#is there really something to be concerned about? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unearthlyeclipse · 2 days ago

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THE HANKS FROM DATE EVERYTHING PLEASE I BEG OF THEE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEEE

THE HANKS P!LINKS + HEADCANONS // NSFW/SMUT/FLUFF

A/N: Just for you twinnn <3 I feel like it would be difficult to do links for all 5 of them, I've decided to write some small headcannons and such, but I'm adding a visualizer for each one :) I ALSO HAD ANOTHER PERSON REQUEST THESE BEAUTIES!!! THIS IS FOR YOU TOO!!!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, fluff, mixtures of headcannons and visualizers/links, p in v, riding, teasing, dirtytalk, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, breeding kink(?), gangbang/five-some/5some, spitroasting(?), LOTS of cuddling, both sex/general hcs, bottom reader, AFAB reader. (Let me know if I miss anything!!)

HANK #1 + Loves watching you full of himself, couldn't help but groan once you showed off your tits, showing off his strength, he loves the ride. + Although he always downplays #2's anxious antics of the adventures the group goes on, he secretly admits his own concerns to you. - You'll be caressing the back of his head and rubbing his back as he cuddles into your body, practically being the little spoon as he talks to you about whatever you're comfortable with. + Always trying to impress himself in front of you ever since you first met. When you first appeared in front of the hanks, he literally asked them to tidy themselves up, so he's definitely a pleaser, similar to the rest of them. + During sex, he loves cuddling in any form. He gropes your chest while he's pressed close against you in missionary, kneading your thighs, and any chub/curves you have to your skin are a must. He loves expressing his admiration for your body. - DEFINITELY gives the sweetest massages to you and the others. He can pop muscles with ease, especially your shoulders.

HANK #2 + He loves your pretty moans, he's getting very vocal beneath you, loves being sensual, going on a sweet ride. + ALWAYS asks if something is okay while being together, during sex, or not. He never wants to go against any of your wishes. + Detailed plans if you were to go on a date alone. Would get help from Mitchell for the best tasting restaurants to please you the best. + Caressing you is a must; pleasing you with just simple holding will be more than satisfactory for him.

HANK #3 + Showing off his stamina, inspiring you to ride with dirty talk, going to town, finally got in your pants. + I feel like he has a lower sex drive for someone whose dirty talk comes from the deepest part of his heart, but his drive is still just a tad bit higher than the other Hanks. - EVERY word from him is something he means, even promises, especially if it’s dirty talk. He doesn't just say things for nothing. - He can probably last two to three rounds, but only if you are willing. + When touching you, he loves a more sensual touch than rough. Although he speaks dirty, caressing your face and thighs is something he loves to do. + Although he shows his soft side more with you, even with dirty talk, he does have a freakier side, of course. Some kinks, such as light bondage and edging, really spurs him on, but he will always be sure to discuss those with you. + The only Hank who wouldn’t mind quickies. Blowjobs, handjobs, getting the chance to eat you out briefly are all on the table. The others prefer to take their time with you, as does three, but he wouldn’t mind a quick sesh to get some steam off.

HANK #4 + Fucking up into you, loves watching you squirm, can't get over how pretty you are, cant help but stare. + He has come up to you before asking to toy with his hair, to which you happily complied. He’d let you do anything to his semi-long locks, small braids, sweet massages to his scalp, or just allow his head to rest between your thighs as you both snoozed off during the day. + He and #3 aren't on the same level of horniness, but #4 still has his kinks. If you were to pull his hair, he would let out the filthiest groan in response; he'd probably tug your's if you'd beg him to. + He's only a little timid during intercourse, usually burying his head in the crook of your neck while he groans softly, kissing your skin. If you were to pull his hair to force him to look at you, it would be the icing on the cake.

HANK #5 + Earning the prettiest cries out of him, filling you with all he can, dumping inside of you, hand holding melts his heart. + Hank's underlying baby fever was already on his mind before you two had properly met face to face, but it immediately worsened the moment you spoke to him. + To see how sweet of a person you were, energetic, kind, thoughtful, gave him hope for a child of his own, even more than what the other Hanks have given him. + DEFINITELY was afraid of telling you about his dream of having a child. He would never keep it a secret intentionally, but had delayed his hopeful plan to try with you. He wanted the time to be special too, him and the rest of the Hanks working to please you while he paints your inner walls white. + Absolutely loves when you leg lock him during sex. The feeling of your legs reeling him in closer to you is something that easily makes his eyes roll back in bliss.

ALL THE HANKS!! (Bonus) + Some of the Hanks grow a bit tired after a round so they just sit and watch the show, group bonding sesh!! + They're all loving on you even in the smallest expressions. Hand holding, the biggest hugs and cuddles whenever you please, they all rush to you if you ever need anything they can help you with. This is the first time they've actually grown intimate with another, so being able to be in your presence and touch you after many years is something they wouldn't want to let go of. + They all use pet names. “Sweet-thing, hun, babe, doll,” they’re all in the book if they sound charming enough. + They all want to make sure everything is smooth between you all, making sure you're okay with certain stunts they may do, having intercourse with more than one of them, and so on. - Your comfort is their top priority, as they prioritize it while they were partnered with Red Bowl and even after. + All hanks are simply energetic, golden retrievers just running around you 24/7 that find comfort with you at the end of the day, someone they all love to collectively cuddle with. +They’re all very light during sex, jokes, and their slang being used left and right, but they do know when to keep things on a more serious level if they get the hint. - Silly things such as “dibs/shotgun picks” are some sweet competition they’ll play with, getting to make you cum first, but obviously prioritizing your comfort and pleasure without getting too deep into the fighting. - THEY ALWAYS SHARE. You all love eachother and their bond is strong, they would never have the ill intent to "hog" you whatsoever. + They’ll do silly things to get your attention, even stunts that may be even more harmful than the last (of course, they know their own limits). You’ll bandage all of them up like a mother would to her child with a paper cut as they look at you with pouting eyes. + Always keeping an eye out for each other. You can all practically sense SOME issues from miles away. Dehydration? Water will be left on your bedside for when you wake up from naps. Any of you feeling tired or in the dumps? Group movie with grub, cuddles, and fluffy blankets will be quick to be scheduled. Also, stuff such as important dates, your menstrual cycle, and more are jotted down mentally, but they have to remind each other of things. They tend to be forgetful…

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girlgenius1111 · 2 days ago

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you must've been looking for me

alexia putellas x reader r is struggling in the aftermath of an injury that has sidelined her for a couple months. alexia begins to realize that r is struggling in a different way than she initially thought. yet r is not quite ready or willing to admit or accept that she isn't okay. tw for discussions of an eating disorder.

—

Alexia wasn’t sure when it started. She wasn’t sure how she missed it, either. All she knew was that one day she looked at you, and noticed for the first time that something was wrong. There were all the physical signs, sure. But what got her the most was the look in your eyes, like you were exhausted every second of every day.

Then, she started noticing more. The clear apprehension on your face at meals. The click of the lock on the bathroom door when you went to shower. The way you shied away from her hands whenever they drifted too close to your stomach or thighs. Eating less. Disappearing to the bathroom after dinner.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. She’d written so much off as you just having a hard time adjusting to being out injured. Alexia hated herself, just a little bit, for not catching it sooner. She should have been paying more attention, should have been focused on you and your tendency to overthink rather than your ankle and when you’d be well enough to get back on the pitch.

Now, your ankle was the least of her worries. Yet she knew she had to approach this carefully. You weren’t one to jump at the chance to talk about your feelings. You never had been. Alexia had always felt that there was a layer to you that you never let anyone see. Not even her. She was okay with that, understood that. Emotions weren’t the easiest thing for her, either. It appeared that the things you kept locked away inside were hurting you a lot more than Alexia had ever considered. And she wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to talk to you about something she was sure you didn’t want to discuss.

—

You, meanwhile, thought you were being subtle. Perhaps because it had taken Alexia weeks to notice, you felt pretty confident that no one could tell that anything was wrong. As far as you were concerned, nothing was wrong. This was just… something that happened sometimes. A phase. A phase of having a difficult time and hating what you saw looking back at you in the mirror.

You’d… fix it, and then go back to normal. Your ankle would heal, you’d be able to go back to working out like you usually did, go back to looking how you were used to looking. You refused to think about how cliche you sounded, even in your own head. Everyone said they had control, that they’d stop once they got to where they wanted to be.

But you were sick, and the sick part of you refused to see what the logical part of your brain clearly recognized. This wasn’t okay. This wasn’t under control.

Unfortunately, logical you wasn’t winning out at the moment. The other part was in charge, pulling you deeper and deeper into a dark pit that had no mechanism to use to climb out. You fell blindly into that pit, like you were helpless to fight back. All you had to do was open your eyes and realize that what you were doing wasn’t going to make you better. Yet you stubbornly kept your eyes squeezed shut, because if you pretended not to know what you were doing, you could keep doing it.

Your plan didn’t account for your girlfriend. Your earnest, sweet, protective girlfriend, who was sitting next to you on the sofa, thoughts racing with different things she could say. In the end, she didn’t go with any of the speeches she’d practiced in her head in the shower, or at night while you slept next to her. She didn’t use any of the advice she’d read online.

Really, Alexia just panicked. Because you were sitting next to her, your hand loosely gripping hers, watching the same film she was watching, but you felt so far away. Your thoughts were elsewhere, she could tell. And all of a sudden, like a high speed crash, Alexia was hit with a wave of anxiety. You were slipping away right in front of her. You were hurting, and you were right there next to her and she didn’t know how to reach you. Didn’t know how to fix it, how to take the pain away. All she knew was that she couldn’t lose you, couldn’t watch you hurt any longer without saying something.

You’d been lost in your thoughts, considering whether it would be easier to skip breakfast or lunch the next day, when Alexia’s voice broke the calm tranquility of the evening.

“Can we talk?” Alexia said suddenly. You jolted slightly, turning your head to find her already looking at you. Already gazing at you with something unreadable in her eyes. Your surprise quickly morphed into concern, and you reached for the remote, pausing the TV.

“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?” You wondered, turning your body to give your girlfriend your full attention.

Alexia hesitated for a moment. It was clear to her that you were blissfully unaware of what she was about to bring up. You were looking at her with your brows furrowed, like something was wrong with her, like she was the one who needed to be worried about.

The brunette took a deep breath, before smiling sadly at you and reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I do not think you are going to want to discuss what I want to talk about. But please, amor, just let me say what I need to say. Okay?”

You blinked, a wave of fear washing over you. Was Alexia about to break up with you? Right then, right there? Was the best thing you’d ever known about to be over?

“Okay.” You said quietly, voice trembling. “Is it about… us?”

“No, bebé. It’s not about us.” You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and Alexia looked apprehensive,, raking a hand back through her loose hair. “It’s about you, mi amor. I’m worried about you.”

You felt your stomach drop. Heat rushed to your face. That feeling that the world might be ending settled in your chest. Your mouth went dry, your hands began to shake. “I’m… I’m fine, Ale.”

Alexia pursed her lips, before slowly shaking her head. “No, bebé. I do not think you are.”

Your girlfriend didn’t say it like there was any question to the matter; she spoke as though the issue was settled. Like there was no argument to be had about whether or not you were okay. Her firmness made you pause, long enough for Alexia to begin speaking again.

“Something has been off for a few weeks, but I just thought you were having a hard time with being injured. I have been paying more attention, though, and I know what I am seeing, now, bebé. I know what is going on, and I do not want you to pretend that it is nothing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said stubbornly, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists in your lap. Your whole body was taught with tension, and Alexia’s eyes flitted over you, like she wanted to pull you in but knew you wouldn’t let her right then.

Something wasn’t making sense to you. Everything your girlfriend was saying, the way she was speaking, it all made it seem like she knew. But if she knew… there was no way she’d be looking at you with the amount of love you saw on her face. There was no way she’d look this worried and not… disgusted. Not upset.

As if reading your mind, Alexia spoke again.

“You do, mi amor. And I am telling you that you do not have to be ashamed or embarrassed or feel guilty or anything. I just want you to talk to me, okay?”

Something about the soft tone of her voice shook you to your core, and suddenly it was a fight to blink away the tears pooling in your eyes. She always did this, always knew exactly what to say to get you to admit that something was wrong. She’d done it when you’d broken your ankle, and she’d somehow known you needed to cry about it. When you’d made that mistake against Seville and she hadn’t let you walk away from her without letting her hug you.

You shook your head rapidly, digging your nails into your palm. “I can’t.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and they felt like an admission of guilt. Alexia wasn’t phased, though, her hazel eyes gazing at you so warmly you wanted to sob.

“Okay. Then let me tell you what I have noticed, sí?” You didn’t reply, but Alexia kept going anyway. “You are eating less. And when you do not eat less, you disappear afterwards, and come back looking like you just cried. You flinch away when I touch you sometimes, and you change in the bathroom with the door shut. You’re quieter, and sadder, and I can see that you are hurting.”

Alexia paused, letting the silence fill the room as she studied you. Your eyes were fixed on a spot on the sofa underneath you, but Alexia could see the glimmer of tears waiting to break free.

“Mi amor, I think you are having a hard time eating.” Your eyes squeezed shut, and Alexia’s heart squeezed in her chest. “I want to help you, bebé, but you have to tell me how. You have to let me.”

It was quiet for a moment, Alexia watching your facial expression to gain any understanding of where your head was at, what you were about to say. She was fully prepared for more resistance, more pushback. She was half surprised you hadn’t shouted at her yet, actually.

But just as she was getting ready to say something else, to try to coax you into talking to her with more soft words and gentle reassurances, you opened your mouth. It was barely more than a whisper, but the silence that filled the room meant Alexia heard you easily.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

The pain in your voice took Alexia’s breath away, just for a moment. “Why, cariño?”

You scoffed, finally raising your head to look her in the eye. “Why? Because it’s humiliating, Alexia. It’s disgusting and it’s shameful and it’s stupid and I should know better. I’m an adult, not a teenager, and this is just so ridiculous, and now you’re worrying about it and I’m messing everything up.”

Your girlfriend shook her head gently, reaching out to cradle your cheek, swiping her thumb under your eye to catch a falling tear.

“No, it is none of those things. Not disgusting, not shameful, not stupid. Eating disorders are not something only teenagers deal with, amor, you know that.”

Your breath caught at the mere title of what you already knew was going on with you. It shouldn’t have been so jarring to hear it outloud, but something about hearing it made it more real, more serious. More terrifying.

Alexia continued, her voice soft and coaxing.“This happens to so many athletes. Did you really think I would judge you or see you differently because of this?”

You shrugged, sniffling. “Logically, no. But I just… my brain isn’t being very logical right now. And…”

You let the sentence drift off, thinking twice about what you were going to say. Your girlfriend had caught the way your eyes seemed to fill with tears again, and she leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

“And what, bebé? Tell me.”

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself as if for impact, when really you were saying a simple sentence. Still, the sentence felt like another admission of guilt, another failure you’d be admitting to. It felt like a testament to how sick you knew you were, but you weren’t quite ready to accept that yet.

“And I knew you’d make me stop.” You whispered.

Alexia’s expression softened even further, if that was possible, and this time she didn’t hold herself back from tugging you into her arms. With your face pressed into her chest, there was nothing left in you that was willing to pretend that you were okay. Soft sobs filled the quiet of the apartment, but you weren’t too far gone to not feel shame.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess right now, you don’t need to deal with this.” You pulled away, drying the tears off your face with the hem of your shirt. When you looked back at your girlfriend she was frowning, almost sternly, like you were about to get a lecture.

“Do not talk about yourself like that, please. You are not, and never have been, something I deal with. You are someone I love, you could never be a burden to me.”

Sometimes, more often than you liked to admit, Alexia would say things to you that felt too good to be true. Like you were living someone else’s life, a life you didn’t deserve. This was one of those things that felt like it was too sweet, too good to be said to you.

All you could do in response was grab Alexia’s hand and squeeze it with a weak smile on your face. Somehow, Alexia didn’t seem to find this very convincing.

“I mean it, mi amor. I am here for you, however you need me to be. If you need me to talk to Pere and the physios with you, I will. If you want me to come with you to therapy, I will. If you need me to–”

What little peace you’d found in Alexia’s comfort evaporated almost immediately. You leaned away from her, your expression suddenly defensive and unmistakably scared.

“Talking to the physios? To Pere? Therapy? Alexia, none of that is necessary.”

Alexia’s mouth opened and shut a few times, as she looked at you, completely stunned. “You- not necessary? Amor, this is serious.”

But it couldn’t be. You couldn’t let it be serious. Couldn’t be the person everyone worried about, couldn’t be the girl who wasn’t okay. It was one thing to admit you had a bit of a problem. It was entirely another to admit that it was a problem you’d completely lost control of.

You didn’t think about how you couldn’t make it through any meal without thinking of all the calories within.

You didn’t think about hearing that voice, the one that lived inside your head that told you that you were horrible and bad and ugly and unlovable.

You didn’t think about how even on days where you did eat, and didn’t make yourself sick afterwards, the thoughts that ran through your head were enough to make you question if you really even wanted to be here at all anymore.

You didn’t think about how you couldn’t understand why anyone stayed, why anyone spent any time with you. Because it was more than just an eating problem; there was something wrong inside your head that made you hate yourself, and this was just another manifestation of that broken part of you.

“It’s not serious. It’s completely under control.”

Alexia blinked at you, completely disbelieving. It didn’t make any sense to her; you’d admitted something was going on, but taking it a step further and admitting you needed help wasn’t something you’d allow. How could you see there was a problem and not see that it couldn’t be fixed by you all on your own? It didn’t make any sense to her.

“It’s not, bebé. It is not under control. You need help.” Alexia worked to keep her voice soft, gentle. You still reacted like she’d shouted at you.

Rising from the sofa, you put as much distance between you and your girlfriend as you could. All you felt was fear, and sadness. Neither of those emotions were safe emotions, though. Neither of those were emotions you could hide behind, so you did the only thing you could think of. You got angry.

“Alexia, I don’t need help. Not your help, not anyone else’s help. You don’t get to tell me what I need.” It wasn’t so much your words but the vitriol you spoke with that had your girlfriend realizing this conversation was over for the evening.

“You are upset. We can talk more tomorrow when we are more calm.” Alexia said slowly, looking like she wanted to reach out and grab your hand, but resisted. You were rendered speechless that she hadn’t shouted back at you. It was shocking that she hadn’t tried harder.

Shocking, and something else. Disappointing, just slightly. Like maybe she was giving up on you.

Alexia walked away into the bedroom, and you didn’t know whether to follow or not. You didn’t know how to face her after all of this, you didn’t know how to ask for what you needed.

