#(<- is currently a sobbing mess on the floor)

[evilgwrl]

What abt 141xpregnant!reader (or not pregnant, ur choice, I dont mind!!) And someone gets into their house and reader is all alone so she calls the boys while they're out (somewhere idk)

can be angst or fluff <3

Thank you for this idea, I hope I did it justice for you anon <3

CW: Threats of violence (not against reader), break ins, fluff

You stared at yourself in the glossy reflection, soaked rag scented with the unmistakable smell of cleaning spray dabbing at the final fingerprint, a satisfied grin on your face. You hobbled to the kitchen, ankles slightly swollen as a hand rubbed against the plushness of your belly, a gentle kick answering you back.

You felt content. You were six months pregnant and surrounded by four incredibly devoted men (who were currently running all the errands you could no longer do). Gentle feet padded against the wooden floorboards, your back humming with a subtle ache as you groaned, your body flopping down against your comfiest pillow.

Wispy lashes fell over curled lids, the zip of a fan hushing you to sleep. You awoke to rustling, your window cracked open for fresh air.

“Stupid foxes,” you muttered, rolling towards the window to shoo the pesky creatures away from your vegetables. Your heart halted, however, face a pasty shade of terror as you watched a figure, much larger than a fox, break the glass to your back door, the stone floor of your patio humming against the shards of crystal.

Pesky fingers reached for your phone, a monotone strain coming from your throat as you phoned for Price, eyes now a glassy bowl of unshed tears.

“Hey love, you ok?” The normally comforting tone only spurred your anxiety as you choked out a sob, an instant call of your name blasting through the speakers of the phone.

“There’s someone inside the house,” you choked out, your voice a mere whisper as you huddled in the corner, fingers twisting the lock on your bedroom door.

“Call Gaz in the meantime; we’ll be home in 10 minutes.”

You were a whimpering mess, swollen body trembling in your ensuite as Gaz attempted to calm you down, telling you the police were on the way. There was a commotion downstairs, kitchenware clattering as you presumed, he was rummaging around. Timber creaked under a lead foot, stairs straining under the man's weight as he stomped upstairs.

“Kyle, he’s upstairs,” you trembled, your throat constricted with a coil of anxiety as your limbs tremored, a protective hand strung across the swell of your belly. The Sergeant’s voice brought you no comfort as you heard the door to the nursery swing open, the squeak of a baby toy rattling against the wood. Your gut was burning, tender hands clutching against the marble counter in a motion to hold yourself up, your knees locking up as you clattered to the floor.

Price’s hands were stained permanent ivory, his knuckles protruding from broken skin as he pulled down your street, head beams flickering at the cars before calloused tyres screeched down a turning lane, the bulky SUV swerving into the driveway. Simon had rummaged through the glovebox on the first ring of your call, massive frame bouldering out of the unparked car as his keys twitched in the door, the steady frame of Soap in toe.

Rough fingers wrapped around carbon steel, silent footsteps thrumming against wallpaper as you shifted in the bathroom, gentle sobs wracking through your body.

You were unaware of what was going on outside your bedroom, the faint sounds of a man’s voice, unrecognisable through the thickness of the walls only spurring anxiety shrill of terror through you.

You knew they would never let anything happen to you, but what if something happened to them in the process? Sure, they were trained for combat but that doesn’t make you invincible.

You clutched your stomach, humming to yourself in an attempt to calm down.

Simon was livid, they all were. The house you had built for them all years ago was now tainted. A place you should be safe in was no longer available.

Soap’s voice was sharp as he entered the nursery, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of watching the intruder still as the safety of the gun unlocked.

“You make a f’cking movement and I’ll put a bullet in ye head, ye hear me?”

There was a slow nod from the man as Ghost entered, slamming him against the wall with a crash, his hands tied behind his back as he lunged him down the stairs. There was a faint echo of sirens in the distance as you sheltered yourself, still unsure of what was happening.

There was a rattle against the door, a soft voice calling out to you.

“It’s just me, love. Open the door.”

The doorknob felt crumbly under your touch, fingers barely able to twist it. Price’s body was warm as he engulfed your shaking figure, wet cheeks staining his shirt in a soppy mess. Thick hands grabbed at the plush of your thighs, lifting you with ease into burly arms, the tickle of his moustache against your ears as he lolled a soft apology to you.

“Shouldn’t ‘ave left you alone dove, feel like I failed you.”

The captain’s heart was bleak, an ephemeral feeling of guilt worn on his shoulder before you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, soggy lips placing a feathery kiss upon the worn skin.

“It’s not your fault, John. Could’ve happened to anyone on our street.”

The night was slow, Gaz consoling the police as Soap and Price comforted you, tending to your every need as Ghost stood outside, dark eyes glaring into the back of the police van at the man. You assured them you were okay, delicate hands rubbing your belly as you cooed, your heart finally returning to its normal bpm.

Once the blaring of red and blue lights simmered to a halt, and Ghost had run out to get a replacement door (otherwise, he wouldn’t have slept from keeping guard all night), you could fully relax. Your body was flush against the comfort of your L-shaped couch and Simon’s calloused back, fingers running through the roots of your hair.

Your eyes succumbed to temporary slumber at the touch, scalp tingling from the simplicity of gentle tugs. You were carried to bed, arms balled at the soft cotton of Soap’s shirt you had stolen. You nestled quickly into the comfort of your bed, lashes flat against your cheeks.

They all watched you, hands folded as they watched the rise of your chest, a flutter of breath leaving your lips every time it fell.

“Beautiful, ain’t she?” Price mumbled, cerulean eyes lapping in the mere sight of you, a proud glow comforting him knowing you were theirs.

“Damn right,” Ghost grunted.

There was a creak against the floorboards as your eyes opened, your voice delicate with sleep, “Will you guys stay tonight? All of you? Please.”

“Shoot us in the head if we ever say no to anything you say,” Soap uttered, a gentle slap whacking around his head from Simon as Kyle leaned into the bed, heavy hands immediately wrapping around your swell belly.

The night ended with whispers of affirmation and one happy girl.

[apple-crunch]

what if... caleb got into an "accident"

warnings: none, just fluff .𖥔 ݁ ˖ : inspired by this :)

An emergency landing. Or at least that was what Caleb said to you over the phone.

You were confident in him, that's for sure. But sometimes you just can't shake the worry of something going wrong during a mission. So when you got a call from Caleb himself informing you of his emergency landing, your heart rate immediately picked up— mind racing to the possibilities.

Was he hurt? Where is he? What happened? Will he get home? Is he okay? Is it bad?

Caleb tried to calm you down, you wanted him to turn his camera on to see him but he insisted no due to confidentiality of the mission— when in reality, he just wanted to hide his bloody state from you to keep you from being hysterical.

Coincidentally, you were in the middle of watching a TV show when he called, it was on commercial now but when screen flashed breaking news reporting a crash site of one of the Farspace Fleets crafts holding the current colonel you immediately started crying and sobbing over the phone.

"YOU SAID IT WAS AN EMERGENCY LANDING! CALEB THAT'S CALLED A CRASH!" You sobbed at him, raising your voice so loud that you could barely hear what the TV was saying.

"Hey- look, it's not that bad I promise, just a cras-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST A CRASH!? CALEB GO HOME NOW. I DON'T WANT YOU THERE, PLEASE!" Your voice was cracking both from your crying and screaming but you didn't care, eyes drifting to the screen— you cried even harder seeing how bad the wreck was. "Pips-"

"NO. HOME. NOW."

» »

To say that the wait was torture would be an understatement. After your scream at him to go home, Caleb only sighed and whispered a small okay before ending the call— only for you to ring him again urging to stay on the phone in case anything happens.

Caleb smiled at himself seeing how worried you are. You really do care about him a lot, and today just magnified that. It was cute hearing your voice despite it cracking and raspy, however, it did break his heart just a little bit; hearing your sniffles while he drives and your ting voice asking him where he was.

The two of you barely talked during the drive, just quick questions and even quicker answers. You wanted to rest your voice and Caleb knew that, thus, he stayed relatively quiet. Just small hums to let you know he was still there.

He didn't had the time to make himself look presentable, just poorly wrapped a badge around his cut right arm to prevent infection and stop bleeding— other than that, he looked like a mess. Torn, bloody, dirty uniform and just an overall unkept apperance. Thank the heavens for his handsome face to save the look.

You were waiting at the very doorstep of his front door. Phone sat on the granite floor, red teary eyes, puffy face, and a very evident pout on your lips. So cute; Caleb thought. You weren't even sitting, you were standing while waiting for him. Under watchful eyes, Caleb got out of the car— a gasp left your mouth and you immediately ran to him.

You wanted to hug him but stopped just a foot away from him even though he already had his arms open. For the probably nth time today, you started crying again.

"Oh, pips.. It's okay, I'm okay." Caleb cooed, patting your head twice before pressing it to his chest to embrace you in a hug. Your hands immediately wrapped around his torso, nuzzling your face deeper into him as you cried. Looking up at him and cradling his face in your hands. "Don't you ever! Do that again!" You scold him, lines burrowing between your eyebrows.

Caleb chuckles, nodding his head and leaning in to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. He bends his body to math your height before saying "I promise, never again. Especially now that I know how sad my boss baby gets."

Your lips wobble as more tears build up in your eyes. Your hands explore his body, feeling every bit of dust, blood, and torn fabric on his uniform. His tough left hand, and then finally his right hand where a porrly wrapped gash wrapped around it. Eyes widening, you look at him and he cocks his head sideways at you.

"Y- you're hurt.. Caleb! Why didn't you tend to it! Do you want both your arms to be metal now or something!" You scold him once more, now glaring at him. "Awe, my pips is so worried about me!"

"Caleb!" You softly hit his chest.

"It's only a small cut squeak, I'll be fine."

"Don't care! Get inside, you're wounded and it needs to be healed." You tug on his metal arm as you drag him inside the house. Once in, you assist him in taking his coat and boots off before guiding him to the bathroom and getting the very used and handy first aid kit.

Caleb's already took of the second layer of his uniform leaving him only in a white long sleeve button up. Slowly, he unbottons it with his left hand as you carefully take of the gash on his right. You pout even more when you see how deep the cut was on his skin.

You begin to do your work in silence, focus completely on sanitizing and treating his wound. He watches in adoration as you move on him, long gone the brave tough colonel Caleb of the Farspace Fleet as a crippling fear builds within him. He can't lose you, he can't lose this.

"Be more careful nextime, please Caleb. I don't want to lose you anymore." You look at him directly in the eye after finishing your work. Caleb's eyes soften when you embrace him in a hug, resting your face on his exposed skin while he rests his head on top of yours.

You hear his heartbeat, pressing yourself even more. Never letting go of your touch on him.

While the two of you clean yourself in the bathtub, your touch on him lingers as you wash his hair, massaging his scalp in the process.

