#i have so many feelings about him after reading maximum

[villtura]

wolfwood

[fastandcarlos]

Stolen My Heart : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: sneaking around the garage was only going to last so long, especially with lando norris lying around

You wanted to say after so many years you were used to being the baby of McLaren, but truthfully, it never got easier. You loved your job, you loved snapping photos, filming content, and just being around the team…one of them in particular.

You were always promised yourself never to tied down whilst at work, you wanted to remain professional and keep things friendly. But then you met Oscar. The guy who somehow managed to change all of that for you.

What started out as friendly conversation, soon became a little bit more. He’d pull you into a corner when no one was looking and kiss you, or hold against your waist to reassure you whenever you felt that something wasn’t quite going right. You were the one that constantly made him look good, that resulted in thousands of fans losing their minds every time something Oscar-related was posted.

People were used to seeing the two of you together, but as the more time passed, the more Oscar liked to test the waters. Unlike him, you were terrified that if something got out your job would be at risk, you loved Oscar, but you loved working for McLaren too. There were moments when he’d try a little too hard, resulting in you having to be firm with him, pushing him away out of fear.

“Babe, I wouldn’t do this if anyone was around,” Oscar told you as you shot a glare in his direction. Your head shook at him, trying your best to ignore the look of desperation that Oscar stared back at you with.

With one person in particular you’d had a couple of near misses. Lando. The one person you knew would tease you like you could never believe if he found out about your relationship. If Lando ever found out, then you knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the garage found out too.

Lando had his suspicions though. For the past couple of months, he’d noticed how much bigger Oscar’s smile was, or how much more excitable he was for race weekends at the paddock. Every time Lando tried to push and find out what, or who, had caused his new enthusiasm, Oscar would just brush it aside as nothing. Deep down, he wanted to scream out your name, but the urge to protect you always pushed that feeling back down again. However, the more that Oscar pushed him away, the more Lando wanted to pull him right back in again.

It didn’t take long before Lando started to read between the lines more, he’d notice how Oscar would always ask for you to walk and photograph him, how he’d sit up straighter whenever you joined them for a team meeting, or how he’d always compliment your work the most when the two of them were deciding which pictures to post.

Lando opted not to tease Oscar about his findings, knowing that eventually the right time would present itself for him to finally get out of Oscar what he was hoping to here, with maximum satisfaction too. His plan was almost working too until one night Lando went out to find you for some help with a post on his social media, rushing around the paddock to try and find you before the sun set.

“Y/N?” He called out as he noticed a figure that looked like yours, picking up his pace in order to catch up to you. There was only a split second between him arriving and you moving, pushing away at something.

“Hey,” you smiled, straightening out your shirt, glancing at Oscar who stood beside you.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lando quizzed, looking between the two of you, noticing the anxious expressions that you both wore, how uptight you both were stood as you tried to calm your blushing cheeks.

“You are actually,” Oscar suddenly spoke up, leaving you stunned. “I was trying to enjoy the sunset with my girlfriend, is that too much to ask for?”

“Wait…you two are like together properly?” Lando grinned, brushing his hand through his hair. “I always thought the two of you were just crushing, like a pair of teenagers back in school.

“Lando, shut up,” you whispered, desperate for something, someone, to take you away.

“No way!” Lando giggled, pushing against Oscar’s shoulder. Neither of you quite knew what to say or do as Lando jumped around in front of you, unable to hide the wide smile that was on his face.

“Reckon you could go away now?” Oscar quizzed, turning Lando around and pushing him back in the direction that he just came from.

“Well, that’s me sacked in the morning,” you sighed, feeling an arm drape across your shoulders as Oscar pulled you in tightly against his side.

“He’s Lando, he’s only messing with us,” Oscar tried his best to reassure you, pulling you close enough to kiss against the top of your head.

“But what if-“ you began, only to find yourself cut off by Oscar pressing a kiss against your lips, cupping either side of your face to keep your eyes firmly on him.

“I won’t let it happen, there’s no chance. Plus, you’re crazy if you think Zak will ever want to get rid of anyone as talented as you,” Oscar spoke, trying his best to reassure you.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, unable to clear the thought from your mind, filled with fear that this was the end of something. Your career. Or Oscar.

“I love you, it’s going to be alright,” Oscar calmly responded.

"But what if-" Before you had the chance to protest, he pressed yet another kiss against your lips, keeping you there for a few moments longer. It was a dangerous game with so many people passing by, but at this point, Oscar simply didn’t care.

“I know it might sound stupid, but trust me,” Oscar chuckled as he pulled away, “I know Lando, he might seem like a complete idiot…but he only is, partly.”

You took Oscar’s word and for quite a while it seemed to be true. Lando liked to mess with you both every now and then but he never risked properly exposing you both. He had his moments, and you had yours, hitting him or taking an unflattering photo of him any time he tried to reveal your secret. Like with him, Lando knew it was only a matter of time before you accidentally revealed yourselves to everyone else too.

As much as he tried to resist you, Oscar knew it was an impossible task. More than anything he wanted to celebrate those victories with you, but instead he had to remain professional, choosing to fist bump you in the paddock, and celebrate properly with you back at the hotel room.

One race when he was on the podium, you could barely contain your excitement, something that one person in particular picked up on in the garage.

“You could try and pretend like you’ve not just watched your boyfriend get P2,” a familiar voice whispered as they came up alongside you. “You’re not playing it very cool.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act in this situation,” you admitted, looking to Lando for a little bit of help to sort yourself out.

“Just say well done to everyone,” Lando instructed, stepping back as he noticed the people in the garage part as Oscar finally returned.

“And to him?” You quizzed, but Lando was already gone, leaving you stranded as Oscar came striding towards you.

A lump ran down your throat as you admired the trophy that was in his hands, suddenly feeling the attention of the whole garage was solely on you.

“I did it,” Oscar chuckled as he showed you the trophy before closing the distance between the two of you with a kiss.

You wanted to push away, remind Oscar of where he was, but he was like an irresistible force. You stood and kissed Oscar back, hearing a few cheers when the two of you pulled away a few moments later.

“Well, well, well,” Lando teased, smiling proudly knowing that you’d finally done what he knew the two of you would do, eventually.

“I’d love to say I’m surprised, but I don’t think anyone really is,” Zak chuckled, leaving you stunned as he threw his arm around Oscar’s shoulder.

“I had no idea!” Andrea called out, leaving everyone in fits of giggles.

“You’ve hardly been subtle, have you both?” Zak grinned, nudging against your side too as he tried to encourage you to smile and relax a little.

You weren’t quite sure what happened for the next couple of hours, between explaining yourself to everyone and celebrating Oscar’s win, you found yourself in a hazy bubble. It was only when the two of you sat out on the pit wall, all alone, hands intertwined with each other, that you took a moment to calm back down again.

“I always told you there was nothing to worry about, didn’t I?” Oscar whispered across to you, noticing you staring down at the track.

