here for.” He kisses your eye. “To make you embrace your truth.”

He pulls you in close and you wrap your arms around his neck as he works your body up and down on his throbbing length. Your body takes him like it wants to, giving space to every thick inch.

“There you go,” he kisses your shoulder. “Come on your dick, pretty baby. I got you. I’ve always got you.”

That could mean so much all at once and instead of scaring you, it makes your demented mind and foolish body want him more.

You scream his name as your orgasm pulls you apart and puts you back together again. At the same time that your juices mark him, his seed spurts out in thick creamy ropes to fill your tight hole. Your walls are being painted in everything that is Caleb as he ruts into you for a little while longer to savor the feeling.

Finally when you come back—barely—to your senses, Caleb pulls back, still buried in the mix of your combined pleasure, and smiles.

“I missed you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you roll your eyes, your tits rising and falling in an effort to breathe.

“Give me a kiss so we can go make things right.”

“I’m not giving you a damn thing. Get out of me.”

“Is that how you talk to your boyfriend?” he playfully pouts.

“It’s how I talk to you.”

“Fuck, I love you like this,” he grins wider, kissing your neck again and embracing your closeness. You sigh into it with acceptance, everything about you unfortunately missing him just the same when you wrap one lazy arm around him.

“I love you, pips.”

“I…” you stutter.

“It’s okay,” he assures, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll get you there again. I promise.”

Creds to @uzmacchiato for the dividers!!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline

[ebodebo]

Salt to the Wound

➛ next read⁀➷ The Conditioning: A Salt to the Wound Prequel

PAIR⁀➷ simon riley x fem!reader

WC⁀➷ 8.7k

CONTAINS⁀➷ 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, sex being used as a coping mechanism, heavy angst, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, complicated grief, mentions of death, displaced aggression, marital issues, panic attacks, religious speak, mention of calories, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mention of dead relative, simon being pretty aggravating, purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers, & did i mention this is all angst?

AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ oh my god, this has been such a bitch to complete! i’ve been working on this for months in between my nasty smut fics bc this truthfully made me so sad to write, so i had to take breaks in between. there is only angst; i cannot hold your hand…you must walk alone…i’m sorry. read at your own discretion.

Simon can't move on from Johnny's death…

"Johnny's dead."

You remember the line clear as day.

In fact, you remember almost every single detail about that day. 

The weather had been docile, a change from the feverish heat the day before.

The air was slightly damp.

The weatherman chimed that a promising stormcloud was brewing in the distance, which could bring a couple of inches of rain, typical of January.

Your neighbor's son came to your front door, meekly asking to retrieve his ball from your backyard. 

The postman had hand-delivered your new dress, complimenting the new planters Simon built in the front yard.

Your favorite body wash that smelt of fruit ran out. 

You had made pie, apple instead of your usual cherry.

You had accidentally poured too much cinnamon in the apple mixture, shooing Simon away when you finally pulled it out of the oven because it was a "bad pie."

Simon had never heard such ridiculous words.

No pie is a bad pie.

He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth as you went to answer the house phone, quietly laughing as he hissed at the hotness. 

Then it happened. 

"Johnny's dead," the voice on the other end of the line announced, shattering the tranquility of the moment.

They were the only words that flowed through the phone line.

The very words you had selfishly cursed for the past year.

The words that had single-handedly eroded everything you and Simon had built together.

Because that day, on every level except physical, the Simon you knew had died with Johnny.

His mind merged with the very soil Johnny lay in, leaving his physical body on the surface while his soul wandered beyond your grasp. 

So out of touch, so disconnected from reality. 

Simon had become a shell of a human. 

He wasn't living, merely surviving—going through the motions. 

It was devasting to watch the man for whom you gave your heart slowly disengage right before your eyes. 

Bit by bit, piece by piece.

Until there was no more man left to see.

Just mere flesh and bones.

It was such unfamiliar territory since Simon relied on you as he relied on oxygen to breathe.

You were his sustenance, his reservoir. 

An eternal flame that burned with an unyielding passion. 

Now it seems he couldn't get far enough away from you.

However, it wasn't always that way. 

The evolution of his disconnect hadn't been linear; it was ever-changing. 

Some days, he would act just like your sweet Simon before; other days, you felt like he resented you.

Resented you for what? 

You're not entirely sure. 

You didn't kill Johnny.

But with how Simon reacted to your mere presence, it felt as though you might as well have.

You can still recall Simon's noticeable change, apart from his defining silence, which occurred exactly two weeks after Johnny's death.

The bitter taste of anise, accompanied by the sharp taste of mint, coated your tongue; experimenting with new cocktail recipes had become something of a hobby for you.

Kept you occupied while Simon worked in his office.

You had insisted he take some time off, some real time off.

Price wouldn't let him return to work, so he supplemented by hiding in his office all day and doing paperwork and other such tasks.

It wasn't entirely what you had in mind, but it was the best he could give you.

He would have gone truly mad without his work to drown out his thoughts.

So, you bit your tongue every morning as he trudged out of the sanctity of the warm bed you shared, leaving you alone in the silence, and headed straight to the room across from yours that had him so consumed.

It was funny, really. 

You always thought that perhaps a pretty woman would eventually come around and attempt to steal your Simon from your hands, not a spare room with cream walls. 

Digression aside, you selfishly enjoyed the time alone. 

Simon would only speak a couple words to you daily, the silence between you growing thicker with each passing day.

You fault him none, though it was exhausting trying to help someone who despises being helped to any degree, even if they so clearly needed it.

That was why you enjoyed the alone time. 

Though it could be occasionally dull.

So, finding a hobby to fill your time was not just a choice but a necessity for your sense of fulfillment.

Even if it consisted of the occasion day drinking.

You'll repent later.

Now, you just needed the burning taste of rum down your throat.

Your face sourced at the combination before you scribbled, 'absolute shit,' on a small notebook you kept to keep track of all of your combinations and rated them in excruciating detail. 

Hearing his office door creak open, you shoved the notebook into your pocket. 

Not because you cared if he saw, but because his office door opening earlier than ten-forty-five startled you, abruptly shifting your emotions. 

You heard his heavy boots thunk against the vinyl flooring, inching ever so close to the kitchen where you stood. 

Your heart quickened from anticipation, and you tried to steady your breathing, not wanting to give away your guilt.

"You eaten?" His voice is deep and strained as he stands still across the island.

You stay completely still, refusing to budge even a little. Instead, you choose to shake your head from side to side slowly.

"Can pick up pizza?" He suggests.

His presence now stirred a strange mix of emotions within you.

He would never lay a finger on you.

It was the news that had thrown everything off balance, leaving you both in a state of discomfort and awkwardness.

Johnny was dead.

And you could feel his haunt everywhere.

"Pizza's good," you say softly, pretending to adjust a tilted bottle of tequila.

An uneasy silence lingers between you for a moment, and then you finally turn to meet his gaze.

He looks…like shit.

You let out a soft sigh as you take him in fully.

He has dark circles under his eyes, tinged with shades of purple and blue.

His once bright blue eyes have lost their luster, and his lids now hang heavy and fatigued.

His hair is unkempt, and his beard is starting to grow, giving it a scraggly appearance.

"You don't look so good," you find yourself saying without much thought.

"Just tired," he mutters, swiping his car keys off the counter.

You move to stand. "You've been working like crazy," you say, gently pressing your hand into his shoulder.

He tightens at your touch.

Whole body going taut.

You try not to take it personally.

You fail.

"Yeah…I, I'll get the pizza," he murmurs, moving towards the front door.

Then he leaves without a goodbye. 

You thought it was just bullshit.

What the articles said about coping with a loss.

Dealing with grief.

They all seemed like distant concepts.

But, he was so evidently disconnecting from you.

You felt your head swarm at the admission.

Simon was isolated, lost in a vast ocean of grief and despair. 

And you didn't know if you were enough to reel him back in.

Three weeks later, you're cozied on your sofa, a blanket draped over your legs, the soft cushions embracing you in their cozy warmth. 

The clouds, heavy with water, have transformed from soft white to an ominous smoky gray, a stark contrast to your cozy sofa and warm blanket. 

You have your favorite tea in your favorite mug, a book wide open though long forgotten on the cushion next to you.

Your eyes are now captivated by a trashy British reality television show, a guilty pleasure that adds to the coziness of your setting. 

Usually, Simon and you snuggle up and watch the show.

Always on the edge of your seats, eagerly anticipating the outcome.

Will the man stay on the island, sacrificing his share of the prize fund, to be with the woman he's grown close to?

Or will he choose the money over her?

It's always more enthralling with Simon.

Though, you're not sure where he is.

He didn't say where he was going when he left about half an hour ago.

And you didn't bother asking.

Maybe that makes you a lousy wife.

Or perhaps, you're just exhausted.

It feels like you're tearing your own flesh, trying to get him to answer anything. 

You guessed the latter.

The television crackles to life, the sound of synthesizers and strings filling the room, creating a sense of suspense.

"Henry's decision will be…" The host's voice begins.

You find yourself sitting up, the hot cup of tea between your hands, and your eyes glued to the television.

"…revealed right after the break," the host chimes as the camera cuts to a condom commercial.

You sink into the couch with a deep sigh as you hear the front door open.

The thud of heavy boots moves into the kitchen, near earshot.

You turn to see Simon grabbing a glass and slipping it under the tap for some water.

Your teeth dig at the flesh of your cheek, your foot steadily tapping on the vinyl flooring.

He takes a deep sip of the water, sucking it between his teeth and swishing it around his mouth before he spits it back in the sink, running the water to clean out the saliva now lining the metal sink.

You'd rather be shot than deal with the taciturn.

It was egregious.

You felt awkward in your own home.

With your own husband. 

"Simon," you say with nerves on your tongue.

He turns towards you, taking a proper sip of the water.

"Sit. Our favorite show is on," you chime, a warm small growing on your lips.

He shakes his head. "Not feelin' it tonight, sweetheart."

"Come on," you urge, pointing towards the television with your pointer finger. "We're about to find out if Henry is staying or leaving."

"I'm—I'm not in the mood," he mutters, only with slight annoyance.

You decide to push your luck. "Come on. Would be nice to see you." 

"Stop asking," he cuts sharply, setting the full glass in the sink.

You narrow your eyes slightly. "Why are you being so mean?"

"Christ, I already said I wasn't in the God-damned mood." 

Ice and venom coat his words as his hand slams into the countertop.

He didn't yell, but you wish he did.

So, you could get some type of God-damn emotion from him.

Instead, his voice was low, commanding.

A voice a lieutenant would use on his inferiors. 

Not on his wife.

His eyes widen as your lips purse.

"Well then," you murmur, eyes still on his. "Guess that settles it."

He releases a shallow breath, opening his mouth before shutting it promptly.

Your eyes squint as you take a deep gulp.

But instead of being a man and apologizing, he leaves for his office like a fucking coward.

You're left there, eyes still on the spot where he stood, cheek now bleeding onto your tongue as the television announces, "...leaving the villa."

And you can't even find it in yourself to care.

It feels awkward when you finally gather enough courage to slither into the bedroom.

You had been paralyzed to the couch even a couple hours after the whole ordeal.

Not a word was breached between either of you. 

He had shut himself in his office while you had become one with the couch.

What a match made in fucking heaven.

You slip into some soft pajamas, then into the bed, the heavy comforter offering you comfort.

You rest your weary head on the pillow, eyes already heavy with emotional exhaustion. 

Before you fall into sleep, you hear the same thud of his boots streaking along to the bedroom, where you catch a glimpse of him slipping something into his sock drawer. 

The warm brown of the book cover in his hand catches your eye.

There was no mistaking what it read on the front: large, gold Cardo font with a cross hovering above the text.

"Holy Bible."

He shoves some loose papers overtop of the Bible and shuts the drawer, moving the flick of the light switch off.

His boots came off in a thud as he slipped off his shirt and jeans, slipping into the bed far from you.

Not a word was shared.

You should sleep, but instead, your mind is tormented by what you saw.

Had Simon prayed?

Prayed to a God he didn't even believe in.

