#out of fucking spite it's what I have right now. anger. but I can't move on with this anger. I need help I need support from SOMEONE.

[yther]

Two (or was it 3?) years ago I spent "christmas" and the next week in the same pair of clothes on a bed with no sheet or blanket and I used a trash bag when I was too cold. I weighed 20lbs less but I had muscle still. I wish I knew then what I knew now. I would go back to absolute hopelessness and scarcity if I could save myself from the people I'd meet or the person I was with.

But mostly, I regret that I gave up, I thought I had nothing more to lose when in reality I had my whole life, still. I had my life. I had a FUCKTON more health, even though I clearly took it for granted. And as much as I feel like I did back then, that I have nothing at all to lose, I have learned It can always get worse! AlWAYS!

Suicide is not reliable, brain damage sucks. So... Shit really really sucks this year and I promised myself that I wouldn't endure another, but I should break that promise..? I should find a way to survive. But I am so tired and hurt and angry. So confused.

I miss humanity. I miss... so much and I'll never understand what has been done to me or taken from me (at least to the full extent). I need to find my way back to some community, somewhere somehow. I need to fight this vicious isolation and recover from the harassment and violation. I need to "fight" - I'm not sure what that means anymore. I need to survive, and that itself is a fight I'm losing.

I don't see any path forward, but I know there is one..? I also know I have been terrorized and traumatized for so long I can barely speak coherently irl. I didn't sleep or eat and terror as an energy source has a hell of a price. I don't trust myself to think. Really think and make important decisions. I desperately need that ability but I'm only getting more exhausted and malnourished and broken and afraid..

Survival is resistance but <forever blinking cursor>

[trulyhblue]

Bf Leah being wound up after a bad game and takes control. Smut pls!!!!

BLED BLUE

leah williamson x chelsea! reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, humiliation, dom/sub dynamics, age gap (legal + consensual), hate sex, enemies w/ benefits, rough, coarse language.

________________

Part of you wondered how long it would take Leah to take you home. There was not an ounce of blue in her body, taken only by the lifelong allegiance to North London, but the thought of you, a blue-born Chelsea girl, taking up the space under her sheets, was addictive.

Chelsea were the better team. Always was, and always will be. The Blues were better at everything. Their players were more advanced, their game plans had been executed to perfection. Arsenal were sloppy, poor, and unjust. It was embarrassing to the point where it stood out as entertaining to you. Seeing the almighty, reigning Arsenal fall on their knees and succumb to the superiority of your team was endearing, and you found yourself searching for the thrill increasingly more as the game progressed.

And the sight of the woman you hated oh so much angered by the defeated notion of the final whistle was your idea of an indescribable victory.

“What a shame, Williamson.” You snagged, clutching the fabric at your hips, looking down at her bent figure. “I thought you’d play well.”

“Ah, it is you.” She replied with just as much spite. “I thought I saw someone falling flat on their face. Makes sense now that I know it was you.”

You smirked, folding your arms over your chest. “Yeah, tried to show my humility… y’know, after scoring two goals tonight I thought it was only necessary.”

Leah scoffed, straightening her posture to display her authoritative height over you. “Both off deflections… sounds brilliant.”

“Player of the match worthy.” You bit back, stepping forward, pressing your chest against hers, suppressing the heat in your face. “Don't worry, I’ll make sure to credit your own goal in the interview.”

“Always have an excuse to talk about me. Can't stop, can you?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I don't think of you.” Leah shook her head, grabbing the hem of your shorts and fiddling with them persistently. “But if I did, I’d be sure to let you know.”

“If only I cared enough to hear it.” You tutted, not really caring about the openness of your situation. The stadium was still quite full, with both of your teammates lingering on the field. Fans were banking the barricade, no doubt looking for the two of you.

“I could tell you now if you’d like.”

“Aw, are you thinking of me now, Williamson?”

You felt Leah’s hand move to the inside of your thigh, pressing a tight pinch to gain any type of reaction from you. Biting your lip, you hoped that the post-game redness covered your blush.

“I bet you love the thought of people watching this, don't you?” She asked, glaring at you with such hatred that her words felt bittersweet. “Always so desperate for attention that you’d do it in front of everyone. Fucking needy.”

“You’re the one touching me.” In anger, you snapped. You didn't like the way Leah seemed so confident, so right in what she was saying. You wanted to be right. You were the one who won it for your team. You were better than her. She needed to realise that.

The only separation between the two of you was by your arms crossed over your chest. Leah was drawing furious patterns along your thigh, pressed up against you with her face above you, your height earning her to look down.

“Pull away then.” She uttered, now pulling you into a hug. You knew this would send fans into a spiral. Everybody knew about your rivalry with Leah. It was evident in the tackles, the cards, the teams, the games, the interactions. This was unclaimed territory. You had both teased each other after the games. There was always fire and spite, anger and resentment, but never contact. She told you to pull away, and by the tension that lingered, if you did she would let you have there was something else there. You felt it between your legs, running down your spine, making your core yearn.

It was in the way she kept her hand in between your thighs, deepening her fingers just below where you needed her most. She held you tight, closing any physical gap, forcing your arms to circle her waist as she wrapped her spare arm around the name on the back of your shoulders. You don't know why, but you held her back just as tight, breathing heavily when she started moving her fingers upwards.

“So tense.” She spat, rubbing your shoulder.

You shook her arm off, keeping the contact but still resistant. “I pulled it at training, of course it is.”

“Wasn't talking about your shoulder, baby.” She chuckled, her voice sending goosebumps down your neck. “In those thighs. Clenching them so hard and I'm hardly touching ‘em.”

That was when you knew your cheeks were burning.

There was a hint of humiliation in your tone, but your anger was still prevalent. “I didn't even notice your hand.”

“Yeah, alright.” Williamson grinned, pulling away. You felt the cold air nip your cheeks at the sudden loss of contact. Her fingers were no longer soothing the ache in between your legs. “Alright, baby, no, all that flushed cheeks from the big game, hm? Breathing so heavily cause you scored two goals, is that you’re so wet for me?”

“I’m not— you're so—”

Leah stepped away again, and you were too stupid to step forward in response. “God, is that what you're gonna sound like in the interview? You a mess, Baby, really. All flustered and red.”

“I'm not red.” You snapped. “And stop calling me baby. You're only four years older than me.”

Leah could see straight through you. “But you love that though.” She saw straight past your visible persona. “Why don't you show me how mature you are then? Can't call you baby if you prove that you're not.” She could tell by your flustered state, your wide eyes and your tainted disposition that you were struggling to handle the conversation.

“I don't need to prove anything to you. I just won the match. That's enough to prove that I'm better anyway.”

“But you needed help to get there, didn't you?” She retorted. “It’s not your name on the score sheet, it's mine. Look,” she pointed up to the screen, almost condescendingly, above the stands, where WILLIAMSON (OG) was printed boldly in white below the score. “All that hard work and I still get the mention.”

There was a fight for dominance, but the fight was so clearly won when you audibly gulped, unable to come up with just enough answer to compel yourself into a deeper state of anger. If anything, you were willing to resort to forbidding, but you were stubborn and bled blue.

“You’re just mad that you lost and we won. Chelsea was always better anyway, and you were just too slow… bet that's always the case.”

Leah’s jaw clicked, her lips settling into a thin line.

“In what case?” She muttered distinctly.

“You know what case.” You failed to notice the challenge, finding yourself in a superior position of confidence to realise the hole you were digging for yourself. “Slow and boring… on and off the pitch. You definitely get around, but you never seem to see one person twice. Maybe that's because they don't want to see you.”

Leah grabbed your wrist, yanking you off the field. It was a tradition that you would see the fans after every game, so you tugged back in retaliation.

She pivoted to face you, glaring at you with so much affliction that you yearned for more.

“You seem really interested in how I ‘get around’. Sounds like you wish it was you.”

No matter how hard your body was willing to succumb to her words, you stood firm by scoffing, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. “If only I was so desperate.”

“I’ll show you just how desperate I can get you.” The captain spat, holding your forearm now, easily leading you further down the tunnel where fans or players could no longer find you. “Didn't even properly touch you before and you were a needy mess.”

“You’re always so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you, Williamson?” You snapped back, hearing the clad of your boots fail to drown out your ungrateful tone. You did not care for what Leah was so keen to impress you with. Never had anyone told you that Leah did not impress. She was determined to make sure everyone was supplied with the right things for their needs. She valued giving pleasure over receiving. But if there was one thing she hated, it was brats like you.

You stood outside the Chelsea changing rooms, your kit still adorned on your figure.

“Go get your shit.” She snarled, letting go of your arm and jabbing you forward.

You scoffed, stopping dead in your tracks. “And what? You're gonna wait for me and drop me home? I have a license, Williamson, I'm not your fucking—”

You couldn't finish your rant, yelping when Leah cut you off, grabbing the collar of your shirt and mashing her lips against yours. One of her legs found its way between yours, her knee pushing against your core. A moan fell from your lips, and the woman wasted no time in slipping her tongue in, caging your figure between you and the wall.

She waited until you were kissing her back before grabbing your neck. She instantly moved down to litter harsh kisses down the nape of your neck, using her hands to move underneath your shirt, massaging your breasts. You were a mess beneath her, breathing heavily when the pressure on your clit intensified when her knee started rubbing patterns up and down.

“Swear at me again and see how it turns out for you.” She muttered in your ear, relishing the whines that fell from your lips as her knee continued its work. “If I tell you to grab your bag, that's what you do, yeah? You understand, Chelsea?”

The nickname left you shrinking, her words making your core glisten. You weren't completely sure whether the Arsenal girl was planning on taking you home. You didn't understand why you were all of a sudden pretty much moaning at the friction of her knee.

But you weren't fucking complaining.

“My teammates are in there.”

Leah let out a laugh. “You had no problem letting me touch you in a filled Stanford Bridge, Babygirl. I think it’d be healthy if your teammates realised who fucks their Stargirl after a home game.”

“You haven't fucked me, yet.” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the thought of the England captain fucking you sending you into a spiral.

“Go get your bag and then I can use that pretty mouth for something other than moaning my last name… not that I mind when you do that.”

You wasted no time in doing as you were told, forever thankful that all of your teammates were either still interacting with fans or showering. You grabbed all of your stuff and quickly followed Leah over to the away changing rooms.

