#but anyway yes i still think the shock instead of fuck is bad

[nocek]

And this concludes the grand crossover event

(or does it?)

(it does but I was given a great idea for how to solve Gwen's problem :) )

the timeline of previous relevant comics:

[Jeff has a great fashion sense and Peter is the best hooker]

[Jeff is found and fucks are lost]

[bro landed up in the wrong universe and all he got out of it is a lousy bow]

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Personally of the belief that live action fans who go onto animanga posts uninvited like 'I DESPERATELY NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THE ART STYLE IS UGLY EVEN THO THIS OPINION IS IRRELEVANT TO THE POST' should be hit with a big rock. We already moved past this ten years ago, get with it or get lost. Swallow the hunger inside of you that demands everything be palatable to you. Maybe you could stand to be a little uncomfortable for a while

[moechies]

oral err butt sniffin’ SRY

toji who would definitely take a long, dragged sniff of your butthole while eating you out from the back :(

i’m sorry i have to indulge in this because he so would ; he is so grimy and so gross, but you’re not gonna do a single thing about it. that’s why he does what he does !

you let him eat that pretty pussy from the back, darling. did you really think he wouldn’t take up the offer? you set yourself up the moment you said ‘yes,’ laying pliantly against the plush bed waiting for him to lazily tug off your panties.

he peels the fabric away from your cunt slowly, watching the strip of slick from your slit dirty your underwear. he can’t help but ask when you scold him to stop staring, stop working so slowly. you just want his hot tongue on you already! but he ignores your needy requests, nudging his body in between your legs to further separate your shy thighs. your cunt drools with arousal, which he obviously takes notice of, dragging a singular finger through the river of slick.

he moves his mouth closer to your cunt, purposefully breathing hot air against the sensitive plush of your skin. freckles of goosebumps become prominent at the sensation, and you wince; you’re such a dear, darling.

and then finally; finally he presses his hot tongue against your soppy cunt, clasping your sweet slit against his tongue. his large hands come up to spread and grope your supple ass, spreading you wide open before further burying himself in your warm.

you squeal when you feel the tip of his nose press into your puckered butthole, and instead of retracting he forces himself deeper.

“t—toji stop it !”

you’re almost repulsed, but you come to a realization of who’s eating your sweet pussy.

he blows off your cries, taking a long whiff of the tart hole above, groaning softly into your cunt.

“s’fucking good. you’re a dear, baby.”

“not there tojiii !” you drag out, words coming out as broken stutters as he simulates both of your sensitive holes.

“it feels good, don’t it ?”

“hnnn…” you gasp against the sheets, resistant to admit to toji that it does, it feels fucking amazing. because you know it’ll become his new addiction, become a bad habit for him to leap onto you just to get a taste of your sweet pussy, and a whiff of your soft butt. but you do anyways, “f—feels good, but—“

you’re quick to stop speaking when he gently nibbles your clit, making you thrash your leg in a shock. “toji !”

“can’t stop,” he groans, and it’s obvious by the way his experienced movements grow sloppy and slow, that he came. “d—damn it.” white nut paints the insides of his cotton boxers, leaking through his sweats, and possibly even damping the sheets.

“s’good. more, more. stay still. f’me.”

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[steddieas-shegoes]

“any regrets? anything you’d do differently?”

eddie knows the interviewer is just doing her job, probably doesn’t even realize that’s the worst question she could ask. but the guys tense and the air gets thick and something shifts inside eddie’s chest.

“it’s been two years and i still haven’t apologized.”

the interviewer doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but she doesn’t need to. he’s not gonna explain more than that and he doesn’t care if people make their own connections and excuses.

maybe steve will hear it. maybe robin will. maybe dustin will convince steve to call him.

or maybe he was cryptic for nothing and steve will keep ignoring his calls. he used to think his timing sucked until mike let it slip that he lets all calls go to his answering machine to avoid picking up when eddie calls him.

eddie only calls on bad nights, if he’s drunk or high, or sometimes on the nights that could only be better if steve was by his side. eddie calls most nights.

the interview is done and eddie is being whisked away, getting berated by their publicist about his answer to a question that can never have a good one. the guys are pretending not to listen, but failing. eddie loves them for trying.

the next interview, he stays quiet, at least as much as he can get away with. he fakes a smile, a laugh, whatever it takes to seem like he didn’t just admit that he fucked up on live television.

they get to sleep in their own beds tonight, but tomorrow is the start of their radio show tour to promote their album. it’ll be two weeks long, hitting the major stations daily until they’ve answered all the hard hitting questions like if gareth snores or if they ever find time to eat healthy on tour.

but his bed is his least favorite place to sleep, and no amount of tossing and turning is gonna give him what he needs.

so he calls steve.

“harrington’s house, you’ve reached the harrington who actually lives here.”

eddie’s so shocked that steve answered he barely even registers his words.

“hello?” steve’s voice turns serious. “anyone there?”

“stevie?”

eddie shouldn’t have started with that, but he wasn’t in control of his body anymore.

steve hangs up.

somehow it’s worse than if he hadn’t answered at all.

but eddie is fine. he is.

he’s gonna close his eyes and go to sleep and maybe not dream about dying or fucking up the only good thing he ever had.

his phone rings and he’s almost certain he’s dreaming already.

“hello?”

“sorry i panicked.”

steve’s voice is like a reverb in an arena, sending chills down eddie’s arms.

“you’re not the only one.”

“but…you called me.”

“because you never answer.”

“so why call? if i’m never gonna answer.”

“because if you do answer, i can hear your voice.”

steve sits with that answer for a minute before he speaks.

“dustin played me the interview.”

“yeah.”

“was it me? was i your regret?”

how could steve think that? how could the man who saved his life ever believe he was anything less than a gift? in no universe would eddie regret steve.

“no. my regret is making you ever think that you could be a mistake.”

eddie should end it there, let steve marinate with that. he knows no amount of apologies will actually help, but he could give it a try anyway.

“i’m sorry i left when you needed me. i’m sorry i was selfish and chose to get out and leave you behind. and i’m sorry none of my sorries even matter because it’s too late.”

for a minute—yes, eddie counts— there’s silence. and then there’s a small shuffling sound and eddie’s almost sure that steve’s gonna hang up.

instead, steve sounds like he’s holding back tears when he speaks.

“are you gonna come back?”

eddie can’t. he can’t just put a pause on the band or any of their plans. it’s not fair to the guys or the fans or himself.

but he can do something he should’ve done two years ago.

“will you come with me?”

the question hangs in the air for what feels like forever. steve may say no. that’s part of why eddie didn’t even ask the first time. but he may say-

“yes.”

“you will?”

“on one condition.”

“anything.”

“you stop trying to forget all the bad parts. the bad parts sucked, but they brought us together. running from them means running from me. at least hold my hand so i can run with you.”

eddie thinks maybe he could write a song about that.

and he thinks he’d like to hold steve’s hand while he does.