You knew deep down you never had to worry, if anyone was going to have your back, it was Oscar. You had completely stolen his heart, everyone around him constantly teased how they didn’t recognise him anymore. He was a changed man, completely besotted and in love with you.

The two of you stayed in a comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying the first time you were able to show each other any real affection and not look over your shoulders out of fear as to who was potentially watching you.

Not only had Oscar found himself winning with you, but what he had achieved on the track felt as good as a win too. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, struggling to believe that the life that he was currently living truly belonged to him.

“I never got to say it back to you earlier,” you hummed, watching as Oscar’s confused eyes looked back at you.

You whispered those three little words across to him, the same three words he had told you earlier that day when trying to comfort him. It was a big deal for you anytime you said it aloud, but with Oscar, you truly did mean it. He made you feel special, cared for, and loved like no one had ever made you feel before. He was one of a kind, in the best possible way.

With your words, Oscar squeezed your hand a little bit tighter as if to silently tell you that he felt the same way. You shuffled closer so that you could rest your head down against his broad shoulder.

“I’d love for someone to take a picture of us right now, but no one is as good as taking photos as you,” Oscar mumbled underneath his breath.

“I could set up a self-timer, find the right angle, make sure we’ve got the right lighting,” you suggested, much to Oscar’s satisfaction.

“That’s a good idea, I always share your photos, so it would be nice to share one of yours to be able to share you with the rest of the world too.”

“You really mean that?”

Oscar nodded back at you straight away, pulling out his phone and handing it across to you. It was something that he’d wanted to do for some time, but now more than ever, he was sure that now was the moment for the two of you.

“Make sure you get my good side,” Oscar joked as you jumped off of the wall and went to set up the photograph for him.

“Babe, all your sides are your good sides!”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[flokali]

𓂆 | Write for Gaza

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—#๋࣭. I love you, I Own you ; Part 3

Final part to the “ILYIOY” series, meant to tie up the story and finish telling what happens to Reader’s family, Reader herself, and Childe’s feelings about what he’s done.

Current word count: 600~ words • Estimated word count: 9k words

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—#๋࣭. Love Virus

Boothill fic where a pesky USB with a “love code” gets mistakenly used on him, as the doctor/programmer in charge with overseeing this mess – you find yourself the target of his newfound affection.

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You’re one of the last remaining people of your species, now seen as a luxury to be passed around to the highest bidder. In a twist of fate, Aventurine finds himself with the key – or price – to your freedom, although he never fancied himself a hero he doesn’t mind the way you look at him as your saviour.

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[artdnldsn]

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.

[ryescapades]

I am so hopelessly in love with Narumi 😩❤️ he’s such a dork

Could you maybe do Narumi taking us on a date please 🥺👉🏽👈🏽 it would be so cute to see him fumble over his words tryna be all tough while he’s hiding how much of a simp he really is.

a/n: was planning on posting this tmr but since its 500 followers day today, i gib yall narumi as a present 🫴 tqsm anon !! i hope i did your request justice tho

the fact that you’re dating narumi gen isn't a secret in the defense force, per se. it's just that you never really flaunted your relationship because the two of you aren't the type to overdo the pda that much.

though you'd argue that gen would immediately stick himself to your side if he so much as catches sight of you in his peripheral. but nevertheless, the most you two would be doing out in the open is just narumi wrapping an arm around your waist as you explain to him about the findings you'd made that day, professionalism still bleeding out of your mannerisms.

intimacy behind closed doors and away from prying eyes is always the sweetest, you'd learned (read: narumi just doesn't want people to see how much of a putty he'd been reduced to whenever he's with you. he has a reputation to uphold, after all).

hence seeing him suddenly and openly asks you out during office hours kind of brings everyone to an immediate stop.

"hey. get ready in ten."

that's all he'd said, after bursting through the operation room door and marching to where you're currently working. you try not to cringe at the way the other officers in the room stare curiously and in interest at the two of you.

"excuse me?" you blink. narumi repeats his statement, making you gape even wider in disbelief. "gen, i'm still working. and you're..." you quietly trail off, eyes questioningly roving over his figure that's still clad in his numbers weapon 1 suit.

he only stands straighter, the looming bayonet in his hand is held carefully so that it's not bumping against the tables and shelves around him. by his stubborn stance, you know you're not winning this one.

and thus, you find yourself at a small family restaurant in the nearest neighborhood located in the inlands of koto city, shoulders brushing together as you sit beside narumi who is now dressed in the usual defense force uniform (you guys will eventually have to go back to work in a few hours, sadly).

"you know... we've been together for months. why do you look like you're taking me to our first date?" you say out of nowhere, mindlessly staring as plates upon plates of delicious food are being served in front of you. your mouth waters at the sight.

oh, forgot to mention how red your boyfriend has been for the past thirty minutes. he barely even looked at you ever since the two of you left the headquarters, opting to hide his eyes under the foggy grey of his bangs.

narumi seems genuinely triggered by your question. "h-hah?! i don't look like that! what the hell are you talking about?! maybe you just couldn't stop looking at me because i'm so good-looking, huh? i knew it!" he gloats, trying to play it off but his hand grips the chopstick so tightly you're worried they might snap in halves.

"gen, i could feel you hesitating to hold my hand one too many times when we were walking earlier." you point out with a teasing smile, sending him into a frenzy of offended swears as you secretly eye the way the tips of his ears are tinted pink.

a wave of emotions rush through you as he continues to grumpily denies your claim, your chest suddenly feeling tight with how fast your heart is beating.

narumi's ramblings stop when you reach a hand out to tenderly hold his face, the other moves to run through his hair back to reveal the beautiful pair of rouge eyes that you've grown to love. "there’s my baby." you giggle.

it's like someone has turned up the dial on his internal embarrassment thermostat to maximum, his insides are almost set ablaze at your loving gaze. "w-what are you saying, you—!" blood shoots up to his cheeks, painting the soft skin a pretty shade of red.

saving himself from further humiliation, narumi pulls away from your touch and bites out, "start eating or i'll finish everything so you won't get to eat at all!"

you take note of the small adorable pout on his lips, and that each one of the food he shoves onto your plate is your favorite kind.

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[fandomrose]

Sunday - Love Hypnosis

Sunday hypnotises you (consensually) to relax you.

No spoilers.

No description of reader or readers troubles so project what you are personally struggling with as you see fit.

No angst just fluff. I thought this concept would be cute. I've seen many a yandere Sunday hypnotises you, and that's great but consider - consent and fluff.

(This isn't a jab, I too enjoy a yandere fic from time to time but I also want to see fluff and I haven't seen this done in a fluffy way yet.)

I don't know why I'm mildly obsessed with this man but I am. (Cough Cough, I read maximum ride as a kid and now I automatically fall in love with winged characters. Cough Cough.) I need him to hypnotise me please and thank you.

(I have a few fics in the works that I need to finish but I'm struggling.)