She let you walk through, since none of the girls were present, grabbing your belongings and chucking them inside her cubby. You felt her figure cage you back into the nearest wall, her hands how playing with the hem of your shirt, inching it further up your waist until it was completely disregarded, and you were left in your sports bra and shorts.

“Why so quiet?” Leah asked, kissing down the column of your neck, fondling your breasts. You sighed at the growing ache in your core, throwing your head back when Leah’s knee came back into contact with your clit.

“Some— someone’s going to walk in.”

Leah snorted. “Like you would mind.”

You huffed, grabbing the back of her neck and pushing her head further down your body. Leah’s knee stopped in return, leaving you writhing at the loss of pressure.

“Use your words or you can get off yourself.”

“Like you could get me off.” You retorted.

“I don't make brats cum.” She spat, moving back up to tower over you. “I edge them until they’re desperate and getting themself off my thigh. I treat them like brats, and maybe you need to work a little fucking harder for what you want.”

“You were just teasing me!”

“You're just desperate.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Leah.” There it was. Music to her ears.

“What?”

You whined, using your hips to drag yourself along her knee.

“What was that, Baby? Couldn't hear you under all those whines.”

“Leah, c’mon.” You stated potently, getting more impatient by the minute. “I'm not begging.”

The number six shrugged, looking down at you with wide, innocent eyes like she had no clue what you were going on about. Like she didn't even realise that you were humping her leg longing for some relief.

“Begging for what?” She moved her finger painstakingly down your chest, tracing your abs ever so slowly.

“For you.”

“For me?” She questioned, feigning confusion. Her hand dipped into the waistband of your shorts, circling your clit over your underwear. “Answer me, Darling. What do you want me to do? I'm touching you.”

“Touch me more.”

Leah tutted, moving her hand away. You groaned, throwing your head back when no pleasure was offered. “I'm afraid that's not how you ask. It might get you somewhere at Chelsea, but at Arsenal, we treat our Captains with respect. Even our star girls use their manners in the North end.”

“Touch me more, please.”

“Where, Chelsea?” Leah moved closer to you, peeling off her own shirt, removing your shorts, leaving you in your underwear and bra. “Be a good girl and tell me where.” She asked, her body lowering itself closer to the ground. You watched her kneel before you, hands gripping your waist, kneading your hips, lips biting your inner thigh.

“My clit, Lee, please. I need you to touch me there.”

“Such a good girl for your Captain, aren't you?” Leah ran her tongue along your folds, your underwear pooled at your feet. Your legs were swung over her shoulders, your hands buried in her hair, pulling taunt to her ponytail and the hairs that had fallen out during the game. Your moans were still muffled by the bite in your lips, the nerves of someone hearing your desperation for your enemy is still evident in the way you kept your mouth shut.

It was when Leah’s tongue latched onto your clit, sucking harshly on the swollen bud that your noises fell so adamantly from your reddened lips. You felt Leah’s cocky smile, her chuckles sending vibrations of pleasure through your body.

“Sound so pretty, Baby.”

“Leah— fuck, Lee. I'm gonna—”

“You’re going to hold it. Taste so good, you can wait.”

The coil in your stomach was forming long before Leah had even started, and the more Leah attacked your bud, the more your orgasm led to burst. Your moans had doubled in volume when one of her hands came up to play with your nipple, pinching it and playing with the nub every time her tongue licked up your folds. Her other hand worked its way through your pussy, spreading your slick all over your thighs, letting it run down your shaking legs and make your skin glisten with the glossy arousal.

“Want Stanford to hear you,” Leah spoke from below you. You whined at the thought. You were in a state of pure bliss that all cautionary thoughts of interruption were so far gone. All you could think about was Leah’s face between your legs.

“Feels so good, Lee. Want to cum so bad for you.”

“You can hold it, baby.”

“Mh, Lee, please.”

Leah moaned at your whines, nuzzling her nose up against your clit, pinching your nipple hard, reeling at the moan you let out in response. She saw the way your hole clenched around nothing, smirking at the way you rolled your hips across her face, working your pussy into her mouth so easily. She felt powerful knowing she had you at her disposal. You were stunning always, but there was something about you now that set Leah off. It made her angry knowing that you weren't hers to fuck at her discretion. It made her protective over you in ways she had never felt before. You were Chelsea’s protege — everyone worried when going up against you.

“Leah.”

It wasn't like something had changed, but Leah had realised that her hate was actually protection and adoration. She wanted you for herself. She wanted to steer you away from anyone that would hurt you. She hated Chelsea, she despised the West side more than anything, and it wasn't the sex that made her realise this.

“Leah.”

It was her name coming from your lips.

“Cum for me, Baby.”

That was all you needed to hear before you were barreling over the edge, your legs relying entirely on the strength of Leah’s upper body to keep you balanced. Your moans exemplified the stimulation of your orgasm riding out, and Leah’s endeavours to lick the result of it up as it poured into her mouth and onto your thighs.

The woman made sure you had somewhat caught your breath before she moved, having a moment to catch her own breath and comprehend what just happened. When she knew you were able to stand independently, she moved over to her cubby, grabbing the baby wipes she always had handy, moving back down to her knees to clean the mess across your legs as you covered your chest back with your jersey, and later your shorts.

Leah moved to do the same, except she watched as you fumbled with what to do. She gave you a pointed look as if to question your thinking, and you simply sighed and waddled over to her, slight humiliation at your wobbly legs painting your cheeks as you grabbed your bag.

“You all good, Baby?” She asked, her voice no longer authoritative and rather empathetic.

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded. “Erm… sorry for being… rude… actually I'm not sorry but I am.”

“Yeah, same,” Leah replied a cheeky grin settled on her complexion. “I think we can settle for friendly rivalry from now on.”

“If that's what you call this, then sure.” You added, laughing along with what to make of the situation, feeling more out of place than ever in the middle of the Arsenal room. “I better go.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Lee, I've got my license—”

“It wasn't a question, Chelsea.”

You stood there defeated, knowing internally that you had no way home after Millie had driven you to the stadium and would have left by now anyway. Leah must’ve known that by the way she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her chest.

“Besides, wouldn't want that Player of The Match Trophy getting forgotten now, would we?”

_________________

A/N — bad ending but oh well… HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!

[theredharpy]

Can't have one without the other || König x Reader x Ghost ||

Jealousy • Envy • Slowburn • Enemies to lovers • R18

As Price is forced to make a tough call to bring in someone he had promised an old friend of his to protect, a mission that holds the weight of countless lives, needs the involvement of both KorTac and the mysterious red haired woman who had previously been in an elite trained military team that had supposedly disbanded and vanished.Ghost is against the idea but something draws him to her, whereas König wants to know more, what unravels nobody could've expected

PT. 3 Cloak & Dagger ||

"L.T don't do this." Soap's voice strained loudly through the heavy footsteps of Ghost.

"She's not gettin away with this Soap." Ghost sharply responded back as he pursued the woman.

Red just wanted to get away in that moment, her heart was thundering, her mind crashed with the constant thoughts now spiraling in her mind, her pace quickened when she heard the thundering behind her getting closer.

Fuck this place.

Fuck this guy.

Why the fuck did I even decide to come here.

Who the fuck does he think he is the prick.

She tightly clenched her jaw, where she was heading to, she didn't know, she just wanted to get away, to be honest she really didn't know what she was getting herself into, but she knew she couldn't turn down Price when she heard him on the phone.

I need you Red

I know I'm asking alot from ya, but we are in the shit if we don't get this mission done.

She didn't realise where she was heading, she was too stuck in her mind when all of a sudden she had walked head first into something, sending herself stubbing back on her own feet.

"Watch out!." The voice she'd bodyslammed into spokeout in surprise, two hands placed at either side of her arms held her in place to stop the woman from falling over.

Red blinked in shock as her eyes quickly trailed up to meet the hooded towering figure looking down at her. "I'm-oh I'm so sorry." She sputtered out trying to catch her breath.

König Shifted his gaze the moment their eyes met, looking past the woman he noticed Ghost, picking up on the fact the lieutenant was beyond furious, Königs mannerisms began to quickly change.

Red also froze in place when the footsteps stopped directly behind her, refusing to turn around, Königs grip on Red had tightened, his fingers pushed into her skin.

"König--"

"Not now." He sharply said with a hused voice.

Red noticed the slight twitch in Königs eyes, his body turned into stone as she watched a darkened shadow devoured the light shining down from the ceiling.

"You fucked up, Sergeant." Ghost's words where full of spite, his words reverberated off the walls, his eyes wandered up to face Königs.

"And what the bloody hell do you want."

"With all due respect, I think you should back off." König responded, his towering frame almost seemed to inch closer towards Red after the lieutenant had spoken.

Red dared herself to take a glance over her shoulder immediately locking eyes with Ghost, she could see the frustration carved into his eyes.

"With all due respect." Ghost repeated Königs words, "I think you should stay out of this, mate."

Red huffed deeply as she felt herself balling her hands into fists and attempted to calm her breathing.

I don't need protecting

She raised her hand up and gently tapped Königs hand on her arm, without any words spoken, a reminder to him that he still had a hold of her.

Immediately looking down he removed his hands from her shoulders.

"Es tut mir Leid." ( I am sorry )

His words where so quiet she thought for sure she'd heard that in her head.

Red gave the towering figure a quick smile before finally preparing herself to deal with the repercussions of Ghosts anger, but König made sure to not move, he refused to leave.

"Right go on then, say what you need to say L.T and let's get this over with because I cannot be bothered." She crossed her arms over her chest and fully turned her body to face towards Ghost, who still remained silent, her brows furrowed as she gestured with her hand for him to continue.

"You're actin out of place here, Red." Ghost snapped, his words where short, cold and direct, Soap had finally caught up with him but as he gazed down at her everyone else was soon invisible, out of sight out of mind.

"This isn't your old fucken' team, this is 141 and if you don't sort that attitude out you're gonna get us all killed out there."

Red immediately felt herself tense up at his words, she was grinding her teeth as she cautiously watched each and every little movement his eyes made underneath his mask, the way each word pierced into her.

"I bloody know that." She said back forcing herself to chew down her emotions, inhaling sharply.

"See L.T she gets it now lets leave it, c'mon." Soap purposely made himself present as he took two steps to get in Ghosts line of vision.

"We're all on edge, we know this is not gonna be easy on any of us." He looked down at Red and then up towards König, his eyes narrowed somewhat. "It's late, we're all ready to hit the hay, talking about this now isn't helpin'."