[beesspacedotorg]

bee what about calling chan daddy for the first time??

hihi. uhm. putting warnings is too hard. i hope u enjoy ems <3

warnings: oral (m rec), daddy king (duh), uh. tbh there probably should've been more discussion about what's going on here before it happened but there wasn't gender neutral reader as usual

You’ve been fussing at him all day. To be honest, you’re not even sure why, you’ve just been having a bad time and Chan managed to be in the right place at the wrong time and now he’s contracted your ire. It’s unfair to him, and a part of you knows this, but a larger part of  you is pissed off that he’s breathing so fucking loud, so you’ll just apologize later.

“Baby, are you planning on doing the dishes today or-”

“God, can you shut up?!” There’s a moment where you both stare at each other in shock. You don’t yell at each other. Chan raised his voice at you once before and you cried so hard you almost threw up, and after that you both agreed the two of you wouldn’t let it get to that point ever again. You don’t yell at each other, and yet, your voice has raised to dangerous decibels because your boyfriend asked you about the dishes.

“Okay, what is your problem?”

“Problem? I don’t have a problem.” That is not what was supposed to come out of your mouth. You know it, and Chan especially knows it, because he raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Are you sure? Because you just yelled at me.”

“I didn’t yell.”

“Then what do you call that? Speaking with purpose?”

“Yes. Speaking with purpose. You’re also doing the exact opposite of what I told you to do anyway.” Chan brings his hands to his head to rub his temples, and for a second you think you’ve gone a step too far. You’re ready to apologize to him, to inform him that somewhere between the dishes and now your anger has been replaced with a weird eagerness for him and that maybe you should’ve apologized for yelling at him before starting to play a horny game, but he takes a step towards you before you can open your mouth.

“You have two seconds to apologize to me.” Chan’s voice is tense, a voice you’ve heard people describe as his “leader voice.” You would describe it as something else, but you’re not that brave, so you haven’t yet.

You stare at him instead of apologizing, blinking once and then twice at him. You watch as he clenches his jaw and see the tick of his muscle in real time.

“Okay. Fine.” Oh, you’re fucked. Literally. He grabs your arm and bodily hauls you off the couch. You knew what he was going to do, and you go along with it, so luckily he doesn’t chuck you across the living room.

“Chan.” He keeps dragging you towards your bedroom. “Chan.” You’re pretty sure he’s not listening on purpose. “Christopher.”

“God,” he starts, and you know how his sentence is going to finish before it’s fully out of his mouth, “can you just shut up?” Hearing your own words parroted back at you makes you frown.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why not? That’s how you were talking to me earlier.” You roll your eyes at him and open your mouth to respond and then he’s kissing you well enough that you don’t care anymore.

“Baby, I wasn’t kidding. That mouth has gotten you in enough trouble, why don’t you just keep it shut, hmm?” You frown at him again, brows furrowing and he pushes you onto your knees and sits on the bed. You stare up at him from your spot on the floor, lips still downturned and then he’s fishing his cock out of his shorts and yanking you towards him by your hair.

“Hey! Let go!” You reach up and dig your nails into his wrist and he grunts at you.

“What is your problem today?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Sure.” He brings your face closer to his dick. “Suck.” You shut your mouth with a click of your teeth and when you look up at him you can see that he’s thrown his head back in exasperation.

“Jesus, why are you being like this?” You cross your arms over your chest and you hear him sigh. His hand untangles itself from your hair to press at the hinge of your jaw, forcing it open until he can slip fingers inside your mouth and open you up for himself.

“Ow-” Your muffled protest is cut off by the heft and weight of Chan’s cock being shoved into your mouth. You aren’t insane enough to bite him, but you are insane enough to not move. You’re unsure why, but there’s something in you that wants to push him and see what he’ll do, see just how far you can annoy your sweet, lovely Channie until he becomes something else entirely.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You can’t help the way your lip twitches into a smirk from where it’s wrapped around the girth of Chan’s dick, can’t help the way it takes you a second to school your expression into something bored and uninterested. Chan sees it though, because of course he does. Sees the way your eyes widened for a second when you got caught before flattening out. You hear him huff a laugh, finally catching on, before he’s dragging one of your hands to rest on his thigh and taking your head between his palms.

“Fine.”

He starts a rough pace right off the bat. Doesn’t give you any time to adjust before his cockhead is ramming cruelly against the back of your throat. You gag, drool bubbling past your lips, down your chin, dripping onto the floor. Your hand lifts off his thigh for a moment, taken aback, and his pace slows. He pulls halfway out of your mouth and then you put your hand back on his leg like nothing happened and he’s back to using his cock as a battering ram to your throat.

“Kept mouthing off,” he grunts, slightly out of breath. “You and I both know that this is all your little mouth is good for.”

He keeps on like that until you’re crying, until tears are slipping down your cheeks and your nose is running a little. Uses you as nothing more than a fleshlight until your eyes are red rimmed and your knees are sore. He pulls out and tilts your head back to look into your eyes. Your head is swimming from the lack of oxygen and your vision is blurry from tears and something else. He looks at your face and down at the floor and his cock twitches.

“Made a mess,” he scoffs, derisive. “Are you done?” You whine at him, you have no idea what he’s asking anymore. He shakes your head a little.

“Brat. I asked you a question.”

“Channie- daddy.” Your voice is hoarse and wobbly, your hands are grabbing at his thighs and you're leaning your weight into him. You hear him inhale sharply and suddenly the hands on your head shift from a grab to a cradle.

“Oh, baby.” He hauls you up into his lap. “Look at me.” You do, whatever Chan finds in your face makes him soft.

“Was that all you needed, sweetheart? Was for daddy to set you straight.” You nod at him and he coos.

“Daddy’s not done yet, baby.” You whine. He laughs. “You gave me a hard time there, honey. A bit of face fucking isn’t gonna make that up to me, you know that.”

You do know that. It isn’t gonna stop your pout though. Chan sees your face and laughs.

“Lay on your back,” he says. “Maybe if you apologize well enough, I’ll give you a reward after.”

[noveauskull]

Tysm for feeding us with ur wuwa smut fics bro <33 and btw since requests r open as u said, can u pls write the NSFW reaction of wuwa men when their fem s/o is always half-naked when their both home alone?? Lol, and if they ask why their s/o is so relaxed to just roam and walk around their private home nearly naked, s/o just shrugs her shoulders and says something like: “We’re a couple, now— are we not? I don’t see the problem here.” EHHEEHEEHHEHHEHEH >:333 (Again tysmsmmss amd have a good day/noon! 🫶)

How WUWA Men React When You Walk Around The House Half-Naked (NSFW)

characters: jiyan, mortefi, geshu lin, yuanwu, scar, aalto, calcharo x reader

warnings: suggestive behavior, teasing, not really all the way, just a short post, nsfw

-----

Scar:

He doesn't mind when you walk around half naked, matter of fact he'd go walking around half naked with you

You just know that he's purposely trying to hug you just to feel your skin on his

Somehow the two of you would end up fucking

"Why bother wearing clothes at this point?"

