#...which is also not getting much attention...

[presepohne]

peaches & wine

5.8kish | NSFW minors do not interact 18+

FUCKBOY!JOHN SOAP MCTAVISH X VIRGIN!READER | ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

Summary: Fuck boy Johnny fuck you on your demand.

Warnings: Reader is kind of needy and overachiver girl, very cliche you can say. P in the v sex, fingering and eating out, Johnny is a FLITHY man and we like that. Drinking and alcohol. Mention of Simon rejecting reader.

Note: It's finally here and you can see how I gave up in the end, Only because this has a part two with threesome.

IDEA | INTRO

Johnny has seen many men and women alike, fucked ‘em too. He had the privilege to worship bodies and not care about them. He's a filthy god in his human skin— he can care less.

The party is booming with sounds that send low vibrations through his bones, he's nursing a drink and a cigarette. Tonight had been eventful in a low way— women kissing his cheeks and mumbling how they want his numbers, men slowly slipping hands into his back pocket to squeeze his ass.

Tonight was good, the buzz of the drinks getting to his bones. There is this very light flutter in his chest, the headiness of the alcohol catching up to him. Simon must be around somewhere, Gaz had disappeared with his girl long before he even started to order drinks.

Johnny has not been a good man, in his own sense of goodness. He has been something borderlining filth— the cross rests around his neck which he kisses every time he's at the church praying. He prays god would forget what kind of man he is when he dies.

Except Johnny forgets he himself is the man of God when it comes to fucking someone or getting fucked.

He has been eyeing almost everyone, not particularly in the mood to fuck but enough to have some dance with his people or stangers alike. He remembers the first time he had sex, with some man at the soccer club, in the bathroom.

It was something he would always hold onto, fucking the pastor's son.

You have been lingering around for a while, fiddling with the rim of your glass as you give him side eyes. He did notice you, you're very obviously gawking at him, and he takes it as a sign that you must be admiring him. He snorts to himself, puts another cigarette between his lips and searches his pockets for a lighter.

You have been around for the past two years, not really present. Not really absent, just existing somewhere— where people would notice you when they required you and not vice versa. You would be huddled with notebooks, ball point pen ink smeared across your hands and overfilled pages with notes and rough papers with even tougher calculations.

You were from the Computer Science department. Smart in studies, socialising only when others called you and just enough.

You existed, never lived the life you were given. Goal oriented, that's what he called you when you passed by him one day in the hallways. Always good marks, even better reputation between the teachers, some extracurricular activities when required— mostly sketching.

And that brings him to the thought that you shared one hobby same as him.

But it also makes him curious why you are slowly creeping beside him at a snail's pace with the fruit punch with too much soda. You're wearing a khaki shirt, two buttons at the top undone and sowing the swells of your breasts. There is a small tattoo on your sternum that isn't really visible but it's poking out.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette and chugging down what was left of his drink. He doesn't comment how you've crawled up beside him, in a metaphoric sense. Your attention is elsewhere, but it doesn't go out of his observation that you're still sneaking glances at him, again.

Very obviously that too.

You're a squirmy little thing, a bird who has just learnt how to fly. You aren't fitting well with the crowd— a mismatched jigsaw piece. He pities you for the uncomfortable feeling you must be in, an outcasted abandonment.

Earlier when he had seen you enter the club— he had seen you enter with your friends. A rowdy bunch of people from his own batch. They took their seats at the stall— one by one leaving you after asking if you'd be okay on your own, and to his sweet dismay you had said okay each time.

And that was obviously the most wrong thing, the way you were on the verge of tearing up beside him because of the loneliness.

“Ye know ye are really ain't that nonchalant lass” he snickered stealing a glance at you. He observes a few other things about you then, the way you bite your lips absolutely pink and swollen due to being nervous. There is this thought in his head that is clawing— a slow sliver of arousal winding up his spine.

You look up at him with a pout, “Wasn't trying to be nonchalant… wanted you to notice me” your voice is sweet, scared but it's mostly the fear of new interaction. There is a soft tremble in your fingers, now that he turns towards you and you are playing with the glass between your hands.

“Tryna get my attention lass? That's a sweet things” he chuckles, ordering another drink for him. The ciggy between his lips almost finished as he crushes it on the ashtray beside him, “That so love?” He mutters, leaning a little towards you.

That's when he notices that soft red hue flushed over your cheeks and the pout on your lips, the subtle way you licked them and looked away, muttering something about boys like him always poking their nose in other's business.

“Nah lass it was you who slid beside me now, didn't ye?” He grins, when you look away, flushing deeper and chugging down your soda. A small trail of the drink dripping down your lips. There is an angry frown on your face when you look at him again, eyes a little glazed and he's sure you had a couple of drinks before.

“...won't beat around the bush”

“Never said you were love”

“I need you to fuck me McTavish”

Johnny chokes on the beer he ordered, the bartender giving him a confused look, which said more like you fumbling her? Johnny shot a glare at the bartender and looked back at you, still there in flesh and not a hallucination. You're staring at him with concerned eyes, a hand on his back as you pat his back slowly.

“You— okay?” Your voice this time is ten times sweeter, concern lacing as it turns into a soft murmur. Like one's lover whispers in another's ear.

It sends his head into a frenzy, a hazy state where his brain fucks up and absolute lewd scene in his head and you're the victim of his imagination. He knows he shouldn't, god he knows he won't— but a little imagination has never hurt anyone.

The look in your eyes, the way your lips have turned red now and glossy with your constant licking and biting, your tattoo peeking out of your shirt as you lean a little forward towards him, the small warmth of your hand over his back has his cock chubbing up good in his jeans.

He shifts a little, still sane enough not to wreck his nervous system into shutting down his horniess.

“Aye—? Lass ye joking?”

There is a frown on your face this time, a confused one. Johnny is oh so sure it's the alcohol in your system speaking for you. He makes a mental note that your unconscious thoughts do consist of him fucking you and he rather enjoy that image sometimes later when he wants a wank material.

“I— no… I was serious…” your pouting again, looking here and there and everywhere but at him. Your hands are closed on your lap, there is a small tremble in your lower lips as you bite it again— and god if that doesn't make Johnny's cock strain in his jeans. He shifts again, finding a comfortable position where you can't see the tent in his pants.

“I'm… Sorry— That was so inappropriate—” you're speaking, god's you're stuttering so fucking bad while apologising, a soft tremor in your voice as you trying to articulate whatever the fuck you're saying.

Johnny feels guilty, but he doesn't pay attention to it. He's not listening to half of what you're saying, just glaring very obviously at the dip between your chest and back to your neck, his teeth would look so fucking good on the soft flesh. His eyes go a little up and they are on your lips, trembling and swollen— how fucking soft would they feel against his. How good would it feel to kiss them and roll them between his own teeth, bite them until you're a whimpering mess in his arms.

His eyes now land on your thighs and where your hands settle, the plush fat there bulging against the hem of your denim shorts. They look so soft and pure.

He shakes his head, don't Johnny.

Don't you fucking honey bastard of a man— think about her doing maths– fucking hell that's hot too, nah let's think about Simon— okay hot too— Gaz— fucking hell man nah—

He blinks his eyes and you're already off the stool muttering apologies and leaving. The gears in his head turn as he hops down too, his hands on your shoulder— aye lass, nah don't—

There are tears streaming down your eyes, soft slat clinging to your even softer features, a shallow gasp pushes past your throat, trying to catch your breath. Johnny feels a sick pit in his stomach, what he said wasn't that offending right— man he didn't even reject her, all he did was ask her if she was serious?

He tries to convince himself that it's the alcohol in your system.

A sigh, his hands slide down your shoulder to your waist and he leans over to your ear. Breath hitting the shell of it, lips almost brushing against the baby hairs that are around, “I'll take ye to my home ‘kay?” He murmurs, voice soft, yet raspy. Something sweet yet intoxicating.

That gets you to still, eyes blinking up at him as he pulls away a little, a soft smile on his face. You nodd, lips again between your teeth with a nervous flutter. His hands rests against your waist, the warmth seeping in through the cotton shirt. It warms your face as you look away.

There is a shiver in your form, pressing yourself a little closer to him even if there is this uncomfortable flutter in your stomach. You have never done this before, never have been near a man before— not like this atleast. More like you didn't get time, your head was filled with too much of your achievements to even try to engage with men or anyone for fun.

Because your fun was your work, your goals.

So no. But that backfired. High-school, the nerd, the over achiver with a fucking hell of an reputation around the school and at other competition. Never the one to be let down— just yourself.

At college not that you would join your batch mates, but getting teased by your friends as the innocent one, the sweetheart, a baby— the baby of course the group was the biggest ick you had.

So here you were, standing behind Johnny as he roared up his bike's engine to life and put on his helmet and not forgetting to help you with one too, mindfully putting his jacket around you which ate up your whole frame.

You blinked up at this man, John McTavish. You have heard his name, saw him around the campus, a rowdy man with an unspeakable amount of charisma.

People would think he's a loser, but he's decent in his academics. Almost acing his classes and hobbies. He got that fuckboy charm that attracted everyone, every gender, every fucking age— you had heard your roomates whisper among themselves about getting fucked by him, so fucking good, so fucking amazing, all sorts of compliment.

He's like a sex god.

But he wasn't your type, not really. His pal, that brooding mass of flesh that hovered beside him, always in a balaclava, that non-committal person, Simon Riley. Simon was from the History department. Did great and was as same as Johnny.

No wonder why Johnny and he were friends, except Simon was a lot less talking and more doing.

You had gone to him first, sweet and soft and polite. Asking him about his day, he replied with grunts and sighs. Simon was so quiet you almost missed all his answers. Later on, when you boldly asked if you could come with him to his apartment— god's he gave you a look.

He gave you the look.

That disinterested look, ignorance that wasn't feigned. He had sighed and took a large gulp of his drink before muttering a low, “Don't do innocent bird like you sweet’art” before walking away and not sparing a glance back at you.

Blood had rushed to your head so fucking fast, anger and humiliation burning your face up as his massive frame disappeared in the crowd. You had seen red; anger— something cracking in your with humiliation, so you went to the second best option.

His pal, Johnny.

And Johnny was an absolute sweetheart.

So here you stand, with a pit so deep in your stomach and guilt bubbling in your throat as you wipe your eyes and sniffle a little. He looks at you, mutters a it's okay lass, let's get you my home before his fingers are brushing your cheeks.

You feel warmth, too warm— that kind that makes your heart flutter. You know you shouldn't feel like this, but it's your first time being touched so tenderly by a man, of course your biology will betray you.

You nodd, helping yourself behind him on his bike as he steadies it. Then off you go.

The air is in your hair, your arms wrapped around his shoulder, too afraid to wrap it around his waist. Too nervous would be correct. You can smell his cologne, a soft salty and spicy smell that makes you nerves relaxed mildly, yet you can hear your blood rush to your cheeks. You huddle closer to him,fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as he speeds up.

“Ye holdin’ alright bonnie?”

You blink up at him, he's looking at you through the rear mirror. A slight nod as you avert your eyes again— god's you're shy, so flustered right now. You can feel a weird feeling in your skin and through your stomach. It's warming your body, it makes you think this is what love feels like.

Even if you know for fucks sake that this is far from love, it's just lust.

The bike slows down in front of a building, Johnny is a sweet man to help you get off the bike holding your hands. His fingers are coarser, yet gentle in the way only men who hold respect can be.

“You okay love?” He asks, helping you to take off the helmet, his fingers working on the strap as he lifts your head up a little. You hum, your hands idley hanging beside you as you play with the sleeves of his jacket.

The helmet comes off and you roll your shoulders, “That's a heavy helmet” you mutter, fingers fixing your hair. Johnny chuckles, his fingers coming up to your face to tuck the stray strands of hair away from your face. There is a moment of softness, your eyes on his fingers, then to his face— and god help you he has those baby blue eyes.

“This your first time love?” He asked, fingers curling around your cheek, brushing the skin under your eye. Isn't this far too— soft and romantic— you nod, pulling away a little before another flush of heat creeps up your neck. He chuckles, “Mhm, ‘kay”

You're in his apartment, shared with Simon. Simon isn't here of course, he won't be here tonight— he'd be here the next morning. The guilt again starts to make your tongue bitter as Johnny helps you with your bag, keeping it on the couch. You look around, a decent apartment that smells like grass and cheese.

Johnny disappears in the kitchen, “Ye need anything love? Water?” he asks, poking his head from the doorway. You frown, fingers fiddling with your own hands, “No, Thank you”

That should do it.

You're confused, really confused. Aren't you supposed to get into fucking immediately? Like your friends described? Kissing in the elevator, lifting you up in the staircase— aren't one night stands like such?

You blink hard, trying to erase the cloud of confusion from your own head as your fingers fiddle with the buttons of your shirt— slowly unbuttoning them as the cold air leaves a trail of goose flesh after. Hands skittish as your fingers fold your shirt and keep it neatly beside your bag on the couch.

Your thoughts drift to Simon's for once, even if you may have been avoidant towards boys and men alike— didn't mean you never fantasised their touch on your skin.

Some nights when overwhelmed with studies and emotions, laying on your bed— your thoughts would drift to Simon, wantingly. It was a silly crush when you first saw him, with Johnny, hell you didn't even pay attention to Johnny until he came up to the sketching club and sat next to you.

This silly crush developed into something more lustful. Never intimate, just lustful— with your fingers trailing down your waistbands, back arching as you rolled your sensitive bud between them. Most of your thoughts would contain Simon touching you, his hands grabbing you by your waist, arching your back as his lips trailed along your ears.

Another hand on your nipple, twirling it— a low moan.

Just imagination.

Just imagine.

Your bra was off by now, as you flinged it across the armrest.

You look up only to find Johnny gaping at the doorway, maybe salivating with the way he licked his lips and gulped. There were two popsicles in his hands, melting off now. You don't know how long he had been standing there— you don't really.

Too lost in your own head to notice the man. Hands instinctively coming over your chest to save you some dignity as a small squeal left your throat.

“I— Aye lass ye were serious?”

You take a look at Johnny, skittish on your feet. He had changed into a loose vest, shorts on and just relaxed, but the very visible growing tent through those shorts had you swallowing air. You blink innocently (you are innocent) and look up at him— flushed all red and sighing.

“John McTavish, Fuck me”

That sent all the blood rushing south, the almost hard cock now straining against his shorts as he groaned. He looked, held back— eyes glassy as he let out a long breathe, throwing away the two very molten popsicles into the bin and licking his hands clean as he strode towards you.

“Aye— as you command mam”

Johnny's paln was to send you home. Johnny's plan was to make you drink water, sober you up, give you a popsicle and talk about silly things and talk you out of getting fucked by him— because clearly the alcohol in your system was making you talk.

So god, he never expected you to stand half undressed in his living room under the low moon light looking so damn soft and pretty. He didn't fucking think that the sight of your already flushed and shy face would make his semi hardened cock rock hard.

Hell, there was this soft floral smell of your body mist waiting around the air— even on his shirt because of the bike ride which had made it all even more difficult.

Johnny was good at having control over his hormones.

He wasn't good at controlling what his hormones did when someone else controlled him.

In this case you.

He kissed you, lips licking with yours in that aggressive way that he loves. It made you gasp, fingers curling around his vest as he pulled you closer— it was so clear that you had never done this, so painfully obvious by the way you were squeamish and trying to push him away when his tongue forced its way into your mouth.

A low whine, more like approval vibrated in your throat and he grinned on your lips, pulling you on the couch.

Lips moving slowly, yet some aggressive intensity he possessed— he pulled away, letting you breathe.

And god you looked like a rose in full bloom, cheeks reddened and eyes having those hazy lustful look. You licked your lips, hands now curling around his neck as you part your lips again for a kiss and he complies, lips on yours— this time slower, taking your lower lips between his teeth that earns him a squirm and a yelp.

Your eyes hooded as you look at him, and fuck he finds it's hot— so fucking hit he can feel his precum staining his shorts.

His hands wrapped around your naked waist, skin so soft— and god the tattoo on your sternum. It's a small cross, ink curling under your skin and ending just where the swell of your breasts start. Johnny pulls away again, letting you breath— but you're painting, blinking and trying to clear the haze.

He's reverent, lips under your chin, then down your throat and down below— biting your collars that make you mewl. It's making you feel hot, Johnny can feel the way you're trying to rub your legs together to feel something kind of relief. He grins, as his lips trails slobbering kisses over your neck and up to your ears, biting the shell.

You gasp, nails digging into his shoulder.

His one hand now rests over your breasts, rolling your nipple between them, his other hand slowly trailing down your stomach down to your shorts. The overwhelming sensation causes you to throw your head back and whine, trying to lift your hips up and find some kind of contact between him and yours.

And gods he would have fucked you raw— but it's you, it's your hands wrapped around his wrists with those wide eyes that clearly scream I have never done this please please please help— and he pauses. Leans back a little, hands slowly retreating to your waist.

“I— I’m sorry I haven't really done this before—”

He knows, the softness under you skin, the innocence in your voice, the soft tremble in your body as you let him kiss you, god he knows you have no clue what you're going at— so he smiles, his voice syrupy but so husky, “‘Is alright, wannae take it slow?”

Your gaze fixes on him, a little less nervous, the tension in your limbs melted away the moment he kissed you— so you take a leap and nodded at him, lips parting to let out a soft Yeah… yeah thank you.