As usual enjoy. Love ya 💙

"Darling?" Came the light and airy tone of your beloved. Though there was a hint of worry in his voice as he took in your face down, slumped form. "Are you alright?"

He could tell very well that you were not alright. But he would coax an answer out of you one way or another. Though the only answer he received was a groan.

"Darling." He sighs but chuckles at your obviously aggravated self. "Allow me to help you." 

Your body goes limp as you let him move you from a sofa to your shared bed. "My darling. Tell me what's gotten into you."

He chuckles as you groan out a single word relating to your issues. "Life."

"Oh, my darling. You'll let me soothe you for the night won't you?" He only felt it was right after the many nights you had soothed him. 

Patient, kind, understanding. Three words that when asked by others what you think about each other, you'd both say about each other. A pure give and take without a scoreboard, that's how you operated. You were both busy or stressed for one reason or another so that's how things had to be.

The simple love you shared was enough most days but sometimes things went wrong.

Sunday had performed hypnosis on you before so he knew it worked but he'd never engage unless you agreed. You knew the question he asked meant he wanted to soothe you via hypnosis, and with the state of your mind you would happily agree. 

"Please do." 

He wouldn't offer if he didn't have the energy you knew this, a rather large argument took care of that when he'd overworked himself then passed out after hypnotising you once and a medic had to be rushed in. Needless to say, you weren't happy with his carelessness. And seeing how upset you were he agreed to be more careful with his health.

You didn't want to think anymore so as you lay there looking up at him with your tired eyes and weary mind, he smiles. He caresses your face and hair before taking a deep breath and reciting that familiar chant.

"Oh triple faced soul, allow me to take hold of this one's mind and soothe them of all worries and burdens. The word Beloved will be the catalyst for control."

With that simple incantation your mind belonged to Sunday for a short while. Your mind felt fuzzy and slow but not unpleasantly, the way it would when you achieved complete relaxation. 

Like he had done before, he would take you through your nightly routine with this hypnosis.

"Beloved, follow me to to the bathroom." He helped you up while your body automatically followed his words and stood up. 

Walking was about the most complex task you could complete, he wasn't Xipe Themself, so his power only went so far. 

"Beloved, lift your arms." 

You do as told and he aids in stripping you, ready to be cleaned. 

"Beloved, sit on this stool and close your eyes." 

You again do as told his voice muffled through the layers of hypnosis, but soothing nonetheless. "I am going to wash your face first darling." He always narrates what he does before doing it as not to startle you.

You felt a cool, wet, cloth glide over your face and you can't help but sigh with satisfaction. You feel it gently caress your cheeks and softly rub your eyes tickle behind your ears. You hear the cloth being rinsed and wrung, the muffled sounds of the water soothing you further.

"I am going to wash your upper body now darling." And, as before, you feel the damp cloth glide over your neck and upper body, letting him move you has he sees fit. Soft humming coming from him lulls you deeper into his hypnosis. The cloth glides down and caresses your chest before moving to wash your back. You'd make sounds of relaxed satisfaction if you could but your exhausted body coupled with the hypnosis has made your brain devoid of any thought or control. Just how you want it. 

He moves back to the front of you with a new cloth. "Beloved, spread your legs, I need to clean you." 

Your body complies without hesitation and that's what he does, making sure to be extra gentle around this sensitive area. He is thorough but doesn't linger long this time, not wanting to spark anything in you this evening.

Standing to switch the cloth again, "I'm going to wash your legs and feet now darling." Still being as gentle as ever his hands and the cloth slowly makes their way down your legs massaging them as they go. A light massage is given to your feet as well before he finishes and pats you dry with a towel before he deems your body clean.

"Beloved, open your mouth wide." 

He orders next, your mind too fuzzy to think of what else could be doing. You hear more water then feel a hand on your chin. "I'm going to brush your teeth darling." Then light scrubbing of your teeth and tongue can be felt, he is thorough with this area too. Not wanting to be the reason you have cavities he takes his time. Not too long later he finishes with you. You can hear things being put away and muffled sounds of him walking around you, maybe inspecting you. Before he stops in front and, 

"Beloved, open your eyes and stand up. Its time to go to bed."

You're led back into the bedroom now that he is satisfied that you are clean. "Beloved, are you ready to sleep?" 

Compelled to answer, you do. "yes"

"Beloved, do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes"

"Good, let's get to sleep then shall we." 

The sounds of fabric and draws is all you hear for a moment before he guides you into bed with him. 

"Beloved, lay down." 

When he's satisfied you are comfortable You feel his soft skin against yours, the wings on his head lightly brushing your face in reverence before he pulls them back. It isn't often he blesses you with his naked body, the vulnerability gets to him at times. 

Once you've laid down and he's pulled you close he asked one more question.

"Beloved, are you ready to be released from hypnosis?"

"Yes"

As the words leave your lips he begins the incantation to remove his influence on your mind. 

"Oh triple faced soul, this one has completed this ones tasks and can now be freed from the shackles of my control with no burden."

Everything goes still as your senses return slowly, reacclimating you to reality. A few minutes pass of him softly stroking your head and neck while you come back to him.

"Thank you Sunday" a soft whisper conveying how grateful you are before you promptly pass out the exhaustion and relaxation hitting you full force as you melt into the bed and his arms.

"Oh my beloved, I'd do anything to see you happy and relaxed like this more often. I am grateful for all you do for me so it's only natural. I love you, so much my beloved."

He whispers to your sleeping self, pressing small kisses to your forehead, cheeks and nose. Watching the small twitches at the contact makes his evening and he feels like he too can finally relax.

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

[moirindeclermont]

5+ things I love about the Carriage Scene

also know as horny edition, I decline every responsability if "feelings" arise during the reading of this thread. Buckle up, folks! This is going to be a wild ride. Take a shot every time I use an innuendo for maximum results (don't, please)

1) The build up. Especially on rewatches, I do enjoy the momentum as it gets created. His confession, her "what" - I wrote about that moment "One word. Four letters. A word spoken so often it was laughable that *that* word could mean so much to her." The seconds before they kiss. Half of my fun is the build up.

2) His face when she touches him. I believe it was one of my first daily thread and it's so dear to me. The absolute devotion and pleasure that man is experiencing in that moment always send me to places. It's raw and uninhibited and he is just in the moment, his mind blank as he takes in her touch. He is a man starved and Pen it's his answer.

3) This scene is all about passion. There is no space for nerves or shyness, nothing is thought about or planned. It's just them, coming together for the first time, both their feelings acknoledged and reciprocated. They are both giving each other everything (I know many don't like it, but I think it's an appropriate song choice).

4) I sound like a broken record, but the nod, the consent, is so sexy to me. She doesn't know what's going to happen - my personal headcanon it's that she knew a very vague version of it but not the specifics - she just knows she trusts Colin to take care of her. And it spokes volumes about their connection, even at this early stage.