Sometimes he even rubs himself on you while you're half naked, sick pervert

He encourages it a lot

-----

Yuanwu:

He's flustered by your confidence, but glad enough you trust him to see your body

Despite being a gentleman, he is still a man, so he'd often times stare at you while having a nice sip of tea

"Aren't you cold?" You were in fact, not cold at all. The only shivers you get is when you feel a pair of eyes on you

Suddenly he's smiling at you and offering you to help him get his glasses in the bedroom

And now he's pinning your hands to your head and kissing you

You didn't mean to be provocative, but it happened anyways

-----

Mortefi:

"WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?"

He's panicked at first but he gets used to it later, a bit of a drama king but when you pointed out on him revealing his chest he just blushes and sighs in defeat

Definitely ogling at you, he especially loves the way he could see your boobs when you're only in your bra

At one point when he stands too close to you he's already pinning you to the wall and kissing you

"If this is your way of teasing me then it's working" He's say while blushing profusely

-----

Jiyan:

He's shocked but he doesn't say anything, instead he just tries to avoid staring at you and hopes you'd out some clothes on

But you don't, you're still in your underwear and it's getting really bad for his heart to see you walking around so freely

When he feels like he wants to talk to you about it, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and make you stare into his eyes and ask you if you were interested in going to bed together to fuck

And of course you say yes, cause he's already slipping his hand down to grope your ass, leaving you no choice

Jiyan likes it when you wear less in front of him

-----

Aalto:

He starts acting like he saw you for the first time and starts flirting with you

You didn't expect him to wrap his arm around you and slip his hand into your bra though

Now he's trying to have a conversation with you while he's teasing your nipple, just so you would get wet

"Oops, almost forgot about my food in the microwave" He stands up and leaves you alone on the couch, wet and confused

But you're definitely gonna keep walking around half naked, that's for sure

-----

Geshu Lin:

"What do you think you are doing?"

He acts like he has a problem with it but when you remind him that its only the two of you and that he's already seen your body suddenly hes fine with it

But he will still complain about it

Eventually he gets tired of complaining and just carries you to bed, telling you that now that he's hard you have to take responsibility for it

Tsundere Geshu Lin?

-----

Calcharo:

He's like a big dog, staring at his owner and wondering what to do or say

For some reason, he'd start putting blankets or towels on you

"Is this a new way to make me turned on?"

Before you know it he's fucking you with the same clothes you had on half naked

He ends up wanting you to walk around the house half naked anyways

-----

A/N: SORRY FOR MAKING IT SHORT ANON I HAVE A LOT OF THINGS TO DO AND IM PUSHING OUT REQUESTS SO THIS IS PROBABLY NOT SATISFACTORY BUT I HOPE MY OTHER POSTS MAKES IT UP TO YOU 😭😭

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Sano Shinichiro - "I Just Love Pathetic Guys"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

In which I've made an imagine about how pathetic Sano Shinichiro is and how I think pathetic guys are actually really freaking hot adorable. I just so happen to have a thing for losers and Shinichiro is probably the hottest loser in both the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime.

                                                                                                   

🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧

Imagine; he's talking to his friends about how he was yet again rejected for the nth the time now. You just so happen to be nearby and overhear his sad announcement; listening to his friends tease him about how he scares women away.

Imagine; you approach them after a few moments, when they've switched topics to something unrelated. You take his hand and write your number on it; only saying "call me sometime" as you wave goodbye and walk away. He'd be too stuck in the shock he felt to stop you and ask your name.

Imagine; you receive a call from an unknown number as soon as you step foot in your house. And when you pick up the phone you're met with his timid voice, asking if you're the person who gave him their number twenty minutes ago.

Imagine; instead of directly answering him, you somehow rope him into describing you and your first interaction. Hearing him trip over his words as he tries to keep his composure over the phone and seem proud an manly.

Imagine; you get him to practically beg you to allow him to take you on a date. You can't help but laugh how pathetic he is and you tell him so, but you 'agree' to go out with him anyway.

Imagine; he tales you out to eat and keeps reassuring you that he'll pay for everything but in the end, he doesn't have enough money, so you end up paying it in full instead. You can see how embarrassed he is and as bad as it makes you seem, damn do you relish in it.

Imagine; that during the rest of the date he somehow embarrasses himself in some way, shape or form. He can't even look you in the eye at this point and he walks at least two feet behind you, unwilling to try and lead you anymore lest he make even more of a fool out of himself.

Imagine; he drives you back to your place on his bike in silence, too scared to say anything just in case he has a slim chance of seeing you again. He stops in front of your place and you get off his bike, immediately turning to your front door. But, instead of going inside, you set the things he bought you down at your doorstep and walk back to him.

Imagine; that instead of letting him get the first word in, you tell him how much of a loser he is. You can see how deeply it affects him by how sad he looks, but you're not done talking.

Imagine; you take a fist full of his hair and yank him down for a kiss, smashing your lips together. You tell him how he's your exact type and how hot he was today. That he had better take you on another date or you'd kick his ass.

Imagine; you go into your home and you can still hear the hum of his bike's engine from outside. He's still sitting in fron of your house in complete shock. That is... until you hear a loud but muffled "Yes!" from outside.

Fuck. How can someone so pathetic be so damn hot at the same time? You couldn't wait until the second date.

🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[netherfeildren]

How to Endure Ardor:

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; QZ Joel Miller; I'm saying this, but the setting is sort of ambiguous anyways, Stream of consciousness, Character Study, Alternating POVs; PIV sex; The troubles and toils of breaking up and then making up with a fucked up old man; Uncaring Joel; Mentions of painful sex; Toxic relationships or situationships or whatever you want to call it; I think I'm addicted to the idea of a Joel who'll never love you and I should probably see a doctor about it

A/N: she remembers how to write, who'd of thought!

Word Count: 1.3K

Read on AO3

This is a lesson:

“Tell me again,” she says, and it’s a begging.

A begging like what? Something that carries shame and smallness in the shape of it. Stay a little longer. It humiliates him for the wretchedness it pulls from him. Joel, please. Seeping blood the color of her supplication. Please, she says, please. And who else says please to him anymore? Who asks him for anything anymore but her? The only ones who ever had are long past and gone, and he can’t even barely remember they were ever really there to ask anything of him to begin with—can’t remember what it feels like to owe someone something and want to give it to them in a way that will actually make him. 

Tell me what again? That I want you? That I’ll stay? That I love you? I’ll come back, he says instead, the only thing he can promise and keep. And he wonders if it humiliates her too, the way he lies, the way he runs, the way he swears, the way he always comes back and comes back but never returns with the things she needs. A humiliation just like it is a begging. 

The thing they have: it’s strange, fickle, honest in its lies, very, very ugly. An ugliness that is shocking in a world gone to rot already. The sky doesn’t shine anymore and they bask in it. 

But also, and, the thing they have: it’s physical, saving.

This is obvious too, even if only to them.

He slides inside and you’re what? Hot and wet and slick, and—yes, a thing like a dream, but still only a thing. Something to have, something close to desire, but not quite, more like biological want. Woman turned possession. In his mind this is an excuse, a reason, a begetting. Like, what—like what? Like when you want a thing very badly but it is very bad for you, and you need to make up any excuse to have it, lie and lie and lie—to your mother, your best friend, the mirror—a begetting like that. Easy to understand only if you’ve been there. 