So Johnny's lips get back to your stomach, fingers gripping your waist and squishing the fat there. He lets out a heavy breath, teeth latching with the button of your shorts.

You give him a confused look, eyes wide and lips parted in confusion. More like awe, “Hey— McTavish what—”

Click

He teeth bite onto the fabric of your denim shorts, pulling it away slowly and that's when you relaise why the fuck is this man called a fuckboy. He got those tricks up his sleeves.

His teeth grip the zip of your zipper, pulling it down and making you feel so damn hot. You feel yourself panting, naked chest heaving as you try to look away but his hand is already holding your jaw, “Look at me love” and god you know you died on the spot.

He helps you out of your shorts, tautly pulling down your cotton knickers down with them, making you gasp and cross your legs in shame. ���McTavish!?”

“It’s Johnny babe” he murmurs, parting your legs with ease as he settles between them and stares at your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ hell love, look at ye all dripping f’me?” he murmurs, his mouth already over your clit, giving it a soft kiss. You hiss at the sensation, hands automatically in his hair as a ragged breath passed through your mouth, “G-gently—”

There is this big grin on his face as he rests his head over your mound, stubble scratching the small trail there, you sigh at the weight, “Don't worry lass— lemme just—” he flicks his tongue out, a soft lick over your folds. You gasped sharply, fingers digging into his hair, “I— Sorry Johnny I didn't mean to—”

But god he looked so blissed out when you pulled on his hair, groaning into your cunt mumbling thank you god.

His mouth worked wonders, tongues lapping at the slobbering hole— and god he was messy, slurping up your essence like so ancient elixir. A low moan escapes your throat, brows furrowed in utmost pleasure, toes curling and nails digging into his hair.

He was filthy, making out with your folds whilst he muttered absolutely nonsense— so fucking sweet now aren't ye girl? getting so fucking wet for me? yeah? such a pretty thing.

It wasn't even a good few minutes in that you started to feel your orgasm wind up your core, stomach clenching as a soft cry escaped your lips— all red and glossy with your drool. The slow coil in your stomach tightened with each suck— lazy yet so fucking good it had you cumming within few seconds.

Back arching as you pulled on his hair, and Johnny being the good fucking dog he is— licked up every drop of your release until you started to whine and push at him, your heels in his thighs crying as he overstimulated your sensitive spot.

“Aye gimme one more bonnie” he grinned, lips on your bud, rolling it between his teeth and pushing his middle and ring finger in. You gasp, his fingers curling at the sweet spot making you cry aloud— “Just like that, good girl” he purred into your pussy.

Pumping his fingers in and out while rolling his thumb over your clit— Johnny takes a moment to admire you're fucked out expression— and he swears by the cross he wears around his neck, he'd tattoo this moment under his eyelids. Eyes rolled back, fingers in your hair grabbing them by roots while you try to push away, which is really trying to pull him closer.

Your second orgasm pulls closer as he hits that spot over and over again— and the coil underneath your belly snaps, making you spray all your release over him. He hums in approval, pulling back as he flicks his thumb continuously over your bud riding out your orgasm, “Aye look at her lass, so fucking beautiful”

You're spent, barely being able to open your eyes as Johnny pulls down his shorts. If you were a little more conscious, you would have noticed the white cum patch over his shorts dripping down his thighs, but you don't. Johnny sighs, pulling his vest off— the cross dangling from his neck.

He looks into your eyes, a pleased sigh leaving your lips as you try to catch your breath, fingers trying to find purchase around his neck to pull him for a kiss. There is this sudden glee flowing through your veins as you kiss him, tasting yourself on him, an approving hum.

Just as he pulls back, you stare at him.

He looks so fucking happy, the grin on his face damn beautiful and that breaks your heart.

The guilt that had left your body coils up again as your muscles tense up— a nervous flare in your bones as you bite your lips to keep yourself from crying. But all the overwhelming sensation and emotions got the best of you, and tears fell down the apples of your cheeks.

Johnny looked so fucking confused, that happy smile wiped out at an instant— hands wrapping around your cheeks as he wiped them, “Hey, Lass? Ye okay? I didn't hurt ye did I?” He's concerned, borderlining anxiety in his own form. You shake your head, “No— I'm sorry Johnny–”

And the guilt is out of the box as you wrap your arms around his neck and sob, muttering apologies that has him confused. Johnny's wondering what the fuck went wrong as he holds you, getting you on his lap and rocking you mumbling hey lass it's okay.

“It's not!” You pull away, with a particular choking sob, “It's not, I used you—”

He's staring at you now, with a look that says, come again? yet you're having an emotional meltdown on his lap, naked, both of you.

Such a good first time fuck.

“Aye lass, breath— breath love, now tell me what is goin’ on in ye head—”

You blink, sobs still wrecking but slowly shimmering into snuffles as you wipe your face, “I— Johnny… I Simon…”

“Simon?”

“Simon didn't want to fuck me so…”

“You're telling me you came to me because Simon didn't fuck you?”

“...Yes,"

You take a pause

"I'm sorry”

“Lass ye better believe that I can fuck ye better than that skull head”

You blink your tears away again, eyes burning now as your hands hastily wipe them. Johnny's grinning, holding you up a little, “This yer first time yeah?” You nodd softly, “No tears bonnie, no fuckin tears– only if I fuck you good”

And then slowly rubbing his cock up and down your folds, easing up to you while you stutter straddling his lap. A low gasp leaves your mouth as he pushes in, rocking your hips slowly. “This hurt sweet’art?” he asks with a kiss on your lips and then to your cheek.

“Not— r-really–” you fumble, walls fluttering around his girth as he bottoms out. He groans, throwing his head back as you adjust to him, “J-Johnny— this—” you stutter again, lips opening apart as he slowly thrushes in at a slow pace letting you adjust.

You're gasping, hands pawing at his chest, mewling and whining. Johnny's keeps his eyes locked on your, lips pressing soft kisses on your collar bones and down your chest— it distracts your attention from the slight pain down there, but god the way Johnny is pacing up is making your head spin.

“F-faster Johnny—” you mutter, hands grabbing the back of his neck as you push your mouth against his, whining as he increases his pace making you gasp loudly, which he swallows. Your walls clenching around him as he moves, “Fucking hell Lass made for me now didn't ye?”

You answer with a moan, nodding your head as he hits that one spot again, cock so fucking thick and stuffing that it has your guts twisting. You can feel your abdomen coil again, the sweet release in your guts wrapping around your spine as he pushes in and out again and again.

Your release washes over you, slow like waves as Johnny lets you ride it out, helping you while he chases his own release. His cock feeling impossibly thick— and then he cums, hard with a groan on your shoulder. Your head falls back as he holds your waist on his lap, pressing kisses over your neck and shoulder.

“S’ good f’me lass”

He can feel himself leak out of you, pooling on his hips as he pulls out. He'll worry about the plan b later, surely get you one before he cleans you up and gets you to bed all coddling.

[halles-notebook]

ᯓ★ 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓎 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: what happens when you overhear a conversation between steve and tommy about how ‘clingy’ you are?

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: steve harrington x fem!reader

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: two tiny uses of y/n, brief moment of douchey king steve, angsty distancing, sad+confused steve, etc etc!

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: hi honeys!! in honor of the season 5 trailer, i had to write for my bby since 2016!!! also, first season of stranger things came out on my birthday… meant to be??? i hope u guys enjoy!!!🤍

nerves of excitement raced through your veins, heating your blood and making your heart pound. you were speed-walking through the halls, gaining a couple of odd looks, but you were too happy to care.

you had a sheet of paper clutched in your hand, a bright red stamp on the right corner. A+. you struggled greatly in chemistry, a fact all your friends and family knew. the class was practically created by a sociopathic masochist, math and science rolled into one? no way.

but you’d studied until your eyes crossed for this exam, and clearly your efforts had paid off. you couldn’t wait to tell steve. knowing his last class of the day, you opened the door to the gym and pranced in, a proud beam on your face.

your eyes found his figure immediately, stood a couple of feet away chatting with tommy. you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but their conversation easily met your ears, making you guiltily hide behind a rack filled with basketballs to understand their topic.

“great game, dude. me and the boys are gonna be at marcus’s house tonight for a get together, beer and basketball. you in?”

“i can’t, sorry. i’m having dinner with y/n tonight.”

you felt tommy’s scoff more than you heard it. “again? when was the last time you hung out with us, man? seems a little clingy if you ask me.”

ouch. clingy. you’d been called it more times than you could describe in past relationships, being told you’re “too much.” you’d confided in steve about it, as well. your deep-rooted insecurities that you were overwhelming and annoying, your affections drowning.

he’d assured you with that smile that was just so steve that you were the perfect amount. that he loved your attention and endearments, and for the first time, you’d believed him. surely he would defend you, right? wrong.

his laugh met your ears, and you swore you could hear a little crack in your chest as your eyes began to water. if only you could see his face, you’d see how forced and uncomfortable he truly looked. “i mean, i guess.”

“i’m telling you, it’s toxic. i had a girl like that before, had to ditch her. wasn’t healthy, y’know? you gotta look after you man.” your breath hitched, anxiously awaiting his response. there was silence for a couple of moments, and then… “yeah, you’re right. i’ll think on it. thanks, tommy.”

“no problem, dude.” you could taste the salty tears running down your cheeks onto your lips. you briefly heard the crinkle of paper as your hand made a fist. you had to get out of here. you turned, mood drastically different than when you entered, and left the foul-smelling building.

the whole way home as you drove, the words repeated in your head. clingy. toxic. clingy. toxic. you’d just have to show him that you could be different, then.

ᝰ.ᐟ

it had been two weeks. two weeks of no phone calls, no hand-holding in the halls, no dates, nothing. just forced laughs and a distant look in your eyes whenever he spoke. steve was going mad, racking his brain for whatever could’ve caused this.

he’s lost count of the times he’s asked you if you were alright. before this, you would’ve looked at him with a fond smile and a roll of your eyes, leaning on his shoulder and replying, “i’m fine, stevie! you worry too much.” now, all he gets is an unconvincing mhm and a too-bright smile.

he’s unbelievably confused. and more than that, scared. what had happened to make you act like this? so… not you? which is how he finds himself outside of your house sunday morning, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand and an anxious deposition.

he’s going to apologize. what for, he has no clue, but it doesn’t matter. he needs you back. not this robotic version of you. palms sweaty, he brings his hand to knock, hearing a couple of shouts and jingling before the door opens to reveal your mother.

“oh, steve! hey, sweetie. i didn’t know you were coming. y/n is just upstairs, you can head on up.” he murmurs a tiny thank you, slipping off his shoes before walking up the stairs, passing the photos of you throughout the years on the way. his chest clenches.

he reaches your door. closes his eyes. inhales. exhales. opens his eyes. and then knocks. he hears a tiny, “come in,” and slowly twists the knob. there you are, in all of your glory, hair in a tussled bun as you sit on your windowsill, book in hand. you look up, and steve swears his can see the briefest flash of panic in your eyes before you shutter it and put your book down.

“what are you doing here?” it slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. is he here to finally break up with you? he hesitates, and then takes a seat at your desk across from you.

“did i… do something? to make you like this?” he waves his hand towards you, and your brows furrow. he continues you before you can say anything. “i mean, you haven’t called me ‘stevie’ in weeks. you barely talk to me, we only see each other at school, and when we do, you’re not actually there. you’re like- like detached. i miss you. please let me fix whatever this is.” his chest huffs from the speed of which he spoke the frantic words, and you blink, confused.

“i… i thought this was what you wanted?” you say, voice small and perplexed. steve lets out a disbelieving, sad laugh. “why the hell would i want that?” you pause, and then to his utmost horror your eyes begin to fill with gut wrenching tears. you sniffle, and his his heart breaks.

“i heard you. with tommy, in the gym. you-” hiccup. “he said that i was clingy and toxic. said that you should break up with me. you… you agreed. i thought that… that if i give you some space-” steve’s expression is a horrified, panicky visage of despair. “oh god, honey, no. fuck. i’m so, so sorry. i would never.” he stands, and within a moment, he’s with you, holding your shaking form in his arms.

“i just said that to get him off my back. tommy is an asshole, and he’ll never change or understand my viewpoint. there’s no point in arguing with him. i’m so, so sorry that i made you think that. jesus, if anyone’s the clingy one, it’s me. i was going insane. i love you. i love your ‘clinginess’ more than you could ever understand. it makes me feel loved and wanted, and i’m so sorry that i made you feel the opposite. i want my girl back.”

your tears are leaking into his shirt, each one feeling like a punch to his gut. he holds you tighter, as if the stronger his embrace, the more he could chase away your insecurities. you sniffle, hope slowly creeping back up. “really?”

“fuck yes, really. i brought you white roses and everything. i will get on me knees and beg, if you want me to.” a giggle slips out of your mouth, and steve feels his heart slowly being glued back together.

“what a sight that would be. king steve, begging for my forgiveness.” he pulls away, hand gripping your jaw gently. “i don’t want to be king steve. i want to be stevie, yeah?” a soft, teasing smile appears on your face.

“i thought you hated that nickname.”

“i’d kill a demogorgan to get it back right now.” he answers with no hesitation, complete seriousness in his unwavering gaze. you laugh, and the sight makes steve want to cry out of relief.

“i forgive you, stevie.” his lips are on yours in an instant, the kiss sloppy and desperate and everything you both need. every swipe of his tongue a reassurance, every whimper a promise. “thank you.” he speaks against your lips, over and over again. he pulls away, both of you panting and flushed, foreheads rested together. “i love you.” he whispers, the syllables drifting out of his mouth and straight into your chest. “i love you, too.” it’s silent for a peaceful moment, and then…

“oh my god, i got an A+ on my chem test!!!”

[deramin2]

This is a spot on observation. I watched two landmark queer documentaries this week that I think give tremendous insight into how this class and gender construction is built:

Paris Is Burning (1990)

Documents New York’s Black and Latine Drag Ballroom scene of the late 1980s. Really digs into how it’s a cultural practice of getting to embrace what was being denied to them as majority gay men and trans women. Femininity, wealth, status. casual passing for a cishet woman or even a cishet man… Often from people so poor they didn’t eat that day but did what they had to for one night of feeling beautiful and seen.

It’s a great perspective on how culture constructs and markets ideal feminity and the dreams it conjures up. Especially through things like fashion magazines. The dance voguing comes from the exaggerated poses in Vogue Magazine. While the Realness categories focus on daily clothes + attitude. (This was the local community scene before RuPaul narrowed it to certain kinda of spectacle for a national public.)

The Celluloid Closet (1995)

Documents the history of queer representation in Hollywood films from the 19th century to its present with great interviews with queer and allied film workers trying to change it. In showing the construction of queer stereotypes in film, it also shows how stereotypes about how men and women ought to behave were entrenched (getting most egregious in the 1950s). It also shows the effect those cultural messages had on this group of film industry people and just how powerfully internalized these depictions can be.

The sections on lesbians in film particularly show how ideals of womanhood were developed around wealth. Where a woman was supposed to show her status through this like clothes, makeup, manners, and a desire to be seen. But to only see who she was supposed to. Feminity as something to perform, even as cis women, but never actually value and certainly never find sexual herself.

Whereas women who were being de-feminized were also lowered into working class men's clothing. A woman in a tuxedo could play with gender and still be seen as feminine and sexy. A woman in a white tank top and working jeans was denied any desirable feminity. For a woman to excel at womaning, she must also excel at class, or certainly to aspire to it.

—

I think there's another all-gender driving force to this as well: Clothes that fit correctly are increasingly seen as markers of high class. Fast fashion has tuned home sewing from practical cost-saving to a luxury hobby, destroyed the alteration industry through poor quality and construction, and are increasingly designing for the Standard Model instead of human beings (which is an abstraction based on convenient math, not any study of actual human bodies). Fewer and fewer people have been taught how to fit themselves well, even if it's off the rack. As a result, most people wear very poorly fitting clothes that uncomfortably impede movement and draw attention to every way the shape of the body and clothes are in conflict. It's so bad that even status-hound politicians and rich people are often wearing terrible fits that make them look bad.

So if you know how to find a $5 dress at a charity shop that genuinely fits you, it will make you look like a million bucks. You're wearing the clothes instead of the clothes reluctancy wearing you. This is true for all genders, but particularly amplified for women. I think in part because Hollywood also makes cheap costumes look like they belong on millionaire characters. My swing dance club could dress up for the monthly dance in $15 mostly thrifted outfits and look like we're about to break into a jitterbug on Jay Gatsby's polished foyer floor. Because we couldn't afford poorly fitting clothes binding our movements.

But thrift shops heavily favor women's clothes over men's. When I was a woman, it was much easier to go into thrift and vintage clothing stores and find many possibilities in my size. As a guy, I'm unlikely to find and options and even less likely for them to fit. The clothes I make myself end up looking much classier even if they aren't stylisticly.