5) And talking about uninhibited, all the beautiful expressions and sounds that Pen makes (and Colin, if you listen to the version without music, 10/10 no notes). Thing is, we - real and modern people - are much more easily scandalized than they were at that time. She is just open about her pleasure and it's a detail that many people don't like because it's too much, too intimate, too personal, and I understand that. But I like it exactly for those reasons.

6) Their laugh and their kiss after they arrived at Bridgerton house. The softest, cutest touch. Their smile, basking in the moment they just lived. It makes my heart tremble, because even after everything changed, nothing really is changed. They are still friends.

7) The "what you are doing" when Colin is fixing her dress. The delivery of that line just strings my heart every time. She still can't quite believe it's happening and she still have doubts, so there is an underlayer of stress there that Nicola deliver so well.

8) What stands out it's their connection. It's not the steamiest scene ever shooted, but it's deep and for me it's intoxicating because of this. And I have to mention this lip bite because of reasons

Feel free to add your own. I'll go have a very very cold shower.

And as always if you want to ask for a specific 5+ things I love go to my Tumblr or my Ig @moirindc - you can ask about Bridgerton, IWTV, Buffy or Supernatural

[itsdeniini]

ENHYPEN IDEAL DATES - what would their ideal date with their partner look like ᰔᩚಎ

⌗ a tarot reading ᵎᵎ

Heeseung 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ lovers, empress, 6 of cups

Heeseung is a home buddy. He doesn't like going out of the house; he would rather arrange a date at home. He would invite his bae to watch movies/anime or play a game with them all the time. It's not excluded that he chooses this method to get as many "accidental.. 😶‍🌫️ touches" and interactions. He is quite impatient when it comes to a situation when someone he loves is next to him and he can feel their warmth, so he would lose his composure and snuggle closer to his boo under the blankets, as well as rubbing their cheeks and kissing them. Basically, he would shower his significant other with affection and care. Matching items to wear together is also something Heeseung would enjoy doing, like couple rings or wearing loose t-shirts and laughing at the way they look too big on his babe.

Jay 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ knight of pentacles, page of wands, 10 of cups

Jay would agree to go shopping with his partner at the mall as a date! He wouldn't get annoyed easily like the other guys, as he is a big fashionista! He would get invested in the process to the maximum, commenting actively on the outfits: what suits his boo and what is better not to take. Let's not forget that Jay is a bit (a lot) of a jokester too; he would do silly things like give his bae a hat with bunny ears or take little sneak peeks in the changing room. They both would wander around the different stores, starting with something light like a shoe boutique and ending with the grocery store. At home, of course, there will be a fashion show, and after that, they both will fall asleep under the sounds of TV. 😴

Jake 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ knight of cups, 2 of cups, 10 of pentacles

He takes it very seriously. It is important for him to show his love and care. He can even cancel his plans/meetings to be with his lover. Jake is a true romaaaantic. 💘 He would give them bouquets of their favorite flowers and treat them to something delicious. I feel like he would prefer to walk with them on the seashore and hold hands; this boy needs physical contact to be completely fulfilled. Another activity, hm? Sitting on a bench, cuddling, watching the scarlet sunsets and kissing in the dark >.< He’d love to surprise them with thoughtful little gifts and handwritten notes. Jake enjoys creating unforgettable memories and capturing moments with his lover. His ultimate goal is to make them feel cherished and adored every single day.

Sunghoon 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ page of pentacles, 8 of wands, strength

Sunghoon loves hiking, so he would invite his date to ride a bike somewhere in the mountains. This love for nature and sports should be common so that both can immerse themselves in this atmosphere. Having reached the top, they would leave the bikes and go for a walk to enjoy the fresh mountain air. He would turn on the guide mode and tell his boo about the area, perhaps about his childhood memories related to this place and how often he visited here with his parents, but I don’t think that his date will listen to him much. 😌 He can keep babbling continously, and that can be irresistible for his date, as they would just want to shut him up with kisses and their hands tightly clinging to his neck. It works with Sunghoon, need to hint him that he should slow down a little - show him physical affection that he would respond to with pleasure.

Sunoo 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ fool, page of swords, 3 of cups

I just KNEW that would come out for Sunoo ^.^ The ideal date with him is an amusement park! Even though he's terribly afraid of heights, he is more considerate of the person next to him than to himself sometimes. He would make sure hold his lover hands tightly while they look at the view below, sitting in the Ferris wheel booth. He's a bit of a tease himself, so he would deliberately shook the booth to see his bae reaction, and if it stops working... well, of course, we go nowhere without a roller coaster, hehe~ 🎢 True, both of them would feel a little nauseous afterwards, but that's the main point of having fun! Having gone to almost all the attractions, Sunoo and his bae would go back home and do something like a nightly routine, do skincare and discuss the latest gossip.

Jungwon 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ page of cups, knight of swords, 10 of cups

I JUST HAVE TO SAY IT! Jungwon would invite his boo to a cafe with cats! ♨️🐈 Something tells me he has long wanted to visit there himself, or that in the future we will get kitty-related content from the boys. He would like to sit at a table in the farthest corner; this place will offer them a wonderful view of nature. Jungwon would make different jokes every now and then all evening, trying to cheer his bae up. He would chat about everything they could and share impressions and dreams. Cats would come to both of them so that they could pet them or treat them with food. After having a good time at the cafe, they would go for a walk in the park under the night sky, and we know how much Jungwon enjoys those strolls; he would maybe even take an electric scooter to add a little bit of dynamic before the end of the date. He won't forgive acts of service like serving his boo with a snack and covering them with his jacket so they don't get cold, then sitting together on the river bank, hugging each other, merging with many other couples.

Ni-ki 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ wheel of fortune, 4 of cups, 6 of pentacles

Ni-ki would take his date for a walk into the city. He loves gambling and the pride that comes after winning. He would blow all his money on the slot machines that are located on every corner, determined to win a prize for himself and his boo, like a bunch of keychains and soft toys. Also, he likes to entertain himself in a more chill way. I can presume that he would like to take his partner to the library and read a new manga. When they both get hungry, he will offer his date something delicious to eat so they can regain their energy for the next activities. That would as well combine relaxing and perhaps a bit of extreme, hm? I can think about boating; it can truly get overwhelming as you're in the middle of a lake, rowing a single boat, but Ni-ki would never try to get in front of his bub and go far away just to tease you and leave them behind, no~ *sarcasm* They can also ride on the same boat together, it's more romantic like that after all. ❤️xoxo

[kirain]

Please don't get me wrong, I like gale well enough, but he turns me off because I get the impression that he wouldn't care much about what I have to say. He's so intelligent and wise and he clearly has years and years of education and study under his belt. So what on earth could I even talk to him about without boring him to death? Because honestly, I like to talk, like, a lot. I'm just as passionate about stuff but not nearly as knowledgeable and I fucking hate that look on people's face when they're blithely listening to stuff that bored them? Im not knowledgeable enough to have anything to offer him

This is ironically how Gale feels about himself. He feels like he has absolutely nothing to offer anyone, which is why he went after the orb in the first place. He felt inadequate for a goddess, and he feels inadequate for Tav. The idea that Tav is attracted to him genuinely shocks him, too, because from his standpoint ... who could possibly love him? He's just a guy who screws everything up. That's why he's so elated when Tav shares their feelings with him.