While he cooks for dinner in the kitchen, you cling on him like a koala, wrapping your legs around his waist while you piggy back him.

While you lay in bed telling each other recaps of what happened while each other was away as you always do, your hand lays on his chest feelings his heartbeat. Legs intertwined so as your arms, and ultimately— your soul.

An unspoken promise of forever.

[mattsstarlet]

⋆˚࿔ pornstar!matt x chris x camgirl!reader ⟢

“i fucking love candy with just matt but i would love to see her with both of them… just one time!!! walk with me”

based on this ask.

IMPORTANT NOTE: this does NOT correlate with my current au. it’s simply just for shits and giggles. maybe i’ll consider making a separate au with chris involved. i don’t know.

contains: smut (p in v), unprotected sex, degradation, praise, orgasm denial, sex tape (i only mentioned lights being put up, i forgot lol). both chris and matt individually use reader.

“i’ve waited so long to have you, sweet girl.” chris mocked, grinning from ear to ear as he fawned himself over your body between your legs, nuzzling his face into your neck and kissing the flesh just enough to make you squirm.

he pulled away, his mischievous eyes tracing your flushed features as your big, round eyes filled with desperation and humiliation locked onto matt’s shadow— who was sitting in a chair in the corner of his room, palming his straining hard cock against his jeans while his face remained stoic.

“don’t look at him, look at me… there we go.” he chuckled, bringing one hand to cup your chin, squeezing your cheeks to pucker your lips. “pretty little slut.” he mumbles, licking his lips before hungrily pressing them against yours.

your mouth greeted his tongue, both dancing in circles as his hands roamed all over your naked body, groping your tits. after a few seconds he pulled away, the both of you in a panting mess while he ripped his shirt off, his sliver chain gleaming underneath the lights matt had propped up.

chris’ hands made a beeline to his zipper, pushing the fabric down slowly, taunting you. he flashed a toothy grin, gripping his cock through his boxers after he disregarded his jeans on the floor, slightly pumping himself.

“s’all f’you, ma— shiiit.” he groaned, feeling himself twitch into his own hands. “gonna let me fuck you? yeah?”

you nodded eagerly, reaching out and tugging on his briefs, bitting down on your plumped lip. “please?” you spoke softy, your pointer finger tracing over the small wet patch of his precum— causing chris to suck in a deep breath at the sudden movement.

“matt’s cock not enough f’you? hm? cock hungry little thing.” he pulled down the remaining fabric, his shaft springing out and hitting his toned stomach, his red mushroom head leaking cum.

“m’gonna give it to you, don’t worry.” he spit on his hand, lathering his saliva all over his cock before giving himself a few pumps. the sudden movement happened so quickly, plunging his cock into your pussy— slipping right in with how wet you were.

he groaned, his mouth hanging open as your tight walls swallowed his cock. “fuuuckkk, no wonder why my brother keeps you around. good fuckin’ pussy.”

matt had already stripped off his clothes, jerking himself off at the way your eyes rolled back, using the desperate sounds of your moans as another source to help him get off.

his hips were nearly slipping off the chair with how fast his high was chasing him. matt’s hooded eyes found yours, bubbly with tears of pleasure. he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, working his hand faster. he cursed beneath his breath, sweat dripping down his forehead as ropes of white cum spurted all over his chest, painting his tummy as well.

the sight of him brought you over the edge, your gummy walls clenching around chris’ cock, sending a shiver down his spine each time. “gonna cum— please.”

“yeah?” chris breathed out, pulling out just a little, leaving his tip in before abruptly thrusting in. “hold on just a bit more, baby.”

you whined at the rejection, sobbing as his tip grazed your cervix. chris rambled, going on and on about how much he loved your pussy— wanting nothing more to fill your womb up with his cum.

“m’gonna cum, pretty. oh yeah i’m— fuck.” he grunted, your spongy walls practically squeezing his load out, milking your insides.

he chuckled deeply, watching as your cunt oozed out his cum after he pulled out, using his finger to push his load back in. “m’sorry, baby. i don’t make the rules here.” he smirked, watching you whine and squirm as your orgasm faded away.

he traded spots with matt, plopping himself on the chair and catching his breath. matt stood by the edge of the bed, grabbing your legs and bending your thighs into your chest, coating his hardening cock with your arousal mixed with chris’ cum.

“my sweet, sweet, girl.” he cooed, teasing your entrance with his tip. “y’need me to get off, don’t you?”

“please.” you begged, your tears staining your cheeks. you choked on a gasp, feeling the slight burning sensation of his cock stretching your puffy cunt out.

“there we go— fuck, i can just cum from being inside.” he threw his head back, bucking his hips forward at a steady pace.

you rolled your eyes back once again, your brain going straight to mush. the sounds of your loud moans mixed with the wet squelching coming out of your pussy filled the entire room.

“you like being used? like being fucked by two guys?”

his words went straight to your core, feeling the familiar sensation of a knot forming deep in your belly. you babbled, saliva drooling out of your mouth as you spoke incoherently.

matt couldn’t refrain himself from cumming inside you at sight of you looking brainless and blissed out. he would never admit it, but he loved the thought of sharing you with his brother, filling you up over and over again without letting you cum.

which is how you spent the entire evening.

“gonna suck me off while you let chris fuck you again? yeah?— good girl.”

[its-no-biggie]

YOU. YOU GET IT. theres a lot of things here that i didnt really consider so i wanna talk about it

the running theme of killing themselves is SO interesting- is this a trait both of them have naturally? or did wash pick it up from epsilon or vice versa? we're told that when an ai is implanted, the host can hear their thoughts in their head and feel their feelings to a certain extent. which is, in itself, a woefully unexplored concept and leaves a lot of room for speculation- just how "mixed" are they? do they ever feel more like one person than 2 separate people? i mean, even just spending time with someone for long enough can have you picking up mannerisms from them, so surely when youre sharing a brain that phenomenon would be amplified. and all of this has huge implications on just how the whole "exploding in washs head" affected both of them. i really love fics that explore this in more detail- giving wash issues with distinguishing which memories are his and the like (*cough cough* put my guns in the ground). like wasnt there even a line in the show where wash is sarcastically like "yeah i had an ai unravel itself while its mind was indistinguishable from my own, but nah im totally fine" or something??? like how much of it was epsilon freaking out and how much of it was wash? was wash also freaking out in response to the feelings epsilon was having, causing a sort of chain reaction? or was he experiencing it in the same way epsilon was at the same time? and how did wash feel afterward, to find that he had survived? was epsilon still there or had he already been removed? like there are so many questions about the logistics of this and the impact it would have on a person and we get almost NOTHING.

wash and epsilon and carolina..... youre SO right. wash having extremely complicated feelings toward the relationship between them..... always having it at the back of his mind when talking to carolina even if epsilon isnt out. even if epsilon isnt even in carolinas head at the moment! and this would be SO FUCKING GOOD to focus on in season 10, where carolina is dragging around wash and the reds and blues and the big confrontation is wash siding with reds and blues over carolina. it really just makes that whole conflict so much JUICIER if wash is like. having a lot of feelings about carolina and epsilon, and telling himself to get over it, and trying his best to be on her side in spite of how hes feeling and due to this internal conflict he doesnt stop to think if he even SHOULD be on her side. WAY more dramatic. could even have smth like wash pushing back against carolina and epsilon popping up like "hey man i know weve had beef in the past but dont take it out on her" and even though that WASNT what he was doing he questions himself enough to agree and let it go. now THATS a conflict

and yeah the retcons are definitely a shame- the private jimmy bleedover memories one is probably my least favourite. i barely even regard that as canon tbh, its just an obvious bandaid to explain the inconsistencies with the new lore they came up with. because it doesnt happen with any other ai and its never explored again. so personally ive never really given it any thought but it certainly has potential! especially given the nature of epsilon and memory- the idea that they had some memory bleedover and now BOTH have a hard time distinguishing between their own memories could be SO interesting

PUTTING EPSILON IN WASHS HEAD TO HELP WITH HIS POOR FUNCTION. OHHHH MY GOD YOU GET ME. prev this scenario is so good i could kiss you. i will be thinking about this forever. neither of them want it and theyre both remembering the last time they shared a head but also epsilon being with carolina is actively making his life harder (and maybe also carolinas!) and theres an easily accessible solution RIGHT THERE. ohhhhhh thats SO GOOD. ITS JUST SO GOOD. someone tell me if this fic exists because i NEED to read it. and if it doesnt i might have to write it myself (lets be honest ill probably do that either way). the idea of wash resisting at first but then finally relenting and then they try and as soon as epsilon gets in washs head theyre both VIOLENTLY reminded of last time and wash has to come to terms with the fact that hes not as over it as he would like to believe. but in the meantime theres still a lot of strain on epsilon being in carolinas head and they need to do something about it..... GOD. ROTATING THIS IN MY BRAIN FOREVER

did they ever get along..... personally i like the idea that there was very little time between the implantation and the brain explosion. like somehow getting implanted triggered epsilon to access his memories and they were both immediately overwhelmed by the intensity of them. there are a lot of things the freelancer arc did that i dont agree with but i like that take on it- which wouldnt leave any time for getting along. HOWEVER. we are also told that the fragments are specifically paired with their agents based on their personalities. so i think its very delicious to have them be generally very compatible despite never having had the chance to actually explore that while epsilon was implanted. because theres this sense of what couldve been. they only associate each other with pain and fear but then epsilon makes a quip at tucker and wash joins in and theyre both laughing when they make eye contact and for a brief moment their history doesnt exist and they just genuinely connect. but then the moment is gone and all the memories come back and its bad again. something something in another lifetime we would have gotten along. do you feel me. however i do like the other perspective, that they worked together and got along before epsilon exploded. it certainly makes the feelings surrounding the incident itself more interesting, as well as the mixed feelings they have for each other. ugh its just so good either way

i think ive read a couple fics where epsilon blew himself up in response to the director trying to pull him and i LOVE that. in trying to cling to the person you love, you inadvertently hurt them..... very tasty. this also lends itself to a really one-sided washilon dynamic where epsilon has always loved wash but wash still hasnt recovered from how epsilon damaged him. absolutely love it

i also never really thought about how epsilon fragmented bc alpha thought he got wash and tex killed..... EXTREMELY interesting. youve gotta wonder about the process..... do they do that to ensure that the fragment is compatible with the agent in question? it would kinda make sense- someone that fragmented due to wash being killed would likely be fond of him, right? if it was that distressing to get him killed..... or maybe they pair them up just based on personality- if you disregard the timeline shown in 9-10 you can imagine they have a backlog of fragments that they can pick from to pair with a specific agent, so it could just be a coincidence. its also shown that the fragments have no specific memories (just a vague sense of who they are), so they probably assumed epsilon wouldnt remember fragmenting due to getting wash killed. but he most certainly did remember, and maybe that was part of the catalyst for blowing himself up??? whatever the case, it certainly has implications that are worth exploring!