Which is all to say, yeah, we have very much created a cultural attitude around feminity that's associated with bougieness.

class and gender presentation is a particular Thing for me cause like. I've been poor my whole life, like malnourished-since-seventh-grade kind of poor, and I'm quite feminine, and my femininity inevitably makes people read me as wealthy. when I was a young kid, my classmates would phrase it like I dressed "fancy" or "old fashioned" ("fancy?" I would think, looking at my outfit that was just a single dress, literally one dress, the most simple and easy outfit a person can wear), and as I and my peers got older, that changed to people thinking I was some kind of like, old money heiress. because girlies who get free school lunches are incapable of wearing perfume, apparently.

multiple times a semester, I would have to explain and re-explain to teachers that I couldn't pay for mandatory field trips or extra-credit private tutoring, and every time they would think I was lying because I was too smart and too feminine to be poor. in some circumstances, when I tried to speak out about queerness or misogyny, it would get dismissed as hysterical privileged whinging because I had the audacity to wear dangly earrings and sit with my legs crossed while talking about domestic abuse.

like I Know there are ways that certain standards of femininity are locked behind paywalls or incompatible with manual labor jobs, but I honestly think a lot of our perception of femininity as upper class comes from the way that femininity / womanhood (not the same thing, but often considered as such) are seen as artificial, fragile, and frivolous. I would stand next to my classmates, me in my threadbare sundress that I'd been wearing for eight years and them in their brand new designer athleisure wear, and they'd say "okay obviously you're going to play the rich bully in this educational skit about classism."

anyway. I've never played disco elysium but I love this screenshot so much.

[tobesolnelyx]

— i miss you, im sorry || fratboy!shauna shipman x fem!reader

a/n: THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR IDEAS!!! especially 🥄anon and 🪆anon!! ended up with something like that. that could be a smut, but as we know, i love writing gut wrenching angst <3 also, in my head it adds so much to daddy!shauna lore

summary: you two broke up few weeks ago. she’ll do everything to get your attention back. ex!shauna. g!p character. angst.

warnings: toxic parensts. drugs. alcohol. mentions of sex.

word count: around 2k

Shauna wondered how everything had fallen apart in the span of a month. Because it had to be impossible for everything to just break down all at once like that. Once again, Shauna was convinced that she attracted bad luck like a human magnet. Or maybe she was simply sinking deeper into her own misery with each passing day.

Your relationship was never perfect, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. She wouldn’t even call it toxic. A simple conversation could’ve solved all your problems... except that that was the problem. Shauna had no intention whatsoever of discussing her feelings. And although there had never been cheating or other serious issues beyond arguments, one day everything just exploded.

At a party. In the middle of the frat house.

Months of frustration reached their peak and turned into pure pandemonium. All it took was one look, one misjudged situation. Some girl had just latched onto Shauna. You, tired of the fact that while Shauna might not have flirted with others, she also never made any effort to get rid of her admirers, decided to step in.

And that’s how you ended up in the middle of the living room, arguing with your girlfriend about everything. That moment was just the spark. You accused her of not loving you because she never showed affection, and she called you an oversensitive. You told her you could never talk to her because she acted like an immature asshole, who didn’t take anything seriously, and she responded that you were clinging to this stupid shit and if it bothered you so much, maybe you should break up with her.

This time, you went too far. You knew perfectly well that Shauna had recently seen her father, who after years had finally reached out to her. And yet you brought it up — in front of everyone — ensuring the entire campus would be talking about it for the next two weeks.

“I’m not surprised your father fucking left you,” you snapped, throwing your drink in her face.

Everything went silent. It wasn’t just a stupid fight anymore — it was emotional betrayal. Because maybe you weren’t the perfect girlfriend, but Shauna never, not even once, would’ve thought you’d say something like that. Her girlfriend, her loving and supportive partner despite all your fights, would never throw that at her.

She just stood there, feeling like she was nine years old again, not understanding what was happening. Her shirt, soaked with your drink, clung to her chest, which now heaved twice as fast. Her eyes burned, and she clenched her fists tightly.

You regretted those words the moment they left your mouth. And maybe the calmer version of yourself would’ve immediately reached out to her, apologized and tried to fix everything. Shauna would’ve forgiven you. She knew you were the best thing in her life.

But you, overwhelmed with emotion, months of frustration, and anger, chose to finish her off. Not entirely on purpose. It just happened, in the heat of the moment.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you said. Your voice trembled with emotion, your heart pounded in your chest, and the blood rushed in your ears so loudly that you couldn’t even hear the music anymore. People crowded around, watching the drama unfold.

For a moment, you both stood frozen. Shauna looked at you like she hoped you’d take it back — that it was just a fight and everything would go back to normal. Like always.

But you didn’t say another word. Shauna felt like someone had tied a rope around her throat, cutting off her oxygen. The alcohol only intensified everything she was feeling, and maybe she would’ve cried like a kid in front of everyone if it weren’t for Lottie, who stepped out of the crowd. She gave you a look so sharp it made you feel horribly guilty. You could literally feel the guilt start to eat you alive.

Lottie gripped Shauna’s shoulder gently, pulling her back, trying to spare her further humiliation. Even though Shauna never cared about shame. Maybe it had never even been about reputation.

She let herself be pulled away. And it felt like the rest of the evening turned into white noise, quietly buzzing in her head. She could only think about one thing, about you, and barely registered what Lottie was saying.

In the days that followed, Shauna tried to prove something. At least that’s what she thought, though to anyone paying attention, it just looked like a desperate cry for attention. She slept with different girls, crashed every party she could find. Flirting wasn’t hard. She’d always had plenty of admirers, so finding a new girl every day to fuck with wasn’t exactly a challenge. Lighting another joint or knocking back another drink was easy.

All of it so Shauna could keep whispering your name against another girl’s skin, only to wake up with a splitting headache in sheets soaked with unfamiliar perfume. With a girl who, even with her eyes closed, was never you.

Shauna could kiss dozens of girls just to end the day clutching the shirt you gave her back a week after the breakup.

She made sure you noticed her. She flirted when you were near. She drank twice as much, laughed twice as loud if she knew you were watching. That you were listening. Your eyes always met across the crowd, but Shauna’s hands were on someone else’s hips, and you weren’t alone either.

Shauna felt like she was seventeen again, doing everything she could to get the attention of a mother who was always too busy. Like she was seventeen again, watching other girls with their dads, wondering why she didn’t deserve the same.

Shauna looked at you and felt like she was seventeen again, wondering why she couldn’t keep a single person in her life. Terrified of the fact that she even wanted someone to stay, because what if they left too?

And now you were gone too. And Shauna had never felt more alone.

Sex didn’t help, smoking weed in the corners with Nat only made it worse, and alcohol just led to fucking hangovers. Her plan wasn’t working, because even though you were watching, you never came over. And Shauna didn’t even need your damn apology. She just wanted you to come back.

Trailing after you like a dog, step by step, and those stupid sarcastic comments didn’t help either. Not when she met your pained gaze — and it made her sick to her stomach.

Shauna would foam at the mouth every time someone tried to flirt with you. Not just flirt — Shauna simply couldn’t stand the sight, or even the thought, of you with someone else. And when the pain became unbearable, she turned it all into anger.

Anger at you, at her father, at the whole world around her. At everything, just to avoid drowning in some irrational guilt.

In the frat house, fights would erupt over the dumbest shit. Lottie would often find Shauna in her wrecked room, sitting in the middle of the chaos with her head buried between her knees. For a moment, the only sound in the room was Shauna’s ragged breathing.

“Shauna,” Lottie murmured, taking a single step.

“You talked to her,” Shauna said immediately, her fingers tightening in her hair. “How could you talk to her?” Words that sounded almost like an accusation.

“I tried to tell her to talk to you…” Lottie began, still standing in the doorway.

Shauna shook her head and finally looked up at Lottie, clenching her jaw so tightly a wrinkle formed on her forehead. Her anger was mixed with a deep sense of betrayal.

“Bullshit,” she said, but her voice trembled. Neither of them seemed sure whether it was from rage or something buried far deeper inside Shauna.

You didn’t quite remember how you ended up at the frat house again. You told yourself your friend dragged you there and it was her fault — but really, you could’ve said no. Maybe, subconsciously, you wanted to be closer to Shauna. Like in those mornings when you turned over in your bed expecting to feel a warm body next to you, only to find a cold, empty space. Maybe it was just that awful guilt. Or maybe, deep down, you were convinced you’d never really get over Shauna.

You thought you knew what you'd find there. Or at least, you thought you did. Shauna, drunk. Maybe a little high. Probably with a cigarette in one hand and her other hand on some girl’s hip. Shauna dragging her to her room, the same room where you used to spend endless hours. And you’d leave the party, like always, because that sight hurt more than you’d ever admit.

What you didn’t expect was your ex passed out in an armchair in the frat house living room. Her face already flushed red, barely able to sit upright. Not because she was tired, but because she was disgustingly drunk. She was swinging a bottle around like she was about to smack someone with it. Things were so bad that even Jackie sat next to her, trying to get her to drink some water.

You stood in the middle of the room, people shoving past you in blissful ignorance. Music pounded in your ears. For a moment, you tried to convince yourself it was nothing. That Shauna had been this drunk before.

The next second, your legs moved toward her on their own. You kept telling yourself it wasn’t concern, you just didn’t want Shauna causing trouble. Surely, that was it. Especially if Nat, Jackie, and Lottie were all trying to keep her in check. This wasn’t about caring. You wouldn’t let it be...right

“Get the fuck...off me...” Shauna mumbled, barely forming the words. Her hair was stuck to her forehead. She looked like she might faint any second. She reeked of alcohol, weed, and God-knows-what-else. Lottie looked like she’d seen Jesus himself when you walked up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see you,” she said and reached for your arm, but her hand dropped again when she looked back at Shauna.

A grunt came from your throat in response, but you barely registered anything else. Your eyes were glued to Shauna. For a moment, you wanted to ask what exactly was in her system but figured it wasn’t the right time. You placed your hand on Jackie’s shoulder and she understood immediately, stepping aside.

“Hey, Shipman,” you murmured, kneeling in front of her. Shauna stopped her rant, something that dangerously resembled a drunken monologue about her family issues. You winced. Things had to be really bad if she was talking about that stuff in public.

Finally, she looked at you and frowned, as if she couldn’t believe it was you of all people kneeling in front of her. Her fingers trembled, reaching for you, but either she didn’t have the strength or something else stopped her.

“Baby...” she whispered, trying to sit up, but nearly toppled over. Lottie held her in place and you winced at the sight. Your hands instinctively landed on her knees.

You exchanged a look with Lottie. She just nodded and sighed.

“Up you go, Shauna. Move your damn ass,” she grunted, and before Shauna’s drunk brain could register what was happening, Lottie was already lifting her upright. Nat jumped in to help, but you stopped her with a simple wave of your hand. You wrapped one arm around Shauna, Lottie held her from the other side, and still, the weight of her body leaned on you. Of course it did.

The stench of alcohol hit your nose, and with her barely able to stand, she was heavier than usual. Suddenly, the fact that Shauna had slept with other girls during those weeks didn’t matter at all. Not when you felt that familiar warmth pressed against you.

After a rough climb up the stairs to Shauna’s room, Lottie dropped her onto the bed. Shauna groaned in protest, but didn’t manage to get back up. Lottie expertly covered her with a blanket, and Shauna instantly burrowed under it. She went still, and you had an overwhelming urge to crawl in right behind her.

“She’ll be fine,” Lottie sighed, straightening up. “Come on.” She motioned for you to follow her and walked out, leaving you completely alone.

You stood there for a moment, listening to the quiet sound of her breathing. And just as you were about to walk away, heart aching, Shauna stirred like it was on cue. Her fingers clamped around your wrist. With surprising strength for someone so drunk, she pulled you onto the bed, and before you knew it, her weight was on top of you in that familiar, comforting way.

“Don’t go,” she mumbled. Her arm wrapped around you, her nose tucked into the crook of your neck. “Don’t leave me again.” It sounded almost like a broken, drunken plea.

And who were you to refuse, when her body completely relaxed under your touch? You sighed deeply, but for the first time in weeks, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“Don’t go,” she repeated, softer now, her lips finding your shoulder. Your fingers tangled in her hair, and Shauna let out a soft hum.

“Don’t…” she began, then furrowed her brow and fell silent.

“I miss you.”

[mrsbarnesblog]

safe and sound

masterlist

summary: after a hellish two weeks of work, Rafe finally drags himself home past midnight, craving not food or sleep but you.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: concensual somnophilia, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming

a/n: tumblr has been dry as hell recently, and I can barely find anything good to read, so I have to at least try to post something. also... might drop p!links tomorrow🫣

requests are open

Rafe’s head had been pulsing for the past few hours, and he couldn’t wait for the moment he would be able to return home to you finally. Everything at work went wrong. People were too stupid, not knowing how to do their damn jobs, and were getting on his last nerves, not to mention the important deal he had been working on for the past two weeks. 

When Rafe finally stepped inside the house, way past midnight, he felt himself instantly getting more relaxed. The familiar scent that you created there, the warm lights that you surely left on only for him, knowing that he would get home late, and the simple feeling of being in his safe space. His neck was killing him, exhaustion making his head feel slightly dizzy, so he didn’t even want to eat the dinner that you left on the stove. 

Instead, he carelessly took off his jacket, leaving it draped over the back of the chair, and went upstairs to the only person who could make it at least a little more bearable. Of course, you were already sleeping, nestled at your side of the bed, with your legs bent at the knee and hugging a thick blanket as you did with him whenever he was sleeping next to you. The room was dark beside the distant light from the street that was getting in through the open window and the one that Rafe left in the hallway behind him. 

He stood at the foot of your bed, eyes hungrily roaming over your soft and relaxed body, only in a tank top and panties, because no matter how tired Rafe was, the need for you had always been bigger. He didn’t have many opportunities to spend time with you throughout the past two weeks, always leaving the house too early and getting back too late. 

And Rafe was craving you—your voice, your presence, your touch, your fucking body wrapped around him, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had time to be around you. Not in the morning, with you still half asleep as he kissed you and left for a whole day, and not way past midnight when he could only snuggle close to you and pass out from exhaustion.

His body, despite being beyond tired, reacted on its own and he started undressing, leaving clothes carelessly on the floor. Rafe was hard just from looking at you, just from imagining having you close to him again. So he snuck behind you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, as his chest was pressed to your back. 

As if sensing him even through your sleep, you instinctively moved backward, melting into him and releasing a content sigh. Rafe’s hand sneaked under the pillow, the other one slowly wrapped around you and went under the hem of your top, relishing the warmth of your skin. His head dipped lower, at first just barely ghosting your naked shoulder with his lips and then hiding his face in your neck, inhaling your scent with pleasure.

Your ass was firmly pressed into his stiff cock, which didn’t have a chance to feel anything besides his fist when Rafe became way too overwhelmed and could only spare two free minutes at work. He softly moaned into your neck, and before he could think of anything better, his hand started moving from your belly down to your panties, easily slipping past the elastic band and finding your soft folds. 

Rafe knew you wouldn’t mind because you told him so multiple times, so he listened attentively to notice the way your breath slightly hitched in your sleep before you relaxed again and moved your legs further apart as if on instinct. 

He rutted against your ass, unable to do anything with how much he wanted and needed you. His fingers slowly dipped lower, pushing inside of you while his thumb pressed on your clit. He worked with you carefully, moving his fingers in and out until he felt the slick substance covering his palm.

You were still asleep when Rafe took his hand away and instead pulled your panties to the side, adjusting himself behind you, and then very slowly and carefully pushed his aching cock inside. He bottomed out, pressing himself against your ass and fighting himself to let you adjust and not move the way his body wanted to. His cock nestled perfectly inside of you and Rafe’s head fell forward on your shoulder from how good it felt.

You didn’t know what exactly woke you up. Maybe it was a broken, barely audible moan somewhere behind you, or maybe it was the way you suddenly felt full and your body was tingling with something familiar that your hazy mind couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Rafe saw the moment your lashes softly fluttered against your cheek, your eyes opening, and a slight disorientation startled you. Your hand instinctively fell on his that was firmly pressed against your stomach as you couldn’t at first understand what was happening, so he stopped his movements, leaning his head even closer to your ear. 

“Shh, it’s just me.” He mumbled, barely heard even in the quietness of your bedroom. Your body instantly relaxed against him, your fingers lacing through his as you hummed softly. “I missed you so fucking much, baby.”

“Rafe?” Your voice was sleepy, a little bit hoarse, as you threw your head back, leaning closer to him.

“Yeah, baby, ‘m here.” Rafe’s lips trailed up your shoulder, on the side of your neck, and when you turned your head, he managed to finally reach your lips. Your kiss was soft and so lazy, with your mind still trying to fully wake. Rafe’s hips slowly rode into yours, sliding deeper into your heat, while his hand tried to bring you even closer to his body. “Is that okay?”

“Mhm.” You smiled against his lips, your head falling back onto your pillow with a content sigh. Your legs shifted slightly, still sleep-heavy, parting just enough to let him slide deeper, the way he always liked. Like your body was made for him—the way he fit inside you, the way your back against his chest felt like two puzzle pieces. 

Rafe moved slowly, dragging his throbbing cock through your soft walls and then pushing back in with a grunting moan. You slowly moved back onto him, as much as your position and barely conscious body could, but the sound that Rafe made behind you made it enough for you to go crazy and want more. You knew how much he worked and how tired and sore his body was now because you felt his taut muscles around you and the way his hand on your belly twitched ever so slightly.

