#and they UNDERSTOOD they GOT IT they FUCKING KNEW

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[giannaln4]

I'm Sorry

lando norris x fem reader

summary: A moment of frustration made Lando react the way you never thought he would, and boy, would he regret it.  (1.6k words)

warnings: angst, swearing, argument, mean lando,  fluffy ending

a/n: ok so for this, i decided to go back to Baku and put the quali result in a totally different perspective than my last fic. i guess i kinda like it but i'm not very good at describing arguments 😭 anyway pls let me know what you think!!

ALSO i have an announcement to make and i'm really excited for it :)

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

The qualifying this weekend was an absolute mess, to say the least. Lando was hard on himself no matter the result he got. Even if it was good, he would always find something to criticise himself, but P17? Everyone was in for a treat, you thought.

The worst part is that it wasn’t even his fault; it was a stupid mistake by the marshals, and he was not to blame for it. A yellow flag interrupted his lap, and he was immediately kicked out in Q1. 

Seeing the first qualifying session being over with his name in red was not something anyone wanted to see, especially not him, and now that every point was essential, you knew it crushed him.

He came back to the garage to see the rest of the qualifying with his team, and as soon as he got out of the car, you saw how frustrated he was. You understood him, of course, it sucked that this is how the weekend was going, but you would be there for him no matter what.

Once Lando took off his helmet, he headed straight to his driver’s room, and he didn’t even look at you when he walked past. That meant he wanted to be alone, but oh silly you, you decided to follow him.

He let out a loud sight when he heard the door open and close behind him, not really in the mood to hear what you had to say. He knew for a fact you were going to tell him he did well and it wasn’t his fault, which he greatly appreciated, but right now, he just wanted to suffer in peace.

“Baby?” You called him out, just testing the waters, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he hummed in annoyance. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but-”

“You are right, I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted you, not even turning around to face you. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned into it, taking a deep breath. 

That should have been your cue to leave the small room and leave him alone, but for some reason you didn’t. “Lando, don't beat yourself up over this. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sure things will be better tomorrow. We all know what you can do and you still have the race-“

“This is MY job, Y/N. I probably know better than you do,” he snapped, raising his voice and finally turning around. “This is what I’m fighting for, we all are. Do you know what’s at stake here? I finally have the chance to compete for a championship, and I just blew it.”

To say you were astonished was an understatement; this was the first time he ever snapped at you that way and you didn’t know how to react. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Every point counts, and not even starting in the top 10 tomorrow- fuck, not even top 15, there is not much I can do.” Now, he looked more mad at you than frustrated at himself, and that crushed you. “I came here to be alone for a bit, I was hoping you would at least respect that." You stayed silent, knowing a single sound would make you cry, and you didn’t want to piss him off more than he already was. “I know you are trying to help, but you are not, you can’t.”

You just stared at him, tears threatening to leave your eyes; he had never raised his voice at you in a heated moment, and it hurt like hell. You definitely should have stayed outside. 

He walked towards the door and stepped out of the room without uttering another word, leaving you alone to deal with your own feelings. 

As soon as the door was closed, you started crying. It was your own fault, really; you could always read him like a book, even today, and you knew better than to disturb him when you weren’t supposed to, but today for some reason you just couldn't keep your mouth shut. Idiot.

You tried to calm yourself down; the last thing Lando needed was to see you cry on top of his result, but it was harder than you expected. This being the first time an argument got so out of hand made you feel absolutely terrible, especially because it was your fault. Deep down, you knew he didn’t mean it, you knew it was his feelings talking, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

A few minutes went by and you could still hear the cars out on track, the mumbling of the team, and people constantly working out there, so you tried to use that as a distraction. Anything to take your mind off what just happened. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t help, but at least you ran out of tears, and now you were just staring at a blank wall, thinking how you could begin to apologise for earlier, if he would even give you the chance to. 

Truth is, you weren’t sure if bringing it up again would be a good idea; you wanted to apologise for disrupting his cooldown moment, but what if hearing that made him mad again? Or worse, what if you didn’t apologise and made the situation even bigger? Your spiralling made you lose track of time, and a knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“The car is about to leave, Y/N, they are waiting for you,” you heard someone say on the other side of the door. You were at least hoping Lando would come and get you once it was time to go back to the hotel, but he didn’t.

“Thanks, I will be there in a minute,” you replied, grabbing your things and Lando’s before sprinting outside. 

The car ride was hell. Lando didn’t look at you the entire time; he was just staring at his phone, texting who knows who, his face as neutral as ever. It felt longer than it actually was, and when you finally got there, he just stepped out of the car and didn’t look back. You let out a sigh and followed him, leaving a prudent distance between the two of you. 

Once you were in the hotel room, you both started to get ready for bed, like you usually did, except this time, you didn’t acknowledge each other. 

That was until you were already on your side of the bed and he came out of the bathroom, taking the spot next to you and burying his face on his phone again. The entire time you were building up the courage to say something, anything, now that you decided that apologising was the right thing to do.

“Lando?” You called for him, but again, he just hummed in response. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You were right, I shouldn’t have said anything, and I should have respected that you just wanted to be alone.”

That’s when it hit him. How could he get so mad at you for trying to make him feel better? 

He dropped his phone and turned to face you, and noticing your sad expression and teary eyes broke him. His eyes softened as guilt washed over him. Why were you apologising when he was the one who reacted like that? But as soon as you looked down at your hands to avoid eye contact and tears started falling down your face again, he felt even worse. 

“Y/N… Baby, I’m so sorry.” He got closer to you, softly taking your cheeks in his hands to get you to look at him. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry I acted like a dick and raised my voice at you,” he stared, wiping your tears away, carefully thinking about what else he could say. 

You, on the other hand, didn’t know how to react. Your plan was to apologise and hopefully move on, but now that he was apologising, you didn’t know what to say; you didn’t want him to feel guilty, even though it was his fault you were in that position right now. If only he took a different approach. 

“It wasn’t your fault, okay? You were just trying to help, and I should have appreciated that, you know that I do, I just... I don’t know, there is no excuse for what I did.” But you were still silent and trying to avoid eye contact. “Baby, say something.” 

“Lando, you yelled at me.” You finally replied, your voice a bit muffled by your tears.

“I know, I shouldn’t have done that, and I promise I’ll never do it again.”

After a minute of silence, you just nodded, which made him let out a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Okay? I’m sorry, my love.” He pulled you into a hug, your head on his chest as he placed a soft kiss on your head. “I know I was a dick, and I really wish I was nicer about it.”

“It’s okay, I get it; you were frustrated with your result, and I should’ve known better than to interfere with what you were feeling.”

“No, it’s not okay. I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Lando was rubbing your back softly, trying to bring you the comfort you tried to give him earlier. “I love you, and I can’t describe how much I appreciate everything you do for me; I know having to deal with my shit is not easy, so thank you.”

“It’s fine, I mean it.” You looked up at him, locking eyes finally in the entire day. “Just... don’t push me away, okay? And if you do need to be alone, just say it, and I promise I will listen next time.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

He gently placed a hand on your check, rubbing small circles before leaning in for a kiss, one both of you much needed. And with one final ‘I love you’, you feel asleep in his arms.

[naturesapphic]

idk if you’d wanna do this or not but could you potentially write something fluffy with Billie and a gf who feels dumb all the time because she’s dyslexic and billie helps her and comforts her when she struggles?

Dyslexic

Billie eilish x dyslexic!fem!reader

Warnings: little bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Everyone who was in your life knew you were dyslexic. You had it growing up and you still have trouble with it today. You would get teased for it a lot when you were little and now since you were an adult. You never understood why people were so mean about it, it was just a learning disorder, but the people always made you feel extra dumb for it.

Here you were, sitting at your desk in the office of your shared house with your girlfriend, working on a class project. You were done writing your portion of the paper and sent it to the group chat. Billie was downstairs in the studio working on music. Almost immediately everyone responded, criticizing your work and how you wrote making your face heat up in embarrassment. One person even said that you were going to make them all fail if you don’t rewrite the whole paper.