ANYWAY thank you for the delicious tags, as you can see i had MANY thoughts about them. i will be chewing on this for at least the next month bc washilon lives in my brain Rent Free

thinking about post-implantation wash again.....

cause like. the rvb writers dropped a lot of balls, but this is the one i find personally the most upsetting. like. a soldier getting irreparably fucked up by an experiment gone wrong is the kind of premise i read fanfiction about (that probably says something about me but im not gonna examine it. moving on). especially since he STAYED with freelancer???? you could take this in so many different directions- his fellow freelancers are worried about him but he pushes through anyway. his fellow freelancers ARENT worried about him and push him harder than he can handle. the director pulls the ai fragments and theres hostility from more than just the one-dimensional "raging bitch" character. the director DOESNT pull the ai fragments, which seriously calls into question the ethics of the whole operation (which i believe is more in line with the pfl that was described in earlier seasons, but thats a story for another time) AND puts potential pressure on wash to get another implantation (oh my GOD. show me THAT version of pfl).

and of couse. how could i possibly forget epsilon. there is something so uniquely tasty about 2 characters who went through something traumatic together and then didnt see each other again until ages later- ESPECIALLY when one of them was the cause, even though they werent directly at fault, and the other was just unlucky enough to be involved. like holy shit????? the TENSION that would cause???? the discomfort being around each other? the guilt? having nowhere to place the blame except the director?? oh my GOD literally any interaction between them couldve had so much FLAVOUR. im not saying they need to be the main focus of the story or anything but we didnt get a single interaction!! not even a crumb!! like. do something with the fact that wash needed to have alpha in his head in season 6 despite refusing to ever have another ai after epsilon. do something with wash needing to SEE and HEAR and TALK TO epsilon again. do something with epsilon remembering fucking exploding in washs head!!!! im not asking for a lot here- asking for a lot would be suggesting a scenario like the one from season 6, except wash needs EPSILON in his head for some reason and gets legitimately triggered by it or cant bring himself to do it. thats the kind of shit i want to see, but i understand that that isnt carolina-centric enough so ill get it from fanfiction as god intended. but cant i ask for at least some awkwardness? maybe an uncomfortable confrontation? irrational hostility? SOMETHING. it doesnt have to be the focus but it should be THERE.

and like. youd think that this is an issue with retconning. and it kind of is, but its more about missed opportunities. like. i dont mind the retcon that freelancer was always its own thing, or that church was always an ai. those things are cool! they take the story in a more interesting direction! yeah it makes things more confusing and id prefer if the retcons werent necessary, but. its not the end of the world. but the thing with wash is. they did a really cool and interesting thing by having an ai COMMIT SUICIDE in his fucking HEAD. and then they went back on it! they very quickly went from "this clearly left a lasting impact on him" to "oh well it was bad, probably worse than hes letting on, but some of it was an act! so he could take em down from the inside!" to "yeah i mean he screamed while it was happening but he was fine when he woke up. no lasting consequences" and then it was never addressed again. and im mad about it!! they didnt even properly retcon it- they just decided that it had no consequences anymore, and it made washs character LESS interesting.

[fan-fantasies]

The Chase

A/N: hey all! I know I kinda disappeared for a while but I had some motivation and figured I’d write something real quick. It’s a little late for Halloween but enjoy nonetheless! -Heather

Pairing: Ghostface (Billy) x reader

Warnings: wouldn’t read if cnc or dubcon makes you queasy. Oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, slighttttt breeding kink if you squint

“Loser buys drinks!” Your best friend called as she took off in the opposite direction. You stared at the maze ahead of you, shaking off the eerie feeling that had settled in.

You took off into the darkness- one step, one deep breath at a time. The corn maze was your idea, but with every passing moment spent wandering alone, you began to regret it more and more.

A few more turns and you froze- a twig snapping behind you. You spun on your heel but no one was behind you. It must’ve been in your head.

A few more steps and you heard it again. You knew you weren’t imagining it this time. You sped up your pace, looking for any sign of an exit. At first, all you could hear were your own footsteps, your own rapid breathing, and pounding heart. But the faster you went, the more apparent the sound of footsteps behind you became.

You didn’t bother looking behind you, you just took off running. You cut through the cornstalks toward edge of the maze.

Finally, the field opened up and you were free. You weren’t quite sure where you were but now you could follow the edge of the maze and get back to the parking lot.

You headed in the direction you thought was right and stumbled across a shed.

You leaned against it, closing your eyes to catch your breath for a moment. Everything was silent- even your muffled scream as a hand slipped over your mouth.

Your eyes shot open, only to be met with a masked figure. You struggled against their grip but they were much stronger than you. The masked maniac pulled you into the shed and slammed the door behind the two of you.

“Scream and I’ll make sure it’s the last sound you ever make,” a deep voice growled.

He slowly pulled his hand from your mouth and you stayed quiet, your need to survive kicking in.

His hand softly caressed your cheek as he took in your features. You squirmed under his gaze.

His hand drifted from your face to your neck, then down your chest until it finally rested on your waist.

“P-please let me go,” you whispered. He chuckled- a sound that would haunt your dreams for years to come.

“Now what’s the fun in that, sweetheart?”

Tears welled in your eyes before cascading down your cheeks. He seemed to take notice and you swore you heard him let out a low groan. Something hard was pressed against your leg as he began to gently rut against you. This sick fuck was getting off on your tears.

“Knees, now,” he demanded. It took a second to process what he was saying but you could tell by the tone of his voice he was serious. So you did as he said, dropping to your knees in front of him.

He pulled off his black covering, leaving himself in nothing but pants and his mask. He pulled his pants down and his cock sprung free. Your eyes widened at the sight and your lip trembled.

He stroked it a few times before tapping it against your cheek.

“Open up, little one.”

You slowly opened your mouth only slightly, but it was enough for him to force the tip in. You choked back a sob as hot tears painted the floor around you. This only spurred him on more, pushing his length further down your throat. He was thick, but you tried your best to obey and swallow what you could.

He began to thrust slowly, picking up the face when you began to choke.

A few more minutes of that and he made you swallow his whole cock. Your nose touched his pelvis as you did your best to breathe. Your nails dug into your palms, the pain distracting you from your current predicament.

He pulled back and you gasped for air. He smeared your saliva back over your mouth, making even more of a mess.

“Up.”

You struggled to your feet, continuing to stare at the floor. You saw his hands fly forward, undoing the button on your jeans effortlessly. He yanked them down and flipped you around so you were facing away from him. His hand pressed between your shoulder blade, prompting you to lean forward against a small table.

He kicked your feet open wider before he ran a finger between your folds.

“So fucking wet; I knew you liked it, dirty girl.”

He slid two fingers into your entrance, stretching to prepare you for his impressive length.

He withdrew them and you almost whined from the loss of contact. You felt him replace his fingers with his cock, prodding against your entrance.

His hand slipped around your body and settled on your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze as he slowly pushed into you. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your lips as he bottomed out.

His hand squeezed tightly as he began to fuck you, his other hand slapping your ass before settling on your hip to hold you steady. His pace was relentless, the sting of the stretch now settling into pleasure.

You heard a soft thud making you look to the floor behind you. The mask sat there staring at you.

The hand that was on your throat quickly moved to fist your hair, turning your head back around. He pulled you up so your back was flush with his chest.

He continued to pound into you as you felt his lips on your neck. He sucked and bit down hard, surely leaving a few marks in his wake.

You felt a familiar warmth building in your stomach with each thrust. You shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you were. Your body was betraying you as you chased your climax.

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock while I split you open?” He grunted in your ear.

“Fuck, please,” you cried, unsure of what you were even begging for. Merciful release, you supposed.

“You’re taking me so well. Look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Gonna fill up this sweet pussy so you never forget me. Gonna be mine forever. You’re ruined for anyone else, got that? You’re mine,” he said.

His words were enough to throw you over the edge. Your body shook with pleasure as waves of euphoria crashed over you.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he said through gritted teeth. A few more thrusts and he was cumming as well, making good on his promise to fill you and ruin you for all others.

He slowly pulled out, watching his seed run down your thighs.

He let you turn around to finally face him. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, making you chuckle.

“How was that, baby?” He asked.

“So good, Billy. Thank you,” you sighed happily.

“Anything for my baby.”

[sturns-mermaid]

PRETTY BOY .ᐟ

WARNINGS: [sub matt, insecure matt, hand job, mirror, reader helps him get over his insecurities, use of pet names]

based on this post | more here

not proofread (too lazy) | wc: 592 | divider: @/v6que

Matt could be insecure sometimes, his negative thoughts overwhelming him especially when he was alone. You had run out to run some errands and get things from the store, wanting to surprise him since he had a hard day. He was just so stressed with current events and super exhausted, which is why you suggested he stay home and try to take a nap.

Matt however couldn’t sleep. He was tossing and turning in his sheets, and his brain wouldn’t shut off. Soon he found himself sitting up in bed and crying, his hands covering his face as hot tears spilled from his blue eyes. His mind told him horrible things, which he almost started to believe that is until you walked inside the room.

“Matt, guess what I got…” You're cut off by the sound of him sobbing, his body shaking, the shopping bags filled with his favorite snacks dropping to the floor as you rush over to him. “Hey, what’s wrong baby?” you ask sitting next to him and rubbing soothing circles on his back, feeling as his body trembles with each ragged breath. 

“I just feel so worthless,” he sputters out looking at you with his red eyes and messy hair covering his face. Your heart breaks at the sight, you hate to see him unhappy and so down about himself he was perfect in your eyes. “You're not worthless baby, why are you thinking those things?” you coo at him moving his hair from his face. “My head won’t stop spinning…” he trails off resting his face on your shoulder, his tears wetting your shirt. 

“See how pretty you look, baby,” you whisper in his ear stroking his leaking cock from behind him as he sits in between your legs. His bottom lip is drawn between his teeth as he nods hips bucking into your touch. “Are you watching sweet boy?” you ask, tilting his face towards the mirror in the corner of the room, making him look at himself. Moans and whimpers fall from his lips as he threatens to close his eyes, your hand abruptly stopping its movements.

“Mommy… don’t stop” he pouts, meeting your gaze through the mirror. “Keep your eyes open,” you demand watching him try his hardest to keep looking at himself through the glass. Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, his hips buck into your touch despite being embarrassed. “If you wanna come, you need to be a good boy, say those things I told you,” you utter, kissing the top of his head.

“Mommy… too embarrassing” he pouts, squirming not wanting to say nice things about himself. “Do it, or mommy won’t let you come” You grin watching as he gathers the courage. “I’m handsome…ahhh” the words fall from his lips as you speed up your hand on his aching cock.

“And?” you encourage him to continue. his hands grip the sheets feeling his release approach him, your other hand massaging his balls. “The best…for you” he continues looking at you through the mirror giving him a nod of reassurance. “And I'm perfect…” your hand moves faster, his cock twitching in your grip.