It started simple, it started like nothing, it started like the first time you meet someone and you know they’ll matter, you know they’ll mean something. So it started like what? Like a lie. 

Shifts at the QZ, long and toiling and reminders of the sort of life that died in an outbreak of monsters, only if for how unlike that past it was. Humans or fungus or—

—men who hurt—you, men who refuse your love, Joel Miller.

The crutch of your age, of you being weaker or smaller or in need, him being easily felled, wooed, easily conquered by something young and given without a try because there was never the opportunity for trying before. 

Now, it is like this: you take my cock and you take my come and you take my nothing, and I give so little and yet you still find a way to take and take and take, leech of a girl, dream of a girl, hungry. And with the excuse that it’s only in a way you contrive for your own self. But in the end, what does that make you? What do I make you into? 

These are the things he asks himself. 

Perhaps she goes away for a time, tries the route of escape, of variety. But when she inevitably comes back because addiction is riddled always in the same sorts of ways: did you try different bodies? Did you try different flavors and sounds? Did you look for me in all of them? 

The answer is usually yes.

At reunion’s turn: he rolls her over to face her, Joel, damp and panting and trying to be something—perhaps better, more honest—after a season of variety and honest attempts and shut eyes. He’s so hard for her, always is. 

Again: he slides inside and you’re what? His, undeniably. Not yours. Something to want but not desire because it’s too romantic a notion, and yes, there’s a difference even if he can’t put into words what that difference specifically is. Body and heart, perhaps, definitions that differ between disparate anatomical parts or levels of deniability. 

Nothing either of you have ever been able to put into words when lust and love aren’t things you can even say out loud for the shame of them, even if they exist within said same anatomy. 

You come together, the season passed, the separation passed but still kept at hand for the next time the closeness becomes too much. 

“Tell me again,” she says, and this time he remembers what she’s asking for.

“I fucking missed you, baby. Missed this pussy.” Because he can’t say it’s her heart he missed. Because Joel Miller does not have honesty in his arsenal. 

He spreads you wide, knee to shoulder so it hurts and pulls, so it’ll be sore and reminding tomorrow. The slap of his pelvis against the back of your thighs is obscene, wet and lewd, a string of girl cum keeping you connected, such togetherness, curve of your ass to the root of his cock—the two of you are together again. 

You know what I thought, when I tried to go away, you say. He doesn’t want to know, but he doesn't tell you so either, only slides in again, the mouth of your womb right there, threatening. I’m never going to feel like this again, and I hate how certainly I know that. He wonders if the unsaid part is that he’s the recipient of that feeling, the hate. 

He wonders if the pinch inside him is hurt. He wonders if the throb is love. 

All he says because he can’t say the rest is, I missed you, I missed you, and if he could look himself in the mirror—something that’s twenty years past lost—he’d ask: are you alright? Just tell me you’re okay. And it sounds in your own voice and with your own care and the feel of your own warmth. Is there anything I can do?

Other times, he sees himself through your own eyes, and then he knows for certain that the throb is love 

So he makes up for lost time, hard—and if it was a thing he knew how to be— loving. Mouth to cunt first, primed and soft and begging, making you come again and then another once more, then inside of you. Slow, splitting you open, red cunt like a wound, balls slapping wet, pulling out to watch the gape of the space he’s carved for himself. His cock is so hard and missing you something desperate. And he’s reminded of what it is to really miss something in a way he hadn’t been in twenty years of apocalypse, he’s forced to realized that it’s been so long since he’d had something to love that he’d not realized the feeling of missing that long past someone had gone away, only faint memory remained. 

Violent, is what this makes him after that realization—thrusts turning hard and punishing. How dare you give yourself to me? How dare you then take yourself away? You come around him again, the gift of your orgasm. How dare you not be able to accept the little I’m able to give when I’m trying so desperately fucking hard to give you even just this? 

He fucks you mean, he fucks you in the way of a man who doesnt know how to say the things he needs to say, in a way that’s confusing, that could make a less discerning woman feel only the hurt. 

But then again, you know him.

Fucks you in a way that is a little bit like love.

And so, amidst all of it, there is an honesty amongst the lies. A truth unspoken that they both know—I’ll come back because I need you, because you’re the only one who can give me the things I'm not strong enough to ask for out loud. 

You’re not sure which of the two of you is the one saying it.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[i-will-cry-you-a-river]

Kinda continuation of this fic about this idea.

So.

He might have been slightly wrong about his assessment.

In his defense, Proud Immortal Demon Way was a stallion novel with lots of (bad) hetero papapa. Who would have thought that just by transmigrating a gay person in the universe would make everything more fruity, changing the whole genre?! (Okay, two gay people. Turns out Airplane was gay too. Suddenly, everything made so much sense after that revelation.)

(It was embarrassing to think back of that revelation. Even if it led him to his first boyfriend.

Especially because it led him to his first boyfriend.

Oh boy. Even thinking about it makes him want to dig himself a cushy little hole to bury himself. His first boyfriend. Shen Qingqiu was still too thin faced for this. To even remember how shameless Shang Qinghua was.

“Bro. Brooo! I'm gay. Why do you think My King is like that?!

“What?!” Shen Qingqiu was shocked. Sure, it was always a bit suspicious that Luo Binghe’s right hand man was still alive even though he was gorgeous, but to be the writer's perfect man? That explained so much…

“Yeah! He is like, my dream man! Gorgeous, a cold beauty, so mean and cruel, yet caring and loyal to those who deserve… I'm so weak for this type of men. Men who could step on me and I would thank them for it…” Shang Qinghua was embarrassing with his dreamy little sighs. And- were those stars in his eyes?! Was he drooling?!

Shameless! Utterly shameless!

But that description…

“Is that why Luo Binghe was like that too? Do you want my sweet lotus to step on you?! You shameless pervert!”

A snort was his answer.

“L-O-L. Of course you would think of Luo Binghe. No. I mean, yes, of course, but I wasn't thinking of my son.” There was an uncharacteristically calculating look in Shang Qinghua’s eyes. It was oddly attractive, not that Shen Qingqiu noticed it. Nope. He definitely did not notice it.” Can't you think of someone else that could be described as such?”

“No, not really. Gorgeous and beautiful, yes, many, but… Cold? Hm. I mean…” he trailed off. Shen Qingqiu - the OG - was a cold beauty. But he was a despicable scum villain, with no loyalty to anyone. And “caring”?! Hah! No way!”

“The original good was gorgeous and mean and cruel… but definitely not caring and loyal! Is it really a male character?”

“Bro.” The condescence was dripping from that word. “O-M-G, bro. How can you be so smart, yet so dense at the same time?! I'm talking about YOU!”

“...”

He?

They just looked at each other, one behind his facepalm, the other blue screening.

“Wait. What?!”

And that was how the talks about their relationship started.)

He would have preferred if he had a working System that notified him of such changes, instead of finding it out like how he found out.

[Host did not ask 乁⁠༼⁠☯⁠‿⁠☯⁠✿⁠༽⁠ㄏ]

Hmph.

But it was great! Life was great! Everything was great!

“Piss off you halfbreed!”

Except for when it was not.

“What? Is Liu-shishu jealous of this discipline? This is my time with Shizun, so you piss off!”