He knows magic, but he doesn't know the world. He's clueless in certain areas. Despite being so knowledgeable and passionate about magic, he wants to know Tav. He doesn't care how intelligent or unintelligent you are, he only cares that you're a good person. I haven't finished his romance yet, but I've made some pretty silly decisions (like licking a dead spider) and he's still sticking by me. His desire for Tav isn't transactional at all. In fact, he'd probably find your question "what on earth could I even talk to him about without boring him to death" perplexing. The answer is anything! Gale's passion is learning and sharing knowledge, and if you talk to him about a subject he's already well versed in, he won't shut you down, he'll just match your enthusiasm. I'm playing as a wizard, and every time I've spoken to him about the Weave or books or anything my character knows as a result of her background, he gets excited, not bored.

Moreover, Gale's hobbies mainly consist of reading. That's it. He likes to sit on his balcony and read. I'm sure many people would consider that boring, and he knows it. That's why he gets agitated when you first meet him. He blatantly tells you his hobbies and everything he loves; reading, writing poetry, his cat, so when you ask him to elaborate or say "tell me the real you" he gets a bit defensive. He dodges the question about his past and anything regarding the orb, but he was also being 100% honest about who he is. He does love reading, he does write poetry, he does worship his cat, but that's all he really has going for him and he knows it's not substantial. At least not from his perspective. He's insecure.

Mystra was his entire life. He was secluded from childhood by a groomer and only had Tara and tutors on the side. Then he lived alone in his tower for over a year, fearing death, regretting his mistakes, and reevaluating his life. Companionship is literally the best thing you can offer Gale, because it's the only thing he truly wants. Even just a simple friendship means the world to him. Anything else you bring to the table is an absolute bonus. Don't forget, when you reach his maximum affinity he responds to your queries with, "Always a delight to speak with you."

[lymtw]

Cerise

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Content: SFW

Content Warnings: Not many it’s pretty SFW, just some kisses really

Description: Cerise is a sacred word for you and Gojo. It means peace or truce. It cancels any grudge out and it forces you to talk. Gojo is the king of using Cerise ;)

Word Count: 0.7k

Gojo can’t stand when you give him the silent treatment, because when you do, everything about you goes silent. You silence his notifications so when he texts you, you don’t know it until you manually look at your messages. Even then, you look at the message and don’t respond. It’s usually something along the lines of:

Hiii baby ❤️

You still mad 🥹

To which you don’t respond because he’s only on the couch across the room. You can feel his eyes watching you, but you refuse to look up at him. So you turn your screen off and continue what you were doing previously.

Gojo knows how to get you to talk. It’s very simple, but he wants to see if you’ll ever reach out first during these bouts of annoyance.

When he notices that you’re not doing much, he decides that it’s time to turn on the charm.

You’re finishing washing some dishes, when he comes up behind you. He doesn’t get close enough to touch you, but enough so that you can hear him even if he’s whispering.

“Cerise.” The word comes out smoothly, and his lips curl into a sly smile as soon as he hears you sigh.

“God, what, Satoru?” You throw the dishrag you had in your hands, and turn to look at him. You had to bite the inside of your cheek just so that you wouldn’t mirror the smile on his face once you saw him.

“You can’t break a promise we’ve followed through with for years. Sorry, but I didn’t make the rules. You know what I did do, though? I said cerise, so now you have to talk to me.”

He was unbearable, yet so damn lovable with his prideful smile.

Cerise, or the French word for cherry, was a word you and Gojo decided was made for truces. When you were just dating, he invited you over to spend the night in his apartment one day. He told you to make yourself at home, and allowed you to rummage through his cabinets and rooms.

He forgot something in his car so he went to go get it, leaving you alone for a maximum of four minutes. In those four minutes, you found a bag of cherries that was almost empty. All but three cherries remained, so you thought finishing them and tossing the bag would help him make room for more groceries. Gojo came back and caught you red handed, his jaw dropping.

“You know the French word for cherry is cerise?” You read the translations in Spanish and French, not noticing that Gojo was having a meltdown and was on his knees. You tossed the bag after popping the last one in your mouth, the stem thrown in the trash after.

“‘toru?” You call, seeing him on the floor. You squat down to his level, still making your way around the pit of the cherry, the sweetness staining your tongue.

“I wanted those cherries. Those were mine,” he mumbles, weakly.

“Please, don’t cry.” You pat his fluffy hair.

He sits up and looks at you in confusion. “I’m not crying.”

“Oh, good. So, the French word for cherry is cerise.” You put an emphasis on the word to make it sound even more regal.

He was so bummed, and spent a good ten minutes not talking to you, huffing and whipping his head in the opposite direction of you whenever you looked at him, like a child.

You couldn’t stand another minute of him ignoring you, so you scrambled into his lap, and tried to catch his attention.

“Baby, baby, baby~” you poked his cheeks, repeatedly. “‘toru, my pretty boy, i’m sorry.” You almost got him to smile with that. You covered him in kisses, his neck, his cheeks, but when you went for his lips, he sucked them in and made them disappear.

When all failed, you went for the last resort.

“Cerise,” you said, sounding wise. “Cerise,” you repeated, adding a dramatic hand in mid-air. “Did you know cerise is the French word for cherry? Also, did you know cerise is cerise?”

Gojo cracked, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled at your ridiculous rambling about this word you found on a bag of cherries. It was so easy for him to forgive you after that. You got him to laugh, and you promised that the next time you spent the night, you would bring him another bag of cherries.

“Cerise is…?” He says, waiting for you to finish his sentence.

“…the French word for cherry.” You crack a grin, walking towards him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Cerise is our live, laugh, love.”

You chuckled as you buried your face in his chest.

[adventuringblind]

(●’◡’●)ﾉ, I'm in loove with your Oscar Piastri x autistic!reader series, it gives really beautiful perspective on navigating relationships while being neurodivergent. I was wondering if you do a imagine/headcannon for Oscar and reader and how they navigate sexual intimacy in particular, like do's and donts, emotions during it stuff like that. If ur not comfortable writing that then it's ok, I just thought it would be interesting ♡

Bedroom Procedures

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader

Genre: spicy things ahead but not smut

Request: the way I ran to write this... send me more ideas like this please they are my favorite to write!

Summary: Oscar and Reader navigate through intimacy

Warnings: again... spicy things. However there is no real depiction of anything happening!

Notes: aight, so this is again how I navigate because that's what I know. This is not a depiction of how every autistic person is when it comes to being intimate. Remember that autism is a spectrum and everyone is different.