“Fuck, I needed you so bad.” His breath was hot against your ear when the only thing you could do was whimper in response to the way his cock nudged your cervix. “Everything has been fucking awful, and I couldn’t even touch you— shit, you feel fuckin’ good, baby.” You made a sleepy little sound, somewhere between a giggle and a moan, and it made his heart seize. That sound. He hadn’t heard it in days. He didn’t realize how much he needed it. His hand that had been on your belly slipped down, fingers splaying wide across your pelvis to hold you right where he wanted you. His thumb brushed your clit again in soft, slow circles, coaxing you into that hazy pleasure. 

You rolled your hips back again, softly moaning his name and fisting the sheets underneath your hand when the feeling of him stretching you made your eyes roll back. “I was gonna lose it today. Thought about you between every damn meeting, every time I wanted to punch someone. And now you're here. You always save me, even when you don’t realize it.” Rafe slightly bit the back of your neck, immediately sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth until your body trembled in shivers. 

His strokes got a bit faster, skin slapping on the skin, sliding into you still lazily but now with more need, as it felt like his head might blow off if he didn’t make you both finish. You clenched around him when he hit that spot, and his whole body stuttered. “Jesus, baby.” He groaned, forehead pressing harder against you. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna last.”

You giggled, sleep still thick in your voice. “S’okay… wanna feel you…”

You turned your head just enough to kiss him again, this time with more heat, and your hand reached behind to cradle his neck. Rafe moaned into your mouth and shuddered against you, his rhythm faltering as your walls fluttered around him, clenching down, dragging him deeper with every move.

“Come inside me.”

Your voice was so quiet, so innocent, yet it made him fucking crumble. 

“I’m gonna give it to you, okay? Gonna fill you up real good, sweetheart.” Rafe panted into your skin, his lips warm and slick as they pressed over your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna take it all like my perfect fuckin’ girl. My girl…”

Your legs shifted again, spreading wider in a silent offering for him to do whatever he needed. His hips stuttered at the motion, your warmth swallowing him deeper than he thought possible. You were melting into the mattress now, letting him fuck into you almost desperately.

Your body was responding to him so sweetly, even half-asleep. Every clench of your walls pulled him closer to the edge, every sleepy sigh was soothing something deep in him.

“Just like that, baby, please.” Rafe was whispering nonsense now, voice trembling with restraint, sweat forming on his brow as he rocked into you, hitting the deepest parts of you over and over, too desperate to push you both over the edge. “Almost there—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

You whined, arching your back just enough that your ass pressed snugly against his hips, forcing him even deeper. Your hand squeezed his on your stomach and you gave the softest little whisper of his name, and it made him spiral. His cock sank into you fully, your velvety walls were pulsating around him softly when your orgasm hit you and then he finally spilled into you. Your body felt warm and tingly, pressed tightly against Rafe’s as his release was making his hips jerk and push his cum into you. 

Rafe groaned deeply, something in a mix of curses and your name. His body fell on yours, slightly pushing you into the mattress with its weight, as his covered in sweat forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. You sighed in contentment, letting your eyes close for a second, letting yourself fully relish the feeling of him everywhere.

When a few minutes later you felt him start moving away, your eyes snapped open, your hand reaching backward to grab his ass and make him stay in place before you could even comprehend it. “No. Stay like that. Please.” Your voice was soft and quiet, slightly muffled by the pillow near your mouth. “I missed you, wanna be with you for the whole night”

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.” He whispered, moving even closer to you if that was even possible, still buried deep inside. Rafe snarked one hand under your top, his large hand spreading over one of your boobs, and not in a sexual way, just to ground himself. “‘m fucking tired and I’ve been dying without you. Gonna stay at home tomorrow, they all can fuck themselves.”

“Mhm, I’d like that. I love you, Ray.” Your voice was getting even quieter now, eyes heavy with sleep, comforted by the presence of Rafe whom you missed so deeply over the past couple of weeks. 

“I love you more.” He breathed near your ear, finally letting himself relax into the warmth of your body, feeling the way every single part of him was ready to give up and just pass out that exact second. 

He let it go, tightening his hands around your sleeping body and focusing on the feeling of you. The sound of your soft breathing, the steady beat of your heart under his palm, your warm skin against his chest, the way he was still buried in you—it all made him feel more like himself. It all made the constant noise in his head and the aching weight in his body a little bit easier. 

And for once, he didn’t want to move. Not even a little. He buried his face into your hair, nose brushing your temple, and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly after that like it always did when you were close.

[cvntybrat]

Could you do a nanami Drabble of him cuddle fucking reader who’s afraid during a thunderstorm

The thought is so heartwarming and intimate to me 💔💔

scared?

there wasn’t much you were really afraid of and olderbf!kento knew that. things that women normally around your age were afraid of, you weren’t and you had a strong tolerance for a lot of things—but that doesn’t you don’t have any fears.

thunderstorms would be your worst enemy and your number one fear. the booming of the thunder throughout the skies and the flashes of lightning that come before which throws off your senses—the gray clouds that covers the sky which heavy rain falls from. not only that, instead of rain, it can be hail—thunderstorms can also grow into a tornado.

there’s just too many things that happen.

it was a valid fear—i mean any fear is valid! it was also the reason why you had ZERO sleep the night before. so who would olderbf!kento be if he denied his scared little girlfriend’s request of letting her become his cocksleeve so she can be distracted?

now, you and olderbf!kento are on your shared bed, his palm ever so firmly massaging the plush of your hip from behind—cock stuffed into your tight cunt, as you’re flushed against him with your slightly back arched to allow a comfortable angle for him to slide his pretty dick into you.

you’ve been trying to watch television for the past two hours, trying to stay distracted from the rumbling skies. and for those past two hours olderbf!kento has been suffering. every time you’d hear thunder you’d unconsciously push yourself up against him, your pussy clenching around his throbbing cock.

but the skies got cloudier, and the thunder got louder, you couldn’t pay attention to the television anymore. you almost even forgot that olderbf!kento was there! not until you heard his deep, and ever so soft husky whispers beside you.

“it’s okay, love.”

his thrusts were delicate, fucking into you as if you’d break under the slightest bit of pressure. his cock was just so girthy and just the right amount of length—you couldn’t help but let a little whine out of his name. the thunder never faltered, every time thunder struck, your pussy clenched around him even more, a quiet grunt would elicit from him every time. olderbf!kento wanted to take his time with you, take care of you during your time of need—but he just couldn’t help it but want to fuck into your tight little cunt like a desperate man.

his much larger hand roamed your body, mapping out your curves and everything else in between, memorizing something he already knew like the back of his hand. his hand find their way to your chest, playing with the sensitive bundle of nerves, pinching and twisting at them as he continued to fuck into you.

“nghh—! k-ken..!”

“shh… shhh.. i know. i’ll take care of you.”

his pace began to quicken, his cock stretching you out so deliciously, a ring of your slick forming at the base of his cock as you began to forget about the world outside. he has your thigh held up with a hand, his balls slapping against the bottom of your ass as you look down at him fucking into you. his cock sliding in and out of you, your juices mixing together, and the way your pussy just sucks him right in.

his thrusts never go any faster, but they’re hard. every thrust kisses your cervix every time he bottoms out into you, and every thrust undos you even more. his sweet encouraging whispers never stop either, adding onto your arousal—not only that the love for him and your moans just slowly turn into slight babbling as the pleasure is just so good.

with the way your cunt’s walls begin to flutter around his cock, he knows you’re close. his pace quickens, hand that was once holding your leg up is now playing with your clit—your moans getting louder.

“m’cumming! ken, m’cumming!”

“cum with me, love.”

with that you’re becoming undone on his cock—white spurts of ribbon after ribbon are being pulled out of him as he fucks you both through your highs.

olderbf!kento looks up from you and out window, the sky had lightened up and the thunder had stopped as far as he could hear. looking down back at you, you had finally fallen asleep.

notes: i loved this request so much omg :,) thank u pookie for the request (like fr fr bcs i had no clue what to write for this week LMAO) <3

[enigmaris]

Lex Luthor's cover of 'I've grown accustomed to her face':

There were certain rules that you as a villain have to follow if you want to be successful. Lex Luthor knew these rules well. The first, one which he’d kept for a very very long time, was to avoid attachment. More specifically to avoid becoming attached to anyone. You should encourage others to like you, if they liked you, if they owed you, then they would do what you wanted and what you needed. But caring for others only led to weaknesses.

Lex had no one that he cared for or trusted. No living family, no lover to warm his bed. Not that that had ever been a priority for him. The closest Lex had to a ‘friend’ was his android Mercy, an android he created. Lex supposed that the closest relationship he had was with Superman. Their antagonistic relationship where he tried to kill Superman and Superman tried to have him arrested was the most socializing outside of work Lex did per month.

A lonely life perhaps but one that Lex reveled in. He had what he wanted and what he didn’t have he could get with his power. Lex was able to follow that first rule of villainy up until one raining evening just outside Metropolis. His car was going towards his home when something crashed through the glass roof window. Something being a glowing teenager. He had white hair and bright green eyes and he was wearing what appeared to be some sort of jumpsuit.

He landed right in Lex’s lap, covered in wounds and emaciated. Three moments after he landed a bright halo of light appeared around his torso before spreading out. Suddenly, laying there on his lap was a human teenager, bleeding red blood and reaching unconsciousness.

“Sorry.” He said right before passing out.

Mercy had stopped the car, as she’d been programmed to do. Lex looked down at the meta teenager with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Mercy, continue home and contact Dr. Matthews. He has a new patient in serious condition.”

“Yes sir.”

It took a full day of rest for the unnamed meta to wake up. When he did Lex was there, introducing himself and offering comfort and safety. The boy introduced himself as ‘Adam’, a fake name obviously but Lex didn’t call him out on it. Lex made no reference to the boy’s meta-abilities. Instead, he offered a place to rest and recuperate and all of the food the boy could consume (which was a lot). Through his security cameras he saw the boy’s uncontrollable powers, new he guessed.

It took only a week for the boy to break down and use his powers in front of Lex. Once that happened the flood gates opened. Danny was his real name, and his parents had tried to kill him once they found out about his powers. Lex learnt about the source of the powers and Danny’s lack of control. His plan was going along perfectly.

Lex didn’t know much about powers, but from those he talked to with them, the key to control was practice. So, Lex built a training room for the half-ghost to practice. Then, when he destroyed that, Lex built a stronger one. (He used plans from an old ‘trap Superman’ room. Lex always appreciated being able to recycle things.) Soon, really once Danny recovered completely, a schedule arose. In the mornings, Danny and Lex would have breakfast together. Lex would quiz the boy on different things. Anything from strategy to science to history to literature. Then Lex would go to work. Danny would stay in the home and spend the morning studying. Lex wasn’t going to have a stupid tool, so the boy had an online coursework to learn what he needed to know.

Then Lex would usually receive a message from Danny around lunch time. The boy would let him know how his lessons were going and ask how his work was. Lex didn’t tell Danny to message him, he also didn’t tell him to stop. Something inside of him enjoyed the unsolicited attention. Danny was asking not because he had to but because he wanted to. He was curious, he cared about Lex.

After lunch the boy would use Lex’s computer simulations to train with his powers. He worked his muscles and his reflexes against training simulators and pushed his abilities to their limit. When Lex got home around dinner Danny would be waiting for him eagerly to talk about how his training was going. They would have dinner together. At first those dinners were solely focused on the boy’s abilities and health. But they expanded.

Danny would ask about Lex and Lex would indulge him, telling him stories from his life. Danny would reciprocate. Lex found that, beyond having very useful powers, Danny also possessed intelligence, curiosity, and eagerness in spades. Without realizing it Lex started to feel rather fond of the boy. He reminded him of Lex’s younger years before the trials that had shaped him into the man he was. Young and full of passion.

The months passed and they grew closer. Lex learnt about Danny’s two best friends that knew about his accident and with whom he had kept in contact. Danny met Mercy and even visited Lex’s office a few times to see him at work. Since the boy could turn invisible Lex had no way of knowing how often that actually was. He started to try and teach the boy strategy. How to defeat his enemies and how to control and manipulate. He didn’t teach Danny too much, he wouldn’t want to make a tool more powerful than Lex himself.

Daniel was an apt pupil up until the point that Lex suggested using his powers for personal gain. The teen’s vehement denial of using his powers that way was peculiar. Didn’t Danny see what his powers could do? What that sort of power and control could mean for him, for them both? With Lex’s tutelage and guidance, they would be unstoppable. Lex tried everything he could think of.

Every evening for dinner it became a test to see if he could shake Danny of his morals, of his will. But Danny remained resolute. Every time he argued for the right thing. He wanted to be kind. He wanted to help. Not to abuse and harm. Lex realized a little too late that he had accidentally taken in a hero and nothing about that would change. There were some heroes who could be convinced of the error of their ways but then there were those like Superman, like Danny.

Abruptly he saw his future. Danny would soon put on a suit and try and fight evil. Lex wouldn't be able to stop him from doing it. Unless Lex started to torture him and break him down piece by piece. Lex recoiled from the idea of harming Danny. The idea of anyone harming him was wrong. It was then that he realized what had happened.

Lex had been sitting in his office, planning out his next ‘kill Superman plan’ when it hit him right in the face.

“I’ve become accustomed to him.”

He’d grown used to Danny. Grown to like his presence in his life. Meals were no longer necessities for him but rather something to enjoy and savor. Conversations and laughter filled his life where there had been silence. He had loved the silence, reveled in being untouched and untouchable. But now? Now he’d adapted to Danny, and he did not wish to return to how things were previously.

“Damn. Damn. Damn."

[jazziejax]

★ 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 ★ 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 ★

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Terry Richmond x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐎𝐡, 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲! 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Slow burn, one-sided pining (or is it?), blurred lines, emotionally tense bodyguard dynamics, light possessiveness, princess-core x protector energy.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - seeing this fine ass man and his fine ass girlfriend got me in the mood to write again 🤷🏽‍♀️. Also, he looks like a bouncer every time he wears all black. Also, also, this is corny as fuck but I wanted to be a bit original so I went, fuck it, Princess! Sorry for any grammar mistakes or spelling errors! I hate reading my own work back!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 3,908+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The screen lit up with the TikTok app’s familiar start-up jingle, followed by a soft gasp from the girl on-screen. She wore a silk bonnet, lip gloss, and an oversized tee, holding her phone like she had just discovered treasure

“Okay. Y’all… I was just trying to figure out who this woman was that literally almost shut down a street in Milan yesterday. Like—shut it DOWN. And I fell into a hole. So, let’s get into it because—why did no one tell me this princess is that girl?”

The screen cut to the now-viral photo of Princess Atarah Mbali, draped in a chartreuse Jacquemus mini dress with a long sculptural train, strappy metallic heels, and a pair of gradient sunglasses that half-covered her face. Her hair was in two sleek, waist-length braids, and her brown skin glowed under the paparazzi’s camera flash. In the background was a blurry figure in all-black — broad, tall, still.

“First of all — yes. This is an actual princess. Like, royalty. Heiress to a fucking throne. Her mom is Queen Samira — which is the one who brought that sapphire headwrap to a UN gala she attended with her husband, and it broke Twitter. Yeah, that’s her mother. So, her bloodline is already fashionable as fuck. Sort of known to be on of the best dressed families in power.”

The video then cut to a mashup, which was actually a vintage Vogue spread from years ago featuring Queen Samira’s wedding to King Kwame Mbali, followed by a slideshow of archival footage showing a much younger Atarah. From boarding school photos, grainy royal family candids, and charity gala appearances and even the occasional one of her as a child, waving to the paps. She was always poised, always beautiful, and was always watched.

“She’s twenty-four now. Went to university in London, dipped in and out of the spotlight for most of her life — and then bam, started popping up in these random clips and videos all over social media. Baby she’s been here.”

The TikTok cuts to a now-infamous video. It shows a bustling crowd outside an afterparty in France. Nothing but chaos and screaming as different security guards yelled in four different languages. The camera shakes wildly until it catches a tall, sharply built man with deep brown skin and a calm, stoic expression emerging through the crowd from the door of the party. It shows as he turned and effortlessly lifts a girl. And there, effortlessly balanced across his shoulders, laughing in a mini dress and stiletto boots, was Atarah Mbali, shades across her face as she blushed at the attention.  

“This was her. THIS was her. And that man carrying her like a paper doll? That’s not her boyfriend. That’s her bodyguard. Terry. Richmond. Who has apparently been with her for, like, almost ten years now???”

The voiceover softened, almost dreamily.

“And he is always so there? Like—girl, look at this.”

It then cuts to another video. A jet ski gliding across the turquoise coast of Antigua. Atarah in a red bikini, long braids flying behind her as she’s driving with her sunglasses on and laughing. And behind her, hands gently resting on her waist to make sure the standing girl didn’t fall, face unreadable, sat Terry. Wet shirt clinging to him with his eyes trained on the horizon.

Then it cut again — quick flashes of mirror selfies she’d posted on her now semi-active account throughput the years. Some of them were classic influencer content in a way. Chic bags, nails, jewelry. But if you looked closely, there he was in the background every time — blurred in the mirror, half cropped, standing at the door, boots in the frame.

“So like… she doesn’t post a lot, but when she does? He’s always there, which I know he’s her bodyguard, but he’s fine as fuck.” 

The TikTok cuts to one last clip , one low-resolution and shaky.