Shen Qingqiu sighed, and hiding behind his fan, he resisted the urge to facepalm. Honestly, his boyfriends…

“If this master's shidi and discipline do not learn how to drink tea together peacefully, this master will visit the Sect Leader instead. This master is sure Zhangmen-shixiong would be pleased with the unscheduled visit.”

“SHIZUN!” cried his sticky discipline - the Emperor, really. Fucking protagonist halo - in outrage. “No, Shizun can't do this! This is this discipline’s time with Shizun!”

“Shen-shixiong!” Huffed Liu Qingge as well. His boyfriends were so dramatic, honestly…

He sighed again. A repeating act when he spent his time with these two.

He wouldn't want it anyway else, though. These two were his dramatic brutish idiots.

“Come here,” he opened his arm, and Luo Binghe immediately threw himself into the hug. Liu Qingge was slower, more resistant, as if the little tsundere didn't like these hugs, but at Shen Qingqiu’s raised eyebrow, he leaned into the hug with more dignity.

It's okay, shidi, this master will not tell anyone that you are a big softie who loves cuddling with your shixiong and shizi.

“Would Shizun leave us for the Sect Leader?” sobbed Luo Binghe into green robes.

This needy protagonist…

“Leave? No. But you know that there has been… talks… between this master and Zhangmen-shixiong. The Sect Leader is… well. The thing between this master and Yue Qingyuan is different. There are too many misunderstandings and a burdening past between us. It is a slow process. Don't be so jealous, okay? This master… This master cares for you. For both of you. All of you, really…”

And wasn't that a mindfuck. He transmigrated as a virginal disaster gay, whose main goal in his second life was to hug the protagonist's golden thighs to survive, and there he was now, having a literal harem of gorgeous, hypercompetent men. Like- how? How the fuck?!

System, explain this!

[Since the protagonist Luo Binghe is not open to have a harem, the task was assigned to-]

Okay, okay, okay! I know!

Fucking hell.

It was still so weird that the “harem owner” halo was transferred to him. Not to Shang Qinghua - though he also has another boyfriend so he had two people who would gladly step on him -, not to Liu Qingge - who had a frenemies-to-lovers-by-proxy kinda relationship with Luo Binghe -, not even to the Luo Binghe-like Xiao Gongyi - who literally sent an application form to Shen Qingqiu's current partners to apply as a new harem member, WTF?! -, but to him! Shen Yuan!

Wild.

“It would be better for your health, if you'd finally allow Mu Qingfang to court your, but at least it is not the mutt’s snake of a cousin…” Liu Qingge grunted, still salty about that time when he was late to “save” Shen Qingqiu and Zhuzhi-lang “saved” him instead. Shen Yuan still maintained his opinion that knew what he was doing and he was not a damsel in distress, needing a strong man to save him!

He cleared his throat. “Uh… about that…”

“SHIZUN!”

“SHEN QINGQIU!”

The two shouts of dismay were expectable, as was the silent communication between the two lovers-by-proxy. Now the two had a common enemy, which he should probably discourage if he wanted his new pet to stay alive, but… He would not. The two needed to bond, the UST between them was killing Shen Qingqiu, and his slippery little snake was great at surviving. He would be fine.

Shen Qingqiu's sanity, on the other hand, was not.

No matter… who needed sanity, when he had a harem full of violate, powerful, gorgeous men who - against all reason - loved him.

And he loved them in return.

Life was good!

[Host is welcome! Please, rate your experience with a five star review!]

Fuck off!

[dex0s]

SHOOTING STARS

Male reader x zhongli

You and zhongli were inseparable, swans if one of you guys passed the other would follow and that’s exactly what happened. So when your death came so did zhongli’s or Morax I should said. Of course the old dragon was sad his mate was gone so he tried to move on. He tried with so many people and the closes relationship he had that reminded him for your guy’s relationship was with this ginger male but yet it still felt wrong.

Then when he met the traveler and their travel partner he started to feel happy again yet of course that one piece was missing. So when the traveler asked him if he want to be on his team the old dragon happily accept. And during his travels he met some new people and old friends. He was enjoy his time until he saw it. The shooting stars and that can only mean one thing… your back.

When you opened your eyes you were confused. Why are you alive you thought you died…didn’t you? Has you looked around your surroundings you found out you were stuck in a crystal like rock. As you touch the crystal rock it opens then you step out and see your in a crater. ’how the hell im I going to get out of this’ you ask yourself.

After thinking for some time you decided to rock climb…that was a fucking horrible idea good news your out the crater, bad news you feel like shit. Damn how weak is your body you asked yourself while getting up shaking your head to get the imaginary dirt off your head. . . .“Alright im thirst” you started walking in a a direction in hopes of finding water.

You thought of how good it would feel to drink water and how you mouth wouldn’t be dry like the desert or your lips would be smooth like a babies bums. I felt like you were walking for hours (when it been 5 mins, you lazy dragon…) Hey! I heard that! (Oh shush and get back to the story) anyways you turned to head a different direction but you saw it! WATER! You ran like someone was chasing you and put your whole entire head into the water to take a sip…as you were enjoying your water suddenly you got pulled into a hug.

“My baby, your back home” A deep voice called from behind you. You look down to the hands around your waist and see white and gold ring… you know that ring but who is this person. You turn your head around to see the man’s face. “…Morax..” you desperately called, “Yes my dearest,” he answers but before you can respond he interrupt you, “you look sleepy baby how about we go book a room and we can talk what we can do once we get there, okay.” You nodded your head and you two started to walk to the Wangshu Inn.

“So-“”You know I have been waiting and waiting your for you come back to me dearest” The older dragon started to hungrily look at you.” And it made me very sad” he got front of you and rubbed his hands over your body, exploring every inch of it. “You have such a beautiful body my love” Zhongli whispered lovingly in your ear. He pick you up and put you on the bed, “I think I deserve a treat for waiting patiently dont you think?” He asked you, you were still in shock and mindless nodded. 

You could feel something large and hard against your ass then suddenly you hear a rip and coldness hit your bottom half.”Wait! Why don’t we just talk instead” you were in shock because you know Morax the ruthless god but always gentle with you. So it shocked you that he was being rough with you. “We can talk later right now I need to fill you up with my eggs” He licked at your earlobe and started to rub his cock against your hole spreading the precum too have a “easy entrance.”

With no preparation or stretching he forcefully entered his dick in your ass. Luckily the precum helped a little bit but it still hurts. You let out a painful cry and started to struggle, “Shh I know, I know it hurts but breathe with me and it will feel so m-much better” he started to take deep breaths and wait for you to join in.

You joined in and gave him the ok to move. When he started to move he felt like he was in celestia. You hole was tight and hot, plus you fit to him perfectly. This is why your his mate and no one else. Only his and that is how it’s going to stay. As you moan zhongli just spits complements at you while pounding in you like a animal in heat.

As zhongli drunkenly continues to pound in your ass you start to feel a knot coming up.”C-com~A-hh~ing” you spilled out, tears coming out your eyes. Zhongli wraps his hand around your cock and starts to milk it, “C-cum with me dear~” just as he finishes the sentence you both cum. You can felt the hot cum in your ass as your legs give out. “You did so good baby, so good plus now you’re hold my eggs” he smiles and mouths you a good night as you eyes close.