Masterlist

Being intimate with each other actually took a long time

At least longer than what is probably average

And that's in opinion

She wants to have sex with Oscar

It's just that it's difficultt and there are so many different feelings that is gets overwhelming quickly

It doesn't help she's trying to dive straight in whenever they try it

Oscar pays attention however

Her body language is how he can understand her feelings

So he knows exactly what he's doing even if she doesn't get it yet

The next time things get a little heated, Oscar slows them both down

"Why are you stopping? Did I do something wrong?"

"Absolutely not, just thought we would try something different."

In her head, different is strange because there is usually an order to these things, and it should become routine eventually

Oscar has other plans

He starts taking their intimate moments incredibly slow

Introducing her to different sensations and letting her tell him what she likes and doesn't

Soon, he has a comprehensive list of dos and don'ts

Like how sometimes she prefers to keep on a loose shirt because otherwise the skin on skin is to much

Not all the time

He always asks before they do anything if she would like to wear one of his shirts

Or how her biting him is usually a good sign because it means she's happy

(Something she does even when they aren't having sex)

Oral is a grey area for her

Sometimes, she'll suck him off for hours, and others, she gets overwhelmed just thinking about it

Oscar doesn't care, though, because he loves her no matter what she's feeling up to

One thing he was not expecting was for her to be relatively kinky

Experimenting is everything

Hard yes and no things but down to try before deciding

Oscar got a bit experimental after he got a general idea and their bedroom communication was good

Again... communication is a key point

He's always asking questions and reading her body just as she is with him

The fact that it's a vulnerable state and both of them are connecting in a way with emotions that even sex itself can't give is incredibly intimate

They don't even make it there sometimes because the emotional ties are just so deep that they simply spend time memorizing each other

Another thing is vocals

Oscar is usually composed and level-headed

Sex however is completely different

It's where he is able to express himself in ways he couldn't before

Also, listening to his voice is something that helps her know if she's doing okay

She also experiments with her voice

Vocal stimming during sex happens often, and it happens when she is on the edge

Her parroting is endearing ad well

Sometimes Oscar will moan or hum in a way and she will copy

A non-verbal agreement to keep going

Can go for maybe two rounds maximum

Maybe three or four but that's on a good day

Follows a routine of how things go down and there is definitely communication beforehand

Even if both parties are in the heat of the moment, he will not start anything without giving an idea of what will happen

It's like an unwritten rule so that she isn't trying to read the situation and get frustrated with herself if she can't understand what's happening

Clear cut yes and no

There is no maybe

All communication is cut and dry, and there is no beating around the bush

Because of her willingness to touch, but only from those she's allowed, Oscar is a teeny tiny bit possessive

If anyone touches her who she's not comfortable with he won't hesitate to bite her in reciprocation

She bites him, he bites her, it's a pattern they keep going because he knows its her love language

Also, it creates some fun on other places

Really the two are very good at setting boundaries and communicating

It makes things fun for both of them and there is never any feelings hurt

[gatitties]

Can we get a part 5 of the yandere platonic jjk series? It is one of the best yandere series I’ve read and I really hope you continue it! :)

The blank pages - Web of love

"The blank pages" are untold events in the parts of web of love, as well as some headcanons or small random scenarios.

─Yandere!Jujutsu Kaisen x fem!reader (Platonic)

─Summary: A little more about your life living with sorcerers and curses

─Warnings: stalking, obsession, toxic behaviors, yandere stuff

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

well, I don't know when I will write (if I do) another part as long as the others, it's one of the "minifanfics" that takes me the most time to write, but I can always write some headcanons or small scenarios like this :p

─ You are so fond of sorcerers that your nickname for the vast majority of them is scumbag <3, especially for Gojo, when you don't call him a poorly felled birch.

─ Once you asked Sukuna if he had gone to class with Jesus Christ, he didn't kill you on the spot because you were so tired that you seemed drugged and he felt sorry.

─ You will never admit that among all the crazy people Itadori is your favorite.

─ When Gojo wants to scold you for something, you simply apply the technique of turning up the volume to the maximum on your headphones while you nod.

─ Refusing to speak sometimes only made everyone learn your non-verbal language.

─ With each passing day you don't care if you are devoured by a curse just so you can rest in peace.

─ You once went on a solo mission (some mysterious way it happened), they almost wrapped you up like a mummy when they saw you arrive with some bruises and cuts.

─ Megumi comes to your side when he sees you nod off during the day so you can lean on his shoulder and sleep.

─ Many times you would like to punch everyone but they don't even deserve that much attention from you.

─ On a random day of the week you will be dragged by Nobara to have a sleepover, you don't complain much because you do nothing and get gossip.

─ One day you went to the Zenin clan house with Maki and you thought that you grew old during the time you spent there, for once you were glad that Maki didn't leave your side.

─ You are afraid of talking too much with Utahime because you think that if you do she will end up just as obsessed as the others, you don't want to break that feeling of talking to someone other than your family.

─ You discovered that the sorcerers entered your room at night but you decided not to confront them for the moment.

─ If Choso wasn't so overprotective and mother hen, you wouldn't mind if he treated you like a little sister.

─ He begins to silently threaten all the people who may be a potential partner for you (he threatened a cashier who told you that you looked pretty one day).

─ If you are with the villains you will say that you are part of the sorcerers' team and that you will fight against them until you die, if you are with the sorcerers, you will say the same but on the opposite side so as not to give them the benefit of knowing your thoughts.

─ Despite everyone, you have the right to go on the weekends you want to visit your family, although sometimes they will put obstacles in place so that you are delayed and miss the train.

─ Those days are your days of peace, you even decide to help at your parents' restaurant even though it is a stressful day, the pressure makes you put your feet back on the ground.

─ You submitted a letter of resignation to the studies because you thought you were qualified enough to return to your parents now that you know how to control your powers, Yaga tore the paper to pieces after you left.

─ You hope you trip and break your neck during some training, it's a shame that Panda and Toge will rush towards you even if you only stumble slightly.

─ Everyone prefers to blame someone else but you, even if you openly say that you are guilty of something, they will do mental exercise to prevent you from being guilty.

─ Sukuna is fighting to get you to join his side, whatever the reason, you will be a key piece in the outcome.

─ Of course, they don't want to get violent with you, the threats and beatings go to other people, for you they have manipulation.

─ Which you clearly detect, but you decide to play along for the moment, without knowing that you are getting more entangled in the web.

─ They probably know that you are acting but they don't care because they are getting the attention they want from you.

─ The situation is like a snake biting its tail, and you hope that when that snake dies from suffocation by its own body, you are not there.

[watchmegetobsessed]

SUBTLE

A/N: this idea got stuck on my mind and i thought i would just type it out so here we are!

WORD COUNT: 1k

SUMMARY: Harry's not so subtle way of hinting that he is in the mood.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

There are celebrities that never wear the same outfit twice. Some keep them tucked away in their closet, probably hoping one day they will be displayed in museums and some just simply get rid of them once the clothes are off of their bodies.