“Mmhp, mommy coming…” he moans loudly, his back arching into your chest as his release comes in white spurts coating your hand and his sheets. “There you go, pretty boy, look at the mess you made,” you coo, hugging him tightly as he turns his face buried in your chest. “Hm, you love being good for mommy don’t you?” you ask, running your hands through his hair.

-

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @hazedsturns @eclipsturns @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns  @lezleeferguson-120 @sturnsflirt

[verysanebsdfan]

Can u pls do the main four x a fem reader who bottles up all their emotions and pretends to be happy and one day they find the reader crying all by themselves. Sry if it wasn't clear. Btw I LOVE 🩷 ur work it is awesome.

Hii everyone!! Thank you so much for requesting!! I am glad oyu enjoy my work <33 I would like to apologize again for how long this took =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) I have no excuse for myself, and also I still have a lot of requests to do so stay tuned <33 (itll probably take long but shush)

MASTERLIST!!

Might be OOC!! and is short!! :((

cw: mentions of toxic family members, no use of y/n, use of she/her pronouns but really minimal since i mostly use 'you'

ʟᴇᴏʀɪᴏ, ᴋᴜʀᴀᴘɪᴋᴀ, ᴋɪʟʟᴜᴀ, ɢᴏɴ (sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇ) x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

It was at that moment knew, you messed up, at least in your eyes.

・・・・・

Some minutes ago, you got a call from your lovely family member, just friendly chit chat right? Wrong!! Again and again it turned against you. It always ends like this. No matter what you try, you will never be enough for them. And lately there has been so much going on too...

・・・・・

And that is why you ended up bawling your eyes out besides the bed in your current accomodation, with him next to you.

ʟᴇᴏʀɪᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪɴɪɢʜᴛ

A sob left your throat and you looked at him with teary eyes. Why did he even bother to stay? Yes, he is different to you. He cares, but he cares enough to stay? To stay when you are at your lowest. You turn to take a look at him.

"Why are you still here?"

You sniffle as you slightly lean into his gentle touch on your back. He only continues caressing you gently, and then leans in to gently wrap his arms around you.

"I am here for you because i care...silly"

And so, he stayed by your side for a long time. Enough for you to partially calm down. Everything is good now. He's here.

ᴋᴜʀᴀᴘɪᴋᴀ ᴋᴜʀᴛᴀ

As you sob softly- actually not softly at all, you bawl your eyes out, after finally breaking down your oh so happy facade you always let on, you might actually hear someones steps towards you, slowly pushing your head upwards to look at the unwanted intruder.

"Oh...not him please...he can't see me like this"

You thought, but it was too late. He has already sat down beside you, worried. Why was a person that is so dear to him, crying on the floor, looking as if their whole family got murdered, their cat got ran over and they lost all their money due to gamling. Which, obviously, isn't true, but you might or might not look like that.

He silently sat next to you. Keeping you company, occasionally caressing your back. After all, thats what you did when he was in your place.

ɢᴏɴ ғʀᴇᴇᴄss

When Gon saw you, his best friend, bawling their eyes, not just because they watched a sad reel, or a sad movie, perhaps a sad book. No. No sign of that around. He knew something must have happened. And so he approaches you without a second thought, crouching down beside you.

"Hey...what's wrong?"

But you continue sobbing! he just wants to help, but how. And then he leaves! Really? Why does everyone leave you? That doesn't even sound like Gon. But then he returns. Carrying a bunch of snacks...such a sweet gesture right? And!! He stayed.

ᴋɪʟʟᴜᴀ ᴢᴏʟᴅʏᴄᴋ

It's not as if he knew what to do when he saw you breaking down right infront of him, even if you didn't know about him. It is not as if he got a lot of comfort when he was a kid ya know? Yet, he tries. He stays. And speak gently into your ear, how it's all gonna be okay. How he wont leave. How he will stay.

Later, when you calm down, he will awkwardly offer you some of his choco robots, not much tho!! It's still his after all....

[weird-and-unwell]

“Autism isn’t a disability”, “it’s just a difference”.

I am of lower support needs. I hold down a (part time) job. I have travelled around my home country. I live alone.

At work they complain about my speech. I’m too quiet, they say, “barely audible” is the words used at my autism assessment. My voice is all monotone, and it needs to be more expressive. I get this complaint every week for a year straight, until my manager gives up. I don’t attend trainings because I forget and find it overwhelming anyways. My coworkers form friendships, and I watch them talk, wondering how they make it look so easy. I get a new manager, I tell her I find the work socials too overwhelming to attend. She tells me I can just say I don’t want to come. I don’t know how to tell her that I desperately want to, to be like the rest of my coworkers, instead of constantly being the one sat on the sidelines.

I come home, and I can hear my neighbours again. The niggling background noise messes with my head, and I meltdown; I throw myself on the floor, I hit my head on the ground repeatedly as I scream and cry, tear out my hair and scratch my arms and face. When I complain, people tell me that I just have to accept that neighbours make noise, that I should just ignore it, or block it out. I am the problem, the one overreacting. I put in earplugs and it hurts and I'm crying again. I wear headphones but I can't handle the noise for that long.

I have reminders set for everything. Every chore, no matter how big or small. My phone beeps at me, reminding me that I need to wash the dishes. If I don't go now, then tick the little box on my phone to say I did it, it won't get done. My home is almost always a mess despite this. It's not just chores either. I won't think to wash, dress myself, brush my teeth or hair, without those reminders. And unless someone actively prompts me to do so, I will do those tasks "wrong". I haven't changed my underwear in a month, and I'm currently aware that's a problem, but within the hour I'm going to forget all over again until I'm next prompted.

I can't sleep without medication - it's not unusual for autistic people to have messed up circadian rhythms. Without my medication it's hard to even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. When I was younger and at school I slept through so many lessons, and when I have my mandatory breaks from my sleep meds I sleep through every alarm I set. I want to work full time some day, and I'm terrified of what my sleep issue will mean for me then.

I don't travel independently. I don't travel anywhere alone, always with someone or to someone. If to someone, I have assistance the whole way. I find it embarrassing sometimes. Yes, I have a job that requires a certain level of intelligence. No, I cannot get on a train by myself. If I am not shown To The Train, To My Seat, I will be unable to travel.

Last time I travelled, I was left alone at the station for ten minutes. I stayed rigid and sobbed the whole time. I was overwhelmed. It was too loud, I didn't know where I was or where I was meant to be going, and until the assistance person came back I couldn't do anything because for some reason I cannot understand it.

I spend a lot of time trying to explain to people that despite my relative competence, I am unable to do many things. Why can I understand high level maths but not how to get on a damn train? No fucking idea.

"Autism isn't a disability" most severely affects those with higher support needs, and this is absolutely not to take away from them. But for fucks sake, autism is disabling.

Maybe you personally are extremely lucky and just find you're a little "socially awkward", or just find some textures painful or nauseating. Maybe you would be fine with just a couple of adjustments.

But for a lot of us, even lower support needs autistics, it doesn't work like that. I will never sleep properly without medication. I still have the self-harming type of meltdowns as an adult, over things that are deemed as being "just part of life". I live alone but have daily visits from family - if I'm left fully alone I forget all the little daily things one is "meant" to do. I had speech therapy as a child to get me to the "barely audible" "mostly correct" speech. I don't mask, I'm not really sure how I would to begin with.

I'm not unhappy with being autistic. It's just who I am. Life would be easier if I were neurotypical, but I also wouldn't be me. I just wish those luckier than me could...stop saying it's all chill and not at all a disability.

Because yes, socially, I am "awkward". I obviously don't make eye contact - I stare down and to the side of whoever I speak to. People think it's weird or creepy or a sign of disinterest. My autism assessor wrote down about how I often use words and phrases that don't make sense to others, even though they make perfect sense to me. In my daily life this means I'm frequently misunderstood, and have to try explain what I mean, when what I mean is exactly what I said, and the true issue is that what I mean just doesn't make sense to others. I gesture, at times, but again, my gestures apparently don't make sense in relation to what I'm saying. I take things literally, I have almost no filter, and I can't explain how I go from topic to topic.

And yes, I do have sensory problems. Sometimes people, including others with sensory problems, tell me that "sometimes sensory issues have to be tolerated", and I wonder what they think of as being sensory issues. I'm sure they do struggle, but if I say I can't handle a touch, I mean you will need to forcefully hold it against me for me to touch it more than a second and it will make me meltdown. If I say "I can't eat that", I mean that I am unable to swallow it, that I will gag and choke and inevitably spit it back out, as much as I try. If I say I can't handle a noise, I mean I'm so close to a meltdown and my meltdowns are a problem for everyone around me.

But yes. Autism. Not a disability. Just a fun quirky difference.

[postredevainilla]

"one one-hundredth" a 100 follower special

pairing: satoru gojo x fem reader

cw: unprotected sex, strength kink, mating press, overstimulation, size kink, mild dumbification, dirty talk, structural damage, reader is called a "good girl", aftercare(ish) + post-sex fluff, suggestive ending.

a/n: rahhhh 100 followers a week after my first post tysm guys i cant wait to feed u all more degenerate toru content!! <3

you knew this would happen eventually.

gojo’s cock is already too much on a normal day—long, thick, curved just right to make your stomach twist when he sinks in—but tonight?

tonight, something’s different.

maybe it’s the way he came back from a mission high off cursed energy. maybe it’s how he wouldn’t stop being a little shit all day—whispering “can’t wait to fuck you dumb later” into your ear while you were trying to fold laundry.

or maybe it’s the way he’s currently got you in a mating press, absolutely ruining you, hips snapping into yours like he’s got a point to prove, like he wants the whole damn neighborhood to know you’re his.

“fuuuck, baby,” he groans, sweat dripping from his neck to your chest as his grip bruises your thighs, “you’re squeezin’ me so tight—think she’s scared. she knows what i’m capable of, huh?”

your only response is a cracked, pathetic sob. every time he hits that spot—that spot—it makes your vision go white at the edges. you’re so far gone you can barely breathe, mouth open, gasping, half-moaning like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

“c’mon, baby,” he coos, not a single drop of sweat slowing him down, “don’t go dumb on me yet. you said you could take it.”

you didn’t. but it’s too late for that now.

he slams into you again—hard—and something shifts. something wood. something structural.

you both freeze.

“…that wasn’t me,” you whisper.

gojo tilts his head, then smirks. “that was me. but don’t worry—i’m only using, like, one-onehundredth of my strength.”

“that’s not comforting, satoru—”

he pulls out until just the thick, flushed tip’s nudging your entrance, and slams back in with such force the entire mattress bounces. the bedframe lets out a deep, tortured groan.

“oops,” he chirps, breath hot against your ear. “should i go easier?”

you try to speak. try to say “yes, dont break the fucking bed.” you try. but he starts moving again—fast, relentless—and all that leaves your mouth is a garbled whimper.