If he hit his knees, splayed open the Holy doctrine, and prayed within the hopes that, by some miracle, he should get to see his brother again.

"Simon," you murmur lightly, regretting breaking the silence as his name leaves your tongue.

"Yeah?" He asks, back to you.

"Were you...praying?" Your question comes out fatigued.

"Ye—Yeah," he mutters skittishly.

You say nothing more.

Your weary eyes drift closed as you pull your blanket taut against your face, peacefully drifting off.

That night, you're plagued by a disturbing dream. Your teeth fall out one by one, leaving only protruding gums. A looming figure stands behind you, tightening your throat with fear.

You spring awake at 3:37 am.

You are drenched in your own perspiration, eyes lingering over to where Simon should be.

He's gone.

You should feel slightly relieved, but you only feel overwhelming dread.

Your skin crawls with a sense of unease, as if something is lurking just out of sight, watching you.

You blink, and it's March.

Two months since Johnny's passing.

You thought the time would pass achingly slow, but time has unfortunately moved forward at an exceptional pace.

It always felt like time should stop.

People should stop.

Because why do they get to carry on and lead an everyday life as if you aren't getting swallowed, eaten alive by the confines of your own home?

It's not fucking fair.

You are not only having to mourn the loss of a good friend but the loss of your own husband, who's still breathing.

It felt like some cruel joke was being played on you that you found no humor in.

But, regardless of the loss, you had to keep moving.

For yourself.

Or you'd probably drive yourself into madness, and nothing good ever came from a mad woman, or so they say anyway.

It was a Friday night, and you had decided to try a new recipe from your grandmother's cookbook. 

You couldn't remember the last time you had a homecooked meal that wasn't full of M.S.G and far too many calories.

But tonight, you were about to change that.

With a simple button swipe, your groceries appeared at your front door, and you got straight into it.

The large russet potatoes were peeled and cut into chunks. They were then plopped in heavily salted boiling water and smashed along with many tablespoons of butter and cream.

Chicken thighs were seasoned and marinated for half an hour, not a minute less, before being seared on cast iron. 

The asparagus and parsnips were lightly oiled before being pan-seared, and then they were sprinkled with salt, pepper, and parmesan cheese.

And before you knew it, you had transformed a handful of ingredients into a feast that was elegantly presented on some fine china you snagged from the cabinet for you and Simon.

You took a seat, admiring your hard work and savoring the delightful aroma of the chicken as it filled the room.

Hearing the same thud of the boots you had come to ignore coming from down the hall, your head shot up to see Simon with his keys in hand. 

"Where are you going?" You ask, curiosity and a bit of disappointment evident in your tone.

"Out," his voice was snipped as he marched towards the front door, not sparing the dinner a glance.

You sit up with a frown. "I made dinner, Simon."

"Not hungry," he says mechanically, like he was planning on shooing away any plans you offered. "Don't wait up for me," he murmurs, shoving on his coat, moving out of the front door, and pulling it closed.

And suddenly, the optimism you had clung to like a lifeline died, wholly and truly, leaving you in a void of despair.

You sit at that comedically large dining table for what feels like ages, pushing your vegetables around with your fork until they're practically mush on your plate.

There's nowhere else to go.

You feel utterly stuck as if the weight of the disappointment has rooted you to the spot.

Your head flings to the front door, as keys get shoved into the keyhole, before the door is pushed open to reveal a flushed Simon.

"Where have you been?" Your voice is warm yet firm.

He doesn't respond, only throwing his keys into the bowl and moving to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.

"Simon," his name comes off your tongue almost in warning.

"What?" He turns to you, face red from the cold.

"Where the fuck have you been?" You snap, the sound of your chair scraping against the floor as you stand up, adding to the tension in the room.

His eyes widen at your tone.

Your mind was ablaze with conflicting emotions.

Tongue hot with accusations.

"Were you with another woman?" You tack on, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Christ, no," he says immediately with a scoff. "Why would you even ask me that?"

You knew it was ridiculous.

He may be a fool, but he wasn't a cheater.

"I never have a God-damned clue where you go!" You step from around the table, voice rising. "You're my husband!"

"You're my wife!" He tosses the bottle of water into the sink. The plastic crinkles against the metal, as his voice rises with yours. 

"Then act like it!" You yell, throwing your hands in the air. 

You're both practically heaving with anger.

Seathing with so much untouched and unsaid verbiage.

The silence hangs between your two before you hurdling yourself into his arms, slamming your lips onto his with so much devotion and heat.

His hands grip your cheeks tight as his tongue slides over your teeth and any piece of flesh he can.

You pant into his mouth as his hands move to grip the backs of your thighs, quickly pulling you up to lock your legs around his waist.

He moves to place you on the dinner table, standing between your legs, and you reach out behind you, sweeping your plate full of mushy food and wine glass onto the floor to make space.

The glass shattered, and the china burst into a thousand tiny pieces with a loud crash.

Neither of you cares in the slightest.

His fingers fidget with the hem of your loose top as your lips practically turn blue from losing circulation.

It had been months since you and Simon had been intimate.

Well, since...

You didn't think you needed it during this time in mourning.

Hardly ever thought about it.

Because you two rarely exchanged words, the silence between you became a barrier.

How could you be expected to share such an intimate moment when your words seemed to fail you?

Somehow, you found yourself yearning for it, a deep-seated longing that you couldn't explain or ignore.

It felt like an insatiable desire you couldn't shake.

And when his teeth sunk into your lips, you felt the soft, erotic sting of your skin break; all bets were off.

"Simon," you mewl into his mouth. "Please."

He doesn't answer in words.

Just moves to remove his belt, tossing it to the side where the leather slaps over the broken china and mushed vegetables.

Strips himself of his jeans, boxers following suit.

His fingers move back to grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, throwing it on the table, lips moving to skim between the dip of your breast as he moves to grip on the fat of your waist.

Your hands move to thread through the back of his air, earning a deep groan from him that rumbles against your skin.

"Shouldn't be touchin' you like this," he mutters into your skin, rough hand skimming down your stomach to slide under your pajama shorts.

"Why?" Your breathing is labored as his fingers push down into your cunt, underwear sticking to the skin due to your dripping arousal.

His finger presses into you further making you release a shallow moan.

He opens his mouth to speak before promptly shutting it, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.

"Just fuckin' yelled at ya, bug," he grits out the first part, like he's angry at himself for ever raising his voice, no matter if you did the same thing, then says your nickname warmly.

"I yelled first," your voice is sweet like honeydew as your hand moves under his chin, gently forcing his chin up so he can look you in the eyes, and he wants to kill himself even more.

You're an angel.

A fucking divine entity, a wellspring of goodwill.

He doesn't deserve you now.

He's not sure he ever has.

"Needed to hear it," he mumbles, slipping your shorts and panties off in one pull, eyes taking in your arousal-soaked cunt. "Don't deserve ya," he murmurs, with a hint of despair.

"You do," you assure, sitting up more to kiss the corners of his mouth.

He turns his head to the side, almost in guilt; you don't have time to question why before he's lining himself up with your entrance, hand coming to rest on the back of your neck for support as he slips inside you gently.

There's no rush, no urgency to get off.

His movements are slow, unrushed.

This wasn't just a quick fuck.

It felt like he was trying to get a tangible connection to you.

Just bodies melting into each other with ease and familiarity. 

Your moans echo off the walls.

Fingernails digging into Simon's back through his shirt.

The barrier does nothing to meddle with your touch.

Nothing could ever diminish your touch.

He lets out a curse, baring his teeth as his fingers dig into the tender flesh on your hips.

His name comes off your sweet tongue in a plea.

You're about to fucking erupt.

Stomach on fire, skin slick.

He shoves his finger in your mouth, collecting some saliva before using that as a lubricant to stimulate your clit.

You let out a string of incoherent words as the stimulation hits you everywhere, all at once.

His head dips back as he comes inside you, eyes shutting closed.

Your breathing is ragged as you both come down from your highs.

However, when you breathe, you feel tightness in your chest.

A squeezing pain that only elongates.

"You okay?" Simon presses his hand into your shoulder.

You nod weakly. "Must have overexerted myself," you jest.

You suck in a deep breath, desperate for more air or something to suppress the pressure you feel. 

Simon quips a brow, opting to move away from you to grab you some cool water. "Drink," he commands, nudging the glass to you.

The water feels like a relief flowing down your throat and is so refreshing you can feel it move through every vein in your body. 

"Better?" He asks warmly.

"Better," you agree, nodding as water drips down your lip and onto your chin.

But you can't shake the feeling something is off.

It almost feels like an impending doom looming over you.

"Feel like a shower?" He taps your thigh in question.

You nod with a smile, forgetting what you were even concerned with.

You shake off the feeling of doom as you wander behind Simon to the shower.

But doom is inevitable, a fate that cannot be escaped.

The following month, April, brought fickle weather with chilly rain and bright blue skies.

Along with the fruition of tulips and daffodils came your plan.

To finally speak to Simon about Johnny.

Even just thinking his name made you feel like you were indulging in some dark code.

It felt wrong.

Even though it was far from.

You had planned to talk to him a week ago, but you chickened out at the last minute, your fear of confrontation winning over your resolve, instead opting for an awkward conversation about cats.

Safe to say he had no idea you had other objectives at play.

Just thought you were a little kooky.

He had been more receptive to conversations since your sex-capade.

Felt connected to you again.

What a perfect time to ruin it all.

He's sitting at the dining table eating a sandwich.

With no pickles because he despises them.

You smile softly.

You know him so well.

Approaching him slowly, you pull out a chair adjacent to his.

"Nice weather," he says, looking out the window at the blue skies.

"It is," you hum in agreement, shifting in your seat.

"Might go for a run later." He takes a bite of a sandwich, and you chew on your cheek. "You want to come?"

"We should talk," you blurt, deciding you need to cut the cord as soon as possible before you chicken out again.

He quips a brow, sets down the sandwich, and wipes the crumbs off on a rag. "About?"

You chew on your lip nervously. "Johnny."

His eyes lock to yours in an instant, and his chewing halts.

And you can feel anxiety claw up your throat.

"You just—you seem," you try, stumbling over your words.

You knew you should have practiced more.

"We aren't having this conversation." His tone is low and carries a finality.

"It might help if you talked to me." There's desperation in your words.

"Stop," he holds up his hand like he's giving you a fucking command.

"I'm not a fucking dog," you grit. "You can't just give me a command to shut up."

"I know you're not a damn dog," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper.

"Good. Glad you could clear that up," you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. "Since you can't clear up anything else."

You knew you shouldn't have said that the second it slipped off your tongue.

It's defensive.

You were supposed to sympathize, not defend. 

He stands up abruptly. "Not taking this shit."

"What shit, Simon?" You throw your hands up in a shrug. "Your wife asking you to speak to her?" You let out a dry laugh. "That shit?" 

He moves around to swipe his keys from the bowl, not uttering a word.

"Where the hell are you going?" You stand, moving over to him.

His eyes bore into your jaw clenched. "Anywhere but here."

And he was gone again.

Just leaves when times get too trying, apparently. 

You stand there, your eyes brimming with tears.

What was to become of you two?

You let out an anguished yell before going to your room, hands planted firmly into the soft mattress, before letting your emotions overcome you.

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands, as you prop yourself on your elbows.

Knees becoming bare from the shitty carpet while your shirt moistens from your tears.

This—this can't be it.

What was life to be without your husband?

You'd be subject to destitution.

A life of isolation, a terrifying prospect, filled with unbearable loneliness. 

Bile crawls up your throat, threatening to escape as the thoughts flood your mind. 

Your heart pounded violently, threatening to crack your ribs. 

You can't breathe.

Throat too tight to get any air through.

A stabbing pain erupted in your chest like it had before, but this was worse.

You clench your chest, tears spilling faster due to the physical pain.

You don't even process Simon hovering over you, hand clenching your shoulder.

Your head turns, and you see his mouth moving, eyes wide in concern, but you can't process what he's saying.

You can only focus on the crushing sensation in your chest. 