Ghost finally broke his stewing silence.

"Get your shite in order and meet me at 12 sharp tomorrow, for training."

"I'm just going to agree and go to bed." Red looked between both Soap and Ghost as she turned towards König.

"Permission to walk through." She chimed.

König gave her a small nod and moved so she could walk by and towards her room, he never once took his eyes from her until she was out of his vision before turning back to face Ghost and Soap, who were both staring directly at him.

"Ahh, found yerself a friend have we now." Soap mocked.

He said nothing except return a darkened stare back at them before walking off in the same direction Red had gone.

"Fuckin twat." Ghost muttered under his breath.

[icespur]

There are not enough Mpreg Parent Akeshu fics

I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed.

it's not like there's zero. There are some, but not nearly enough or I'm not looking in the right tags.

There's especially HUGE missed potential that not enough people utilize.

I've seen wholesome Akiren as a parent. Seems everyone is in agreement he'd be the chillest, awesomest, father.

But what about Akechi?

Goro "I had a bad childhood, no father figure, Mom passed away when I was young leaving me to grow up in either Foster Homes or the closest living relatives the Social Worker could track down. Who took me in but didn't want me. so I grew up to mask my true nature by being polite on the outside and a celebrity to get some form of positive attention, and I tracked down my deadbeat father who I'm going to ruin the life and career of out of spite and vengeance, for me and my late Mother." Akechi.

The man has childhood baggage, who knows how many young children he's interacted with as an adult. So his experience would range from "limited" to "none existent"

If one of these boys wouldn't take to being a parent well immediately, it would be Akechi. Like, the man is having an external crisis, he's not okay.

"I am the LAST person that should be a father. Do I look like fatherly material to you? I can't even recall the last time I interacted or made eye contact with an infant. Maybe I never did! I can do research and read books, I'm good at researching, I'm going to read the books no matter what but that can only help so much. I know what not to do, from my childhood. I'm going to try my best to do the exact opposite of what Shido did, but no parent is perfect, I could still screw the kid up! Not to mention I'm still processing the fact that MY RIVAL HAS A FUCKING FULLY FUNCTIONING UTERUS.

I knocked up my Rival

I knocked up the man I once shot in the head

I knocked---holy hell what have I done?

I've never been interested in Women, so I never thought I'd have to worry about accidentally planting a little me inside someone. Do you realize how many women I have turned down?

So here I was, thinking I'd be safe. That obviously nothing would come from indulging in a night of passion with my frustrating, Idiotic sexy, alluring, Rival.

But once again, you are just full of surprises apparently in the internal organs sense too because you can carry children and now both of us are unironically FUCKED."

"I'm not going to force this on you, I just thought you deserved to know. If you don't want to we can--"

"Pfft, HAHAHAHA. You say that like it's an actual option. Do I need to remind you what my upbringing was like? I'm not repeating the same mistakes, I'm not leaving. Granted you are obviously in a better financial situation and have a proper support group unlike my Mother. But if I decide to leave now, or stay but run later down the line, what's stopping our child from living in a constant internal state of guilt and loneliness, which will eventually evolve into anger and spite and once they're of age to move out, make it their mission to hunt me down and enter a false work alliance so they can gain my trust enough to eventually betray and torture me. Or just flat out kill me. And You know what? I wouldn't blame them! I'd kill me too if I could. I can't let that happen, I refuse to put a child with my D.N.A. through what I went through. So we are moving in and getting married (oh my god, I have to move in and marry my Rival) Because that's what Japanese family laws all encourage. And I'm going to internally pray and wish that I don't somehow manage to fuck up an innocent being that belongs to us, even though I have no idea what I am doing. Did I mention I have zero experience with babies and children?"

Point is, parentGoro! Has so much potential and it should be a crime that there are so little fics exploring that.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hand in Hand (part nine)

@whumptober No. 15: "I'm Fine"

cw: broken bones, gun mention

prev ///// au masterlist ///// next

~ ~ ~

Of all the things Jin expects to find while raiding a Riot Kings' base, Melchior is not one of them.

Especially not a Melchior who's chained to a bed.

When Jin kicks the door in, gun drawn, ready to make contact, he's met with a sharp rattling sound as the leader of the Riot Kings is startled awake.

At first, neither of them speak. It's not exactly the kind of situation you'd have a speech prepared for. Jin keeps his gun level, if only out of habit, as he takes in the full scene. Melchior's sunken cheeks, the dark half-moons under his eyes, the old bruises peeking out wherever there's exposed skin. He's wearing the usual crimson suit, but it's torn and rumpled, and his gaze seems like it's been blunted somehow, like a knife used to chop rocks. He looks half-dead, for lack of a better term.

What the actual fuck is going on here?

There's always the possibility that this is an elaborate trap, but it seems out of left-field, even for Melchior. Why chain yourself down and play a prisoner when the rest of your men are retreating, leaving you behind?

Melchior is the first to break the silence.

"Y-you're with the Fleet," he says, in a voice hoarse and tired. It isn't a question, but Jin nods.

The next words out of his mouth catch Jin even more off guard.

"Arrest me. Please."

This is feeling more and more wrong by the second. Even as implausible as it seems, why would Melchior outright ask to be taken in unless he had some kind of plan? But in spite of his suspicions, Jin lowers the gun and moves closer.

He'll at least do a full assessment before making a decision. Jin gives a sharp tug on each chain, assuring they're actually secure, then begins patting Melchior down, checking for any concealed items.

"Wait, wait! N-not yet, there's someone else," Melchior says.

Jin pauses in his search, glancing down at him. "Who?"

"Wes. Another prisoner. He's... You have to get him first. Before it's too late."

Too late for what? Jin shakes his head, and continues patting Melchior down. "Once I've cleared you, I'll have my team search for him," he says. "I'm sure he can wait."

"No. Please, he's hurt, he--nghh!" His voice breaks off into a barely-suppressed scream as Jin's hands move down his right leg, just past the knee. Jin reaches for his knife and cuts away the pant leg, grimacing when he sees what's beneath it. The top half of Melchior's shin is a mess of swollen skin and dark bruises. Broken for sure, and not cleanly.

"You'll need a medic," he says flatly. If Melchior can't walk, that complicates his exit. He'll have to get someone else in here to help move him. "Do you have any other notable injuries?"

"I'm fine."

Doubtful.

"Please. You can leave me chained up here, but you need to save him first--"

"Save him?"

"Arrest him, wh-whatever the fuck it takes, please." His voice is rising, but it's more desperation than anger, and it's enough to make Jin doubtful on what he should believe.

He's always cautious, always careful. It's muscle memory. But right now, his gut is telling him Melchior isn't pretending. The feeling is doubled when he glances up and sees that Melchior is crying.

Jin sheaths his knife, pulling back from the bed. "Fine," he says, and the other man visibly relaxes.

The restraints are real, and locked in place, and there's no way Melchior's going anywhere anyway with a break like that, at least not quickly. He has nothing to lose by taking his word at face value, just this once.

"Where do I find him?"

"Left of this room, down a long hall. I-it's a locked cell." He's spitting out directions almost too fast for Jin to make sense of, but he manages to catch the important words. Left. Hall. Cell.

Again, Jin answers with a nod. He'll grab a few team members before actually making his way towards this new target. Just because instinct isn't telling him it's a setup doesn't mean he'll rush in without thinking.

As he pulls the door shut behind him, he swears he hears a thank you.

~ ~ ~

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast @kixngiggles @shywhumpauthor @whumpsday

[penname-artist]

(Long rant ahead)

Do you ever just feel kind of...angry? Like, not in the way that you're annoyed at something or someone, and not in-the-moment rage, either. Everything is fine in the present, but you just sit back and feel...mad. And you can't/don't want to do anything about the mad. You just sit there, with your madness. Letting yourself feel the mad. Not doing anything, just. Feeling the feelings.

This is one of those broody moments like that, I s'ppose. Because this month it's really just been on my mind, a lot. More than it "generally" is (though all my feelings come in waves)

It's almost kind of funny. A couple of times this month, people I've talked to have rather casually jabbed at "oh, let's see your dark side". And of course, I've laughed along with it, and warned of what a bad idea that would be to cut me loose. Because the me I remember always has a part of me too angry and unstable to allow anywhere near the nice things. Or anything for that matter. It's always shoved down into the furthest corners of my being.

But is it really even still there?

Maybe I gave myself time to sit and "feel mad" tonight just hoping to feel the twinges of that side of me again. Truly, it feels so far away right now. And that is a good thing, but...it's also strange. It's so foreign, to feel like your own "dark half" is separated from you, slipping away into dust where it once used to completely overtake you.

Because I remember when it did.

It wasn't even that long ago.

I don't know physical anger much. But I know mental anger. I know emotional anger.

I know sitting on the ground picking up dirty dishes, purposefully strewn across my bedroom by a housemate, forcing myself to take care of them all, even though the thought of breaking every last one into tiny ceramic shards stayed ingrained in my head the entire time.

I know sitting in a chair at work staring at my phone, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight I could have bent a piece of metal. Pacing back and forth and getting up and sitting down because the anger is just boiling in my torso, the lies, the deceit, the uncaring hand in iron gloves twisting the story around into something it's not.

And I know crying anger, organs shriveled into knots as you heave on the floor for breath, gripping whatever is closest to you for the last fleeting thread of sanity, of reality. Losing everything. Losing everyone. Losing yourself. But you're trying to hang on to something. Anything that will ease the pain.

And anger will always slip through the cracks, raw, boiling, held together in a jar ready to burst into pieces. Sure, it can be scooped up again and put back in another jar. But it will always leave a stain. It will always leave its marks.

And I'm so...

Used to it.

I'm so used to the jar breaking. Pieces going flying. Re-containing the anger. Moving the jars. Throwing out everything it touched, and never touching the jar itself again. High "empathy" also means a high emotional state. It makes you into this...sponge. And you soak everything up until you can't, and you have no choice but to wring it all out at once.

I'm so used to being the guilty party.

So used to being "The Emotional One".

"The Uncontrollable One"

"The Psychotic One"

So used to it, I forgot that I was allowed to be angry at it too.

I'm fucking allowed to be mad. I'm allowed to be mad at people who fucked me over and left me high and dry. I'm allowed to be mad towards people who didn't give a damn. I'm allowed to feel angry that I was set up on purpose to fail. That I got played. That I got used.

