#instead of going thru each and every part

[skate2victory]

THE COUNT.

[softwaluigi]

oh my fucking god I need squeaky cheese Right Now

[teslasucks37]

still thinking abt tommy saying “smash” for charlie in his smash or pass vid and im giggling and twirling my hair bc hes SO REALLL i would be super comfortable w experimenting w slime he would be so sweet 🥰

likeee okie hear me out,,, asking him to help practice w kissing and hes sooo sweet and guides u thru it ans then oops!! gets a little too heated and yall end up fucking lmaooo

- sloobiesanon

CW: NSFW under the cut, BestFriend!Charlie, Dom!Charlie, Corruption Kink, afab!Reader (Fem clothing but no pronouns), Ownership Kink, HornyVirgin!Reader, Slight Degredation

A/N: Omg I need that dick I NEED THAT DICK!!! This is 2.5k words… 😨

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader

Experimentation

Charlie was speechless, his palms sweating into the material of his jeans.

The two of you had been sitting on your couch watching a movie, completely innocent, until you’d brought up the fact that you were going on a date the next day.

Your first date ever.

“You wanna…”

“Please? I just- I don’t want to tank my first date because I’m inexperienced.” You pleaded, your body turned to face him completely.

Charlie was your best friend.

You’d known each other since sophomore year of college, being practically inseparable ever since, even becoming roommates after graduating around a year ago.

And for all those years that he knew you, never once did you mention your dating life.

He supposed this was why.

He felt stiff next to you, not uncomfortable, just processing. “And so… You want me to…”

You frowned, burrowing your face in your hands. “Please don’t say it again, I already feel weird.”

“No! It’s not…” Charlie stammered, struggling to find what words he really meant. “You don’t need to be embarrassed… I just…”

He didn’t want you to feel bad.

It was flattering, if anything, that you trusted him enough to even ask.

And it’s not like he didn’t want to kiss you…

He did.

He really did.

And maybe that was the problem…

But when you were sitting across from him, eyes big and pleading, how could he ever find it in himself to deny you?

“Just to practice?” He asked softly, glancing at you nervously, his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek.

You nodded frantically, scooting closer to him like a nervous puppy. “I would also appreciate… Tips.”

He chuckled, almost in disbelief at how open you were being about this. “If it won’t… Make anything weird-“

“It won’t, scouts honor!” Your hand shot up, your open hand facing toward him.

Charlie grinned, reaching for your hand and folding your thumb and pinky finger into your palm to form an actual scout’s salute.

His touch was warm in your hand, lingering for just a moment too long.

“Okay.”

“Really?” You released your salute to grip onto his hand, something you would do often, grabbing his hand to reassure him or ask for his help.

He’d originally seen it as an innocent gesture, just something you did with all your friends, but when you were holding his hand asking him to kiss you, asking him to take away your chance for a real first kiss, he wasn’t so sure it was completely innocent anymore.

“Yeah.” Charlie’s tone was low, not realizing how close you’d gotten to him until then, glancing at your lips. “I’ll help.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You really didn’t think that would work.

But here he was, your best friend, ready to kiss you.

And as he leaned in, lips parting slightly, you closed your eyes and felt fireworks explode from your mouth, back to your cheeks and brain, blood rushing to every inch of your body.

Your hand twitched and tightened your grasp on each other.

Charlie’s lips were so soft, tasting like strawberry jelly, the donuts you’d eaten together just mere minutes ago.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Until he pulled away.

You nearly chased his lips, but took a deep breath instead.

Charlie grinned, a small smile that made his dimples obvious. “Breathe through your nose.”

You brought a hand to his shoulder, gently dragging him back to your lips, which he accepted.

He smelled like home, like comfort and joy.

You supposed you’d never noticed it before.

How he smelled.

Other men would wear colognes, musk mixed with spice or something oddly vascular.

But Charlie smelled vaguely of citrus, just the beginning hints of it, enough to recognize the smell but not enough to really identify it.

Every time you kissed him you felt something new.

A new depth of him that you’d never gotten to experience before.

But you wanted more.

So you pulled away.

He could see you getting frustrated, a look of upset in your eyes.

“But… How do I…”

He just grinned at your impatience. “I’ll show you…”

Your body shivered at his words.

“Open your mouth a little…” He whispered against your lips, waiting for you to do so before he pressed back into you.

His instructions made your mind race, you wanted him to teach you more, to tell you how to do everything just the way he liked it.

When your tongues touched it felt electric, causing you to jump slightly, before falling into a rhythm that made too much sense to pull away.

It felt so right, his familiar touch, his newly-familiar taste.

A tingling fell to below your chest, seating deep in your core.

Your thighs clenched at the sensation, giving only the smallest gratification to your clit.

You were so wet, you could feel it underneath your skirt, on your soaked panties that pressed against your thighs.

His tongue in your mouth was the only thing you’d ever imagined when pleasuring yourself.

When he pulled away, you knew you’d be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life.

But you could have it right now if you wanted, it was inches away from you, Charlie was right there to provide.

So you slowly leaned in to kiss him again, Charlie’s eyes fluttering shut as your lips met again.

He groaned into your lips as you climbed into his lap, straddling his hips and continuing to kiss him.

Charlie’s hands hovered just inches away from your waist, twitching with want, until he caved and cupped your body like it was breakable.

His own brain was melting, everywhere you touched felt like it was on fire.

He had to fight tooth and nail to keep his hands from lowering onto your ass.

This was just supposed to be practice, right?

But he gasped when you’d brushed against something hard beneath you, causing you to pull away, wondering if you’d done something wrong. “Sorry, I just-“

He didn’t have the words to explain himself, why he’d gotten hard at his best friend kissing him.

But you didn’t give a damn.

“Will you teach me?” You whispered to him, rubbing your clothed core on the hard print of his dick in his jeans.

Charlie’s brain nearly short circuited at the request. “Teach you… What?”

You thought for a moment, before you grabbed the hem of your shirt, rolling it up and off your body.

You wanted for him to see all of you.

To gaze at you through those eyes you’d tried so hard not to stare into for any longer than necessary.

You’d just felt so wrong, imagining him touching you, kissing you, fucking you…

You weren’t really sure how you actually felt about him.

Maybe you had a little crush on him and all of this talk of “inexperience” was just your way of creating something between you two.

A desperate attempt, you would admit.

You’d imagined him taking advantage of you in the smallest ways during sleepovers, watching you change through the door to your bedroom you may have intentionally left open just a crack once or twice.

Or catching him staring at the pair of slutty panties you’d one time left on your floor of your room just so he would see them.

One time, you’d thought about cuddling up to him during one of your sleepovers and rubbing your ass against him to egg him on, but you didn’t.

You just wanted him to do something.

But he didn’t.

He was just so nice.

So caring.

Completely respectful of you and your personal space.

But you didn’t want him to be respectful anymore.

You wanted him to want you as much as you wanted him.

Charlie’s eyes dilated at the sight of your tits, cupped in a cute little bra.

“Teach me how to make someone feel good…” You pleaded, your face flushed and hot.

Charlie opened his mouth to object.

He had definitely taken this too far.

He’d wanted you so bad, he’d managed to push aside any feelings to help you.

He just couldn’t do this with you if it wasn’t him that you actually wanted…

But how could he stop when you were practically begging him to keep going?

So Charlie’s hands released your waist, slither down between your bodies and unbuckling his belt.

You watched as his fingers unzipped his fly, opening his jeans to reveal his boxers, simple and black, before he pulled his cock from the confines of his clothes.

You felt your pussy flutter around nothing, the ache in your core getting stronger.

“Take your… Your hand.” Charlie stuttered, obviously embarrassed that he was exposed like this, but still trying to keep his cool.

He gripped your wrist, bringing your fingers slowly to his tip, flushed and leaking.

You shuddered at the feeling of a cock in your hand for the first time.

And not just any cock, Charlie’s.

He was smooth, but hard, the stiff muscle beneath the skin twitching at your touch.

He was breathing harder than you’d ever heard him before, practically panting as you experimentally circled over his slit with pre-cum beading over it.

“Just uh… Hah… Go slow.” Charlie mumbled, his gaze trained on your hand as you stroked him slowly.

The rasp in his voice made a warmth form in your brain, sliding like honey down your spine.

Your wrist turned around him slowly, pumping him up and down all the way down to his base.

“Squeeze tighter… I can take it.” He grinned, licking his lips and glancing between your legs.

In your passion, your skirt had managed to ride up on your thighs, revealing the slightest view of your panties to him.

They were soaked, darker in the middle where your pussy had drooled all over itself.

You followed his instructions, tightening your grip on him and speeding up just slightly.

“Fuck~” Charlie’s head fell back, letting out a groan at your movements. “Yeah, just like that.”

You felt your chest heave, watching him struggle to keep sounds down.

It wasn’t fair, you wanted to feel good too.

So you took your hands off him.

His head lifted to look up at you, eyes foggy and out of it. “Why’d you stop?” He slurred out, a hand moving to grip your thigh.

You whimpered with guilty eyes, so sensitive to his touch, which made his eyes widen.

“Oh…”

“I still haven’t…” You struggled to get the words out.

“And… You want me to…”

You nodded bashfully.

You wanted it to be him, needed it to be him.

You felt so safe with him.

You couldn’t imagine anyone else you would be willing to go this far with.

Both of you realized then that this wasn’t for practice anymore, but for your pure lust.

Charlie knew you hadn’t had sex yet.

It was one of the many things he teased you for.

But to hear it straight from your mouth when you were begging for his cock…

He wanted to fuck your virgin pussy and ruin you for anyone else.

You’d been such a whore in front of him so many times.

Every dirty thought he’d ever had toward you could finally come out to play.

Charlie’s fingers dug into the meat of your thigh. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded desperately, shy, yet so fucking horny.

He couldn’t resist, shoving his hands between your legs and moving the middle of your panties to the side to see the pretty little cunt that was so hungry for his cock.

Shit, he’d imagined what your pussy would look like for years, but nothing could compare to the real thing, so cute and wet for him.

He thought about having you bounce on him, but it just wouldn’t be enough.

Charlie needed to be so deep inside you that you would feel him for days afterward.

He needed to corrupt you, make you feel so good you’d never turn to someone else ever.

Turn you into such a cock hungry slut, you’d want him all the fucking time.

So he gripped your hips, flipping you around so you were on your knees for him on the couch.

He flipped your skirt up, moving your panties out of the way completely, and kissed your entrance with his tip.