You were confused but texted them back that you would look over it again. Going back to your paper you reread everything and you understood what they were talking about. What you wrote was jumbled and didn’t make sense at all. It didn’t fit what the whole project was about and you groaned out in frustration. You grabbed your paper and crumpled it up, throwing it behind you not knowing that it hit someone.

“Hey! Watch the tits bro.” Your girlfriend joked which usually made you laugh but all you let out was a little defeated sigh. “Sorry…” you apologized and you felt your chair spin around and you were face to face with your brown headed girlfriend. “Hey…you don’t need to apologize to me babe.” Billie reassured you and you just sat there staring off making Billie worry. “Okay what’s going on. You’ve been up here all day in the office and you look like you are about to pass out.” She said and you whimpered making her get down on her knees so she’s eye level with you.

“I just…I feel so stupid bils! My stupid brain and my learning disability.” You explained to her and how your partners were making you feel like shit. “Hey hey now. First of all, you aren’t stupid, second of all, they are shit heads who don’t know what they are talking about. Fuck them. You are the smartest and talented girl I know. Don’t let their peanut sized Brains make you think any differently do you understand?” Billie says and you nodded your head slowly. “I still have to write this stupid paper and on top of that I have to start completely over since I messed up.” You sigh and Billie gave you a comforting smile.

“Why don’t I read your project over and help you with your paper hm?” She suggested and you gave her a big smile. “Would you please? I don’t get it whatsoever and I feel like my head is gonna explode.” You explained and she giggles. “I know baby but how about I read it over and rewrite it to where you can understand it better how’s that?” She offered and you felt your eyes burn with tears. “Oh bils…you are the sweetest ever. What did I do to deserve you?” You say as you stand up from your chair and place a kiss on her plump lips, making her kiss you back immediately.

“Okay. Now go to bed and rest. I’ll be there to join you in a bit alright?” She softly demanded you and you nodded. You walked over to the bed and got underneath the covers as you watched Billie read over the project and write down some stuff before joining you. You couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend than Billie, who never made you feel stupid or slow. She loved you as you are.

A/n: thank you for the request anon! As someone who has a learning disability this was very nice to write. Anyone who has some sort of learning disability, know that no matter what anyone says to you, you are smart and capable just like everyone else and I’m proud of you :) remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all! <3

[fandomxo00]

Ok let's imagine this:

Logan is your boss and you're trying to seduce him

You were incredibly nervous as you looked into the bathroom mirror. You knew that Mr. Howlett had arrived and today you wore the outfit. A short black skirt and a red shirt that dipped at your breasts. When you leaned over you were exposed in so many ways. You had to careful this morning even pulling down the skirt and putting on a sweatshirt. But now you pulled your hair out of your clip, the smell of your shampoo filling your air. As you grabbed a small bottle of your perfume and sprayed it under your hair and on your collarbones. Then reapplying your lip gloss before walking out and back to your desk.

You got his schedule in order, highlighted and organized before standing up, walking towards his office before knocking on the door. Logan yelled, 'Come on in.' You pushed open the door, letting it close behind you as you came face to face with your handsome boss. You felt your heart flutter and you became nervous, your crush on him evident as you started walking forward. Logan grinned down at your converse; he thought you always looked sexy, but your clothes today just made him mad. Who were you that wearing for? You walk over to the table, leaning over to hand him the papers as you sat down in front of him. His eyes trailed from your chest to the dips of your waist, after oogling your body he felt his heart jump at the look on your face.

Your eyes were hazey, arousal in them as you looked from his eyes to his hands. You never met a man that made you wanna jump across a table to fuck him. Logan radiated power, but there also something soothing about him. Something that made your shoulders go back as confidence shot through you, his eyes glued to your glossy lips. "How are you this morning?" He broke the silence, as you tried to speak but your voice was raspy.

You blushed, clearing your throat, as your hand came to your chest. "I'm doing good."

"You got plans for lunch?"

"Do I have-." You repeated, blinking confused over at him as he grinned over at you. His eyes skimmed you again, as he raised his eyebrows.

"You look....dressed up." Logan continued as you went 'oh' as you understood he was just asking why you were dressed up.

"No, no I don't have any plans." You shook your head as his eyes darted back to yours, the light that shined into the room made his eyes look light brown.

"Would you come with me to brunch?"

"Sure, are we meeting someone?" You asked, going to open your laptop to edit the schedule.

"No, just the two of us."

"Oh, do you want me to put it on the schedule for-." You questioned, eyebrows lifting.

"1030." His voice rumbled, you could feel his stare on you as you glanced up to see him staring you down, making shivers run down your spine.

"Don't you have a meeting at 11?" You retorted, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Move it to tomorrow." Logan replied, as you hummed nodding your head, as you clicked it around and started drafting an email.

"They're gonna be pissed." You mumbled, thinking he wouldn't hear you.

"Forward them to me."

"I didn't-."

"It's alright, sweetheart." Logan assured, dipping his chin as he looked over the sheets from last night.

You wished that it was just because you were wearing a cute outfit but of course it wasn't. Logan needed to push back the meeting because he needed you to work on a project. You had your laptop open, throwing on your glasses as you started jotting down notes as he went into detail about what you needed to do. You had prepare your brain for working until late into the next morning. Your nose twitching as anger rose in your sinus's, your fingers speeding up as he continued to speak.

You were awfully quiet and dismissive as you started eating your food, but eventually you wound up listening to Logan spoke about his life as an X-Men before starting his business. He decided to open up to after seeing the frown on your face, you tried to hide your emotions, but you wore them on your sleeve. Maybe he didn't know what was wrong, but he knew that something upset you. He was able to ease the mood but not entirely, he guessed that you staying after hours was not your plans for tonight.

"Did you get dressed up for someone special?" He asked, as the two of you walked back down to his car.

"W-what no?" You flushed, pausing in your steps, his hand came your back as he led you forward.

"Really?" Logan huffed.

"I mean yeah, but-." You started, shaking your head as you looked away. "Don't think it really matters. He doesn't care." You breathed, quietly getting into the car and remaining quiet on the way back. Logan kept glancing over at you as a odd feeling filled him, you were interested in him. But not in the way he thought, yes you liked that he looked at you. You wanted more than that, you wanted to take you out, treat you nice and then bring you home. Logan hadn't done that in a long time, he hasn't wanted to.

But the thought of upsetting you got on his nerves, he didn't like that he caused you that distress. So he ordered you dinner before leaving, not saying anything as he left for the day. You didn't even look his way, focusing on the task at hand. When he left you sighed to yourself as you looked at the clock, everyone else gathering things to leave.

There was only a few of you left in the office, mostly women, so you had shedded your bra and shoes. You changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. Throwing your hair up into a bun and the number of times you rubbed and put your hand to your face, your makeup was long gone or mascara just weighing down your lashes. Crossing your legs on your chair as you brought a sweet tart rope to your mouth. Your desk was filled with color-coded sheets, preparing to organize them all on a slide for Logan. You smiled when you Panera Bread was delivered to you, a note from Logan on it, "I'm sorry about today, thank you for everything you do, take the morning off tomorrow." Then you got a look at your phone as you saw a familiar text from, "Mr.Howlett" You glanced over the text not reading it completely before turning on youtube and grabbing your soup.

After you finished eating, you went to thank your boss when you read the full text,

"I'm sorry about today, thank you for everything you do, as the note mentioned, take tomorrow morning off, will just need you in at 11 for prepping the meeting. Might have to swing by tonight, forgot some files, could you get-."

He was coming by? By the time you started to panic the elevator doors opened, and you glanced over to see your boss. But he wasn't in the same suit as before, now in shorts and tight tee-shirt. Something you assumed he would work out in or sleep in, as he walked through the office. "How's dinner?"

"Oh um it was great." You squeaked as he walked over to your desk. Your hands moving around to clean up your dinner mess and your candy wrappers.

"Don't mind me, were you able to get the files?"

"I just opened your text, I'm s-."

"No worries, already got a lot going on." Logan assured, his hand coming to your shoulder and squeezing as he glanced down your body before looking over your shoulder. "Can I see what you've going on or-."

"Oh sure!" You chirped, turning back towards the screen. Logan sighed at the smell of your perfume. "Just give me a moment."