I am allowed to just feel mad about it. I'm not allowed to do anything about it, God no. That's where the line is, you can't do the acts of spite because that shit WILL hit you in the ass when you least expect it. Karma's a bitch, honey. But you were never not allowed to just. Be. Mad. And just sit back for the first time in a good bit and go

"Yeah. That was pretty fucked up. I deserved better when that thing happened." Or "I shouldn't have been treated in that way. That was unfair and it made me feel hurt."

My closing thought and reminder to this long rant is make time to just let yourself be mad. You know that if you don't you'll probably do something mad instead. Feel your fucking feelings for no apparent outcome other than to get them the fuck off your chest. Yours from a person who's done too many bad deeds in comparison to their bad feelings and is still working on letting themselves feel things in a healthy way without acting on them.

[lightning-kachow]

Conference Call | Self Para

Date: Late April 2023 Warnings: None

Lightning catches up with his team.

"Alright, is everybody here? Lightning McQueen."

"Jenn Harvey, publicity."

"Got it."

"Mack Hauler, personal assistant!"

"Mack, you're sitting next to me."

"Yeah, I just felt like I should—"

"Rusty, Team Rust-Eze."

"Dusty, Team Rust-Eze."

"Got it, got it, Chuck, you here?"

"Not Chuck. Mike Pitts here, Speedway Management."

"Right." Okay, yes, Lightning had been working with this guy for twenty years, but he never really saw him. And he looked like a Chuck! This was a conference call, so Lightning couldn't actually see him... fine. He sounded like a Chuck.

Anyway.

"Sooo... lay it on me. I'm in the UK, Lille's coming up in two weeks and it'd be easy to get there, and I'm in shape for it." Bit of an exaggeration, but Lightning could get in shape for it. It was worth it to him. "What do you need from me? I think we can all agree I've been a good boy and we can put all this bullshit behind us—"

"Lightning—"

"Sorry, sorry, you all know what I mean." Seriously, they were all adults here! Harv could chill.

There was a pause that indicated that maybe they didn't all know what he meant. The longer it went on, the more Lightning's stomach roiled.

"Well?" he said again, glancing at Mack, who looked bemused as usual.

"Lightning, the thing is, we're just not sure," Rusty finally said, his voice crackling through the speakerphone.

His stomach dropped. "Not sure? My dude, I've been patient for months, and Lille is in two weeks, and it's literally the perfect opportunity to re-launch me. I could stay in Swynlake. Home base here and just travel on the weekends for races. It'd be a little more travel than usual once we start getting to the West Coast season, but..."

"I know. I know, Lightning. We're just... not sure."

Lightning cycled through a lot of reactions in the span of thirty seconds. Anxiety, disappointment, frustration— but he settled on anger. Because really, that was how he mostly felt. He was angry. These fucking people had strung him along for eight months, telling him to be a little more patient, to wait a little longer, and now they didn't even have the guts to fire him properly.

Had they ever even intended to? Or were they just trying to slowly ghost him? Was sending him to this shitty little town really a strategic move, or were they just trying to get him out of the way until he gave up?

Well, Lightning wasn't giving up. He hadn't come this far to give up. Didn't they know him better? Didn't they know he was motivated by spite, fueled by it just as much as his carbo-loading pre-race pasta feasts? It was effective against his enemies. And now it was going to be effective against his supposed "allies."

"I can't believe this."

"Lightning..." Not-Chuck started, and Lightning couldn't stand that pitying condescension in his voice.

"No, no, I'm not doing this shit. You're not seriously going to tell me two weeks out from the first race of the season that you're not sure you're continuing with the deal. What, are you gonna let me know the morning of the race? I don't like being strung along. What is this, fucking high school? You're hoping I'll be the one to break up with you first?"

That was how it felt, really. That awful, petty dance of teenage dating. It was insulting, really. Did they really think he wouldn't figure it out?

"Monty, can we sidebar after this?" Harv said forcefully, as though daring him to interrupt her. She sounded irritated. "Rusty, Dusty, this is good info. Mike's assistant will follow up with you. We'll work out a plan. Lightning, you'll be looped in, obviously."

"Will I?" Lightning said it listlessly, suddenly checked-out after having thrown his little fit. He glanced at Mack, who just stared back at him with wide, terrified eyes.

He barely paid attention to the rest of the call, logistics and then pleasantries that really all amounted to the same answer, the answer Lightning hadn't wanted. He was getting benched.

He tried to tell Harv as much after everyone else had left the call. "I mean, I had one question. They refused to answer it. Which pretty much tells us everything we need to know," Lightning sighed.

"Monty, it's more complicated than that."

"Is it?" His tone was less angry now, more tired. "It's never been complicated before. This can't just be about those fucking tweets. It's been eight months."

Harv sounded equally exhausted. Which annoyed Lightning. This wasn't her life. This wasn't her livelihood. Lightning would keep her on the payroll, regardless of what Rusty and Dusty said, right?

"We're just... we've still gotta work out what your comeback angle is—"

"Comeback? I never left!"

"Okay, but it looks like..."

"Only because Rusty and Dusty are fucking benching me!"

Harv sighed. "Monty. I'm trying to help you out here."

"Well, it's not very helpful."

There was a stony silence.

"Look, I'm sorry," Lightning finally said. "This isn't your fault. I'll figure it out. I won't let you down. Rusty and Dusty are gonna be so sorry they ever dragged their feet."

"Please just... be sensible, alright?" Harv replied, knowing she wouldn't win this war. She'd have to pick her battles.

"When am I ever not?"

And suddenly, Lightning remembered: he had the perfect opportunity in front of him. And he'd practically already committed to him. He didn't need Rust-Eze. Well, he kind of did, but he could make it look like he didn't. He was gonna jump into this thing Cruz had pitched him, full force. And that would show Rust-Eze.

[blessedburden]

The older I've gotten, the more Father's Day has affected me. I grew up in an extremely racist, homophobic, HIGHLY abusive, southern pentecostal household. I was beaten regularly, went to school at one point telling people that I was in a car wreck because my eyes were both blackened by my dad. I became very violent in my small hometown, fighting people non stop, even hospitalizing some, literally. I became "That emo dude you don't fuck with because he'll fuck you up" and I took such pride in it, but I hate it now. I always hated hurting people unless they hurt someone I cared for. I was never allowed to be friends with gays or black people, but i did anyways because in a sense, i related heavily to then, being the black sheep of my family, silenced, ridiculed, and oppressed by my own family. Hell, I once got a blow job on a school bus by a black girl back in my teen years. It was videoed, sent around the school, to my youth leaders, and to my father. He found it, and me being a 5'5 sophomore in high school and him being a 6'5 300 pound muscle giant, I tried to fight back, even busted his nose, but I was beaten within an inch of my liHe'll, sought solace in my friends and made them my family, rebuking everything that my family had tried to teach me. Many were blessed enough to be raised on love and hope. I was raised on spite, rage, hatred, and survival, but I always made this promise, and I've said it since i was a teenager, "I'll never let them take my heart" so I've still got that after so many years. Anyways, I graduated high school in 09, I didn't go to college, and I didn't do anything that he would've done. Instead, I moved away, lived homeless, lived in a tent, lived on a park bench, literally at some points had to fight for my food, did a couple of jail stints, never addicted to drugs, just highly violent, suicidal, and a bit of an alcoholic. At one point, I had my neck slit, I was stabbed in the left side of the stomach, and stabbed in the left ear. I survived, maybe from pure spite alone, I don't know. What I do know is that I get so jealous seeing so many people my age, out with their dad's, having a bond, a close relationship, and seeing them smile with their kin. I'm not used to envy, but as I sit here at this burger joint alone, watching guys my age have fun with their old man, it makes me smile for them, but it makes me hurt so fucking bad. Like, why should I give a fuck? Why should I care? Why can't I just be happy in seeing others happy in what I don't have. I've always said, "Until it's my turn, for others I will support" but I'll never have my turn because half the time I don't want it. Other times, I get jealous of those that never knew their dad's because they could've been like mine. A gift and a curse kind of thing. Unfortunately, I don't know why, but I love that dude. I long to have my dad in my life, even though he's so fucked up and evil and prideful and hateful and violent. I love him so much and I despise that about me. Why do I want to forgive? Why do I want those who don't want me? I haven't spoken to him in 10 years. I have children of my own now. A 5 year old little boy and an eleven year old little girl and I do everything opposite of my father, but I see some things I hate of him in myself. No, I will never lay a hand on my children, nor will I stifle their dreams, nor will I make them ever believe that I won't back them 100 percent of the way, but I look just like the guy. My anger makes me walk away rather than explain things the way I need to. I'm very critical and I expect nothing but excellence leaving no room for error, believing that they have to be the absolute best at whatever they do. I'm also harshly critical on myself, but for good reason I believe. I don't know why this day is so hard for me. I hate that it is. I hate that I love despite the hatred and rage I've been shown. I'll just sit right here, have my beer, another shot, and wish everyone a happy Father's Day.

[lesbiansanemi]

From Jjk, Maki! For the character opinion

Mmmmm, Maki, Maki, Maki!

Alright.... I relate to her... It's already not looking good for her lmao

Nah, jokes aside, I'm so alskdfjfkdla about Maki because I tend to relate to male characters most often. Just the way they're written tends to be something I see myself in more often (loud, angry, impulsive, brash, spiteful, etc), and Maki is one of the first female characters I've seen that I genuinely 100% can see myself in, so that's pretty fucking epic. I remember as soon as Maki said her "I'm doing it all to spite my family" line in the movie, my roommate looked over at me and went "Yeah, I get why you relate to her so much now"

I've made posts about it before, but the fact that Maki is allowed to be bitter and angry and it's not treated like she needs to get over it or forgive and move on or something like that? It's amazing, and I have so rarely seen things like it in fiction for female characters. Her anger is justified by the story, not treated like a flaw just because she's a woman

I also think her relationship to Mai is the most realistic depiction I've ever seen of siblings who grew up in abusive families together, which is... idk, neat isn't the right word, but it... makes me feel things. Especially as an Oldest Sister myself. I get it. I get it. I am bitter against my siblings, I hate them, it's not fair, but also every time an adult in my family hurts them I want to rip said adult apart. It's so hard to capture that love/hate siblings tend to develop for each other when growing up in shitty situations like that, but Maki showcases it so well and it's so raw and genuine. I love my siblings, but I also know they resent me for getting out/fucking up their lives because of decisions I made about my own. It's complicated, and I've never seen a sibling relationship in fiction like we got with Maki and Mai

Also also very neat that she gets to be muscular and have full body scars not meant to accent beauty. She gets to look like the brawler she is, which is also super fucking cool

Onto more fun, less depressing aspects of her character that I really enjoy lol, she is a Whole Lesbian, not accepting arguments, so that is fun. She doesn't think about what she says until it's already come out of her mouth, and I love that. She's low key kinda dorky. She loves her friends.