His eyes are scrambling, watching you push your mouth into the mattress to release a deep, tormented groan.

You were in unbearable pain.

He wastes no time grabbing and holding you in his arms, bridal style. 

You don't have it in you to scream at him.

You just sob into his chest.

This was surely going to kill you.

He grabs a stray blanket and tosses it on you quickly before swiping his keys off the counter. He then moves outside and places you in the car.

He drives in a rush, reckless.

His eyes darting over to you, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat, sobbing, hand resting over your chest.

He doesn't know what to do.

He can't crawl in your body and demand your body to be kind to you.

So, instead he brushes his hand over your wrist, attmepting to give you some comfort and he pushes the pedal further to get you to the hospital.

Desperate to heal you.

He pulls into the ER parking lot, not bothering to straighten his wheels, sprints around to your side and gently places you in his arms, all but sprinting to the ER door.

The receptionist greets you before she hears your cries and pleas.

"She, she needs help," Simon frantically says. "Please."

Nurses flood out from the large door that seperates you and Simon from the rooms.

"Sir, you'll need to wait out here," one of them says, helping you into a wheelchair and wheeling you back through the door.

"She's my fucking wife!" He shouts, though to no avail.

The door shuts in his face, shoulders dropping in defeat.

He doesn't sit, he can't.

The thought of him being comfortable while you're in agony disturbs him.

He instead stalks around the room, hands wiping across his face.

Surely, this wasn't...

Could it have worked so soon?

He grabs a trashcan, promptly puking in it at the thought.

It, it has to be a grim coincidence. 

Yeah, yeah.

Has to be.

He waits in the waiting room for what feels like ages before a doctor comes in asking for a Simon Riley.

"Is she okay?" Simon searches the doctor's face.

"She's stable," the doctor says, his voice steady and reassuring. "For now."

"For now?" Simon echos the question.

"We ran some blood tests and did an ECG on her heart," the doctor reads over his papers. 

"And?" Simon says impatiently. 

"Does she have any familial history of heart disease in her family?" the doctor asks, scribbling on the paper.

"No, no," Simon stutters. "Why?"

"The ECG results showed that your wife has coronary heart disease," the doctor says.

Simon's eyes widen, his fear palpable. "Heart disease? What—what does this mean?"

"The arteries in her heart have become too narrow, which reduces blood flow to the heart. There are treatments available to manage the condition and improve her quality of life," the doctor reassures Simon as he sees him start to get frantic.

"Are you talking about fucking surgery?" Simon's hands move through his hair anxiously, his body tense with worry.

"Not necessarily. We can start with medication," the doctor says confidently. "A standard dose of Atorvastatin daily can help manage her cholesterol and fat levels." The doctor messily scribbles the prescription on a paper and tears it off.

"Along with some lifestyle changes to help manage her condition. If needed, we can discuss other options, like angioplasty or surgery. But first, let's see how she does with the medication." He hands over the prescription to Simon.

Simon grabs the paper, nodding his head. "Alright. Can I, can I see her?" His voice is desperate.

"Of course," the doctor nods his head reassuringly. "Follow me."

The doctor leads Simon through the hallway until he reaches your room, carefully opening the door to let Simon step through.

His stomach drops, a wave of concern washing over him, when he sees you.

Eyes swollen and red from your cries.

They hang low from your apparent exhaustion.

"Simon," you greet him with a weak smile, the familiarity in your voice comforting him.

Your voice is weak and raspy.

You look sick.

And he can't handle it.

"Hey, I'm okay," you assure, as you see him examine you, worry written on his face. 

"I know you are, bug," tears brimming his eyes; he moves over to you, gripping your hand tightly. "I know you are."

To you, it felt like a source of comfort amidst the chaos. 

And that's why Simon said it.

But deep down, he knew.

Nothing could undo what he had done.

No amount of praying, begging, or bargaining could change that.

He had selfishly sealed your fate.

And now, all he could do was wait.

It had been two months since your diagnosis, July.

Things had been decent in that regard.

No better, no worse.

The medication proved helpful.

It reduced the pain you get in your chest, so that was nice.

Over the two months, you persistently urged Simon to join you in counseling.

For your sake.

For the sake of your marriage.

At the beginning of July, he finally agreed, a hopeful sign after a turbulent period that had you ready to leave him.

"What are you doing?" Simon roughly asks as he follows you to your bedroom, hands anxiously running through his graying hair. 

"I'm fucking leaving, Simon," your voice quakes, tears spilling down your face as you struggle to pack a duffle bag.

"Don't, don't do that," he stumbled over his words, moving over to you. "Just, just calm down," he placed his hand on your shoulder in comfort.

You shook his hand off before eyeing him. "Calm down?" You repeat his words. "You want me to calm down?"

"Yes. Please," he pleads, hand hovering on the drawer handle.

"You want me to calm down?" You repeat again, your voice dripping with anger. "Fuck you." 

His eyes widen; clearly, he's taken aback. 

You finish packing, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you lean against the nightstand. "Simon, you need help," you say, grabbing your wallet. "You need to see someone. Anyone."

He exhales a sharp breath. "Fine."

Your head shoots up, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What?"

He wipes his face with his hand frantically. "If that's what it takes," he shrugs, nodding. "I'll get the help. Just, just don't leave me, bug."

"Nice to see you again." You snap out of your daze as the therapist greets you.

"Likewise," you murmur, glancing over at Simon sitting beside you.

His leg is tapping a mile a minute.

He's nervous.

You're surprised he actually managed to get in the car and come here.

"Hello, Simon," she sticks her hand out for Simon to take. "I'm Doctor Shaw," she greets with a warm and inviting smile.

Simon takes her hand, giving her a firm shake, and nods in acknowledgment. 

"Please," Dr. Shaw brings her hands up. "Follow me."

You and Simon both stand, a sense of anticipation in the air, as you follow Dr. Shaw to her office.

The office looks the same as it has since the last two times you came by yourself.

Warm and inviting.

Only some outside light spilled into the room, opting instead for a warm orange hue from a small lamp illuminating the space.

It exudes a sense of calm, wrapping you in its soothing embrace.

"Please," Dr. Shaw gestured to the couch as she sat in her chair. "Sit."

You and Simon both take a seat and you grab a pillow to hold. Simon leans timidly, his shoulders hunched and his hands fidgeting.

"So," Dr. Shaw begins, eyes moving to Simon. "Simon." His eyes flick to hers. "Talk to me about some of your hobbies."

Simon sits back on the couch, shifting uncomfortably. "Like to run, I guess," he mutters. 

She nods with a smile. "Good, good. Exercise is good. It can help clear the mind," she scribbles some notes on a notepad. "Now, I would like to know more about you two and your marriage," she hums.

Simon takes a deep gulp, and now you're shifting into the cushions.

"How are we doing in that regard?" Doctor Shaw purses her lips as she fixes her pen to start taking notes.

You shift in your seat, glancing at Simon next to you. "It's been...hard," you breathe out nervously. 

"Interesting," she scribbles in her notebook. "Can you tell me when you think it became difficult?"

You gulp. "Um...a couple, a couple months ago."

"Can you think of any factors that may have caused difficulties?" She tips her head back, offering you a comforting smile.

You tap your foot against the soft blue carpet, finger tapping anxiously against your thigh.

"Simon's friend, um, passed away in January." You choke on your words halfway through before completely finishing the sentence.

Her eyes flick to Simon. "I'm so sorry. That must have been very difficult for you, Simon."

Her voice grinds Simon's gears.

Simon is pessimistic, a cynic.

Has an excruciating time finding sincerity in anything anyone says. 

This is no exception.

"Simon," she begins. "If you're willing, I would like to know more about your friend."

"Thought we were here to talk about my wife and I?" Simon's tone is dry without hesitation.

She nods lightly. "We are. It could be helpful for your wife to hear you talk about some of your feelings," she sits up in her chair.

"Did my wife tell you that?" He sits back in the chair, shoulders taut.

She quips a brow. "Tell me what, Simon?"

"That I don't share? Is that why I'm here?" He glances at you, already sinking further into the cushioning of the couch. 

You don't say anything, opting to stay silent. 

This was a setup.

A ploy to psychoanalyze Simon's psyche.

"You brought me so she could pick my brain," he voices plainly, pointing his finger lazily towards Dr. Shaw.

"No. I wanted you to come so we could fix our marriage," your voice is full of irritation.

"Because it's all my fault it's bad. Right?" His voice raises louder than he intended. 

His eyes soften as you widen in surprise, your waterline brimming with tears. 

"Shit," he exhales. "I'm, I'm sorry," he says to you with care, closing his eyes slightly as he wipes his face. 

"I understand this is difficult for you," Dr. Shaw begins, voice solace. "And I want to acknowledge your discomfort. It takes courage to confront painful emotions," she shifts in her chair, leaning forward.

Simon's eyes narrow. "Spare me the shrink bullshit, doc," his voice is critical. 

"It's important to express your feelings, Simon," The doctor urges, to Simon's dismay.

"Why?" He retorts coldly. "Because you won't get paid if I don't?"

Dr. Shaw sits up straighter as Simon lets out an irritated sigh.

"Look," he turns to you. "I know you think this is helpful, but it's not," he says with as much delicacy as he can muster.

"You aren't even trying," you murmur.

"Sweetheart, this is just...not for me. Never has been," he holds your hand softly. "If this helps you, keep coming. I'll pay whatever she charges, okay?" He moves to stand, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "I just...I can't."

Your head flicks up to meet his as his voice cracks slightly, eyes glossed over, revealing his vulnerability.

"See you at home," he bid you goodbye, not sparing the doctor another look before stepping out of the room.

"There is no right way to grieve, and I can understand your frustration," Dr. Shaw says to you, offering a small smile. "Just be there for him when he needs you. He'll come back around," she affirms, turning to grab your receipt for the session.

"Thanks," you say meekly, hand reaching for the receipt.

"This isn't your fault," she confidently says before you step out the door.

You give only a small smile in response. 

It was strange.

You and Simon had fiery love. 

Two timid souls burning with such passion, desire.

A flame to a flame. 

It was a love that felt like sparks igniting each other, creating a blistering and rapid heat that was impossible to ignore. 

But in the end, the flames of love can burn each other out, consuming everything in their path, including the ones who ignited them.

Despite your prayers, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was your inevitable reality.

The rest of the summer and the beginning of fall blur through to September. 

You were seething with anger.

The kind of anger that has you near in tears. 

Simon had missed your sister's funeral, the one event that you had hoped would bring you both closer in your shared grief.

You had told him multiple times throughout the last week where and when to meet you.

He assured you he would be there for you.

He was a fucking liar. 

You practically spring out of your car, parked next to his idle truck, taking heavy steps up to the house door.

The door pulls open, slamming against the house's side, making Simon awake on the couch.

The sight makes your eye twitch.

He lay dormant, several beer bottles strung across the coffee table.

And to think things were going pretty well between you two, but this was beyond belief, unforgivable.

While you were crying over your sister's casket, he was here.

Sleeping his drunkenness away. 

"Don't tell me you're drunk," you ballistically say, tossing your purse onto the kitchen table with force. 

"I'm not tellin' you a thing," he monotonously says like this is some joke. 

"I needed you, and you were proper drunk?" Your voice rises. "I—I needed you, Simon," your voice shakes. "You gave up on me."

He says nothing, just lies there.

Your jaw ticks.

You rush over to him, forcing him to stand. "It's been—get up! It's been months, Simon!" You shout out, your voice filled with desperation. "Johnny is dead—gone," you snap out, eyes locking onto his. "He's been gone, and so have you. Except Johnny has an excuse. You don't," your chest is heaving. 

Simon's eyes widen, noticeably aggravated. "I—" 

"People die every day—and don't get me wrong, I am so fucking sorry, so fucking sorry, that it was Johnny—" You begin, sincerity in your voice as tears prickle down your cheeks. 

"Don't—" He starts in a warning tone. 

"Truly, I am. And I get it; you didn't need things from each other. But I need you. And I need to know you won't just abandon me when times get tough for you," your hands move through your hair, attempting to soothe yourself before more words flow out. "You need to grow the fuck up and talk to me like a grown-ass man and not a fucking pubescent boy!"