All you could do was stare at the space she’d been standing, and wonder when everything had gotten so messy.

—

You slept on the couch that night, though you didn’t really want to. It felt like you were being torn in two, with part of you craving the comfort Alexia had provided, the relief of knowing that she finally knew and you didn’t have to keep so much hidden from her. The other part of you couldn’t admit she was right, that you did need help. You weren’t sure if it was pride that stopped you, or fear of what anyone finding out would mean. More than anything, you didn’t want anyone to see you differently. Not the team, not the staff. Not anyone. You didn’t want to be unwell, you didn’t want to be worried about. The latter part of you must have been stronger, because instead of crawling into bed next to Alexia and letting her wrap you up in her arms, you were on the couch under a soft throw blanket that didn’t feel anywhere close to as soft as Alexia.

The next morning came without either of you getting much sleep, yet you woke up with an alarming amount of clarity. Maybe Alexia had been whispering in your ear while you slept, or maybe your brain just needed to relax before it really thought critically about what was going on. Either way, you felt a little embarrassed for how you reacted the night before. You didn’t want to need help, but you also weren’t completely blind to the fact that you needed it. The suggestion, though, of telling people, of asking for help, was so terrifying it had you spiralling and downright refusing before you’d even really thought much about it.

But in the light of day, you realized maybe Alexia had a point. There was a before all this, a time when you didn’t think about the way you looked or obsessed over the things you ate. There was a time before everything felt this heavy, even if you hadn’t realized how heavy things had gotten until just now. And you’d thought, for a while, that a time after would come when you’d been successful, when you’d gotten to where you wanted to be. You also knew how wrong that thinking was, knew enough about eating disorders to know there was no point you’d be satisfied if you kept going like this.

There could still be an after, just maybe a more healthy one.

How to explain this mess of thoughts to your girlfriend, you weren’t sure.

You were hesitantly standing in the doorway of the bedroom, needing to get dressed to go to training, though training was still just rehab for you, but unsure if Alexia wanted you in the room.

She’d been upset last night, that was for sure. And, to an extent, you understood why. You just weren’t sure how long this… whatever she was feeling, anger or not, would last. You didn’t know if she was going to look at you with that fearful and disappointed look in her eyes again, the look you saw last night and would be perfectly content never seeing again as long as you lived.

Yet Alexia came out of the bathroom, pulling a t-shirt over her head, and her lips tilted into a small smile at the sight of you. Without any hesitation on her part, your girlfriend crossed the room in a few steps and pulled you into a hug. You hugged her back, though you were confused.

Alexia murmured a quiet good morning into your hair, seemingly content to just… stand there and hold you for a minute.

“Hi.” You whispered back. “Are you not… not mad at me?”

Alexia pulled away finally, her forehead creased in confusion. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I… last night you were mad because I said I didn’t need any help. You were upset with me, that’s why I slept on the sofa.”

“No, mi amor, no.” Alexia said rather frantically, gently grabbing your face in her hands. “I was not mad. I was upset, yes, but not mad at you. You were so worked up and upset, I thought you wanted space, that is why I did not say anything when you didn’t come to bed.”

“Oh.” You mumbled, eyes casted downwards in an effort to avoid eye contact with your girlfriend. “I misunderstood.”

You felt Alexia’s lips press against your temple before you were back in her arms, squeezed tight to her chest.

“I am sorry, bebé. I was not angry with you. This is not… this is not something I get to be angry with you about, understand? This is so difficult, and you need to do this on your own time and your own terms. I cannot, and will not, force you to do something you are not ready to do. Recovery… it has to be a choice, mi amor. It has to be your choice.”

Somehow, all of that made you feel worse. You’d half been hoping she’d still be mad, you realized, just so you could be mad back at her. Just so you could go back to ignoring the fact that she was right last night. You did need help. But she was being soft and understanding and patient, and that didn’t leave you much room to deny what you knew to be true.

Alexia was right. Getting better had to be something you wanted. And while you were sure you were at wanting yet, you knew that you needed to get better.

You must have been quiet for longer than you thought, because Alexia was tilting your chin up and saying your name for what sounded like not the first time.

“Tell me what is going on in your head. Please.”

You inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling like you didn’t have the words to explain anything that was going on in your head. “I just… I don’t know. I think you were right last night, but I don’t want to think that. I don’t want to need help, Ale, I really don’t. I don’t know what to do. I’m- I’m scared.”

Those words may have never left your mouth before, save for when you were forced into watching horror movies. Yet they spilled right out of your mouth so easily, Alexia’s magic power of somehow making you be vulnerable working too well.

The relief that flashed across your girlfriend’s face was not something you could possibly miss. You hadn’t even fully agreed with her yet, but clearly the fact that you weren’t still stuck in denial was enough for Alexia, and that made it feel like enough for you, too.

“You do not have to know what to do. You do not have to fix this yourself. We can figure it out together, amor. Take today to think about what you want to do. Nothing has to be decided right now. Think about therapy, consider it. But try to breathe for now, hm? Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

Alexia leaned in, then, gently pressing her lips to yours. She kissed you with emotion and love and so much softness, you felt tears sting your eyes. You weren’t sure why, exactly, but you believed her that everything would be okay. It was the way she said it, confident and sure, that settled something within you. That took some of the unease and just made it go away.

—

Of course, today of all days was when the medical staff decided you were ready to run again. You’d thought it was still a few days off, maybe a week, but they were happy with the progress you were making. Esther, the lead physio in charge of your recovery, told you the news excitedly, and initially, you felt the same way.

Though it was just meant to be a light jog on the treadmill, you thought it might make you feel better, might calm the racing thoughts that had been plaguing you since the night before, but which had grown even worse since Alexia had left you to train with the team. You could tell she was nervous by the way she bit at her bottom lip and squeezed your hand almost too tight in the hall outside the gym.

“Have someone come get me if you need me, okay? Promise?” She’d said.

You’d promised, though you hadn’t thought you’d need her. You’d have been wrong though.

Because here you were, barely a half hour later, and it felt like everything was crashing down around you for the second time in less than 24 hours.

You hadn’t done any intense exercise since your injury. Hadn’t run since then. Incidentally, that meant you hadn’t done any intense exercise or running since… it had started. And within just a few minutes of your run, your head began to spin. Black spots dotted your eyes, and your breath came short.

You’d have liked to think that it was just a lack of water, or maybe the stress of the night before combined with such an overwhelming step forward in your recovery. Instead, as you pulled the emergency stop pin and stumbled off the treadmill, all you could think was that you’d really messed up.

You could feel the weakness in your body, the lack of strength that had nothing to do with your time off recovering from your injury.

What you’d probably known already became suddenly very apparent and undeniable. You were weak because you hadn’t been eating. Hadn’t been fueling yourself correctly. Not enough to get through the day, certainly not enough to get through a workout. The consequences of your actions were staring you right in the face, and even though you should have seen them coming, they were a complete shock.

What you’d tried to tell yourself was a quest to be better, be healthier, was something else entirely. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t about that. It was about what you looked like and how you felt in your body.

If you kept going like this, your career would be in trouble. The realization felt like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach.

You sat down heavily on a weight bench, dropping your head into your hands. You were lost in your head, entirely and completely enveloped in the enormity of what you’d been doing to yourself, and what it meant for you.

A hand rested on your back, and a voice met your ears.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on? Is it your ankle?” Esther asked, scanning your body for any sign of what was wrong. You’d been fine one minute, jogging happily on the treadmill, a small smile on your face. The next, you’d gone pale, all the color draining from your face before you practically fell off the treadmill.

“N-no.” You managed. “Dizzy.”

You didn’t have to look at Esther’s face to know she was confused. Before she could speak, though, a second voice piped up.

“Esther, can you go get Alexia?” Kika said quietly, crouching down on your other side. Her face was scrunched with concern, and she grabbed your hand, squeezing gently.

Esther was off without another word, and your stomach twisted at the thought of Alexia seeing you like this, of Alexia knowing that things were this bad. It seemed, too, that Alexia wasn’t the only one that knew something was going on.

Even though your head was still spinning, you forced your eyes back open and looked down at Kika.

“What did she tell you?”

Kika gave you a sad smile. “Nothing, really. Just asked me to get her if you didn’t seem okay.”

Your heart simultaneously clenched and melted. Of course Alexia would ask the only other player in the gym for recovery with you to keep an eye on you. And of course, she didn’t tell anyone anything specific, just as she promised she wouldn’t.

“Just breathe slow, okay? I’ll get you some water once Ale gets here.”

You nodded, just barely, and focused on your breathing. Eyes fixed on your navy training shorts, you inhaled and exhaled, trying to match the rhythm that Kika was rubbing her thumb back and forth over your knuckles.

You didn’t even have time to glance up when the door opened again before Alexia was darting across the gym and falling to her knees in front of you. She was breathless, frantic, and you felt a pang of guilt for worrying her like this.

Alexia’s hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your face in her direction. She was sweaty, eyes wide with alarm and frantically scanning your whole body for a sign of what might be hurting you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Your eyes flickered to Kika, though the movement made you dizzier. You gripped Alexia’s forearms, trying to hold yourself steady, unsure how to answer Alexia’s question without lying and without letting Kika know what was going on. You didn’t think you could take the shame of another person knowing just yet.

Luckily, Kika got the hint, mumbling something about water and an energy gel and heading out the door.

Alexia didn’t look away from you the whole time, her eyes fixated on you, burning with worry. She looked to be seconds away from taking you by the shoulders and shaking you, begging for you to tell her what is wrong.

“I-I’m not okay.” You whispered, hoping that Alexia knew you well enough to understand what you somehow couldn’t force yourself to say out loud.

Her expression softened, one hand moving to cradle your cheek.

“I know, amor. Tell me what does not feel right.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady the wobble of your bottom lip. It was no use, and soon tears were sliding down your cheeks, warm and silent.

“Dizzy. Really dizzy. I almost passed out.”

You couldn’t look your girlfriend in the eye, but you could feel the realization hit her, the way her breath caught and her hand tightened its hold on yours.

“Because of…?”

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I’m not okay.” Repeating this sentence felt like the only thing you could do to ask for help. Because actually asking would have made you the weakest person on earth.

“Okay. Okay, bebé.” Alexia murmured, tapping your cheek lightly until you opened your eyes again. “You need help, mi amor. We need to get you help.”

This time, you didn’t jump away from her or act like she was crazy. You didn’t shout. You just exhaled a short breath, and nodded slightly.

It made you feel sick, agreeing with her. Because asking for help, trying to help yourself was somehow harder than hurting yourself. That was easy, you realized. Hating yourself and believing you didn’t deserve anything good came so naturally to you.

The mere acknowledgement that you needed help was the hardest thing you think you’d ever done. Yet you knew that whatever came next would be even harder.

—

i metaphorically just gave you a piece of my soul. please enjoy.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #woso one shot #barça femeni x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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butyoudidthis4what · 2 days ago

Text

I hear you.

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader

Based on this ask for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "show me that bruise please."

6.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Discussion of reader being very briefly assaulted in the form of her arm being grabbed hard; diverges from canon; a fairy bad bruise but no heavy graphic description; canon typical violence in the form of the guy who assaulted you being taken care of by the Cody boys™️; reference to use of a bat as a weapon; mention of a shotgun; super vague reference to drugs if you've watched the show and/or know Craig; mention of a bar; Pope struggles; heavy allusion to sex; emotional-ish but I think still quite fluffy; no use of y/n or related.

Summary: You come home to Pope with a bruise.

AN: My first time writing for Pope. He is a tough one to nail down in all aspects, voice, characterization, movement. So I'm very nervous and concerned about whether this reads and feels like him in those ways. I'm also only about half way through season 4 so I haven't seen all of him quite yet. I didn't get into too much into either Reader or Pope's internal thinking and feelings how I sometimes do. I was trying to keep it lighter and shorter. 😂 Anyway, I hope it reads and feels like him and is nevertheless enjoyable if it doesn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments and thank you so much for reading!

You’re still thinking about how you’re going to tell Pope as you turn down the street of your house.

You suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. His reaction will be the same no matter how gently you tell him or how much you play it down. Because it’s you. And so it’s visceral for him. Instinctual.

Especially when it’s you being injured by someone else.

The two of you met shortly after Deran bought and opened the bar. He hired you as a bartender. To the surprise of everyone, Pope included, the two of you hit it off. He’d come in and sit at the bar before opening while you prepped. You’d talk, he’d listen, would talk some. He talked more over time as he became comfortable with you. You started going to parties at the house which gave you more time together, got him more comfortable around you. Particularly because you generally spent about five minutes in the backyard before slipping with Pope to whatever free room was available and shutting the door.

You only ever talked. You’d lay on the bed side by side and stare at the ceiling while you talked and during the periods of comfortable silences. You never made him talk. Never made him try to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to push for more while in a bedroom with him.

He let you help with Lena. It was you he turned to when he had to let her go. He spent considerably more time at your place after, both because he wanted to be there and because you saw what Smurf was doing to him.

Your relationship was a slow progression. But he finally asked you out like you hadn’t been dating in a way already and things grew from there. You probably moved in together a little too quickly but you had to get him out of that fucking house and away from Smurf. The progression wasn’t linear. Nothing ever truly is. Both of you had things to work through, pasts that made relationships difficult. You stuck together though. And here you are a few years later. You just bought a house together and are both thinking about more in your own heads.

Pope’s on the couch waiting up for you and watching another nature documentary when his phone rings. His brows furrow a little when he sees it’s Deran. “Yeah?”

“Hey, so listen… little physical altercation at the bar tonight-”

“Involving her?” He’s already up and grabbing his keys.

“Yeah but she’s fine, man,” Deran sighs in that vaguely impatient and resigned way he does. “She already left and is on her way home. It really wasn’t much. Some guy grabbed her arm and that was really all he was able to do before it was handled. I just didn’t want to get yelled at for not telling you, so I called.”

Pope’s voice is even lower than usual, seething. “You better hope she’s really okay.”

He hangs up, turns all the living room lights on, sits back down, and turns the TV off. He’d love to know why the fuck you didn’t call him.

He hears the garage door opening, your car pulling in and it closing again. He’d taught you that when you guys moved in. To keep the car in reverse and close the garage door before parking, unlocking your car doors and getting out. Safer. Thirty seconds or so later the door leading from the garage into the house opens and you walk in, set your stuff down with its usual clatter. “Hey! I’m home.”

You toe your shoes off and kick them onto the bottom shelf of the shoe rack how Pope likes. The second you step into the living room and find the TV off, all the living room lights on, and Pope sitting straight up in the armchair you already know. His eyes find yours immediately and stay on you.

“Deran?” you confirm as you walk further into the living room. You stand near the armchair, close enough that he could stand and reach you or grab your hand as he sits but far enough away to give him space and not be looming over him.

“Called.” Pope’s face would be unreadable to anyone but you. Everyone would just see anger and his scowl. And yes, he is angry. But you see the slight softness to his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow just a little differently than when he’s angry, and the way his head isn’t bowed in anger but rather lifted just a little with the slightest tilt. Worried. Pope is worried about you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s acerbic. It’s Pope being worried and struggling with the vulnerability that worry brings. He’s not sure what he would be without you. Not sure he would continue to be for very long without you.

You tilt your head at him a little, keep your tone soft and volume normal. “Of course I was.” You nod as you say it. “I just thought doing it in person would be better so that I’d be here and you could see I’m okay.”

After a few seconds of consideration your answer earns you an almost imperceptible nod. He likes that thought process, the way you were trying to make this even a little easier on him. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head at him and he accepts it for now. “What happened?”

You shrug. “I was walking back from a table and some guy stopped me and started talking. When I tried to excuse myself to get back behind the bar he grabbed my arm. I got away quickly enough. Left a bruise but it’s really not bad.”

“What?” It’s low, eerily calm and all gravel. And there’s anger, you think. Real anger. Not anger that’s in part masking worry. You can see it and you can hear it.

“Pope, I’m okay-”

“He left a mark on you. That’s not okay.” His breathing has gotten heavier as his anger grows. It’s not at you and you know that. He’s just livid at the thought of someone leaving a mark on you. He’s glad he can’t see it, that you’re wearing one of his shirts and the sleeve is long enough on you to just about hit your elbow. Glad he has time to try to prepare himself to see it.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just a bruise.” You offer him a small smile to see if it’ll help show him you’re okay. It does. Just slightly. Your smile helps him. Always helps him regulate and come back to center even if just the slightest bit. “I give myself them all the time.”

He shakes his head a little. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is or isn’t. And if it’s already visible it’s bad enough.”

“Pope, I’m okay. Look at me.” You offer him your hand and after a few seconds he takes it and stands up. You take one of his hands in yours and press his index and middle finger into your wrist, his fingers automatically adjusting until they find your pulse. You cup his face, keeping looking into his eyes. “I’m here,” you murmur. “I’m here with you and I’m okay.”

His jaw grinds a little but he nods and lets out a breath. It’s helped him come down a little. “Show me that bruise please.” His tone has evened back out. He’s not demanding. It’s a statement, but there’s just enough of a slight upward intonation at the end of the sentence that you know you could refuse.

You don’t want to refuse though. And there’s no point in refusing. He’s going to see it at some point tonight unless you change in the bathroom with the door closed and wear one of his shirts or something long sleeved.

“Okay.” You nod at him. Pope lets go of your wrist and your hands move from his face, one hanging at your side as the other grabs your sleeve and pulls it up, bunches it at your shoulder before coming down so he can see. You hold that arm out a little for him.

Pope’s breathing picks back up as looks at your arm, uses his finger to ask you to hold it out more and turn it for him. He’s a little lightheaded and a lot nauseous at the sight, red and purple blotches are already settling into your skin. But it’s not so much the red and purple that makes him lightheaded and nauseous.

“That is not just a bruise,” he grits out, his breathing picking back up again. “That’s his fucking handprint on your skin! That is his fucking handprint bruised onto your arm!” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell though he says the words with force behind them. The words are strained too. A man trying to keep himself collected. At least for now. At least for this conversation with you.

Pope thought he was livid before, thought he was full of rage. At whoever did this to you. At himself for not being there to protect you. But one look at the handprint shaped bruise on your upper arm has him thinking he’s never truly been livid before. Hasn’t come close to hitting true rage before.

“I’m okay. It doesn’t really hurt and it’ll fade.”

“Who was it?” Pope finally pulls his eyes off the bruise and back up to yours. “Is he a regular?”

You shake your head and let out a concerned breath. “Deran and I already took care of him, Pope. Please. I don’t want you to leave tonight or put yourself at risk while you’re this upset about it.” Your eyes grow a little glassy and the corners of your lips pull down.