She's just such a well-layered, genuine, real character, and I can't express to you how much she means to me for so many reasons. She's so, so important

[uuuuuugh0-0]

It really fucking sucks that like. I still have depression even though everything is fuckin fine. Like I don't feel like the world is ending I don't feel like the other shoe is about to drop there's no date in the future I'm sitting here dreading and I'm actually on top of my shit enough that for the most part I don't feel horrible and like there's something I'm Supposed to be doing every second I'm not moving

But here I fucking am like. Still sad still tired still scared to shit of everything all the time

And the worst. The absolute worst part is all that fucking bullshit I got taught in therapy and resented for years actually like, applies to me now. Because I'm needing to learn how to fucking manage my mind and it doesn't feel stupid anymore, it doesn't feel like trying to use a fire extinguisher to put out a forest fire, and it's slow and it doesn't feel good because not that many things ever do and it's BORING which is so much worse than painful. But I want to anyway because I want things I can only have if I learn to fucking CHILL

I'm not dying and the world's not ending and I'm not running out of time and I do in fact need to count to ten before I speak and make lists of shit and just cheer myself up and all the fear and sadness and anger ajd SPITE inside me isn't fuel anymore because i don't need to be blowing shit up to make space for the next thing because I'm where I want to be and I'm holding like, a huge chunk of what I've wanted my entire goddamn life. And I can't just kill that spark and it would be Bad to even if i could because maybe I'll need to find my way to a spot like this again in the future, but for right now I just. Have to learn an entirely fuckin different way of being than what I've been doing for. Five years? Ten years? Fifteen?

It's not that I made it and don't know what to do now, we're barely fucking started, there is so so so much to do like I've got the next decade of my damn life cut out for me if I stay here. It's just learning to dig into the dirt instead of running before it collapses under me.

[cr1mson5returns]

I think the concept of forgiveness as being necessary to trauma recovery needs to be killed with prejudice, malice, and fire. Immediately, to be frank.

From my perspective, I've met a lot of people - licensed and not - who insist that forgiveness is an important part of moving forward after something traumatic has been done to you by someone else. They tell you that forgiveness is a necessary part of the healing journey because "it's for you, not for them" and because "holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." Or whatever else they're prone to saying while beating you over the head with the idea that you can't and won't "move on" if you don't forgive the person who traumatized you.

I think that's bullshit.

There simply isn't a lot of clinical research out there exploring the true value of forgiveness to trauma survivors. Nobody has actually explored the question of its necessity in trauma recovery work to a degree that's at all useful in any sort of knowledge-building capacity. So research doesn't really have a direction or a standing here. It's largely silent right now.

That said, I think it's stupid to ignore that human nature doesn't allow us to forgive every single fucking thing that happens to us. And personally, I don't think we have to do that. From my perspective, I can see where the overbearing and domineering nature of Christian values shaped the development of therapy generally and trauma recovery specifically. In Christianity, forgiveness is basically mandated at all times, to the point that when I told someone at my old church about having cut contact with my parents, I was met with the response that "we have to forgive if we want God to forgive us" a mere fourteen calendar days after the event happened. Even if forgiveness was on the radar, that's way too fucking early to talk to me about it! I just went through that thing, man!

Besides, forgiveness is a very valid choice that some people make....but it's a choice. Sometimes things happen to us that we won't "get over" or "move on from" and I think that each person, being an expert on their own life, should be positioned as uniquely capable of determining if someone gets to be forgiven. Declining to forgive somebody for what they've done isn't the same as holding a grudge or artificially stoking anger long past the point when it would've faded on its own. Declining to forgive somebody is a choice that says you have no reason to believe this person will change their behavior.

The focus on forgiveness as somehow being necessary is, in my opinion, yet another symptom of how we've been systematically conditioned out of healthy conflict resolution and healthy boundary setting. Not every rift has to end with a relationship being restored. In fact, most of them probably shouldn't! If you cut that person out and didn't forgive them, there's a reason for that, and I would hazard to guess that the reason isn't that you just wanted to spite them and hurt them back. You don't have to return to relationship with someone who hurts you repeatedly and apologizes without meaning it and without intention to change. That's not healthy. Some things can't be forgiven and some things shouldn't be. You're not a bad person for declining to forgive someone who did something terrible to you.

[kaito-is-baby]

Mine

Sasuke x reader

Warnings: NSFW, unprotected sex and Sasuke gets very possesive, also fem bodied reader

it's the first time I post something of this kind and I do not plan on making it a regular, I'm more onto fluffy stuff but Sasuke is not fluffy at all, also I'm not fully sure Sasuke is an adult at the end of Shippuden but this happens just after the ninja war I think they are 18 by then

No one has ever seen him this vulnerable

You already are the one who sees him at his worst, the only one he shows any kind of emotion to, even if it is anger, frustration, hate or some kind of twisted possesive love

You have seen him cry and heard about his most traumatic experiences

You've been with him after learning his brother's truth and he has trusted you enought to share it with you

He's been vulnerable with you before, he really has

But not this kind of vulnerable

Necer this kind of vulnerable

He is fully naked before you, both literally and metaphorically, he isn't t good at not being the best at something and lets be honest Sasuke Uchiha knows nothing about sex let aside how to please you

The only thing he knows is that he's been wanting this since the moment he saw you again that day 2 years ago

He knows he is been dreaming with this when the only thing that sometimes could calm his anger and sadness was to jerk off at the idea of your mouth around his length

And he knows he wants this right now because he can't cope with his feelings and you always find a way for him to do so

He hates to admit it but everytime you hug him, every time you touch him and every time he has you, his mind seems to clear up a little

So to be inside you has to be the only way his mind will be clear, thoughts of regret, past mistakes and introusive thoughs finally shutting up

Your skin, your moans and the pleasure building in his stomach being the only thing to fill his mind

He knows a simple hug from you would help but how can he allow himself to let you hug him?

He will better steal that hug while fucking you dumb

The moment your clothes were ripped off by his sword and his pants started to ache on his growing bult while training he knew this was the moment to prove true his hypothesis

Grabbing you to his bedroom with no words and rough unexpected kisses instead

"I want to try something, I want to be inside you" your expression reflected anything but happiness "It won't hurt, I will make sure it feels good to you, please I know this will... help" his begging tone made you weak, was he really begging? Sasuke? Begging and awkwardly ASKING for something?

"Do you need... me?" You teased while slowly taking off his clothes

He nodded

"Why?"  Your hand resting on his bulge moving slowly 

"When you touch me I-" a silented moan cuts him off "I can finally relax I..." his pating lips inches from yours "I need you closer, much closer" He finally spited up reducing the space between your mouths to nothing

A deep feral kiss decided for you

"Yes... Sasuke please..." You finally mutter and his fingers ghost the fabric between your legs covering your entrance

Massaging where he feels you like it the most, your moans getting louder as he finds your sweetest spots

"Ah~" You jump at the unexpected pleasuring pain "N-not so fast, be gentler"

"Gentler..." Sasuke mutters to himself, he doesn't know how to be gentle neither does he want to but with you, you fill his empty existence and light his dark world, the last thing he wants is to hurt you even if his obsession with revenge has hiden it from you

He tries, he really tries to find the pace you really get to enjoy, soon noticing your inner legs geting wetter

"I... do it- Sasuke please yes" He nods, surprising himself with the fact that he needs your consensual words before doing anything, that was not something he usually looked for, peoples approval or consent

But you are different and this is different

He needs you and he knows it, he isn't the genious ninja he's when it comes to please you and he isn't the emotionless traumatized boy he is when you are with him

He does care about you no matter how much does he deny it

Now he can be weak, unsure and even loving

He can hug you, kiss you and show any kind of affection as long as pleasure is the reason for it

A kiss on your forehead is the only gesture you two share before he finally deeps inside you

The itching pain his dick stretching you out causes is nothing compared to how full you feel

"Move..." you whisper, begging for him to make you fell even better, even fuller

His hands rest on your hips as his lips attach to your nipples. Realizing how much he loves being this close to you, how much he loves the taste of your skin in his mouth. He had never allowed himself to hug you or cuddle you, he's never touched you in a loving way before and he needs it, he needs your touch. That's why having his dick deep within you makes him feel safe for the first time in years

It's warm and pleasing, just like you

And he just can't let you go, not now

He can't enjoy the peace your body is giving him for much longer, your hips grinding hysterically around him, trying to get the orgasm you so desperately need

"Sorry" Sasuke apologizes before starting to thrust into you

Now this part was easy, strength and rudeness, Sasuke's especializacion

He can feel the roof of your cervix everytime he goes deeper, your walls contracting around him and beautiful sound coming out of your mouth every time he slammed it

He has to ignore to your moans in order to not cum right there

He knows what you need now, just the same he needs, to be as close to you as humanly lossible

Your cunt pulses and contractes around him, making it hell for Sasuke to focus on making you cum before he looses any control he has and fills you up.

He feels your fingers running through his hair as you moan out his name

“Y-yes, please Sasuke fuck yes!” You whined as he fucked you through your orgasm, building the next one on the ending waves of this one.

"You are mine right? You are mine" Sasuke mutter between pants "You are not leaving, you aren't" his hands unconsciously unlocks with yours, fingers interlock as he keeps thrusting into you harder this time

"Yeah, S-Sasuke, I'm staying with you, always, alwa- ys~ yours" you are reaching your second high when Sasuke pumps you full of cum. He ruts against you like his life depends on it just as hard as before

"Mine, mine... mine” he mutters under his breath with every thrust fucking his cum deep inside of you before he feels you cum again

He finally stops collapsing onto your neck

"Yes sasuke" you assure him tangling your fingers on his hair "yours forever"

[swanimagines]

hi can i request a kaz brekker with prompts C64 + C91 with a fem reader if possible?