"Fuck, fine! Simon snaps. "It fuckin' killed me when Johnny died. I—he was my best friend, my brother. My only family. Gone." Tears spill down his cheeks as his arms flail around. 

You stand silently before your tongue comes out, wiping away the salty tears coating your lips. 

"Simon, I know you don't believe this, but we are family—me and you," you breathe out, trying to control your breathing.

"It broke me," he whispers solemnly. "Split me in half."

"I get that," you begin nodding your head, emotion clogging your throat. "But I need you to be whole."

"I, I can't," he stares at the floor, his hand closing into a tight fist. 

"Simon. You, you can't let it fester. It's consuming your life. Our marriage." Your desperate eyes drift to him, filled with fear. "Let me help you," you beg. "I can help put you back together again." 

"No. You don't understand," he lifts his head back to look at you, his eyes pleading for comprehension. "I think I'm broken beyond repair."

That was before.

It was December now.

You find yourself in the chilling hospital room, tears streaming down your face as you ponder the disintegration of your marriage with Simon.

You suffered a massive heart attack some days ago. 

A complication from the heart disease. 

It had weakened your heart muscle and lead to some brain damage. 

The doctor said treatment options were no longer available. 

So, instead of that, he switched his focus to comfort care.

Essentially, he's making it easier for you to die. 

It's strange. 

You know you're dying.

And you thought that death brings people together.

But you and Simon might as well be light-years apart.

You glance at Simon sitting in the chair across from you, anxiously tapping his foot. 

He's nervous.

But not about you dying.

About something else entirely.

You can tell.

You can always tell.

Your eyes flick to the hospital room door, opening wide before your doctor beckons Simon to come outside with him. 

Their conversation is muffled, but you catch the tail-end of it. 

"It would be best to take her home. Keep her comfortable."

Now you have the confirmation. 

You're going to die.

Just not sure when it will come.

You just have to sit and wait while slowly withering into oblivion.

"Hospice care can be provided to support and comfort her during this time," the doctor adds, his voice a distant echo.

A hot tear slips down your cheek, pooling onto your hospital gown.

You see Simon nodding his head along, finger resting on his chin in thought.

You want to scream.

And cry.

And punch someone.

And pray.

And move back home.

But you can't.

You feel utterly and hopelessly helpless in your own body. 

Life works in a mysterious, fucked up kind of way.

It's not fair. 

It's not linear.

And it's certainly not always kind.

All that's left to do is do what Simon did when Johnny died, go through the motions, the daily routine that feels like a never-ending cycle, and eventually, your physical body will leave you.

Your mind will wander far beyond anyone's grasp, yearning for a connection bond that cannot be.

MONTH ONE: January

You took up journaling.

Your hospice nurse suggested you take up the hobby.

So you did.

It wasn't as therapeutic as you thought.

It was just recounting what you ate that morning and what you planned to do the next day, the mundane details of life that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Boring, menial thoughts.

You didn't have much to say.

The only thing you thought of these days was what would happen in death.

Simon was kinder now.

Said he wanted to leave with you. 

You feel guilty for having to leave him alone.

Even though you have no choice in the matter.

You hope you don't see him in the afterlife. 

His life belongs here.

On the surface.

You've had some trouble walking.

Even fell in the hallway while trying to reach for a side rail Simon had installed.

You cried and pleaded for him not to help you up.

He managed to gather your heaving body in his arms and held you tight as you sobbed into his shirt about how you didn't want to die.

He didn't sleep that night.

Mind was too riddled with guilt; instead, he prayed.

With a cross to his heart, he hit his knees and closed his eyes, murmuring into the darkness to any entity who would listen. 

You thought it was nice when you turned to your side to hear his hushed whispers. 

He was praying for you to get better, you thought.

You didn't even realize he was praying for forgiveness for his own sins. 

MONTH TWO: February

Your journal hobby has quickly dissipated as quickly as it began. 

It's become harder to move.

You have to rely on Simon to do measly tasks. 

It's humiliating, to say the least.

"You okay, bug?" Simon asks as the warm, sudsy sponge moves across your back, shining you clean.

"Yeah," your voice is hushed as your lips flatline. "I can do it," you assure, reaching for the sponge.

"You sure?" His eyebrow lifts. "I'm happy to—"

"Just give me the fucking sponge," you grit, ripping the sponge away from him to scrub your arm.

You find you're weaker than you thought. 

You can barely hold up the light sponge to clean yourself. 

Your hand sinks down into the warm bath water before you attempt to pull it up higher, over and over, until you toss the sponge over the lip of the tub.

It hits the tile, releasing water and bubbles on the floor.

Your head drops into your hands, tears mixing with the bath water.

"It's, it's really happening," you heave into your hands. "I can't even lift a fucking sponge, Simon," you say, disgust coating your words. 

Simon leans forward, hand grazing your back. "I'm so sorry, bug," his voice trembles.

You turn to look at him, with red, puffy eyes and slick tears slipping down and into his beard. 

"Don't apologize," you affirm with a sniffle. "You didn't do this to me."

He almost throws up but chokes down the bile to speak. 

"Can I, can I finish?" He almost pleads.

You give him a soft nod and a gentle smile. 

He grabs a fresh sponge and repeats the same process, this time being more gentle.

Like he's purposely trying to remember the feeling of your body under his hands. 

It makes you feel loved again.

MONTH THREE: March

You were slowly withering away right before your own eyes. 

You didn't even recognize yourself in the mirror.

Your skin has gone pale and blotchy and started mottling.

It's cold to the touch, void of any warmth.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Simon cooly says, pressing a kiss on your head.

"Where are you going?" You ask curiously. 

"I told you I had to pick up Price's kid from school," he says warmly. "You don't remember?"

"Yeah. I, I remember," you nod your head, plastering a reassuring smile.

You really didn't remember.

Memory is a slippery thing these days, evading your grasp like a wisp of smoke. 

The moment something touches your brain, it usually escapes within an hour. 

It's a constant source of frustration, a relentless storm that rages within you.

Makes you want to throw a chair across the room.

He leaves, not even realizing the question has you spiraling.

Proding and pinching at your skull's skin to regain control of your brain. 

You must look insane.

But to you, this is the only thing that makes you feel sane and in control of your body.

The feeling of inability is one of the most haunting prospects.

The hunger for control gnaws at you, a ruthless creature that refuses to be sated.

But it's slipping through your very fingers like sand.

Fast and all at once. 

MONTH FOUR: April

By mid-April, your body feels hollow.

You can't do much of anything.

Though you did find some peace with your morality. 

Finally, you came to terms with your reality. 

And then, a spark of courage ignited, urging you to step out of the house for the first time in a while. 

There was an unusual, almost compelling, need to visit Johnny's grave.

You had only done so once, but it would be nice to leave some flowers.

Your hospice nurse drives you and waits in the car as you find his grave slightly disheveled like someone had messed with it.

Maybe even crawled out of it.

You're too tired to investigate.

You sit in the soft dirt, legs crossed as the sun beats on your head.

The lull of sleep licks your brain and makes your eyes close and unclose lightly. 

You yawn, stretching your arms out before the feeling of sleep becomes too strong. 

You find yourself lying next to Johnny, separated only by a few feet of dirt. 

You feel calm, peaceful even. 

Though when your eyes shut for the last time, you don't see the bright, ethereal light you imagined.

You see nothing but darkness. 

And smell brimstone.

It couldn't be. 

This wasn't the heaven you were promised, a place of eternal peace and joy. 

It was a cruel joke, a betrayal of the highest order.

You were supposed to be in a place of eternal love.

An incomparable beauty. 

This looked more like—

"Bastard sold you out, m'afraid," a voice croaked in the darkness.

The figure was indistinct, a mere shadow in the darkness, but its presence was suffocating, a palpable sense of doom that felt all too familiar, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. 

"Who—who are you?" You speak into the darkness, not paying much heed to what he said. 

"I shall not speak my name, my dear," the voice remarks. "You shall find out soon enough," he assures, pure humor coating his tongue.

Your voice trembled with fear, barely audible in the oppressive darkness. "How—how am I here?" You managed to stammer, your terror evident. 

A heinous laugh comes from the dark and shoots into your eardrum. "Your husband called upon me some time ago," he says. "He wanted his friend back, so he offered me your soul in return for him back." His voice is simple and casual as if it were ordinary. 

Your heart thumps in your chest, and your lungs deflate quicker than they inflate. 

"N—no. Simon...he loves me," you try to contradict. "He—he wouldn't do that," you speak into the darkness, voice tight. 

"Loves his friend more," he casually says.

Your eyes widen as tears begin to pour down in a consistent stream down your face; you try to move your arms but find your arms are magically constricted to your side. 

"Don't worry. We'll have fun—you and I," his tone is insidious.

Simon had bartered your life for his own selfish volition and damned you to an eternity in hell.

That—that serpent. 

What kind of diabolical monster would do something so heinous.

He promised you a lifetime of love.

A baby that you would share.

A tangible tell of your love.

He was a false prophet. 

When did he find time to do this deal?

Oh. Oh.

He did act skittish that night. 

That—that night that you asked about him praying.

You just assumed he was praying to God to help him cope by perhaps showing some signs of Johnny.

Help him deal with the trauma in any way he could. 

He was instead striking up a deal.

And it wasn't with God.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ do share your tearful thoughts in the comments! divider by @plum98

[nottswitch]

sisters bf!theo would so stick his fingers in your mouth while doing doggy to shut you up bc you tried suggesting that you two should stop hooking up when he’s literally pounding into you

꒰ sister’s bf!theo shuts you up when you suggest ending your situationship ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, cheating, p in v, fingers in the mouth, slight gagging, spanking, mentions of blood, degradation, cursing

a/n: haven’t written in more than two weeks, so forgive me is this is a little rusty, but !!! i missed sister’s bf!theo so much, and my hands have been itching to write some more for the bastard

⋆˚꩜｡

it always came in waves, like a tsunami that the coast guard failed to warn about – the scalding hot shame, the guilt you felt whenever you sister’s boyfriend’s cock stretched you out in ways you’d never have imagined if it wasn’t for him. it was wild, the things theo did to your body, making it crave him more and more after every stolen encounter in your room, when your sister wasn’t around – or even if she was, to be honest; in her room, busy with her college homework, or in the shower, unaware of what was happening on the other side of the wall.

but tonight, you were in luck – she went out on a girl’s night with her friends, and theo wasted no time. the second he texted her an ‘i love you, baby, take care’, he was out of the door, in his car, and then, ten minutes later – in your bed. you were on your hands and knees before you knew it, but your face wasn’t pushed into the pillows this time – no, when your sister wasn’t around, theo wanted to hear you. he needed to know how fucked out you were, how good he was making you feel. at the back of your mind, you were aware it wasn’t really about your pleasure, it was much more about stroking his ego, but… you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his cock was sliding in and out, making you drip all over your thighs and the sheets, making you–

fuck. why did theo have to leave his phone on the bed, right next to you? did he do that on purpose? you wouldn’t even put it past him. the screen lit up with a notification. a text from your sister, a ‘love you too’, and there it was again – the guilt, the shame, everything all at once, crushing down. theo didn’t even look – he was too busy watching your ass bounce with each of his thrusts, and the screen dimmed in a few moments, untouched and ignored.

"we–" no, you couldn’t string a coherent sentence together, you felt too fucking amazing to think. theo barely heard a word somewhere between your shameless moans, but didn’t pay attention. his hand came down on your asscheek with a sharp slap as he was enjoying the freedom of being as noisy as he wanted. plus, the spanking always made a good job of shutting you up, and he didn’t want you to talk right now – he only wanted the moans and the whimpers.

but for some reason, you just couldn’t let it go. maybe it was because for the first time, you saw the evidence of your sister’s love for theo while he was balls deep inside of you. maybe you’ve just been suppressing it for too long. but when theo’s cock hit your cervix and a jolt of pained pleasure shot through your body, you managed to breathe out: “weshouldn’tbedoingthis.”