“You want me to take your virginity?” He asked teasingly, moving half of the head of his cock in and out of you.

You breathed heavily, moaning and wiggling your ass at him. “Please, Char~ Fuuuck!”

Your pleads were cut off as he slowly sunk inside you.

It hurt a little, the pain only turning to pleasure when he stopped at the hilt, completely balls deep in you.

It was such an intoxicating feeling, having your best friend inside you.

“God, you’re so fucking tight.” Charlie moaned, trying an experimental movement of dragging out and slipping back in.

And it was so fucking easy cause of how wet you were.

So he thrusted harder, faster, making you whine even louder.

“Feels good?” He whispered to you, leaning down to grip your arms, pulling you back onto him vigorously.

You gripped his arms in tandem, pulling yourself back onto him. “Ooh~ yesss~”

“Practicing, my ass.” Charlie growled out, forcefully thrusting into you enough to punch the air out of your lungs. “You just wanted me to touch you like a little slut.”

You moaned in response, smiling wildly.

You knew it was true, every time he would tease you or make fun of you for being a virgin you’d have to restrain yourself from jumping his bones then and there.

Cause you knew he would be so nice and let you fuck him.

But if you knew sex would feel this good, you would have propositioned him so long ago.

“You’re all mine.” Charlie mumbled deliriously. “Pussy’s all mine…”

You felt so helpless, his iron grip on your arms releasing, sure to leave the most delicious bruises.

His fingers trailed around your body to grasp your tits, still sitting pretty in your bra, before he tugged it down and freed them, wrapping his big hands around them.

“Char~ Charlie~” You moaned, feeling him switch angles and pound up into a spot that made you see stars. “So deeeeeep! Aahh~”

“Yeah? Did I find your spot, baby?” He asked, pinching and tugging on your nipples. “Are you gonna cum?”

You nodded frantically, making him growl out a moan, going even harder and fucking into you with a fervor that only Charlie could give you.

“Ohhh fuuuuckk~” You cried out, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling him into you as you came, squirting everywhere on shaking legs, your pussy fluttering around him.

He let out a groan, his legs shaking as well as he pumped into you, cumming in tandem.

Your cum dripped down your legs, his balls, even the bottom of his shirt, the green fabric wet and smelling of sex.

Fuck, the whole room probably smelled like sex.

You finally could say that, too, knowing what that meant.

He pulled out, making you shudder, and laid down, bringing you into his chest.

“You should maybe uh… Cancel that date tomorrow…” Charlie chuckled under his breath, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You grinned in response, nuzzling into his neck. “Definitely.”

[goldfades]

never gets old ─── luka dončić⁷⁷

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.3k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | how valentine's always goes for you and the mister, because it never gets old and you don't need big gifts to show your love.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫��𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluffy as hell, literally that's it

The apartment smells like pancakes.

It’s the first thing you register when you blink awake, eyes still hazy with sleep, the soft weight of Luka’s arm slung lazily around your waist. The second thing you register is the sound—low music playing from the speakers, something easy and old-school, mixed in with the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. And then there’s the warmth, the way Luka’s body practically molds to yours, his breath steady and slow against your shoulder.

Valentine’s Day.

You smile before you even fully open your eyes because you already know exactly how today will go. Because it always goes the same way.

No grand surprises, no over-the-top displays, just the two of you in this home you built together, moving through the day like second nature. Luka, who wakes up before you on mornings like this just to make breakfast (even though he’s an objectively terrible cook, but it’s the effort that counts). You, who will pretend not to notice the flour dusted on his sweatpants when he inevitably burns the first batch and has to start over. The way he’ll kiss your forehead when you shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and act like he’s been cooking for years—like there isn’t a half-disguised takeout bag sitting in the trash from his backup plan.

The best part? It never gets old.

The first time Luka tried to do Valentine’s Day the way he thought he was supposed to—the big, flashy, dramatic way—it had been a disaster.

Not because he didn’t try. If anything, he tried too hard.

It was back in the early days of your relationship, when the world had just started paying attention to him, and by extension, to you. Luka was still getting used to the constant eyes, the cameras flashing whenever you so much as held hands in public. Back then, he was convinced that he needed to prove something—not just as a boyfriend, but as Luka Dončić, rising NBA superstar, man of grand gestures. So he did what anyone with too much money and too much influence at their disposal would do: he went all out.

A private rooftop dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in Dallas, complete with a string quartet playing love songs in the background. A designer dress he had custom-ordered weeks in advance, along with the matching jewelry set that made you blink at the price tag in disbelief. Rose petals scattered everywhere—on the table, on the floor, even in the damn elevator up to the rooftop. And, of course, the final touch: a professional photographer hired to capture every single moment of the night, so perfectly curated that it barely felt real.

It should have been a dream. It should have been perfect.

It wasn’t.

Luka was nervous the entire night, checking in with the waitstaff every few minutes, his knee bouncing under the table. You spent half the dinner making small talk with the photographer, who was taking pictures of you at every possible angle, until eventually, you both looked at each other and realized—this wasn’t you. This wasn’t your relationship.

By the time dessert came, you could tell Luka was exhausted. He was trying so hard to impress you, but the thing was… he never needed to.

So you leaned across the table, rested your hand over his, and with the same quiet certainty that had always been there between you, you told him, This isn’t us.

And that was it. That was the moment things shifted.

Instead of finishing the dessert, you both left the restaurant, ditching the whole thing in favor of picking up burgers and fries from the nearest drive-thru. Luka had laughed—one of those real, unguarded laughs, the kind that made his whole face light up—and you knew then that this was what Valentine’s Day should be. Just the two of you, doing something easy, something simple, something that felt like home.

So that’s what you did every year after that.

No more extravagant plans. No more performances for the cameras. Just warmth and routine, the kind of love that settled into your bones and stayed there. A day that belonged to you, and only you.

Which is why, now, as you roll over in bed and hear Luka humming softly in the kitchen, the smell of slightly burnt pancakes filling the apartment, you can’t help but smile.

Because this?

This is perfect.

--

The pancakes are slightly overcooked.

Not burnt, exactly, but just enough that the edges are crispier than they should be, a little too golden-brown. Luka doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he’s just pretending not to—because he’s already drenching his stack in syrup, more than any normal person should ever use. You watch as he drowns the plate, then tilts his head at you like he’s waiting for judgment.

“You gonna say something?” he asks, chewing as he gestures at you with his fork.

You pick up your own, cutting into the pancake and taking a bite, chewing slowly just to mess with him. It’s not bad. A little dry, but nothing a good amount of butter and syrup can’t fix.

“I mean,” you hum, swallowing, “it’s not exactly a five-star meal, but I will say it’s an improvement from last year.”

Luka scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah, last year’s were better.”

“Luka, you set the fire alarm off last year.”

“I was testing it.”

You roll your eyes, but your laugh slips out before you can stop it. This is how it always is—easy, warm, the kind of comfort that settles into your bones. The TV plays softly in the background, some random show neither of you are paying attention to, and the morning light spills through the windows, painting the apartment in soft gold.

And then you see it.

A small, perfectly wrapped box sitting on the table next to Luka’s plate.

You narrow your eyes. “Luka.”

He doesn’t look up, just keeps eating like he doesn’t hear you.

“Luka,” you say again, this time more pointed. “What is that?”

Finally, he leans back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin, and gives you that look. The one that’s all boyish charm, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “A gift.”

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “We said no big gifts.”

“I didn’t say it was big,” he says, shoving another bite into his mouth.

“You do this every year—”

“And you love it every year.”

You can’t even argue with that, so you just shake your head as you reach for the box, fingers tracing the smooth edges before carefully peeling back the paper. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a delicate gold bracelet—thin and dainty, the kind of piece that looks effortless but still means something. It’s simple, but there’s something intricate about the way the links are woven together, like they’re unbreakable. Like they’re made to last.

You blink, touched in a way you don’t quite have words for. “Luka.”

“You were talking about it the other week,” he says, watching your reaction carefully. “Figured I’d beat you to it.”

You remember, vaguely, mentioning something similar offhandedly—something about how you liked the way it looked, how it wasn’t too flashy but still had weight to it. You hadn’t even realized he’d been listening that closely.

You swallow past the warmth climbing up your throat. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” Luka grins, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes crinkling at the corners, “but I like spoiling you.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile as you slip the bracelet onto your wrist. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

He’s not wrong.

So instead of arguing, you reach across the table and take his hand, fingers slotting easily between his. “Good thing I don’t mind.”

[giveafike]

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now ��

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn��t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

[boba-beom]

bff!beomgyu NSFW

okay but beomgyu as your best friend since birth, who’s literally experienced everything you have because you went thru it together.

the whole kindergarten, elementary, high school and a shit prom where both your dates bailed on you so you thought you guys were so dumb for not just going with each other in the first place. after all, that’s what best friends do.

and then when it came to college, you moved away and he went to your city’s college. you only came back for the holidays and every time you came home, beomgyu would have inches added to his height, his features fitting his face, his jaw defining, shoulders broader every time you hugged him.

and then you come back after not visiting for so long, excited to see everyone. especially beomgyu. you eye the expanse of his large family house, and as soon as you knock on their door, an unfamiliar face opens it, followed by what you assume is beomgyu’s voice calling from inside. “babe, who’s at the door?”

and they stutter, their face contorting with confusion because they didn’t know your name. and when you tell them, they relay it to beomgyu, who’s now running to meet you, opening the door wider and his supposedly significant other was standing aside before walking back inside as he pulls you in for a deep hug, his face tucked into the side of your neck and his arms not wanting to let go of you.

a part of you didn’t want to hug him back because he never told his partner about you? not even a small slip or mention? your arms froze, not wrapping around him until he speaks.

“I’m so happy you’re home. I’ve missed you.” is what he mumbles against your skin, and because of that, his lips also move against your skin. you’re fighting back a shaky sigh, feeling the hairs on your arms stand. you missed him too.

you arrived just in time for dinner with his family, your family and another family, not so familiar with them but you assume it’s the family of beomgyu’s partner.

you’re seated beside beomgyu; he had already pulled out your chair for you before you could even choose. but you notice he didn’t do that to his partner sitting opposite him. you were all towards the end of the table so it wouldn’t be too much for him to go around, but you shrug off the thought.

after eating plenty of good food you decide to catch up with beomgyu’s brother and the rest of the guests. but you were mostly listening to their conversations instead. maybe also because beomgyu’s hand was placed high up on your thigh, fingers drawing shapes, but you realise they may be letters since you used to do that to each other’s backs when you were younger.

you blankly stare at no one in particular, your brain and your senses working hard to spell out each letter and you feel an ‘F’ followed by a ‘U’ and his ‘CK’ was joint, finishing with a question mark at the end. you were far from listening to anyone when all you could hear was your pulse drumming in your ears.

not wanting to attract attention to yourself, but you slowly turn your head towards beomgyu, noticing everyones talking to each other so you were able to freely to beomgyu thanks to their grand, rectangular dining table.