Both your words and the look on your face make Pope pause for a second. He can’t let his anger go. But he can at least try to set aside for now. For you.

“You took care of him?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty sure I broke his nose. If I didn’t, Deran definitely did. He was there within seconds of my punch to take over for me.”

“With?” You know he’s asking how you might’ve broken the guy’s nose.

“My fist.” You smile a little at the way the quickest little smirk of pride flashes on his face.

“Does your hand hurt?”

“A little maybe.” You open and close it. “Nothing I’d be desperate to take ibuprofen or tylenol for.”

“Let me see.” He holds his hand out and you place yours in his. Pope looks down and doesn’t love what he sees. Your knuckles are very clearly bruised. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” he releases your hand and looks at you, “it always is.”

You shrug. You don’t really care. “But hey, it’s not broken because I had such a great self-defense instructor who taught me how to protect myself for the times when I can’t be with my boyfriend.” Something about ‘instructor’ gets to Pope a little, makes his heart beat a little faster. You pull your sleeve back down, covering the bruise. “Probably the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.” You hold out your hands for Pope and pull him gently and start walking backwards towards your bedroom once he takes them.

“He can be taken care of again.” He’s talking about the guy who did this to you. You give him a little nod, shrug in admission and acquiescence. The guy could.

“Auburn curls,” you continue, squeezing his hands. He goes to squeeze back but stops, doesn’t want to make the bruising worse. “The most beautiful hazel eyes. Big hands that enveloped mine. Soft yet firm tummy I could feel whenever he was right behind me helping me position my hands or something. Muscular arms.” You cross the threshold into your bedroom, warmth flooding through you when you watch the corners of his lips twitch up, his eyes crinkle a little as your words make him give you the smallest smile. “Sharp jaw with some stubble that made me shiver when it would scrape lightly over my ear and face when he leaned in from behind to give me instructions.” You stop walking when you and Pope are standing face to face at the end of your bed, stepping close to him and resting your hands against his chest.

“You were supposed to be paying attention.” He tilts his head slightly as he slides his arms around your waist. “To what you were being taught.”

You smirk at him. “Evidently I was.” You pull your bruised but not broken hand from his chest and wiggle your fingers at him.

“Maybe you need to take a refresher course from this instructor.” It seems teasing. Or the closest to this kind of teasing Pope will probably ever get. And perhaps it is in part, slight part. But really it’s a type of vulnerability Pope only gives you. It’s a veiled ask and expression of concern. He wants to teach you again, assure himself that you know how to defend yourself when he’s not with you.

“I’d be more than happy to do that.” You nod at him.

He swallows. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you murmur. You press your lips together and up, ask him for a kiss. He leans down and in to give you one. More than one. Brings a hand up to hold your jaw gently. Like you’ll break. Another silent ask, though you’re not entirely sure for what. You’re not sure he knows. You pull away a little at a natural break in your last kiss. “What do you need?”

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t…” His eyes wander around your face, jaw rolling as he tries to find the answer. Not because he feels he needs to give you one but because he wants to find the answer for himself. A few quiet moments pass, but you’re patient. You’re always patient with him. He finally gets what he needs articulable, brushes the thumb of the hand still holding your jaw over your lips, just enough force to tilt your head a little. “To look at you. To feel you.”

You nod as you study him, his eyes. There’s really two ways to give him both of those. But there is only one way he’s using his eyes and body to ask for, consciously or not.

If he wanted to strip you and lay you on the bed and look over you by kissing every inch of you his free hand would be playing with the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants and his eyes would flick to the bed at least once. But neither of those happen.

Instead his eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. His free hand squeezes your hip gently, gives it the slightest tug to the right. It matches with the way his thumb tilts your head slightly to the right. The bathroom is off to the right.

It’s obvious.

“Shower me?” Your words are important. Especially now, especially to Pope. Shower me. Not shower with me. You want him to do this for you. You’re giving this to him. Giving yourself to him. “Wash him off me. Please. I only want you on me.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “okay.”

You smile at him as he lets his hand fall from your jaw and take yours. He leads you to the bathroom, closes the door so the steam will heat the room, turns the shower on and lets the water get warm as he strips you, pants and underwear first, then himself completely, and then his fingers play at the hem of your shirt for a few seconds as he tries to brace himself to see it again before he takes it off, makes quick work of your bra.

His anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s right there beneath the surface. It flares when the bruise is revealed again, rings in his ears. But you’re more important than it. You need him right now. To take care of you and wash the guy who did this from your skin as much as he can.

And he needs you. Now and always. Needs to know you’re okay. He feels like his emotions, his worry and resultant need to see and feel you might be out of proportion with what happened, especially to an outsider. Because at the end of the day you are right. It is just a bruise. It’s not life-threatening. You don’t need any medical treatment. But for Pope it might as well have been. It was life-threatening to him because you were in danger and he wasn’t there. The situation was life-threatening even if the bruise it left you with isn’t.

The whole thing is a reminder of something he knows all too well, how fragile life is, how easily it’s taken away. How easily the woman he loves could be taken away. It makes him breathless if he thinks about it for too long. So maybe his emotions and his reaction feel out of proportion, would seem that way to an outsider. But they aren’t to him. He’s had too much ripped away, seen too much violence and death, and so every threat to you is life-threatening in his mind.

Pope grabs your hand again before he uses his other to feel the temperature of the water. You bite your lip at it because something about it is just adorable and precious. He wants to hold your hand here in your bathroom. Doesn’t want to be not touching you.

Once he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets you in first, makes sure you get completely wet and are warm before he lets you spin the two of you so that he’s under the stream of water. When he’s done he moves you back, has you get your hair wet again before grabbing your shampoo. He’s thorough, massages your scalp a little before rinsing and applying your conditioner. He holds you while it sits, hugs you to him, his head turning to rest on your shoulder. After enough time has passed he rinses your hair, makes sure all the conditioner is out.

The breath of air he lets out as he takes a step back to grab your body wash would be just that, him letting out a breath, to anyone else. But you see it for what it is, a small sigh of relief that he can now finally do what he’s been aching to do. He can wash you, can run a soaped up washcloth over you, follow behind it with his other hand so he can feel you as he looks you over, go over every inch of you to reassure himself. To comfort himself.

You grab the washcloth and start to get it wet as he grabs your body wash. But you stop him. “Yours, please.” He’s still for a few seconds before grabbing his and turning around to take the washcloth for him. You love smelling like him. And you know that smelling like your shampoo and conditioner and his body wash is going to be perfect for him in bed tonight. Because he loves the smell of you but also loves the possessiveness of you smelling like him. Best of both worlds.

The shower has been quiet and continues to be as Pope washes you, kneeling to wash your legs to make sure he feels all of you, looks at all of you. It’s not unusual. It’s Pope. He doesn’t need words to express himself right now. His hands and eyes and lips say everything. He’s worried about you. He’s scared. He’s angry at the guy who did this. He doesn’t like you getting hurt. He hates it. It’s unacceptable. He’s sorry he wasn’t there. He’s going to take care of you. He’s got you. You’re safe with him.

He loves you.

You don’t speak because you know how focused he is and wants to remain. You talking might interrupt or distract him. He might not get everything he needs from this. So you watch him wash you, run your hands through wet curls when he’s on his knees in front of you.

Pope occasionally presses kisses after the hand following the washcloth. To your hip, your collarbones, your knee, your inner wrist, your tummy, the back of your calf, your lower back, up your spine, your shoulder, your hands, your fingers, your neck. He doesn’t care about the taste of soap on his lips, he doesn’t even really register it.

He avoids it though. That one upper arm. But once the rest of you is finished and it’s the only unwashed part of you he turns his attention to it. You watch the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes as he looks at it, watch his jaw clench and unclench. Pope looks at you, waits for the soft smile and nod you give him before his eyes turn back to your upper arm.

He’s exceedingly gentle as he runs the washcloth over the bruise, the hand that follows behind it feather light, fingertips dragging over your skin lightly enough to bring goosebumps to your skin even with the heat of the shower. The washcloth hitting the floor makes a slapping sound that neither you nor Pope really hear. He’s too focused on you and you’re too focused on him.

He leans down, drops his head enough to bring his lips to your arm, shifting as he needs to in order to kiss every single square inch of the bruise. His eyes stay on it once he’s done, fingers tracing over it again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he brings his eyes back to yours. His scowl has tightened enough to reflect how sad he is, how responsible he feels. They match his slightly glassy eyes. Shame clouds his features and he has to look away, afraid of what he’ll see on your face once his apology processes even though he knows your face isn’t going to change.

And there’s the fear you knew was coming for him.

The fear that he fucked up, that he wasn’t there and let this happened and failed to protect you so you’re going to revoke your love. Break up with him. Leave him. Or maybe just punish him with the silent treatment and put downs and little snide comments designed to inflict maximum damage until you decide it’s enough. He knows you won’t do any of that but that type of treatment is all he’s known and even with the years between you where you’ve never done anything of the sort, it’s still almost impossible for the fear to not take him over for a little when he feels like he’s messed up and let you down. It’s a Pavlovian response. And he knows you know that. That you don’t hold it against him or think it’s reflective of what he thinks about you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your voice is warm and even. It’s normal, how you always talk to him. You have to fight to keep it that way not because you’re mad at him or upset with him but because seeing him like this, being this hard on himself, feeling this guilty, makes your heart ache for him and hurts worse than the bruise or when it was left.

“I should have been there.” He shakes his head and you can see his scowl relax back into anger at himself, jaw setting.

You move your hand within his field of vision so that he knows it’s coming when you slide it into his and squeeze. “I know it feels that way, and your feelings are valid and your guilt makes sense, I promise. But we can’t be together every second Pope. And even if you had been there unless you were following me from table to table it would’ve happened all the same.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have seen us together and not tried.” You tug on his hand a little, try to get him to come closer to you so that he’ll be in the stream of water. You can see that he’s cold. But you’re not surprised when he doesn’t move, knows he thinks being cold is just part of the penance he feels he deserves. So you step out of the stream and drop his hand so you can wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. “And I’d have been there. I’d at least have been there.”

As you expected, Pope slides his arms around you and walks you both back into the stream of the shower. You stand there quietly with him for a few moments until he relaxes enough to truly hug you back, lean over you and rest his head on your shoulder. You rub his back, try to give him as much comfort as he’ll accept before you pull back and lean in to kiss him.

You break the kiss and let your hands leave his body to hold his face so that he’ll look at you again. “I know I can’t take it away from you or convince you that you don’t need to feel responsible or guilty or like you let me down or failed me. But I can tell you that I don’t feel like you’re responsible for it, I don’t feel like you let it happen or that you weren’t there for me or that you let me down or failed me. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going silent.” You give him another couple of kisses before smiling at him, watch him fight to accept your words. “I still love you more than I know what to do with and I still feel loved by you. There hasn’t been a single second since you first told me that I haven’t.”

“There hasn’t been a single second I haven’t.” He’s urgent in the way he says it, like he needs you to know, needs you to believe him.

“I know,” you murmur. You steal a lingering kiss from him and then settle him back into you. It doesn’t upset you that he doesn’t really verbally acknowledge the rest of what you said. You know he was listening and taking it in and is trying to process it all.

After another minute or so Pope pulls away from you so that he can quickly wash his hair and body. Normally you’d ask to do it for him but you know it would be too much for him right now, that he’d let you but grow even more tense with how much he’d feel like he didn’t deserve it. So you just watch, step out of the stream when he needs to rinse. And when he’s done he pulls you into him so that your back is against his chest, positions you just right so that the water falls on you both but keeps your heads out of the stream as you soak together.

Eventually you start to talk softly, chatter at him like you do. It’s something he loves about you. That you’ll talk to him and not expect him to talk in return. But you don’t talk constantly either. You know when to and for how long. You’re not afraid of the silence that often falls between the two of you, it’s always comfortable, always feels safe. Sometimes you just like to break it. Sometimes the energy shift within him as he starts to get in his head is so palpable you can feel it and start to talk to bring him out of it before he gets too far in. Sometimes it’s some of both.

He comments from time to time, gives you hums of acknowledgement to make sure you know he’s listening. He doesn’t need to because you know he’s always listening. Always remembering. He’ll bring up something you randomly spoke about as you guys make dinner a month after the fact. Sometimes you don’t even remember.

You bring a hand up and back and run your fingers through his hair for a second as best you can. “I love your curls when they’re wet,” you sigh happily.

“You always love them.”

You giggle a little at him and the way he says it so simply, like he’s saying water is wet or some other obvious fact, almost a little distracted, voice stoic in a way and low enough to be all gravel. “True.”

From there you tell him about other things that happened at the bar. Give him a little more info on just how well Deran took care of the guy.

“And as Deran’s hauling him over to the door Craig leaves the bathroom,” you pause in a silent we both know why, “and is like ‘yo, what the fuck?’ and starts yelling for Kai to hand him the bat and when she wouldn’t he started to go for the hidden shotgun. Luckily Deran had the guy out by that point, but then Craig found out what happened and was asking for the bat again and saying he was just going to find and have a talk with the guy and make sure he knew I was yours and that he was lucky it was him and Deran there and not you.”

“Fucking Craig,” Pope huffs. But you know his lips are upturned at least a little, know that he loves it, his brothers protecting you, that he loves them. “Deran should’ve let him.” You hum in acknowledgment and stand in comforting silence for a bit. “I’m glad they had your back.”

You don’t comment on those words, know he doesn’t want you to. Instead you tell him the rest of the night was uneventful, let there be a few minutes of silence before you start talking again, this time about whatever pops into your head. Things you need at the grocery store, somewhere you think you guys should go on vacation, another random story someone at work told you, how you need the oil changed in your car.

The entire time you chatter at him Pope holds you close, kisses at your neck and just below your ear, occasionally letting his lips pull up just a little at something you say or how animated you get, content to listen to you and let you drown out the thoughts in his mind trying to take over.

“Leave your car tomorrow and take mine. I’ll change the oil.” He gives your neck one last kiss and then moves his hands to squeeze your hips gently. “Let’s get out. The water is getting cold.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” You spin to give him a kiss quickly before you wait for him to turn the shower off and step out, dry himself and wrap his towel around his waist. He holds his hand out for you and you take it, let him grab your towel and dry you off.

Pope wraps your towel around you to help keep you warm while he sorts out your wet hair for you. You both hang your towels to dry before heading back into your room.

“No.” He says it softly but it’s loud enough to hear and you turn to him, abandoning the pair of pajamas you were about to pull from the dresser. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you. “Please,” he whispers. He needs you skin on skin, no fabric between you. He needs to feel your warmth seep into him. Needs to know you still want his skin on yours.

“I’d love that.” You smile brightly at him. It makes his heart seize a little. He’ll never get over you wanting him in every way, of you looking at him like that. Like he’s your world.

Nor will he ever get over sliding into bed next to you and laying on your side, you seeking him out, tangling your legs together and resting your arm across the side of his waist as your heads lay on the same pillow and you look at each other.

There’s a couple moments of silence as you both settle in.

“How’d your day go? Anything you want to share?” The smile you wear reassures him he can say no if he wants.

He shrugs with his top shoulder. “It was fine until that phone call from Deran. Didn’t really do much.”

You hum at him. “Well I’m glad it was otherwise fine.”

He gives you a single nod and the peaceful silence returns. The two of you just rest together, looking at each other, hands running up and down your sides. You watch his face slowly tighten. He has something to admit.

You give him time to work it out in his head, don’t prompt him or ask him anything. And eventually the silence is broken.

“I’m finding him,” Pope admits.

You let out a small laugh, smile at him and nod. You squeeze his hip. “I know.”

“Does that make you mad?” That question is quieter, like he’s afraid of the answer and feels like shit for the way he’s not sure a ‘yes’ would be able to stop him.

“No.” You shake your head.

“I don’t want to make you mad.” He swallows thickly, like he’s trying to take his next words down with it. “But he bruised his handprint onto your skin. I can’t let that go, I can’t let that go.”

“It doesn’t make me mad, my love. I promise.” You run a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, yeah? Can’t have you getting hurt on me. Or anything else.” You don’t need to specify you’re talking about him getting caught and going back to prison. He knows.

There’s a brief pause as he accepts your words. “You like taking care of me when I’m hurt,” he mumbles like it doesn’t mean everything to him.

“Well yeah!” you huff a laugh. “But I’d gladly accept never getting to take care of you in that specific way again if it meant you were here with me and never got injured, or sick for that matter, again.”

Pope nods. More silence. He shifts in bed, just a small wiggle. But he has been the whole time. He’s restless. He knows you’re okay but he needs more to quiet his mind.

“You’re okay?” He breaks the silence again.

“I’m okay.” You smile at him and nod. Your eyes roam his face and then settle back on his as you hear what he wants. “It’s okay if you need more.” You grab Pope’s hand and roll on your back, tug on his hand to get him to follow you so that he’s on top of you. “If you haven’t felt me quite enough to really believe that I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” he breathes with a nod.

You lean up and kiss him, run a hand through his curls and use it to guide his head down with yours as you kiss. “Yeah,” you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you this time, gives you a tiny grunt of appreciation when you open your mouth for him so he can taste you. As you kiss you grab his hand, guide it over your body to remind him that he can touch you, that you’re his, all of you. He doesn’t need much of a reminder, hands roaming all over you as he kisses you breathless. His hands are softer than usual, gentler. He doesn’t squeeze quite as hard. It’s not that he doesn’t want to mark you, he loves marking you. But not tonight. He can’t tonight.

You whine in discontent when he breaks the kiss and pulls up to look down at you, hazel eyes blown and chest heaving slightly. “Thank you. For not making me ask.” He gives you another lingering kiss and pulls up a little and looks at you again like you’re unreal, a figment of his imagination. But he could never imagine something as good as you, no matter how hard he tried. “You never make me ask.”

“You do ask.” You sigh softly as he moves one of his hands closer to where you want it. Where he wants it. “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” You widen your legs for him letting his pelvis drop down and settle against yours more as you continue to look him in the eye. His hips and yours roll and his hand falters as you both find friction another way. He gives you a soft groan as his hand starts moving closer again, though for a different purpose this time. The pleasure Pope’s sending through you has your voice breathy and low as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer again so that your lips touch. “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”

I hope it was okay and 'Pope' enough! I love hearing your guys' thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin, motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming!

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If you'd like to be tagged in future 1k celebration drabbles please interact with this post! I won't be using my regular tag lists for them. There are more Pope drabbles coming! Feel free to read this post and send one in yourself!