"I'll be right back." Logan replied, turning towards his office. Your eyes trailing over the curves of his strong back and his ass. You bet that man never skipped squats. You blinked as you looked back at your screen, pulling up the presentation and getting your papers in a row. Before standing up to stretch, closing your eyes as you pulled your arm over your body. Before squatting down to pop your knees before leaning back to crack your back.

Logan just stared at how you moved, the roll of your head as your neck lightly popped, the sound of your knees popping was rather loud as his green eyes went to your ass. Logan's adam's apple bobbed as he saw you lean back, your back arching as you groaned. Before swinging forward, breathing through the head rush as you swung your arms forward and letting them hang to stretch your lower back. He hopped that you were these outfits more often, the ones that showed off the curve of your ass, the leggings so tight to your skin that it clung to rolls and flesh of your body. That's when he cleared his throat, his voice deep and raw as he spoke, "You done yet?"

"Shit!" You jumped, your hand coming over your heart. "Sorry been sittin' forever."

"Yeah." He breathed, walking over to you as he kept files under his shoulder. You remained standing, as you started showing him each section of what the presentation would be with the different colored papers. Logan watched you with fascination, a warmness coming over his heart as you spoke so passionately about details and organization. That's why he loved working with you, you were just as passionate as he was about his business. You pushed your glasses up your nose and he felt the urge to kiss you as your teeth lightly bit at your bottom lip as you spoke, before leaning over. He felt like a perv as his eyes went to the curve of your back and down to your ass.

With all the staring he felt his cock stir in his shorts, his eyes darting back over to you as looked back at him. A flush came over your face as you saw his eyes on you, watching you and apparently, he liked looking at your ass. You breathed out shakily as you made eye contact with him. You didn't move as you turned back to the screen, anxiety rattling your chest as you stuck at your ass for him. Logan groaned from behind you, his hand coming to your back as he moved forward next to you. Trying to not grab your hips and shove his hardening cock into your plump round bottom.

Logan's hand instead came to your back as you looked at the computer, his nose coming to your ear as he spoke lowly, "Be careful there, darling, you're trying to play a dangerous game."

"Yeah been trying to play it all day-." You blurted, glancing over at him, your eyes widened at what slipped out of your mouth before looking back at the computer, shutting your eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr-."

Then his hands came to your hips, pulling you over to him as stared down at you, a longing in his deep mossy eyes that made a shiver run down your spine. "That's why you were wearing that outfit today? For me?" His voice rumbled, his voice growing thicker by the second.

"Y-yeah. Just wanted you to look at me." You murmured, a shyness coming over you as his hand came to the back of your neck.

"Always looking at you, darling. Can barely take my eyes off of you, especially in these leggings." Logan hummed, his hands coming to the tops of your ass, just hovering over the curve, a questioning look in his eyes. "Your ass looks so fucking good, baby."

"Mr. Howlett." You giggled; a flush still evident on your cheeks as you gazed up at him.

"Logan." He corrected.

"If it looks so good Logan, why aren't you touching it?" You teased, your heart racing at your boldness. A smirk came over Logan's face, his dimples indenting at the sides, while his hands ran over the globes of your ass before grabbing at the fleshing part and pulling you into him.

"God, you drive me fucking wild, acting shy one second, then you act like needy little slut, that's what you are, aren't you?" Logan grumbled, as he spoke into your ear, the feeling of his hot breath, making your fingers curling into his t-shirt.

"Just for you." You said, moving your head so you looked into his eyes, your chin dipping. He grinned at the look in your face before his hand came to your cheek, pulling you in to kiss you. "All I want is you." You panted against his mouth as he groaned loudly into your mouth, backing you up against the desk before picking you up. "Ah-wait not on my papers-."

"Screw your papers." Logan gruffed, his lips coming to your neck.

"But it's for your presentation-."

"It'll be fi-."

"Logan." You whined, your hands coming to his chest to shove him off. "I've spent the last 7 hours on this, I'm not ruining it just because you want to fuck me. You can literally do that any-."

"Shut up." Logan groaned, his hand coming to your jaw and smashing his lips on your own.

"But-." You squeaked, as his tongue dove into your mouth and you let out a moan. Your hand coming to his hair to pull him in closer, his musky scent filling up your senses. The taste of him on your tongue intoxicated you and when he picked you up, you felt dizzy.

"Listening to you babygirl." Logan promised, as he started walking towards his office, pushing opening the door and kicking it shut with his foot before putting you on the nearest table. His hand brushing out to knock the magazine and vase to the floor. The crash made you yelp into his mouth before laughing. His hand came to your cheek, your hand leaning into him as you smiled. Your eyes gazed into his as you both paused for a moment, soaking in what was happening between the two of you. Logan's nose lightly brushing against yours, his lips only inches apart. "Not gonna fuck you tonight, though." He whispered, moving his face down to he spoke lowly in your ear.

"Think I deserve it, don't I?" You pressed, your hands soothing over his chest. "Especially since you're distracting me."

"From the assignment I gave you." Logan laughed, the seriousness wearing off as you smiled, your hand smoothing up his chest to his jaw. Feeling the prickly hair against his skin, the feeling of your hands soothing over it made his eyes closed, he hadn't been touched in this way in so long. Especially by a women like you, he moved forward to connect your lips in a soft kiss. "You should probably get back to it." He breathed, as his hand came to your back, rubbing circles below your right scapula.

"Oh-um yeah." You nodded, looking away from him, your hand falling away before he grasped it and brought your small hand to his chest. Your whole hand enveloped by his, as you scanned his face.

"Plan for to eat lunch in my office tomorrow." He started, his hand skimming down to your lovehandles. Logan grabbed at the flesh as his lips came over yours in an open-mouth kissed. "Then taking you out after work."

"Off the clock?"

"Is this off the clock?" Logan joked, as you scrunched your nose and pushed lightly at his chest as he chuckled. "I'm gonna take you out on a date."

That's when it clicked in his head, as he tilted his head while looking at you. You'd been upset that it was work meeting this morning, you thought he was wanting to take you out. It was true, he wanted to go out with you, alone, away from everyone else. But he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by making advances on you, he just couldn't risk it with his job. But the way you kept teasing him? The way you practically begged for him to touch you? Yeah, he was gonna give in, he thought you were beautiful and talented, the packaged deal.

"I'd like that." You grinned.

tags: @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

[gor3sigil]

What being trans means to me

I love being trans. I love transitioning. The thing is, most of the time, I read about other trans people experiences. And I just can’t relate.

I have plenty of tattoos and piercings, and if I have to be 100% honest with y’all, I see transitioning like a bodmod. To me, getting top surgery was one, as I wanted to at least get my nipples removed before I even knew top surgery was an option.

I see HRT as much as a bodmod. A few years back, I wasn’t so sure I even wanted HRT, but after thinking it through and doing a lot of research, I decided to do it. And I never looked back. I’m close to 2 years on T, which isn’t a lot, and I don’t even know if I plan to stay on T for very long, maybe I’ll stop at some point. Who knows.

It goes hand in hand with the everlasting identity crisis I’ve been having since I was born, basically. I was a different person before, and she was so tired, so she left the body to some dude, and he got tired, and they fused, and it was me, and I’m in a trans body, I’m trans, I take T like I paint my nails, I take T like a cigarette, I take T like a hot bath. It’s comforting, it makes me feel good, it makes me feel at home in this body.

I got surgery because I wanted my silhouette to be mine. I changed my name because since I was little, and that’s the only point for which I can say confidently I knew since I was a kid, I never understood why we couldn’t name ourselves. To me, a name was so intimate, so personal, that I couldn’t understand why it had to be someone else’s choice. So I took a new one and changed it.

And now I look at myself in the miror and I’m Cyan, and I got a flat chest, and I have a deep voice, and I’ll do my T shot on friday just like I do every 14 days since almost 2 years, with the same pleasure, with the same smile on my face, the same rush I ever have when I’m excited for my shot.

Close to the feeling I get when I get a new piercing, when I up the size of my lobes, when I feel the first tingles of the needles that tattoo me.

I didn’t “always knew” I was trans. I remember being a kid with a shit ton of OCs, and names for myself that I couldn’t choose, and whose dream was to live a thousand lives before I died. I don’t know who I will be in 3 years. Or in 6 months.