Fandom: Shadow and Bone

Prompts: C64. “Nothing has changed in you, even when I wanted to believe so.” and C91. “Oh, so that’s what you think of me?”

A/N: I'm so sorry for this delay!! I hope you like it!

Warnings: angst, fight, Kaz is cold, one f-word

Word count: 826

The heist had been a disaster, Kaz had gotten a stab wound and the man was seething. But he was more angry than usual, you had caught fear in Jesper's eyes when Kaz had scolded him with harsh words after he had checked on him.

When Jesper left the office, you moved to help Kaz with his stab wound but he slapped your hand away before you could even touch his sleeve.

"I need to clean the wound, Kaz," you sighed and Kaz rolled his eyes.

"I can do it myself."

You shrugged with another sigh. "Fine."

Kaz glared at you after a moment. "Can't none of you idiots follow a simple plan?"

You frowned. "Don't blow it up on me, I wasn't taking part of it."

"You were planning it with me."

You scoffed, frustration taking over. "Last I checked, you have asked me to plan heists with you because you like having me beside you, not because of my planning skills. You're the mastermind here, not me."

"Well, I'll keep that in mind the next time when I plan. You won't be here with me anymore because you're clearly no use," he huffed and you fell silent for a moment.

Last time he had talked to you like that, was when you first joined the Dregs. Kaz had said you're incompetent and don't have enough skills, but Inej had insisted in keeping you and by some force by the Saints, Kaz had tolerated the fact that you were still learning. You could say you pretty much hated Kaz during that time, but you had tolerated his harsh and mean behavior because anything was better than working for Tante Heleen.

Then, very slowly, he had started to appreciate you as you became more skillfull with climbing and spying, and it went as far as him catching feelings for you, something he had desperately tried to hide for almost a year. But there was something he didn't know - you had caught feelings for him too, and you had eventually come clean to each other, and even though you never agreed to "officially" date, it was clear to everyone who saw you together - you were his.

But now you had been taken right back to the first weeks, and a wave of rage washed over you. The feeling of you hating him came forward, and you didn't even think about your next words properly as you said them. Your anger spoke, not you.

"You're not who I thought you could be," you said and then seethed out, “Nothing has changed in you, even when I wanted to believe so.”

Your tone took Kaz aback a bit, you had never used a tone like that with him before - a tone with so much anger and spite. He wanted to apologize, but Dirtyhands disagreed.

“Oh, so that’s what you think of me?” Kaz heard himself say while staring at you coldly.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think about you. How can you be like that? One moment you make my heart fly and the next you make me want to punch you. Congratulations, Kaz, you're the first person ever who has been able to make me feel like that!" You slammed your hands on the table, spilling the ink all over Kaz's papers, but Kaz didn't even flinch. He just looked up at you indifferently. It was infuriating.

"That all?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air and leaving his office, slamming the door behind you. Kaz heard a sob coming from your mouth before your steps hurrying down the stairs, by no doubt going to Inej's arms to cry your heart out, and soon Inej would come to him as an angry sister figure, which she was to you.

He listened until your steps faded away, before he took in a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He knew he had fucked up, but he was too proud to come to you and tell you that- no, what he would even tell you? That he's sorry for not being better? And then just continuing his behavior?

Whenever he had fights with you, his personality just switched. Usually, he had fond looks for you and actually got your heart thumping louder than ever before, but when he had a bad day, he poured it on everyone, including you.

He knew you didn't deserve that, as he didn't deserve you either. But if he still wanted to keep you, if he didn't want you to run away and leave, leave him, he had to be better. He had to learn other ways to cope with his bad days than pouring it on you.

He wanted to believe he could do it for you. But he also knew it wouldn't be easy or simple. It was easy to decide but hard to keep - but he wanted to fight it, for you.

[lilahisntsadanymore]

A relationship with someone with borderline personality disordered can be chaotic. Even more chaotic when both of the people have bpd. One time it's heaven, then everything falls right into hell. Is it worth it?

Pairing: bpd!Sirius Black x bpd!reader

The reader pronouns: she/her

Words count: 1.6k

Tw: stuff triggering for people with bpd, toxicity, self-harm, angst

Borderline personality disorder isn't the same for everyone, there are different subtypes of bpd. I wrote this based on my experience, I am not a doctor, it's my subjected perspective. I wrote it in the order to give people with bpd some 'representation' in this fandom, because I haven't seen a fanfic like this. And if one of the Marauders was to have bpd, I think it'd be Sirius (explanation under fanfic).

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Borderline

When Y/n got diagnosized with borderline personality disorder, it all made sense. Everything clicked, she knew what's behind everything that was wrong with her. This monster that decided to develop inside of Y/n's own mind was the explanation of why the girl sabotaged most of her friendships, relationships.

In the search of support, she decided to have a talk with Sirius Black - a friend of a friend, who also suffered from borderline personality disorder. No one will ever understand a person with bpd better than another person with bpd. Sirius knew what Y/n was going through and Y/n knew was Sirius was going through - they were always there to support and help each other.

An ordinary friendship quickly turned into an intense, chaotic relationship. It was beautiful and at first way better than every relationship Y/n was in before. From getting matching tattoos to quickly moving in together - life was way easier when your partner could really, deeply empathize with you.

Then everything went downfall.

"For Merlin's sake, I went out with Marlene just to see that Quidditch game!" Sirius shouted, slamming his fist on the kitchen counter.

"What about James?" Y/n inquired. "He loves Quidditch, why couldn't he go?"

"His parents are sick, he has to be around to help them! Why are you even jealous about Marlene? She's gay!"

Y/n didn't reply. She stared at the wall, her eyes not even blinking as she thought of a response. There was one thing she wanted to say so badly. It ruined her previous relationships, but Sirius would understand, right?

"I want you to cut off all contact with her." Y/n spoke, spite and anger filling her voice. "It is always other women who ruin my relationships, I am not letting that happen again."

Sirius scoffed. He couldn't believe his ears. He didn't expect Y/n to say it. He crossed his arms, trying to keep a confident facade, but in that moment Sirius was far from that. He knew Y/n would leave if he didn't do what she demanded, that's what he learned from experiences with his family.

"Fuck you." He spat. That was all he managed to say. Then he stormed out of the house.

Through a window, Y/n watched her boyfriend walk away. He would come back, of course. He loved her too much to leave and Y/n knew that.

Y/n broke down in tears, leaning her back on the wall and then sliding to the floor. In that moment she was full of anger, including the anger towards herself for hurting the person she loved. Not thinking rationally, Y/n started scratching herself - her legs, her arms, her neck, her stomach - until blood. Until the pain was enough for a punishment.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Moony, I don't think I can take it," Sirius cried, sitting on a sofa in his friend's house. "I love Y/n, but I can't cut Marlene off."

"For the first time, I don't know what to advise you." Remus stated. He predicted the relationship might end up like this, he warned both Y/n and Sirius, but neither of them seemed to care until now.

"What would you do in my place?"

"Firstly, I wouldn't have said 'fuck you'. Try to make up with Y/n, don't bring Marlene up. You'll sort things with her later."

"What if Y/n brings Marlene up?"

"Nod and say you'll talk about it later. I told you it's not a good idea for someone like you to engage in a relationship with someone like Y/n."

"You don't understand, Moony. Y/n is better than anyone I've ever dated, she's so empathetic and we really do love each other. A lot."

"You've known each other for, what, three months? How can you love her? Do you hear what you're saying?"

Among all people Sirius knew, he thought Remus would understand him. And yet he sounded so judgemental.

"How can you not get it?" Sirius asked with pain in his voice. "I came to you, because you know how it is like to not let people get close to you, because you don't wanna hurt them. How would you feel if you finally met someone so similar to you, who goes through the same thing as you?"

Remus stayed silent, feeling guilty. Sirius stood up and walked out of Remus' house. Maybe he didn't quite understand Sirius' problem, nothing new.

Eventually, Sirius and Y/n made up. They were argue-free for the next few weeks. The highs were something so ethereal, something so great neither of them even dreamed of. Y/n and Sirius felt like two kids, who thought they've finally found soulmates. They truly believed in soulmates and were convinced they're made just for each other.

Even if other people considered them 'monsters' because of their illness, they found comfort in each other.

"I'm so sorry," Y/n said as she and Sirius were lying on the bed in their bedroom.

"No, don't, don't apologize," Sirius placed a kiss on his girlfriend's forehead, "we're in this together, right?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Well, then maybe I should just leave you?!" Y/n shouted. The words Sirius was the most scared of.

Another argue sounded in the house. In moments like this, Y/n reminded Sirius of his own mother, as much as he hated to admit it.

"You wouldn't leave me." Sirius taunted, but he knew she would leave. She was free to leave anytime she wanted to, unfortunately. Sirius wished he could lock Y/n in his arms and never let go.

"Watch me," as Y/n spat these words, she ran to the bedroom.

Sirius stayed in the living room, astonished and furious. He sat on the couch, hands in his hair.

Sirius' head snapped up in the direction of Y/n. Without any more words, she walked to the door with a backpack filled with some of her clothes. Sirius stood up, trying to run up to Y/n and stop her. When he grabbed the girl's wrist, she yanked herself out from his grip. They looked each other in the eyes for a bit longer than they should, both their faces filled with anger and hurt.

Y/n was gone. She left, just as she said. Sirius sat in the living room with nothing but his boxers on.

With each day without her, the house was turning into more and more mess. Broken glass, broken and empty bottles. Sirius' broken and empty heart in the middle of all this mess.

He couldn't talk to his friends about it, Remus would say he warned him. It was the first time since Sirius met his friends that he couldn't talk to them, ask what to do.

So lonely, so alone, so ruined. Sirius felt himself fading away quicker the more alcohol he drank. He wasn't himself anymore, he didn't know the person he had become.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sirius got up from the bed when he heard the doorbell. He sighed loudly, walking through piles of clothes, blankets, pieces of broken glass.

"What the hell happened to you, mate?" James asked when Sirius opened the door.

Sirius clearly didn't expect his friends to pay him a visit that day.

"A few bottles of firewhiskey." Sirius explained, letting the boys inside.

They looked around the messy house, giving each other glances that they all thought they should help clean this up.

The silence was so awkward. The boys had a plan on what to say once they are in Sirius' house, but now they were all speechless.

"We've heard what happened-" Remus started, but didn't even get to finish the sentence.