I also write for the Pitt! Checkout my masterlist here! Interact with this post if you'd like to be added to my Jack Abbot tag list and this post if you'd like to be added to my Robby Robinavitch tag list. (Each of my tag lists is a separate post!).

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384 notes · View notes

inseobts · 22 hours ago

Text

Bound by Pain

trafalgar law x fem!reader

when you awaken a new power that lets you take others' pain as your own, you begin secretly protecting the crew—until law finds out...

words count: 3.4k

warning: reader is like a voodoo doll so self harm, blood and injuries are mentioned for the fights

tags: injuries, fluff, a bit angst maybe

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The first time Law sees you use your power, he nearly loses his mind.

A blade sinks into your palm, cutting deep into your flesh, but it’s not your scream that fills the battlefield, it’s the enemy’s. Blood pours from the same spot on their hand, their eyes wide with terror as they clutch it. Then, without hesitation, you drive the knife into your thigh. Another opponent drops to the ground in agony.

Law curses under his breath, heart pounding. He already knows how your Devil Fruit works, but seeing it in action, watching you harm yourself over and over again, is something else entirely.

You grin at him from across the battlefield, despite the sweat clinging to your skin “Don’t give me that look, Captain. I’m fine.”

You’re not fine. He can see how your fingers tremble as you yank the blade from your leg. How your breathing is just a little too shallow. He knows you heal faster than normal people, faster than your opponents, but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel the pain.

And it pisses him off.

Later, back on the Polar Tang, the crew is gathered around while Law stitches up your wounds.

“You need to stop doing this,” he mutters, voice low with frustration. His gloved hands work efficiently, closing up the gash on your arm “You push yourself too far, Y/N.”

“I had to,” you argue, wincing slightly as he pulls the needle through your skin “We were outnumbered.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to stab yourself every damn time we’re in a fight,” Shachi pipes up, crossing his arms “It’s hard to watch, y’know?”

Penguin nods “Seriously, we all worry about you.”

You sigh, looking at their concerned faces “I can’t just stand around and do nothing.”

Law exhales sharply, tying off the last stitch.

“I’m not saying you should do nothing,” he says, his tone softer now “I’m saying stop using your ability unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Your lips press together “It was necessary.”

“Necessary is when there’s no other option,” he counters “Not every fight is life or death situation, Y/N.”

Your fingers curl into a fist, frustration bubbling up “Maybe not to you. But I won’t just sit back and watch any of you get hurt if I can stop it.” Your voice wavers, and Law’s eyes soften.

He understands. He really does. But watching you mutilate yourself to protect him, to protect the crew, drives him insane.

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin “I don’t want to lose you” he says quietly.

Your heart clenches. You lean into his touch “��You won’t.”

But he doesn’t look convinced.

The tension between you and Law doesn’t disappear overnight.

You try to hold back, really, but when the crew gets caught up in another skirmish a few days later, you don’t hesitate. The enemy is fast, and they’re aiming straight for Law.

So you do what you always do.

The knife sinks into your ribs, sharp and deep. Pain explodes through your body, but so does satisfaction when your opponent staggers, clutching their own side in shock. You twist the blade, and they drop like a stone.

Victory.

But the moment the fight is over, Law storms toward you, eyes dark with fury.

“What the hell did I told you?!”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s gripping your wrist, checking the wound with quick, clinical efficiency. The crew hovers nearby, looking just as tense.

“I handled it,” you mutter, swaying slightly.

Law curses under his breath before sweeping you off your feet, carrying you straight back to the ship.

In the infirmary, he works in silence, pressing gauze against your wound harder than necessary. You hiss, but he doesn’t ease up.

“You’re angry” you say, watching his face.

“No, I’m furious.” His golden eyes flick up, filled with something between anger and deep, aching worry “Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch you do this to yourself?”

Your breath catches. You expected him to scold you, to lecture you, but there’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your chest tighten.

“…I just want to protect you,” you admit, voice small.

Law exhales sharply, his fingers stilling. Then, unexpectedly, he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“You are protecting me,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “But who the hell is protecting you?”

Your heart pounds. His warmth, his scent, the steady rise and fall of his breath, you could drown in it.

“I can take care of myself” you whisper.

His lips barely graze yours as he speaks “Then stop making me feel like I’m losing you.”

And just like that, the fight drains out of you.

You swallow hard, staring into his golden eyes. The frustration, the exhaustion, the fear—it’s all right there, laid bare for you to see.

“…I’m sorry.” you murmur.

Law exhales, his fingers tightening on your waist where he’s holding you steady.

“You always say that,” he mutters “Then you do it again.”

You flinch, guilt settling deep in your chest. He’s right. And yet...

“If it were you,” you say softly, “wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

He goes still.

You already know the answer. Of course he would. He would knock at the reaper’s door without a second thought if it meant keeping you safe.

And that’s exactly why it hurts so much for him to watch you do it.

Law shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before he cups your face with both hands, tilting your head up.

“You’re impossible,” he says, but there’s no real bite to his words, just quiet desperation “At least promise me you won’t push yourself this hard anymore.”

You hesitate. It’s a promise you want to make, but you don’t know if you can keep it.

Law sees the conflict in your eyes and sighs, pressing his forehead against yours again “Just… try,” he whispers.

Your heart aches “I will,” you say, and for now, that’s enough.

The crew is relieved to see the two of you talking again, though they still give you disapproving looks when you step out of the infirmary.

“You scared the hell out of us.” Bepo grumbles, ears drooping.

“Yeah, seriously,” Penguin adds “At least pretend to care about yourself, will ya?”

You roll your eyes, but their concern makes warmth bloom in your chest.

“I do care about myself,” you argue “I just care about you guys more.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” Shachi says, exasperated.

Before you can reply, Law wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Enough,” he orders. “She already got an earful from me.”

The crew exchanges knowing looks but wisely doesn’t comment.

Law keeps his hold on you as you walk back toward your room. He doesn’t say much, but his grip is firm, his touch warm. You lean into him slightly, letting yourself enjoy it.

“Y’know,” you say, tilting your head up to look at him “You’re kinda cute when you’re worried about me.”

He scoffs “Shut up.”

But his ears are red, and you count that as a win.

Later that night, you’re in Law’s quarters, lying on his bed while he checks your injuries again.

“You just patched me up,” you say, amused “I’m not gonna fall apart in my sleep, Doc.”

He shoots you a glare “I don’t trust your Devil Fruit to heal you fast enough when you keep overusing it.”

You sigh, letting him work. His touch is gentle despite his frustration, gloved fingers skimming over bandages, checking for any signs of reopened wounds. He’s quiet, but you can feel the way he’s still stewing over everything.

“You’re still mad...” you murmur.

“I have every reason to be.” His hands still against your ribs, and his voice softens “You’re my reason to be.”

Your heart skips a beat. Law isn’t good with words, not the sentimental kind, anyway, but when he does say something like this, it means something.

You reach up, tugging at his coat “Then stay,” you whisper “Don’t leave me alone tonight.”

His eyes darken, and for a second, you think he’s going to argue. But then he exhales, shaking his head before tugging off his coat “You’re exhausting.” he mutters, climbing onto the bed beside you.

You grin “And yet, you still love me.”

“Tch.” He pulls you against him, resting his chin on the top of your head “Too much.”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you curl up against him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you.

“I mean it,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now “I don’t want to lose you.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, and the way he’s watching you, his eyes heavy with something deeper, something raw, makes heat pool in your stomach.

“…You won’t,” you whisper “I promise.”

He searches your face, then leans down, brushing his lips over yours, soft at first, hesitant. But when you pull him closer, fingers tangling in his hair, the hesitation disappears.

Law never lets go of control easily. But right now, with you, he’s willing to.

His hands slip under your shirt, gliding over bare skin, warm and rough and needy. His lips move against yours, slow but deep, as if he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you feel.

“Tell me to stop” he murmurs against your mouth.

You tug him closer “I never want you to stop.”

And that’s all he needs to hear.

The first time you notice a change in your powers, it’s by accident.

Bepo comes back from a supply run with a deep cut on his arm, blood dripping onto the Polar Tang’s floor. It’s not serious, but it looks painful. Shachi and Penguin are fussing over him, but Bepo just waves them off.

Without thinking, you reach out and press your hand over the wound.

Then something pulls.

A cold, sharp feeling rushes through your body, like your Devil Fruit is doing something new. Before you can understand it, the wound on Bepo’s arm disappears.

And then pain.

A deep, burning ache spreads through your arm. You glance down, and your eyes widen. The same cut that was on Bepo’s arm is now on yours.

Bepo flexes his arm in surprise “Whoa! It doesn’t hurt anymore, did you do that?”

You force a smile, ignoring the pain “Just a little trick.”

That’s a lie. You had no idea you could do that. But now you do.

And that changes everything.

For weeks, you test it out. Slowly. Carefully.

A small cut on Ikkaku’s hand? Gone.

A bruise on Shachi’s knuckles? Taken.

A scrape on Penguin’s leg? Healed.

You do it when no one is watching, hiding the pain behind a smile. These wounds aren’t as bad, and your healing is slower than normal, but you can handle it.

Because now, you can really protect them.

Even if Law would hate it.

Then, one day, everything goes wrong.

The battle was bad.

An ambush,one meant to take down Law. The enemy knew who to target, and even though you all fought hard, he still got hurt. Badly.

You fall to your knees beside him, pressing your hands to his wound. Blood soaks through his coat, warm and sticky. Too much.

“Don’t!” Law’s voice is weak, but you don’t listen.

You can fix this.

Your hands press down harder, and you pull.

Pain slams into you, harder than anything before. Your vision blurs as the wound transfers to your own body. It’s worse than you expected... sharp, deep, unbearable.

But Law’s wound heals.

His breathing steadies. His skin closes up. He’s alive.

That’s all that matters.

You try to smile, try to say something. But before you can, the world goes dark.

The crew finds out the moment you collapse.

One second, Law is the one bleeding out. The next, he’s fine and you hit the ground instead.

For a moment, nobody understands what just happened.

Law barely has time to catch you before you crumple completely, his hands gripping your shoulders as your body slumps against him. Your breathing is shallow, your skin unnaturally pale.

And then they see the blood.

Blood that wasn’t there before.

The same injuries that had covered Law, deep gashes, dark bruises, are now on you.

“No way...” Shachi breathes.

Penguin’s eyes widen “She took his wounds?”

Realization slams into the crew all at once.

Law isn’t thinking about any of that right now.

He’s too busy pressing his fingers to your pulse, checking your breathing, scanning your body for just how much you took from him.

His hands shake.

His mind is racing, heart hammering in his chest. His wounds were bad. He knows exactly what kind of injuries he had. He knows what you just did.

And if you took it all...

His breath hitches “Damn it.”

“What the hell just happened?!” Ikkaku demands.

Bepo kneels beside Law, ears pinned back “She’s—she’s gonna be okay, right?!”

Law grits his teeth “I don’t know.”

That terrifies him more than anything.

You shift slightly in his arms, your eyes fluttering open. You look at him, dazed, and somehow, you smile.

“Hey...” you whisper weakly.

Law exhales sharply, his grip tightening “You idiot.”

The crew rushes to get you back to the Polar Tang.

Law doesn’t let anyone else touch you. He carries you himself, his movements sharp, his jaw clenched. No one questions it.

Back in the infirmary, he works fast, cleaning your wounds, stitching where needed, making sure your vitals stay stable. His crew stands around anxiously, watching, waiting.

After what feels like forever, Law finally sighs, pulling off his gloves “She’ll live.”

The room exhales.

Bepo’s shoulders slump with relief.

Ikkaku crosses her arms “Now someone better explain what the hell she just did.”

They piece it together from there.

Shachi rubs his face “So that’s why all our wounds kept disappearing…”

Penguin groans “And here I thought I just had great recovery.”

Bepo looks at you worriedly “But she always looked so tired after fights…”

Ikkaku’s eyes darken “How long has she been doing this?”

Law stays quiet.

Because he already knows.

Too long.

Too many times. Too many wounds. Too much pain hidden behind fake smiles and easy shrugs.

He clenches his fists “…It stops now.”

The crew nods. No arguments.

No one wants to see you like this again.

When you wake up hours later, Law is sitting beside your bed, arms crossed, watching you with a tired but sharp gaze.

“You’re mad...” you mumble.

His jaw tightens “Mad doesn’t cover it.”

You sigh “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You open your mouth, but he leans forward, cutting you off.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me? Watching you take my wounds? Watching you collapse like that?” His voice is low, furious, but beneath it, you hear something raw. Something shaken.

You look away “…I couldn’t let you die.”

His hands clench into fists “And you think I could just let you die instead?”

Silence.

Law runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face “How long?”

You blink “What?”

“How long have you been doing this?”

You grip the bedsheet under you “…A while.”

Law lets out a bitter laugh “Unbelievable.”

“Law, I—”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!” His voice rises, his usual control slipping “Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

You flinch “I saved you.”

“You almost killed yourself!”

His words hit like a punch to the chest.

Law stands, pacing the room, his hand in his hair “I don’t understand,” he mutters “Your body already suffers because of your Devil Fruit. Why would you do this? Why would you—”

“Because it’s worth it!” you yell, sitting up too fast. Pain shoots through you, but you don’t care “You’re worth it! Everyone here will survive without me but they wouldn’t survive without you, Law!”

Law stops.

His face changes, anger fading into something softer, something pained.

“…You think I want that?” His voice is quiet now.

You stare at him “What?”

“You think I want to watch you suffer?” His hands are shaking “You think I want to lose you? You think I’d survive without you?”

Your heart aches “Law...”

Then, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again “Never again.”

You blink.

“Never again, Y/N. You don’t get to do this anymore.” His voice softens, but his eyes burn “Not for me. Not for anyone. I don’t care if I’m dying or anyone else is, you won’t use this fucked ability.”

Your chest tightens. You know he’s right. But “…I don’t know how to stop.”

His face shifts, and for the first time tonight, the anger fades.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushes lightly over your skin.

“Then let me help you” he murmurs.

You swallow “You mean… you’ll be my doctor?”

He gives you a look “I’ve always been your doctor.”

You laugh weakly “Guess I need a really good one now.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the worry never fully leaves his face “You do.”

His grip on your hand tightens.

“And I’m not losing you,” he says quietly “Not to this.”

Your heart aches.

“…Okay.” you whisper.

“Promise me. Even if I’m in so much danger that I’m about to die you won’t use this power agin…” His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven “Please. Promise me”

Your chest tightens. You hate seeing him like this. Hate seeing him in pain because of you.

Finally, after a long silence “…I promise.”

Law exhales, hands sliding down to your shoulders, holding you close. His grip is tight, as if he needs to feel you’re really here.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then he mutters “I’m still mad at you”

You let out a weak laugh “I know.”

His arms wrap around you fully now, pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, grounding you.

“But I love you.” he murmurs.

The first thing you notice when you step out of the infirmary is the way everyone is staring at you.

Not just looking, but full-on, grinning, wide-eyed, and suspiciously soft.

You blink “Uh… What’s going on?”

Ikkaku smirks, leaning against the wall “Oh, nothing.”

Shachi wiggles his eyebrows “Sooo… how’s our little martyr feeling today?”

You groan “I knew this was gonna happen.”

Bepo steps forward, his tail flicking “We just wanted to check on you! You did kinda almost die.”

Penguin nods, but his expression is somewhere between amused and mildly impressed “Yeah, and you definitely gave Law a heart attack.”

Your face heats up “I did not—”

“Ohhh, you totally did,” Shachi teases “I mean, the way he looked when you passed out? Man was losing it.”

Ikkaku grins “And he refused to let anyone else touch you.”

Penguin waggles his fingers dramatically “Oh no, she’s mine—”

Law’s irritated voice cuts in behind them “Shut up. I'm the Doctor here.”

The crew immediately backs off, but the smirks don’t leave their faces.

You sigh, rubbing your temples “So this is my life now.”

Bepo smiles warmly “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

Your expression softens.

You can tell they all were really scared, even if they’re covering it with jokes now.

You rub the back of your neck “Sorry for, uh… worrying you guys.”

Penguin snorts “Yeah, you better be.”

Shachi crosses his arms “From now on, we’re on Y/N Watch. No more sneaky injury-taking.”

Ikkaku nods “If we so much as suspect you’re pulling that stunt again, we’re ratting you out to the captain.”

You scoff “Oh, come on—”

“Immediately.”

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose “At least someone listens to me.”

You pout “You’re all ganging up on me?”

Bepo hugs you gently, his big fluffy arms wrapping around you “We just love you.”

Your heart squeezes.

You groan, but you don’t pull away “Fine. You guys win.”

The crew cheers.

Law just shakes his head, but when you look at him, his lips quirk up just slightly.

(You do try to sneakily use your ability again.

But before you can, three pairs of hands grab you, Bepo shakes his head disapprovingly, and Ikkaku loudly yells for Law.

You are never getting away with it again.)

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bullet-prooflove · 1 day ago

Text

Swiftie: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yousigned-upforthis @oklahomapeach @before-we-get-started @fadeinsol

Summary: Robby realises your baby might just be a Swiftie.

Companion piece to:

Lines - It’s been a long time since Robby’s been attracted to someone like this.

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

Exorcism (NSFW) - Robby and you finally find a way to be honest with one another.

Ready - Robby and you discuss starting a family in the aftermath of Pittfest.

The Rose - You give Robby a special gift for your anniversary.

Heartbeat - Robby finds something to help him sleep.

Jinx - Robby discovers a particular superstition of yours.

The Scary One - Robby and you face concerns during your second pregnancy scan.

Pop Tarts - You and Robby decorate the baby's nursery.

Brave Little Boy - Robby wakes up to the baby kicking and gets a suprise.

Brown Eyed Boy - The birth of your son doesn’t quite go the way you’d planned.

One Week - Robby cares for the two of you one week after his son’s birth.

Seperation Anxiety - Robby gets severe seperation anxiety at the thought of returning to work after Noah's birth.

The baby likes dancing.

He likes being tucked in close to Robby’s body, feeling the rumble of daddy’s chest as he sings to the music. His tiny fists flail excitedly as Robby sways his hips to Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off in the kitchen.

“He’s definitely a Swiftie.” You say watching the two of them over your laptop at the kitchen table. “He’s gonna drag Papa kicking and screaming out of the Blues and right into mommy’s favourite genre Pop, just you watch.”

“You been working him while I’ve been at the hospital?” Robby asks you as Noah’s chubby fingers come to rest his lips. He kisses the tiny pads, making loud smooching noises as the baby scrunches his face up as if to laugh. “Playing the Midnights album while he sleeps?”