Well, your boyfriend is definitely not one of these people. He is the king of wearing something over and over again until it’s totally ruined and can’t be worn again. The best example is his crusty Vans he always wears to the maximum before even considering buying a new one. When Harry likes something, a shirt, a hat or a pair of pants, he is the biggest outfit repeater and that’s something you love so much about him, because it’s so mundane, so down-to-earth.

His most worn shirt however is a surprising one. Well, not to you, because he wears it because of you so whenever you spot him sporting it, you know what his intentions are.

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon, it’s been raining all weekend so you’ve spent most of it snuggled up at home, watching movies, cooking and spending some well-deserved quality time together after such a busy week. For the past hour you’ve been glued to the couch with your favorite chunky blanket and a book that you haven’t gotten around to read during the weekdays. Your tea is set on the side table, an hour ago it was steaming hot, but now it’s more like room temperature and half of it is also gone. A pair of old sweatpants has been your uniform since yesterday and today you paired them with one of Harry’s many graphic shirts. 

Speaking of your boyfriend, you haven’t seen him for a while now. Last time he mumbled something about having a riff stuck on his mind before he wandered off into his home studio. It’s been radio silence since then and you got to focus fully on your fantasy book. 

Harry emerges from the studio after about one and a half hour that he spent strumming away on his guitar, recording a possible new hit song for his next album. Making music usually makes him feel two ways. First one, which happens more often is hungry. His creativity takes a lot of energy and he is a big boy, he needs food to fuel his body and brain as well. The second one however… that’s what causes him the most issues, especially when he is not recording at home and this is what he feels right now as well.

He’s horny.

The song he worked on was heavily inspired by you and the intimate moments he spent with you in the past months and reliving them definitely got him worked up, that’s why he had to put down his guitar and find a solution to his little situation.

But instead of just looking for you, he sneaks into his closet and grabs the shirt he’s been using with ulterior motives lately. He gets rid of his hoodie and then pulls the other shirt over his head before checking himself in the mirror, his eyes scanning over the “Sex” sign over his chest. He can’t help but smile at the sight of the shirt he wore on SNL, which was such an iconic appearance.

He wanders out of the closet and then the bedroom, looking for you with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip to hide his cheeky smirk. He finds you right where left you before his studio session, snuggled up on the couch with your book, your lips moving as you ready but it’s hard to notice. Your eyes are scanning over the lines, one hand holding the book, the other one playing with the necklace he got you for your birthday two years ago. You look adorable and cozy, but he’s also extremely eager to get under that blanket and between your legs.

Clearing his throat he walks closer, failing to pretend like he is just aimlessly wandering around. He peeks at you and narrows his eyes when he sees you haven’t even acknowledged his presence.

“Hey baby,” he speaks up, hoping to catch your attention.

“Mm, hi, what’s up?” you ask, but your eyes are still glued to the page in front of you. 

“Not much. Just checking in on you.” Squaring his shoulders he takes a deep breath before exhaling dramatically, his palms smoothing over the shirt, especially the word written across his chest. 

“I’m good. Did you finish recording?”

Still no peek at him and he is starting to get frustrated.

“Yeah,” he nods and clears his throat again, standing right in front of you at this point, towering over you.

“Good,” you hum.

You’re still ignoring him and now he is determined to have your pretty eyes on him. A series of coughs follows that finally forces you to look up from the book, mostly because you fear that he has a sore throat, judging from the coughs, but when you catch a glimpse of him you see how he’s puffing his chest so you see what shirt he is really wearing. 

“Huh,” you smile, putting your book aside. “Are you trying to tell me something?” you ask, a smirk stretching across your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs, running his tongue across his lips.

“Do you happen to want to have sex?” you tilt your head to the side.

“Oh! Now that you’re asking, yes. Yes, I absolutely do!”

You can’t hold your laugh back as he basically throws himself at you, his lips already kissing you all over your face as he wedges himself between you and the back of the couch.

“You’re so subtle,” you giggle against his lips, pulling the blanket over the both of you while his hands are already wandering under your shirt.

“That’s my middle name,” he grins. “Harry Subtle Styles.”

“What happened to Edward?”

“Gone. He’s dead,” he chuckles before his lips get busy with yours. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[f1-giuki]

Lestappen “Omegaverse” + “Do you want me to stay?” Le Mans prompt combo!!!!!!

after a 40-minute sprint with the lovely beautiful talented tsgc besties and some mental breakdown sessions over Ferrari this morning, I am keeping my Le Mans lestappen yearly tradition! This snippet isn't linked to my previous lestappen le mans thingy, but it's yet another brainrot. maybe by next year we'll have a serious fic... who knows!

1.2k words, omegaverse, angst, fluff and hurt/comfort!

Charles is feeling a little nauseous.

If he has to be honest, it might not be because it’s night in Le Mans, and his car, the red car number 95, is leading with a comfortable margin.

He was taking a well-deserved nap, to prepare for his upcoming stint, but he suddenly got woken up by worried faces. He blinked multiple times, his groggy brain not computing properly, his eyes too tired to read the words on his team’s lips.

“Charles? Do you want us to make a statement? Shield you? Max said he could do your stint, he slept as soon as he got out of the car,” Asked Silvia, the Ferrari PR manager.

“I don’t understand?” Charles asked, his mouth was dry.

“They found out…” Silvia said with a tight grin on her face.

“What?” Charles asked.

Found out what? That he’s gay? That he went to sleep at two am the night before and ate two tubs of ice cream and rode a knotted dildo thinking of his teammate Max Verstappen until he could think of nothing more? Which of the many secrets he’s hiding got leaked? He didn’t say that, he settled for something more diplomatic.

“Your second gender…” Silvia said.

Charles winced. The whole Ferrari team knew about it. When he was welcomed in the red family he took an oath: no secrets. That’s what makes a family, according to the red people. But still, he winced. It’s a big secret. The FIA hasn’t stated specific rules concerning omegas in Endurance Racing, but it’s hard. Weak, frail, emotional, even more than women. That’s what the environment says.

The Endurance championship is somewhat of a secluded environment, made of geeks and passion, but Charles knows that biases struggle to die.

“Can I have a moment for myself?” Charles asked, playing with the tape on his scent gland. He spent so much time learning how to place it so that his scent wouldn't burst out. He takes the patch off, scent bitter and muted.

“Sure, Carlos is doing another hour. We gave him the code word and he asked for an hour more,” Silvia says, hushing everyone away from his driver's room and closing the door.

He’s thankful for Silvia. The take all the time you need in the available gap is left unsaid, but not left out. 

So Charles is feeling nauseous, it’s safe to say.

He’s been hiding behind the beta façade for the past five years, and now everything got fucked. His racing career is on the line. Formula One didn’t want betas, so the maximum he could afford was Endurance racing. And now he might lose that too.

Charles hides his face in his hands. He could say fuck it and risk it all, drive and maybe win it. It would be very difficult to take such a win from Ferrari. The FIA would have to fight tooth and nail.