“beomgyu, we can’t do that.” you sort of whisper to him, your face blank. you wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him from caressing your thigh.

“why not?” he whines, and you’ve heard him whine so many times in your 22 years of living, but this one made you throb somewhere only recent thoughts of beomgyu have made you throb.

“your partner is literally sitting in front of you beomgyu-”

“wait, gabe? gabe isn’t my partner, we just hang out a lot since they’re kinda new here and you didn’t come home last holiday.”

you bite the inside of your cheeks, cursing yourself for mishearing when he called their name earlier. yet beomgyu’s hand is deliciously trailing back up your thigh and you don’t stop him, he stops himself instead.

“excuse us, I’m just going to help bring yn’s things to her room.” and you hear beomgyu’s mom joking about how you know your way around and not like you’d walk into his room.

but that’s exactly what you did. what the both of you did. he placed your bags down on the side of his window, pushing his hair back before tackling you onto the bed, wrestling each other just like you used to a long time ago. you’re both panting and he lies on the bed, defeated, with you technically straddling over his growing erection.

the weight of your body over his strained dick has his head rewiring, and flipping you over so you were under him—your legs still spread and he does an experimental grind. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, tugging it down until you capture it in your mouth, the wet muscle of your tongue flat against the pad of his thumb.

“fuck yn, didn’t know you were dirty like that.” he sighs from the friction, but what he’s seeing right in front of him was what turned him on even more.

you moan around his thumb, sucking it like it was his dick but beomgyu couldn’t take it anymore. “oh nah, I want my cock in your mouth.” is what he says as he pulls his thumb out your mouth, smearing your excess saliva over your clothed nipple.

he lies down beside you, propping himself up on his elbow and waiting for you to lay on your stomach between his thighs, helping yourself and pull his pants and boxers down. grey ck’s, part of the set you gifted him the past christmas.

it was your second time touching his bulge, the first being an accident from when you had to sleep in the same tent while camping, and you rolled over to reach for your phone which you stupidly didn’t put aside and instead felt beomgyu’s morning wood while he was asleep, sleeping on his side and facing you.

“damn beomgyu, when d’you get so big?” your hushed voice had his eyes flutter shut while he concentrated on the feeling of your hand wrapped around the girth of his dick, your thumb sweeping painfully slow over the head and spreading the clear bead around.

“shit yn, you’re killing me right now.” he says through gritted teeth before taking over and holding his shaft, slapping his tip against your bottom lip like it was your own lipstick. “suck me good, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll sleep good tonight.”

“god your mouth is so filthy gyu, the fuck.” both your eyes seem hazy when you look at each other, not breaking contact even when you begin sucking on his tip. using your soft lips to stimulate him and his lower abdomen is already twitching.

a series of ‘mmh’s and curses leave beomgyu’s lips, enticing you to take him in deeper until his head hits the back of your throat. you thank your college away from home experience that taught you this. having a couple of fuck buddies before, you’ve never thirsted over a dick than beomgyu’s.

“baby come here, ride me.” his hand cups your cheek, making you lean up as he leans forward to capture your sweet lips with a hint of saltiness. he leans over to reach into his bedside drawer, securing a condom packet between his index and middle finger until you lick along his neck.

“wan’ you to fuck me raw, baby.” is all you say between kisses and he drops the condom, not even caring to close the drawer. and he’s back to attack behind your ear and descending down your neck with slow and wet kisses, sucking and licking on the marked areas, eliciting loud moans when he touches your sweet spot. “make me yours.”

you couldn’t resist the empty feeling inside you, throbbing around nothing, so you align his tip at your entrance. your spit and his precum has him all slicked up and ready to be devoured by your cunny.

sinking down on him did wonders to you, your nails were digging through the thin material of his shirt over his shoulder and his were under your ass, gradually letting you engulf him until your hips were flush.

you didn’t wait a minute to adjust, thinking that if you fuck yourself on his dick then it’ll just feel better that way. his dick was reaching so deep inside you; the build up was coming quicker than you’d hoped. moaning his name had his dick jumping inside of you, kissing your cervix each time you sunk down on him. but as soon as he thrusts his his up, it’s game over for you.

“beomgyu, fuck up into me.” you whine and he assists in holding you up, desperately snapping his hips up into you and watching the way his dick disappears into your pretty pussy.

“ynnn, ugh. quit clenching like that or you’re gonna make me cum.” he throws his head back, chasing his high and fucking into you faster and deeper.

the pitch of your cries grows higher, until beomgyu's ramming his cock leaving you to silently sob, mouth agape and legs beginning to shake, your cunny clenching harder than before and beomgyu follows soon after. his cum spurting out in millisecond intervals inside you until you sit back onto the bed, beomgyu's hands still holding your thighs apart so he can see his load ooze out and drip onto his fresh sheets. he wipes the leaked out cum with his thumb and up to your hole, almost like he was playing around with it.

"beomgyu, you're such a perv– oh–" and he's shoving two fingers inside you, his attempt at keeping his load in his new cum dump <3

"I wanna fuck you in every room in this house. god, I love you yn."

"if you do, we better wrap up next time because I need to finish this degree before having a mini you running around."

[lexirosewrites]

Part 2 of ?

(I guess maybe this could b a sort of beauty & the beast???)

Steve passed out from either fear or relief of being in the arms of something similar to his Eddie, he isnt sure.

When he awakes he's in the upside down, but it's different. bc Steve can hear water. He can hear the gentle sounds of water running over rocks & dirt. A stream. He can look out a window to a sky tht is not a constant storm but now like night w a moon tht burns red. There r no black slimy vines tht he can see from where he is ensconced in a haphazard nest. The air remains stale tho he cannot see the dark motes tht floated throughout every encounter w the place.

Steve is in a cabin. It isn't Hopper's, no, but Steve recognizes it anyway. It's the cabin Eddie had shown him. Not in real life but thru pictures he had from an early childhood w seldom happy moments. The Tennessee cabin he said his maternal grandmother had raised him in for nearly 2 yrs while his parents had been somewhere getting high. He'd told Steve about the stream, shown him pictures of the kitchen his grandfather had built, and sung him the lullaby he barely remembered the words to.

This is where Steve wakes up after a terrifying flight thru the night & into another dimension. He wants to panic, he wants to feel the urge to escape, to try to get in contact w the rest of the party... but he doesn't, not rlly. Bc the creature had smelled like Eddie, HIS Eddie. He'd smelled like cedar & roasted cardamom seed whilst everything from the upside down just smelled wrong. Now he's in a nest & he can smell his Alpha again.

When Steve explores the rest of the cabin he sees no sign of the creature he's beginning to understand could very well actually BE Eddie.

MEANWHILE IN THE RIGHT SIDE UP...

The party r barely holding onto reason enough to try to make a plan, to try to understand what has taken Steve; their pack's omega. Anxiety is the scent tht stings the air in Steve's dining room.

Nancy & Lucas had to restrain Robin when she bared her fangs & her scent turned feral bc she was going to attack Hopper. When she calmed down she offered no apologies except to Lucas for tearing off the sleeve of his jacket in the struggle. She sat silent as everyone tried to plan, as El & Will tried to feel what was happening, tried to find Steve.

Eventually she went & stood outside in Steve's backyard, staring at the glowing lights of the pool. Staring at the dark stains tht thing had left behind w every visit, each time getting closer to the house. What confused everyone (including her) was tht no lights had flickered whenever the thing tht looked like Eddie had appeared, tht he'd always appear w a dead monster, and tht somehow he'd sprouted wings.

Robin might not b Steve's alpha, she might not have a mating bond w him, but he is still her omega in the ways tht matter. Her rage at Hopper had rlly been at herself, for failing to protect her platonic w a capital P soulmate. If she closed her eyes & focused she felt as if she could smell his sugary apples & cinnamon scent, but she was also wearing his sunshine yellow sweatshirt. It'd been a courting gift from Eddie & the other alpha had easily accepted tht any soft clothes he gifted the omega would also likely b commandeered by the female alpha.

Then an inkling of an idea entered her mind. It wasn't a fully formed anything but Robin didn't stick around to tell anyone or try to brainstorm it into completion. She didn't want El or Will to cotton on to what she was going to do bc it was reckless. Instead she took a deep breath of Steve's scent from the collar of the sweatshirt she was wearing & took off into the night.

(This is going to get a part 3, mayhaps a 4th, but I think it'd b fun to send tht in next slick sunday & leave everyone in suspense🤭)

i look forward to part 3!