“Trust me when you’re not here the only thing he does sleep to is folklore.” You inform Robby as you return your attention to the spreadsheet in front of you. “He really loves The Last Great American Dynasty, I think it might be the fact it tells you a story you know? You put that on and he just crashes out.”

“Have you seen what happens when you put on Bejeweled?” Robby asks you and you shake your head before pulling up your Spotify playlist to find the right album. “I’m telling you he loses his mind.”

He isn’t wrong. As soon as the opening bars start to play baby Noah’s chubby arms go up like he’s at a rave, and his feet kick out as if he’s doing the two step at a barn dance. Those delicate features of his light up like the Fourth of July, a smile appearing on his pursed lips.

“Holy shit Robby.” You erupt as the song hits the chorus. “He just smiled. He’s smiling right now.”

“What…” Robby tilts his head down to look at him and there’s his son beaming like the god damn moon, bouncing his tiny booty. “I can’t believe we made a Swiftie.”

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#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #noah wyle #michael robby robinavitch #robby #robby x reader #dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction

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banquetwriter · 3 days ago

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୨୧ flickering lights ୨୧

pairing: Bob Reynolds ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ NOT EDITED NOT EVEN PROOF READ THIS WAS A STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND ITS FULL OF ERRORS FOLKS, pnv, slight d/s vibes?, mentions of adduction and choking in a non-sexual way, and slight choking IN a sexual way, bob is hung, reader wears lipstick, negative self talk from bob and continuity errors

summary: ʚ bob has a wet dream and it’s ruining his life ɞ

Words: 3.2k

A/N: this started out more structured but i genuinely wrote this to get over writer's block so it’s bad and ooc bob but what can ya do

bob had tried for many years to convince himself that who he was when he was high was not his true self. and in many ways this is a true statement. he was not nearly as annoying, or loud or just generally fucked up.

in one way, however, it was the farthest thing from his true self. what was that one thing? sex.

the only time bob had ever really had sex before was when he was high off his ass. a drug induced fever of hormones. he doesn’t think badly of the people he had sex with i mean they were high too.

but that intimate feeling was something he both craved and feared. sex hadn’t crossed his mind in a while, not until he met you in that bunker. and even then it wasn’t until a few months into you two dating he even thought about fucking you.

it was one night where he fell asleep, body wrapped almost entirely around yours (like normal), and he proceeded to have the hottest wettest dream about you.

with the enough of mess that was in his pants bob was convinced he was the worlds biggest pervert and should die immediately. he nearly tripped on everything as he sped to the bathroom ripping his pants off only to see it got on the bottom of his shirt somehow too??

he wasn’t sure about that one but he ripped his shirt off too and tried and failed to wipe off all the cum that managed to find its way all over his thighs and belly.

god he was such a nasty pervy idiot.

that’s all his mind could think of as he panicked to find a way out of this situation. “bob?” your soft voice from the other side of the door startled him so bad he panicked further and turned the shower on. “y-yes?” he stuttered, not even waiting for the shower to warm up before he stashed his clothes and hoped in.

you slowly opened the door and gave him a curious smile. “hey handsome… showering early i see…” you teased as you sauntered to him. “oh yeah just wanted to get an early start to the day!” he said in a fast cheery voice.

you stared at him for a second smiling widely. “uh huh.” you said tilting your head. “we’ll have fun with that cold shower hun.” you said closing the shower door. neither of you brought it up again.

he felt sick even thinking about it but you, however , were all but concerned that your boyfriend had a wet dream. you only hoped it was about you.

his mind plagued him with it, over and over and over again. the image of your hips crashing down on him. it got so bad one time he had to leave movie night early. he hastily entered the (your) bedroom the bee-lined it for the bathroom.

it had been a long long time since he’d masturbated. he didn’t particularly care however, he just needed to deal with this then he could calmly sit next to you and not feel like his cock was gonna jump out at any moment just from the touch of your head on his shoulder.

he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and brought it to his mouth. he bit down slightly holding his shirt away from the mess he was about to make. his warm hand slowly covered his cock and he began to pump slowly.

he teased the tip slightly. he stifled a small moan into the cotton of his shirt. it wasn’t you or what he imagined you to feel like but fuck did he miss this feeling.

god he was such a pervert. a disgusting lunatic. god he couldn’t imagine how disgusted you’d be with him if you found out.

and almost like god was listening, a heavy knock on the door nearly made him scream. the bottom of his shirt fell back down as your voice lifted from the other side of the door “bob? you ok honey?” you asked about his hasty exit earlier. “fuck.” he whispered.

“i’m- i’m fine!” he shouts back, his face flushed. “yeah?” your voice follows back. you don’t believe him because why would you? he’s an ex-junkie suddenly fleeing a very public interaction.

“yeah just i had to shit.” he says and almost immediately face palms. he hears you snort through the door. “did alexei’s experimental diner get to ya? walker was one bad smell away from puking.” you joke. “mhm! yeah i’m good just gimme a few minutes please!” bob shouts, eyes scrunched closed.

“don’t fall in!” you shouted leaving your room and exiting to the main living room. “is bob ok?” yelena asks you as you approach the couch. you nod smiling. “poor boy has a case of bubble gut thanks to your dads cooking.” you say plopping down next to her.

she nods accepting your answer looking at the tv. Meanwhile, Bob was losing his mind further. of course that’s what he said. the need for pleasure overtaking his mind. no matter how embarrassed he was it didn’t stop the fire slowly growing in his tummy as he jerked his cock.

if anything the embarrassment made it feel ten times better. he choked a sob back as a tear fell down his face. he gripped the counter top, knuckles white as he reached his climax.

eventually bob sat back down with you and the rest of the team finishing whatever movie was playing. he had convinced himself that just this once indulging would curve his craving and he could go back to normal.

WRONG!

it was almost ten times worse now, he placed a pillow securely over his lap as he felt you snuggle into his side. “you might be getting sick honey your looking flushed.” you mumble placing your arm on his forehead.

god he was doomed.

———-

he hadn’t been able to stop since that night. almost everyday once (maybe twice) he has to sneak off and wank one out or he won’t be able to focus. the smell of your perfume nearly causes him to cum in his pants.

you snuggled safely into the side of him, his arm wrapped around you as you played on your phone. the feeling of your body sending need straight to his crotch. “ahem.” he coughed sitting up, attempting to scoot his long ass body off of the bed without disturbing you too much.

“where are you going?” you ask looking over at him. “bathroom?” It sounds more like a question than an answer. you sigh looking away from him slightly. bob is washed over with a feeling you’ve never made him feel.

he felt a bit like a child who disappointed their mother. you say nothing as you turn over to type away on your phone. “are you mad at me?” he asks quietly, he sees your finger still.

you don’t say anything, not at first, just pausing to look at him. he feels his face start to burn. you click your phone off. “cmere honey.” your voice was soft but it felt like an non-negotiable command.

he crawled up towards you into your open arms and nestled into you. “what’s going on? you’ve been distant lately- leaving randomly in the middle of things. i didn’t say anything at first but im kind of worried.”

if bob could die in this moment to avoid the unavoidable truth that he had been leaving so much to go jerk off because of how enchanting you were….

he takes a shaky breathe in and opens his mouth to speak. “i- i’ve been like really really horny lately and i KNOW what your going to say, your gonna call me a disgusting loser pervert who needs to go fuck off somewhere else but, god your so beautiful.” his voice was strained like it hurt him to admit.

“that’s where i’ve been going, i’ve been taking care of myself because i can’t stop thinking about you.” his cheek were flushed his heart rate flicked higher. you pressed your lips into a line trying to stop yourself from laughing.

you take a deep breathe in, “ok thank you for telling me and for the record I’m not disgusted with you. I’m actually happy you find me attractive. I've actually been worried about that for quite some time.” It was your turn to confess. Bob lifted his head from your chest.

His eyes searching yours, searching to see if your lying. “Why were you worried? Your literally the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” His voice had no hint of exaggeration. “Well we haven’t had sex yet. And while that’s not big of a deal, I was a bit worried you didn’t want to because of how I look.” You confessed, though now that thought seemed silly.

“It was the opposite. I’ve wanted to have sex with you for a while now, maybe not at first with everything that was going on but god. Your so beautiful everything about you turns my brain into mush.” The blush reached his neck and chest.

“Is there any reason in particular you’ve held back?” Your head tilted to the side encouraging him. “I’ve never really had it sober before, I mean I was worried I was no good at it. Or maybe you didn’t want to do that with me or that I don’t know something bad would happen.” His voice dripped with insecurities.

You nodded thankful he was able to tell you what was wrong. “Well, there isn’t a time limit on this sort of thing. We can take our time until it feels good for both of us. Trust me when I say I want to have sex with you, ok? And even something bad does happen I love you so much bob and it would be ok. I know it will.” It was amazing how much you could always reassure him even when he felt like failing.

he doesn’t say anything. he can’t say anything. if he says something he will start crying and crying isn’t very sexy. but his eyes say it all. they say ‘thank you. thank you for trusting me.’

you respond not with words but with a kiss. pulling him down on top of you. it seemed like his body was made for yours, slotting perfectly on top of you. his hips meet your core, a pulsing warmth underneath his corduroy and boxers.

your hands fight their way to the sides of his face just holding him as you feverishly kiss him. tongue darting around his mouth at all sides. like you were trying to consume him.

“You're so beautiful baby.” you whisper into his mouth. he whines in response his large hand flexing around your torso. the warm feeling moves down to your hips as he holds you steady. he doesn’t really know how to do this properly.

he just slowly started to buck his hips into you. using the friction of your clothes together to attempt to dull the ache in his cock.

he pulls away from your lips breathing in. “you getting hot?” your voice was teasing, it seemed into his brain slowly like an infection. he just nodded as your fingers danced at the bottom of his shirt pulling it off. his pale chest turned red with pleasure.

your cold hands pressed against the broad part of his chest. he gasped at the temperature difference. “oh my god.” he groaned, teeth clenched together. your hands moved off of him and pull your shirt off.

if god existed bob found her in that moment. found her in you. the spectacle of your bare chest nearly send him crying as he looked up at you. “you- you are so fucking beautiful oh my god- can- can i touch you can i… use my mouth?” he said exasperated. you nodded with a smile.

his mouth found your nipple like a target trained missile. his tongue swirling and licking around. you gasped as he started to suck rather harshly on your left boob, his right hand quick to rub the right side.

your right nipple rolled in between the warm pads of his fingers.”mm fuck me baby you love my tits huh?” you asked pushing the hair out of his face slightly. his eyes found your face again nodding violently.

“love em- thank you thank you.” he said borderline worshipping you, lines of spit connected his lips to your nipple as he dove in to suck on the right one.

you couldn’t help the giggle that passes your lips as he sucked on you. your hand found its way to his scalp and gripped slightly pulling him away. “yes?” he asked between breaths. “mmm lay down.” you whispered, he nodded falling back onto the bed.

you turn around placing each leg on either side of him. his hands flew to your sides as you put your weight on his lap. the pressure on his erect cock nearly made him scream as you grinded down on him.

“fuck-“ he gasped unable to take his eyes off of you. you bent down, shifting more on his cock. your lips pressed rapid small kisses all over his face, hands reaching towards his jaw and neck.

he wasn’t sure where to put his hands, he moved them from your hips to the sides of his body. He felt like he could explode. he felt you paused “is this why you took that cold shower that one time? and left movie night?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

he sheepishly nodded. “bob i want you to always tell me how your feeling. no matter the feeling. if i don’t want to have sex with you i’ll tell you, ok? you would never let something bad happen to me.” he looked away.

“it’s not me i’m afraid of.” his voice was soft but it held implications bigger than waves. “like i said. you would never hurt me my love.” pressing a kiss to his temple.

he just nodded, the insecurities creeping up from the backs of his mind. you could see it. the way his eyes dim slightly. you took that moment to reassure him. not with words but with touch. you grind down your hips on his lap.

a moan escaping from the depths of his throat, your fingers gingerly wrapping around it. “Is this ok?” you asked, squeezing his throat, choking him slightly. bob had been choked before. not in this context no, when he had been choked before it was his father taking his anger out on him.

it was a moment filled with fear and pain. right now however it felt like a secure safety blanket was wrapped around him, his brain going fuzzy his trust being placed in your hands. “s ok. love it. feels nice.” he mumbled, feeling his brain go fuzzy.

you pressed further onto his erection, “if it doesn’t feel good or you wanna stop you tell me ok? don’t be shy i don’t bite,” your whispered your voice dangerously low. stirring need within him. “unless you ask me to, of course.”

bob rolls his eyes back at your words. you finally shift off of him pulling your bottoms down along with your panties. his eyes wide as he watches you undress yourself fully…

god you were beautiful. just so damn perfect. He felt his cock twitch against his pants, the strain getting hard to ignore. “poor boy you're about to bust out of these pants huh?” your voice was mockingly nice as your pressed your fingers tracing him slightly.

he groaned. “yeah… you should take them off me. might make it better.” he suggested a hint of confidence in his tone. you smirked further at his words deciding to do just that. you undid his pants and pulled them off of him.

his dicks imprint harshly obvious as your warm fingers danced over it. it twitched again under your touch. you removed his boxers too to reveal bob’s big aching cock. flushed red like he was embarrassed how hard he was.

“fuck me bob-“ you said staring at it. those three words nearly broke him. he knew he was average but after the sentry serum… it shocked even him sometimes.

you licked a few stripes up the bass of his cock your lipstick smearing against him and yourself as you press kisses down his shaft once you reached the tip. that sight alone bob never ever wanted to forget not in a million years.

your tongue swirled around him. precum leaking right into your mouth with ease like it belonged there. as much as he would love to let you keep doing this he knew he wasn’t going to last, not for long anyways and he didn’t want to finish in your mouth (this time) he wanted to be inside your pussy.

“stop-stop.” he groaned, you immediately pulled back. “are you ok? need to stop?” your voice was filled with sweet worrying. “no- i want to- i NEED to fuck you.” he said talking through gritted teeth. you just nodded before straddling him again your left hand pumped him a few times before plunging yourself with him.

he watched in awe as he slowly disappeared inside you. the noise you made once he bottomed out could be the only noise he heard for the rest of his life and he would die happy.

“your ok? m not hurting you?” he asked, holding your wrist with his warm big hand. you shook your head kissing him. he smiled as you gently lifted yourself back up and down on him. the lights flickered as he squeezed your wrist hard.

you slowly started to bounce more and faster on top of him. he felt like he had died and went to heaven. the way you squeezed him like he was the only thing you love it sent him spinning.

“fuck bob your so big- i feel it in my tummy.” you whined, grabbing his hand. you were right, he pressed his warm hand down feeling the tip of his cock sliding in and out of you. he groaned loudly the lights flickering more and more.

“fuck m gonna cum. m gonna fill you up. gotta get off me.” he whined. bob wasn’t a gentleman per say but he had standards. “i’m on the pill baby you can cum in me. fill me all the way up huh? fuck. i’m close to cumming to just stay with me bob.” you groaned, focused on bringing yourself to your own release.

after a few moments he felt your walks squeeze tightly around him the feeling making his own climax come at the same time. you watch as he face contorts, pressing you down on him hissing as the lights go out completely, gold flecks sparkle in his vision as he cuts inside you.

after a second you pull out whining from the slight sting and flop down next to him. he lays there just breathing before the emergency generators kicked back on and the lights returned. “sweetheart you fuck like a pornstar.” you said out of breath. he just turns his head to look at you.

“that’s all you.” he says clearly tired and happy wanting nothing more than to roll over on top of you and sleep forever.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #bob x reader #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds smut #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #this is genuinely the worst thing I’ve ever wrote #i’m so tired

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teaboot · 18 hours ago

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Just to add on, because I think I definitely let my frustration and confusion colour this

Was this person kinda blunt? Yeah. Their language was a bit more blame-y and confrontational than I think I personally would have gone about it. But the revelation for me here is that, a lot like "are you looking for feedback or do you want to vent", I had never really come to the table with "are you seeking social connection or do you just need to verbalize things" because most of the time that's not how l've learned to think about talking

Because like!! I used to be REALLY REALLY BAD at responding to and generating small talk! Call and response type talking is a skill I put a lot of energy into learning!!! And I STILL struggle with pacing! So I think maybe for ME the big concern was "how do I give the right reactions when expected" and not "passively receive information". "Passively receive information" was the thing I was doing WRONG

So like. Again, this wasn't really the ideal neutral "When you X I feel Y" conversation I would have preferred, I did learn that THIS SPECIFIC PERSON doesn't use conversation to navigate socially the same way I do, and the signal *I* was reading with the subtext of invitation to participate in social bonding routine might actually be statement of observed fact that they don't want to expand upon or read further into- like coughing in a quiet room or talking to yourself while looking for something.

I may still be wrong- I'm still not 100% what's being read as confrontational- but if I'm right about THIS, maybe it'll save us both some energy

After preliminary testing I am beginning to suspect that a significant portion of the “you talk too much” crowd aren’t so much about “I don’t like talking and you talk all the time” as they are “when I talk I don’t want a response, I just want to say things”

#I do def think they were being rude #But if someone went on a monologue every time I sneezed I think I’d get it #Like #I think we were both assuming a certain degree of universally accepted subjective truth that was not there

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bruisedboys · 2 days ago

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fighting chance — kang daeho

daeho helps shy!you feel a little less alone in the games. (set in s2 so no spoilers for s3)

note: hii um I wrote this in one sitting so if it’s bad.. that’s why lol. also! I’d love any requests you have for this pairing, I’m obsessed with them already hehe

kang daeho x shy!fem!reader, fluff + hurt comfort, 1.6k words

Your hands wont stop shaking.

You squeeze them together to stop the trembling, trying not to show how horribly frightened you are. The chaos that was the aftermath of the first game has worn off. You should have calmed down by now, as has every other player in the room, but you can’t seem to stop shaking. Especially now that the vote has been settled, and the majority has voted to stay for another game.

You’re stuck here, at least until the next game is over.

You glance down at the red X velcroed to your chest. You’re certain you made the right decision — no matter how much you need the money, and you really do need it, you weren’t willing to risk your life again. Though you suppose your vote doesn’t matter much now, anyway.

The line moves forward and you follow the man in front of you, staring at his back to avoid eye contact with the other players around you. The masked guards are giving out food, and while you’d prefer to hide in between the bunks somewhere, your stomach aches with hunger.

You can’t stand being around this many people at once. You’re terribly shy at the best of times.

“Are you feeling okay, miss?”