I miss you so much and now I won’t let you go again.

I do apologize for this not coming out sooner. I got sick and I wasn’t feeling the best. but I hoped it’s okay

[alpacalypse141]

Chaos duo Swagger and Gromsko COD Headcanons

Warning: None

In the beginning everyone mispronounced Swagger original call sign all the time. After the third time he quickly give up correcting people and stick with it. They call him Swagger because it's easier to pronounce and the closest thing in speech they can say.

When Gromsko introduced himself for the first time after hearing his first and last name they didn't let him finish and say "You're Gromsko from now on." and it wasn't negotiable so no one know why sometimes Swagger call Gromsko "Kostek" or "Bones"

His colleagues from Grom knowing Swagger past in France given him a nickname "Szwagier" (Brother-in-law) and they treated him as one.

The deeper, more symbolic meaning behind it is that after he came back to Poland from France he reunited not only with his people but with Poland itself. Not only a piece of land but a mother, lover and a soulmate. Accepting this nickname he made peace with himself and the way of life in Poland.

He's new brothers not only welcomed him with bread and salt and additional vodka but made sure he felt at home introducing him to various traditions he missed during his stay in France. Some of them were shocking and most left him hungover but overall he was happy knowing he finally belong somewhere.

The funnier version is that one night out with the team he was so drunk he flirted with not only his girl friends from unit but with Gromsko who wore a pink wig thinking he's a girl too. At the end of the night he even proposed to him. He's still denying it to this day. When Swagger gets to annoying instead of typical shut up Gomsko call him his husband with a smirk on his face and it always work.

Of course when Gromsko found out what they call him in english he laughed at it earning a punch in the vaccine but it didn't prevent him from telling his friends in Grom so they can tease him a little too.

Whatever they meet Gromsko make sure he doesn't forget his language so he only speak to him in Polish earning weird looks from people that don't understand. Of course they make fun of them speaking shit that doesn't make sense and sounds like gibberish to others. They even question if it's real language. They will never know.

Gromsko often fell urge to take care of Swagger. After all "All Poles are one family" and he take it very seriously. Even when he know Swagger is very talented and capable soldier he can't help but to think he still need guidance in the Polish ways called "*sztuka kombinowania" that make them unexpected and unpredictable.

From Swagger perspective he's the one that's voice of reason in this duo and say "What the fuck, bro?!" when Gromsko tell him his another brilliant idea "I know I'm a genius! Anyway next we will go to the kitchen and steal all...""There's MORE?!""YES!" "This is the most surreal and idiotic plan I have ever heard from you this week and it's only monday" "Shut up and listen." "..." "Trust me we're Polish it will work." is there something more beautiful than brothers love?

*Sztuka Kombinowania - The art of (It's hard to translate English doesn't have this word. It's kind of depending on the context it's meaning is to coming up with solutions to the various problems or how to do something in unique way. Can be good or bad thing)

If someone will be interested in reading more I will make part 2 were I'll tell more about how Gromsko got his call sign and a few story of their colleagues from Grom.

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 31

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: I keep adding the amount of words and then making edits on tumblr and the words are never accurate. At this point either read or don't.

Masterlist

You guys are not ready for this. I wasn't ready for this. It took 31 parts to get here and I still kinda think it's too soon.

Welp. Anyway.

When I get back to the bus station, it's too late to catch the final bus, and you're not answering your phone.

I don't know how to get a cab in this fucking country, so I have to walk five miserable miles back to the AirBnB. Fucking fuck. It's dark and it's raining and there are no street lights, because most of the walk goes through the fields. Shit fuck shit.

When I finally get back, I want a shower, and I want to sleep forever.

And you are sitting on the couch, your knees pulled to your chest.

The TV is not on. You are not reading a book. You are facing the front door, waiting for me.

But whatever it is, I can't react, because I don't know anything and why are you looking at me like that? You're just staring at me. You don't say anything. It's getting a little creepy.

I can tell right away, just from the look on your face, that you've already gotten the news. But what have you heard? I made it look like an overdose, but I don't know if you were aware your mother had a drug problem. You never made it sound like she did. Maybe you think she killed herself on purpose.

Or maybe you don't think anything at all. Maybe you're just heartbroken.

You have not been crying. Are you in shock?

“Are you okay?” I ask, hanging up my coat casually because I don't know anything. I just came from Amsterdam, where I walked around and looked at old buildings and I don't have any fucking pictures to back that up.

You don't answer.

“It's sure pouring down out there,” I say. “I need a shower and a change of clo–”

“Why?” you interrupt.

I turn to you.

“Well, I'm cold.”

“Why did you kill my mother, Joe?”

What?

“What?”

“I didn't want you to do that,” you continue. “You can't have possibly thought I would ever want you to do that.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head. “Your mom's dead?”

“Don't do that,” you say. And the thing is, you don't sound angry. You don't sound any particular way. We could be talking about the weather but you say: “don't act like you didn't do it.”

“I didn't– I don’t know what you're talking about.”

I try to sound worried and confused, but even I can tell I'm failing at that particular tone. There's too much panic to convey anything else.

“You follow me,” you say. “You break into my place. You steal my stuff and you think I don't notice. At first I try to distance myself from you but it's not like you're as bad as what I’m used to and I actually like you, so I get over it and I just let you. I mean, it's not like you're actually dangerous, right?”

This is not good.

“But then I complain about Jasper, and he turns up dead. And I think… surely not. The guy had a problem. Surely my boyfriend didn't kill him.” You stand up. You're angry now.

I'm scared for us, (Y/n).

“And I ignore it. Like I ignore all of it. And I fall in love with you.”

“(Y/n)–”

“But then I get back to this country,” you say. “And Mitch. Fucking Mitch! And I think… I think to myself. There's no way Joe hurt Jasper but if he did–”

“Listen to me.”

“If he did!” you shout, and somehow you've walked up to me and you're poking me in the chest and you're right in my face. You're crying now, but you're so angry. I have never been this terrified. “I mean, I didn't think you would! I left my phone out knowing you'd check it and I thought: no way, right?” You cackle. “But yes, yes you did. And the worst part? I suspected it and I thought you might and I let it happen anyway.”

“You need to calm down.”

“And what do I do? I ignore it! I tell you the whole story like you didn't already know all of it–”

“I didn't!”

“–and I pretend I don't know that you killed him and I lie to the cops for you and you killed him. You fucking killed Mitch–”

“Stop!”

You slam against the wall.

No, you don't just slam against it, I push you. My hands are on your wrists beside your head and you're struggling. What am I doing? I don't want to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you.

But you are so angry. I let you go and I try to step away, but you follow me, slapping at my chest.

“I didn't want you to kill her! Not her! Not her!”

You could hurt me, if you wanted to. You're not weak. But this is the worst you're doing and you want me to calm you down. I just don't know how. Not without hurting you, or putting you in the cage for a while - which is obviously not an option right now.

“(Y/n),” I say. “Please.”