“that’s what i thought,” he laughs darkly. “bet your brain’s all fucked out already. look at you. just a mess for me.”

your nails carve into his back. he groans, low and desperate, like he lives for it.

“that’s it. mark me up, sweetheart. be a good girl and take what i give you.”

you jolt.

the next thrust knocks the headboard clean off. there’s a sickening crack, and suddenly you’re fucking on a slanted mattress, one corner dipped toward the floor like the whole bedframe just gave up.

gojo does not stop.

not even when your legs start twitching. not when you sob his name into his neck. not even when your whole body shudders and your orgasm slams into you like a truck.

“shiiit, that’s it,” he moans, chasing his own release now, fucking you through it like a man possessed. “look at you. creamin’ all over me. you want it that bad, huh? want me to ruin you?”

your body says yes even when your mouth can’t.

his thrusts get rougher. meaner. until his hips stutter and he buries himself deep—so fucking deep you swear you feel it in your throat—and lets go with a growl, hot cum spilling into you as the frame collapses completely under both your weight.

but gojo’s not done.

he keeps going, fucking you through his orgasm, chasing every last pulse of it, like he’s addicted to the way your body clutches around him.

you’re whimpering. crying. your brain is goo.

he finally slows. lets out a shaky sigh and presses a kiss to your cheek, and then your collarbone, and then your jaw.

“…we should probably get a new bed,” he murmurs.

later, you’re both flat on your backs, sprawled on the dead mattress like survivors of some freak furniture war. gojo’s scrolling on his phone, clicking through listings with weirdly serious concentration.

“okay,” he says, holding up a picture. “this one’s got reinforced carbon steel and anti-vibration mounts. might survive two rounds.”

you peer over. “that’s a tactical bunk bed.”

“perfect for a tactical dickdown,” he says.

you sigh, but he’s already moved on.

“ooh, this one. definitely honored one-proof.” he scrolls to the reviews. “ five stars. that’s promising.”

you laugh. “maybe… we should test it out before buying. for research purposes.”

gojo’s eyes gleam.

he adds it to the cart twice.

[withahappyrefrain]

need peter to come fuck me on my lunch break

GOD SAME

"P-Peter," it's impressive you can say a word coherently, given that you're currently folded in half on your work desk while your boyfriend thrusts into you without mercy.

"Shh," his breath is hot on your ear. A large hand covers your mouth, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head.

It seemed like he had walked into your office to drop off your forgotten lunch merely five minutes ago. Now your pants are somewhere on the floor, the lunch got knocked off along with the rest of the papers, and honestly you couldn't care at this point.

"Gotta stay quiet ladybug. You don't want people to hear you, right?" Peter simply chuckles when you shake your head.

"I know, you can't help it. My smart girl just goes all dumb the second I'm inside ya." The condescension should not have caused your walls to clench around his cock, but here we are. Your boyfriend fucking into you like there's no tomorrow, your coworkers milling outside your office, ready to knock at a moment's notice.

At least Peter had enough sense to lock the door.

Another thrust caused his cock to brush against your walls, specifically the spot that turned you into a rambling mess. The sounds were muffled by Peter's hand.

God, you were trying so hard. How you were at war with yourself, torn between giving yourself fully into pleasure and maintaining some sense of professionalism made Peter's cock twitch. Every thrust sent your body squirming against his. As the pressure built up in your abdomen, the sounds against Peter's hand increased.

"I know," he cooed, "Love hearing you fall apart on me. But do you want your coworkers to know how desperate you are for me? For my dick?"

Frankly, at this point, you didn't care. You were so close, near the edge of total pleasure. It took Peter a moment to realize you were trying to say something, not just moan, underneath his hand.

When he removed his hand from your face, you were hit with an influx of oxygen. What did you need more, air or to come around his cock?

"P-please! I'm s'close, I just, just need-" He understood. Peter was very familiar with your body; where he needed to softly touch to raise your heartbeat and what you needed to come.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," he reassured, hand slipping down to where your bodies connected.

A crack of lightning shot up your spine as his thumb drew circles on your clit. The pressure was perfect, exactly what you needed.

"T-thank you," you practically sobbed. Peter's mouth covered yours, swallowing your moans and gratitude.

"C'mon bug, you can do it," he praised against your lips. With another roll of his thumb your back arched, muscles tightening for a brief moment before relaxing as pleasure overtook your body.

Peter wasn't far behind. He never was, not when it felt so good to have your tight walls squeeze his cock, your warmth flooding around him.

The two of you laid on the desk for a beat or two, panting as you both attempted to regain control of breathing.

"So," Peter was the first to speak, lifting his head up from your chest, "You think you can get off work early?"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Difficult VI

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: You're a racing star

Ingrid can remember it like it was yesterday.

It wasn't the best race she'd watched, not with you crashing out from third position on the first lap, not when you'd fallen from your bike and rolled on the floor for a bit.

But then you'd gotten up again and you'd gotten back onto your bike and sped off to catch the pack.

It'd been a brutal battle for you to make up the places you lost and then from last you were second, closing in on first around the second to last corner.

Ingrid can remember the commentators when she watched the race back.

"And...Oh my god, Redbull's Rookie sweep pasts her championship rival! From last to first at the first Barcelona MotoGP race, it's the home favourite! The Norwegian raised in Barcelona, the Rookie in her first year! Y/n Engen-León crosses the line! Her first win! One of many I think!"

Ingrid can remember it all so clearly as you parked your bike, took off your helmet and ran at her, sobbing into her shoulder.

It was your first year in MotoGP. It was your first race win too and you sobbed like that little girl who once watched Ingrid lift the Champion's League trophy.

And, now, you're here.

"I'm Max Verstappen, former Formula One driver."

"And I'm Y/n Engen-León, current MotoGP champion and I'm going to be trading in my motorbike for a Formula One car."

You'd been a Redbull girl since your very first race at the tender age of five. It had been on one of the dirt tracks in Mapi's hometown and a Redbull representative had come up to you all at the end of the race to discuss your potential.

From there, you'd grown up driving for Redbull. You'd driven for them in Motocross and then now in MotoGP too.

You were more than happy to drag Ingrid and Mapi along to your interviews and opportunities.

But Ingrid has to admit to some degree of fear seeing you in Max Verstappen's old championship winning car.

It had taken years for Ingrid to get used to you on a bike and while a car is meant to be safer, that fear increases tenfold as she watches you mess around with the steering wheel and test out the pedals.

"I like this," You say to the camera before turning to your parents," Mumma, Mami, check this out."

Always eager, Mapi practically prances forward to look at where you're pointing. Ingrid follows a little more slowly, a tense smile on her face.

"It'll be fine, Mumma," You say, reaching out to take her hand," I'll be okay. I was made for this kind of thing."

As Ingrid watches you peal onto the track, she can't help but think that you're kind of right. You've adored all types of racing since you were tiny, the little daredevil that you were.

It was just luck that Mapi's father got you a bike instead of a kart or else you would have ended up in one of these cars rather than your bike.

You had a need for speed and a racer's disregard for speeding laws.

You took to all forms of racing as you turn through a corner neatly and cross the line.

"Woo!" You say, pumping your fist as you step out," That was good. Was it good?"

Max Verstappen looks up from the data, nodding. "Two seconds off the reference lap."

You grin. "Not so bad for my first time, huh?"

He purses his laps, eyes studying you. "I think you could do better."

Your grin stretches into a smirk. "I know I could do better."

You do lap after lap after lap until your barely one-hundredth of a second off your reference lap.

Ingrid knows, in theory, that Formula One racing is different to your racing but you make it look so easy. You look like you've been racing cars your entire life.

"Look at her," Mapi says in awe," Look! Look!"

Your last lap is your best, one tenth faster than the reference and you're grinning like you've just won your home race again.

Your fists pump up as you jump from the car, pulling off your helmet.

"Did you see? Mumma, Mami? Did you see?"

"I got a video!" Mapi says," I'll send it to your Abuelo, he'll be so excited to see this!"

After your drive in the car, you end up in another interview with Verstappen.

You've become quite the star in your racing series and the team are really trying to capitalise on it.

"Yeah, I mean," Ingrid catches you saying," I've been racing since I was little. My Abuelo got me my first bike when I was still young and we had to hide it from my Mumma for months because she didn't approve."

Ingrid can still remember seeing you on your first bike. She can still remember thinking that it was surprising they made ones that small. She can still remember your racing suit and your helmet and the joy you got out of something simple as going up and down the bumps of the dirt track.

"I don't think I can even explain what I felt when I won in my rookie year. It means so much to me and my parents had to sacrifice a lot to help me on my journey. I didn't have quite as much success in Motocross as I'm having in MotoGP right now. I know my Mumma would prefer if I chose a safer sport but I think that's why I try so hard. I want to prove to her that despite all these injuries and despite all the danger, she did a good thing in letting me keep racing. I could have driven under Spain's flag if I wanted but Mumma's Norwegian and I'm Norwegian and I want to make her proud."

Something in Ingrid breaks then and she turns her head into Mapi's neck, tears falling from her eyes as she tries not to sob out loud.

Of course she's proud of you. She's so proud of you. She'll always be proud of you.

With or without a championship.

"And of course, my Mami and her family are the ones that got me into racing. Her father used to be my mechanic when I was a kid and Mami was always signing me up for races and supporting me when I got hurt. She designs all my helmets. I think my first win at Barcelona was really the culmination of all the hard work she put into me and my racing."

Verstappen nods along with you. "Would you say that your mothers are your biggest supporters?"

You grin. "Definitely."

[sawmaw]

break-in boy

🫀 floyd leech x (fem) reader

🫀 sub floyd, masturbation, fantasizing, breaking and entering, mild scent kink(?)

🫀 note: sorry this one is short. this was also written around 2 years ago 💔

Again and again and again, he keeps coming back.

With you gone running your prefect errands with Grim and the ghosts helping out with the school lunch, Ramshackle was left bare without anyone in sight.

Anyone except Floyd, of course.

He sat on the floor of your bedroom, the closet left open in his hastiness to grab the shirt he currently had his face buried in as his hand furiously pumped his cock.

He shamelessly trembled and moaned, he could be as loud as he wanted. His eyes were closed tight, his mind flooding with so many different scenarios and fantasies, some of which he hadn’t even known he’d enjoy until he was in the spur of the moment.

What would you do if you caught him like this?

He figured you would look at him with that disgusted scowl, your nose scrunched. Would you just kick him out? Would you stand there and order him to continue while you berate him, call him the freak he is? Would you join in, take out your frustrations on his body?

He remembered that one time when you jokingly said that “anything that entered your room was automatically owned by you” after he had accidentally left a lighter there. He knows you were talking about material objects, but he couldn’t help himself from declaring himself owned by you. He was just one of the many objects you owned.