It says on a letter that I suffer from gender dysphoria, and by all means it was true before top surgery. Not so much now. I still am insecure about my body a lot of times because there’s some things missing to my chara design and I am fatter IRL lmao, but with this body I cum, I eat good food, I get drunk, I smoke, I feel hot and fresh water, I swim, I sing, I write this. Even when it’s half broken and it’s raining and my joints ache and I feel like I’m already old, I love this body. I’m not the type of people who will be like “your body is a temple, you HAVE to exercise and eat only fresh veggies” because if I have to be here let me at least have fun. I take care of myself though, maybe not as much as I should, but the best I can.

If I hadn’t overcome everything I did in my life, maybe I wouldn’t have transitioned. Or maybe I would. I don’t care. I don’t need a reason, and neither do you.

This is what I mean when I say that everyone should do whatever the fuck they want because, I wasn’t born trans, or at least I don’t think so. But does it make my transition less valid ? No. I’m better in my skin that ever, even when the low self esteem hits, and I know I would feel way less good if I hadn’t transition. That’s all that matters.

[starsomens]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 10 •... 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿   ‿ ̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Warnings: Guns! Violence! Mentions of Blood and fighting and stabbing! Horribly written action i am so sorry...characters depicted to be hurt, blood mentions, chloroform used, language, DESCRIPTION CHARACTER DEATH!

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿   ‿ ̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Unaware of how many hours had passed, you only knew that you had dozed off briefly. Despite your best efforts to free yourself, your attempts were futile. Unknown to you, someone was outside orchestrating your rescue. In a nearby forest, just off the property, Noah and his men were preparing their move.

"We do this clean, short, and efficiently," Noah spoke as he stood among his men. Their vans parked just outside of Lucien's perimeter "Get Y/N, kill who you must and get the fuck out. I don't want one hair on her head gone is that understood?"

"Yes sir!" his men cry in unison, Jolly then steps forward

"Folio will head the initial group to create our entry point, then my team and I will follow to ensure a clear path for Noah to locate Y/N," he gestures towards Nick, who is equipping the van with surveillance and medical gear. "Nick is our support; his word is our command. If he says we retreat, we retreat."

"Yes sir!"

Folio rolls his ski mask down to cover his face his signature grin still evident on his face "let's rock this bitch."

He loaded his bullets into the chamber, started his bike, and revved the engine. Leading the first group on his motorcycle with the rest following on foot, they approached the gates, which were rigged to blow open, providing Folio with the opportunity to charge in. Most would consider this move foolish, but there was a reason he was known as The MadMan. Diving headfirst into danger only fueled his adrenaline rush.

Although Nick remains in the rear, he is crucial as their sniper. Despite the distance, he is the most skilled sharpshooter they possess. The abrupt breach of the front gates startled Lucien's men, who rushed from the large house, armed and prepared to shoot any intruders. With shots exchanged, some men fell while others were merely grazed by bullets, providing Jolly and his team the opportunity to advance, paving the way for Noah and additional reinforcements.

Noah has one goal, and one goal alone. And that was to get to you. Knowing Lucian and the layout of his building, he knew that he kept most captives in the basement. Now, typically most people would not be attempting something like this however, Noah was not most people. Lucien knew exactly what he was capable of. And that’s why this place was crawling with so many of his goons. But it wasn’t enough to stop Noah.

Y/N:

The door to your cell swung open as Lucien and Denise stepped inside. You could barely make out the commotion outside, but you were certain it was Noah causing it. Denise moved around you, untying the ropes that bound you.

"Get up," you hear a click, and suddenly, you're staring down the barrel of a gun mere inches from your face. "Looks like your hardheaded boy is here," Lucien growls deeply. As soon as the ropes loosen, you rise from your chair and wait for Denise to come into view, her piercing blue eyes scrutinizing you from head to toe.

"look at you now," he sneers "just a pathetic bitch who had got lucky for a few months," a shit eating grin graced her face

"and look at you...Noah still doesn't want you," you lean in closer "what a pathetic little bitch....chasing after a man who doesn't care about her or her dumb ass little-"

Another sharp slap comes to the same cheek from before, this time it stung so much more than before. Before you could react a clothes was held up against your nose and mouth. You struggled and fight as Lucien grips yours arms behind your back. Your visions blurs, you can't breath properly, your knees felt weak, you blink you blink your eyes to stay awake but you are consumed by darkness in mere seconds.

noah

As they ascended the stairs into the cooler, darker parts of the building, bodies were dropping like flies. Each door was violently forced open in a frantic search for you. Yet, each room revealed itself to be just as vacant as the previous, escalating his desperation. At last, reaching the final door at the corridor's end, he kicked it in, expecting to find you tied to an empty chair. His blood boiled with rage, his heart pounded against his chest, the rush of blood roaring in his ears. He knew you had been there, and now you had vanished once more.

“FUCK!” Let out frustrated grunt as he kicks the chair against the wall “ I don’t care how you do it, who you have to kill, turn this place inside out. And fucking find her,”

“Oh we don’t have to go there now do we Sebastian?” a familiar voice comes close as shoes click their way down the hall. His eyes are empty of any compassion or empathy. Looking over his shoulder his eyes land on none other than Alfred.

Betrayal. Bastard. Mother Fucker. Piece of shit!

Noah brushes past his men and grab Alfred by the collar and shoves him against the wall "You fucking bastard, where is she?!"

"Now Mr-" Noah crashes his forehead against his nose. A crack and groan filled the hall

"Shut the fucks up and tell me where!" Noah was not up for playing any games. He presses him into the wall more, putting pressure on his throat,

"L-Lucien's o-ffice...."He stutters, blood trickling down his nose and into his mouth. Noah releases his grip, and he collapses to the ground. Looking at his men he says,

“Tie him up, take him to Nick. I’ll deal with him later,” he commands his men, and if looks could kill. Alfred would have been obliterated on the spot

“Yes sir,” the pick up Alfred and start to escort him out of the building. Alfred knew exactly where he was going, and it would be far from anything pleasant…. Securing his gun into his waistband, he starts running out of the basement and up to the last floor where Lucien would be,

“Noah!,” his ear piece rang “what are you doing—“

“I’m not going to let her sit there waiting for something to happen to her,”

“Think for a second Noah! This is what he wants!” Nick tried to reason with him “you need to think! He could be planning to kill you!"

"Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do Nick?" Noah asks in frustration as he ascends the stairs to his office.

"I've got a plan, but you need to stall him," Nick said typing away at keyboard in the VAN, "Stall him until I'm able to blow a portion of the building, it'll be enough for us to get Y/N, and get out of here," it wasn't a solid proof plan, but the main objective here was to get you out.

Noah stands outside the office, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He harbors a fierce desire to confront Lucien for daring to touch you. Shifting his gun to rest out of sight behind his back, he grasps the handles and pushes the double doors open. They swing wide to reveal Lucien in his usual place, seated behind his large desk, a cigar perched between his lips.

As Noah stepped in, it was reminiscent of the first time he had been accepted into V.A.N. His footsteps were softened by the carpet as his gaze swept the room, searching for any discrepancies or concealed adversaries. However, what he discovered was Mathew, slumped against the wall, appearing almost lifeless. He stops a few feet away from the desk

"where is she..." he asks once

"You know, I still remember the day I took you under my wing. A teenager with nothing but potential," he said, rising from his desk and approaching a portrait on the wall. It depicted a younger Noah, standing beside him and other members. "I recognized a bit of myself in you. You were detached, strategic, willing to do whatever it took to rise to the top… and now, look at you."

He turns to face Noah with a sneer "killing my men for some bitch who ain't worth half of what you are,"

Denise slithers into the room like a snake sneaking up to its prey. She comes up to Noah and trails her fingers over his shoulder to rest on his chest,

"Hi Noah...did you miss me?" she asks in an annoyingly sweet tone. Noah was still focused on Lucien

"She didn't want you, left you, disrespected you… just leave, marry Denise, take over V.A.N. It will all be over, you can start anew," he steps forward two steps, "and we can continue as if none of this ever happened."

"Where is she...." Noah asked once again, ignoring Denise and disregarding Lucien's offer "Just give her back, and I'll leave....."