And I'm holding you again, except holding is the wrong word because you are against the wall and I've got your arm twisted and I am pressing your head sideways against the grainy paint. That's going to leave a mark. Stop. stop!

“You can't just go on a fucking murder spree anytime somebody upsets me!” You shout. You are too loud. “What if I have a fight with Nadia? Or my grandparents? Or my boss doesn't give me a raise–”

“I would never hurt Nadia. She's your best friend.”

“You killed my mother!”

“She was ruining your life!”

We fall silent and you're breathing too loudly, you might start hyperventilating if I let this go on.

But what do I say? There's nothing to say. I've just admitted everything to you, and…

“You knew,” I say. My grip slackens, and you could pull loose but you don't. “How did you know?”

“I saw you following me,” you whisper. “And my landlady saw you go in after some guy came to check for a leak, or something, I don't know.” You pause. Clear your throat. “It seemed logical to assume you were the one taking my shit.”

“You didn't say anything.”

I let you go. I step back again. You turn, pressing your back against the wall.

“I didn't care, Joe.” You close your eyes, press the palms of your hands against them like you can somehow shut out the sight of me. “What's some stuff? What's a look at my phone? What's wanting to know where I am or what I'm doing? I'm in love with you. You could just ask. What does it fucking matter?”

You're in love with me, present tense. I want to hold on to that, but what if you only say it that way out of habit?

“And Jasper,” you say. “I mean… I didn't actually think… I thought I was a sick, fucked up person for even allowing the thought to come to mind.”

“You left your phone out so I'd see Mitch's texts?” I ask. But what I think is: did you manipulate me into killing your stalker for you?

“The tiniest, tiniest part of me thought you would see those texts and– and–”

But you can't even say the words.

You didn't manipulate me, (Y/n). At least not consciously.

“And I felt so guilty after,” you add. “I didn't want to know.”

I forgive you.

“He was a monster,” I say. “He deserved it. If you wanted me to kill him, I wouldn't blame you.”

You glare at me.

“He was sick. You can't just say he deserved to die. I mean, God, Joe. When he stalks me he's a creep, but when you do it, it's just fine and dandy?”

“I don't send you thousands of texts! I don't threaten to hurt you if you don't speak to me for five minutes!” I realize I'm shouting, and lower my voice. “I would never hurt you.”

“Just everyone I love?”

“No,” I say, firm. “It's not like that.”

“Then what's it like, Joe?” you ask, tearing up again.

“I–”

“Tell me something that makes this okay, that makes killing my mother–” Your voice breaks. “Please tell me how it's okay.”

“I… can't,” I say.

I have my reasons, (Y/n). But even if I thought you could really, truly understand them, I don't want you to. I don't want you to have to face the darkness I face every day.

I don’t want to break you like that.

“You can't do this,” you say softly. “You can't. I need to be able to talk to you when I feel– things, without worrying you're going to…” You stop.

“What are you saying?” I ask slowly.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you say.

“I understand.”

“Never. She's– She was my mother, and I loved her so much and she's gone. Because of you.”

“I'm sorry,” I say.

“No. Don't even start. I want no apology or explanation or justification from you. I don't want to know. I don't want to know how you did it, or why, or to who else. I don't want to know if you liked it or if you would do it again or if you want to do it again.”

And I am. Not for killing her, but for how you feel about it. I never wanted you to feel such pain. I only wanted to save you from it.

“I didn't like–”

“I don't want to know,” you stress. “And you can't do it again. I mean not– Not to people I know. Even if I hate them. Even if I ask you to in those exact words. Not ever.”

“I'm not asking you to look away,” I say.

I'm not, (Y/n). I don't want you to.

“Then what do I do?” you ask, coldly. “Do I break up with you? Do I run from you screaming? And what will happen to me if I do?”

“Nothing.” I need you to believe that.

“I don't believe you, Joe.”

So that's where we stand, then.

You know everything about me and you are afraid of me. But you're not walking away.

It's all I've ever wanted: for someone to see me exactly as I am, and stay. My mother saw my darkness and left me. Candace saw my darkness and tried to run away.

But you're here. You're looking me in the eyes, and you're staying.

Why does it hurt?

[alessiathepirate]

Far Cry 5

SEE NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL: John Seed x fem!reader

Summary: She wasn't blind. She really wasn't. She just chose to love all of him.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: mentioned and/or referenced torture and/or abuse, religious references (come on, it's the Seed family), swearing, reader isn't the Deputy

•••

"Fucking Hell!" Mary May looked at her in surprise, both shock and betrayal clearly seen on her face. "You love him..."

After her words, the whole Spread Eagel turned quiet. Pastor Jerome looked away and Nick seemed more than upset.

She felt her cheeks burn red, but not from shame - never from shame. It burned, because it was true.

"Holy shit..." Mary May cursed again, still in disbelief. "No shit you can't see how crazy that whole family is! You don't want to see it!"

"I--" she began, but shut her mouth instead when she realized she has no idea what she should say.

"John Seed is fucking hurting people!" Mary May continued. "And you decided to just- I don't know-- love him?"

"Please, he's not that--"

"Not that bad? That's what you wanted to say?" Mary May pulled her shirt down to show her the scars what stayed behind after that quick tattoo removal. "Does this seem not that bad to you?"

She looked at the scars, then back at Mary May. She let go of her shirt, then pointed toward the door.

"You should leave..."

"Mary M--"

"Get out!"

So she left.

She left so she could continue to love John with all his flaws.

•••

As John wrapped a fluffy blue towel around her body after they finished their shared bath, she wondered how people could think of him as evil.

Sure, she knew John wasn't purely good - she could see the flaws, but then again is anyone out there perfect? She herself wasn't perfection, yet John chose to love her anyway.

She wasn't blind, she saw the issues he had - but she could also see the things others couldn't. Because John didn't want them to see those. But he allowed her to see all of him.

How could he be pure evil, when he was capable of loving her so gently, so honestly? When he was capable of touching her so softly as if she was made from the thinnest glass? When he liked to hum those old songs, when deep down he was so full of joy and love to give?

"You're being quiet." John suddenly stated as he stroked her wet hair. "What's going on in your head, sweetheart?"

A lot. A whole lot.

"Mary May..." she confessed with a shy, sad smile. "I know it shouldn't upset me, but she was my friend and I--"

John shut her up with a kiss so soft, she felt dizzy.

"She and all the others in Fall's End are blind. They know nothing, they see nothing. You can't do anything about it, so don't let it bother you; alright?"

She just nodded and pressed a kiss to his chest, right above his 'sloth' tattoo. By then she knew all of tattoos by heart. She'd trace them and kiss each of them - yet her favourite was the one that said 'yes'. It sat right above his stomach and each night when she rested her head on his chest, she'd follow the dark lines with her fingertips.

"I love you, John."

He liked to hear it a lot. He had to hear it a lot so he would believe that someone was capable of loving him. And she loved saying it, no matter the time or place.

"I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything." he kissed her forehead, a sign of affection he picked up from his brother, and gently stroked her cheek. "Now let's get you into some comfortable clothes, okay?"

She smiled up at him. "Can I wear your shirt?"