[saberlibrary]

Breaking up ft. Satoru Gojo

Day 13 of 31 Days of Ficmas!

summary — you break up with your partner a few weeks prior christmas.

word count — 1.2k

content — hurt/comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated but he’s trying ok, lowercase intended

notes — today was supposed to be obito’s fic but i wrote this one first because im kinda… going thru the same thing lol. enjoy <3

everything feels out of place as you lay in bed trying to place together pieces of an unfinished puzzle.

two weeks have passed since the last time you and gojo spoke to each other. two weeks since you broke up with him, leaving a part of your heart behind.

you know you have to move on, but it’s hard when you have years of friendship and a one-year-long relationship weighing on your back. you look back to all the efforts you put into it and, foremost, you can’t completely let him go.

you always knew about gojo’s personality, in fact, you fell in love with it. but it became unsustainable when you were the one doing everything while he sat back and watched.

you used to say to him, “you are a good person. you are the best person I’ve fallen for, like a window of light in the dark.” and never once you regretted those words. you made sure to repeat them to him during the breakup.

you truly believe satoru’s a good person, and he never intended to hurt you. what defined the fate of your relationship was his inconstancy, his fear of emotions.

gojo could shower you with kisses and “i love you”s for days, but they were always half-hearted and, whenever the conversation between the two of you took a deeper turn, he would instantly shut down.

become cold, even.

he also didn’t care much about life in general, talking about several topics and simply forgetting to ask simple questions like “how was your day?”

you knew he cared, but it didn’t feel like he did.

it killed you every time he’d disappear for an entire day, especially on days you weren’t okay, not even bothering to reply to your texts, and then replying with a mere “i was busy” – you knew it already, but a text would be nice.

and to match his emotionless self, you were the embodiment of intensity.

you tried to crack up his shell, always paying attention to what he said and remembering it. you dove head first into every interest he had, and supported him in every choice he made.

you cared, you asked and, mostly, you talked.

multiple times, you tried to express how you felt, how you wish he could open up more and maybe just regard you a little more – a few texts not to worry you wouldn’t hurt. gojo said he was like that, but that he would try to be better.

what mined your relationship was that lie.

because he never even tried.

and after another month of dealing with all of that, with not feeling wanted enough, cared enough, you decided to end everything.

you can’t lie a little part of you hoped he would fight for you, ask for you to stay. but as you watched distress filling his eyes, all he could muster was, “i’m really sorry i couldn’t be better.”

and you lost everything you thought you had.

you blink away your tears, trying to escape from your painful thoughts, and get up from the bed – it’s past seven now and you need to start getting ready for a christmas party at one of your friends’ house.

you need to move on.

after taking a quick shower, you put on the red dress you’ve decided to wear – a dress that gojo bought for you months before – before starting to do your makeup.

this is when your doorbell rings.

you frown, “who is it?” you yell as you make your way toward the door, but there’s no time for an answer before you open it.

you almost close it again when you see your ex-boyfriend standing there, but you don’t. you know you need to be mature about this situation, even if seeing him makes all the walls you’ve been building crumble down.

it hurts.

“gojo.”

you don’t look him in the eye, focusing on his christmas sweater instead. funnily, the one you gave him a year ago.

“can i come in? it’s freezing outside.”

if you looked into his eyes, though, you would see the big blue bag under them. you would see how faded his blue irises are, and how fucking anxious satoru is.

you don’t ask further questions, letting him into the house he knows all too well before you close the door. he follows you like a lost puppy, and keeps standing when you sit on the couch.

“you look gorgeous,” he compliments meekly.

“thank you. what do you want?” it takes all of you to not start crying right then and there, but you know you have to be firm.

“i want you back.”

satoru doesn’t beat around the bush, and the silence that follows is so loud it can be heard. you feel your heart beating in an insane rhythm, and your head spins.

“gojo, you can’t–”

“you were right. you are right. about everything,” he interrupts you. “i was a boy, and for that i’m sorry. i acted like you had to keep up with my shit, like you would always be there, and i’m sorry for that too,” gojo speaks so fast you can barely keep up with him, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t say those words. “i thought i couldn’t change, i thought i didn’t have to. because it is easier to live the way i live, but… it is much harder to live without you.”

“gojo–”

again, he doesn’t let you speak, “don’t call me that. please, don’t call me that,” gojo drops on his knees in front of you and grabs your hand. “call me satoru, toru, baby, love for all i care. just not gojo. i’ve been miserable without you, i never thought a person could get so miserable,” his voice cracks, pulling your hand towards his face in a desperate attempt to be comforted. “i promise you i will do better, i will pay attention, text you all the time, tell you all about my past and what made me who i am, scream through my pain for what’s worth. just take me back, please.”

you are so deeply in shock that it takes you a while to register the tears falling down his face, his eyes closed as he expects the worst.

all it takes is for your thumb to caress his cheek softly, and satoru sobs. you grab his face with both of your hands, cleaning his teardrops as your own fall, and you gently kiss his forehead.

it kills you to see him like that, but at the same time it gives you a reason to live to know that he’s willing to try. for you.

you kiss his nose, his cheeks, and then his lips.

satoru whimpers, pulling you into an embrace so strong you’re afraid he’ll never let go.

“toru,” you say when you part your lips and bury your face in his neck, feeling his scent. “everything’s okay now. i’m here, i’ll take care of you.”

“missed you so much, i’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“i missed you, too,” you confess, finally looking into his eyes and frowning when you notice he hasn't slept. “what’s past is past, we’ll be okay. but i guess we should just sleep a bit, hm? it was one hell of a ride.”

“sleep together, right?”

he sounds so clingy, you chuckle lightly.

“yes, toru. together.”

[elrielffs]

Isn’t it a funny coincidence that Elriel shippers mostly like the Inner Circle, Mor, Nesta, Feyre, Elain, Cassian, Rhys?

But Gwynriel shippers are always (maybe some exceptions) anti-Inner Circle, anti-Mor/Rhys/Feysand/Cassian, anti-Nessian, anti-any main character, anti-ACOTAR (some cases or literally hating almost every main character). But they are ONLY pro-Nesta and pro-Azriel, additionally to pro-Valkyries who are not like the majority morally grey characters

The perfect characters, like Azriel (because we only got one pov and they turned him into headcanon to fit the fanon Gwyn version) or like Gwyn (who can’t do anything wrong) or Emerie-who? That Illyrian woman who was set up since ACOFAS but she can’t be with Azriel so who cares

And then they expect the next book to be: Nesta/Azriel POVs, or Azriel/Gwyn

Yup, it's funny isn't it?

There are plenty of Nesta and ACSOF fans that like the IC and the books. This isn't about them.

But there are some people that read ACOTAR because they heard it was big, it's the next Harry Potter, Twilight, etc, it blew up on Booktok and what not and from either slight curiosity or fear of missing out, or maybe they liked TOG and thought that they would like everything SJM, read the first 3 books of ACOTAR and didn't like it.

Which is fine. Everyone has different taste...but instead of moving on they decided to talk about how bad it is and not in a, oh this isn't for me way, but trying to moralize why it's bad, why they don't like it or the characters when honestly, it's not that deep.

Then comes ACOSF and thru Nesta they have confirmation bias forgetting that Nesta is...not healed for the majority of that book. Most Nesta Stans (not fans STANS) like Nesta when she's unhealed. They don't take into account the last bit of ACOSF. Nesta hating the IC, Rhysand, the NC to them was great because they hate the books forgetting that at the end, Nesta has made peace with herself and NC, IC, Rhysand because it was never about hating them, it was about Nesta. No matter where Nesta was, as long as she remained as she was, she was going to be the same hateful person. I also think a lot of is has people overly identifying with Nesta and retroactively trying to find reasons to dislike the NC like she does at first in order to be, "I'M JUST LIKE NESTA!!"

Not saying that you have to like the NC, Rhysand, and the IC but I mean, if you want to enjoy the books? Probably?? Because people who liked the unhealed Nesta pov want more of that, that's why there's all these theories of Nesta getting more books, Nessian breaking up, etc because they think they'll get more ammo for how the books are bad or the characters or whatever. And that's just not gonna happen.

They forget that Nesta is healed now, she's no longer the nasty mean girl that they can live vicariously through, she's happily mated and in love with Nessian and she is part of the NC and the IC.

And every one knows that for Elain and Elriel that puts a kabash on what they want from the series. That removes the IC hate, NC hate, Rhysand hate...but also they wouldn't get that in another Nesta book anyways.

They like Azriel for now but even with just the glimpse of his POV when he doesn't act like they want, he becomes the most disgusting MC. As soon as the book is out and he's with Elain, they'll hate him too.

There's also alot to be said about interpretation vs author intent and each book falls on a different scale on how far you can pull one or the other and I think for SJM, at the end of the day, author intent is how people should view the book because SJM is an OBVIOUS writer and her work leaves little room for interpretation imo. SJM does not intend for Rhysand to be evil, you can interpret it that way sure, but you are ruining the books and experience of reading them that way.

And that's the crux. If you see the books that way, you see them that way. And that means the books aren't for you but instead of moving on people are hanging on making the fandom horrible (seriously you can't even go to the reddit without supposedly fans hating almost every aspect of this series except for like 3 characters) and making wild theories that are never going to happen because it's based on their interpretation instead of SJM's intent.

And no the books aren’t above criticism but most of what I see isn’t criticism in good faith, it’s just hating to hate.

Anyone can read these books any way they want, it's their time and their money if they buy them but I don't understand spending so much energy on something you just obviously...don't like and hoping it turns into something it never was and never will be. The books are about the Night Court and Feysand and their family and friends and always will be the central focal point.

[gold-rhine]

so. the new volcano world quest, the culmination of our pet suarian world quests in natlan. and why its fucking bad. spoilers, of course.

first of all, nothing fucking happens in this quest line. it starts with intriguing premise, but there is no actual story by the end of it. like first world quest in a chain is just to go to a temple bc not sus at all guy tells you to, do the puzzles, get some lore descriptions from the murals, thats it. then in the next world quest, you go to ruins, do some puzzles with random girl you just met, get long walls of text of lore descriptions for the victim of dragon eugenicist experiments, then you have to fight him to put him to peace or whatever, and he dies. thats it.

wait no, random girl is actually a ghost? and she disappears? it doesnt matter bc in the end turns out shes actually dragon eugenicist in disguise, but even before that reveal, i have no idea why was i supposed to care about her. she's just there to plot device you thru puzzles, you don't know who she is or whats her deal.

i know that there's lore about her in cinder city description and some weapons and whatever, which leads me to my first point. hidden lore given in random parts is not a story. its one of the possible ways to introduce worldbuilding to the player, and it should SERVICE the story. i think too many games trying to copy dark souls with this shit, and even dark souls rarely gets it good. in this natlan quest, there is no story to service with lore. its just random bits of info. compare and contrast to remuria, which also has a lot of associated lore in golden troupe and item descriptions, but when you get there, all characters and story stand on their own. you don't need to read these descriptions to know whats going on and care. reading additional lore gives more depth, but it does not try to pretend to be the main narrative.

next, the eugenics victim, och-kan, who we have to kill in the end. like. sad and bad for him, still not a story. nothing we do in that quest have anything to do with him, we just get lore descriptions outside of our current narrative (solving puzzles bc we think it will help our baby pokemon) and then we are told to kill him. again, compare and contrast with elynas' world quest. he also has a tragic backstory that we learn during the quest as lore drops, but we also have a primary story about melusine connecting with him as her father, about elynas choosing to protect melusines even if it costs his own chance at new life, we get to see that conflict of self-sacrifice and loneliness and interact with him in the context of that larger narrative. if instead we just learned his tragic backstory from walls of text, did some puzzles, and killed him, it would literally mean nothing. lore has to exist in the context of current narrative to have meaning.