“what?”

theo had absolutely no idea what you had just said, because your pussy clenched around him at the same exact moment, squeezing his cock to the point he nearly came on the spot. but he managed to hold off, his hand digging into your ass to steady himself. "the fuck you just said, piccola? why are you even talking?” he muttered in-between breathless pants, his hips snapping to your body with increased speed.

"we shouldn’t–” god, it was hard, talking while you were being railed mindless by a man whose purpose was to stop you from talking. "we shouldn’t be doing… this…” somehow, the words finally came out, followed by another string of lewd, loud sounds from your mouth.

you could hear theo sigh behind you. or maybe it was just a gasp of pleasure, because his thrusts became sloppier, signalling his approaching orgasm. however, just a split second later, your mouth was filled; theo’s fingers were plunged almost to your throat, making you gag – why the hell were they so long, anyway?

"dumb, dumb, dumb.” each word was punctuated by a rough thrust and a slap on your ass. you were tempted to bite his fingers off, but only managed to scrape the skin a little bit. it seemed to turn theo on even more. "can’t believe i hit the dumbest duo in the world. one has no idea i’m fucking her sister right under her nose, and the other thinks i care.”

even his cock rearranging your guts couldn’t stop you from finally sinking your teeth into his index and middle fingers in silent retaliation. theo hissed, but didn’t pull out, even when a metallic tang of blood hit your tongue. you felt a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing you ripped through his skin – at least this way, you managed to get under it.

"you’re just asking for it, aren’t you, piccola?” theo muttered in frustration, realizing he’d have to teach you a lesson and therefore, hold back on finishing. "you’re gonna get it. you’re gonna fucking get it.”

in one fluid motion of his, you were manhandled onto your back, and your legs were flipped over his shoulders. he was clearly enraged, and the previous shame and guilt squeezing your chest were quickly replaced by a sick kind of excitement. you did it.

"let’s fucking pray she doesn’t come back early.”

au. more.

[charmedsquirell]

How I got into the void

Hey guys,

My name is Sylvie. i want to share that two years ago, I started to look into the void state because I was in bad place in my life. I wanted to be useful for my family and give them everything in an instant. I downloaded tumblr and started to follow all the blogs I could find. I found a lot of information. Most of it contradicted one another and that confused me a lot. The people that helped me the most were b4ddprincess, lucky kiwii, adambja and wizlizbelle. When Wizliz left, i also deleted my tumblr since she was the only one who i used to rant to and i was really suicidal.

i found her again and started to ranting to her about my life which was irritating and I'm sure like most bloggers do not want to be trauma dumped on but i just did not have anyone on my side. But I wanted to make this post bc i know her blog doesn't exist anymore but there were people who wanted to know more about this stuff. I basically asked for tarot readings from her so i could see why it was not working for me and i would like ask every single day. one day she told me that my only problem is resistance. I will try my best to explain it like she did.

so basically the ego feeds on resistance because it knows you do not believe in the positive things you tell it fully and some people have their ego under control, some people do not. I used to do like 4 hour non stop affirming every day and it did not work for me. so she said stop affirming, stop asking tarot, and give in to the voice. I was like is she guiding me to do the wrong thing but then she said it helped her a lot. So i was not believing in this but i did it (she sent a script of what to say) and the voice came

"you will never date Alek and he will never love you" and i said "yeah i know. and?"

"you will never lose weight and be fat forever" and i said " yeah i won't. and?"

"you will never enter the void state" and i said "yeah i know i won't, and?" and then the voice like just stopped. there was nothing. literally nothing and my mind had never ever been clear. so i teold her like this happened and she says "you basically tamed your ego and put it to sleep by giving it what it wanted to hear but because you've been affirming and trying all these methods in your past, your subconscious will not buy into negtivity. Your subconscious is the part of your brain that cannot function on its own and blindly believes you. It cannot even see what u see."

i was literally so shocked because i would always affirm "no! he will love me and i'll enter the void" like trying to convince the go but wiz said that you can tame the ego and make it work for you instead of trying to convince it. when you agree with it, it becomes silent. like oh she gave me what i wanted to hear, now what? so now when i would think "the void is hard" automatically i would hear "no it's not". like not even me saying it but just a same voice that would be negative before.

look, i do not really care for like what is and what is not or whatever drama that happened. and it was bad to see her go but the truth is that we do not need to hear from others. Of course if she had not told me, i would not know but sometimes putting in the work does more damage than good sometimes and i used to see many like me here.

So then finally i tried this at night, when lying down i let the negativity came in and i did not resist it. when my mind became completely silent (it took maybe one to two minutes) i said "i am in the void" and i felt no resistance. then i did not expect anything but just to affirm over and over. finally i was there. it was the void and i knew because i did not even feel my whole body just like a floating thing like ball of light. I affirmed that my dad would get his job back and my bf would love me. i affirmed for losing weight. all that came true so fast but i spent time in the void. when i woke up, i had it. my dad was happy he brought sweets to celebrate. everything else came true as well. so now i come back to tumblr to say goodbye again that maybe we have to work with us and not against.

just to be safe, this is just my experience and i'm not gonna like respond or anything bc i do not want to be a blogger especially after seeing the drama. you may not feel this way but this worked for me. maybe it will work for you and maybe not.

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

[cvnt4him]

izuku and (large tit⁉️) virgin reader 🙀

maybe he a virgin too, i’ve always guessed he was a dirty dog since junior high, he’s got to have watched porn or smth for a whirl at some point, you see the way he is around girlies

anyways, i love your writing style and energy, will be making many more requests if you would like them !

writing this bc I too suffer with big tiddie-itis. I completely agree with everything you have said and would love for you to come again, ty for the appreciation and i hope you [all] enjoy<3

Izuku midoriya has always been kind of.... a perv. It wasn't exactly obvious that he was a pervert however, he made damn sure no one knew this little secret about him. However he couldn't keep it from his best friend, his best friend katsuki had always known izuku was a little freak.

Whenever he got yelled at by people he thought was attractive he'd unintentionally pop a boner, whenever someone complimented him, whenever he was too close to a pretty person, it doesn't matter. He was just a natural perv.

Now izuku wouldn't call himself a pervert, just an easily excited person. When izuku got into high school he never intended on befriending the local pervs. Denki kaminari and mineta minoru, they're literally known for being perverted in some way, in denkis case.

When he met you though, for the love of all things good and holy. He couldn't help the way his eyes mercilessly trailed up and down your body. He couldn't hold a conversation with you without his eyes accidentally trailing down to your voluptuous bossom. To him it seemed as if your breasts wanted to be looked at, that they'd wanted to escape your U.A uniform.

The way they bounced when you walked or when you laughed, and oh, when you'd just stand there they seemed as if they were practically bursting from the seams, the buttons were literally trying their hardest just to do their jobs.

Izuku loved being around you. Your company was extremely pleasant to him, you were nice and strong, a caring and giving person. You were just nice all around, he felt so dirty and guilty for looking at your body in such ways..

Imagining all the positions he would put you in just to watch your beautiful big and round boobies just bounce for him. He would stroke his fat leaky cock to the time his shoulder accidentally poked the side of your boob. You acted like it didn't happen but he was a flustered mess, his body, his skin came so close to your, albeit clothed, titties.

Izuku would shove his tie in his mouth while he helplessly squeezed his cock head and fiddled with his balls, pathetic little whimpers leaving his mouth. He was practically drooling from a simple poke to your boob. My goodness, he craves to put his face in them, suffocate beneath them.

You had a crush on izuku for a while now, of course it went unbeknownst to him because he's an oblivious idiot who only really pays attention to himself despite being a very observant and selfless person. When you invited him on a 1 on 1 study sesh in your dorm he was terrified. He didn't know how he could face you after he just milked his cock for all it was worth........

He went anyways.

Izuku could not keep his eyes off of you the entire time, hardly even focusing on the work or what you were saying. You were wearing this absolutely adorable frilly pajama set, he'd heard you when you said it matches the one mina has. He wouldn't mind seeing you both in them together side by side... Wait no! He has to stay focused on the work! That's what you invited him over for!

Not to fantasize about you and your best friend in little to no clothing.......fuck. izuku groaned lowly to himself as he stared at your chest, gulping at how huge they truly were. He wondered how warm they were.. how soft, did you want him to touch them? Did you like them to be touched? Have you ever had anyone touch them before? Have you ever had anyone's cock in betwe——

“ uhm.. izuku? are you uh, alright? you're like kind of red..”

“ huh!? o- oh! yes! haha! I'm fine! ahem..”

Izuku was flustered red and so embarrassed. You'd just caught him looking at your tits... Kind of. It was so embarrassing, devastatingly so he just wanted to be swallowed whole by mother earth herself and be reincarnated as fly. He deserved it.

“ i- I'm sorry... I should g-”

“ I.. didn't mind you looking.... y’know.”

Oh. Izuku turned to face you with a completely red face and those stupid huge puppy dog eyes of his, his breathing was stuttery and he was absolutely petrified. Had he heard right? Did you... Like him staring at your tits?!

Izuku gulped down hard, his eyes accidentally switching fastly between your tits and your face. You giggled which caught hsi attention back to your face completely.

“ I- I, uhm.......what?”

His voice was wavering. Shaky in some sort, he didn't know what to do with this information. You just smiled at him stupidly and that made his cock fill with even more blood. Goodness do you even know what you do to him?!

He's jacked off countless of nights thinking about you and those glorious godforsaken big titties of yours. Squeezing his cock until it cried milking white tears, he'd overstimulate himself thinking about you. You. Now because of you, he had no intentions on holding back.

Izukus lip was shaking, with no second thought he grabbed your hand and walked you to your bed with no words being spoken. He laid you down and gently crawled onto you, his thighs on either side of your body as he leaned down. His lips were right up close to your ear, shaking as much as his breath was. Quivering even.

Izuku noticed the little things. Like for example, how your thighs kept squeezing together each time he spoke to you, he didn't think much of it before. Until just now, you're squeezing your thighs together whilst he's on top of you. He scoffed lightly into your ear and kissed along the shell of it making you jolt lightly.

“ y- you have no idea... How many nights I've touched myself to you... The post nut clarity I had, worried you'd think I'm a disgusting pig when really.... You like it.. you've always liked it. You love when I look at your titties, huh?”

You truly were speechless. Where had that shy little guy gone? Why was he speaking like this? As if you're in the wrong.. he's the one that had been staring at your body in such a disgusting way.

“ I.. uhm...”

The way you couldn't answer him, that did something. It did something bad to him. He bit his lip to muffle the moan that threatened to come from his throat, he ground his growing hard on into your thigh and sucked in sharply at the friction, the stimulation of his clothed cock against your bare thigh.. thin fabric covering his cock from touching your sweet soft angelic skin.

Izuku moved back from your neck and got a good look at you, the way your boobs were splayed out and how huge they looked. They way they spilled it at the top, he couldn't contain the moan this time, his mouth fell open and his eyes slightly rolled at the sight. He groaned and just desperately began humping your thigh, he started speeding up out of no where.

His moans started getting even more whiney and his movements sloppy. He just shoved his face in your boobs while he came, the smell of your lotion and body wash flooding his senses it began to all be too much, he didn't stop rutting into your thigh as he finished, oh no. He kept going, overriding his high and overstimulating himself.

The whine that left him was so adorable and so pornographic, it seemed straight out of a porno. His breaths were quivering and he was mumbling random things whilst whimpering. He was trying his hardest to regain his composure but it was just so hard.. he just came in his pants whilst grinding on you. He's sure it was the most he's ever made...and izuku cums alot.

He lets out a rather long breath before lifting his head to look at you with glossed over eyes. You had a small smile on your lips as you rake your fingers through his hair. A shiver goes down izukus spine as he sighs eyes fluttering shut. This is exactly what he needed to get rid of the upcoming post nut clarity. The fact you held him with no judgement made him feel so...good?

There was no word to describe the way he felt in this given moment. But it was so perfect that he could only whimper in your arms.