"Well she is here," he scoffs as he walks towards a closet off to the side of the room, opening it your body slumps out of the space, motionless "Just not in the best state"

"Y/N," he rushes to you and kneels at your side. Holding your head in his hand as his other gently touches your face, smoothing over the purple mark growing on your cheek. "y/n, princess come on wake up for me..." he said it so softly. Like he didn't want to wake you, but he needed to know you were alive, that you were okay....

"You got 2 options here Noah," Noah didn't dare look at Lucien "You can leave here in one piece, and follow what should be. Or you can both go down...or should I say three," he huffed referred to Mathew still slumped against the wall

"Lucien...." he gently laid you on the ground as he slowly rose from the ground "....do you remember when you beat the shit out of me for touching your shit?"

"Little shit....you had to learn to not touch what's min-" a punch landed right to his jaw cutting him off from his sentence. He groans as an intense anger burned inside of him "Oh you Mother Fucker!" The two exchanged blows and ducks, swings and throws. Lucien was hit, Noah had sustained a nose bleed.

All the commotion stirred you to finally come to

"mmm...n-noah...." you just knew it was him. His fuzzy figure as he ducks and swings. While Lucien may have trained Noah, he was older and slower, Noah was much swifter and managed to get Lucien into a headlock.

"Noah it's ready! Get the fuck out, now!" Nick speaks into his ear. Using all of his force, he tried his best to push Lucian into the corner of the room. He runs over to Matthew and grab him by the shirt and shake him a bit. His eyes blink open, still in a daze

"Fucking wake up Mathew come on-ah!" Lucien is on Noah again gripping him into a headlock. Noah thrashed and tried his best to get out of the man's grip. He took a chance and reached behind him and pushed his thumbed into his sockets, freeing himself.

Just like a guardian angel coming to his rescue Jolly stops in the doorway. Finding Noah to get him out of the building before it was blown.

"Jolly get Y/N out of here!" he grunts as he blocks blows and tries to land more,

"Noah we need to--"

"TAKE HER NOW!" There's a loud thump as he pushes Lucien to the wall and holding him there for Jolly to pick you up. Jolly runs inside, grabs you and picks you up, running out of the room. Your hand weakly reaching for Noah as he becomes a small fuzzy figure. You felt as though you were moving in slow motion, you could feel every step Jolly took, every turn he made, once outside he rushes you to Nick. He lays you down in the emergency bed in the van so Nick could examine you, making sure there were no severe injuries. Jolly was about to leave the VAN again before you grab his hand stopping him

"W-where's Noah?" you ask

"He's still inside, I'm going back for him-" Jolly answers grabbing a pistol and loading it

"Jolly you can't we're about to blow this shit-"

"He's still fucking in there!"

"The count is already happening I can't fucking stop it!" The two long haired men were going on it. Jolly wanted to rush in, and Nick couldn't stop the count down. While they were arguing, time was ticking by. You stand up and move as quick as you could out of the van and start walking towards the large building again. You were convinced if you stumbled fast enough you could make it to Noah. Meanwhile Jolly and Nick call after you to come back. You felt as if you were so close! So damn CLOSE!

BAAAM!

The building busted into flames before your eyes. The loud explosion made yours hands fly to your ears an duck down for cover. Looking back at the scene all you could scream was,

“NOO!”

. . . . . . .

It was so sudden when the explosion went off. It threw both Lucian and Noah off-balance. Not even worrying to fight one another anymore, but to cover their heads from falling debris. When Noah opens his eyes once again, he was surrounded by rubble and fire. Most of the building was still intact, but before was starting to cave in on itself. He was still conscious, which meant he still had a chance to get out.

He coughs into his hand, trying to block out as much smoke as he could. He knew this place like the back of his hand he could run out without even looking up. Once he was on his feet and he started to walk his ankle was then grabbed by a grip of pure venom.

“You!” Lucien coughed “you’re not going anywhere! If I go down, you’re going down with me and this shit hole!!” There was a sudden sharp pain in Noah’s ankle. Lucien wasn’t going down without a fight, and chose to shank. No falls to his knees again as he screamed out in pain.

this wasn’t the first time that Noah had seen the fury in his eyes. However, he never thought that he would be on the receiving end of it. He tried to shake him off as best as he could. But the smoke was starting to get to him, and his vision was going fuzzy.

The floor underneath Lucien started to creek as his knee sinks into a hole in the floorboards. Noah had to get out of there before the floor came in on itself. He padded his waistband to find his gun, only to find that it was empty.

“You…little shit. Coming here, attacking me, blowing up my fucking building. Over some bitch who can’t keep her mouth shut—“

And those were his last words. Before bullet went straight into the side of his skull, loosening the grip on nose ankle. Gazing at the bullet hole, he follows the path that the bullet took to see Matthew holding up the gun that was used to kill the head of the mafia. The heavy weapon shook in his hole from the adrenaline and trauma that his body has endured.

He stands up and walks to Noah. He grabs his arm and swings it over his shoulders, holding his waist as they stumble out of the burning building. With every step, Noah felt his lungs grow tighter, and his ankle burn. Matthew was saying something, but he couldn’t exactly make out what it was.

His body felt weak, as if he was ready to collapse and fade into darkness, spiraling down towards an endless hell for all the crimes he had committed. His breath was short, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

The only thing he could hear from Matthew’s muffled words was your name. Just the sound of your name. It was almost as if his life started flashing before his eyes. All he could see was you—your smile, the way your nose crinkles in the cold, the way you always sat in the same spot on the couch. Everything about you filled his mind…those eyes…those eyes he loved.

how he'd love to see them before....before....bef....

Y/N

"NOAH!" you screamed watching the place go up in flames. Noah's men flooding out of the doors running back to safety. His men were there...but Noah wasn't. You're back on your feet stumbling to the building but Folio stops you

"Y/N don't! Stop what are you doing-"

"Noah is in there I have to-"

"Y/N you can't go int here you'll get yourself killed!"

"Noah is in there!" you slowly stop fighting as you watch the flames devouring and breaking down the building. You could feel yours eyes burn with tears as Nick guides you back until you see a figure walking towards you.

"Noah?" you whispered. as they come into view you see it's Matthew practically dragging Noah away from the building. He makes a few more steps until they both fall to the ground. Nick stops moving and turns back to look behind him, Jolly starts to rush over and so do you. You run to them, you heart is pounding, your hands sweaty and your eyes full of tears and hope. You get to them and fall to your knees

"Noah, Noah? Noah look at me!" you bring his head into your lap, his eyes were closed and his breathing shallow "Noah please! Open your eyes.....Please!" you sniff as your tears fall from your eyes and on to his face

"Please....I need you to wake up....please....I love you..." you wrap your arms around his body as best as you could and rock him in your arms, "I love you..I love you...I love you...please...." your body starts to shake from your cries

Jolly steps toward you carefully, ready to comfort and console you

"Noah...please wake up...please baby look at me please....I....I need you..."

"Y/N....come on let's get back to the-"

*COUGH COUGH* Noah's body convulses in coughs as his lungs fill with clear air and comes back to consciousness. Your hands come up to brush the hair from his eyes and to caress his dirty but soft skin

"Noah...Noah you're alive..." he gives you a weak smirk and says

"I couldn't....*cough* not say I love you back,"

“You’re so….stupid,” you said as Noah does his best to hold you in his arms. He knew that those words meant that you were glad he was alive. And he was beyond grateful to have seen your face again. But most of all to hear that sweet face of those three words. While you checked on Matthew Noah was carried back to the van by Nick and Jolly.

His men would arrive later to cover up the scene, making it look as if nothing had happened. For now, you both needed medical attention. In the van, Nick insisted on giving you a full body scan. You protested, saying you were fine and just a bit roughed up. But Nick knew better than to skip medical treatment. Noah would never let it go if even one scratch on your body was left untreated. In your opinion, Noah, who was severely roughed up, needed most of the attention.

As Nick looked over the scans from VAN's medical scan he stopped for a second to overlook something.

"Y/N, do you feel strange at all?"