now, to the last part. can you guess the plot? you do the puzzles with nothing else going on. and then you get to the ending "choice". yes, there are walls of text lore drops too, but like these transcripts of zoom meetings of dragon bureaucrats telling each other to get good do not actually contribute much, and i actually want to make another post on worldbuilding and exploration and have this one focused on a story.

so the ending is "plot twist" that the dragon eugenicist was actually like every single npc we met in this quest chain. which like. who cares, these npcs were plot devices players wasn't attached to anyway. i really doubt anyone's mind will be blown be the reveal. but thats small beans, the main part is that eugenicist evil plan.

which is too use the prev pyro sovereign's created mcguffin to turn everything in natlan into phlogiston. like. BEGGING hoyo to come up with the villain plan that is not merging everything into evangelion mush. like at least in previous quest chains there were a lot more going on on top of the merging into mush. in sumeru it was a story of my girl Jeht and her father, there was akademiya researcher learning to respect desert history, there was jebrael's history with other mercs, there was jeht's struggle to fit in and desert politics. in fontaine, each word quest had a complete narrative able to stand on its own, but all of them were interconnected and coiled together. in this natlan world quest, there is not even one story able to stand on its own!

and like lets look at why our villain wants to do the phlogiston mush. he thinks dragons are evolutionary dead end, so initially, he was into eugenics and wanted to create a human dragon hybrid. that shit failed, then he says he decided to wait and give humans time to prove themselves. but now he thinks they failed too and they will not be able to stop the abyss, and so to make sure abyss doesn't consume teyvat, he wants to turn teyvat into phlogiston mush.

which like. grandpa, what the fuck are you talking about. natlan JUST defeated the abyss and threw it out. hes like ugh i hoped humans would become ubermensch, but they still worships ~the archons~ like weaklings. like bro, our mary sue queen mavuika literally took no Ls. name one problem she didn't steamroll. she won the war, she threw abyss out, she actually beat up the heart of the abyss, she got out of ronova's death deal, she had capitano merge with night kingdom, making it immortal. if this is not a proof that humans can defeat abyss, i dont know what the fuck do you want.

so this creates a clear dissonance, bc this world quest has pre-existing end with the mush, but writers don't know how they can come up with any plausibly non-evil explanation for it. so they ignore actual state of the world - which is that natlan just kicked abyss out, - and use abyss as just an excuse for the mush even it it makes no sense.

now to the mush "choice." you, as a pokemon we've traveled with, need to choose to mush everything into phlogiston or not. and we get a hsr fake choice where if you pick to do the mush, game just resets you on the dialogue before it. so you HAVE to pick to not mush it to progress. and like who is this fucking for??? players who do want the choices in video games like myself will only get infuriated bc this is obviously bullshit and fake choice. ppl who do not want the choices will not even notice and click thru. so why is this here.

like fucking OBVIOUSLY they will not actually let you turn the world into evangelion mush. not even 5 years old will buy this as a real option. so if they really wanted to center this stupid quest around this fake pokemon choice, they could have at least faked it better. like. we have all these mini quests with our pokemon we get during exploration. they could have added little choices here. like. support your pokemon or not? help him make friends or not? obviously absolute majority of players would choose to be nice to a baby pokemon. but even so, if in the end the pokemon listed these actual choices the players made, players would feel like they actually did sometjing that mattered. and for the assholes who were mean to pokemon on purpose, they could have a boss battle with the pokemon. it doesnt show up outside of its own world quests, so it would affect literally nothing in global. and like it would still be bad quest line, don't get me wrong! but it would at least not be so egregious.

so what we have is a quest line with no plot and with a cliche fake choice at the end. this is rock bottom of quest design. also, someone please tell natlan team that character walking forward while repeating phrases about how they should give up show up in the air is not a groundbreaking character conflict they think it is, bc it was already bad for mavuika.

[seat-safety-switch]

So many "car people" argue about engine oil. Everyone has an opinion on what weight, brand, sub-brand, synthetics package, and filter to use. If you use the wrong $80-a-jug stuff for even five seconds, they shriek, your engine will be irreversibly damaged.

Part of this is because the internet exists. Back in the day, I am told, people with strong opinions on what motor oil to use would have very limited opportunities to speak about those opinions. It isn't polite, for instance, to hijack a city council meeting's public comment session to speak about how Fram oil filters are the devil. Now, all those widely-dispersed weird assholes can be concentrated in a single forum, where they yell at each other for free.

Personally, I've never been too much of a snob about it. Sure, there's oils that I won't put in my car. That's usually because a lot of modern oils are too thin to quiet a disintegrating 1970s engine made mostly out of pig iron and regret. Sure, they still lubricate, but try telling that to the guy in the McDonalds drive-thru who is having some kind of traumatic flashback to The War when he hears the state of your rod bearings. Better just put in the thick stuff.

When you go through as many engines as I do, it's hard to get anxious about the particulars of a maintenance routine. Sure, if the previous owner had put in something nice instead of sand and sawdust about fifty years ago, this engine would have about three-and-a-half psi more compression by now. I'd still be struggling to get up hills and clattering every time I start the car while facing east. That's why I hang out behind the oil change place in the middle of the night and run their "waste oil" tank into a couple milk jugs in my back seat. Like wine, this stuff only gets better with time.

[lady-writes]

I don’t care- West Africa wins all the prizes: 90% of yall can go home.

There’s a part of me that does not consider West African fashion ~Dandy. Not because it isn’t but because its normal to me. Because I struggle to associate that word with certain members of my own family. People who are pragmatic and practical and never want to rock the boat or stand out…. But sure enough when we go to ethnic functions, They do in fact look Dandy as fuck. It’s the Uniform and Dress code for how we celebrate each other. And seeing the amazing interpretations and representations of that on the carpet tonight put tears in my eyes for real.

Dynasty Ogun+Soull Ogun- L’ Enchanteur^: The lace caplet and maxi-waist beads are such fun fucking details and these two had jewelry all thru the carpet and in the exhibit. (2025 CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund winners, so fuck yeah here’s hoping for so much more)

Laurie Cumbo +Bobby Digi Olisa

by Adeleke Sijuwade+ Magdy and Kero Maximus* respectively

Ah Yes, Time for my least favorite, yet literally inescapable part of the Met gala!  

"Who is that and why are you photographing this ugly ass dress instead?"  

Some MilkToast Ass A list motherfucker in the foreground And some folks who probably aren't all that famous in the background Absolutely.Killing it and now I have to look at this ugly shit 10,000 times since I have no way of figuring out who the hell they are other than going through every single one of mya hawks pictures Until I get lucky or there’s an aside picture that names everyone cuz they've gotten all their faces Somehow.

Also, Vlisco's gonna have knock offs in every fucking color back on shelves by the end of this month for SURE.

These two (Lauren and Issa) have the honor (?) of being the only ppl (to my knowledge, natch) who aren't Nigerian or First gen Nigerian American on this list (I don't know for sure about Bobby, but im making a guess)

Issa Rae- Ozwald Boateng

This was the last look that i added to my list, i liked her suit on sight last night, but i didnt see anything too special in it. I was more interested in the person behind her tbqh. Then today I caught a better picture of her at the foot of the steps under all the lights, and oops! I was wrong. The sheen in this wax print is beautiful- I've seen it giving Green, Black and Brown thus far based on the lighting, and I can say from experience that seeing this suit irl is 20x better cuz this kind of wax doesnt ever photograph in a way that does it justice. I almost feel bad for anyone who got too drunk and saw this under any kind of twinkling light cuz i'm sure it made them dizzy

Burna Boy- Ozwald Boateng:

Drop Dead Gorgeous and quintessentially exactly how we do what We DO. And simple with it while having plenty of the personal details that make you feel good to be wearing bespoke. Tailored for the Gods. Look Closer

Tems- Ozwald Boateng:

Gaaatttdamn COME 👏🏿THRU👏🏿 WEST👏🏿 AF👏🏿RI👏🏿CA 👏🏿I got the tiniest peep of the blue behind Issa Rae early in the night and I was like, I"wonder who that could be".... And now, I am FEASTING. Tems is doing an amazing thing that mixes up the kind of bespoke party gowns that west African women wear with suiting. The dress is a suit dress, a vest specifically w. A shirt beneath. The fabric is ankara- 100% cotton used for casual wear or reinforced for suits instead of the usual satin  or lace george, tafettas and beaded bedazzled, embroidered netting that you usually see. The Color also just slaps.

I dont know if I have it in me to metrics, but based at least on my rather large list of notable fits, Ozwald Boateng dressed the most people at the party last night, Burberry would be the other contender. And for all that his work is truly pure mens tailoring, its utterly delightful to see how each suit is noticably different in cut and style 😍😍😍

Also! The pattern of the fabric in Tems' bodice and skirt is identical to the one of Issa’s suit! 

This (Tems) is woven in wholly matte fabric, while Issa’s is woven in multiple colors and sheens of thread, so in person its kinda shifty- like a more subtle duochrome or like how your white friends eyes change color in different lighting.

Ayo Edebiri- Ferregamo:

African Dandy connected to western formal in gloriously sharp tailoring and accents that scream of looking thru the vlisco fashion catalog and creating something to turn heads with your tailor. Magnificent. There's also more. 

Shaboozy- Robbery Wun + Swarovski:

i actively stop being clinically depressed everytime I look at this garment. THOSE BEADS! The shine in the fabric is sublime and the femininity of the silhouette+ the masculinity of the wearer is the kind of gender play that is SORELY lacking in west African culture. For the Met Gala it’s stunning, but for the culture is Actively so damn brave, that it stops me in my tracks. Second place over all in my night, but I wanted to talk about him here with the rest of the fam.

Category winner: John Imah in Sergio Hudson

When I glimpsed somebody in the wings wearing what looked like in a whole ass lavender agbada, with a flash of some kinda red... neck... something? I straight up screamed, and as soon as this man walked into view, I was no longer watching a livestream because I kept rewinding to go back and stare at his 3.5 seconds of screentime. I dont quite have words for the way this look makes me feel, the embroidered detail on the coat itself is STUNNING, and the tailoring is beyond reproach. The cut of the lapel, and in fact that embroidery are reminiscent of an agbada, the white tie of west african (or at least for sure Nigerian) formal menswear, and those coral beads have a few different types of cultural significance, but all of them are connected to ceremony and import. Wedding day, Graduation, coming of age type things.

This is everything the met gala asked for, everything the girlies want to see, and full of such a deep respect for the event and the culture(s) that its speaking to…. Ugh….. I cant, Its simply Every Thing.

[sturnvdds]

Regret.