AN: guess who lied ab taking a break from writing? That's right!!!! So erm, this is ass and unfinished. It's a draft that I'm just getting out now instead of actually finishing so, yeah sorry for the disappoint

[lucentloo]

Broken Vases and Hot Chocolate

Summary: A broken vase makes you believe the brief paradise you gained at the Potters will be shattered but James helps you realize that you won't get hurt again.

James Potter x fem!reader

Wc: 1070

Content Warning: Fem!reader, Black!reader, reader is Sirius' sister, flinching, past abuse, Mrs. Potter to the rescue with her emergency hot chocolate!, Comfort, James and reader are in a relationship.

A/N: Hello guys! I am posting one fic after the other and there might be more bc I've got a lot of free time but I wouldn't expect this for the future unfortunately. I hope you're enjoying the New Year and I hope you enjoy my fifth fic on this blog! Have a good rest of your day/night and make sure to have some water!

You knew deep down that this was a mistake; your instincts screamed at you that you shouldn’t have followed Sirius when he begged you to come along. The intensity in his gaze, the way his heart ached for you to join him—along with Regulus—made it impossible to say no. With a heavy heart, you left your little brother in the care of those who had inflicted pain upon you and stepped into the unknown alongside Sirius at the Potters’ house.

Sirius was relentless in his reassurances, insisting that the Potters were kind and that you had no reason to fear them. He spoke with such conviction, claiming they would never raise a finger against you, but as the shards of glass glistened ominously at your feet, doubt clouded your mind.

You had been playing a spirited game of pass with James, the vibrant quaffle soaring back and forth between you, laughter escaping your lips like music on the warm afternoon breeze. But in an unfortunate moment, the ball slipped through your fingers, crashing into one of Mrs. Potter’s beautiful vases. The sound was deafening, a shatter so loud it seemed to echo through the air, alerting not only James but likely every neighbor on the block. In that instant, the blissful atmosphere transformed into one of panic, leaving you with the weight of uncertainty and dread.

James muttered a string of curses under his breath, his frustration palpable in the air. You flinched at the disturbance it caused, instinctively dropping to your knees to swiftly clean up the mess sprawled across the floor. The cool surface pressed against your skin as you worked, your heart racing. Sirius had mentioned that the Potters were generally more forgiving than others, so perhaps if you hurried, you could erase the evidence of your mistake before they noticed. You hoped that your diligence would spare you from their displeasure.

“Woah! Hey, what are you doing?” James asks as he watches the glass dig into your knees as you clean it up with uncovered hands.

“I’m cleaning,” you responded in what you hoped was a collected voice but knew that there were some cracks in there.

James quickly put on his deer slippers Sirius gave him for Christmas and stepped over the glass to stop your hands. “Sweet thing, you don’t have to do that, it was my fault the throw was too hard, come on.” He says gently as he brushes off the few small flakes of glass off your palm.

‘But I didn’t catch it. If you just let me clean it up then there would be less trouble and-”

You were cut off by James who put his on your waist and hoisted you up like you weighed nothing. He carried you over to the couch and set you down gently. “There is no trouble, just a knocked-down vase. Sure I might get in trouble with my mom but it was a vase given to her by my grandma, and honestly? My mom's been complaining about it for years.”

The only thing you managed to get from that was the fact that James might get in trouble with his mom. You thought Sirius said that the Potters weren’t as bad as your guys’ parents.

When James went to leave you grabbed his hands tight. Anxiety courses through you as the image of Hogwarts golden boy getting hurt flashes through your mind. That’s not right, he’s too good to be hurt like that. “Tell them it was me, that it was my fault.” Your words are desperate and pleading and James’ eyebrows furrow in concern when he starts to realize what this is all about.

“It’s fine, it was my fault and I’m fine with taking the blame.”

“But I don’t want you to get-”

“Nobody’s gonna get hurt,” James says with conviction. He raises his hand and slowly places it on your cheek. When he wipes away your tears you finally realize how much you were crying and shaking. You sniffle and try to hide your face in embarrassment but James wouldn’t let you.

“No matter what happens here, what you or anybody else does, no one will get hurt. I promise.” He says the last two words a bit softer as his hand travels from your cheek to the back of your neck so he can move your head to his chest.

You let him as you slump against him. You start crying even more and he doesn’t move or give any indication of how uncomfortable he is while crouching. “That’s it, just let it out. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

You hear the door open and hear the silence that follows. You try to move out of James' hold, and he lets you, but he keeps his hand on your back while he looks at his parents. Sirius gives you a concerned look but you look down in your lap.

“What happened, dear?” You look up as Mrs. Potter comes over to the two of you. You choke up before you answer and look over to the corner of the living room instead. When she follows your line of sight she relaxes and sighs. “Oh James, again?”

You look over to James who has now moved to help his dad and Sirius with the groceries. He wears a shit-eating grin as he shrugs. “That boy.” Mrs. Potter says and to your surprise laughs while shaking her head. With a single wave of her wand, the mess is cleared and your injuries are healed as she places her hand on your back as she stands up.

You both make your way to the kitchen. “Do you like hot chocolate? I say it’s a must in the holidays.” With that, your usual smile comes back and you nod. You make your way to where James and Sirius are talking by the counter.

“Thank you, James, for dealing with my mini freak out.” You say quietly as Sirius pulls you into his side.

James just smiles fondly. “How many times have I told you, sweetheart, it’s not dealing with you, it’s loving you. Two different things.” He kisses your head and squeezes your hand before going to help his mom with the hot chocolate.

“I still think it’s disgusting that he’s dating you.”

You laugh and nudge Sirius's side. “Sirius!”

He shrugs his shoulders and holds you closer. “Just saying.”

You smile warmly and lean in more, knowing you could use a few minutes of just hugging.

[phantomsies]

die for me • a. artlert - kinktober part one

“..once I get inside, you’ll wanna die for me..”

kink: drug play

📝 other themes and things: producer/artist!armin, fem!black reader, drug use (coke use, percs in nether regions, you get my drift), fingering him for .2 seconds, mirror play, choking, oral sex (m. receiving), backshots, heavy kissing, squirting, spit play, pet names, prone bone

wc: 2.2K

📃 foreword: hi lovelies! just wanted to say thank you for allowing me to start fresh and supporting my work/transition throughout all of this. Also, being patient with me bc I’ve been slow as hell about posting again!

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euphoria. It’s a feeling of excitement that manifests in different forms..a sensation achieved by the best experiences. Some get there by taking substances, others through thrill seeking. And for Armin Artlert?

“Oh God…yeah, that’s it, beautiful. All the way down…”

it was the fulfillment of his carnal desires…a constant high he’d chase with liquor or whatever narcotic he was choosing to divulge in for the evening. Just one of his many, less than savory vices. He knew it wasn’t a lifestyle he could maintain forever..and hell, it may even catch up to him sooner rather than when he’d like. But for now, he was enjoying the chaotic ride and every bump it had to offer along the way.

“Ahh!—fuck…good girl. Now hold it..I know you can do it, baby. Just take that dick to the back of your throat f’r me..all the way.”

it was an evening like the many others (y/n) (l/n) spent in the company of the famed producer and notorious bachelor. You’d spent the entirety of your day seated in a high chair as makeup brushes patted your gorgeous face. That delicate crown filled with luscious, kinky curls sat atop your head and was styled for a photoshoot. It was in the midst of a break that you’d return to your dressing room, greeted by a dozen roses..along with the charming smile of your beau. He was adamant on the fact that he despised interrupting your work but he truly couldn’t help but to sneak in some quality time with you. It was widely out of character for him and quite frankly, hell had a better chance of freezing twice over than Armin being monotonous! However, you’d invoked quite the change in him and it was so obvious, it was almost laughable. He’d inform you that he wanted you to finish up your job without pause but tonight, he’d be coming to scoop you up and he wanted you all to his lonesome.

fast forward, and that plan became reality. Now here you were..being all but defiled on his bedroom floor as you sat with your thighs slightly spread and upright on your knees. Saliva had pooled and trickled down from your mouth to those plump breasts he adored. Your pretty face practically smeared with spit and his precum. A beautiful, delicious mess, all of his creation and he loved it.

“Here, open your mouth, beautiful.” “Mmmm..thank you...”

With that, he greeted you with another lob of spit whilst gently tugging your head back. That’s when you’d begin to devour that thick cock whole..from the base to the tip with little resistance. Swallowing every inch and allowing him to hollow out your throat as if it were nothing. It was no unbeknownst secret to him that you were pretty damn freaky of your own volition. Hell, there were instances that you’d made him tap out but you were on an entirely different wavelength at the moment. You were practically insatiable and Armin was enjoying every waking second of it! A grin would stretch from ear to ear on the producer’s face when you’d take his shaft into your palm and stroke it. Meanwhile, your lips suctioned around those swollen balls, alternating between them to place gentle kisses and licks along the veined perimeter.

“You’re such a good slut for me, baby. Oh my gosh, I love you..you’re going to make me come so hard, I swear..” his tone was almost desperate and whiny as you continued on. But perhaps, the best was yet to happen when he felt a foreign sensation emit throughout his body. Those gorgeous brown eyes had become dilated and you were practically unstoppable.

“Am I making you feel good, daddy? Like when I spit on this fucking dick for you?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You’re doing fucking amazing. Make sure you get all that precum too..”

So much so, that your head would completely lower onto his shaft, taking the entire thing down your throat and holding it in place with minimal gagging. You’d stay there for a few seconds longer before coming up and emitting heavy strings of saliva with you. Once you did so, strings of your bodily fluids would seep down his pelvis and once it did, you’d use that makeshift lubricant to tease his other entrance.

“Fuuuck! Baby… ‘S so good..swear I should marry you right now.”

Nearly reducing him to a babbling mess. Constantly doting on you as you awoke all of his carnal desires. Exploring and opening his eyes to things he’d never experienced. He’d had his fair share of sexual encounters but there wasn’t one girl who’d ever pushed the boundaries the way you had. He had fallen in love all over again at that moment. One could even chock it up the heightened sensitivity you gained when taking drugs. It were almost as if both of you were in another reality and completely out of your heads. He’d even sniffle a few times, wiping his nose from the powdery substance he’d consumed earlier. You on the other hand, had been given a pink tablet that had melted on your tongue and since, (y/n) had lost all sense of morality and self control. The only thing on your mind was fucking him until he passed out and vice versa.

What was even more attractive was that you hadn't stopped moaning around his shaft and stroking your clit since you’d been down there. Becoming increasingly more aroused and soon, you’d need something to fill that ache in your womb. Fingering yourself hadn’t been quite sufficient, despite your orgasm already. With a deviant grin on your face, you’d begin to giggle and lob more saliva around the entire area; even making slurping motions on his that sensitive sack.

“Yeah? I’ll really let you do whatever you want to me then.” Ironic considering that you had already surpassed limits that other girls wouldn’t dare. That’s when he’d lean forward and place a deep kiss onto your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth and clutched your throat in the process.

“That’s very..very good to know. Here, do me a favor and crawl over to the mirror, sweetheart. I’ve gotten something for you.”

suddenly, you were on all fours..swaying your hips as you followed his instructions. Like a lynx in the wild who couldn’t be tamed. His view was consumed with that round, plump ass and those fat pussy lips in the back and it was enough to make his cock twitch once more. Coated in precum and spit, Armin stroked himself, bucking his hips up into his palm before joining you on the floor. His knees were grazed by the furry carpet whilst he mounted behind you. The giant reflective glass perfectly captured both of your expressions in that moment. Grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed but certainly not confused. You both knew exactly what you wanted. Those pupils had become dilated and the surrounding areas bloodshot…

“Look at you..so perfect. You have no idea how beautiful you are, baby…” it was whilst he was talking, the desperate blonde reached over and retrieved another small baggy from the bed. It was just one of many substances he’d procured for the evening. Affectionately dubbing them his ‘party favors’. He’d usher you to back up against him as he maneuvered so that he was somewhat positioned underneath you. With your thighs spread to the opposite side of his own and that ass placed atop his crotch, Armin would place a hand into the center of your back to ensure that it was slightly arched.