"well, aside from my cheek I'm just fine," you said slightly flinching as Noah applied a cold pack to your cheek. Nick printed out the results on the screen and handed it to you both. Reading through the reading as best as you could one word stood out to you. Your eyes were blown wife, Noah took the paper from you and looked it over again and again,

"I think we should get you to a hospital before we confirm anything...but in the mean time....it looks like you're going to need a bigger car Noah,"

"so.....what happens now? Especially with this?" you asked and Noah looks at you. His hand comes up to caress your face. His thumb running over the skin under your eye

"now....." his other hand comes down to your stomach and rests on top of it. Knowing what his future holds, what he has to do, and who he has to do it for. Your forehead comes to meet his, beat up, bleeding and bruised and all he could feel in this moment was his love for you and your baby,

"We rebuild this kingdom our way.…”

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿   ‿ ̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

END

Taglist🥃] @madiomens @aubrey-melinoe @artificialbreezy @daylightlvrs @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @artificialstardust @lizzyanthony3 @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @lust-for-sacher @missduffsblog @thecartelqueen @twyftwyt @thenoahsebastianfiles @spiderblog-mcu @sorrowsofsilence @chemicallady @chemicaltendancies @shilohrosechicken @thefallennightmare @crimson-calligraphyx @calleyx13 @iknownothingpeople @lilhobgobbler @niicoleleigh @badomensls @ladispo0p @skulliecadaver-blog @malixxxmizer @kageyasma @samanthasgone @the-ancient-fae @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @thebadchic @badomensbabe @dsireland86 @ebechnasheim @somewhere-diamond @hayleylatour @raydenrrobertson @sundamariis @red-ace-in-space @rosebushjhj

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[matchagirliris]

“my darling” kuroo X Reader oneshot

Summary: you dated back in highschool and never took him seriously and essentially now it’s timeskip of you two meeting again on unexpected terms

[based on yet again another song, This time it’s “love is a laserquest” by Arctic monkeys (my fav band ^~^) anyways hope you enjoy: happy ending? idk anywho, matcha girl out :p]

Coming back from being in the states for work to japan was exciting you missed kenma and all your friends back home It had been a few years since you left for America to go to college and work. Unfortunately you did dread of seeing a past lovers. More specifically Kuroo you never took the poor boy seriously back in highschool you had no reason too you were gonna leave anyways. He knew that but he couldn’t help the fact that he fell so hard. The day you left he didn’t really know what to do with himself he knew it was coming he knew that you didn’t take him seriously. He understood the circumstances that came with being with you in highschool so you couldn’t really say it was completely on you.

As your best friend kenma comes and picks you up from the airport to take you to the house you had bought in japan before you left and asked him to keep maintenance for you while you were gone. As you guys are on the ride home you ask “how’s the house?” you turn to look at him “uhm to be honest i don’t really know” he looks a bit terrified while driving.“YOU HAVENT BEEN KEEPING UP WITH IT?!” you sorta yell at him worried that your house is in shambles. “Well no, i wasn’t supposed to tell you but i asked kuroo to keep up with it for me…” he says sorta worried about how’d you feel about the guy you played in highschool taking care of your place much less making sure it was prepared for you when you came back. “oh. he’s doing it for me?” you say sorta feeling bad about how you treated him, it’s not that he didn’t know it was going to be like that you were just sad that he still tried for you like he always had always trying to make you understand how serious he was about you. As kenma drops you off at your house handing you your keys and hugging you goodbye you slowly make your way into the house, looking at how nice and clean it was you smiled softly but you felt sad. The guy you hurt the most in highschool because you never took anything seriously but your career still cared for you like he did before even though his life is probably just as busy as yours, He always made time for you. As you get ready for bed falling asleep soundly in your room you can help but dream about him and you and the memories you had in highschool.

You wake up hearing a faint noise outside “who the fuck is cutting grass this early in the morning?” you get up groggy in your pjs and walk outside seeing who it is, it was none other than kuroo cutting your grass assuming you weren’t here yet and was just here for weekly maintenance “y/n?” he says startled to see you here at all wondering why kenma didn’t tell him. You immediately freeze in your tracks as your stomach drops not knowing what to say you run back inside not wanting to face him after all these years looking like this. Why did you care how we saw you all of a sudden? anyways you run into the shower and try to look decent but in your head your hoping he’d be done before you got out so you wouldn’t have to face him once more. As you peek out your window he’s still there doing yard work, looking good while doing it at that. You snap out of your stupid delusional and decided to fix him up something since you feel sort of bad about all of this and decided makes it’s time to talk you walk outside facing kuroo one more time “Hey kuroo i fixed you something, im sorry for scaring you earlier i was just shocked to see you” you nervously say with a half smile “no worries y/n it’s all fine to be honest i wouldn’t have showed up and did this if kenma told me you were already here i just came to do the weekly check up you know?” he says walking up to you “Thank you for keeping up with the house even though it wasn’t your job ill reimburse you for everything if you’d like” you say and he laughs “no it’s all good i did this just to keep me busy i guess” he half smiles with a bit of sadness in his face. You both take a sit outside on the little table you had out there as his eating the snack you fixed up for him with grass stains on his face and sweat beads on his forehead you can’t help but notice how handsome he’s gotten. He looks up at you and says “Do you still feel younger than you thought you did by now? or darling have you started feeling old yet?” he laughs a bit “don’t worry i’m sure that you’re still breaking hearts with the efficiency that only youth can harness” he says has his smile slowly dims, you respond “and do you still think love is a laserquest?”

“what about you y/n do you take it all more seriously now? You know i’ve tried to ask you this in someday dream that i had, but you’re always busy being make believe.” he says taken you back, you look at him sideways with even more sadness than you did before in the morning “and do you look in the mirror to remind yourself your there or does somebody’s goodnight kisses got that covered?” you respond.

“when im not being honest i pretend that you were just some lover, now i can’t think of [your fav thing or place] without thinking of you i doubt that comes as a surprise.” he says “and i can’t think of anything to dream about, i can’t find anywhere to hide” you responded with your head rested in your hands feeling overwhelmed. You both sit there for a moment in time which felt like years but truly only lasted a minute “i’m sorry kuroo. I’m sorry for everything and the way i treated you back in highschool i was so dumb and focused on something in the future and taking the then for granted.” you say lightly crying “you didn’t deserve any of that you treated me so well and still do i didn’t realize how much love i had for you till i left but i thought it was too late” you say breaking down fully at that point kuroo sat there in shocked seeing how much you changed how you weren’t that girl that didn’t care about guys and only wanted a simply good time, how now you were a girl that had everything she wanted expect genuine love his eyes softened at her he got up and hugged her tightly “it’s okay y/n you were young and had goals and didn’t want anyone to get in the way of that even if you wanted simply pleasure at the time i still knew you were a good person, to tell the truth i always hope you’d come back and we’d be able to have this conversation that you’d come back for me and im happy it was later than never.” he says hugging you. You stare up at him with teary eyes….

“i love you kuroo, can we start again?” you say softly “id love too my darling more than anything.” he says happy to have you back and this time fully and for real.

(rushed ending im sorry LOL)

[tigerdrop]

Got any fun thoughts to share about Ford and Bill?

they drive me crazy dude. i have a lot to say about them so im putting it under a readmore

ive been billpilled for 1 million years dog. hes like the Blueprint. bills the perfect entity to me: terrifying shapeshifting demon who can slip into every corner of your mind and read all your thoughts and memories. and also hes a cartoon character with noodle arms and a cute shape. and hes a pathetic worm whos hung up on his human ex. and hes a funny little guy whos playful and mean and delights in tormenting you but juuuust enough so that he doesnt break you. Hes so awesome

like. listen. this isnt going to be a surprise if youve read literally anything ive ever written. but if bill possessed ford and slammed his hand in a car door and got a kick out of it and put him in a funny little outfit id be fine about it. ford was literally in a 24/7 freeuse lifestyle with him so why WOULDNT he

yeah im kind of a masochist. Why do u ask

put his ass in a horny neurotic guys body and see what happens. hit his dick with a cartoon mallet for fun. slap him around a little. feels cool and neat! like "human bodies are so responsive, huh" said while blanfords about to jam a fork into an outlet (thats my name for it btw. Im not looking it up)

what if i hurt you?? what if i dropped you??? Just kidding :-)

i dont know how much genuine sexual pleasure bill would get out of it so much as the thrill and novelty of a new human sensation but i think that could be fun in and of itself. jacking off with another guys body in a weirdly distant way like Haha Wow. Im getting kind of flustered here! (actively jamming a coke bottle into his pussy)

and the thing that really drives me crazy about ford is how much fetish shit he thinks about/makes inventions for/has inflicted upon him. i think in the series finale hes tied up like 3 fucking times. its insane. he wants to give up control of his body so fucking bad dude!!!!! (exhibit A: ford going limp like a kitten whenever hes picked up. it happens more than once.)