He peeked out from the shirt, his eyes mindlessly searching for his—your—lighter. It was set on your nightstand, next to a glass cup that was filled with ashes. You used the lighter to burn papers. He let out a small whimper, hoping you were thinking of him as you used it, please.

Maybe you would be crueler and would let him go, only to hang this over his head to get what you wanted. You seemed like the blackmailing type.

Maybe you’d take pity on him, let him finish while reassuring that everything was alright. Hey, he could dream; of course you wouldn’t be okay with him breaking into your room to jerk himself off while he suffocated himself in your clothes.

He bucked into his hand, imagining it was yours. He could feel himself twitching; he was getting close so much faster than usual. He whined, forcing himself to the brink, then pulling his hand away just before he could cum. It was something he thought you would do. He thought you’d just want to get him to cry, to make him beg to cum.

He let himself calm down for a bit before beginning to stroke his cock again, keeping a slower pace to let himself bask in his mind again.

What if he disobeyed and came without permission? Maybe just to piss you off, he’d nip at you or try to grab you with a wide, cocky grin. He’d put up a fight, but he knew he wouldn’t let himself win in the end. Maybe you’d get angry enough and tie him down, or slap him around until he surrenders, maybe you’d give him too much of what he wanted and make him cum, and then again, and again, and again, and wouldn’t stop until he was useless.

He sobbed out a moan, his hand squeezing the tip of his dick as precum leaked out. He tried to press himself deeper into the shirt, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in your tits.

He wanted to be put on his knees in front of you while you sat on the edge of the bed like a throne, your skirt hiked up enough to get a look at your thighs but still not enough. He wanted you to make rules for him just so he could break them, just so he could get punished, just so you could touch him in any way he could get.

He was a pathetic mess, he didn’t know what happened to him. One moment he’s knocking out debtors for Azul, the next he’s daydreaming about some woman pummeling him into the ground; in more ways than one.

“Please, just fuckin’…” he murmured, feeling the knotted pressure slowly building up again.

He hoped you thought about him like this, even if just a bit. He’d dress up for you sometimes. That one trip to the beach they had, he’d worn his shirt open for you . He prayed to the Great Sevens he caught your eye, just to make you debate what good arm candy he’d be.

His growls turned into gasps, his grip tightening ever-so-slightly. He was so close, so close, just—

A hand suddenly gripped his hair from behind him and yanked his head back, narrowed angry eyes piercing into his.

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

[csilla0issa]

ran to tumblr when I heard this again ᕠ( ᐛ )و

—————————————————————————

TOJI FUSHIGURO

tied him down to my queen bed, tease him just enough to hate me

︴tw: dom/reader, sub!toji, overstimulation, small bit of dacryphilia, mention of bondage, toji is smitten

⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊ᰔ

Toji didn't remember how he ended up here, under you and your tortuous hand on his aching cock while you straddled him, his hands tied up with a random pair of panties that you had in your drawer and the only thing you had to do so. Though to your dismay,he tore the fabric later on.

All he remembers is watching a movie with you in matching pajamas that you bought for you and him, then a slow, heavy makeout and teasing you all he wanted. You had decided you had enough and took it in your own hands, quite literally.

He was bare, his clothes discarded on the floor and you still, surprisingly so, had a decent amount of clothes on, wearing that white tanktop that Toji loved so much, the fabric hugging your curves in all the right places and those baby pink pair of panties with white lace and a tiny, cute satin bow. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead as hot, heavy breaths escaped his parted, swollen lips.

"C’mon, give me another one, baby." You cooed, your voice so distinctively sweet that he thought you were actually going to give him a break.

You've been stroking at his cock for almost two hours, a sticky mess painted all over your hands and his stomach— just a tiny bit on his chest when he shot his warm load practically all over himself— and hot tears cascading down his flushed cheeks. You haven't stopped at all, praising him so sweetly, caressing your thumb over his angry red tip and pumping at his shaft until he came all over your hand for the umpteenth time.

He was literally sobbing at this point, begging for a break and the tips of his ears were red, showing that he was embarrassed yet failed to fight back. His wrists were free, why wasn't he pushing you back onto the bed and rutting his hips into you over and over again until you squirted all over his cock? He thought. As desperate as he was to deny it, he loved the feel of your soft hands wrapped around him, pulling every release from him and falling to your every whim and praise.

"Fuck- I'm t-trying." His head fell back against the pillow, his eyes shut tight to escape your amused gaze.

He was so close too, wanting to give you what you wanted but the overstimulation was clawing at his skin, keeping him from an almost painful orgasm but the gentle strokes over his tip made him bust on the spot. Your gentle murmurs of ‘mm, yeah that's it’ and ‘so good for me’ was driving him crazy, almost to a second orgasm as you continued to jerk him off

More tears left his eyes, groans and protests flying past his lips as you softly kissed his tears and slowed down a little but didn't stop. "Sweetheart, doll, please!"

He was begging now, and he— wait a minute. Was that a whimper?

He bit his lip immediately, keeping any more groans or pathetic moans from coming out as he tried to writhe away from your grip. You were grinning, giggling at his current state yet you couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Your boyfriend had come home from a long day out, in need of some time with you, and now you were here overstimulating him to tears.

Your hand had stopped it's continuous up and down motions, finally coming to a stop as you gently released his cock, a soft plap sound coming from the gentle hit of his dick against his abdomen. You carefully got up from the bed, getting a few tissues and cleaning up his torso and being gentle around his spent cock, finally cleaning up your hands and throwing the tissues into a trash bin and laying beside him on the bed.

He was breathing heavily, clearly still embarrassed and not surprisingly had enough energy to roll over, pull you close, and pull the blankets over the two of you— he had crazy stamina, so it surprised you enough that he hadn't done something about your little stunt already.

He was warm too, void of any sweat from earlier due to the fan that was currently on near the end corner of the bed— you sweat a lot sometimes during sleep, and he had gotten worried enough to buy a fan and keep it just for you, and he so adorably denied that he did it just for you— as he nuzzled his face into your neck, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

"You whimpered." You snickered, grinning once again.

"Shut it."

"Admit it!"

"No." He sighed.

"Then I'll do it again."

"I did not whimper."

You giggled and kissed his cheek, still smiling. "Fine, fine. Love you."

The tips of his ears were red again as he grumbled, his beefy arms gently wrapped around you. "M’love you more." He murmured against your neck, finally closing his eyes and getting his much needed rest

⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊⚊ᰔ A/N: omg I know I said I would get it done in a little but plz forgive me I got busy again 🙏

[wtfsteveharrington]

take the upper hand | carmen berzatto x reader

push the reset button we're becomin' something new

description: carmen berzatto is stubborn and anxious and doesn't always know how to express himself. your best friend drags you to a party that carmen knows you'll be at and he shows up to make amends and thank god he does because he saves you from dealing with some drunk asshole.

content warnings: angsty!! drinking/party scene, shitty drunk guy w/ a shitty guy mentality!!, reader gets hit on with one night stand suggestion tones, carmen's ready to swing, mentions of anxiety and jealousy. mentions of reader drinking. kissing, mentions of intimacy related scratches, some light smut references.

author notes: my first time posting something that isn't just smut!! also something that no one but me has read!! normally i always get a proof read, not today. but this idea has been rattling around in my ole noggin' for a minute now so here we are. reminder!! you are responsible for your own media consumption!! if this won't be your jam then there's tons of other fics in the sea (: ily thank you!

even if it's handcuffed i'm leavin' here with you

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The last place you wanted to be tonight was some house party in Wicker Park. With Pitbull, of all artists, playing so loud in the basement that the floor upstairs was still vibrating. Everything was sticky and stinky and you did not wanna be here.

But your best friend was hooked on this guy from her gym. 

It didn’t help that Carmy recognized his name from high school and mumbled out some remark about, “Oh yeah, no Dave’s a pretty solid guy.” She was convinced it was a sign that they were meant to be. Not to mention she found his mom’s Facebook and a post from two years ago that included his birth time. The whole train ride over you listened to how compatible the two of them were and how much she loved that he was a Scorpio rising. 

She had begged you to come to this God forsaken party and help put in a good word for her. Something had her convinced that if you mentioned just how well you were getting to know Carmen to this Dave guy that he would hold your opinion of her in higher regards.

And sure, maybe there was a part of you that hoped Carmen would be here even while the two of you were feuding. He knew it was coming up but couldn’t promise he’d be off in time - Something you got quite used to. It normally didn’t bother you that he had so many late nights at the resturant but when it rains, it pours and now you’re stuck sitting next to the sink littered cups filled with what can only be best described as some sort of horrific finance bro jungle juice. A mix of 1942 and fresh pressed juice. 

Your nose wrinkles up at the smell but you’re quickly refocused at the booming sounds of Ethan Callaghan stumbling through the back door. Another man Carmy knew from high school but didn’t like as much. Something about always being too in-your-face. Though you were pretty sure he was close with the guy your best friend was currently hooking up with in some random bedroom down the hall. 

The second his eyes land on you there’s a lopsided smile being thrown your way as he tries to fluff his hair and stand up as straight as possible. He’s stumbling into the kitchen with a full drink in hand, droning on and on about how he was ‘just so jealous’ that your friend went into that bedroom earlier. How nice it must be to not end the night alone. No pleasantries at all, just right into the whole lonely and horny act that was grossing you out. 

No one particularly knew you and Carmy were together yet - He wasn’t the type who wanted to label right away and potentially mess things up and you weren’t the type to out your dating status to random drunken men either. Besides, you weren’t so sure that ‘I have a boyfriend’ would put an end to this pitiful man’s sob story. 

As if, on queue and manifested right out of thin air, Carmen rounds the corner and takes a second to soak in the sight in front of him. You’re sitting there with your eyes trained on the water bottle in your hands. Ethan’s yapping away about how pretty you are and how big his apartment is. An excellent view in Streeterville that you’d love to see with the best brunch place in town two blocks away blah, blah, blah. Your shoulders are hunched over, body leaning away from Ethan as he stands at the window watching his reflecting in the window above the sink. 

“Hey - Been looking for you.”

Carmen.

Your head whips around to the sight of his voice instantly. There’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him standing in front of you after you two had been apart for these last few days. He looked tired. Wearing a sweater he knows you love because he wants to look nice for you. God you wanted to run over and crash yourself against his chest. Screw the petty fight. Instead you’re stuck giving him a very pointed look, hoping he takes the hint to save you. 

He’d be lying if there wasn’t a split second where Carmen feared you were actually going to go home with this loser until he saw the panic and annoyance written across your face. Ethan’s laughing at the sight of him. “Hey, Dude. Think we’re all good here, yeah?” Oh he hates this dick. 

There’s a thick level of tension in the room as Carmen squares up his shoulders and steps further into the room. His eyes are trained on Ethan who clearly wasn’t expecting much of a fight out of Carmy. He stops when he’s standing between your knees, putting himself between the two of you. Something about the way he instantly turned possessive turned up a feeling deep in your stomach no matter how annoyed you still were. 