It was a New York Fashion Week afterparty. There was loud music and flashing lights. Atarah’s hand is in Terry’s as they move through the crowd with her in front. At one point, she stumbles in heels and he catches her by the waist like it’s second nature. She doesn’t even look that surprised by the touch. She just leans back into him for one second longer than necessary with a slightly agape mouth.

“You’re telling me that’s just professionalism? She not fucking his fine ass? Please. I bet that man is in love with his job for…many reasons. Either way, I need this in a book or on a screen near me, immediately.”

The TikTok ends with a picture of her reflection in Capri, Atarah smirking under sunglasses, head slightly tilted toward the large window she was taking the photo in. And Terry was behind her, one hand on the car door, the other on his hip as he watched her. 

That was the video Atarah watched on her phone last night, the hum of the private jet subtle. Once it send and automatically started over in her headphones, it was then she felt how much she was smiling. She looked away from the phone illuminating her face, the video still playing in her ears, and her eyes landed on the man across the aisle. There Terry sat in a reclined airplane seat, asleep with a fluffy yellow blanket thrown over him, the one she placed earlier. And as she gazed at him, the end of the video rang in her ears again. 

“She not fucking his fine ass? Please. I bet that man is in love with his job for…many reasons. Either way, I need this in a book or on a screen near me, immediately.”

With that, she shut her phone off and took her earphones off her ears. She let out a soft sigh as she placed the items in her carryon bag next to her before snuggling up in under her blanket and going to sleep, the last thing she saw being the sleeping man next to him. 

────୨ৎ────

The private jet cut a clean line through the skies above Los Angeles, the soft hum of descent barely noticeable within the luxurious interior. Plush cream seats gleamed under the warm glow of the cabin lights, and through the oval windows, the city stretched like a golden mirage beneath them.

“Terry, wake up!”

Atarah’s voice rang out like morning bells, crisp and bright, far too lively for someone who had been curled up asleep moments ago. She sat up quickly, brushing a stray coil of dark hair from her cheek, her smile wide as her eyes danced toward the window. “We’re here!”

Across the aisle, Terry sat upright, dressed in all black, as always—black trousers, black fitted shirt, black earpiece, black watch. His presence alone was intimidating, but unmoved. “I see that. He replied coolly, casting her a sidelong glance, unimpressed but not unamused. “I’m awake.”

“Well get excited!” She grinned, undeterred by his tone. Her international accent—a rich blend of aristocratic English with the softness of African musicality—filled the cabin as effortlessly as the scent of her lavender oil did earlier. No one on board blinked at her enthusiasm. The flight staff were used to her, used to them. Atarah, Princess of the House of Mbali. And Terry…her unflinching shadow.

They began their landing procedures, Atarah adjusting her pale yellow polo sweater over her grey sweats, slipping on her worn-in Uggs. “You’re going to help me carry my bags, right?” She teased as she stuffed her hair into a claw clip and collected her Hermès blanket.

“I already coordinated your luggage, Your Highness.” Terry muttered.

She beamed at that, softly clapping her hands while Terry stared at her. 

Fifteen minutes later, the jet touched down, the California sun spilling across the tarmac like honey. The moment Atarah stepped off the jet, she squealed in delight, her laughter light as she slipped her arm through Terry��s. She barely made it down the steps before the sound of shrill voices caught her ear.

“Tarah!”

“Ahh!” The woman squeaked, letting go of Terry immediately to run toward the small group of girls gathered near the base of the jet. They wore matching wide-brim hats and high-cut shorts, their Louis Vuitton crossbodies swinging as they jogged forward to meet her.

The girls collided in a chorus of shrieks and perfume.

“Omg, I haven’t seen you guys in ages!” Atarah said, pulling back just slightly to admire them, her cheeks still flushed from sleep and sun. Behind her, Terry stood like a statue, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding the storm in his eyes.

“That’s because you’ve been MIA.” Said Bailey, her British accent curled like a ribbon. Bailey was slim and surgically preserved, her cheekbones a little too sharp, and her lip filler giving her a constant pout. Classic British babe with an iffy tan but a nice beat face. 

Atarah shrugged with a soft laugh. “Because I’ve been busy. You know…princess, eldest daughter things.”

Harper rolled her eyes. “Besides not hearing from you for almost months, yeah, we can tell.” She said in that soft Italian accent, before her eyes racked the princess. “What are you wearing?” She added as she brushed her Bon blonde hair away from her face, her gaze, and the rest of theirs, lingering critically on Atarah’s oversized grey sweats, polo sweater, and Uggs. 

Atarah glanced down at herself and blinked. “What?” She said. “I was on a jet.” She stated, defending herself from the scrutiny she felt. Bailey scoffed, but it was Harper’s curled lip that gave it away. Atarah followed their gaze and saw the others already dressed for Coachella, all fringe, mesh, lace, and glitter. “Oh, are you guys heading out now?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Bailey said. “Didn’t think we had to tell you we wanted you to be ready.” Her tone was achingly sweet. And it scratched under Atarah’s her skin. She gave the girl a tight smile. “Well, Lady Gaga doesn’t come on ‘til later, so I’ll catch up with you guys after I get ready.”

“Where are you staying?” Sofia asked then, her soft blue eyes too curious. She was the prettiest of the trio, a nice blonde blowout and a Swedish accent with a supermodel’s height and bone structure to tie it all in.

“Uh, the private villa up north.” She responded. Sofia nodded, but Terry saw it—the subtle glance Harper threw Bailey, the way Bailey blinked hard just before she turned her cheek. He stepped forward without a word, hand landing protectively on the small of Atarah’s back.

Atarah glanced up at him, then back at her friends. “I gotta go get ready. I’ll see you guys later.” She said with a small smile. Terry ushered her toward the line of black SUVs parked nearby. He didn’t have to say a word. She already felt the prickle on the back of her neck. She waved at the girls once more before slipping into the middle car, and Terry followed.

As the door shut behind him, Atarah exhaled, gaze flicking over her stacked LV trunks in the back, just as the sound of Terry shutting the car door sounded. She settled into her seat as her eyes then drifted out of the window. Her friends were already climbing into their own vehicle, laughing again. The engine thrummed and the SUV pulled off into the city, heat shimmering off the asphalt.

There was a silence, thick and unspoken before looked over at the man next to him. “Go ahead and say it.” She muttered.  “I know you want to.”

“I don’t like your friends.” Terry said without a pause, looking away from the passing plains and connecting his eyes with her.

Atarah turned her body to face him, legs tucked under her. “And why is that again?”

“It wouldn’t be respectful for me to say.”

She tilted her head back with a small groan, but she couldn’t help the smile on her face. “You know it’s just you and I. You can say anything.” She looked over his face, his ocean-green eyes unreadable, but they always made her comfortable. Terry just started at her and after a brief pause, the girl snapped her head over to the driver. “And you too, Sergio!” She called up to the driver.

“Thank you, Miss.” The man replied evenly, and it was never clear if he even heard what she said or was just responding to the sound of his name. But Atarah nodded before she looked back over at Terry. “Come on.” She urged with a small whine, and since she was twisted in her seat, she poked his thigh with her so foot, since she slipped out of her uggs. There was silence, so Atarah began to repeatedly nudge him with her foot. 

And Terry had the patience of a monk. He was military trained since the young age of sixteen and there was little to nothing that could break him. Even the ever spoiled persistence of a princess that he’s known for years now. But Atarah had grew to be a friend, someone he had a soft spot for. So he grabbed her ankle gently, his large hand wrapping around it as his gaze slid over to hers. Her toes wiggled in his lap.

“I think they’re spoiled brats.” He said, voice low.

“That’s not what you wanted to say.” She sing-songed, looking him in the eye. She knew him too well. “You say the same thing about me.”

Terry’s jaw ticked. “I think they’re bitches.”

“There it is!” Atarah squealed, clapping once. “See, I know you so well.” She grinned. She leaned over, pressing her fingertip from her temple to his, her smile all honey and victory. He didn’t flinch and held the most subtle smile as he watched her. Her touch lingered a little too long before she dropped back into her seat, legs still draped across his lap.

She folded her hands in her lap, then gave him a prim look. “Now let’s talk about your choice of words for women.”

He chuckled—just a breath—but it made her heart skip. He rarely laughed, rarely softened around anyone but her. And when he did…it made her feel like she was the only person on earth who could. She watched him quietly, chin resting against the back of her seat. His thumb rubbed a slow, lazy circle into the inside of her ankle, unaware or uncaring of the way her breath hitched and made her heart beat. 

Outside the window, the desert sprawled into sun-drenched silence. But inside the car, it was warmer. And there was a tension that hung somewhere between comfort and longing.

Terry finally looked away from her and back over to the passing plains. “They don’t deserve your time.” He said simply.

And for the first time all day, Atarah didn’t have anything to say back.

The ride to the villa stretched across golden stretches of highway, sun slicing through the tinted windows in drowsy beams. Atarah chattered about the things she’d missed of the city. The food trucks on Melrose, late-night runs to Erewhon, how nobody did iced lattes quite like L.A., all while Terry responded with low hums and sparse nods. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening; he always listened. He was just…more focused on watching. Her. 

When they finally pulled up to the secluded villa, tucked high in the Coachella Valley hills and wrapped in flowering bougainvillea, Atarah reached for the door instinctively, ready to burst out like she always did—except Terry’s sharp glance caught her mid-motion.

She froze. And with a dramatic sigh and a roll of her eyes, she folded her arms and waited.

Terry stepped out first, the desert sun casting sharp angles across his sharp cheekbones. His black shirt hugged the contours of his broad chest and arms, a quiet authority in his every movement. His eyes scanned the villa once before flicking back to the SUV. He reached out a hand.

“Come on.” He said.

With her small hand in his, she stepped down from the vehicle, her fingers tightening briefly around his. Terry guided her across the gravel path as Pedro and Nash, two more men from her security detail, did a sweep of the property. When the nods were given, he opened the front door for her, and they stepped into the villa together, hands still clasped like a quiet ritual neither of them ever spoke about. It was second nature to them now. A rhythm of theirs.

He led her through the villa and to her room—an airy, high-ceilinged suite with floor-to-ceiling windows and light pouring in. The rest of her bags were already being delivered in shifts by Sergio, the ever-loyal driver. When Terry finally released her hand, Atarah darted toward the patio doors like a spring uncoiled.

She threw them open, linen curtains flying up as wind surged in, tousling her dark curls. Her body moved to the edge of the balcony, where the view opened into a vast stretch of golden plains. In the distance, she could make out the Coachella stages being lit up for the day. “I’m soglad to be back in the States!” She cried, arms wide open, wind tugging at her baggy sweats and polo. She stood there a moment, basking in the warmth like a cat in sunlight.

When she turned, Terry was there, posted by the door, hands behind his back, as disciplined as a palace guard. Her grin softened as she brushed past him to return to the room, the curtains trailing behind her like silk.

Sergio was just finishing with the bags.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely as she pulled her phone form her pocket and ,add her way over to her bed 

“You’re welcome, madame.” He replied with a small bow, and after a nod from Terry, he quietly exited.

She was halfway through connecting her phone to the portable speaker when she noticed Terry turning for the door.

“Where are you going?” She asked, pausing mid-pairing.

“To keep watch.” He answered, never quite turning fully toward her.

“But I need you to help me pick an outfit.” She said quickly, padding barefoot toward him. “My friends aren’t here, and I need someone honest to help me figure out what looks good.” She explained, but his face didn’t change as he looked down at her.  She saw the hesitation in the twitch of his brow. She stepped closer, reaching for his hand, wrapping hers around it like it was natural—like it always had been. “Terry,” She said, voice soft. “Just for a little while.” She pleaded. 

The fight in him dissolved instantly. He released a long breath through his nose before squeezing her hand once, a gesture so gentle it made her chest flutter.

He turned and pressed a hand to his earpiece. “Keep watch.” He said, eyes scanning the view of the living space elf the villa before closing the doors. “Copy.” Pedro’s voice came through as Terry turned to face her again to see Atarah’s beaming face. 

Then she squealed and bolted to her bags like a child on Christmas morning. The speaker kicked on, flooding the room with a blasting beats, songs from R&B to hip hop. Thumping basslines, soft synths, and female vocals that bled into every corner of the suite. 

Terry settled into the ottoman at the foot of her bed, sitting with his legs apart, elbows on his knees. His eyes followed her as she disappeared into the bathroom with an armful of options, and the show began.

She stepped out a minute later in a white two-piece, mesh skirt riding low on her hips and a crochet halter top tied around her neck, showing the cursive tattoo she had on her hip that said “made in heaven”. She twirled in front of the mirror, then turned toward him.

“What do you think?” She asked, posing for him with a smile. 

Terry tilted his head, assessing her from head to toe.

“Cute. But more so for the beach, not a music festival.” He said. 

She let out a small sight before turning away from him, giving herself one more look. “Ugh, okay.” She said before walking back into the bathroom. Next came a butterfly top with flared jeans, but she shook her head before even asking, disappeared again.

Then came sequins—so many sequins. A matching bra and shorts combo that shimmered like fish scales in the light. She struck a few poses and snapped photos in front of the mirror. She glanced back to find Terry watching, his jaw slack just barely, the muscle ticking.

“This one’s hot.” She said, teasing.

“It is.” He agreed. “But what shoes would you wear with that.”

She teasing smirk dropped and disappeared again, this time taking longer. Each time she reappeared, her confidence built. She laughed freely, twirled for him, winked at herself, even bent to see if she would flash anyone when she twerked. The air in the room grew warmer with every outfit. Every look. Every comment from Terry that made her feel seen and admired.

Finally, she emerged wearing the outfit she didn’t want to try at first. A storm-gray hooded mini-dress clung to her curves, cinched with a thick, black belt that sat high on her waist. Beneath the draped neckline peeked the edge of a black lace bra, sultry and deliberate. Stacked silver jewelry shimmered at her collarbone and wrists. Chunky black boots hit just below the knee, elongating her legs.

She didn’t pose this time. She just stood there and watched as Terry sat up straighter and eyed her up and down, her hands brushing down the front of the dress to straighten it

Her lips curved slowly. “Well?” She asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“I think that’s the one.” He said, voice low, rougher than it had been all day.

She didn’t say anything at first, just smiled, almost shy, before walking to the mirror to snap a few photos, her behind facing him. 

Terry watched her the whole time, fingers curled on his knees, heart beating louder than usual. The song playing in the background was low and sultry, ‘Naught Girl’ by Beyoncé almost like a whisper meant just for them. When she lowered her phone, her eyes met his in the mirror. “I think I just needed you to remind me who I am.” She nodded, her eyes moving to rake over her figure again, though her voice was soft. 

Terry stood slowly, the space between them suddenly much smaller than before. “You never forgot.” He said, approaching her with a quiet kind of reverence. “You just let them convince you to question it.”

Their eyes locked and her breath caught a bit as her eyes moved over his alluring features.  In the silence that followed, they didn’t touch. They didn’t need to. But it was clear as the sunlight pouring in through the balcony door—neither of them wanted to walk away. Atarah softly cleared her throat before turning around to face him, looking up at the handsome man, his grey eyes moving down to look into hers. “Now let’s get you dressed.” She smiled, giving his broad chest a pat before moving past him. But her brushing him against him was something that didn’t go unnoticed by either of them,  especially with the spark it sent through their bodies. 

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 & 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 🗑️ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

[teliphone]

Two of Hearts

Summary: You become Yumeko’s house pet. She orders you around, but also loves to tease you. At first, you dislike her, but over time, you realize how much you love to be ordered around… Especially by someone like her. 

Warning(s): Smut, Oral, Obedience, Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4K 

-

Sounds of footsteps quickly surround you, but you pay no attention to them. You drill your focus into your opponent, Yumeko, who stares back with a small smile on her red lips. She never seems nervous, which makes you gulp. Her eyes don’t leave yours. She doesn't even bother to flick her eyes down to look at her cards in her hand. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, hesitating about the next move. You tilt your chin down and observe the cards in your hand. Taking a short breath, you place two cards down- two pairs of kings. That is the only move you could make. You slowly look up. Yumeko nibbles her bottom lip to stop herself from giggling. There's a shimmering shine in her eyes. She chuckles as she places a pair of aces onto the table. You feel the blood drain from your face. 

“H-how did you…” You stutter in disbelief. Your head jerks to the side to watch the ranking TV. Your number drops 50 levels, leaving you to be her house pet with -10,000k debt. You start to regret betting such a high risk… but Yumeko kept tempting you to do more. 

Yumeko’s eyes darken slightly while she watches you panic. Yumeko loves to analyze people. She enjoys observing the subtle movements in a person's body language. Especially someone like you. Your eyebrows furrow in frustration. How are you going to get out of this debt? You’ve never lost so much before. Tears start to swell up in your eyes. The house pet necklace feels heavy in your hands. She almost felt pity for you. 

She gets up from her seat, lifting her hands to stretch. 

“That was fun,” She chirps before walking away. You jump out of your seat in worry. 

“W-wait!” You gasp. Yumeko stops in her tracks and turns around with a confused expression. You drop down to your knees, a poor attempt to beg to play another round. All your pride is out the window. Her face slowly switches to a smile again. She stands with her hands behind her back. Her chest peeks out slightly underneath her slightly unbuttoned white top. Her long black hair falls past her shoulders. Her eyes have the glittering shine to them again. You immediately jerk your head down. 