and theres even more contrived bondage bits in the deleted scenes! its maddening. hes an insane obsessive bdsm-lifestyling pervert and hes likethe ideal guy to match bills freak

hes soooo fucking easy. its so much fun to me. theres something really erotic about the way bill makes him feel special about his hands......like.......its naked flattery but its also kinda true. its weird. he likes weird shit. and ford falls for it soooo easy. drives me nuts

now walk with me. think about how easy that same interaction would transfer to ford being transgender. and your not allowed to get mad at me bc this is just my thing now

its so strange! kind of captivating. bills been around the block but the western conception of transmasculinity is so recent that for him it might as well be a blink of the eye. so i think it would be new to him. especially given when he actually makes a deal with ford. just another special thing about his special little guy. he *knew* there was something about ford

and to be frank i think that if you were a transmasc pervert in the 70s and a dream demon came along that understood you inside and out and can make all of your bizarre fantasies come true. well. you would have been fucking stupid not to fuck him

i need to read the book of bill so fucking bad bc the extra context of bill being super hung up on ford drives me CRAZY!!!! i love bitter lovestruck jerks. i love divorce. and i think they could and should hook up again. bad guys that are reluctantly forced to stop being so bad are so much fun and fords huge fucking ego didnt go anywhere. i think bill could convince ford to give him a second chance. at least just to hook up for old times sake

anyway. im making a bill itabag. Gotta go

[walmartbrandwhatever]

cherry and marcia hcs because I love them so dearly.

they met when they were 6 at a park. cherry was sitting alone on a bench and marcia being afraid of nothing just sat down and started yapping.

Marcia used to be afraid of nothing except for storms. whenever there was a storm she would curl up in the corner of her room and cry.

her parents weren't around much, both working to hard to keep the life they had built so her house was often empty.

cherry having a not so good home environment would spend days upon days at marcias and they would just hang out.

cherry was the quiet popular girl who did her work but when she was at marcias house they would talk the most shit and about drama going around the school.

cherry is really good at doing other people's hair, and it's something she quite enjoys doing. someday, when things get too stressful, Marcia will let Cherry just mess with her hair as they sit in silence or talk about what's bothering her.

Marcia used to roller skate a lot when she was younger but stopped when she reached highschool and started to worry more about her staus.

cherry lowkey hates oranges. she hates anything to do with them while marcia LOVES them.

on the days where they were practicing for rodeos they find a way to fuck with eachother.

they had a game where they had gotten this small little figure and have made it a game to place it somewhere on eachother and whoever has it has to try to get it to the other person without them noticing. the last time they played marcia got it to cherry(I'm gonna come back to this later)

once they reached high school, Cherry had met Bob in her math class. at first they didn't really talk but after being paired together during class they sort of just hit it off.

Marcia and Bob? did NOT hit it off. they started unsure of each other and then turned to them, not liking each other.

there was one day where bob and marcia had ended up alone waiting for the rest of there friends and marcia got to see the true version of bob Sheldon that had been pushed down deep.

he had started talking about the stars, going into detail about the ones he knew and how important they were to him. no matter what changed in his life or the little amount of actual love he got from his family they stayed a constant. a reminder that there were nice things that even he could see.

Marcia before would have never expected it from someone like him but it made her look at him with a different light. only for a little while because that was the only time she had ever seen that side of him. after that he went back to the bob Sheldon she had known. the bob Sheldon who hated her just as much as she hated him.

Marcia was considered a weird girl who was simply friends with Cherry Valance. that didn't bother her much up until that point.

Marcia hated how Bob treated Cherry like some sort of trophy. Cherry had always told her that he wasn't like that and that he was real kind and she didn't need to worry.

the weeks when Cherry would spend hours at Marcias turned into just a few days, focusing her time on Bob which didn't hurt Marcia.

she understood that a d she respected it. she spent most of her time with bev, brill, and trip. she learned a lot with them and learned that something were better kept hidden than out.

her parents had very different ways of thinking. her father grew up with a single father who didn't have much taught her to fit in and roam with the crowd because that's how you got successful while her mother grew up with a rich family who was cold and uncaring. she taught marcia to stick up for herself and to trust those who are her true friends.

Marcia often battled between what her parents wanted her to be. she wants to make her father proud, but she doesn't want to disappoint her mother, who always taught her to be kind and true to herself.

reaching highschool she learned real quick between the difference of social class and how she needed to fit in if she wanted to make it to graduation.

Bev had told her that she needed to stop "acting so weird, you'll never get someone if you act like that," and marcia had laughed in her face then. Bev, that day, wasn't too happy with her, nearly cost her the spot she had within the small group. she learned that day to take most things with a smile and that things would be easier if she just kept others happy.

Cherry had been spending time with Bob, the nights where they both just needed to escape from their lives, the would drive Bob's car out to a reserved place and just look at the stars.

the first time Bob got real drunk she had freaked the fuck out because she would not be with someone who ended up like her father.

he the next day had showed up at her house with flowers and with an apology. she practically melted into his arms after she explained to him why she had freaked. he had promised that it wouldn't happen again, though he never kept that promise, leading to her snapping at the nightly double.

Cherry post cannon distanced herself from all the socs for the most part. she only really stayed connected to chet and somewhat marcia.

the two grew apart for a little bit as Marcia battled with the pressure of her parents and with the ideas of social class.

one night marcia just completing broke down in front of her parents. they talked for hours after that, working through their problems and how she had been feeling. her parents had always loved her, she knew that but her father rarely showed any emotion and her mother too busy fighting with her own family to realize how her own family was falling apart.

the next day Marcia asked Cherry to talk and they did. Marcia apologized from practically everything that had happened andthey both made a promise to be better, to talk things out no matter how they felt.

that's all I have rn but please feel free to add in the comments or in my inbox 🙏 also trust I'm just feeding yall until I finish this fic.

[naamahdarling]

.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

"Jason was the happy robin" this, "jason was the angry robin" that. Let's all be fully honest here Jason was the lonely robin

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

259. Doctor Sleep (2019)

[tortellinigirl]

i think the adult relationship to the childhood dog is something that is so tender and heart-wrenching and important. you are the last vestige of my childhood. you are the sacred keeper of the memories i hold dearest, but you can barely see or hear me anymore. who do i become once you’re gone? where do i turn to remember myself? you’re the last one sitting next to me at the door of a childhood home that no longer exists, waiting patiently for the return of a family that no longer exists. where can i live when you, too, no longer exist? i can’t let go. please don’t make me let go. i know you’ll leave soon. i wish you didn’t have to. but she’s just a dog. her life is short and i will witness her death and i’ve known this from the beginning. i didn’t think it would come so fast. am i ready? have i become someone yet? have i become unrecognizable to her yet? does she still see the child i was? i’m still the child i was. please, don’t forget the child i was. please don’t take her away from me.

[screambirdscreaming]

I used to like saying "gender is a social construct," but I stopped saying that because people didn't tend to react well - they thought that I was saying gender wasn't real, or didn't matter, or could be safely ignored without consequences. Which has always baffled me a bit as an interpretation, honestly, because many things are social constructs - like money, school, and the police - and they certainly have profound effects on your life whether or not you believe in them. And they sure don't go away if you ignore them.

Anyway. What I've taken to saying instead is, "gender is a cultural practice." This gives more of a sense of respect for the significance gender holds to many people. And it also opens the door to another couple layers of analysis.

Gender is cultural. It is not globally or historically homogeneous. It shifts over time, develops differently in different communities, and can be influenced by cross-cultural contact. Like many, many aspects of culture, the current status of gender is dramatically influenced by colonialism. Colonial gender norms are shaped by the hierarchical structure of imperialist society, and enforced onto colonized cultures as part of the project of imperial cultural hedgemony.