But can he do it in the long term? Will he be able to face the Le Mans night with such thoughts in his head?

A knock on his door distracts him. He doesn’t answer, but he can smell who it is. Max.

“Charles? It’s me, Max…” He says. There’s a little thump on the door. Max’s head probably.

Charles hums. He can smell the soothing scent, cotton and sage, Max is letting out, especially for him. It’s calming. Charles doesn’t think about what will happen, his brain feels numb, in a nice way. Max is soothing him.

If Max understands him, if Max doesn’t care about it, then maybe he will be okay. Max is a racer, a true one. His judgment should matter more than that of everyone else. He knows what a winner is.

Charles takes a deep breath and gets up, opening the door.

Max stumbles on his feet when Charles opens it, making him laugh a little.

“Come in?” Charles asks with a silly smile, self-conscious of his smitten scent. Blackberries and thyme.

“Do you want me to stay?” Max asks, both surprised and hopeful.

Charles nods, and Max follows him inside. All the driver’s rooms are the same: a cramped cubicle with the smallest bed known to mankind, a little space for race suits, gloves and helmets and nothing more. Charles put some mood lights on the walls, cutting a bit the red accents inside.

Charles sits on the bed and Max leans on the opposite wall. There's not much space between them.

Max looks at him but doesn't say anything. It's the usual Max, no bullshit questions like how do you feel or are you okay, just Max, his pretty face and his calming scent.

Charles looks at him. Max never treated anyone differently in the team because of their gender. He kept the same level of camaraderie with everyone and growled at every engineer who proposed stupid tyre strategies, whether they'd be alphas or omegas or betas.

“Carlos might get a penalty if he keeps flashing the lights at every Toyota he sees on track…” Max says with a stupid grin.

“Do you remember last year? When he flashed the safety car?” Charles says, laughing.

“I remember, I had to make up for his ten seconds penalty in the rain at three am,” Max laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Last year was nice, even if we came second…” Charles mumbles, looking at his hands in his lap.

“This year will be better, we will win it, if Carlos doesn’t fuck up…” Max points out, tilting his head.

Charles laughs bitterly as he goes back to thinking about his situation.

“I mean it,” Max says firmly, still in his place.

“Even if I'm an omega?” Charles says.

It's weird speaking it out loud. He cringes at his words, the result of many years of lies.

Maybe Max won't be so forgiving, he hates lying, and Charles did it for five long years.

“The Hyper Pole you took on Friday was because you're an omega?” Max asks instead.

Charles looks at him confused. What does he mean?

“I took pole because I was the fastest racer on track,” Charles answers, a bit wounded in his pride.

“Then that's it. You're a racer and you're faster than everybody else. Nobody can take that away from you. Nobody can do that, not even yourself,” Max says, keeping his head high.

Charles grins.

Max is right. He's the faster motherfucker on track and he’s an omega. And he's going to be a 24h of Le Mans winner.

“Silvia?” Charles shouts from his driver room and she comes barging in his room, worried.

“Yes, Charles?” She asks.

“Tell Carlos to get out of my car on the next stop he does, we have a Le Mans race to win,” Charles says, grinning.

“Thank God, I was about to make him stop to beat him up and drive myself if he kept flashing left and right! Get ready, you have twenty-five minutes! And you, Max, get the fuck back to sleeping, or you'll end up like Carlos!” She shouts, running back into the garage.

Charles laughs and looks at Max, who has something soft in the look in his eyes.

The French night is still long and filled with secrets Charles can't wait to unveil.

[respectthepetty]

So . . .

I'm fucked.

Pisaeng is now my baby boy, and I'm fully invested in his well-being. He took so many hits this episode, and I'm taking it personally.

Let's recap exactly how this episode hurt Piseang's and my feelings because I need to make sure I deliver the maximum damage to myself:

Kawi telling Piseang that he is intentionally creating distance between them because Pisaeng makes him feel uncomfortable and unsafe in front of the pink neon light and sign that reads "Extending our friendship, connection, and happiness to you all" was the cherry on top of this shitty pain sandwich.

Kawi chasing Pisaeng to the parking lot just to shove money into his face, so he won't owe Pisaeng anything.

DJ Squirtle! Pisaeng was so excited to give Kawi this, only to throw it at him from the car after such a horrible day.

Pisaeng turned down Pear's invite, but lit up when Kawi invited him out for drinks, only to be ambushed by a group that included Knot.

Pisaeng mentioned not being comfortable around him. Knot is misogynistic and Kawi KNOWS he is an asshole in the future, yet Knot keeps making comments about Pisaeng's sex life and the fact that they went to an all-boys school. Knot also mentioned believing Kawi was with Max (aka GAY), so is Knot homophobic and this is another reason Pisaeng does not want this dumpster in his life?

On the topic of Max, my other baby boy - Is this the reason for their dispute? Max could be gay and Kawi didn't like the implication that they might be in a relationship? Also, he was supposed to meet Max later. Did he? Or did he go out with Knot and the guys instead? He check-marked Max off his list, but this won't be as simple as he is making it if he continues to be friendly with Knot if his issues with Max really do stem from queerness.

Back to my other baby boy - Pear does like Pisaeng, but more importantly, IS MY BABY BOY DEPRESSED?! He is lonely. His old friends suck. His new friend said he makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't want to feel the pressure from Pear's dad. What is his relationship with his own parents? WHO IS THERE FOR MY BOY?!

He looked like he was going to cry in that classroom when Kawi told him he was annoying. He was trying to keep his shit together but was *this* close to having a breakdown when he was scrambling to gather his stuff so he could haul ass out of there. He didn't even turn in the quiz.

LOOK AT HIM!

I'm glad Kawi chased after him, but Pisaeng is really begging for someone to care about it, yet Kawi refuses.

He is quick to forgive and share his food with Kawi, so when Kawi told him that he is bothered by Pisaeng's behavior (thinking it's funny when Kawi is upset), Pisaeng clearly looked pained to know he unintentionally hurt Kawi. He wanted to fix it, but Kawi left immediately when Knot showed up.

Kawi turning down every offer Pisaeng extended to hang out upset him, and he even mentioned it later in the classroom. He tried to joke it off in the class, but he was hurt when it happened.

He went from being happy seeing Kawi and Pear together, to being somber since the realization of what he set in motion hit him.

Because he likes Kawi, a guy he can't have.

And he has liked him the entire time. TEN YEARS!

The worst part of all of this is Kawi isn't bad. He is trying to fix this, yet is delivering the most blows to my guy. He doesn't want Pear to be hurt in the future, so he must keep his distance from Pisaeng. He doesn't want to owe Pisaeng, so he pays him back. He doesn't want Pisaeng to be lonely, so he tries to mend his friendships. He wants his life to be better, which includes befriending Max again, saving his dad's life, and being with Pear, but he is missing what is right in front of him. He needs Pisaeng for his life to be better.

And then next week?!

Yeah, so like I wrote.

I'm fucked.