“Please, just one more round,” You beg. She tilts her head innocently. Her lips pucker slightly as she thinks. After a few seconds, you see her black shoes come closer to your knees. She bends over, her skirt hiking up. From the closeness, you could smell the sweet perfume she had on. She reaches and grabs the house pet necklace from your hands. You turn your head up to watch her in confusion. She pulls the strings of the necklace and then places them over your head, causing your breathing to hick. The house pet tag hits your chest, and it feels like a punch. She straightens her back to get a view of you. Your cheeks are red from embarrassment. She hums in delight and slowly shakes her head. 

“Not yet… I need you like this,” She softly explains. She twirls around with the tip of her foot and struts away. You watch her speechlessly. Her hips swing side to side. 

-

The next few weeks were filled with Yumeko ordering you around to do pointless things. Things such as making you:

Attend and watch every single gambling session she plays

Sit or stand close to her whenever possible

Apply her red lipstick while she stares at you

Decide on tough gambling choices for her (which makes you panic)

She praises you each time you do as she says. You try your best to ignore the way her voice causes your heart to race. You complain nonstop, begging her to let you play another round so that you could be free from her. The only time you’re away from her is when you’re going to the bathroom or bed. You’re starting to forget what it was like to live without Yumeko telling you what you can or can’t do. 

What makes you the most upset is that you weren’t the only house pet Yumeko had. She had another one, but she seems like she couldn't care less about him. She would talk to him and giggle sweetly while you stood awkwardly to the side. You never heard her order him to do anything. Why were you treated so differently? You grumble under your breath as the necklace starts to feel heavier as each day goes by. You can’t ignore the necklace by how many times Yumeko tugs the tag, pulling your face closer to hers. A provoking reminder that you were hers. 

Currently, you’re towering over her as she sits on a wooden chair in her dorm room. One of your knees slots between her thighs. She told you to be in this position so that you’d be less shaky while you apply lipstick to her plump lips. It didn’t make much of a difference; in fact, it seems like it made you even more nervous. Her body and face are so close that it makes you forget how to breathe. She sneaks her hand to hold onto your lower bicep as a kind gesture to keep you still. You nervously gulp. 

You hyper-focused on her lips to ignore the blush forming on your cheeks. You watch her lips curl into a smirk. Her tiny dimples are more visible than usual. She chuckles, causing your eyes to flicker up and make eye contact with her. She smiles sweetly, chest moving up and down slowly. She inches her face closer to yours in a teasing way. Her eyes move from your lips and back up to your eyes. Your breathing hicks. The lipstick is forgotten in your hands as you get lost in her eyes. Fuck. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” You grunt as you push yourself off the chair. You feel as though Yumeko is playing with your emotions like a chess piece. It hurts more than just being a house pet. You push the lipstick brush back into its bottle. 

“What do you mean?” Yumeko asks, not moving from her seat. She watches you pace back and forth. You slide your fingers into your hair in frustration. 

“I don’t want to be your house pet anymore,” You fume. She leans back into the chair with an unreadable expression. You stop prancing and stand still with your arms crossed. A fruitless attempt to create an invisible barrier

“...Is that what you really want?” Her soft voice clashes against the silence. You jerk your head up to look at her. She waits for your answer with a soft look in her eyes. There was no hidden meaning behind her statement. She wanted to know if you truly disliked… being with her. She had already known that keeping you as a house pet was just an excuse to keep you close. She had hoped you felt the same. It was a risk she was willing to take. 

“...Yes,” You respond after a short pause. Her eyes flicker towards the ground. Her lips turn into a small pout, but it only lasts a couple of seconds before she starts smiling again. She pushes herself off the chair and stands up straight. She brings her hand out towards you, offering a handshake. 

“If that is what you want… then let us play a game,” She suggests. You awkwardly stare at her hand. You were unsure if she was telling the truth or not. Here she is offering you a chance at freedom… so you took it.

“I accept your challenge,” You respond, shaking her hand. Her skin underneath your fingers feels soft. She chuckles brightly and grips your hand towards herself. This causes you to take a few steps toward her. She lowers her face slightly, glaring into your eyes. Her pupils are dilated, almost black. 

“But I decide the game,” She whispers. 

Stripper poker was the game she decided on— losers have to take off a piece of clothing. Each pair of clothing costs 2,000$. If Yumeko takes off five items… You simply win and finish paying off your 10,000$ debt. 

You sit awkwardly in front of her in your white button-up shirt and a skirt. Your jacket, tie, shoes, and socks lay messily to the side. You had a few more undergarments left, and it's making you nervous. 

Yumeko sits on the other side of the table with her tie still perfectly tucked around her neck. The only clothes she had discarded were her shoes and socks. She chuckles loudly as she squeezes her thighs together. She was having so much fun. She places her cards down in excitement and watches you slightly widen your eyes. You quickly place your cards down, successfully winning against her. She hums in delight and starts tugging at her black tie. She mindlessly tosses it. Your eyes lock on the soft, smooth skin underneath her shirt. She always leaves the top of her shirt unbuttoned. 

Another two rounds go by, and she loses each time. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Was it all luck that you’re winning… or is she losing on purpose? Before your mind could come up with conclusions, she runs her fingers underneath her skirt. Her eyes never leave yours. You gulp nervously as you watch her slowly lower her red lace panties down her legs. She chuckles darkly, biting her bottom lip. Instead of tossing it aside, she places it on top of the table. She leans deep into her seat, crossing her legs in a teasing way. You force yourself to look away from her and back to your cards. You could feel yourself heating up. 

“Another round?” She chirps. You shake your head and place the cards down. She frowns immediately, leaning forward as she grips onto the table. 

“What? Why? We were having so much fun!” She heavily breathes. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. 

“You lost five pieces of clothing. I paid off my debt. I’m no longer your house pet,” You explain, getting up from the table. She starts stuttering, trying to find a way to make you continue playing. You tug the house pet necklace off your neck and drop it onto the table. She watches in defeat. Before you could take a step towards the door, she rushed over to you. She presses her chest against your arm. Desperation was written on her face. 

“Don’t you feel the rush? Let’s continue playing,” She purrs, slightly grinding herself against you. Her hands wrap around yours, bringing your hands to her soft, bare thighs. Your muscles tense, and you feel an ache in your lower stomach. Her cheeks are pink, eyes dilating with lust. Her breathing tickles your neck. It took everything in you to remove yourself from her. You’re no longer her pet. You won't let her play with your feelings. She stands still in defeat, her gambling high starting to lower. She didn’t want to force you into something you didn’t want. You rush out of her room. 

-

You walk down the halls, fidgeting with the buttons of your shirt. For some reason, you felt empty without the obnoxious necklace. It’s like you lost a title that you’ve unfortunately grown used to. You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt lost without Yumeko telling you what to do. You felt embarrassed, hesitating about your next move. 

For the first few weeks, Yumeko still smiles brightly whenever you make eye contact with her. But you give her a simple blank stare before looking away. Yumeko’s smile would drop, and she forced herself to think everything was okay. As time went on, Yumeko didn’t feel like she had to try anymore. What was the point when you weren’t going to give the same energy back? Truthfully, you didn’t realize how lucky you were before it was gone. 

So here you are, nervously glancing around the hall to find Yumeko. She stands by the hallway walls with her hands behind her back. She turns her head and makes eye contact with you. You expect a small smile, but instead, she spares you one single stare before continuing her conversation. Your heart clenches in hurt. You didn’t enjoy it. You stop in your tracks and furrow your eyebrows. Is this what it feels like to be nothing to Yumeko? 

You didn’t like living in a world where Yumeko isn’t in it… and you realized it a little late. You missed her teasing. You missed how she always kept you close. She made you feel wanted. 

-

You lift your hands and softly knock against Yumeko’s dorm door. You sort of hoped the knock was too soft for her to hear so that you could change your mind and walk away. But that wasn’t the case. The door swings open, revealing Yumeko. She widens her eyes when she realizes it’s you. 

“Hi…” You awkwardly greet. She doesn’t say anything. She narrows her eyes at you with a small smile. She didn’t understand why you’re here. She thought you were annoyed at her. You rub the back of your neck with your hands. You take a step back. 

“I’m sorry I don’t-“

“Come in,” She gently offers. She wraps her fingers around your wrist and tugs you into her room. Her scent, which you missed, engulfs you. She shuts the door and turns her body around. You begin nicking your skin with your fingernails. 

“I’ve been thinking… and I don’t quite understand why.. but…” 

“Tell me what you want,” She cuts in. Your face begins to visibly express desperation. 

“Please take me back,” You ramble, “Please take me. I- I feel so lost without you.” 

Speaking the truth lifted a weight off your shoulders. You blush in embarrassment. The room is quiet as Yumeko stares at you. Anxious thoughts begin swirling in your head. You start to regret coming here. Especially when you see Yumeko bring her hands up to cover her lips. A chuckle escapes from behind her hands. 

“You’re cute,” She reveals. You stand still, not knowing what to do next. She nibbles her bottom lip and takes a confident step towards you. She brings her hands up to touch the tip of your hair. She laces them between her fingers. 

“Tell me you want me,” She breathes. The room begins to feel hot as she waits for you to find the courage to speak up again. You gulp and clench your fist 

“I want you,” You confess. She takes a deep inhale and shuts her eyes. Her lips curl into a big smile as she opens her eyes again. Her heart races in excitement. 

“I'm going to kiss you, okay? Let me know when you want to stop,” She whispers cautiously, tilting her head to look at your expression. You nervously jerk your head up and down, signalling yes. She softly chuckles as she brings her hands up to cup your cheeks. Your eyes immediately shut, and you wait. Your breathing stops when you feel her soft, plump lips move against yours. She kisses you slowly and passionately. She wanted to take her time, she didn’t want this moment to pass. 

Your hands move down to hold onto her waist, pulling her body closer to yours. She hums in delight and wraps her hands around your shoulders. Her thumb slowly rubs circles against your neck. A small distraction before she brushes her tongue against your bottom lip. Your eyes pop open in surprise. You take a step back, bringing your hands up to your lip. Your chest moves in and down fast. Your body feels like it's on fire. She stands still and waits for your next move. She doesn’t pressure you into anything. Her lipstick is smudged, yet she still looks so good. 

You crash your lips onto her, and she muffles in shock. Your hands move around her waist and down to her thighs like that one time she showed you. She lets out a soft moan between the kisses, adding more fuel to your hunger. She starts pulling you towards her bed. The edge of the bed hits the back of her legs, causing her to fall onto the bed. You follow along, trapping her body between your arms. Her thighs rub against your core. She slides her tongue against yours, making you buckle your hips into her. She softly hums and slowly pulls away from the kiss.

“Tell me what to do,” You whisper, your eyes dripping in lust. Her chest moves up and down fast as she giggles. Her cheeks are bright pink, and her hair is messy. She spreads her legs wider, exposing the red lace panties she has underneath her skirt. 

“Kneel,” She breathes. You immediately fall onto your knees, getting a full view of her core. The scent of her arousal makes you clench your thighs together. Her long fingers loop around her panties, and she tugs them off. She scrunches her skirt up. She bites her bottom lip in excitement. 

“Make me come,” She orders. You stick out your tongue and slowly move your mouth towards her core. You give her a small, cautious lick. She places her elbow beside her body to carefully watch you. You continue licking her hole to collect more of her sweet nectar. It coats your tongue deliciously, making you hum. She places one hand on top of your head, pushing you closer. Your tongue starts to flick against her small nub, causing her to grunt in pleasure. 

“I like that,” She moans. Her moans are high-pitched and cute. You wrap your lips around her nub to suck. She arches her back and grinds her pussy deeper into your mouth. You pull away and look up at her. Her silky juice coats all over your lips and tongue. She blushes at how good her wetness looks on you. Her fingers begin to brush your hair sweetly. 

“Am I doing well?” You ask, breathing heavily. She nods her head and smiles. 

“Yes,” She responds before tapping your head to go back to pleasing her. You stretch your tongue long to go deep into her pussy. Her walls slightly clench around your pink muscle. She cries out a moan and bucks her hips. The grip on your head starts to tighten. You drag your tongue to swirl quick circles around her numb. She tilts her head back, and a curse word escapes her mouth. Her thighs begin to twitch. All her composure seems to be breaking down. You place your hands against her shaking thighs, pushing them to keep them from closing. She lets out a sharp whine. You suck and flick your tongue harshly agaisnt her nub. Her stomach tenses as she feels herself coming close. 

“I-I’m close,” She chokes out. 

You look up from between her legs. Her cheeks are bright red, and her lips are swollen from how hard she's biting her lips to keep herself from screaming. Her free hands move up to grip her chest. Her hard nipple peeks up from behind the white button-up. You flick your tongue harder and faster, causing her breathing to stop. Her eyes roll back as you feel her wetness drip down your chin. Her body twitches and high-pitched moans slip out of her mouth. You slow down your pace, allowing her to ride out the orgasm. You pull away, licking your lips. She lies lifelessly on her bed, trying to catch her breath. You move up to her body, rubbing your skirt against her sensitive core. She cries out and attempts to close her legs, but your thighs limit her. You kiss her neck, biting slightly against the skin. Your hips grinds into her, signaling how needy you were. She chuckles and turns her head to kiss you. She tastes herself on your mouth. 

“Please,” You beg, slightly pulling away from the kiss. She ignores you and continues to kiss you slowly. 

“Please fuck me,” You cry out rubbing your cothed core into her. Her eyes darken, and she bites your lower lip. 

“If that's what you want,” She purrs, sliding her hands down into your skirt. She feels your wet, damp underwear beneath her fingertips. She giggles and playfully pinches your clit. You whine and jerk your core away 

“Try not to come until I tell you.” 

[beastyeastfreak]

Please Write Beast Headcanons about there reaction to reader getting hit on/flirted with by another cookie!!!! I will pay your child support to the anon you had a kid with!!!

THATS NOT MY KID IM NOT THE FATHER/MOTHER

Cw and tags: possessiveness, implied murder, romantic, GN! Reader, reader is referred to as pretty/beautiful/etc i use these words in a gender neutral way or am trying to, the beasts love to spoil you, mention of cheating, reader does not gaf about the beasts behaviour/encourages it

Written pre silent salt update

Mystic flour

🌾 - You dont leave the ivory pagoda much, if you do she does not linger far. You’re given a reputation pretty quick, your title will proceed you soon. “Her second set of ears” or “one who cannot be spoken too”. You lose a few friends, you get the memo likely before anything romantic happens she doesn’t want anything happening to you or anyone speaking to you. You were her wish, her one desire, her exception. She would be apathetic but not for you, you were her blessing. Someone she had unknowingly yearned for for thousands of years. You were someone she wouldn’t tolerate leaving, witches know what would happen if someone took you from her.

🌾 - Some cookies don’t think very well, Mystic flour know that well, one day the two of you head to a kingdom together to pick some items up. It got boring in the pagoda with little to do, she understood that and often brought you out to find things that would interest you and keep you with her, not that you needed material possession to spend time with her. It was a quiet day there which was the only reason she would let you go, she hated crowds. Your attention had diverted to a different stand, the stand owner watched you as you looked at their wares.

🌾 - “Whats a pretty cookie like you doing in this part of town?” You tense up, not at the flirt but because you knew what she’d do if she heard. “Um.. you really shouldn’t be talking to me like that,” you warned, your stance stiffened and you leaned away from the items. But they persisted in spite of the warning, “what? Scared of me? I don’t bite, unless you..” they’re cut off as the beast joins you. As she enters, all the perishable items on the desk seem to wilt and die. Her presence is strong, it shifts the air. You fluster as she enters the conversation. Making who you belong to crystal clear with her hand placement. One hand on your hip the other on your shoulder, also showing off her sharp nails unintentionally, as she speaks in an almost eerie way.

🌾 - “I found what we are looking for,” she opens her eyes and side glances at the stand owner now in shock. “It was not here,” she says quietly anf you swear you see her sharp fangs poking out. She then turns back, taking your arm and walking away. This is tame for her, this experience is the tamest of the others you endure beforehand. Many cookies have been turned to flour on a dime for speaking to you wrong, you were the one who convinced her to show mercy.

🌾 - When you return she will say nothing of the experience but if you praise her for ‘saving’ you she wont deny you. She’ll definitely keep you closer next time you both go out in public.

Burning Spice

🏜️ - Ive said this in previous headcannons, Burning spice sees any threat towards you as disrespectful towards him. You are apart of his temple, you were the gods lover, you were his. Anyone who so much as looks at you wrong, doesn’t greet you with the same reverence as him is ensured they understand or crumbled. Hell, he’d probably fight another beast or powerful being for you. Feel honoured, try to ignore the potential jamshed, make yourself a walking warning if you’re concerned with someones life.

🏜️ - Burning Spice is confident in his abilities and your loyalty to him. He allows you to go pretty far on your own or accompanied by one of his trusted spice soldiers. If you ever run away, trust that you will be hunted down, thats the second reason he’s so lax with you.

🏜️ - Warnings are as easily regarded as they are taken, you experienced this first hand one time. He decides to spoil you, he takes you on some lavish trip in a far away land. Adorning you in smooth fabrics, eating the sweetest fruits and jellys, napping on the beach in the sun. You head back towards the nearby building with the food at some point while he sunbathes. He’s too sleepy to tell you to ask a servant to fetch it for you.