Part 2

Warnings- fingering, dirty talk, crying, slight overstimulation

I stand there in shock. He just drove away? My eyes are watering, I feel my heart beating so hard it might jump out out my chest.

I don't know where else to go so I walk to matts room..

I knock on the door "yo?" Matt says from the other side of the door. I open it slightly peeking in "can I come in?" His eyes life from his phone to mine. I can tell he notices my watery eyes so he nods.

My feet drag across the floor, walking towards his bed with my head down ashamed. I sit on the edge of his bed before looking at him.

"Whats up kid?" He asks, putting his phone down beside him and movie up against his head bored, signaling for me to sit infront of him so I do.

His hands rests on my shin infront of him, waiting for me to speak. I feel my face become redder and warmer. I look up at him, wiping my eyes.

My mouth opens before closing. Unable to think of a way to word what happened without sounding like a total slut.

"Well me and chris were.." i tilt my head in a signal to you know what. He chuckles slightly, "Yeah ok and what happend?" My heart beat speeds up.

"I was close to uhm..finishing, and I moaned out your name.." I whisper the end, embarrassed by myself. I look uo at him and he has the dumbest smirk on his face, looking almost proud?

His hand slowly moves up from my calf to my thigh, I look at his hand then back at him "Matt i-" "shh" he interrupts me. "So what you been thinkin' about my cock instead of your boyfriends huh?" He almost mocks me in a way.

I feel my breath hitch, his hand playing with the waist band of my panties. "I- i don't know.." is all I mumble before he pushes my weight down and lays me on my bsck, slowly hovering over me. His legs on each side of mine locking me in place.

His breath is hot in my face, I can see every freckle he has. His hand slowly moves down to my waist band again before he looks at me, "does he make u come?" My eyes widen.

"Matt what? Well yeah.." I mumble unsure, he tilts his head in a teasing manner. "Does he make you come hard?" My mouth opens and shuts. Unable to tell the truth

He let's out a low chuckle as his hands slide under my pants but still on my panties and starts to rub slow circles on my clit.

My back arches slightly, he looks at me smiling while my eyes close and eyebrows furrow "you like that?" I nod fast, mumbling a quick "yes, fuck"

He chuckles, "your so wet, all f'me?" I canr deny it. He makes me horny every time I see this mother fucker. His bright blue eyes, his scratchy beard he recently grew. Everytime I see him i instantly just get wet and I csnt help it!

I nod before he moves my panties to the side and he runs his fingers thru my wet folds causing me to gasp "ohhh baby such a pretty pussy yeah?" His words cause my spine to shiver. Unabel to think clearly

His fingers slowly slide into my hole, I moan loudly a bunch of "fuckfuckfuckfuck"s and "yesyesyes"s. I open my eyes and see him, looking down at my pussy and the mess he is making with my arousal and his long fingers.

Matt moans at the sight "I can feel you squeezin' my fingers..u gonna come?" I moan nodding, so close to the edge. His fingers pumping in and out of me in a rapid pace.

"Fuck let go f'me.. make a mess all over my fingers" and thats all it took for me to get to my release. I moan and chant his name like a prayer as I hit my high, but he dosnt stop. He continues and it becomes more painful then enjoying.

"Matt fuck I'm- agh--- close again!!" He looks up at me nodding with his dumb smirk. The only thing I can really notice as my mind spins, his fingers moving 10x faster then before

"Let go cmon I know u can take it" and I come again. Hard and quick, he slowly stops his movmemtns before taking his fingers out and sucking them clean, him still hovering over me.

His eyes looking into mine as I pant, and the front door opens, I swing my head to his door and shove him off quickly getting up and putting my clothes on. He laughs slightly. Watching me rush "I'll see u again baby" is all he says before I walk out and go to welcome my boyfriend like his triplet brother didn't just make me come.

A/N - guys i actually rlly fw this hello

@bernardsbendystraws @blushsturns @courta13 @aaliyahsturniolo @zenithsturniolo

[gojo-mochi]

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Rosinante / Slight Reader x Doflamingo

Context: Reader is a part of the Donquixote Pirates and has been having a fling with Corazon behind the scenes now for a while. Set in a random high class hotel/building that Doffy owns or something like that. Reader Call Rosinante by “Corazon” in front of others then Rosinante when they’re alone. Rosinante ‘speaks’ thru a notepad.

CW: Sub!Corazon. P/V, Oral Male and Fem recieving, sort of dom!reader, Reader wears make up, Riding, slight voyeurism, sort of mean!reader? crying, unprotected sex…

A/N: WOW a one piece fic on my blog?!? Also forgot/too lazy to search up who was in the crew back when Corazon was in it so…Sorry if the other crew members are OOC they are based off of what I can remember in the anime and my own headcaons. Trying to write more Dom!Reader even tho I’m a huge sub hope its okI!  Reblogs and Comments super appreciated!

You were in the bathroom applying another coat of lip-gloss on while running late for the meeting. It's not like Doflamingo cared much, to be fair, as he was usually the last one to get to the meeting, making a dramatic entrance by kicking the doors open every time. You smacked your lips together with a ‘pop’ once you were done and checked yourself out in the mirror. A very tiny cropped top that barely covers the chest and shows off the bottom of your lacey bra if you lifted your arms up a bit paired with an equally tiny pair of shorts that stuck to your ass like a second skin, plus you were rocking the 5 inch heel that you loved so much. Of course, it didn’t really matter when you were standing next to a giant like Rosinante or Doflamingo, but you still enjoyed the feeling it gave. You smiled and winked at your image in the mirror. Strutting out of the bathroom and making your way to the meeting room, you find the other members lounging around the room. Trebol and Senor Pink were talking to each other in the corner; well, Trebol was the only one who kept talking, and Senor Pink just stood there with a stoic expression like usually. He gave you a small wave when you entered the room, to which you gave a nod in return.

Diamante was standing next to Rosinante, and the both of them gave you quite the wide-eyed look as you saunter towards them. Diamante was more open and unashamed with his staring than Rosinante was. Diamante looked at you up and down with a smirk; "Going somewhere after this Y/N? Perhaps a special mission?" he said with a snicker. You roll your eyes at his tone, turning your attention to Corazon instead and fluttering your eyes at him. "Hey Corazon~ Did you receive the report I sent yesterday?" You swayed your hip lightly as you spoke, and Rosinante’s eyes followed the turns for a sec before blinking, looking away, and giving you a stiff nod. "I wouldn’t be surprised if he accidentally burned it or dropped it somewhere." Diamante barked out a laugh at the end.

You cross your arms in front of your chest, puffing up a bit to look up at Diamante with a small glare. "Stop bullying him, Diamante; he’s a part of our family too." Diamante bent forward to meet with you, nose to nose, with a smirk. "He’s like the black sheep of the family, stupid and useless; it's hard to believe that he’s even related to Doflamingo, to be honest." He snarled, bumping into you. Rosinante stood up from his seat and got in between you two. Diamante straightened his back out to his full height and snickered at Rosinante: "What is the baby brother finally going to step up for now?" He mocked, moving his hands to his face to make mock eyeing motions. Rosinante let out a growl from the back of his throat and balled up his fists. It would be a lie if you said that you weren’t feeling your pussy flutter from his actions.

Blam!

The meeting room’s door flew open, and the hinge creaked miserably, barely holding on for dear life. Doflamingo, in all his glory, leg hair and all, strolls into the room with an everlasting smirk plastered on his face. His eyebrow raised high above his sunglasses as he looked over at you first, then at Rosinante and Diamante, who were still in a death stare contest with each other. "Is there a problem here?" Doflamingo spoke with a chippy tone, the smile not leaving his face, but you could hear the underlying threat in the tone. Diamante was the first one to lean back with a shrug and say, "No problems here, ain’t that right, Corazon~?" He mocked the last part, blowing a kiss to Rosinante, who was still standing in front of you. Rosinante huffed and looked away, giving his brother a nod and turning his attention back to you. Tapping you on the shoulder to check if you’re okay.

You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it with a soft purr. "Thank you, Corazon, my sweet knight~" you whispered softly so only he could hear you. Rosinante’s face blush a deep cherry red, but before you could tease him any further, Doflamingo clapped his hands together loudly to gather everyone’s attention. "Good! No problems, then! Let’s get this meeting started!" Everyone in the room focused their attention on Doflamingo now, gathering to their respected seats. Rosinante held out your own chair for you before he sat down in his. Senor Pink was the first to start off his reports with some input from Trebol. The meeting went around like that, with everyone giving out their reports and any news. It was quite boring, so to pass the time, you started to play footies with Rosinante next to you.

Slowly toeing the side of his long legs, starting from his calves and nudging them aside so you could travel up to the inside of his thighs. Rosinante clenched and unclenched his fists on his lap, his eyes flickering over to you and to Trebol, who kept droning about some town that owned them taxes or something like that. You can see him chew on the inside of his cheek to stop sounds from escaping his pretty lips. Trebol finally finished his story, and now it was Rosinante's turn. You crept your foot up more and more, pretending to turn your body towards Rosinante so you could listen better, but it was so you could have more access to his body. Sliding up all the way so you could press lightly on the bulge in his pants with the edge of your heel. Rosinante pulled out his files and notepad with shaky hands.

Diamante sneered at him, mouthing Pathetic," while the others just watched on with various levels of confusion. Doflamingo started tapping his finger on the table as a sign for Rosinante to hurry up. Rosinante sucks in a shaky breath when you put a bit of pressure on his bulge, spreading out both his papers on the table and his legs underneath. You held back a snicker, as you knew this was a sign that Rosinante was liking your actions a bit too much. Rosinante began his presentation by showing off his reports, which there were very few of, and writing stuff down on his notepad to explain some points. Diamante let out a huge fake yawn, causing you to send him a small glare. Rosinante shuffled around a bit before closing his hand into a fist to signal that he was done. Doflamingo seemed to stare at him for a while, leaning on his hand with his elbow on the table. The silence was suffocating; you even stopped moving your foot around when Doflamingo set his intense gaze on you.

The corner of his lips turned into a sharky grin for only a second, like it was only meant for you to see. You tried to suppress the chill that crept up your spine, not sure what he meant by that or if you were even seeing things right. Doflamingo stood up from his chair, knocking it over with a flair, arms stretched out with a wide grin on his face. "Well, I think that all of this meeting! We’ll be staying in this villa for a little while longer, perhaps a week or so, depending on how fast the mayor of this town folds." He laughed at the end; Trebol and Diamante laughed along with him, while you sneakily slid closer to Rosinante’s side after sliding your foot down from his body. You lean over to his tall stature, your hand replacing the spot your foot was previously on before giving a harsh squeeze. Purring out softly, "Go wait for me in the third floor’s common room..." you stood up after that, stating that you were going to take a nap, waving back at Senor Pink and ignoring any comment Trebol had for you.