You jump, whipping around. Someone’s tapped you on the shoulder from the line next to yours. It’s Player 388 — a tall man with longer hair, stands right next to you in his line. You remember his face — during Red Light, Green Light, you’d been standing near him and he’d grabbed you, letting you duck behind him and use his body as a shield. You would’ve thanked him, you should’ve, but you’ve been far too shaken up since then.

He looks concerned. You don’t like the earnestness in his gaze, it makes you all sorts of nervous. You nod vigorously, if only to get him to stop looking at you like that.

“I’m okay,” you manage, though your feeble voice suggests otherwise.

Player 388 frowns. “Are you sure? Are you feeling unwell?”

You must be pale in the face, or maybe you look like you’re about to throw up. You sure feel like it. You shake your head. “No, I’m—“

Someone behind you clears their throat and shoves you forward a little. You stumble, and look up to realise you’ve reached the front of the line. You’re face to face with a masked guard.

He holds out your food without a word.

“Sorry,” you mumble to the woman behind you who’d pushed you.

You don’t notice Player 388’s gaze lingering on you as you quickly take your food and book it out of there, your face hot and your heart thudding. If the death games aren’t enough, you’re sure your nerves are going to kill you one day.

You make your way to the back of the room, to a small nook between the beds where you’d been hiding before you lined up for your food. Only, your spot’s been taken by a trio of older men who don’t look like they want to be disturbed. One of them raises a brow at you, eyeing you up and down.

You suppose you look quite weak, with your trembling hands, your food clutched to your chest. You’re surprised your knees haven’t started to tremble.

You mumble an apology and turn on your heel, searching for another spot to hide yourself away. There aren’t many left. You’d been one of the last to get your food, too frightened to emerge from your hiding spot until you knew it was absolutely safe. Most of the bunks are full now, and the players have started to group together, most likely forming alliances. You, on the other hand, are very much alone.

You’re considering doing something absurd like sliding under one of the bunks to hide, when you spot Player 388. He’s settling in the corner of the room, but he’s looking right back at you, something like concern etched into his face. You’re about to look away when he lifts an arm and waves you over.

Should you go? You don’t know if you can trust him — you’re pretty certain you saw him vote blue. Still, he’s the only person who’s been kind to you in this place so far. The only person who’s spared you even a glance.

Your feet make your decision for you. You’re moving before you can stop yourself. You cross the room to where he’s sitting, climbing a few metal steps to get to his bunk, your knees knocking together as you climb.

Player 388 smiles at you as you approach.

“You want to eat with me?” He asks. He shuffles over and pats the spot next to him. “Come, sit.”

You pause. What if he tries to hurt you? Or trick you? Well, you’re here already, aren’t you? And he’s been nice to you so far. You sit down before you can change your mind, pulling your legs in so as not to take up too much space.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, ducking your head. Embarrassment warms your face.

Player 388 shrugs good-naturedly and starts to eat. Your knee bounces uncontrollably, but you ignore it, desperate to look anything but weak. You open your container of food, pulling back the lid to reveal a small meal of rice, sausage, greens, and fried egg.

You blink. For some reason, and despite your hunger, the sight of it makes your stomach turn. It looks like the lunchboxes you used to eat as a kid, something your mother would’ve made you. She’s gone now, and you suddenly miss her very much. Your heart starts to climb up your throat. What are you doing here? You’re going to die in this place, surrounded by strangers. Your last moments will be spent with people you don’t even know.

You start to panic, your heart thud thud thudding it’s way up to your throat. You press your palm to your chest in a poor attempt to calm yourself. Your hands are shaking again, you notice absentmindedly.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Player 388 puts his food down and reaches out, moving to take your wrist in his hand.

His fingers brush your skin and you jolt away instinctively, clutching your hand to your chest. 388 looks worried, his brow furrowed, his eyes doe-like as they bore into yours, but he puts his hands up as if in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says slowly. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

You nod. “I…I’m sorry. I know you won’t.”

Do you, though? You’re honestly not sure. You lower your hand, rubbing at your thigh roughly with your palm.

“I’m… jumpy,” you explain poorly.

Player 388 nods. “It’s okay.” He says again, soft.

He reaches for you again, and this time you don’t jerk away. He slides his hand over your bouncing knee firmly, the pressure of his hand stopping your anxious tic. His hand is warm through your trackpants.

He smiles, and the look in his eyes is so kind it almost makes you cry. “What’s your name?”

You blink away the beginnings of tears. You won’t cry, not now.

“Y/N,” you manage.

Something about the way he looks at you is calming your nerves in mere seconds. You suppose it’s not very smart to let your guard down in a place like this, but he seems so sweet. Besides, if you’re going to die soon anyway, what does it matter? He might as well know your name.

“Y/N,” 388 repeats, like he’s testing it out. Then he nods firmly, satisfied. “It’s pretty. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Daeho, Kang Daeho.”

He removes his hand from your knee and holds it out for you to shake. You take his hand in yours for a moment, his palm warm and calloused, yours embarrassing clammy.

Despite this, Daeho smiles at you, tilting his head to the side like a puppy.

“I won’t hurt you, okay?” He says reassuringly, and you find yourself believing him. How could you not, when he says it like that?

Daeho lets go of your hand, and takes up his food again.

“Are you going to eat?” He asks you, glancing at your untouched food. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

You wonder to yourself if he’s only being nice so he can take advantage of you later. You decide you don’t really care.

“Yes,” you nod, picking up your spoon.

You scoop up a spoonful of rice. Your hands aren’t trembling anymore, though your heart is still a riot. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re scared, or because the handsome man sitting at your side is being so sweet to you.

You manage to spoon the rice into your mouth and swallow it without throwing up, and Daeho’s right, you do feel better, even after only one spoonful. You manage a few more, and then Daeho opens your water bottle for you, and after a few sips you feel infinitely better.

Daeho watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye while you eat. When you’re halfway through your food, you turn to him.

“Thank you, Daeho,” you say shyly. “And for, um, protecting me in the first game, as well.”

Daeho grins, graciously ignoring your stuttering. He’s got a pretty smile.

“No problem, Y/N,” he says.

You watch as he takes a swig of water. He’s oddly charming in the way he moves and speaks, and you can’t help staring a bit.

“Stay close to me from now on, okay?” He adds, setting his water bottle down. “I’ll look after you.”

You nod, turning back to your food. It’s not long before you and Daeho notice the men just behind you discussing what the next game will be, and one of them mentions dalgona.

Daeho perks up at this, and practically jumps to join their conversation, tugging you with him to listen in. You realise, with a rush of hope, that the man who’d mentioned dalgona is Player 456. He’s apparently done this before, and he’s the reason most of you made it through the first game.

Between Player 456, who seems to know what he’s doing, and Daeho, who really does seem intent on looking after you, you realise you might just have a fighting chance in these games after all.

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated as always ᡣ𐭩

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heartz-for-de · 1 day ago

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“Current boyfriend” prank on MHA boys.

—“I’m your what?”

—multiple X fem! Reader

—includes: Izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugo, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari, shinso Hitoshi.

—warnings: mentions of making out, swearing, teenage boy humor, sorry if I forget anything else

!!NOT PROOFREAD!! It’s three am sorry I cannot bring myself to do that I’ll do to later maybe probably not

—IZUKU—

You had been scrolling through TikTok for what seemed to be forever, until a certain video caught your eye. It was a trend done by a couple consisting of the girlfriend introducing her partner as her “current boyfriend”. You couldn’t help but laugh at the boys reaction to the label.

While sitting and giggling at your phone you looked at Izuku who was present in your dorm. He’d been at your desk for awhile now, going over some quirk notes he’d needed to fix. You then got a pleasant idea.

“Hey, Izu?” You called out to him from your bed.

He looked up from his paper, his ears already tinted pink.

“Yeah? What’s up?” He now had his full body turned to you.

“I need to film a TikTok for this brand I’m reviewing, do you want to be in it with me?” You hated lying to him, but it you knew the joke was going to have a rewarding outcome.

He smiled softly, “of course, baby. Let me finish this up real fast, I’m almost done.” He muttered out quickly.

You used the extra time to set up your phone and grab a random item from your drawers to “review”. You couldn’t hide the smile that was so blatantly apparent on your face.

Soon enough Izuku got up from his spot and made his way to your setup. He stood kind of behind and to the side, waiting for your instruction.

You then started the video.

“Hey Guys! Today I’m going to be reviewing this new mascara—Annnndd as a special guest I’m here with my current boyfriend,” you gestured your hands to him with a stifled laugh. “Izuku, say hi.” You turned your head slightly to look at him, only to be met with a confused and concerned look. You nearly broke on the spot at his expression.

“Current?” Was all he responded with.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to hide your coughing fit of laughter. He then let a smile spread on his face.

“Uh—hey guys! I’m midoriya, her forever boyfriend! I don’t know why she said current, don’t listen to her.” Izuku grabbed you and covered your mouth with his hand—it was in moments like these where you were reminded how strong he truly was. You could hear the laughter spilling from his own mouth as he locked you in his arms and fumbled to grab your phone.

—SHOTO—

It wasn’t really your intention to do the trend, but when shoto had come up to you and asked if you wanted to film a soba review for your TikTok account? The idea popped into your head like a lightbulb.

There was a new place in town that shoto had been nonstop hinting at wanting to try, so one day after training the two of you stopped by and ordered some soba. He remembered your desert review you had done with him several weeks prior and realized you could do the same thing here.

You agreed cheerfully at the recommendation and whipped out your phone in a heartbeat. It didn’t take long to open up TikTok and get your video set up.

“Hey guys! I’m back with my current boyfriend, but this time we are reviewing soba from—“ you felt a poke in your side.

You snapped your head to the man beside you.

“You said it wrong.” He deadpanned at you.

“Huh? Sho, what are you talking about—“ you were on the brink of busting out laughing at his serious face but you held it together.

“You said ‘current’, I don’t think that’s the appropriate term for what I am to you.” His eyes squinted as he explained where you had went wrong.

“Oh no, I just mean like you’re my current boyfriend. Yknow I’m with you..currently.” You tried to explain something that sounded somewhat believable.

“Oh. Well, I’m not sure if I like that.” His eyebrows were now furrowed as he looked down at the table in thought. “I’d rather just be your boyfriend, I don’t like what the word current infers to our relationship.”

You nearly combusted from his honest and sweet response. “Awww, sho I’m sorry. You aren’t my current boyfriend.” You apologized as you looked back at the camera and smiled, realizing it’d still filming.

“It’s okay—I just wouldn’t want people to think we are temporary. You are going to be my girlfriend forever,” his voice cut off quickly. “Wait no, that is until I marry you.” He finished with a calm look resurfacing on his face.

You looked at the boy next to you with watery eyes. You couldn’t help the squeal that left your mouth as you hugged him tightly from the side, the boy shooting you a shocked look.

—KATSUKI—

It was entirely Mina’s idea. You were in the common room filming an outfit of the day with the pink haired girl, when all of the sudden Katsuki had strolled into the vicinity. Mina pointed with an excited look, to which you questioned what she was acting so antsy about. She then reminded you of the trend you had seen earlier, stating how funny it would be to do it to bakugo. You thought for a second, but ultimately decided to go through with the risky idea. You called him over from the couches and pulled him into the frame where you and Mina had just been.

“The fuck is this.” He looked at you off camera.

“It’s an outfit check, Kats. Here let me help you.” You latched onto his arm and pulled yourself into frame.

“Kay guys, this is my current boyfriend and he’s gonna tell you what he’s—“ before you could finish you felt bakugo strip himself from your arms and snatch the phone from the counter. Mina immediately was sucked into a fit of cackles.

“Katsuki!” You tried to grab your phone from his grasp but he gave you no leverage, only scowling and side eyeing you.

“Current boyfriend my fucking ass. Like hell there’ll be another extra after me.” He grumbled out to you. Mina was still dying from laughter, the more he spoke the less oxygen she seemed to intake.

“That’s not what I meant, I just meant I’m with you currently.” You reasoned with the angry boy.

“Yeah I think the fuck not, you’re mine always. Not currently.” He huffed.

“I know, but I’m dating you right now aren’t I? That’s current.” You replied with a giggle while trying to grab your phone back.

“I’m about to blast your phone into the damn ground, stop saying that shit.” He held the phone just out of reach with a snarl of his teeth.

“Okay, okay! You aren’t my current boyfriend, you’re gonna be my man forever!” You let out the words quickly, all while still trying to apprehend your phone from his heated hands.

“Damn right I am. Now re-do that dumbass video and say that shit to the camera.” He said, finally giving the phone back.

—EIJIROU—

Close to the beginning of your relationship, Kirishima had came up with the brilliant idea to make a joint couples account. It had grown popular over the years you had been together—the videos you two posted consisting of cute trends and gym trips. You were at the gym, filming a small video like usual, when you saw a comment on a previous post that had caught some traction.

“Herolvvr55: omg! Yall are def gonna be my fav pro hero couple when yall become official heros! Doing the current bf trend on him would be sooooo funny:))”

you stared at the comment, holy shit she was so right. Your sweet, unknowing boyfriend was soon to be a victim of her plans.

As you started scheming how you’d say it, you felt two large hands come up around your waist.

“Babeeuhhhh, are you almost ready to start our sets? It’s leg day today, so you don’t have anything to stall for.” Kirishima laid his head in the crook of your shoulder, speaking in a sing songy voice.

“Yeah! We gotta film some clips for TikTok, so let me set it up.” You told him with a smug smile. He nodded with understanding and retracted his hands so you could get everything in order. You set up the camera and pressed record as he started putting some weight on the bar.

“Hey guys! We are at the gym today. I think after we are gonna go do some sparring, but I’m not sure.” You tried to start the video normally, not wanting your boyfriend to grow suspicious of you so early on.

“Baby, cmere. I wanna show them our matching workout fits.” You dragged Kiri to where the phone was propped up, flexing slightly once you were both in frame.

“You look great in red, babe. You should wear it more often.” He giggled slightly as he matched your pose, flexing one of his arms as the other fell onto your waist.

“I should! Guys if you didn’t know, my current boyfriend’s pro hero name is red rio—“ you felt his hand drop from your waist as he took a step back. You broke your stare from the camera to see you 6’1 boyfriend with his head cocked back and a nasty look on his face.

“I am not your current boyfriend, ma’am.” He retaliated rather quickly. “Better change whatever the heck you just said, I’m not afraid to change today’s workout to upper body.” He crossed his arms around his chest.

“What? Eji, it was a joke! Please don’t, I really don’t want to do arms.” You pouted as he kept his frame turned from you.

“Then take it back.” He ordered. “Please.”

You huffed softly. “Guys, prank failed, my boyfriend hates me and won’t let me have any fun ever.” You fake sobbed.

“Wrong and even wronger.” He got close to the camera, leaving only his face visible in the frame. “Guys I’m not her current boyfriend, I’m her husband—AND I do not hate her, I love her so much that even when she does these cruel jokes, I still buy her whatever snacks she wants.”

You laughed while trying to pull him back from the cameras view.

“We are not married you big baby! Cmon we need to get started on the workout.” You yanked at his arm.

As you were walking towards the squat rack, Kirishima turned to the camera one last time.

“We aren’t married yet.” He whispered so that you couldn’t hear over the Loud ambiance of the gym.

“EJIROU! if you don’t get your ass over here and come spot me I will never let you kiss me again.” You shouted at the red haired boy.

He snapped his head you, jogging over to the rack as well. “yes ma’am!” He couldn’t help the laughter that came with his words as the two of you went about your workout.

—DENKI—

You had planned it hours before, texting denki asking if he’d want to hang out later that day. He texted back almost immediately, telling you to come to his dorm whenever you were ready. With the go ahead, you began your journey to the cluttered room. You barely even got one knock in before he swung open the door with a weird smirk plastered on his face.

“Hey gorgeous, never seen you around here before.” He reached for your hand and grabbed it swiftly, placing a soft kiss on your fingers.

“Hi, I’m looking for my boyfriend, have you seen him?” You asked the yellow haired boy.

“Uhhh, dunno. What’s he look like?” He continued the joke.

“Short, messy hair, probably has some drool running down his chin. You’d know if you saw him, trust me.” His expression immediately dropped as he pulled himself off the doorframe.

“Short?—DROOL? babe I don’t drool, and I’m like almost six foot. Why do you hate me so much?” He mocked offense at the obviously false statements.

“You’re such a dork, I don’t hate you.” You sighed “Are you gonna let me in, or are we gonna sit here and talk about your drooling problems?” You rolled your eyes at him with a smile inching its way onto your lips.

He moved to the side and gestured dramatically for your entrance.

You scoffed at his overly emphasized actions. You then turned back towards him once fully inside the room.

“I’m gonna film a TikTok, mkay?” You told him as you pulled out your phone.

“Huh? What kind? Are you gonna dance—oh that would be so hot.” He rambled as he shut his door, plopping himself onto his messy bed.

“No, you perv, I’m not gonna dance. I’m gonna talk about….” You instantly realized you had no good excuse for making one “…girl stuff.” you said with an almost unsure undertone.

Of course, denki didn’t catch on to that, though.

“Okie dokie, tell me whenever you’re done. There’s this new movie I wanna look at and I’ve heard it’s fire.” He crossed one leg over the other as you grabbed your phone out of your pocket, opening TikTok with a weird smile.

“What’s up guys, sorry for the scenery change! I’m in my current boyfriend’s dorm, so it’s a little messy. But anyways I’m j—“ you were snatched from your place you stood, your phone getting dropped onto the floor almost immediately.

You felt his hands reaching to tickle your sides as you tried to fight him off.

“DENKI—Oh my gosh! Cut it out—“ you fought tirelessly as the blankets tussled underneath your two bodies.

“Nope, say mercy.” He stated matter of factly. You snarked at the boy, unwilling to let your pride get damaged like that.

That was until he grabbed a specifically ticklish part and you began thrashing uncontrollably.

“MERCY—HOLYSHITMERCY!” you cackled.

He sat up in his bed, an innocent expression appearing onto his face.

“Great! Now apologize for calling me your current boyfriend to your TikTok. They are gonna think I’m some cuck loser—“ you smacked his shoulder from where you still laid.

“Denki nobody is gonna think that you freak. It was just a prank.” You let out small huffs of air, still out of breath.

“Ohhhh. Well, prank or not. I’m not current nothin’. You’re stuck with me forever, sorry not sorry pretty girl.” He flopped into you, his body weight crushing you beneath him.

“Ow! You’re too heavy for this!” You pushed at his shoulders while trying to get him off.

“We could so make out right now.” He said as he propped himself onto his elbows while still ontop of you.

“Denki, if you do not get the hell off of me I will kick you straight in the dick.” you ordered harshly.