"Of course you can."

She knew John loved to see her in them - in his shirts, in his coat. It gave him a sense of belonging. That act alone made everyone know that he was hers and she was his.

John turned to grab a clean shirt and she followed his movements. Then her gaze was on his back, and her smile turned into a frown.

The scars were there, proving that the wounds he had recieved when he was young, once existed. She hated them - not because they were ugly, but because ugly and deformed people gave him those.

Fall's End wanted to talk about bad people? They should've started with the monsters who gave John those scars.

She stepped toward him, hugging him from behind and pressed a kiss to his spine. She felt him freeze from both shock and surprise. To John her touching those scars, that ugliness, was more intimate then anything they did - more intimate than confessing their love, than kissing, than making love... It meant she truly accepted all of him and loved him anyway.

"I never want to leave you, John."

His answer was a kiss so full of adoration and passion, she forgot how to breath. Her legs felt weak, while the butterflies in her stomach went insane. John wanted to hold every single part of her, and she didn't mind at all - because it just proved he'd never want to leave her either.

And later, when they were in bed, curled into one another, she knew that no matter what others said, how they tried to point out John's or her imperfections - to each other they were perfect.

[starysky1289]

hello!! i love your recent captain!vanessa x rookie!reader fic omg im on my knees for captain!vanessa omg <3 i was wondering if toxic!sorority!vanessa would ever receive pleasure from reader instead of giving it? if yes, could you do a fic about it? 👀 anyways hope you take care of yourself and keep urself safe!! <33

A/N: I have more Captain!vanessa on the way!!! It’s just in the oven rn. Also sorry if this one is a bit short, I’m getting back into the swing of writing fics. Hope it’s good for yall tho!!

Toxic!Sorority!Vanessa X Reader. Selfish.

TW: Toxic relationship, Guilt Tripping.

You lay on the bed with Vanessa, she sit besides you, braiding your hair, ranting about her day.

“ AND THEN Lily, fucking little slut. Practically BEGGED me for some coke on fucking campus!! Like in front of people! I know every one knows but Jesus! I can’t get arrested right now! “

You chuckled, scrolling through your phone as you listened. Sometimes all she needed was to let off a little steam. And you sat pretty and let her.

“ I’m still so fucking pissed. It’s been a day yn. “

“ I’m sure it has. “

“…that’s it? “

You glanced up, tilting your head slightly. She glared down at you, shaking her head.

“ your not going to make me feel better? “

“ oh uh- I’m sorry nessy…can I help anyways…?? “

“ your awful at comforting people ya know. “

“ you just usually…don’t care. “

She groaned, laying back in bad. You rolled over and shimmied up to her, wrapping arm across her.

“ well now I want comfort. Why are you acting like this is such a big deal yn! “

“ I-it’s not a big deal a-at all!! W-what do you want me to do Vanessa…? “

She hummed, thinking to herself. You knew she knew exactly what she wanted, but she wouldn’t tell you easily. She was tricky like that, you had to figure out how to crack her.

“ want me too…talk about my day? “

“ and take MY spotlight?? Selfish whore..”

“ n-no your right! Uhm…I can cook you something…? “

Vanessa let out another ‘ Hmph ‘ and rolled over face down in her pillows. You sighed, playing with her hair. You knew what she wanted, but you also knew she was going to be mean about it. But you’d rather her be mean than upset at you.

“ do you wanna…fuck me..? “

“…hm…no…I want you to fuck me~ “

“ what??? “

You sat up in shock, your eyes wide in confusion. She snickered and sat up besides you pulling you into her.

“ well..i just realized that you’ve never done it! And it feels like you’re being selfish…like you don’t love me…”

“ b-but I do love you Nessa! “

“ then prove it…and fuck me just as good as I do you~ “

You fiddled with your thumbs, you’d never even dreamed of fucking her before! She was always on top of you, and you ever dare say a word she’d drop you.

“ cmon, I’ll take these off, you know where the strap is, and you know what to for for foreplay~ “

You gulped, getting up and heading towards her vanity, stripping off your clothes and pulling out the pink strap. You examined the features, before slipping it on, tightening it around your hips and waist. Turning back, your heart nearly stopped when you saw her. Vanessa was just taking off her bra, laying nude on her bed; her skin almost glowed, her soft muscles rippling ontop of the woolen blankets.

“ cmon…get me ready yn~ “

You nodded, getting back on the bed and keeping your head between her legs, looking up at her before letting your tongue swim through her gentle folds. You immediately felt her legs crush between your head, keeping you in place.

“ that’s it…keep going yn..make me all nice and wet~ “

You nodded, or did the best nod you could trapped between two legs. You started a steady pace of laps through and around her folds, holding her waist to keep her somewhat under control.

“ cmon, i can fuck myself better with a table edge than you are, I thought you said you loved me! “

“ I domph! “

“ then prove it! Get up, roll me over, and fuck me. “

Vanessa growled, pulling your head up with your hair and throwing you to your knees. You quickly grabbed her waist and rolled her over. Her grasped her hips, aligning yourself with her hole, and slowly pushing yourself in.

“ fuck..I am small..I can’t believe I get you sobbing with this thing…”

You didn’t respond, only thrusting in, and slowly pulling out. You went red in the face, as your started your thrust pattern, in and out, just like Vanessa would.

“ come on. Harder! Is this anyways to fuck someone?? “

“ I-I’m trying Nessa! “

“ not hard enough. You said you loved me, show me you love me then!

This time you thrusted in harder, getting a groan out of her. You had lost the pattern, now just trying to get in as deep as possible. Sweat began to bead down your forehead as you continued, throwing her legs over your shoulders to hold you up.

“ I used to ride toys better than this, I could pay any girl in this fucking house to fuck me better. You want me to? Leave you here and sleep with a better girl? “

“ n-no vanessa!!! I l-love you!! “

“ say it like you mean it. “

“ I-i love you Vanessa!! “

“ again. “

You were panting now, struggling to keep going. The strap was hitting your puffy clit, making you whine as you got ever so closer to your orgasim.

“ I love you Vanessa!! “

You slammed in deeper a few times, before finally finishing with one last thrust, colpasing onto her as you heard her whine.

“ I-I’m sorry…I-I’m so sorry I tried not t-to cum before you, I-i “

“ I came…don’t..tell anyone I did this…I-i don’t..ever cum this easy..”

Vanessa muttered, as you smiled softly, burrying your head in her neck.

“ get up. I’m going in the shower, are you coming? “

“ o-oh, yeah! “

“ good. I’ll take care of you in there~ “

You flushed, quickly sitting off Vanessa and slowly pulling out, tossing the strap to the side. Vanessa got up, stumbling her first few steps, before grabbing her robe that hung from her chair.

“ I’ll get it going…hurry up before I decide to start…”

“ alright…I love you Vanessa! I-I hope you had a good time…”

“….dont get ahead of yourself…”

You sighed as she left, grabbing your robe from her closet and getting ready to follow her out. She was just embarrassed, you told yourself, who wouldn’t be! But, despite everything, you followed her out of the room and into the shower, giving yourself to her again. Just like you always did to make her happy.