"Yeah, Y/n left, what can I say except you were right, Moony. This is what you wanted to hear, isn't it?" Sirius tried hard not to mumble, even though his headache made it tough.

"Calm down, Padfoot," James chimed in, "we're here to tell you that Y/n is in similar...condition. You need to talk to her, mate. You have to make up."

"Maybe try going to therapy together." Peter suggested.

The boys hated to see Sirius like this and they knew only Y/n could help him. Sirius and Y/n were the only factor that kept each other from sinking in the ocean of the darkest waters of their own minds.

"Fine, I'll talk to her." Sirius announced, getting pats on the back from his friends.

"But firstly, you'll take a shower." James chuckled. "And maybe brush your teeth."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Alright, Lily, I'll talk to Sirius." Y/n gave in after being convinced for the past whole hour by the 'mutual friend'.

Y/n was sitting on the floor in front of a fireplace in the Potters' house. This was the only place she could stay at. She had not enough money to even just rent a flat.

"I'm glad you agreed, because you'd have to talk to him anyways." Lily confessed, giggling nervously.

"What?"

As the question escaped Y/n's mouth, the door of the house opened. The Marauders walked into the living room, all of them, including Sirius.

As the broken up lovers looked at one another, their eyes lit up. No words were needed. They ran into each other's arms. When they locked in a tight embrace, they felt as if their broken hearts were automatically fixed.

"I'm sorry." They said in unison.

"Maybe they're really meant to be together..." Lily wondered, gesturing the rest of boys to leave the room with her.

The couple was freed from the embrace when they were left alone in the living room. Both had big smiles on their faces.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me," Sirius confessed, "I wouldn't forgive myself if I lost you."

"Does it mean I can move back in?" Y/n fiddled with her fingers.

"Sure! The sooner the better. But you've got to admit we both need help."

Y/n nodded, putting her arms around Sirius once again. They could go through it, together and with help of a professional.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Explanation:

(it's only my interpretation, you don't have to agree with me)

I think Sirius could have borderline personality disorder, because just look at his history. Being verbally (and possibly physicially) abused by his parents, being literally bullied for his beliefs - this is big trauma. BPD usually grows from trauma experienced during childhood. Why not PTSD? Well, people who suffer from PTSD can overcome their emotions easier, while people with BPD are impulsive. This fanfic happens post-Hogwarts but before Lily and James died, but based on how we know Sirius reacted to their death, we could label him as impulsive, reckless. People with BPD are impulsive, they often engage in reckless behaviors. I hope this explains well why I headcannon Sirius to have borderline personality disorder.

Once again, I am not a doctor, all the knowledge I have is based on my experiences and research. Also, if you think you might suffer from a mental illness, please contact a professional, it gets better, I promise.

[mypoisonedvine]

Consolation || Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: you know it’s probably not great that you always turn to your best friend Bucky whenever you’re especially hurt by your husband.  you know your husband should probably care that you spend so much time with him, but he doesn’t.  which is good, in the end, because you two really are just friends… until you’re not.

word count: 4k

warnings: smut!, infidelity (see summary, reader is married), descriptions of failing/sexless marriage, angst, fluff, ~feelings~

You were good at hiding it— the real reason why you showed up at Bucky's apartment unexpectedly, that is.  

It wasn’t entirely unexpected: you sent a text first, asking if he was down for a movie night, telling him you missed when you used to hang out more.  He did, too, but he had always been afraid your husband would be an issue.  Nice enough guy, but he didn’t seem to trust Bucky entirely… certainly didn’t seem to love that you two were so close.

And who could blame him?  A beautiful, sweet, smart girl like you… he understood why your husband didn’t want you hanging out with other guys when avoidable.  I’ve told him a thousand times, you’re just a friend— you’re just Bucky, you would tell him when you were recounting arguments, explaining why it had been a while since you two had had a chance to catch up.  But Bucky never told you that your husband was right to worry, that he had dreamed since he met you of being more than ‘just a friend,’ that he himself was the reason you two didn’t spend more time together: because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confessing his feelings.

Because of course he would never make a move on his best friend— on a married woman.  It would be so overwhelmingly inappropriate, such a colossal waste of time; and it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle just being your friend.  Sure, it killed him a little bit sometimes, but it was worth it a million times over to be near you at all.  He would take what he could get… and if that meant platonic movie night because you’d had another argument with your husband, then so be it.

“I stopped by the store on my way; heard your ice cream reserve was depleted,” you explained as you brandished the Ben & Jerry’s before slipping past him to put them in his freezer.  

He watched you walk there, silently hating how comfortable you were in his apartment.  He loved it, but he hated it, too.  

“What are we watching?” you asked, snapping him back to reality.

“Uh, I dunno…”

“You were supposed to pick while I was driving over, genius,” you grumbled sarcastically.

“I narrowed it down to The Ring or You’ve Got Mail,” he decided suddenly.

You chuckled lightly and the sound lifted his spirits. “Okay, so, two drastically different evenings."

“I mean, if you think about it, they’re both about meeting new people through technology,” he corrected.

“Do VHS tapes count as technology?” you raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“They do to me,” he shrugged.

//

With the ice cream supply exhausted and Bucky’s largest plastic bowl now containing only the unpopped kernels and little broken pieces of popcorn that didn’t make the cut, the third act of The Ring was beginning and you were spending more time covering your eyes than not.

“Let me know when the scary part is over,” you requested weakly from between the hands on your face.

“It’s a horror movie; the whole thing is one long scary part!” he laughed.

You peeked out through your fingers only to see another terrifying moment, yelping and hiding yourself in his chest.

He froze, not sure at all what to do with your face pressed against him; he held his breath in case the inflation of his chest would disturb you.  

“I can’t look!” you whimpered, voice muffled by his shirt.

He lifted his hand in consideration of stroking your hair comfortingly, but ultimately decided against it and set it back down.

Thankfully, the movie was almost over and you wouldn’t stay cuddled up to him after it ended— meaning he’d finally be free from the glorious torture of your nearness.

But then the credits were rolling and you still didn’t budge, holding him tight.  At first he thought you were just still scared, but then you took a slow, shaky breath… and he realized something was wrong with you, way beyond just a spooky movie.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, preparing to hear you explain what really happened with you and your husband that made you come here.

You just shook your head a little against his chest, making him sigh.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he continued, and you hesitated before pulling back and sitting up straight again.  As painful as it had been, he missed your touch already.

“Yes,” you answered, “but I shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“But I need to.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t.”

“...okay…”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands— not from fear this time, but exasperation.  “I told myself that if it ever got to this point, I’d tell someone.  But now I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

"He doesn't… we don't…” you started and stopped a few times.  “God, Buck, I can't even say it…"

"You don't have to—" he began to tell you, but you said it anyway, tearing your hands away from your face and looking back at him sternly.

"He hasn't touched me in months.  And today marks an entire year since the last time I had sex."

He tried not to choke when he heard that.  He figured you were just going to say that he was texting a female coworker too much or flip-flopping about if he wanted kids or not.  This was something else entirely.  "Oh… um, wow."

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure where to start.  In spite of all his obliviousness, he was pretty sure he should say something, he just didn’t know what.  “And he… he knows that you… want that?  I mean, you’ve like… tried to, you know… initiate things, right?”  He cringed at his own voice, and stupid question.

You laughed a little, in a sad way.  "I've begged him for it, fuck, it's so humiliating.  It doesn't even work.  He's always too tired, not in the mood, busy with something.  And of course I want to respect him and not pressure him into anything but at the same time, I feel so fucking unlovable— so hideous."

"You're not hideous,” he said firmly, more sure of that than anything else he’d said so far.

“I try to believe that, really,” you mitigated, “I try not to take it personally— but fuck, it feels personal.  Do you know how often people talk about sex?  It’s like society has this idea that men just wanna bang twenty-four hours a day and the only thing stopping them is women being prudes.  Do you know what it’s like to hear people talk like that when your husband rejects you every night?  Do you know how it feels to hear your girlfriends complaining about how their boyfriends are pestering them for sex too often, and you’re just sitting there screaming inside your head ‘at least he wants you’?  Bucky, you can’t even imagine…”

“I can’t,” he agreed.  

"It's been so long…” you sighed shakily, collecting yourself before you started again.  “It's been so long since somebody touched me.  I wondered if I would forget what it felt like."

His hand shook a little as he reached out with his flesh hand and brushed it against your arm, staring into your watery eyes and finding less fear there than he expected, thankfully.

"Did you forget?" he asked softly.

"I must have," you mumbled, "it feels better than I remembered."

The heartbreak in your voice made anger bubble up in his chest, amazed at how your husband ever allowed this to happen; ever allowed you to become so touch-starved that even just a brush on your arm made you emotional.  "I can't imagine being with you every day and not wanting to touch you whenever I could get the chance,” he admitted.  “I can't imagine being your husband and not making love to you every day, every hour, whenever you wanted; whenever you'd let me.  I can't imagine having you beg me for something and not giving it to you— I'd give you everything."

He had to fight a gasp as you suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, a bit sudden at first but melting into something gentle and patient and soft.  

“Then do it,” you whispered as you finally pulled back; he could barely think straight to even process what you were saying.  “Give me everything.”

He nodded a little before he kissed you again, rough but deep and slow.  His hands roamed your body like he'd wished to for so long; his tongue slid against yours and the taste of you drove him wild.

As hard as it was to break from your lips, he moved his kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking at your pulse as you groaned and clutched at his shoulders through his shirt.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, and he must've heard you swear a million times but this time it sounded so different.  

His cock was straining against his jeans already, just from this— it was like he was a fucking teenager again, but to be fair, you'd always had that effect on him: sweaty palms, stammering, sudden boners.  It was like lifelong puberty with you around.

When his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing over the skin right above your sweats, you pulled back briefly to pull your shirt off over your head.  He thought it might be awkward if he just stood there gawking at your chest, so he only allowed himself a moment of it before he got back to work holding you tight and kissing your collarbones.

He pulled you closer and you must've felt his cock pressed against you because you gasped a little.  And you must've liked it, because your hand slipped down and rubbed him through the front of his jeans, making him choke on nothing.

“S’big,” you mumbled, and he grinned a little.  

“Feel what you do to me?” he asked softly, and you nodded a little before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand down your body and into the waistband of your pants.  He shuddered when he felt how warm your skin was, the lacy fabric of your panties, the slick folds you guided his fingers through.