“There we go, sweetheart…keep it just like that.”

Meanwhile, he’d run a singular thumb between your wet folds and that puckering asshole. All of it was so perfectly on display for him. Sucking his teeth, the famed producer would go on to extract the pill from the baggy before teasing it against that other entrance. It took a moment for you to get acclimated but it didn’t take long for the sensation to kick in. That puckering hole accepted it with ease and immediately began to take effect. Strings of your arousal were already leaking but once he inserted that tiny tablet, you were practically insatiable. That dazed expression on your pretty face became all but a permanent fixture…drool seeped from the corner of your mouth and your pupils remained glossed over.

“G-aghhh…I love it..makes me so fucking wet..”

Armin, becoming ecstatic at the sheer sight alone uttered a laugh as he navigated your hips until that dripping cunt was positioned right above the aching tip of his cock. “Yeah, you always did like these…I swear you’re the only person who would let me do some shit like this.” “Well you’re the only man I’ve met, willing to do it..so I guess it works out.” The two of you exchanged another set of laughs before the real action began.

“Can I put it in now, angel?..”

“I’d be pissed if you made me wait any longer..”

“Somebody’s eager..that’s my girl. Now stay still.”

foaming both at the mouth and entrance to be stuffed full of him, (y/n) would take a glance back and await his next move. Suddenly, you’d find yourself releasing a loud moan and arching your back even further as that swollen tip penetrated your hole. The initial feeling was like none you had ever experienced..it always was as if it were the first time with Armin. Hell, that’s just how amazing the sex was. But it was something about those substances coursing your veins and adding fuel to the fire that hit differently. In a matter of seconds, you were both trembling but could not stop. Slowly but surely, he’d feed you deep yet rhythmic strokes, trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh my gosh…look at how wet you are already, sweetheart. This pussy’s so creamy.”

Just as you were beginning to become acclimated with those strokes, Armin would increase his speed and begin to feed you more rhythmic thrusts. His hips snapping against your backside as he dug his nails into your flesh. The collision of that thick ass made it all but impossible for him to maintain his composure.

“Mmmmph..that dick feels so good..so deep in me..”

“Yeah? I’m not even in your spot yet and you’re already dripping. Might have to feed you some of this shit more often, baby.”

the soft whine escaping your lips as your head tilted back and it allowed him the opportunity to coil his hands around your throat. It was then that you were met with a slight hinge of aggression. Not in a violent or mean way but it was stemming from the fact that he was overstimulated. Those drugs were coursing through your systems at rapid speed so any sensation you felt was increased tenfold. Every thrust, every thrash, every touch and every glide in and out of those wet folds were driving him crazy! The same applies to you..every stroke became far more intense than the last and that ball of climatic energy began to swell in the pit of your stomach, ready to burst at any second. Strings of dripping warmth began to stain his exposed thigh and the carpet underneath your clashing bodies. Before long, those minimal droplets would expand to a large puddle as he caught a glimpse of your face in that mirror…you’d watch your own reflection as your body jolted around and suddenly your eyes were at the back of your head.

“Shit! I’m fucking coming!..”

“Theeeere we go, sweetheart. Squirt on that fucking dick..good girl.”

Whilst you released a heavy stream of warm juices, Armin would keep a light grasp on your hips as he allowed you to ride out your orgasm. Those sweet moans and shrill cries pooled out along with those divine droplets of your bodily nectar. It wasn’t long before you’d find yourself writhing around underneath his entire body weight though…as he had maneuvered you into a prone bone position shortly after. Pinning those wrists behind your back, Armin would then plank himself atop of your trembling frame; bucking those hips against the rippling flesh of your ass. The sight of that recoil alone was enough to make him reach his own peak. But alas, he’d maintain his stride a little bit longer. After all, neither of you had any plans of quitting any time soon…the adrenaline of the moment and the influence of those substances were keeping you both amplified beyond what should have been normal human capacity. But perhaps, the strongest one of all flowing throughout your veins was pure, unadulterated lust!..an insatiable desire for one another that couldn’t be kicked with the strongest of rehabilitation. It was a night that had only reached its beginning stages and who knew what lay in wait next…

“I’m gonna play in all these pretty holes, baby…I don’t give a fuck how long it takes. Not gonna stop until we pass out..you know how I like it.”

and it was a venture that you were looking more than forward to!

[dirtyvulture]

BBB

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader*

18+ only read at your own risk

Word count: 3248

Requested by anon: Hi i love your work..you don't have to do this request if you don't want.. i was kind of was wondering since we haven't heard from Sergeant Nat and reader. If we could hear from them? I was thinking since Nat is always the confident reassured one in that universe like maybe something happens where shes not sure where she stand with reader? Like jealous or maybe reader lets one of her military friends borrow her laptop and they use it to watch porn...and nat finds it and thinks its reader. And nat kind of loses her mind in a way that we havent seen. (Not like crazy but for the first time shes like am i enough). And reader is high key oblivious bc she worships nat. Some communication to sort out and then smutty times. Only if you want. If not i look forward to whatever you post yay. 

AN: *Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Thanks for the idea, anon! This was a lot of fun to write. :)

This is Part 5 in my Sergeant Beef series. Read the first one here.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Sam asks, poking his head into your room. 

“Why?” You don’t even look at him, focused on you video game on the tiny television mounted to your wall.

“I dropped mine in the lake, so I had to buy a new one but it won’t get shipped off until later this week,” Sam explains. 

“Okay,” you say, hardly listening to him as you race your little car across the screen to bump the giant soccer ball towards the goal. “It’s in my room on the–”

“I know where it is. Thanks.” Sam whisks in and helps himself. 

“Close the door on your way out!” you call, just in time to hear the door slam behind him. Turning your whole focus back to your game, your fingers mash the buttons to a triumphant win.

***********************************************************************

A few days later, Natasha is over at your apartment. While the two of you had discussed a thousand times moving in together, you had always stalled or walked around the subject. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because you were nervous what the public’s perception would be of your relationship, or if you preferred your own private space too much to give it up. Ever since the deployment, you had been more likely to retreat and hide away (even from Natasha) when you were upset or moody. She wondered if it was a side effect of your PTSD, but you never seemed ready for that conversation so she left it alone.

For dinner, you grilled some steaks (setting off the smoke detector in your apartment) while Natasha made a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. Afterwards, you went to take a shower while Natashas lounged around and found a movie on Netflix for the two of you to watch. She sits on the couch, opening your laptop and finding the web browser. She looks up Netflix and then browses through the recommendations on your home page, but none of them pique her interest.

She goes onto Google to search what other people are recommending and wades through a sea of titles and descriptions to find one. Swapping back and forth between tabs, she finds a website with a host of titles and flips back and forth until she finds a movie that is both on the list and currently on Netflix. But in the process, she loses track of the tab and accidentally closes it, silently cursing to herself, before going to check the history to find it again.

But what she finds in the history is not what she had been looking for.

Natasha feels almost scandalized when she sees the words “big busty blondes” in your search history, followed by a list of pornsites. While she knew you watched such videos in her absence, she didn’t know what genre you were into, and now a deep sinking feeling of insecurity fills her. She was not blonde, nor was she particularly busty after the years of hard workouts had shrank some of her assets a little. You always told her she had the perfect body, but now she wasn’t quite sure if she should believe you.

“Nat? Did you pick a movie?” You poke your head out of the bathroom. You’re not wearing a shirt and your wet hair is dripping water down your chest, emphasizing the lines of your muscles. Natasha can see the bullet scar on your ribs from the deployment that almost ended your life. But you walked away with every member of your team alive, and your tale of bravery had become something of a living legend in the community. 

She knows you could have any woman you wanted. She had seen the way the recruits eyed you and how bold the other brass were with you. Before your promotion to sergeant, you were often overlooked and completely ignored. Natasha, perhaps a little selfishly, always considered herself the catch in your relationship: she was one of a handful of female sergeants with outstanding credentials, and looked great in and out of a uniform. But maybe she thought too highly of herself. You had developed into a very competent sergeant, were extremely good-looking, and had the most lovable personality anyone could ask for.

What if you didn’t want her anymore? What if you wanted someone younger, or someone you could start a family with? Natasha hadn’t yet disclosed to you her inability to have children, but if the subject ever came up, she knew you’d need no other excuse to walk away.

“Nat? Did you pick out a movie?” you ask again.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “We can watch Trolls.”

“Okay. That sounds fun.”  

You come out in a sweatshirt with matching gray sweatpants and join Natasha on the couch. Instinctively, you put your arm around her shoulder and she snuggles against you, letting you rest your head against hers.

You seem to enjoy the goofy children’s movie, laughing out loud at the jokes and cheering when the main characters hug by the end. But Natasha can’t focus for a second, still thinking about the search history on your laptop. She didn’t even know if it was something she should bring up, but it was already eating her alive to think that she wasn’t good enough for you.

Natasha didn’t know if she would be able to survive without you. She would have to do everything she could to keep you by her side.

***********************************************************************

“Give me a sec,” Natasha calls, hurriedly slipping her boots on. She checks herself in the mirror one final time before opening her apartment door to see you.

“Hi, Nat–oh.” Your expression goes flat.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, her stomach twisting in knots. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“You dyed your hair,” you say, blinking at the short blonde hair she was now sporting.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, her worry growing by the second. She had dropped a significant sum at the salon on base to cut and dye her hair. Perhaps this had been a severe overreaction on her part. 

“Oh. No, um, it looks very nice,” you stutter. 

Natasha is not convinced in the slightest. Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying in frustration. “That’s okay,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Where are we going again?” she asks, even though she knows every detail of the outing she had planned with you.

“The gym first, then we can get lunch and go grab groceries,” you list off, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness. 

“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s go,” she replies sullenly.

***********************************************************************

Natasha isn’t sure what else she can do to hold your attention after the hair dying incident. She tries to be extra doting with you, but all of her efforts seem to go completely unnoticed. You only say “thank you” once when she gets you your favorite chocolate bar from the commissary. The next time the two of you are in bed together, Natasha feels like she has to guide you through all the motions and you fuck her with a concerningly low level of enthusiasm. Natasha is convinced you’ve found someone else and just the thought of losing you makes her sick. 

She’s nearly sent over the edge when she finally gets a text from you:

From Y/N: Can you come over tonight? I want to talk

Natasha feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet. Sweat breaks out on her forehead and her stomach starts to hurt like she had a bad meal. What if she just didn’t go to see you? Would you really still break up with her over text?

Her body seems to have a mind of her own as she responds:

To Y/N: Ok

***********************************************************************

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, welcoming Natasha into your apartment. She steps in guardedly, wondering if you’re hiding your new girlfriend under the couch. Or maybe she’s already in your bed. She shuffles down the hallway to subtly peer into your bedroom, which is empty.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha isn’t one to dance around the elephant in the room. Besides, she doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than it needs to be.

“Oh. Um…” You sound caught off guard. “Well, I was thinking that–”

“You want to break up with me.” Natasha can’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away, angry at herself for showing such weakness already.

“What? What makes you think that?” Your shock is so genuine, Natasha almost wants to believe you.

Natasha hides her face behind her hand. “I saw it on your laptop last week. The kind of porn you were watching–”

“Porn? I use incognito,” you say. “Unless that doesn’t actually hide things…” you add in a mumble.

“Your search history said you looked up…” Natasha takes a breath. “‘Big busty blondes,’” she repeats, hating the way the words sound off her tongue.

“What?” You sound confused now. “That’s…I don’t watch that kind of stuff. Wait, is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“No,” Natasha lies. “But I saw it on your laptop!” she insists, hastily changing the subject.

You pause for a moment, then start shaking your head with a chuckle. “I’m gonna rip him a new one,” you mutter. Then louder, you explain, “Sam borrowed my laptop last week because his was broken. I’m guessing he used it to…you know…” Your expression turns into one of disgust, and Natasha matches it. 

“Oh. So, you’re not into big busty blondes?” Natasha is embarrassingly desperate for clarification.

“No, I’m not.” You take a step towards her and hold out your hands. “But I do have a thing for hot redheads who could totally kick my butt.”