“Okay, that’s unneeded and unnecessarily aggressive.” He whined.

—SHINSO—

It was a lazy day, as shinso liked to call it. Which, in technical terms, was everyday. But this one was specifically lazy since all you two had been doing was laying in his bed and cuddling. You were playing with his hair for what seemed like an eternity, his soft grunts whenever you’d scratch his scalp egging you on.

Your leg was thrown over his own, his hand resting on your thigh. His other hand was rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you two talked about anything and everything on and off for hours.

Out of the blue you had gotten a sudden urge to start something, but you were unsure of what to say. You looked up at him, his eyes planted on the ceiling as he continued to softly caress you. He truly was a great boyfriend, you thought. Oh shit—boyfriend. You had seen a video on your for you page earlier that day of a girl referring to her partner as her “current boyfriend” and the man had a rather funny reaction. You wondered for a second about how Hitoshi would respond, giggling softly to yourself at the thought.

He broke his gaze from the ceiling and brought it back to you.

“What’s so funny?” He questioned in a sleepy voice.

“Hmm? Nothin’, jus’ thinking about…how cute you are.” You chose to say something different than your actual thoughts, still deciding on whether or not you wanted to go through with the joke.

“…you are such a cornball.” He laughed softly with his deep and velvety voice.

You jokingly pushed on his chest in response. You came to the conclusion that you’d do the prank, but just wouldn’t record it. Instead you’d keep it as a funny memory in your brain between the two of you.

“So I was talking to my friend earlier, and she didn’t know who you were— can you believe that?” You started off a small conversation.

“Mmmm, is that so?” He turned his head back to the ceiling as he let his hand begin to massage your thigh.

“Yeah, and I had to explain to her. I was like, well he’s my current boyfriend��“ you felt his grub tighten ever so slightly.

“No.” Was all he said.

“Huh, what do you mean no?” You questioned, even though you were very aware of why he’d said that.

“I mean no.” He half opened one of his eyes and peered down at you. “You didn’t say that, you know better.”

You let your cheeks heat up slightly. “What are you talking about? You are my current boyfriend.” You tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears.

“No, I’m not, baby. But you already knew that. This little joke you’re doing is cute though.” he loosened his grip as he revealed that he knew your plan.

“Ugh, how did you know? I can’t ever prank you.” You whined as you shoved your face into his shoulder.

“Course you can’t, I know my girl too well. Now if you don’t mind I’m trying to go to sleep.” He let out another low laugh.

“We’ve been sleeping all day, it’s time to get up.” You groaned in boredom.

“Yeah, absolutely not.” Was all he responded with before flipping the position you two were in, laying him ontop of you. He laughed as you squirmed, trying to break free from his weight.

“Toshi! I can’t move!” You gripped at the already half asleep shinso.

“That’s kinda the whole point, sweetheart.”

#mha x reader #mha fanfiction #fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #kirishima x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou #shinso x reader #denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 1 day ago

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I truly can’t get enough of how quietly but fiercely protective Taissa is of Natalie. I would go as far as to say that Tai shows the most genuine, untainted care and empathy for Nat out of any other character on the show. Tai gives Natalie a lot of shit, but it always feels a lot more like the exasperated concern you would hear from an older sister.

Tai is the only character so far to recognize the impact of Nat’s home life before the crash (“Her dad, at home…Horror show”). She consistently pulls Nat back on her feet after her relapses and toxic stints with Travis and pays for Nat’s rehab on multiple occasions. Taissa is the first person Nat thinks of to call when she gets arrested. In Nat’s time as leader in the wilderness, Taissa appears to be her right hand man, the primary person she entrusted to offer her guidance and direction (“Don’t forget what happened to Jackie”). Even Tai’s opposition to Nat’s leadership feels more like concern that Nat can’t handle the burden that has been placed on her than actual hostility. Tai has a uniquely deep understanding of Nat. She sees Natalie’s full picture, not just her addiction and self-destruction, but the damage underneath, the why behind everything she does.

It means so much to me that Tai starts tearing up during her interrogation of Nat in the Coach Ben trial. These aren’t just tears of anger, they’re tears of disappointment and betrayal. They come from a place of deep care and admiration for Nat. Tai is genuinely hurt by the realization that Nat has been lying to her and, in her eyes, endangering the group’s safety. This whole interaction between the two of them, both with angry tears in their eyes, really feels like an argument between siblings. This is about a personal breach of trust, and Tai feeling let down by Nat.

In the aftermath of Coach Ben’s death, when Nat stumbles out bloodied, Tai’s first instinct is to check if she’s hurt.

When Shauna threatens to kill Nat, Tai is the first one to step in to protect her. She steps right in front of where Nat is kneeling on the ground, blocking Shauna’s path to her with no hesitation. Even though she doesn’t agree with Nat’s decision to kill Coach, she is ready to go head-to-head with Shauna to defend her.

There’s a solid constancy in the way Tai shows up for Nat that’s rare in her other dynamics. It’s not loud or showy, but it’s steady, and it’s real. There is something so familial about the way these two interact. Underneath all of Tai’s logic and control is someone who loves Natalie like family, and who can’t help but try, again and again, to keep her safe.

#Tainat sisterhood supremacy #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #taissa turner

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thatrandomsarahchick · 21 hours ago

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Oooh, what if Alfred got sent the tea from an old army buddy?

See, Jason has just been publically acknowledged as alive. The go-to story is that there was a case of mistaken identity, with another boy dying, then Jason had amnesia for a few years before being found by Bruce's ex who recognised him, and brought him back to the USA for treatment and reconciliation.

The amnesia slowly faded and he now remembers most of his life, so the Wayne family are officially announcing his return to society.

Alfred's old army buddy has some concerns, though. With how cursed Gotham is, there is a pretty high chance that the boy actually died and just took a while to come back. To be on the safe side he sends some blood blossom tea to Alfred. It really is a lovely blend, and it doesn't hurt the living at all so the real humans in the family won't be affected. He remembers Alfred fondly talking about tea time with his young charge.

If something happens, though, they'll need to send a team to Gotham to investigate.

Short DPXDC Prompts #505

Damian had some new imported tea that Alfred ordered. It was a very lovely herbal tea. Or at least as lovely as it could be with blood pouring from his mouth.

Damian falls to the ground, knocking over his teacup to the floor in the process. He clutches his throat while he coughs and gags. It feels like he just poured acid down his lungs. His entire body was burning.

The color of the tea and his blood melded perfectly on the manor floor.

#dcxdp #dpxdc

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binmeister · 3 days ago

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Quick question how would huntr/x and the saja boy react towards a fem muscle mommy bodyguard reader as like the saja boys bodyguard or something 👀✨

honestly great question, i think it kinda depends on how fem!bodyguard is as a person

dropping some small loose HCs and thoughts on this - no content warning aside from be ware of completely unformatted thoughts below

if fem!bodyguard is a big softie, i think the girls love you and really suck up to you whenever you're at a shared event and checking in on them to make sure they're okay

probably concerned for your well being because it doesnt seem like you're aware of what the saja boys are but if you are aware of them they're like - wait but you're still working for them? and it's a whole little discussion on how you dont particularly care and want to make sure they still feel protected because imo human fans are scarier than demons could ever be

theres a few times that zoey crashes after an energy high and is just knocked out so the girls have flagged you down to ask if you could help them carry her to their car or to help move her to somewhere comfortable and you do so with the utmost care that when zoey learns about it from the girls she keeps staring at you with big adoring eyes like 'wow..!'

i feel like jinu ends up relying on you a lot more than he realises, the presence of a woman + allowing for emotional vulnerability, you'd unintentionally started to actually mother the saja boys during your time working for them and he knows he can trust you with their safety

highkey i am a believer that mystery always seeks you out so you can run your fingers through his hair, like he just likes to plop his head on your muscular thighs and loves the contrast with how your fingers gently comb through his hair

abby adores you as his gym buddy - he might actually be too excitable over it to the point you have to tell him to take a rest day because it's not healthy to go all the time and he argues and complains about it til your voice gets stern and he tenses up like oh.. oh you're like. serious serious.

it's a pretty common thing to witness in the boys' abode where you're picking baby up and scolding him while keeping him in air jail against his will but he's so just dangling there until you finally put him down after he agrees correct his mistake and then you've placed him back down on his feet and straightened out his clothes with a small apology about being rude

......i feel like a vast majority of people can agree that romance is really into it right- like i'm not crazy here- but he is into it, he likes to admire your figure without you knowing and maybe there's a chance that you've opened up to him about your insecurities at being so big and then he's complimenting you more frequently to make sure you understand he appreciates and sees your beauty when you're occasionally feeling a little out of it

a small thought i have is that when you get stern with the guys about them behaving inappropriately as idols a couple of them start to question their preferences because it's extremely attractive to them and then they're avoiding your gaze for the next week or so bc if they stare at you for too long they get flustered

#kpop demon hunters x reader #saja boys x reader #kpdh x reader #huntrix x reader #bodyguard!reader

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misctf · 3 days ago

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I’m studying abroad for uni and my roommate is a typical ‘all-American’ dude who constantly talks about hating being forced to stay with a ‘dirty red coat’ instead of his frat brothers

Of all the roommates you had to be paired with, did it have to be AJ? You had concerns when you stalked his social media. His cocky smile, multiple gym selfies, thirst traps, and American pride gave you a preview of what you were in for. How this man was studying such a nuanced subject like Psychology was beyond you. But meeting the brute in person certainly confirmed your fears.

“Fuck, don’t you do anything besides read? Really dude? Reading?”

“Fuck yeah! That fuckin’ scrub didn’t have a chance.”

“Shit dude, I need you out of the room ASAP. I have some bimbo on her way. Wants to ride this American cock.”

“Dude, seriously? Ever hear of the revolution? We won that shit so we didn’t have to take orders from you dirty red coats. If I want to walk around shirtless, burp, fart, fuck- I’m gonna do it. And you’re not stopping me.”

“Maybe shut up and listen for once. This podcast might change your life, brah.”

And that was just a few of his many lines. Whether it was mocking you, mocking other gamers, diminishing women, ignoring your attempts to compromise, or brushing off your increasing frustration at the sound of some ultra-masculine podcaster, AJ simply gave no shits about you or anyone else.

“You know something, bro?” AJ said one night during your second week together, “This trip would be so much fucking better with one of my bros. Not some dirty red coat, British fuck.” You looked up from your book and raised an eyebrow, “How about you, let loose.”

A tingle runs down your spine, “Wh-what did you say?”

“Nothing brah, I just think you’d do better if you let loose.”

The tingle is stronger this time and you feel lightheaded. You look towards your American roommate and notice the shit-eating grin gracing his face. What the fuck was going on? Why was everything getting so foggy? You try to stand up, mumbling about needing a drink. AJ simply leans back in his chair.

“Nah man, what you need is to let loose.”

Your body begins to move as if possessed, shedding layers of inhibition and inhibition like old skin. The book slips from your grasp as a wave of raw, primal energy surges through your veins. A smirk spreads across your lips as you push yourself up from the chair, the world sharpening into focus.

“Damn right I'm letting loose.” you declare, voice dripping with confidence and a faint Southern drawl, “Time to show this place how us Americans party.”

Your movements become more fluid, almost predatory as you prowl towards the door. The mirror catches your reflection - your posture has changed, shoulders squared, chest puffed out. Part of you thinking how ridiculous your lanky frame looks exuding so much confidence, but any self-doubt is drowned in waves of narcissistic self-love.

AJ grinned approvingly, “Now that's more like it, bro!”

He clapped you on the shoulder and handed you one of his ballcaps. You grab it and slap it on backwards before sauntering out into the night...

____

Groggy and disoriented, you slowly open your eyes to find yourself sprawled across the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Memories of the previous night come flooding back in fragmented flashes - shots, dancing, trash talking, hitting on some random dudes and chicks... Shame and confusion wash over you as the reality of your actions sinks in.

“Ugh, what the hell happened last night?” you groan, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, AJ's booming laughter fills the room.

“Aww, someone's feeling rough today!” he chuckles, shaking his head, “Guess you weren't used to keeping up with real men.” As you sit up, trying to clear the fog from your mind, AJ takes a step closer, eyeing you critically. “But damn, dude... You really gotta work on that physique. It’s holding you back.”

A sense of dread fills you, mixing with your pounding headache and churning stomach. You glance down at your comparatively scrawny frame and suddenly it feels alien, inadequate. As if responding to AJ's dismissive words, your body aches for something...more.

“Let loose... Get buff,” he says nonchalantly, stretching and flexing his own impressive biceps.

Immediately, you feel your body reacting against your will. Your muscles twitch and tighten, a strange sense of urgency building inside you. The rational part of your mind screams in protest, but it's quickly silenced by a surge of adrenaline and testosterone. Without conscious thought, you find yourself stripping off your shirt and heading towards the makeshift weights area in your dorm room. The familiar burn of exertion fills your limbs as you begin lifting, grunting and growling with each repetition. You don’t know what is happening... why this is happening... And those questions are your last conscious thoughts as you drift into your subconscious...

----

Slowly, groggily, you blink awake. Sunlight streams in harshly through the window, making you squint and wince. Disorientation clouds your mind as you struggle to process your surroundings. Where are you? What day is it? Pulling aside the sheets, you catch sight of your body - no longer lean and lanky, but rippling with muscle and definition. A pungent odor mimicking AJ's fill your nostrils and you realize with growing horror that its coming from you. Glancing down, you see unfamiliar boxer shorts emblazoned with the American flag. Panic rising in your throat, you scramble out of bed, stumbling slightly under the weight of your newly enhanced physique. Memories flicker and dance at the edges of your consciousness. Fragmented images of relentless training sessions, endless protein shakes, and vials labeled 'Anadrol' and 'Deca-Durabolin’.

“What the fuck...” you mutter hoarsely, voice deeper than you remember. “What's happening to me?”

Did you really spend the past week pumping iron and injecting yourself with steroids? The thought alone makes you feel ill. Staggering to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Gone is the shy, bookish Brit. Now, you’re something else entirely. In the background, you hear AJ's boisterous laugh echoing down the hall. Footsteps approach and he bursts into the room, taking in your bewildered expression with a satisfied grin.

“Hey there, champ!” AJ greets you enthusiastically, slapping you on the back hard enough to make you stumble. “Lookin' good, bro! Knew you had it in ya.”

Confusion swirls in your head as you try to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of your fractured memories.

“Wha- what's going on? Did you...did you drug me?”

AJ laughs heartily, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Drugs? Nah, man. Unless you mean the steroids.” He chuckles, “Just a little hypno-training from my favorite podcast. Helped unlock your inner alpha, ya know?”

“Wh-what, how?” You cringe- your British accent was fading, intermixing with hints of southern twang.

AJ steps closer, looming over you with an intense gaze. “See, I've always dreamed of having a true American bro by my side. Someone to share in my love of freedom, guns, and sweet ass. And you, my friend, are gonna be that bro.” He snaps his fingers, and you feel a sudden jolt, like a shockwave ripping through your mind.

The shockwave crashes over you, drowning out every ounce of reason and restraint. Like a dam bursting, a tidal wave of pure, unfiltered American machismo floods your psyche. Thoughts of literature, intellectual discourse, and subtle wit are swept away, replaced by a singular focus on strength, virility, and unbridled patriotism.

“I'm gonna make you the ultimate American stud. No more of that pussy-ass British bullshit. From now on, you're all about the red, white, and blue.”

With each word, you feel your identity shifting, morphing, until you're barely recognizable even to yourself. It's like flipping a switch - suddenly, every fiber of your being throbs with the pulse of the Stars and Stripes. Your vocabulary shrinks, simplifying into a barrage of Americanisms and slang. Words like “dude”, “bro”, and “fuckin”' roll off your tongue effortlessly. Memories of your former self flicker in the recesses of your mind, but they hold no sway over you anymore. Instead, you revel in the glory of your newfound masculinity, flexing your bulging biceps and admiring your chiseled jawline in the mirror. Your thoughts race, a whirlwind of pure, unadulterated American pride. Every cliché, every stereotype, every over-the-top portrayal of the quintessential frat boy - they all converge in your mind, forming a perfect picture of the man you've become.

“I'm living the dream, man.” you declare, your Southern drawl growing thicker with each syllable, “Who needs books when you got these guns?”

Grinning ear to ear, you strike a pose, showcasing your newly sculpted physique. The sheer joy of being a jock, a true-blue American stud, courses through your veins like liquid gold.

“It's like I was born to be a bro.” you chuckle, slapping AJ on the back, “Thanks for showing me the light, dude. I owe ya big time.” And in this moment, nothing else mattered.

----

One year later, you're sitting on the shore of Lake Travis, surrounded by your fellow frat brothers. Cold beer in hand, tanned muscles glistening in the sun, you couldn't ask for a better life. College is just a blur of keggers, sex, and weightlifting sessions between classes. Who needs grades when you got charisma and Southern charm? Across the beach, AJ lounges in a deck chair, watching you with a smug grin. His work here is done. You're the perfect embodiment of American masculinity.

Laughter rings out as you sprint towards the lake, splashing and horsing around like a pack of wild animals. In this moment, you're truly free - free from the constraints of intellect, free from the burdens of responsibility. You're just a simple, happy-go-lucky American jock, living life to the fullest.

#male tf #male transformation #personality tf #mental change #gay hypnosis #forced transformation #dumber tf #jock tf

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revelboo · 3 days ago

Note

Revel I am very concerned for the readers who keep getting fed things like cereal and Oreos. Like some of the ones in space keep getting junk food. I'm begging you to at least let them have a tinned fruit salad 🍒🍍🍐🍑🥺

Yeah, they need some real food

Gardening

Lost Light

• “Does anybody know how to do this? Because I manage to kill cactuses,” you say as you stare at the very impressive and very overwhelming hydroponic garden the bots have set up for all of you. And the big pile of seed packets they’d gotten from someone named Swindle. Glancing up at Rodimus as he gives you a thumbs up from where he’s standing with several other bots watching you and the other humans. Shoulders slumping when no one volunteers anything useful, though Rung’s person says that their last boyfriend kept a pot plant alive in a five gallon bucket in their living room, you bend to grab a packet. This can’t be that hard.

• ‘You know they’re all going to starve to death, right? Look at them. Those aren’t the faces of people who know what they’re doing,’ Whirl predicts and Rodimus turns to scowl at him. And okay. Maybe you’re all standing around talking instead of gardening, but he’s sure you’re making important decisions. “You sure humans know how to do this?” He asks Ratchet and the medic scowls at him. ‘Five Shanix says Chromedome and Rewind’s human starts crying first,’ Whirl adds as Rewind glares up at him.