Gender is practiced. What constitutes a gender includes affects and behaviors, jobs or areas of work, skillsets, clothing, collective and individual practices of gender affiliation and affirmation. Any or all of these things, in any combination, depending on the gender, the culture, and the practitioner.

Gender encompasses shared cultural archetypes. These can include specific figures - gods and goddesses, mythic or fictional characters, etc - or they can be more abstract or general. The Wise Woman, Robin Hood, the Dyke, the Working Man, the Plucky Heroine, the Effete Gay Man, etc etc. The range of archetypes does not circumscribe a given gender, that is, they're not all there is to gender. But they provide frameworks and reference points by which people relate to gender. They may be guides for ways to inhabit or practice a gender. They may be stereotypes through which the gendered behavior of others is viewed.

Gender as a framework can be changed. Because it is created collectively, by shared acknowledgement and enforcement by members of society. Various movements have made significant shifts in how gender is structured at various times and places. The impact of these shifts has been widely variable - for example, depending on what city I'm in, even within my (fairly culturally homogeneous) home country, the way I am gendered and reacted to changes dramatically. Looping back to point one, we often speak of gender in very broad terms that obscure significant variability which exists on many scales.

Gender is structured recursively. This can be seen in the archetypes mentioned above, which range from extremely general (say, the Mother) to highly specific (the PTA Soccer Mom). Even people who claim to acknowledge only two genders will have many concepts of gendered-ways-of-being within each of them, which they may view and react to VERY differently.

Gender is experienced as an external cultural force. It cannot be opted out of, any more than living in a society can be opted out of. Regardless of the internal experience of gender, the external experience is also present. Operating within the shared cultural understanding of gender, one can aim to express a certain practice of gender - to make legible to other people how it is you interface with gender. This is always somewhat of a two-way process of communication. Other people may or may not perceive what you're going for - and they may or may not respect it. They may try to bring your expressed gender into alignment with a gender they know, or they might parcel you off into your own little box.

Gender is normative. Within the structure of the "cultural mainstream," there are allowable ways to practice gender. Any gendered behavior is considered relative to these standards. What behavior is allowed, rewarded, punished, or shunned is determined relative to what is gender normative for your perceived gender. Failure to have a clearly perceivable gender is also, generally, punished. So is having a perceivable gender which is in itself not normative.

Gender is taught by a combination of narratives, punishments, and encouragements. This teaching process is directed most strongly towards children but continues throughout adulthood. Practice of normatively-gendered behaviors and alignment with 'appropriate' archetypes is affirmed, encouraged, and rewarded. Likewise 'other'- gendered behavior and affinity to archetypes is scolded, punished, or shunned. This teaching process is inherently coercive, as social acceptance/rejection is a powerful force. However it can't be likened to programming, everyone experiences and reacts to it differently. Also, this process teaches the cultural roles and practices of both (normative) genders, even as it attempts to force conformity to only one.

Gender regulates access to certain levers of social power. This one is complicated by the fact that access to levers of social power is also affected by *many* other things, most notably race, class, and citizenship. I am not going to attempt to describe this in any general terms, I'm not equipped for that. I'll give a few examples to explain what I'm talking about though. (1) In a social situation, a man is able to imply authority, which is implicitly backed by his ability to intimidate by yelling, looming, or threatening physical violence. How much authority he is perceived to have in response to this display is a function of his race and class. It is also modified by how strongly he appears to conform to a masculine ideal. Whether or not he will receive social backlash for this behavior (as a separate consideration to how effective it will be) is again a function of race/class/other forms of social standing. (2) In a social situation, a woman is able to invoke moral judgment, and attempt to modify the behavior of others by shame. The strength of her perceived moral authority depends not just on her conformity to ideal womanhood, but especially on if she can invoke certain archetypes - such as an Innocent, a Mother, or better yet a Grandmother. Whether her moral authority is considered a relevant consideration to influence the behavior of others (vs whether she will be belittled or ignored) strongly depends on her relative social standing to those she is addressing, on basis of gender/race/class/other.

[Again, these examples are *not* meant to be exhaustive, nor to pass judgment on employing any social power in any situation. Only to illustrate what "gendered access to social power" might mean. And to illustrate that types of power are not uniform and may play out according to complex factors.]

Gender is not based in physical traits, but physical traits are ascribed gendered value. Earlier, I described gender as practiced, citing almost entirely things a person can do or change. And I firmly believe this is the core of gender as it exists culturally - and not just aspirationally. After the moment when a gender is "assigned" based on infant physical characteristics, they are raised into that gender regardless of the physical traits they go on to develop (in most circumstances, and unless/until they denounce that gender.) The range of physical traits like height, facial shape, body hair, ability to put on muscle mass - is distributed so that there is complete overlap between the range of possible traits for people assigned male and people assigned female. Much is made of slight trends in things that are "more common" for one binary sex or the other, but it's statistically quite minor once you get over selection bias. However, these traits are ascribed gendered connotations, often extremely strongly so. As such, the experience of presented and perceived gender is strongly effected by physical traits. The practice of gender therefore naturally expands to include modification of physical traits. Meanwhile, the social movements to change how gender is constructed can include pushing to decrease or change the gendered association of physical traits - although this does not seem to consistently be a priority.

Gender roles are related to the hypothetical ability to bear children, but more obliquely than is often claimed. It is popular to say that the types of work considered feminine derive from things it is possible to do while pregnant or tending small children. However, research on the broader span of human history does not hold this up. It may be true of the cultures that gave immediate rise to the colonial gender roles we are familiar with - secondary to the fact that childcare was designated as women's work. (Which it does not have to be, even a nursing infant doesn't need to be with the person who feeds it 24 hours a day.) More directly, gender roles have been influenced by structures of social control aiming for reproductive control. In the direct precursors of colonial society, attempts to track paternal lineage led to extreme degrees of social control over women, which we still see reflected in normative gender today. Many struggles for women's liberation have attempted to push back these forms of social control. It is my firm opinion that any attempt to re-emphasize childbearing as a touchstone of womanhood is frankly sick. We are at a time where solidarity in struggle for gender liberation, and for reproductive rights, is crucial. We need to cast off shackles of control in both fights. Trying to tie childbearing back to womanhood hobbles both fights and demeans us all.

Gender is baked deeply enough into our culture that it is unlikely to ever go away. Many people feel strongly about the practice of gender, in one way or another, and would not want it to. However we have the power to change how gender is structured and enforced. We can push open the doors of what is allowable, and reduce the pain of social punishment and isolation. We can dismantle another of the tools of colonial hedgemony and social control. We can change the culture!

[uncanny-tranny]

I think something that would have helped me as a kid were open discussions around self-harm, and the fact that it doesn't fit the very niche or starry-eyed, whimsical version people have in their minds. I wish there were more people who didn't brush off people who self-harmed in "weird" ways.

I remember opening up to some friends of mine once, many years ago, about this very issue (since they'd brought it up), and I remember being laughed at because I had described something that wasn't "typical," something which was deemed "too shocking, absurd, hilarious," and I look back on that memory and it's like... we need to put in a lot more work into how people view self-harm and how people engage with us. Because I'd never self-harmed in the ways that people think of, even as a really small child.

I understand the sheer darkness of this topic, but you've gotta realize at some point that you can't help us by ignoring us. You can't save us by ridiculing us or making us feel like freaks, like monsters unworthy of being seen. The ways I self-harmed were perhaps more dangerous than other methods, and yet it wasn't taken seriously at all. So I never talked about it until now, because I know there are kids today who are where I was. If you're that kid, I am so sorry. I hope you are taken seriously, I hope you are shown compassion, understanding, true and unbridled love, and adoration. I am so sorry. I am sending you my heart and soul.

[iwasbored777]

The most beautiful thing in the entire Trolls franchise will always be Branch's character in the first movie when he wanted Poppy to understand that life isn't as perfect as she thinks but when she got betrayed and hurt and lost all hope he did everything to make her happy again because he wanted her to understand the pain but not experience it because she didn't deserve that and he didn't think that others have to suffer because he did.