“Pretty sure someone out back was looking for you, Dude. It doesn’t seem like anyone in here wants you around. Now either you’re too fucking dense to realize it or you don’t care that you’re not wanted, but I’m here to let you know. So I suggest running out back and getting the fuck out of our hair.” 

Ethan’s clearly entertained while looking between the two of you, a playful glint in his eye. You’re silently begging him to walk away and find yourself bringing a hand up to put on the small of Carmen’s back. While you’ve never seen him actually fight, you’ve seen many scraps between him and Richie. Heard stories of him growing up and heard the Bachelor party story. 

You’re fine not having your own fight stories to tell. 

T-Pain is now blasting in the background and the contrast of people laughing and singing downstairs versus the situation you’ve found yourself in is making your head spin. The whole time your best friend is clueless and wrapped up in Mr. Scorpio Rising. She owes you big time. Like you’ve secured friend of the year already and she needs to throw a parade in your honor after going through this.

Ethan’s finally putting his hands up in the air, that shit eating grin still plastered across his features. “My bad, my bad. Didn’t know you were already claimed.” Claimed. Gross. Your fingers press into Carmy’s back, a silent plea to beg him not to escalate this even more. He’s laughing at the sight of the two of you before snagging a half finished bottle of vodka off the counter and backing up towards the back door. 

Carmen steps out from between your legs and follows Ethan to ensure he leaves. Shoulders pushed back, chest puffed out. You’d find the sight entertaining if you still weren’t so on edge. Carmen Berzatto, your protector. 

And sure, he’s probably just making this asshole someone else’s problem for the night but he doesn’t care. The main priority is getting you away from him and getting you safe. 

You catch the sight of his curls out of the corner of your eye when Carmen returns and instantly steel your spine. The shift in the air now that Ethan is gone was thick. He was a distraction from the distance between you two but now you’re preparing yourself for another argument when really you had no energy left to give it. There was a small worry that he’d think you gave Ethan any inclination that you were interested. Even though you two had been tense, there was never anyone else but you but him. Even if you’re too stubborn to drop that information just yet.

Carmen’s quiet. His heavy boots against the floor make your heart beat faster. Everyone had scattered out of the kitchen when he walked Ethan out of there but not before giving you two a nervous glance as they went. Some probably disappointed there wasn’t a fight if we’re being honest.

“Hey.” 

You don’t dignify him with a response. Crossing your arms over your chest and taking a sudden interest in the magnets that littered this guy’s fridge. Toying with the idea of putting the ‘Area 51 is for Lovers!’ magnet in your pocket. You figured you deserved something for going through this hell of a night. 

He stops himself once he’s reached your side, the silence awkward and thick in the air. Carmy’s hand is on your knee now, his touch not as firm as you’re used to. The whiplash of emotions once again not helping either of you know just quite where you stand. 

“M’still mad at you.” 

He winces but he knew it was coming. 

The two of you wallow in silence. Carmy’s just about to finally speak but someone stumbles in on the hunt for vodka, takes one look at the annoyance on your boyfriend’s face, before quickly muttering they’ll find it somewhere else. 

And you still won’t look at him. 

He’s grabbing at your waist now, pulling you from the counter and against his chest. You wanna protest but there’s still a buzz going through your body that makes it hard to think quick enough to push back. Plus God does he feel warm and smell so good.

Carmy’s walking backwards towards the fridge, waiting until his back is flush against it to slide down. Bringing down those magnets you wouldn’t stop staring at, family photos, whatever was in his way came with the two of you. He’s tugging you until you’re straddling his waist while he brings his knees up to support you. Grabbing a hold of your face, finally making you look at him and fuck he looks like shit close up. Dark circles, hair a little messier than he’d normally allow, a bit of fear deep in his eyes. 

“You gotta tell me how to fix this.” It’s all unfamiliar territory for him. There wasn’t exactly a good example set for him growing up to say the least. 

Four days ago Carmen watched as the barista at some coffee shop you wanted to go to flirted with you. That shit already annoyed him, but he tried to bite his tongue. Then your latte came out with a heart in the foam and you kept explaining that’s just how they all come out but he was jealous and possessive and didn’t know how to communicate that so instead the two of you fought in the car for an hour. It was so stupid and he’s been kicking himself in the ass ever since. 

The past four days you refused to talk to him and had done a good job at dodging the situation. Normally you two fight, you fuck, and then you pretend everything’s okay. The cycle was getting old and wearing you down.

Until now. 

You give a heavy sigh, reaching out to toy with the bottom hem of his shirt. Carmy really did look like it had been going through it so you’re throwing him a small bone. “Maybe not making me sit on a sticky floor would be a good start.” He’s muttering out this small laugh, thankful to hear anything coming out of your mouth let alone a joke, the sound vibrating against your fingertips and you hate how much it fills your heart. 

He waits for the rest. The other shoe to fall. Every ounce of laughter is gone when you finally collect yourself enough for - “Do you think we’re good together, Carmen?” You can feel him stiffen under you, his hands gripping at your waist because he needs something to give him some stability. 

A beat goes by. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Another beat, this time it’s Carmy who refuses to look at you. Eyes downcast and trained on your lap. “But I’m not sure I’m good for you.” You weren’t expecting that. 

Once again silence falls between the two of you, still toying with the hem of his shirt before you lean in to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Taking a deep breath that’s filled with his cologne, faint smoke, and just Carmen that you’ve grown to crave. “You just gotta learn to trust me, Carmen. Outta everyone in this world, I’m the main one who never wants to hurt you. Especially for some barista with a fuckin’ comb over.” 

You hoped he would laugh again, but the sound never comes. Instead you feel his arms go tight around your body, his knees coming up a bit more which makes you fully lean into his chest. He’s clinging to you, wishing so badly he knew what to say (or could let himself) say what he knows he needs to. Instead he’s just pressing a kiss ​​to your head, sighing into your hair. 

“I wanna be better for you. Just don’t know how.” 

The two of you cling to each other and fight to get as close as possible. The distance apart these past four days has left the both of you physically aching for one another. It’s been hours, days of a tense heart and checking phones for texts neither of you knew how to send. You press a kiss against his neck, leaning back just enough to grab his face in your hands and stroke your thumbs over his cheeks. 

“It’s scary for me too, y’know? This, us. You’re not alone in being scared but lashing out at me isn’t gonna solve anything. I’m not going anywhere, Carmy.” You take the first step in mending the relationship by leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. There’s a hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he’s still scared you’re going to change your mind and run off before he can realize it’s happening. 

He’s letting you take the lead and only deepening the kiss once he feels your hands slide under his shirt. Fingers trailing along the toned skin while Carmey licks your bottom lip. Your hands glide around his back where you’re able to trace over healing scratches left on the skin from your last night together. 

Your lips part and you take the lead once again, letting your tongue slide along his and giving a low moan into his mouth as you taste him. There’s the lingering taste of cigarettes mixed with black coffee and Carmen. Once again indescribable and simply him. His grip on you tightens up in response and you know if you’re not careful then you’ll end up disheveled and tangled up in the backseat of his car or bent over one of the sinks in a disgusting bathroom. Both options you refuse to pick over getting home and letting him properly make this up to you. 

Dragging your nails along the healing marks, Carmen starts to lose track of his kissing. His grip on your neck tightening a bit more, hips rocking up towards you against his better judgement. The motion’s getting needy and sloppy and you have to pull away much to both of your disappointment. 

Shaking your head and bringing your hands up to rest flush against his warm chest. “You’re not gonna fuck me on this nasty floor. I deserve better than this.” Which, of course you do. He just gets carried up when he’s wrapped up in you. He’s nodding in agreement but can’t stop himself from licking his own lips to chase the sensation of you.

He’s looking over your features, his heart picking up pace even more than he thought was possible anymore. “Think you’re meant to be my forever, y’know? Sometimes I look at you and it scares the shit out of me because I look ahead and-... It’s you. Kids sitting at a table in the restaurants doing homework. A honeymoon overseas where I get to drag you around different pasty shops and restaurants and we’ll find random art in flea markets to hang when we get home. Take photos that end up framed. It’s you. Always.” 

Now how are you supposed to be mad when he’s this open and honest. Unpacking a future you had thought only you considered so far. You hope this behavior sticks. It’s not easy for either of you, but it’s worth fighting through the learning curve. “Kids, huh? Multiple? They’ll be your harshest critics, Carmy. I dunno if you can handle their reviews quite yet.” He’s chuckling, shaking his head with a lazy smile. “No, not yet. But one day.” The promise of more between you finally putting an end to this discussion for now. You make a mental note to remember this moment when the two of you bicker in the future - No matter what there’s always more on the road ahead of you. 

Which makes you smile too. Wrapping your arms around his neck. “One day.” You reward him with one more kiss, knowing that’s all the two of you can risk before you end up sprawled out on this floor. 

Carmy’s desperate to keep the lightened mood. He’s giving it a moment for both of you to calm back down from kissing before playfully scrunching up his face. “God you taste like shitty tequila.” It works. You’re laughing and swatting your hand against his chest, feeling a bit lighter than you did when you walked into this place. “Carmen Berzatto be nice to me!” 

He’s beaming at you now. Bright, happy. 

It’s a stark difference from the funk you’d both been stuck in since this fight started. The sight makes your heart swell and you bring a hand up to push some curls back off of his forehead. Leaning in to press a kiss against the tip of his nose. 

“Lemme take you home, yeah? Get you some food on the way? Gotta make sure someone so pretty doesn’t wake up with a hangover.” He loves taking care of you in anyway you'll let him.

You nod and carefully start to shuffle off of his lap. Getting yourself to your feet before reaching down to help tug Carmen up to his feet. You catch as he adjusts himself in his pants, a flush blooming along his cheeks and down his neck. Stepping back in until you’re chest to chest with him, you press a line of kisses along his jaw. Rough stubble going away once you find his lips yet again. You hum against his mouth, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. “You gotta shave in the morning, Carmy.” He’s nodding instantly, reaching his hand down into his pocket to fish out the car keys. 

There’s a notification lighting up your phone - Perfect timing. A simple “Gonna spend the night ;)” text from your best friend. You can’t help but to grin and roll your eyes, turning the phone around so Carmen can see the notification too. He’s laughing while sliding a hand into your back pocket and starting to lead the two of you out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah, remind me to tell Dave that his friend fuckin’ sucks.” 