• “Humans know how to grow their own food and a little hard work is good for them. Helps with stress and gives them a sense of accomplishment ,” Ultra Magnus says, gesturing at the humans milling about. And his human turns to look at him and holds up a seed packet. ‘Minnie, we need help! None of us know what the fuck we’re doing and the seed packets have terrible instructions!” Venting as Whirl starts laughing, he moves closer to help.

• “Anybody know what rhubarb tastes like?” You mutter, scowling at the packet as Rung patiently takes it from you, rips it open and pours seeds in your palm. And smiles like he’s so proud it makes you want to sling them in his face even as you turn and start poking them into the dirt. Feeling him hovering and okay, maybe you feel warm when he murmurs that you’re doing good and doesn’t even sound condescending about it. It’s not like you need his approval, but it’s nice.

• Kneeling beside you as he makes holes with a servo for you to drop seeds in, your hand brushes his and Megatron likes this sense of companionship. Can hear the others and their humans softly talking as both species work together towards common goal. And you smile up at him, dirt smudged on the side of your nose. “This is good,” he rumbles, lifting his chin to indicate everyone working together peacefully. ‘We really needed this,’ you say, eyes amused as you look around. ‘And not just the fresh food.’ Gets that, some of the humans restless about being stuck on the ship and though most of them are at least resigned to it, he knows you’ve been bored and this gives you something to work on. A sense of purpose and he leans to brush his cheek against your head as Whirl’s human screams about being soaked with a bucket of water, grabbing a fistful of mud and throwing it only to miss Whirl completely and nail Tailgate and Cyclonus’s human in the face. ‘You better-’ You begin worriedly, but he’s already standing to deal with it before it can become a brawl as Cyclonus growls angrily.

#transformers x reader #rodimus x reader #rung x reader #mtmte rung #mtmte rodimus #whirl x reader #mtmte whirl #megatron #megatron x reader

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akkaweo-akkaweo · 2 days ago

Text

Overtime

Hong Eunchae x Jang Kyujin x Kang Haerin x M!reader

Tags: daddy!kink + praise!kink, blowjob

WC: 3.3k

—————

"Enter," you called out.

Your face was buried in your hands. Work was unbearable, checking paper after paper after paper. Classes left and right that you barely had time to do anything that didn't involve reading a boom, and even less time to read books that weren't academic.

Of course, Kyujin, Eunchae, and Haerin knew all that.

"Ladies," you groaned. "Thank goodness you're here."

Without saying a word, Haerin moved behind you and started massaging your shoulders. She never really was a talker, but she didn't need any direction from you.

"Are you okay, sir?," Kyujin asked with concern, crouching to meet your downward gaze. The more outward-going type, she always approached you with casual friendliness. And you weren't against it – you needed a break from formalities.

"We can go out for some jjigae," Eunchae offered. She was the type to do that – think of literally anything else that wasn't the droll of your struggles.

Honest to goodness, you felt smothered in the presence of these three. Nothing negative about it, if only you weren't so damn into them when they were under your charge. But earlier last year, by then a year since they graduated, they approached asking for work. You offered a meager salary shared between the three of them, in exchange for not needing to do anything other than be around at the end of the day. You were about as surprised that they all said yes, hoping they'd be pushed back instead by the insanity of the setup.

Yet here you were, one year later, sat, pampered, and attended to by your three assistants.

"Thank heavens this term is almost over," you remarked. "I thought it'd never end."

"Tell me about it," Haerin remarked. "I swear I saw posters about the commencement exercises just two weeks ago. Turns out it's been two months."

"It's okay, sir," Eunchae continued, "me and Kyujin can deal with this stack of papers in the morning."

"I don't pay you for the morning," you commented. "I pay you for keeping me company."

Kyujin playfully slapped your leg. "Sir, I'd think it's fair that we actually do the job of the assistant you paid us to be."

"I just want to destress, that's all," you laughed dismissively. "So, jjigae, right, Eunchae?"

Haerin wrapped her arms around your neck. "Actually sir, we were thinking something else." Kyujin and Eunchae sat on either of your legs, as if on cue.

You'd given up on pretending these three were nothing more than friends for hire. The only reason this setup was acceptable to you in the first place were three things: first, they were the closest students you've ever had, bar none; second, they were persistent, even in their academics; and third, you unapologetically found the three of them beautiful. Still, one must pretend for posterity.

"Ladies," you said sternly. "I am your boss. I was your teacher."

"Oh come on," Eunchae teased. "You're barely our boss and not our teacher anymore. So that makes us friends."

"'Friends'," you emphasized in air quotes, "don't offer what I think you're offering."

"And what would that be, sir?," Kyujin teased, now kneeling at your feet, between your legs. Haerin joined in, while Eunchae locked the door before placing herself with the crowd.

"This is very compromising, ladies," you chuckled. The jig was, unquestionably, up.

"Would you prefer sir or daddy, daddy?," Haerin asked. You rolled your eyes.

"Daddy it is, then," Eunchae said, before undoing your belt buckle. Kyujin and Haerin worked your pants off your legs until they were on your feet. Unsurprisingly, you were very much hard for them already.

"How'd you it figure out?," you asked. "I must know."

"Because we love it when you call us pretty, daddy," Kyujin replied. Caught you there.

"So then," you asked, "what's the actual plan for tonight?"

"The three of us will suck your dick, daddy," Eunchae responded.

"We'll take turns, then make you cum," Kyujin continued.

"We'll let you use us," Haerin concluded. "Facefuck us, daddy."

Fuck. Your dick trembled in anticipation. The three of them still sat pretty before you; you assumed it was your pick. Whoever you chose first determined how exactly this would go down; you needed to choose wisely.

You took Kyujin's face in both your hands, rubbing a thumb on her cheek. She laughed, her face transforming from the casually seductive to the innocently playful. Despite her grin, she opened her mouth – not wide, but equally inviting – silently waiting for you to drop her between your legs.

Haerin and Eunchae both took a leg, resting their heads as their gazes were completely transfixed on your erect member. Breaths held, eyes wide, they waited with anticipation – partly yearning to taste the fruit laid before them, partly to see their friend take her first bite. They didn't look it, but it felt like a pair of lionesses were waiting for their turn to start digging into their prey.

"Ready?," you asked Kyujin tenderly. She nodded, eyes burning into yours.

You led her head down, and without struggle she fit all of you in her mouth. You felt your tip reach the back of her throat, making her gag, and you took her off of you.

"Are you alright? Did you like that?," you asked.

"Please be careful, daddy," Eunchae pouted.

"No, it's okay, I can take it," Kyujin reassured. "Please don't rush, daddy."

You fixed her hair and led her down your shaft again. She slowly closed her mouth over you, the warmth enveloping your cock like velvet. You lifted her head, and already the sensation had you weak.

"She takes you so well, daddy," Haerin purred.

"Fuck, Kyujin," you swore behind clenched teeth. Her head stayed right over your tip, spit now slowly dribbling down your shaft.

"She's waiting for you to use her," Eunchae reminded, rubbing your thigh. It felt wrong to violate such a pretty face – and yet, precisely because you were determined not to, there was a sense of excitement to be fully in control.

You started to glide her head up and down your shaft, her lips squeezing out all the spit down to your base. So long as you didn't force it all the way through, she didn't falter in keeping your cock drenched. The temptation to ravage her pretty little mouth – and all the space you knew it could take – was a thought you had to shove aside.

Still, she had a bit more to learn.

"Baby," you moaned, "let me show you something." You guided your thumb again to her cheek. "Try to suck the air in, baby. I should feel this part fall inwards."

Kyujin tried, coughing for a second. "Sorry, daddy, I'm trying not inhale my spit." You kissed her on the forehead.

"You can do it, Kyujin-ie," Eunchae cheered. She tried again, getting a hang of how to grip you in her mouth; she got it after a few cautious strokes.

"There we go, fuck," you groaned. While you still had Kyujin's head in one of your hands, you let go, placing it instead on top of her head.

Kyujin moved with determination, as some halfway point towards desperation. Her pace was consistent, and after your reminder she moved even more confidently, taking you in. She even gagged a bit, though she would hold back right after.

That urge again to shove her down torturously sat in your mind, wishing for her to finish you sooner. The other two, it seemed, noticed.

"Please don't cum yet, daddy," Haerin begged, squeezing your thigh. "Save it for all of us."

"Let her edge you, daddy," Eunchae added. "We wanna feel it on all our faces."

Their mewling alone put you closer to the edge you needed to be on, and you let go of her as you held your breath. Kyujin's breath was fast, hot, and still expectant of you in her mouth. Instead, Kyujin rubbed her face along the side of your throbbing length. "Thank you, daddy," she purred.

"Do you wanna go first, Haerin-ie?," Eunchae asked. Haerin crawled to replace Kyujin, who took her place on your leg. She laid her head down, still catching her breath.

Haerin took your hand and placed it on the right side of her head, right over her ear. You ruffled it lightly as if to pet her , and she retreated into her shoulders. But without any prompting, her eyelids fell heavily, narrow – coaxing you to use her.

"I'm ready, daddy," she purred eagerly, licking her lips. How brazen, you thought to yourself – all these orchestrations of carnal hunger and lust almost felt rehearsed, debunked only by the subtle hesitations in their movements.

You led her head down, her lips and mouth learning from your pointers to Kyujin. Less spit, more tongue, aggressively twirling around your dick. Her pace was slower, focused more on exploring – more like wrestling – your member in her mouth.

The feeling was unprecedented. Of the three, Haerin was the one you thought to be the least aggressive, yet now she had you leaned back on your chair like you were on the ropes. Eunchae and Kyujin were ever the supportive ones.

"Keep looking at her, daddy," Kyujin teased. "Look into her eyes."

"Mmm, she really likes it, don't you, Haerin-ie?," Eunchae taunted. Haerin nodded, her mouth still full of you.

"Fucking–," you squirmed. "not too harsh, baby." You scratched her head to get her out of her trance; you swore her eyes rolled up, very much stimulated. "Savor it, Haerin. Feel how hard you make me."

You guided her head, dictating the tempo of her bobbing. At first she still fought against your grasp, frantically chasing after an invisible target. Still, you slowed her down. "Feel every muscle and vein. You have it, baby."

Haerin did slow her onslaught with her tongue, and a switch flipped with a single, deep moan. For once, she closed her eyes, as if to paint a relief of you in her mind. So focused was she that her mouth never hit the base of your hips, feeling instead the head of your dick and your frenulum rubbing all over her tongue.

"You want that dick so bad, Haerin-ie," Kyujin smirked. Eunchae bit her lip expectantly. "Are you gonna burst, daddy?"

You squirmed, even bucking your hips up. Haerin kept going, and you could feel your balls tense up.

Eunchae and Kyujin both reached out, the first time their participation was more direct: Eunchae gingerly reached for your balls, massaging them; Kyujin wrapped her dainty fingers around your base, not hard enough to deny your orgasm, but enough to stop the feeling pooling up where she held you.

You growled, the frustration of being edged a second time for these three needy brats slowly winning over. But those same brats looked at you almost apologetically.

"We're so sorry, daddy," Kyujin whined, kissing your thigh. Eunchae did the same on the inside of your thigh. While you were twitching at the electric sensation of their lips on your skin, you slowly lifted herself off your shaft, now coated in twice the spit.

With Haerin now stepping back, another lioness was ready to pounce. Eunchae's head perked up. "Is it my turn now, daddy?"

You laid a hand on her, guiding her head just like Kyujin. Haerin sat right beside Kyujin, wrapping herself over the more petite woman.

"You can do it, Eunchae-nie," Haerin cheered, before turning to Kyujin. "Daddy's cock tastes so good." Kyujin bit her lip, blushing at the memory.

"I wanna take it all, daddy," Eunchae begged. "Please take care of me."

You kissed her forehead. "Don't push too hard, baby."

Eunchae slowly thrusted your tip through her lips, intent to take you all the way to the back of her throat. She swallowed you in slowly, unsure of the many sensations: the mix of your hot shaft and cooled spit; the unavoidably strong smell of sweat, spit, and everything else coating you; and the taste, that ever addicting flavor of your precum now pulsing out of your very erect cock.

As you reached the back of her throat, she took a deep breath, slowly easing your dick in. Eunchae held it there for a few seconds, before starting to cough aggressively.

Kyujin and Haerin got up to support her on either shoulder, rubbing her back. You too leaned forward, ignoring the throbbing distraction between your legs. When Eunchae looked up at you once again, there were tears in her eyes, remorseful for her apparent failure.

"Please be gentle, daddy," Haerin said.

"It's not her fault, daddy," Kyujin defended. "She's trying her best."

Even if there was no ill feeling in you, you felt bad as Eunchae tried hard to fight back her disappointment. Even at their expense, they fawned over you, supporting each other as they tried to pleasure you. You weren't going to requite that with harshness.

You made Eunchae look up at you even as she shamefully tried to hide her face. "Eunchae, baby," you held her, wiping the tears with your thumbs. "Don't force it. Do what you want to do, but do it slowly."

"I just want daddy to feel good," Eunchae whined. "I can do it daddy, I promise."

"I know," you reassured, planting another kiss on her head. "I'll guide you, baby. Haerin, Kyujin," you looked at the two on her sides, "support her. Affirm her." Dissonance aside, your heart ached for these three.

Kyujin took a handful of Eunchae's hair and held it back. Haerin held her by the lower back of her head.

"We'll guide you, Eunchae-nie," Kyujin comforted.

Haerin guided her down your shaft once more. "You're doing great, Eunchae-nie. Take his cock good."

Kyujin whispered right in her ear. "Look at him, Eunchae-nie. Daddy really likes it," she breathed, as your mouth stayed agape with every inch she took in.

"Careful there," Haerin said, now on Eunchae's other ear. Eunchae's cheeks were flushed, likely from the praising and the slow success in swallowing you whole. Once she reached the back of her throat again and resurfaced, Kyujin and Haerin cheered her on.

"That was great!," Kyujin remarked.

"You're doing so great," Haerin added. "Tell her, daddy."

You prodded her chin up. "That felt amazing, Eunchae. Keep going."

Eunchae slowly worked herself back up to a steady pace, the sound of her gagging now being the dominant noise in the room. Unlike Haerin, it seemed she was determined to keep you exactly where you were in her mouth, deep down and close to your base. Spit now dripped down to your balls; sweat formed on your abdomen as the sensation felt like your tip was being massaged. You threw your head back again, lightheaded from the unceasing pleasure.

You let out a long groan. "Fuuuuck," you growled. Kyujin and Haerin, now retreated back to your legs, looked yearningly at Eunchae. Their breaths were warm to the touch of your thighs.

The real turn-on came from Eunchae staring at you, hungry not just for your cock, but for your favor. And you chose to feed well.

"You take me nicely, baby," you praised, and Eunchae smiled as far as a blowjob would let her. Fuck, she was adorably cute, eyes wide and mouth curled even with you fully in her mouth. Trying to take you in fully, her pace was easily the slowest, adding pressure on your already swollen head. In no time at all your orgasm came creeping back.

"Damn, ladies, I'm close," you growled again, lifting Eunchae off you. As she hovered right over your cock, the other two crawled in to surround you on either side.

"I'd like to cum now, ladies," you commanded.

Without any further instructions, the three of them made quick work of your cock. Kyujin kissed your balls and the underside of shaft; Haerin focused her lips entirely on the left side of your shaft and your tip; and Eunchae planted kisses all over the right and on your frenulum.

It was like clockwork: it was kiss after kiss after kiss, with not a single inch of its surface left unstimulated. Finally, the piece-by-piece meal had turned into a civil feeding frenzy, each leaving enough space for the others to feed on you unobstructed. You were no longer capable of commanding, because all you could groan out of your mouth was either surrender or a warning to finish.

And the ladies were very aware you were on the brink. Every giggle, every wet smack of lips, every moan into you cared less about the desire for their pleasure and more about the now insatiable urge to taste your seed on their lips.

Before you could issue that warning, however, the three of them stopped their kissing and moved down to your base. With a simple glance at each other, the three simultaneously licked upwards – Haerin on your left, Kyujin at the center, and Eunchae on your right.

That was it.

First it was one long stroke. Then another. And another. Then they took turns, pleading for your release.

"Cum for us, daddy," Kyujin begged.

"We wanna taste you, daddy," Haerin cooed.

"Give it to us, daddy," Eunchae whispered.

No matter what permutation their words came in, the end result remained the same: you released, almost too aggressively. One spurt, then another, pointing one each into their mouths. You thought nothing, saw nothing but the black of your eyes snapped shut by the sheer tension of your orgasm; all you thought was to point and feed.

When you opened your eyes, they were drenched in your load. Kyujin got some in her eye, Eunchae had a string from her nose to her bottom lip, and Haerin had one almost dripping down her jawline. Eunchae was the first to snap, practically pouncing on Kyujin to lap up her face. Haerin fingered the drop on her chin, before being interrupted by Kyujin. Eunchae wiped off with the side of her finger as much as she could, feeding it into Haerin's mouth. Haerin met Kyujin's lips, which met Eunchae's, which met Haerin once more.

To recall: whatever orchestrations were made prior were executed above and beyond what could possibly be expected. They deserved some form of encore.

You stroked off all the cum and let them lap it up before continuing to jerk yourself off. You felt your balls and shaft burn in protest, but you weren't empty enough to call it a night. And with one last groan, three last spurts, one each, as a parting gift. The three swallowed and moaned in unison.

You leaned back with finality. All tensions – from the stresses of labor to the snap of feelings unresolved – were dissipated. And no evidence of the ordeal to boot.

Eunchae and Kyujin shared your right leg, while Haerin kept your left all to herself, all still catching their breaths.

"Ladies, this was...," you trailed off, at a loss for words. "You were – are – all so pretty." A choir of giggles ensued.

"We'd do anything for more, daddy," Eunchae taunted.

Haerin kissed your thigh. "Daddy didn't even get to fuck us tonight."

"Your mouths did plenty of the fucking," you rebutted.

"Then we let you choose how to fuck us next time, daddy," Kyujin replied.

Haerin traced circles on your thighs. "I kinda wanna keep doing it here though."

"Same," Kyujin seconded. "It's hotter to do it like this."

"Guess you're gonna need a little bit of rearranging for us," Eunchae smiled.

This office was going to need a bit more than just rearranging for your needs.

—————

A/N: the amount of versions this story went through is almost frustrating. at least a goon session cleared it up no im just kidding seriously thats just a joke | edit: til bfh is a thing

#girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader #le sserafim smut #eunchae smut #nmixx smut #kyujin smut #newjeans smut #haerin smut

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