When you were walking past Doflamingo, though, his hand gently landed itself on top of your head, petting your hair, then gliding back to the small of your back. The touch made you both shiver from the cold touch and heat up with a soft blush. You unconsciously rubbed your thighs together when his thumb started rubbing small circles on your bare skin. He bent halfway over to speak over the shell of your ear. His large body blocked your view from the rest of the members. "Have a good rest, dear y/n~" he hummed, lips barely touching your ear, the vibrations making you choke on a moan and bit your lips to stop anymore from coming out. He lazily stood back up and slapped your back with a light touch before walking off to talk with Diamante and Trebol.

You adjusted your shirt, your palms flattening themselves on your chest to try to calm your racing heartbeat. You felt the heated stares of your fellow members behind you; you knew one of them belonged to Rosinante, but you didn’t turn around to find out who the others belonged to. Walking to the doors that creaked loudly when you pulled on them, one of the hinges fell off as you hurried past, feeling embarrassed by what happened. Once you were a far distance away from the meeting room, you gathered yourself back up, checking your makeup in a compact mirror, and pretending that the wet spot in your panties wasn’t there because of stupid Doflamingo and his stupid cold hands and dumb deep voice. You shake your head, hoping to ignore the creeping thoughts that linger in the back of your mind about your boss. You're starting your trek back to your room to grab some items for your fun time with Rosinante later. ‘With Rosinante and not Doflamingo!’ you thought to yourself, unsure of how you exactly felt about that statement.

You grabbed some condoms out of your room and decided to stay there for a while, knowing that Rosinante would immediately go up to the third floor like you asked, You wanted to tease him for a bit and make him wait in anticipation. You imagined he was sweating up there, looking around, and waiting nervously for you to come through the door. His pants still tight from what happened during the meeting. Oh, how you loved to make his pretty cock weep for you. You looked at the time, about 20 minutes had passed since you entered your room. You could honestly make him wait for an hour or so; Rosinante was patient like that for you. But you were getting impatient yourself, so you took one last twirl in the mirror, pushing up your chest and lowering down your shorts so that your panties peeked through the top, and made your way to Rosinante.

Your heels clack loudly on the empty floor, and you still look around to see if anyone is hiding somewhere somehow. You usually enjoyed the thrill of getting caught, but you would rather not get caught by any of the other Donquixote pirates, mostly because they would be super annoying about it. You were sure that some of the older members had an inkling about what was going on, but things left unsaid should be left untouched after all. You arrived at the door of your somewhat secret rendezvous with Rosinante. You took a deep breath and opened the door slowly, calming down your previous nerves so you could eye up Rosinante like the prey he was. You smirked when you saw the state he was in; besides the obvious way his pants were down to his thigh and the nice wet spot his boxers were sporting, you could tell that Rosinante was touching himself while he was waiting for you.

With the way his hands were shaking and the nervous sweat that shined on his forehead and neck. He grabbed his notepad to write something down, standing up to greet you: "You took a while; is everything ok?" You almost giggled at how worried he was, but he still had time to jack off. "I’m fine, dear… It seems like you weren’t too worried about me, though.." You poke at the wet spot, causing Rosinante to blush even deeper than he did before. He shook his hand even more as he tried to form a response on his notepad, but you stopped him, continuing to poke up to his chest and pushing him back down on the couch. Following with each step until you were straddling him. Your hands are going to unbutton his shirt straight away, and when his hands go to do the same to yours, you slap it away with a small ‘tsk’. "Naughty boys like you don’t get to touch me until you make up for it, alright?" He whined so sweetly that you almost caved and kissed him right then and there.

You shake your head at him instead, fully unbuttoning his shirt and trailing your finger down his chiseled chest, palming at the soft tuft of hair near his navel. Rosinante threw his head back with a soft groan, his hands grabbing at his notepad to write something down. "Please, please, I’m sorry, let me make it up." His handwriting was getting more scribbly as he showed you the notepad. You grab his bulge, squeezing it, making him whimper at the touch. "You’ll make it up to me? Hmm~? Eat my pussy like the good boy you are~? You tilted his chin up, so he was looking at you. He nodded rapidly at your question, his mouth opening and closing when you trailed your fingers over his cheeks and lips. You lean in to give him a kiss, lips molding with one another, your lip gloss and his lipstick smearing, fighting with each other over who can make the most mess. Your hand finds its way up to Rosinante’s hair, giving it a harsh tug as you pull away.

Rosinante let out a hiss at the sharp pain, but you soothed him by petting his head afterwards. Cooing at his already fucked out face and quivering lips. "Now, Now, you promised to make it up to me, so…" You stepped back from his lap to shimmy down your tight shorts and panties, Rosinante promptly scrambled down from the couch to help you pull your clothes off. You stop him from kissing your thighs; "Ah Ah.. you can’t leave any marks or else I will leave, got it?" While you loved it when he would leave all the kiss and bite marks on your body, you don’t want to deal with Diamante being annoying again if you happen to run into him afterwards. Rosinante's hands squeezed your thighs in protest, but with one look from you, he sadly nodded in agreement, softly lifting up your foot one by one to get rid of your clothes. His hands gripped the back of your thighs, parting them enough for his head to be buried in your pussy.

His tongue worked up and down your folds, catching all the sweet juice that came out. Your hands found their way to his hair and shoulder again, your nails digging in to keep yourself steady as you moan praises to him. "Th-that’s it, good boy, goo-good boy Rosinante, N-ahh, fu-fuck…a-nAH" You yelp when Rosinante starts to stand up with his face still slurping at your clit, his hands throwing your thighs over his shoulders, and keeping you secured by placing his hand on your ass and behind your thigh. "Oh fuck, Ros- Rosinante!" you screamed his name as his tongue worked its way inside your hole, his nose bumping against your clit. Your thighs clench around his head, but he didn’t seem to care or even know; he was just focusing on making your pussy tighten around nothing and your clit tremble from his licks.

He works his way all around your pussy, outlining the folds with the tip of his tongue. Mapping it out in his head, remembering each area that makes you twitch and shiver, before his tongue flicks up at your clit, rubbing circles around it before he would suck on it harshly. His red stained lips puckered around your clit like he was trying to suck you dry, and the loud slurping noises made you blush all the way to your ears. Then he would release just when your thighs started to squeeze him tight, going back to tongue-fucking your hole again. This repeats until you start to cry, make-up runs down your face, and you're clawing at his hair and shoulder.

"Ah-ngh! Mmahhh! Fu-fuck! I ne-need to cum, sweet-sweetheart please!"

Rosinante moaned when you called him by that nickname, mouth latching on to your clit again, tongue flattening itself on your small nub as he shakes his head back and forth, sucking at the same time. This motion made you cum so fast, you crossed your thighs on Rosinante’s head, almost making him fall down from the force but he held firm, slurping down all the nectar that your pussy had to offer him. Only letting go with a loud and lewd ‘pop’ once you tapped on his cheek thrice as a signal. You felt your legs turn to jelly as he set you down on the couch, his head still in between your thighs, looking up at you from his pretty lashes, waiting for your next command. You sigh heavily, trying to get your bearings so you won’t fold so easily.

Rosinante had that effect on you, he makes you want to tease and bully him, but once you get started and see those pretty expressions he makes, your self-control breaks down and you get right to fucking like rabbits. But tonight, you wanted to take it slow and make him work for it. Something inside you was stirring after that meeting, something that made you want to ruin him. You motioned for him to stand up with a finger; he was tall enough so that his cock was right in your face as you still sat on the couch. His cock was so pretty in your eyes, red and weeping at the tip, long and not too girthy, with a pretty vein right down the middle. You run the tip of your pedicured nail on the line of the vein, making him whimper so cutely, he looks around for his abandoned notepad, leaning down quick to grab it and write down his pleas; ‘Y/N please, please, please!" Each ‘please’ written down was messier than the last, his handwriting starting to deteriorate as he became undone.

You shush him with a jerk of your wrist at the base of his cock, causing him to choke on a moan. "You’re gonna let me suck this pretty dick of yours, and you’ll cum only when I say so, ok dear?" You start to slowly jerk him off after the last word, and Rosinante’s hand goes to hold your head, just weaving his fingers into your hand while his other hand was crumpling his poor notepad. You lick a strip up the vein, leaving glossy kiss marks on the way back down. "Answer me, sweetheart, you heard what I said, right?" You squeeze his cock in your hands, making his knees tremble. He lets go of your hair to write down his answer ‘YEs YES YES PLeaSE" The notepad was crumpled, and the handwriting was all over the place now. You giggled at the fucked out face Rosinante had when he showed you his notepad.

“Good boy… remember no cumming until I say so~”

You don’t give him time to answer as you take his whole length into your mouth, already knowing the best way to ease it into your throat as you had done so many times before. Hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing your head on his cock, letting the drool pool out, messy, just how Rosinante likes it. Your hand gathers up the spit, and you start to work your hands on the part your throat can’t reach or softly fondle his balls.

"Mm-ah-nngah-Fahh-Ahh" Schlorp Slurp Slurp "Mmm-fahhh-nnnnuuguhh-gahuhhhh-MmmmMAHH!"

Rosinante started to breathe quicker and quicker. You felt that he was close to cumming so you lolled off his cock, tongue out, and spit all over your chin, Your make-up was already ruined when he was eating out your pussy earlier, but even more now. You press kisses on his cock, licking at the tip to clean off any precum he has and rubbing your nail along his slit. Making him hiss, one hand going to cover his own mouth with the notepad, and one going to squeeze your shoulder. His legs barely kept him upright as he whined and whimpered from the loss of your warm throat on his needy cock. "Hmm?~ What is it, dear? Do you think you deserve to cum? Well~?" He shakes his head rapidly, you almost thought he was going to give himself whiplash. You twist your wrist, bringing his cock up and slapping it on your tongue. "Then tell me that you want it sweetheart~" You cooed.