“I know,” Natasha says, taking your hands and leaning up to kiss you. Her lips lift into a smile when you return her kiss with more passion than you had all week, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you. You dig your fingers into her thighs, lightly rolling your hips, and when she feels your hard bulge against her stomach and all of her doubts are cast away immediately. Her face burns in shame when she realizes how quickly she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. You weren’t going anywhere. You were totally in love with her and wanted no one else.

“Wait, so what did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, trying to ignore the arousal building in her core as you hump her.

“Oh! Um…” Your face reddens, as if you’re so turned on yourself you forgot why you asked her to come. “Uh…I wanted to ask if…you would like to move in with me? Or if I could move into your apartment? Or we could find a new place together…”

Natasha feels like she’s gotten whiplash from the subject change. She had come here thinking you were breaking up with her, but instead you actually wanted to move in with her? Just when she had thought it was never going to happen.

“Why the change?” she asks.

You shrug your massive shoulders. “We spend so much time together as it is. And I was mostly nervous because you know I have those night terrors a lot, but…” You sigh. “I realized I get them a lot less when I wake up next to you.” Natasha wants to melt in your arms. “And it would be really nice if I got to wake up next to you every day. And eat every meal with you. And–”

Natasha cuts you off with a hard kiss. “Yes,” she pants, groping for the tie on your sweatpants and pulling them down. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

“Nat,” you whine when she grabs your cock. She feels it throb in her hand and her arousal spikes. As high as her own sex drive was, there was little else that turned Natasha on more than to see how excited you were for her. She pushes you towards the bedroom and you understand without needing words, obediently sitting down on your bed and pulling you on top of her. You grunt when her weight lands on your thighs and Natasha immediately props herself on her knees; sometimes she forgets about the injury on your right thigh that still causes you pain sometimes.       

“Sorry baby,” she whispers while leaning in to kiss your cheek. It had been a long and sometimes frustrating journey to get back to the same level of intimacy the two of you shared after the deployment ambush and your recovery. The medicines you were on had drastically affected your mood (and performance) and there were still some positions you could no longer do because of the strain it put on your body. But Natasha had been patient and gentle with you, even when all she wanted to do was fuck you senseless. Over time your strength and stamina had come back, and Natasha was thrilled you could still please her in bed. 

She leans back and takes her shirt off while you mirror her. You’re almost back to your weight as before the deployment, but the physical therapy has encouraged you to work out even harder, so you are more muscular and toned than before. Natasha eyes your body hungrily, her hand reaching out to trace the scar on your ribs. While she hates the memory attached to your scar, she can appreciate how much more badass it makes you look.

“Nat,” you say, and she breaks out of her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She pushes you to lie on your back, rolling her clothed lower body against yours. “Everything is very okay.” Her hands skate across your warm skin, squeezing your biceps before resting on your chest, balancing herself as she rocks back and forth. Even though you’re still wearing boxers, Natasha can feel the hardness of your dick pressing against her butt.

“All ready for me?” she hums, digging her nails lightly into your chest.

“Always,” you respond, rolling your hips to match her rhythm. 

“Hmm.” Natasha contemplates how she wants you today. You almost never call the shots in bed, but you have no problem with Natasha taking control most of the time. She likes how submissive you are to her and your willingness to please her even at your own expense. But she isn’t feeling selfish today and wants you to relax and enjoy too. 

Her body seems to have a mind of its own as she humps along your abs, eventually pushing her panties to the side so you can feel her heat on your stomach. 

“Nat,” you whine, gripping onto her waist to guide her movements. 

“Just let me ride you,” she says, lifting off of you for a moment to remove her panties completely, and the two of you moan when she settles back on you. You flex your abs until Natasha swears she could grate cheese on them. She angles her hips back and widens her legs so she can drag her pussy along the ridges of your abs, smearing her wetness everywhere. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” she moans.

“So do you,” you say, your hands tightening around her waist. 

Natasha moves her hips faster, sliding back until she can feel your cock practically poking a hole through your boxers. She’s just warming herself (and you) up and doesn’t want to rush to the main event. But as she hears your whines and feels the tension in your body, all she wants is for you to flip her over and fuck her until she can’t walk.  

“Can you do exactly what I ask you to?” Natasha pants, the building arousal in her stomach almost painful now.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Sergeant. Whatever you want.”

The use of Natasha’s title makes her pussy clench around nothing. Her body aches for you and she’s done playing around.

“Good. I want you to get on your knees and fuck me,” she demands, abruptly climbing off of you and presenting her backside to you. You scramble to obey, wasting no time lining up your cock with her soaking pussy and pushing in eagerly. Natasha inhales sharply when your length stretches her out, filling her perfectly and reaching places she could never reach with her hand or a toy. When you start moving your hips, she whimpers and moans, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets so you don’t slam her into the headboard.

She spasms around you with every stroke, clenching tightly and trying to draw you in as deep as you can go. Natasha loves to hear you moan, knowing she was the cause of them, and more of her slick leaks out around your cock. 

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, your thighs slapping against her butt with every thrust. “You always feel amazing.”

“Harder,” she begs. “I want you to cum when I do.”

“I’ll try,” you respond, your breathing ragged as you start to falter in your rhythm. 

“Fuck, you’re in me so deep,” Natasha moans, wishing that despite your already above-average size, you had more to give her. She lets go of the bedsheets and slips her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit for added stimulation. “Don’t you dare stop,” she warns, noticing the way your legs are shaking and your thrusts are losing their power.

“I won’t,” you whimper, and Natasha is not convinced you’ll be able to last much longer. Her hand glides back up to her stomach, where she can feel the bulge of your cock through her skin. That alone nearly sends her over the edge, but she has one more request from you.

“Bite me,” Natasha pants, motioning to her right trapezius muscle. Normally, she is very against you marking her during sex because she doesn’t want to worry about hiding them, but now she is panting at the thought of you finally staking your claim on her.

“Bite you?” you say, sounding extremely timid.

“Yes!” she growls, not wanting to repeat herself. “If you don’t bite me, I won’t let you cum.”

You moan and tighten your grip on her waist. Natasha feels your cock throbbing inside her, but she knows you won’t finish without her permission. The bed creaks as your weight shifts and she feels your chest press against her back as you lean over her. She hums in anticipation, feeling your breath across the back of her shoulder. Your teeth graze her skin lightly, your hesitancy obvious. 

“Y/N,” she moans, pushing back into you and squeezing your length. “If you don’t fucking bite me–”

Your teeth suddenly clamp down sharply and Natasha keens, gushing around you and not even noticing you finish inside her. White spots of pure pleasure burst behind her eyelids and she feels cum drip down her thighs. It feels like she’s riding out the high forever, but when she finally unwinds, she feels your weight pressing into her back and a dull stinging in her shoulder. She twists her head to see the clear imprint of your teeth in her skin, the flesh reddening already.

“Sorry if that was too hard,” you say softly, as if you’re embarrassed by following her instructions.

“Nonsense,” she says, reaching behind her to cup the back of your neck. She pulls your head down against hers and nuzzles against your cheek. “Next time, you can bite me harder.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Sorry to Sam lol

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[withleeknow]

october 23rd.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, slice of life; one ass grab, unedited bc i am a danger to society word count: 1k note: i whipped this up pretty spontaneously and i actually kinda loathe it lol but i still wanted to post smth bc it’s my anniversary of joining the fandom 🥺 also a little early bday post for mimo. the bunny in question is leebit but i couldn’t drop any names bc this is not idol specific lol. anywhomst happy jen(o)versary

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho comes into your shared apartment, shrugging off his coat and taking off his shoes with minimal noise. It’s not that late — just a quarter past midnight — and you’re not a light sleeper by any means, but still.

He had told you not to wait up for him, that his work dinner might end late and he knew you had a long day. Minho patters on socked feet further into your home, expecting you to be in bed already sleeping, surrounded by your loyal trio of cats, and yet, it’s not the bedroom where he finds you.

Yes, you’re sleeping, but you’re on the couch, in front of the TV with Netflix’s question “Are you still watching?” written over a paused scene of the K-drama you’re both currently obsessed with. There’s a stuffed bunny in your arms, held tightly against your chest like it’s your most prized possession. Looks like you’ve been napping for a while now.

The white bunny is dressed in a navy hoodie, his eyes full of mischief that’s only emphasized by a toothy smile that he sports. It’s the plushie that Minho got for you during your vacation trip to Osaka last year, when you happened to spot the little fur ball in the window of a toy store and said it looked like your boyfriend. It’s become a great companion for you ever since you brought it home, something for you to hold onto whenever you miss your love.

Minho is a little surprised. You don’t usually force yourself to stay up for you, especially when you’re tired.

He doesn’t disturb you right away though. Instead, he heads toward the bathroom to change and freshen up for bed. You would probably kill him if he touched you in his outside clothes anyway.

When he returns some fifteen minutes later, he switches off the TV, tugs the bunny by its ears to free it from your embrace and chucks the thing haphazardly to the carpeted floor. It’s your prized possession, not his. Besides, you don’t need your little replacement Minho anymore now that he’s home.

When he scoops you in his arms, you stir awake, adorably confused as he carries you to the bedroom.

“Where’s my bunny?” Half a question, half a yawn.

“Hello to you too,” he mutters, laying you under the covers with narrowed eyes though he still leans in to press a greeting peck to the corner of your mouth. “I guess I don’t even matter as much as your little toy. Not even a ‘How are you?’”

“Okay, love of my entire life.” You roll your eyes with affection, pulling him down to kiss him properly. You can still taste it, the white wine that he must’ve had all night. “How are you? How was the dinner, big baby?”

“Boring. Unbearable. Should’ve just stayed home with you,” Minho laments, crawling into the space next to you, settling into your arms as you hug him close. This is what you should be doing all the time. With him, not some lame rabbit. “Why did you wait up? I told you you didn’t have to.”

You card your fingers through his soft hair, playing with the strands that curl at the nape of his neck. “Our anniversary’s tomorrow. Or I guess it’s today already. Just wanted to see you before the morning.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to see you.”

Your boyfriend detaches from you for a second to hold himself up on one elbow. He just stares at you for a brief moment, makes you blush under the scrutiny of his gaze. His big eyes, usually keen and sharp, always soften to a dizzying degree when they look at you.

Then Minho is leaning close to slant his mouth over yours again. “You’re cheesy today,” he comments, his tender smile still pressed against your lips. "Happy anniversary."

You only hum in response. One of his hands slides down your body to rest on your ass, giving it a little affectionate squeeze, the moment still entirely innocent despite his sneaky fingers.

You kiss for a while, lazily moving together in tandem, gentle hands holding onto the other person like a lifeline. In a way, you suppose you are. You’re each other’s lifelines, each other’s lighthouses.

When you pull away, it’s to let out a yawn that you can’t hold in anymore. “Happy anniversary”, you finally say back, sleepily. “Can you go get my bunny now? Did you leave him on the floor again?”

Minho rolls his eyes, yet it’s playful and completely endeared. “Your bunny again. That thing is on the floor where it belongs. You replaced me. Didn’t you use to call me your bunny?”

“Don’t do that to him,” you scold softly. “He’s our son. Have you seen the resemblance? You look like you literally birthed him.”

“Oh my god, why would you compare me to that thing like that?” Before you know it, Minho’s rolling over, resting half of his body on top of yours like a weighted blanket to pin you down, to get you complacent before you nag him any further about a toy bunny that he only sometimes gets jealous of. “You’re delirious. Please go to sleep.”

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed, the warmth that you usually feel beside you gradually waning by the second. Minho’s gone, but greeting you in his place is a white bunny with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his big eyes — truly a perfect replica of the man. The same bunny that he always makes a show of hating so much.

The sun is out to play, hanging high up in the sky, slithering through the cracks between the curtains to caress your hair. It feels like it’s gonna be a beautiful day; you’ve got your bunny, the sun, and if you focus hard enough, you’ll hear the sounds of pots and pans out there in the kitchen, Minho’s soft voice humming a tune you’re too familiar with, and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting all around.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 23.10.2024]