[eph3merall]

hateful words and harsh jabs replay in your head, tears burning behind your eyelids as you stare at chris. his back is to you, shuffling things around on a cluttered desk of crinkled bills, jewelry, papers, and drug products. you don't really understand what went wrong, why he'd suddenly want to break the little thing you two have off. chris knows you don't really have anyone else right now, falling off with all of your friends after they found out your drug addiction was slowly creeping in again.

it was tough on you specifically, chris probably couldn't give a fuck. it's not like his daily life changed much, as grunted quietly when he was unable to retrieve the lighter he always keeps on his desk. furrowing in his jeans pockets, his eyes stray towards you standing there, dumbfounded, like some stone statue. he can't help but think you're pathetic, and he was unsure why he even startes this whole thing with you in the first place.

the click of the lighter chris obtains in his pocket is something he finds comfort in, the sound being one he's heard multiple times before that he could continue click, click, clicking and it wouldn't ever annoy him. he's tried telling himself that you don't mean to be annoying, that you don't mean to be overbearing and that shit's happened to you as much as himself.

but maybe his brain was all fucked up as he takes a drag of the lit blunt in his hand, stalking towards the window of his room to place two hands on a part of it and lift up—a gust of cold air hitting him directly and making the smell of weed just that little lighter. you've finally picked the pieces of your heart up from the floor, pressing at your eyes tightly to ward off the tears. chris never really did enjoy when you cried.

he wants you to leave. get out of his room, out of the frat house where the other guys will most definitely eye you weirdly as you walk out. turning to his desk, he makes himself busy. he doesn't care, why would he? his friends have been buzzing at him for the longest time for hooking up with someone like you, making stupid jokes and jabs about marriage and stupid shit like that. so he finally did something about it.

—

“you're so annoying, y'know? fuckin', talkin' my ear off one second n'then whining when i dont respond. not like you're givin' me the chance to, anyways.”

“and dont get me started on when 'i hurt your feelings'. jeesus, actin' like you crying like some baby wont piss me off. dont be fuckin' stupid, kid, use that brain of yours.”

“gullible as shit too, y'know? what, you didnt think i actually liked you. oh, thats funny, baby. make more of those jokes n'maybe ill laugh next time. god, you didnt ever think i was just usin' you? takin' advantage of havin' some pretty pussy practically under my arm and extra money for my products. fuck, you're stupid.”

“oh, alright, cry jus' like y'did last time, see if i give a shit this time.”

you try to forget everything chris said to you and more, sitting in your room in some old zip up chris left over at your place. it reeks of weed and something thats just so him, it makes you feel sick. your cheeks itch and lips go dry the longer you sob, hating the silence whenever you go slightly quiet. its like a taunt, youre alone now, for good. you wont ever get those friends back unless you fix yourself the fuck up.

you're a mess, blubbering sobs filling the silence and wracking your body. shuddering breaths in and out, constantly repeating to yourself to breathe and to focus on anything you can currently feel or hear. your vision is far too blurry from tears to see anything clearly, nose also clogged and preventing a good sense of smell. the fur of your blanket, running steps outside your room at one point accimpanied by laughter and voices. the cold metal of the zipper and interlocking teeth of chris' zip up sends a shock to your skin in some way, the smell of weed clinging to the fabric and breaking through the barrier your nose had. you wish you didn't smell it, only ending in thoughts of chris and making you cry some more.

the next few weeks are uneventful. nothing particular happens to you or chris, besides one of your friends' birthdays—kira. you took it upon yourself to text her a little message even after she dropped you, harshly telling you to 'get yourself together' if you wanted to be friends again. the text sent, it got read, and stayed that way. you don't exactly blame her, but your heart only dropped more in despair. because a little, innocent part of you truly thought she'd say thank you, or hope you're doing well, or at least text back.

a lot of the hours of the past few weeks consisted of naps and school work, finally deciding to try and raise some of your current failing grades since there wasn't anything better to do. it was hard to focus on anything with music playing, but it was even harder to write or register a single word when it was silent.

somehow, you end up at the frat house again. shivers overtake your body as you step inside, loud music and shoving bodies hitting you like tons of bricks. your eyes scope the familiar area, searching for a certain someone with brown tufts of hair peeking out from under a cap. when you dont see him, you start working through the throng of people to tread upstairs.

your feet gradually step lighter each step up, the floor eventually thinning out as you turn to the room you've knocked on so many times before. you probably look a mess, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you impatiently wait. a frat brother you recognize is romping up the stairs to shove into the bathroom, giving you a surprised, weirded look when he spots you.

soon, the door in front of you cracks open. chris blinks at you mumble a little 'hi' under your breath. when you get no reply, panic creeps in and you take a few steps forward and throw your arms around his shoulders, tugging yourself towards him. chris stumbles and grunts, hands bracing your shoulders and already trying to shove your body away from his own. the familiar smell of your shampoo isn't helping at all, hating how persistent you are today.

"alright, kid, y'can let go now," after chris is shuffling inside his room and shutting the door behind you. your arms loosen and slip from his body, casting a glance to the floor. you knew you'd be back, deep down, you know you don't have it in you to stay away. even as a child, you'd always ask that popular kid to be friends even after she'd humiliated you too many times to count on both hands.

"i know its my fault. sorry. for bein' annoying. tried workin' on it, and i think im better. and, and i stopped smoking, kinda. its no longer everyday, and i got classwork done, for once. are you proud of me? i worked on controlling my emotions too, so, so i don't think ill cry that easy anymore—" that was a lie. you'd started panicking the second you stepped foot inside chris' room, your mouth speaking on its own and vomiting out words that sound weird to your ears .your voice picks up speed when chris doesn't respond, only stopping when you realize he isn't listening.

and chris says nothing. his mind reeling and heart thumping in his chest, because you blame yourself. why? he doesn't know, apparently he just doesn't know anything when it comes to you. guilt blooms inside him, the feeling a little foreign as he resists the urge to wrap you up in his arms and just to tell you to pipe down. to stop being so stupid. to not blame yourself, when he's so obviously the one in the wrong. when he's so obviously the stupid one, stamping down all those feelings of guilt.

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@conspiracy-ash @sturniolosfavkayleigh @lvrsturniolo @st7rnioioss @meatballlover10 @ashlishes @ferdzom @55sturn @chriseatingmeoutin4k @unknvhx @mattslolita @chaossturns @slut4brunettes @starclinexo @slvtf0rchr1s

©eph3merall 2024

[cusackswhitehair]

Hey diva, if you've got the time, could u maybe whip up some Hoarder Alex HCs (romantic or platonic, idm!!) with reader who's a crybaby/super anxious? Like at first he finds them annoying but they're so kind to him that he starts to rlly appreciate them? Ty in advance!!! ^^

//Desc: Asks like this are sooo cute dude, I’m shedding tears😢😢 No matter how big of a jackass Alex is, don’t think I don’t see those cracks where it’s obvious he just has a lot going on…most of these things would be easily avoidable if he wasn’t so…him. But there’s nothing a shaking bundle of anxiety can’t fix, he quite literally will forgot about complaining about his trivial nothing burger of problems! He’s got a sweetheart to calm down and nurture. Thanks so much for requesting as always!! \\

⋆𐙚₊˚ 📢 Hoarder Alex with Crybaby! S/O 💐 ⋆𐙚₊˚

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Why, isn’t that just nice? Not only does he has to endure inhumane conditions, dragging and shoving his property about and has to worry about pesky intruders, thiefs! Cutpurses even!! Now he also has an inescapable though engraved into his mind. The first time he had encountered you, you told him you were trying to get trough, and you can’t swim and that you REALLY can’t swim—but not so fast you little pickpocket! He just spat the classic talk and shooed you off, like all the others…something he really didn’t expect was for you to start shaking like a leaf, sobbing, like you were ready to fall onto the floor and roll around. What a damn fusspot.

It became all the more infuriating when you had the audacity to come back later and apologize!? It made him want to tear his hair out! He was being a jerk to you and you apologize!? Oh… After (probably days of) rethinking the situation, he went out of his way and told you that “maybe…you weren’t trying to get your grubby hands on my properties…maybe.”

Your stay around the Uncanny Streets made him realize countless things, one; you’re terrible at managing stress (look who’s talking) and two; you’re disgustingly nice-hearted, even if that sometimes costs you a tear or two. He finds himself thinking about whether a certain hoarded item would make you feel happy, would this tile he kicked off and put away from The Hub make you whine a little less?

Don’t underestimate the might of a hoarder! No matter how smaller he is compared he is, he will pick you up to either comfort you or to distance you from someone bugging you, yelling “THEY ARE NOT INTERESTED, FLY OFF!!” rather calmly.

He might be a nitwit, but he’s a proper one at least. It didn’t take much time for him to learn you and the signs of you getting close to your breaking point. Don’t feel comfortable talking (especially if you’re selective mute) in a situation? No matter, he’ll get you those extra ketchup packets and demand a new burger withOUT pickles! Currently breaking down into an anxiety attack? He will personally escort you out of the space, no matter how many people he has to kick off to manage to do so.

Alex is very considerate and shielding, and when it comes to his most carefully kept jewel, his sweetheart, he will easily blow his stack…But the thing is, he’s not a good fighter. A highly enthusiastic one? Sure, however in the majority of the cases, you’ll be the one getting him out of that deuce of a mess he gets himself into while blindly trying to protect you. He’s unfortunately the type of guy who will jump into your arms, screaming like a girl whenever he’s spooked.

You really are the apple of his censor bar. Alex deep down loves doing small things for you — that will make your nerves soothe, but when you do stuff for him? Lord does he swoon! That ugly, bubbly, warm feeling in his stomach used to bother him when he looked at you, all too clammy, not for the weak. But a smile…and less fussing makes it all worth it.

He tries to make his living space (yeah, that dump) as comfortable as possible. Since the ship wreck is quite a dark place, so dimmer, warmer lights were a given. He always jumps in to absolutely destroy anything around the makes you on edge. He would also hoard a bunch of things just for you. “Oh, tesorino! I’ve got us some weighted blankets!”

He has never had to be delicate with anyone — with anything for that matter. The hoard will be there whether if he’s tossing things on top of it like a brute or if he’s laying on top, like a proud lion. With you though, he knows he has to walk around the edges and reassure you. Baby’s first relationship that requires compassion.

Cuddles. When you’re not crying like a fussbudget and he’s not ranting into the sky about absolutely nothing, that silent language the both of you understand — is cuddling. It doesn’t matter if it’s a little hand holding by the bridge or you with your legs and arms wrapped around him like a monkey on a tree, quietly sobbing into his sweater, he eats it up like the finest meal, all the time. Especially when it’s totally uninterrupted, his tail wrapped around your leg under the covers when you two are sleeping, it makes him feel like he’s doing something right.

If it ever gets to a point where you would have a panic attack, first of all he would panic. But don’t take him for a sissy, he’ll try all the methods in his repertoire. Sometimes, he’ll ask the most outlandish questions to get your mind off of your anxiety and more on the thought “what the hell is wrong with this guy”. “QUICK! NAME FIVE THINGS FROM MY HOARD YOU KNOW I’D NEVER GIVE AWAY—alright, all off them, I let you off easy there.”

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