🏜️ - You head in, another guest seems to be ensnared by you, or rather all the expensive metals, jewels and robes you were bestowed with. You probably looked like royalty, or (ironically enough) someone fresh out of Golden Cheese’s vault. So while you were picking out what you wanted and what you think he’d like at a somewhat leisurely pace the stranger approached. “Ah, what amazing handiwork on your garments, befitting of a beauty such as yourself,” that stranger purrs. You squint then look away, “um, thanks.” You try to seem as extremely disinterested as you were, maybe try to make some part of your attire bearing his symbol more visible.

🏜️ - Your attempts were in vain, even saying “Im from the Spice Kingdom, i live in The Great Destroyers temple in fact,” did not make them go away. They just thought you more interesting, you even warned them. “My husband is with me, he wont like you acting like this.” You say on the way back, to your dismay they follow. “Oh please, dont we all need to have a little away time? Besides you don’t need him, i am the…” followed by a long list of stupid titles you doubted actually impressed anyone. You then get back, where Burning spice was stretching, he locks eyes with you from afar, then the cookie trying to woo you and his face contorts to anger. Then the cookie looks a little nervous.

🏜️ - “Who is that..?” The cookie murmurs, nearly stammering. “My husband, The Great Destroyer?” You roll your eyes, “well go on, you said you could take him so go fight for my love.“ You say, Burning Spice is already walking over, weaponless yet still menacing, you look back at the cookie and they’re running. You catch Burning Spice, stopping him. “Don’t get jam and crumbs on your nice clothes.” You say and let him loose. He comes back later, laughing and all washed off. Whatever happened after that is chalked up to “some cookies just cant keep their eyes off whats mine!” He’ll say while pulling you impossibly close chugging the umpteenth glass of juice.

Eternal Sugar

🌷 - She was your happiness and you were hers, never would you part with her and always would she be beside you… even if you didn’t realise it. You were made off limits the second her eyes had caught a glimpse of you. When you became hers, she flaunts you, spoils you, adores you and you do the same. Your time is no longer spent working or stressing, you’re mostly at her side or in her lap. You could say you haven’t left her side for weeks and that’d be an understatement. No one in the garden would ever question nor attempt to get in between you too, lest they face the possibility of being entrapped in a jar or a statue.

🌷 - The only catch is you’ll never leave, any time you ask to go with her somewhere or you hear about something interesting going on. She’ll gently guide you elsewhere, “oh, but sweetness, the population there is so unpredictable. You’re like a thin string of sugar floss~, how about we do this instead?” She’d say if you tried to go, she’s good at it too because how can you say no to those eyes?

🌷 - Well, one time you were adamant about leaving, except you wanted her to come with you. There was some festival and you had been raving about it all week. It made you happy, and you wanted her to be happy with you, so she silently left, both of you in disguise, but told no one. It was as great as what you were told and even better with her! Your excitement was infectious and distracted her from wanting to go back to the garden.

🌷 - You separate only for a moment and unfortunately it all goes off the rails. You’re standing waiting for Eternal Sugar to return with drinks listening to the nearby festivities when a cookie comes up to you. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” This cookie grins says referring to the small wings tucked against your back. Appalled, you cringe. “Um…” you barely speak before arms slither around your waist and you’re pulled close. “There you are, my beloved,” Eternal Sugar says. You doubt her eyes ever left you. She was keeping you close in a way you knew you wouldn’t be staying at the festival much longer.

🌷 - “I got our food and.. oh! Who’s your friend?” She says in a way that drips jealousy, leaning her head against yours. One of her massive wings coming behind you, the other cookie is now looking around, giving an excuse about their friends and leaving. She watches them go then kisses your cheek. “I told you this would happen, what if it was someone worse who wanted to take you?~” she’ll tilt your head towards her, “can we go back to the garden? I’m feeling tired..” she’ll lie.

🌷 - You’ll notice that she’ll somehow be more affectionate with you for the time afterwards, don’t expect to leave for a very long time after that encounter.

Shadow Milk

🃏 - You were many things thanks to Shadow Milk, above every title he’s given you and every role he’s put you in, you were his lover. His lover. Though he would never show it, he kept you more protected than you know. You don’t see it but at all times there are puppet strings wound around you, if you’re about to step in a place you shouldn’t be those strings tighten and you walk away, except it feels more like “oh i don’t want to do this actually” and not “why did i just do that?” You don’t question it too thoroughly, you just encounter less issues now and thank the witches.

🃏 - You think you spend a healthy of time away from him, you don’t. In actuality you actually spent most of your time with him indirectly. He gives you many gifts, each one extends his omnipresence, so when you’re wearing something from him he is absolutely listening most of the time. If you ask him he’d tell you “Knowledge is a curse, wouldn’t you rather enjoy a white lie?” A little intimidated, you agree.

🃏 - His eaves dropping came in handy one time. He’d be lounging around mid air reading a book (and rewriting it) while listening to you in the background, a mug floating beside him. You were doing your own thing somewhere in the kingdoms, going through your daily rituals. What really made his ears open was when he heard someone he hadn’t recognised begin to speak to you all friendly. His eyes didn’t avert from the paper but if his ears could prick thats exactly what they’d be doing. “So, you doing anything this weekend? You’re cute,” He spit out his coffee, who did this guy think he was talking to you like that!

🃏 - He perked up, snapped his fingers so he wasn’t wearing his comfortable bed clothes and now in his usual jester attire. He jumped through a portal wasting no time. He watched from afar for a moment, you were clearly disinterested. “Im actually waiting for my partner,” you said. It always made his heart beat when you lied, especially about him! He might as well help you out! (And scare off whoever this was)

🃏 - He floated in, “Oh, my star~!” He sung out coming from around the corner, you whip around clearly happy to see him. He practically throws himself on you, and smothers you in exaggerated kisses, arms wrapped around your neck and one leg up behind him in a cartoonish way before harshly placing his lips against yours in a way that screamed territorial. Your face heats up from embarrassment, he then turns to the other cookie who didn’t seem to believe you but now, unfortunately, did. “Oh sorry, do you mind? I need a minute with my dearest, loveliest most adored actor” he says while holding your chin feigning innocence in his voice. But while you were hiding your face his shifted, he loved dropping the mask, putting on a face as scary as he was. The other got the memo, nervously escaping his wrath.

🃏 - You wont ever determine why he was truly near you, he’ll say that he wanted to see you but you know its a lie. Surprisingly, that cookie lives but at the expense of their reputation. Black sapphire is allowed to go ham with rumours about them, they end up moving towns. You, of course, have to endure lots of teasing from him. “If i knew you were so attractive to other cookies, i would have made you the main character!” He says while poking you.

[02lvr]

2am (how do i make you love me) — lhs

synopsis; heeseung likes his neighbor a little too much

neighbor next door! switch heeseung x female reader

warnings; pervert! heeseung, masturbation (m), drunk sex (consensual), whimpering, tit sucking, heeseung with a spit kink, jake cameo, both heeseung and reader are crazy and desperate for eo, didn't proofread!

now playing; one of the girls - the weeknd, jennie, lily-rose depp

if there's one thing that heeseung didn't want was to have you hear him panting so loud that you knocked on the thin wall trying to grab his attention.

heeseung, that would see you move into the apartment next door, blocking his roommate's view as his eyes lingered on the way you passed by him.

"hi :)" you smiled at him, a short sentence, but not too short to consider you rude. he liked your presence, so he'd offer help since he wouldn't want you working too hard, causing you to ignore him when all he wanted to do was talk to you. so you'd invite him in to talk, apologizing for how empty your apartment looked.

you'd pull a chair out, offering him a drink, and he'd look around. the apartment was too empty, but you explained that you were waiting for your roommate to move in, as they had a problem and would be moving in a day later. heeseung would smile, laugh a little too hard at the small comments you'd make, but also eye the way your pants fit your thighs.

but he wouldn't take advantage. he'd take you on dates and try to make small talk in the lobby bringing up how his roommate jake would spend most of his time at his girlfriend's house making the apartment feel like a studio instead. so he'd invite you over one night because he "found a new pasta recipe online and wanted to show you" but in reality, it was an old recipe his mother would make and he knew it couldn't be that bad, right?

so he'd throw flirty comments over the dinner table while you gush over how good the pasta was.

"Maybe I'm secretly a chef, I could cook for you more often if you want?"

you'd tease him for his cocky demeanor and he'd get embarrassed over your reaction. he'd hate how you'd pretend that his comments were nothing, but he would be so shy to see if he could get a good, embarrassed reaction out of you; something that would make the mood get tense.

so the flirting would go on for days until you begin reciprocating his attitude. heeseung would stand in the lobby shirtless around the time that he knew you came back home in order to get a reaction from you. and you that would knock on his door because you need flour but your shorts were too short that heeseung's eyes would linger a little too long wondering if it was on purpose.

but heeseung liked you, and he really did like taking care of you when you were drunk in his apartment. he would sit in front of you while you drank, jake spamming his phone, asking if he could go back home, and he would reply, saying that he couldn't because you were there.

and you'd look up to heeseung, turning him on because he wanted to take care of you so bad, but he didn't know if it was the right thing because he didn't know if it's what you wanted.

"please touch me"

heeseung would freeze at your comment, lingering a little too long that which made the room feel warm.

"please heeseung i need you to touch me.."

"are you sure baby?" heeseung asked in a quiet voice that was so delicate, but afraid of what was going on. you'd nod with desperation, and he was so hard but didn't want to take advantage of you.

heeseung would break. he'd break at how he has you under his touch and the way that you caress his face, tugging on the shirt and he'd take it off. "im going baby, fuck-"

he'd mark your neck, slowly going down, trying to get a reaction out of you. sucking on your tits and moaning so loud that he wouldn't care if someone were to walk into the apartment. but you'd make him flustered that he wanted you to ruin him. he'd slowly guide you down, riding him so good that he'd whimper so loud in pain for how swollen and sensitive his dick has gotten.

and the first time he would make you stay over, with the way he left you a little too much in pain that he felt bad and would massage your body. until you leave him alone in his apartment and he doesn't let himself masturbate because feeling you so tight around his dick makes him want to take in that feeling for much longer.

so heeseung holds in the feeling for 2 weeks until he's back at your apartment, knocking on the door at 2am apologizing with needy eyes and a hard swollen dick that twitches at the feeling of the fabric in his pants.

"we can't do it here heeseungie.. take me to yours." so he would, anything that you asked him, he'd do.

so heeseung that moans in your neck as he kisses you passionately, not caring about the spit that comes from his mouth. you'd slowly pull out his dick, a light red with how sensitive it was. heeseung that would look down at you with subby eyes and a fucked up face that he could cum so fast.

"please baby, i need to feel you forever taking me in."

[saeamy]

OCHAZUKE

platonic! itoshi rin x reader / sae x reader

summary ۫ ꣑ৎ rin is never really alone when you're here. content: fluff :3 itoshi brothers have a good relationship, reader is sae's gf and a sisterly figure to rin ^^ reader is same age as sae! wc: 769 a/n: i'm really busy with exams so i can't write much rn! but anyways i wish to make this into a small drabble series kinda :) there are no romantic feelings between rin and reader btw, entirely platonic x

rin could feel it. a sense of impending doom, lurking in the vicinity, close to him. 

he waits for a moment, and then he hears it. the familiar pattern of knocks on the door. his heart drops to his stomach when he gets up to open the door. rin finds you standing there, a plastic bag in your hand, the other hand still raised from knocking on the door.

“rin! it’s been a while!” 

it’s only been less than a week. you walk in and toe your shoes off, making your way to the kitchen like you lived in the place. 

how long has rin known you for now? 

before you and sae had officially started dating, which has been quite some time, you would often follow sae around while also treating rin like a little baby, despite you being the same age as sae.

and as you grew older and entered your relationship, you never stopped doting on rin. you’re frequently visiting the itoshi household, even though sae was away in spain most of the times, and you’d facetime him with rin excitedly talking about the things you did and how you both can’t wait for him to return (rin rarely spoke and never said how he couldn’t wait for sae to return).

rin had begrudgingly come to view you as a big sister figure, sometimes even motherly, but he wouldn’t say that out loud, never in a million years. rin sits down at the kitchen island, watching you unpack the plastic bag. “what are you doing?” 

you turn around to face him and smile. “i’m making some ochazuke with bream!”

and rin can’t help the way his face contorts into a little grimace. while ochazuke is his favourite dish, you weren’t the most… competent in the kitchen, yet he doesn’t have the heart to stop you, so he lets you be. 

it takes around 25 minutes for you to finish cooking, and rin straightens up once you put the hot bowl in front of him, and you sit down next to him with your own. you give him a little grin and start digging into your food. rin mutters a thank you, and starts eating as well. 

it wasn’t bad. rin has had far much tastier and better made ochazuke, however this one probably remains his favourite by far. the rice was a bit overcooked and you put too much tea, except there was something in it that no restaurant or professional chef could recreate. homey, full of comfort maybe?

rin is thankful he can maintain his stoic composure at the corny thoughts on his head. “you don’t know how to cook.” blunt and straight, just as always.

“yet you eat it everytime, rin.”

once you’re both finished, he helps you with the dishes, and then you settle in the living room. you sit on the couch and turn some random shitty thriller on the TV, and rin sits on the floor in front of you. 

“if it were earlier, we could have called sae, but it’s too late for him now, wouldn’t want to wake him from his beauty sleep. he’d get grouchy like you.” 

rin just scoffs. “i don’t get grouchy.”

“sure you don’t rin. sure you don’t.”

a beat of silence hangs in the air as the movie continues on the TV, even though none of you were really paying attention to it. 

“do you miss him?” “hm?” 

rin doesn’t turn around to face you, keeping his gaze attached to the screen. “do you miss sae?”

you sigh dramatically and ruffle his hair, messing up the dark silky strands. “what kind of question is that? of course i do. he left me to take care of you alllll alone… i feel like a military wife waiting for her husband with her son!” 

a smirk dons your face as you hear rin’s huffing and his futile attempt to fix his mussed hair. “do you miss him rin?” 

he stays quiet for a moment. realistically, he should feel lonely without sae. there's nobody good enough to play football with him. nobody who could understand his determination and the discipline he had towards his sport. but you did. you were no replacement for his brother. 

you were somebody else who was here for him despite being busy with your own work at university, despite also missing sae. just like his brother, you’ve become irreplaceable. rin is content he has someone here with him. he’s grateful you chose sae because rin really doesn't mind having you as a sister. 

“i do.”

rin misses sae, but he isn’t lonely.

© saeamy 2025 - do not repost, translate, copy or modify my works on any other platform!

[sarnai4]

Ooh! Thanks for the tag! Took me a second to get to this (no shock there given my track record with these) but this was fun! Also, ha! Loved seeing those for Clay! They were amazing.

I did mine for my pirate 2026 fantasy. Hawea seemed to fit this the most.

YES. Very much yes. It's all attraction, right? That makes it all the same and great...right???

He's very romantic. He doesn't expect others to be romantic towards him, but he sees romance everywhere. His love could be handing out water bottles to everyone, but if he gets one too, well now that's just proof of true love right there

Hawea doesn't have a particular type. His love just showed his compassion when no one else really did. In a way, it's unhealthy because he's making it more than it is, but there is genuine love between them. (It's just platonic on one side)

Oh yeah. Hawea thinks he's hot. He doesn't say as much in the novel, but he thinks it. He also puts a lot of effort into it, making sure he wears flashy clothing that he looks nice in and that will draw attention.

Yes. Quite so. He's a charmer. He'll charm somebody's pants off if it's for a mission. It won't go anywhere since his heart is so stolen, but if it will help, then yes.

Ha well, he's gotta find out that his love is unrequited eventually, right >:) ? Just gonna exercise the fifth amendment here...

Probably when he got this gemstone for his love since it goes along with how much he values pretty things. So, that's sort of his love language to get people clothes, accessories.

Only monogamous. When I say his heart is stolen, I mean somebody snatched it right out of his heart. He could never love someone else.

"Hawea Tetuanui, a 26-year-old, six ft tower of love and style. My heart is full and my soul searches for a captain of a ragtag group of pirates. ;) (other applicants need not respond)"

The captain. Just the captain.

HA, oh the karma of that world. No, but he very much has been the one to have those affections.

No denial here. Hawea doesn't know the word. He knows it because it consumed his very being, lighting a fire within him that can never be extinguished.

No, he hasn't actually. It never really came up since he and the cap are normally around each other.

Nope. He can just be himself, which only makes him love her more.

Eh, I mean, he'd be easier to love if he was better at reading signs. If the feelings were returned, it would probably be fine, but he's a bit on the selfish side. Nothing would really fix that so...not my type personally, but hey, to each their own.

@a-forlorn-crow @the-archivist-14 @jeuniiberry @wolveria @author-a-holmes @ash-elair-writes

A Short Ask List About Love.

Does your OC have any difficulty distinguishing between love and lust?

Is your OC at all romantic themselves? Or is romance something they expect others to perform for their benefit?

What does your OC look for in a romantic (or perhaps purely sexual) partner? Is this always healthy?

Does your OC consider themselves to be attractive? Do they put much effort into achieving this?

Would your OC ever take advantage of someone's romantic feelings in order to manipulate them?

Has your OC ever had their heart broken? Have they ever truly recovered?

What is the most romantic gesture your OC has ever performed? Alternatively (or additionally), what romantic gesture would they most like to perform?