“Feel what you do to me?” you shot back, but your cockiness faded when he circled his middle finger over your swollen bud.  He loved the way your body reacted so easily, subtle little gasps and shivers, your hips jolting forward for more stimulation.  You both moaned when he pushed a finger into your channel, your walls already pulsing around him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You whispered your approval and he twisted the finger inside you.  Even just that made you let out a heavy breath, your hands reaching down to grip his wrist— they didn’t push him away, thankfully, just reminded him to be gentle with you as he added the second finger, pushing a bit deeper than before.

“More,” you whimpered your plea, “I want more.”

For a second he thought you meant more fingers, but then you opened your eyes and gave him a look… that look.  

It made it abundantly clear that fingers weren’t going to be enough.  After all, you had asked him to give you everything.  So he gladly obliged when you started to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.  You lifted your hips to let him pull down your sweats, not giving him much time to drink in the sight of you before you started opening his fly for him.

Being undressed by you made his heart race; the way you rushed, like you couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him, was flattering yet relatable.

You sighed when you got his cock out, instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft and stroking.  He shuddered at the softness of your hands, at your gentle but persistent exploration.  Clearly it had been a while since you’d gotten the chance to interact with a dick, but it didn’t show in any lack of skill— if anything it just made you more eager, your grip firm but your touches gentle.  He kissed you again, holding your face in one hand and leaning you back with the other until you were laid on the couch and he was hovering over you.

He guided your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own as he guided the weeping head over your slick folds, smiling at your gasp when he bumped against your clit.

“Do you want this?” he asked, fully prepared for you to back out now before you did something you really couldn’t take back.

“Yes.”  Your answer was more confident than he was expecting, but he still couldn’t really believe it.  It was just too good to be true.  So he had to check again.

“...are you sure?”

"Don't make me beg, Bucky," you whimpered, "I've done it enough, I can't do it again.  Just make love to me— I need you inside me, please…"

Your head fell back as he pushed into you, your nails digging into his shoulders until he stopped from fear of hurting you (even though it took more willpower than he knew he had).

"Don't stop," you whined, "need to feel all of you, Bucky, please please don't stop—"

He definitely didn't have enough willpower to resist that.  Slamming into you all at once, he hissed as you cried out, baring his teeth at the sight of you quivering and moaning beneath him.

"I— I need a second," you explained, voice tight with ill-concealed pain, "it's been a while.”

"I can wait," he nodded, "I won't move until you're ready."

He could tell you were struggling, because how could you not be when you felt so fucking tight around him?  He guided you to breathe slowly with him, feeling your body relax slightly and noticing the way your face untwisted as you became more comfortable.

You nodded a little, but he needed to hear you say it.  "Fuck me," you whispered.

And he did.  

He still kept his pace measured and relaxed, savoring every inch of you— savoring your reactions to every inch of him.

But watching your face was going to push him towards the edge too fast, and he wanted to make this last if possible, so he leaned down to suck on your neck, thoroughly tasting your skin as you moaned and writhed beneath him.  It felt incredible to surround your body with his, to cage you in and pin you down with his weight— it made him feel like he could protect you, keep you safe, even though he knew he couldn’t save you from heartache as much as he wanted to.

If you wanted someone to touch you, to give you affection, to make love to you and make you feel loved, then you’d come to the right place.  That came to him naturally; the hard part was going to be letting you go, letting this be the one-time favor for a friend that he already knew it was.

“You feel so good,” he found himself whispering against your skin, just beside your ear, “so good for me.”

The praise must have had a strong effect on you, because your walls tightened around him suddenly.

“So perfect,” he continued, wanting to feel it again, “my perfect girl.”  And you weren’t his girl, but maybe he could pretend you were; you certainly seemed to enjoy pretending, with the way your moans egged him on.  “God, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good around my cock.”

“Bucky,” you whined, arching your back, and he grinned because it was obvious that you responded even better to dirty talk than praise.

“You like that, huh?  You like makin’ me feel good?” he pressed, laughing a little when you nodded feverishly.  “Fuck, such a good girl… takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ deep…”

You grabbed him by his hair to make him kiss you again, hungry lips smashing against his.

Inspired by your passion but afraid of what he’d do with all of this control, he wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up until he was sitting while you straddled him, looking up at you with a grin.  "Ride me, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it," he instructed lowly.  The way you rocked your hips and threw your head back was everything he'd dreamed it would be, increased exponentially.  Of course, he'd never told anyone that he dreamed about that, but he'd also never thought it could ever come true.  He ran his hands over every part of you he could reach, just to make sure it was real; just to make sure he memorized the feel of you while he could.

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking gently and smirking a little when you moaned loudly.  “You’re sensitive here,” he noted aloud, kissing his way to the other nipple but still teasing the first with his metal fingers.

Your moans came faster and louder, your fingers combing through his hair and pulling seemingly unintentionally.  He noticed that you let your eyes fall shut, your head crane back, and although he was glad that it was a sign of pleasure, he wanted to see you; he wanted you to see him, know that it was him making you feel this way.  so, he reached up and cupped your face in his hand, cradling your cheek, pulling you closer to look at him, staring into your eyes— and he knew it wasn't a subtle move, wasn't believable as a guy just helping out a friend, but he didn't care anymore.  When he kissed you again, it almost felt like you meant it, too; like you wanted him first, and not just as a consolation prize.

But you pulled back a little too soon, a reminder to both of you that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was.

Your hips gyrated faster and more vigorously, his hands gripping you tight and guiding your movements while you sighed and bit your lip.  You looked so indescribably good when you were immersed in pleasure like this, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance, your chest swelling and deflating with quick breaths.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered below his breath as his hand softly trailed from your collarbone down to your thigh.  The sounds you made were constantly changing, a little more high-pitched and needy now as you rode him faster.  He was already picking up on the little signs that you were getting closer: your thighs flexing where they were straddled beside his own, how your body jolted and shivered in his grasp, your eyes wrenched shut and your skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Already he knew your body so well, but he knew there was so much more he would never get the chance to discover.  For now, he’d just have to settle for a preview of all the perfect little ways you fell apart.

And, in the interest of speeding that process up a bit, he reached down to where your bodies were joined and circled a thumb over your clit.

“Fuck!” you yelped, your inner muscles bearing down on him out of nowhere until he was forced to groan from your tightness.

“You close?” he stammered out, way less confident than he meant it to be.  He should’ve said something cool like ‘I know you’re close’ or ‘aw, baby, does that feel good?’ but no, he was too far gone and gave his own desperation away.

"Yes, baby, I'm so close," you sighed, "I'm gonna come— you're gonna make me come."

You said it with a hint of shock in your voice, like you could barely believe it.  He couldn't believe it, either, because it was surely too good to be true.

"Come for me," he instructed firmly, pulling you closer until his nose brushed against yours, "say my name when I make you come."

It was unfair, but he needed to pretend you were his for just a moment.  Only his.

"Bucky," you whimpered shakily.  Your walls tightened around him so perfectly, over and over, until it took everything in him not to bust right then.  "Bucky, I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming—"

"I know," he whispered, "I know, pretty girl, keep going."

Your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even notice the pain when he was watching your face as you came— it was tight and twisted at first, before falling into a gasp and a moan that made his heart swell along with his cock that painted your walls the absolute second he knew you’d come.  It was intense, not just from holding back for so long, but from knowing he was coming inside you.

He sighed and started to catch his breath as you slumped forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck.  His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, the warmth of your body nearly overwhelming now as he felt little aftershocks ripple through your channel around where he was still within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it.  But he did, and he nodded a little as he rested his face against yours, stroking your hair gently.  You held each other in silence for a long time, so long that when your breathing slowed down significantly and he could feel your body relax entirely, he realized you had fallen asleep.  

Carefully, he held you tighter so he could stand up and carry you to his bedroom, your body instinctively wrapping around him like a koala… like even in your sleep, you could act all adorable and break his heart just that much more.  

He did his best to tread quietly and gently, laying you down onto the bed and only then pulling his softened cock out of you, finding his discarded boxers to put back on before joining you between the sheets.  

He knew you would be gone in the morning but he indulged himself in holding you tonight, breathing your scent and pressing your back against his chest.  He didn't want to fall asleep because he didn't want to miss a second of your body wrapped in his, but it was impossible not to with the soft pace of your breathing almost rocking him to sleep like a beautiful lullaby.

Where there was warmth and peace before, he awoke to cold and emptiness— both between his sheets and in himself.

It’s not like he really expected you to stay, and even if you had it wouldn’t mean that you would leave your husband for your best friend, that this would have ever been anything more than a glimpse of what could’ve been in another life or another universe.

He could still smell you, barely, and he buried his face in the sheets to take it all in before it faded away.  When it was gone, he pulled back only to find a wet patch of his tears there instead.

[auroracalisto]

CONGRATS ON 1K!! Can I please request an Oswald Cobblepot x reader Drabble with prompt #9? You know I love him heheh

i will always write oswald cobblepot for you <3 but i don't think this is very fluffy lmao. i also think it's super cheesy but I'm gonna post it anyway

"everyone who ever said they loved you was either lying or wrong," oswald said, spite dripping off of every word.

you took in a deep breath as you stared at the dark-haired man, trying to keep your forming tears from falling.

"what?" your voice broke as you stared at him.

he was always easy to anger. one little comment could send him off. particularly, your comment from just moments before: "you could use a haircut."

oswald knew he fucked up. why the hell would he say something like that. oswald's face paled and he averted his gaze, completely quiet at this point.

"what the hell, oswald?" you took a slight step back, biting your lip to hold back a sob. "why would you say that? i—i didn't even say anything bad..."

he clenched his jaw.

"i'm going to find another place to stay tonight."

oswald reached out to take your hand, but you quickly jerked your hand away.

"stop. don't. i don't want to look at you right now," you said.

"don't be like this," oswald interjected, crossing his arms over his chest.

"you hurt me, oswald!" you exclaimed. "i'm sorry if i offended you, but you hurt me. why would you say something like that?"

"i'm sorry... i wasn't thinking, [your name]," he attempted to get you to stay.

"stop. i'm not—i can't stay tonight, oswald. have a good night," you quickly said, leaving soon after. your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to calm yourself down. that was uncalled for... and you didn't know how you'd be able to move on from a reaction like that over something so little.

THIS EVENT IS NOW OVER.