He flips back his notepad to tear out a page with the words ‘yes’ and ‘please’ on them,  the notepad is now absolutely drenched in his drool, ink staining the crumpled page. He flimsily shakes the page, tears on the edge of his eyes as he tries desperately not to cum from your touch. Hips bucking up and down, twitching so much as his own body betrays him. You take pity on him, taking him back into your warm embrace, your hand going up to squeeze at his hip twice, signaling that it was finally ok for him to cum. It takes less than 5 seconds after your signal for his cream to start filling your mouth. You gulp down whatever you can before the rest starts to spill from the corner of your mouth, drizzling down on the cold marble floor.

Rosinante’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he lets out a deep groan; "Hahhhhh..nnngh Mmff.." He lets out coarse pants, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath once again. You lick off any excess cream on your chin as best you can, giving up when you start to see that you were also wiping out some red lipstick stains on your hand. You grabbed Rosinante’s hands and switched places with him, pushing him back down on the couch with a grunt, and you went back to straddle his lap. Forgoing all previous thoughts of taking it slow and teasing him, seeing Rosinante all weary and panting, his face messy, lips parting, and sigh panting out like a dog in heat, made your pussy flutter like no other. You quickly find his still sensitive and twitching cock and align it with your hole, not prepping yourself as you wanted to feel the stretch, the burn, that his cock gives you.

And oh, did it stretch you out, no matter how many times you guys fucked before, the stretch always felt so good. Rosinante's arms went to wrap around you as soon as his tip made it way inside. He held you close, his head resting on your shoulder, as he whimpering out from the overstimulation from his cock being squeezed by your tight pussy. You scratch at his back to leverage yourself as you start to bottom out on his cock, the tip barely reaching your cervix. You take deep gulps of air to adjust yourself to the feeling, then you start to bounce on his lap, trying to angle your thrusts so it would hit in the right spots, but it was hard to do so from the way you were straddling him. "Ros- Rosinante, love, sweet-sweetheart-mmah! Hahh-Help me out, her-NgAH!" He bucks his hip up without warning, hitting that sweet spot on his first try, his arms holding onto you tighter as he moans more loudly in your ear.

“Hahh, nggh, Guh-ahuhhh, Mmm”

Your hands dig into his wide back, leaving red scratches and marks as you listen to his sweet sultry whimpers, with each thrust and grind your body gave each other, you grew more and more tight as you felt another orgasm coming on. Rosinante began sucking on your neck and shoulders, lipstick smearing all over again, leaving hickeys even though you said before he can’t leave marks, but you were too fucked to care. Tongue lolling out the side of your mouth when he starts to speed up his thrusts, knowing that he was also close to cumming again. He lets go one of his arm from his hold to go down and caress your clit, speeding up the process even more. “Fu-fuck-ahhh! You hiss out, the blinding white pleasure made you shut your eyes tight as your thighs and pussy clenched down tightly. Rosinante lets out a lengthy whine as he cums again, letting out what seems like even more cream than before right inside your pussy. He still fucks you until you were done riding out your high, arm around your waist so you were held body to body with him.

You lean back a bit to see his face, pressing your foreheads together as your breath mingle, panting over each other quietly. You tap him on the shoulder three times as to be let go, he held on to you for a minute, not wanting the warmth to leave just yet, but when you tapped again, he lets go sadly with a pout on his cute face. You kiss the pout away, as you get up, freeing his cock from your pussy and all the cream that he fucked inside with a shiver. You looked down at your clothes and saw the condoms that you were supposed to use, peeking out from your pockets. You sighed, knowing that you gave in too quickly once again, and got cleaned up and dressed as best you could with the wipes you brought from your room. When Rosinante tugged on your wrist as you were getting dressed, head tilting as to ask why you were already leaving. “Oh sweetie~, I don’t have that much time today, I have something to do later tonight so I can’t cuddle with you this time. I’m sorry, baby.” You gave him a peck on the forehead when he wouldn’t let go of you. “Next time though, ok?”

He nods sadly, watching you make you way towards the door, you left him some wipes to clean himself off but you didn’t stay to help, fearing that you were already running late to your next planned meeting. Your heels clacked loudly on the floor as you hopped your way to the elevator to go back to your room for a quick change. Your mind was so preoccupied that you didn’t noticed the large figure in front of you until you crashed into it. Steady hands came to grab at your waist and you hear a deep and familiar chuckle ring out. You gulp and look up at the person you just bumped into, to find your own reflection in the shades’ of Doflamingo himself.

“Had fun, Y/N?” He asked, his voice a low timber. You back up in a hurry only to find yourself still trapped in his hold. ‘I-I don’t know what you mean..” You meekly whisper out, like he would believe any of it.

He let out a deeper guttural laugh at that. “Really now? Did you think I didn’t know what little fling you have going on with my little brother, hmm?” Your cheeks burn a bright red, ‘How long has he known?!’ You silently thought to yourself as he leans in closer.

“Seems like he didn’t fuck you right, considering you’re still able to walk right now…”

He goes down to bite at your neck, you yelped at the sudden pain, hands pushing at his chest to stop him but he lets go and licks the wound with another chuckle. The sensation made you shudder in fear and pleasure.

“Why don’t you try being with a real man and see how it compares… hmm?”

[mesothulass]

dont even get me started on madi. she's all in on this war business because it'll give her people a home and free the slaves on nassau and its just so interesting how unexpected her every action is??? for me at least, i keep expecting her to go the emotions route like everyone else does and each time she's like here's what i'm actually going to do. and it's always something entirely reasonable for her to do in that situation. anyway i wrote like half an essay on this so here's a read more lmao

like with the crewmate that fought with one of her men, when silver gives her the knife, me :handshake: silver, she's absolutely killing that man. and instead she chooses to free her man and give him an excuse to keep the peace.

or with the urca gold situation, even though that's what the whole conflict has been about this entire time, she makes the decision based on the end goal of peace on the island that the best course of action is to give up the gold entirely

like it's so interesting to me that most if not all the characters on this show are pretty self serving, if that makes sense. like flint's doing all this because of thomas and miranda, but the pirates of nassau are a tool to work around rather than an actual motivation. or for billy, who becomes the driving force behind the long john silver legend, but who allows himself to get distracted constantly by the threat of flint even to the detriment of his cause. or eleanor, whose primary motivation seems to be protecting what she has at all costs and freeing herself from the constraints of being a woman in a man's world. or max, who wants the comfort and safety and respect that comes from the power that the white people around her have and is repeatedly denied that (even in places where eleanor had succeeded before her).

so it's really cool in comparison to that to see someone who (at least by s04e05) says she's doing this for her people and then follows thru on that at every opportunity

and that's not to say that she's like logical all the time or doesn't feel any emotions, i think her empathy is also a big part of her motivations. like it's one thing to be raised to protect something and another to fully believe in that purpose, y'know?? she was genuinely upset about her man getting attacked, she's genuinely upset about the slaves getting tortured, she's genuinely upset about hurting silver, so on and so forth

it's just that the thing that keeps surprising me i think is that her kindness is borne from her knowing that she needs to do what's right for her people as opposed to her doing what she can to further a cause. yes, let's remove england from nassau, let's free the slaves, let's give up this gold, but none of it is shortsighted. she's not looking to survive this moment or prove a point, like silver or eleanor or billy or whoever else. her end goal is to save as many of her people as possible and give them a safe home to live and thrive in

[artaxlivs]

Masterlist of my Hawkeye/Marvel works:

(In no specific order)

Say It Where I Can Hear You - Rated E - Winterhawk & Destiel crossover: Dean & Cas go on a hunt & run into Clint & Bucky. Dean hates Bucky Barnes. Monster of the week meets kink exploration (two separate couples)

Honey Got Me Hooked On You - Rated E - Clint/Bucky/Natasha: The one where Natasha thinks Bucky is the honey pot, Bucky thinks Clint is the honey pot and Clint just wants someone to dip their fingers into his–

Spring Dawning (Part 1) - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: The entire Avengers Coven is cursed & divided. Clint & Bucky are together except that Clint is cursed to live every day as a hawk, Bucky every night as a wolf.

That's So Fletch - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Movie & Musical references, anti-bullying campaign, lessons about arrows

True Colors Series (8 Parts/complete) - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: The Snap didn’t dust half the universe, it turned them into soulmates who can only see colors when they find each other. Almost strangers to soulmates

The Case of the Missing Purple Sweatshirts - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: Someone is stealing Clint’s sweatshirts -my excuse to let Clint talk about Scooby Doo

Through the Looking Glass - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Instead of talking, they miscommunicate themselves into being sex dungeon fuck buddies, BDSM Dungeon fic, miscommunications, learning through bad negotiations, so very much smut, background Steve/Darcy

Something to Tweet About - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: Someone tweets a series of photos of Clint & Bucky hanging out and mutually pining, they deal with it by avoiding it (obviously). friends to lovers, social media ship to lovers (podfic)

A Life Well Lived - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: just a glance at Clint’s last day

Make it Permanent - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Secret dating, hickeys and tattoos and a little bit of healthy possessiveness

And the Stockings Were Hung - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Christmas Exchange fic, Bucky's first Christmas at the tower, fluff and smut

Rotten Apples - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: A look into Clint's childhood trauma and how the bad stuff is easier to believe

Porn & Prose - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: some backstage smut between Mr Bingley (Clint) and Mr Darcy (Bucky)

Bucky, Lemme Smash - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: I just wanted to turn Clint purple and use this line from that meme, all the purple smut (Podfic here)

Both, Both is Good - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Bucky avoids Clint until he realizes Clint has been avoiding him, fuck buddies to lovers, smut & miscommunication

The Happiest Place on Earth - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Bucky plays Hawkeye in Disneyland because the actor who plays him is short and he’s real pissed that some guy named Clint is tall enough to play the Winter Soldier, enemies to lovers, Clint in eyeliner

Three to Tango - Rated E - Clint/Bucky/Natasha: James & Natasha teach Clint’s dance class, then they invite him for private lessons. Healthy communication, smut and Clint being an unreliable narrator

A Bird By Any Other Name (Series) - Rated E - Clint/Steve: Clint as the Winter Soldier thru WW2 & the present, hurt/comfort, mental struggles, smut

Body Count - Rated E - Clint/Steve: tumblr prompt hitman meets a sex worker, just so much smut

Friends Don’t Let Friends Wait Too Long - Rated T - Clint/Steve: Steve is too nervous to ask Clint out, Bucky’s gonna help in an helpful way. Fluff, misunderstandings, laughter, Natasha being a troll

Draw & Release (2 part series) - Rated E - Clint Barton/Jason Todd: Clint gets a tattoo & finds a new boyfriend/Dom