Does your OC pursue only monogamous relationships? Or are they open to other, more creative, options?

If your OC were ever to fill out a Dating Site (or pamphlet or newspaper) profile, then what would they include?

Does your OC have a type? Have they ever been surprised by their feelings for someone who doesn't fit this?

Has your OC ever been the object of someone's affections that they did not (or could not) reciprocate?

If your OC were in love, how might they recognise this? Or would they be too much in denial?

Has your OC ever written a love letter (or text message or whatever the case may be)? Perhaps they have even composed a love poem or song dedicated to their beloved?

If they wish to impress someone for whom they have romantic (or at least sexual) feelings, does your OC attempt to present themselves as more confident, wealthy, popular or otherwise impressive, than they truly are?

Is your OC easy to love? If not, then what are the barriers?

[shroominalong]

Not to get on my soap box or anything, but I'm getting a weird amount of hate rn and being accused of like, engaging in a full on harassment campaign, because of one reply I made to a post, pointing out that we cannot boil down Greta's situation to just a "normal detainment" when Israeli propaganda sites are proudly declaring her and other activists are going to be forced to sit through a 43-minute-long propaganda-infused literal snuff film showing footage of October 7th from body cams of the Hamas attackers.

So, I've had some time to think about it, and if I'm gonna get hate about it, I'm going to be clear on all topics so you can hate on me and post weird comments on my pinned post bc my asks are closed accurately.

1.) The claim this was just a publicity stunt. Yes. It was a publicity stunt. I am not disagreeing with that, but to boil it down to "just a publicity stunt" in a derogatory manner severely downplays the point behind said publicity stunt, which I will get into in a moment.

Did Greta know this was a situation where she was going to be detained? Yes. She did. Is she purposefully using inflammatory language? Yes. She is. But that's the point. Which I will expand on in a moment.

2.) The reminder that Freedom Flotilla is not a sanctioned aid organization permitted to have access to the Gaza Strip. Some people went as far to say "If Doctors Without Borders weren't even allowed in, what made them think they would be permitted?" I daresay that was the point. If you pay attention, almost every humanitarian aid organization operating within Gaza at the moment is Palestinian run. I could be wrong on this point, but I am 90% sure there are no major international organizations "permitted" to operate within Gaza at this time. That is going to be brought up in a moment.

3.) The point everyone made that Israel has promised to deliver the aid from the Freedom Flotilla, and the implication that we should take that at face value. Israel, who has a rich history of not only blocking aid, but actively using relief supplies as a means of marking out drone strikes and massacre sites. They have repeatedly either failed to let aid they promised would be let through to actually make it into the strip, even stolen it, and have also used relief supplies as literal bait.

Listen. I've thought about it. A fucking lot. Yes, what Greta did was a publicity stunt, and she made the entire voyage extremely loud and public, spread it all over social media. You can say that was a publicity stunt. But that was very much intentional.

The vast majority of humanitarian groups operating within Gaza right now are run by Palestinians. No foreign nationals are really permitted in the strip. Why is that? Maybe it's because of Israel's habit of targeting medics and aid workers and journalists and hospitals. Perhaps. Maybe it's because if a couple of foreign nationals die, other countries can wave it off with a "strongly worded email" and let it die, because that's just one citizen being an idiot, and they can spin it that way in the media.

"She absolutely knew she was going to be detained, sailing into a war zone like that without the proper permits." Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was less about Israel, and more about pointing a gun at all of their governments and saying do something, you sniveling cowards. Maybe it was to force them to finally get the gears working.

It has been made very clear from the start that everyone should be putting pressure on the individual governments involved to act. This was not solely about Israel. It was about the collective failure of the international governing body. That's why a member of the EU Parliament was there in the first place. Or did we forget one of the detainees was an actual sitting politician in all of this, not just some random activist private citizen?

We can go in circles saying it was a legal detainment. Sure, it was, but laws often function in the favor of the governing bodies, and we have to consider how Israel is exploiting those laws to their benefit right now.

The claim she was doing it for clout, of all the things, is absolutely fucking insane. This is not on the same level as a random YouTuber rage baiting, my gods, what the hell is wrong with you all. Greta and the other activists knowingly and intentionally sailed into an active warzone controlled by a government with decades of war crimes going entirely unimpeded under its belt, and you all want to cry she was doing it for clout. Insane behavior. What is wrong with all of you.

Overall, I was very polite in the post, and when I saw it was not going to be a productive conversation, I disengaged. But, I just blocked my second person on my pinned post spewing vile comments at me to circumvent my closed ask box, equating to one single post like I was leading some kind of mass harassment campaign.

I am very sorry to the Jews around the world being targeted and attacked in the name of "Free Palestine". At no point did I indicate that was correct behavior, or that I agreed with it, nor did I ever indicate that was an acceptable sacrifice in my eyes. I understand the extremely valid concerns that this incident will instigate further attacks. But, the solution to dispelling the building antisemitism right now is not to downplay the actions of the Israel government, shame the aid workers trying to force their governments to act, and boil down an instance of activism as nothing but "a publicity stunt she knew would go wrong."

Yes, Greta likely did know the consequences of her actions. But to play it all as selfishness and a desire for attention is really not okay.

I am no longer interested in being polite.

If you want to come at me, come at me. Here's allllll my thoughts on the matter. If you got a problem with it, fuck it, I'm opening my ask box, but I'm not turning on anon for any of you. If you want to say something, say it with your chest.

[missust3l3vision]

HELLO I LOVE YOU 🩷 I HAVE A REQUEST

(please take your time, no need to rush or put it at the top of your queue, and you can say no!)

Could I please request a female reader with Will (I love him so much) the reader has an "experiment" that she needs Will's help with. The experiment is that she is looking for a kiss proof lipstick. She thinks he's bored with it because all the ones she's used stick to his face, but he's just smiling dumbly on the sofa.

Thank you in advance 😚🩷🩷

Moaned at the sight of this. I literally love you.

Boyfriend Test

Description: Y/n gets the help of Will to test lipsticks.

"Awe dangit." you groaned as your moved your hand to reveal it smudged the red lipstick. The Crimson colour covering your hand and cheek.

"I better alert the church, your makeup messed up a little." He said looking up from his phone.

He had been sat there watching tik toks. Lounging in his favourite hoodie. Taking a mental note to steal it later.

"Har har." As you said that he scrolled up on a video with the feminine ai voice speaking. It explained the different types of lip stick and their durability.

A lightbulb might as well lit above your head. Turning to him with a devilish grin you walked over slowly.

"Willliamm~" He knew that tone. You were about to ask him for something. Dropping his phone beside him and giving you his full attention. "Would you come here for a moment?"

Without another thought he rose and walked over, his hands finding their way to your hips. Looking down at you.

"What do you need?" Your hand reached beside you to grab a lip stick. The shade was "Drama Kween" and was a dark red shade.

Applying it gently he watched patiently. His eyes closing when you leaned in for a kiss. Kissing back completely unknowing to the plot you had crafted.

Opening your eyes you were met with smudges. Plucking a makeup wipe and removing the lipstick you grabbed the next colour.

It was called "Pink Lemonade" and was a light pink with a citrus scent. Applying it Will went to ask what was happening when you leaned in and he obliged.

Kissing again the colour left a mark, most the lipstick staying on Will and not your lips. He rose an eye brow but remained still.

The next shade was an orange lipstick. You had never worn it, and probably never would but you were getting a kick out of his confused but complicit actions. It didn't smudge much though.

Fourteen colours later and he finally took his hands off you and took a step back. You were satisfied with the results and the state your boyfriend was in.

"So, which colour?" He asked, slightly dizzy and covered in lipstick. You shrugged, picking up the first lipstick you tried and looking at it up close. "So what did you even achieve??" He asked incredulously.

"Getting to kiss my boyfriend, I also found that my dark pink one that I wear the most is the most resistant." You told him picking up said lipstick and applying it.

He watched shaking his head, looking at himself in the mirror he snapped a quick picture. You with the tube pressed against your top lip and him covered in kiss marks.

Posting it to his story with your @ in the corner. He wore a proud smirk and you were too focused on your lipstick to notice.

Later that night at dinner you got a text from James. This wasn't shocking, as he was Wills best Friend.

J 💬 Keep your paws off my man.

With a screenshot of the story. You showed the message to Will who only grimaced. Muttering a small Curse towards James.

"I like that shade of lipstick, it looks good on you." You smiled and nodded. Picking at a piece of chicken on your plate.

"It looked better on you." You joked, him smiling wide before agreeing. The rest of the night was pleasant and you probably would have even forgot about it until two weeks later when a package appeared at your door.

It was from an up and starting cosmetics company, they sent every one of their shades of lipstick with a small note

"Do the boyfriend test and let us know how they hold up!" Holding the card in one hand and a handful of lipsticks in the other you approached Wills filming space.

He was streaming something on one of his friends twitch and had been distracted with the screen until he saw you in the door way.

As his eyes dropped to your hands the excitement was clear. You then spoke quietly, but he was able to read your lips.

"Round two pretty boy." As much as he wanted to drop everything and go be smothered with kisses he knew he had to continue filming, but later.

He gave a thumbs up to you and then explained to his friend that he'd have to go after another few rounds. Something important came up.

Later he would bask in the love of your lips.

[ashlovesfood]

Gothamite love, Gothamite me, Gothamite you, Gothamite tears, Gothamite heartbreak.

Tags: Unwilling Bruce!wayne x demanding fem!reader, divorce talk, sick of his bs, overworked, workaholic, bruce on his knees, pussyyyyy eaterrrrrrr in the HOUSEEEE, cunnilingus, spanking, multiple orgasms, denial, toy model AFTER him????, sex toys, riding, creaming, jerking off, woah howd i write this.

American Wedding!(▰˘◡˘▰)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Maybe living in Gotham wasn’t hell to say the least. Bruce was an amazing husband to you, better than anyone else. But, how could you say that the relationship was unstable?

He constantly went to work, went to business trips, or flew to different places without giving you a heads-up. It was making the marriage, well, worse. His words were barely there.

“I’m going to work.” “Had a meeting come up.” “Won’t be home for a few days.”

Sickening. It made you feel enraged. How could a steady marriage that never had problems suddenly become rocky? Bruce was never like this, always taking trips over going home to spend time with you. So, you eventually got tired.

The manor doors open with a click, footsteps thumping on the ground as a bag hit the floor. Bruce put his coat on the rack and took off his shoes, walking towards the living room. A soft glow from the TV caught his attention.

“Baby.”

Silence. You were too engrossed in your show that you didn’t notice him. The lights flicked on which made you turn like a deer in headlights. “Bruce?”

“You didn’t hear me call you?” He was kinda shocked, were you really not paying attention to him..? His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink.

“Oh, sorry. Just- thought you weren’t coming home tonight, like usual.” That shot through his heart like a dagger. Was he really that absent? No fucking way. Bruce bit back a reply as he turned off the water and wiped his hands.

“I sent you a text message directly saying I’m coming home tonight. I also asked if you wanted dinner at home , or if you wanted to get take out.” Oh, whoops.

“Sorry, forgot to say that I already ate. Left my phone in the room.” The TV seemed to be soooo much better than whatever was happening from the side, apparently. Bruce walked towards the couch, grabbing the remote to pause the show.

“Hey! I was watching my show what are you..” You looked at him, realizing what he wanted.

“Focus on the conversation first. Why are you out of touch all of a sudden? Did I do something wrong?” Bruce was worried, knowing how any underlying issue could affect you for days. He quite literally saw your mood change.

“Okay fine. Wanna know the truth? I’m so fucking sick of you staying at work like it’s your second home. I know, you have to do soooo much shit just to keep up but seriously? Staying at different places and flying out of nowhere without even sending a proper message? I’m on my ass every day waiting to see if you even show up here. You can’t even spare a minute without sending a full length message that explains where you’re at??”

“Wait let me explain-..”

“NO. I’m not done. Bruce you don’t know how much dread and sorrow fills my heart when I can’t even get a reply back. I send short messages for your convenience yet it’s not working. What’s not clicking??? I’m worried about you! But you just can’t seem to care enough about home when work is everything, to, you.”

Tears ran down your cheeks, dripping onto the fabric of your clothes as you held eye contact. Those words spilled out like word vomit and you felt a mix of emotions run deep. Could you even get those words through his head??

“I’m sorry babe. Look, I didn’t know you would be like that all day, I thought you were fine without my replies. I’m sorry that work is getting in the way of us and I can fix that. Just- give me another chance sweetheart..”

“Bruce, I want a divorce. This marriage won’t work if I have to give you another chance.”

Quicker than a flash, he was on his knees. Bruce placed his palms on your thighs, the warmth seeping into the fabric as he looked up.

“We are not getting a divorce. Anything but that, darling.”

You could barely get a word in before he yanked your shorts down, the fabric pooling around your ankles as his breath ghosted over your skin. His hands spread your legs apart, raising them over his shoulders making your shorts hang on a foot.

“Bruce! I- ohh..! D-don’t do this..!” Bruce latched onto your pussy through the panty material, lapping at the damp spot as he moaned. He was quite literally on his knees for your pussy.

God if you could try and pause this moment you would, but his tongue? Maybe this wouldn’t hurt after all. He flicked the edge of his tongue against your clit, saliva strings connecting you and him. He was getting tired of the cloth becoming a barrier between you and him.

His fingers delved into the panties, a loud ‘rrippppp’ echoed.

“Bruce! That was my favorite-!”

“M’gonna buy you new ones.” Your bare pussy was revealed as he latched onto your cute little hole, sucking the juices out like a drink. You were twitching, hands reaching out to grip his shoulders as his mouth worked on you.

Bruce felt his rock hard erection rub against the couch, using his lower half to edge his shaft. He was gonna make you see the stars.

“No- no more! Hngh!” You felt the tight coil bounce inside your stomach, releasing a gush of sticky liquid all over his jaw. It reached up to his cheekbones and dripped down, staining the cushions.

“Cumming before me, baby? Should discipline you like the slut you are.” Bruce growled, picking your body up as he sped towards the master bedroom. His arms let go, your body thrown onto the mattress from his roughness. You landed with an oof.

He palmed his cock through his trousers, feeling the tip throb with need. The amber light showed the darker spot on his pants, his pre leaking like a leaky faucet. “I’ll show you how to come.”

Bruce slid a box from underneath the bed, opening the top to reveal a flesh toy. Your jaw quite literally dropped. “Oh. My. Gosh.”

It had chiseled abs, bouncy skin that felt satisfying to touch, and a nice jiggle to it. But, most of all, the dick resembled his. Girthy, long, the perfect veins that you would run your fingertips along.

“Knew you’d like it. Got it specially made after me for you, darling. Now, be a good girl and take off your shirt.”

Damn it all, soon as you threw your shirt to the floor he grabbed you. Bruce used his strength to drag you down near the edge of the bed, laying your legs onto his shoulders. His lips gently kissed the inner flesh, nibbling small parts that left marks.

“Fuhhck! Ohh- right there!” Your moans stirred the fire in his stomach, kindling the spark with branches too big made him egotistical. You could feel his mouth bend into a smirk as he continued eating you out, another orgasm crashing into you.

Sticky, but sweet. You tasted like deliciousness, better than any sweet he’s ever had. Candy like notes but sweeter, it drove him INSANE. Your pussy was better than anything in the whole fucking world.

“No, you won’t be riding me sweetheart. You’ll be riding the toy, right infront of me, okay?” Bruce slapped your right ass cheek, grinning as he saw your delicate skin bloom red.

“But!” Another slap to your ass made you squeal with pleasure, your cunt gaping open. You were winking around nothing, making his dick diamond hard.

“No buts baby. Ride the toy or go to bed without cumming.” You watched as he sat on the plush chair in the corner, his hands teasingly removing his belt.

Bruce removed the belt and let it drop to the floor as he unzipped his pants, letting his boner free. The skin was taut, cherry red blending into his skin tone as pre dripped. “Better get to work bun.”

It took you a god awful amount of courage to grab the toy, letting your slick dribble down onto the tip for lubrication. You bit your lip, finally sinking down onto the toy. “Can I touch myself, please..?”

“Please, what.”

“Please, sir.”

The silence was loud enough to hear your own heartbeat, the toys dick reaching spots like Bruce, expect you had to work yourself.

“Yes princess.”

He watched the fleshy mounds of your ass continuously bounce on the toy, fucking his fist as he groaned your name. You looked too fucking hot in his eyes.

“Ngh! Oh- Mcumminggggnuhhh!” Your body spasmed as you soaked the sheets with squirt, seeing the dark spot contrast from the sheets made you horny. The feeling of electricity ran through your body like blood, making you jolt in places.

“You’re so fucking sexy love..” Bruce continued to rub his cock in his hand, watching you ride out on the toy made him exhilarated.

Creamy wetness covered the sex toy as your cunnie clenched around the material, eyes rolled all the way up in your brain. If the stars weren’t possible to see without a telescope, you would debunk it right now because you are.

Another orgasm, taking all your energy with it made you so tired, but this toy? Best thing compared to Bruce’s dick.

He came, hot strings of sperm running down his hand and onto his clothes. “Guess it’s my turn to make you cum, huh?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

A/N - So like not me trying to finish off my drafts like.. omg this actually was a great piece to write bc it’s in parts and not crammed into one! also my mood has been terrible recently like pls don’t pmo. (◣_◢)