#so easy pick up with the free pity

[crehador]

anyway i finally pulled a few new cards that'll allow me to add some material to the 山田一郎小肚肚 ecosystem

[drabblesandsnippets]

Confidence, Part 2

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 4

Pairing: Sex Worker!Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: FREE WEEK | [Optional prompts: “A” - Anal Hook, Acarophilia,  Age Play] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (3k) Bucky is a full-service sex worker who enjoys helping women become more confident in their sexuality. This picks up right where part 1 ended. 

Warnings: 18+ Only. Very brief mention of an abusive ex. Mention of insecurities. Pet names (sweetheart, baby). Consent talk. Dirty talk. Praise. Oral (m receiving). Fingering. Squirting. 

---------------------------

Bucky’s the first person, other than herself, that’s ever been able to make her come. The intense experience has left her wanting to explore more with him, the need to bring him pleasure suddenly her only focus.

“Can I suck your cock?” 

She’s just full of surprises tonight.

The question has Bucky grinding harder against her, the delicious heat and wetness of her seeping through his underwear doing nothing to help him regain control. It’d be so easy to just give in to his carnal desires, to give her exactly what she’s asking for, but he’s a better man than that.

There was a reason she was reluctant to begin with and Bucky needs to make sure she’s not doing this out of some sort of obligation.

With a soft groan, he meets her gaze, one hand underneath her head to keep her attention as they move together. “Is that what you want, baby?” The increased pressure against her sensitive clit is almost too much, but he refuses to let up, watching as she gasps and trembles underneath him. “Or, are you only asking because you think I want you to suck my cock?”

She can’t seem to concentrate, her body and mind overwhelmed with conflicting thoughts. She’s breathless, clinging to him, her hips rocking against his, seeking out whatever he’ll give her - but she’s also worried that maybe she said the wrong thing. Maybe it’s not even something he wants. Maybe she overstepped.

Bucky doesn’t want her to get in her head about this - he needs her to say exactly what she’s thinking, without hesitation. Forcing himself to ignore the whine that tears out of her as he reluctantly pulls away, his own body just as desperate for hers, he murmurs, “Easy.” He reaches down to still her hips, his tattooed hand still cradling her head, encouraging her not to look away from him. “I need you to understand something, okay?”

She wants to keep him against her, but she doesn’t fight it, letting him be in control, her hands resting on his waist.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” he tells her, the slow shake of his head conveying the seriousness of this conversation. “Certainly not me.”

A wave of regret and embarrassment washes over her, her first instinct to wish she never told Bucky about her ex. There’s nothing sexy about admitting your only experiences with giving head is with an ex who pressured you. 

The look he gives her isn’t one of pity though. It’s understanding. Compassion. Desire. All the things she’s longed for in a lover. 

She can’t let her insecurities win. Not anymore. Especially not while she’s lying naked and wanting underneath a man who already made her forget her own name. She wants more of that. More pleasure. More fun.

Taking a risk, she slides her hand down between them, not stopping until she reaches the waistband of his underwear, her fingertips tracing along the elastic. The grin that appears on his face gives her the last bit of confidence she needs to tell him, “I want this… not because it’s expected, I just… I want to make you feel good… if that’s okay?”

The need to reward her is too strong to deny and Bucky leans up, careful not to move away from her touch, wanting her to make the decision when to take the next step. Instead, his hand coasts from her hip up to her throat to loosely wrap around her neck, the intimate action causing pleasure to wash over both of them.

“I’d love nothing more than to have my cock in your pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he promises, his breath quickening to match hers, the sight of her body arching underneath him causing his cock to ache with need. “I just needed to make sure you want this as much as I do.”

There are a lot of things she wants right now, but none more than this. With her newfound confidence - and the fear that it’ll fade - she asks for permission to touch him, more than ready to keep going. 

Bucky’s eager response has her giggling, the sound fading into a moan when she finally makes contact. Just the softest brush of her palm along his covered erection and he’s moaning with her, pressing against her hand, his own fingers twitching around her throat.

She might not know what he likes, but that doesn’t mean she can’t learn. And if his immediate reactions are any indication, she’s already on the right track. 

Refusing to allow herself to overthink things, she keeps the same slow pace, stroking the length of him through his underwear, the obvious signs of pleasure spurring her on. There’s something intoxicating about being the sole reason for this beautiful man’s moans and grunts and she needs more.

“I want to suck your cock.” 

There’s no hesitation or hint of nerves in her words and it has Bucky cursing, his cock growing even harder for her. He can barely concentrate as it is, the taste of her still on his tongue, her bold touch leaving him breathless, and before he knows it, he’s helping her rid himself of the last bit of clothing, freeing his thick cock from the confines of his underwear.

This time it’s her turn to curse, a laugh bubbling out of her as she blurts out, “Well, now I know where your confidence comes from.” He’s bigger than she anticipated, despite the several times she’s felt him throughout the evening.

Bucky laughs along with her, proudly displaying his body, the mattress dipping as he kneels next to where she lays against the pillows. He’s aware he’s above average, and even though he doesn’t believe he’s nearly as intimidating as she’s making it seem, he’s quick to tell her, “I appreciate the ego stroke.”

Taking advantage of the obvious set up, she reaches out to touch him again, a playful grin lighting up her features as she asks, “Do you appreciate this kind of stroke too?” 

If he wasn’t suddenly overwhelmed by the warm grip around his cock, he’d be able to tell her how proud of her he is. For allowing herself to be in control, for asking for what she wants, for having fun and letting herself be completely in the moment with him. But the only thing that comes out of him is a soft grunt mixed with laughter, “Fuck yes.”

She doesn’t need any more convincing than that and starts a slow rhythm, using the pooling pre-cum at the tip to get him slick. She’s mesmerized by the way his breathing gets faster, the slight tensing of his thighs each time she works her hand over the head of his cock, the look on his face giving her just as much pleasure as his touch is.

With his left hand on the headboard to keep himself steady, his eyes follow the path his other hand takes, just in awe of her body as she is of his. The slight bump of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the softness of her stomach. And god, her thighs. He wants them wrapped around his head again, to feel her squeezing him as she comes.

Bucky almost asks for it. The image of him burying his face between her thick thighs while she sucks his cock has him thrusting against her hand. She’d probably let him too, but this isn’t about him. She was clear about what she wanted and he’s not going to push for anything else right now. 

Not that it’s hard for him to give in anyway, the hungry look in her eyes encouraging him to move closer, his cock soon within reach of her mouth. And then every thought leaves him. The need to taste her again, the desire to suggest a different position for her comfort, all of it gets shoved to the back of his mind. 

The slow swirl of her wet tongue quickly makes his breath catch and he loses focus, his hand stilling on her thigh, his fingers gripping her soft skin. “Fuck,” he exhales.

She’s already moaning, the salty taste making her crave more of him as her hand starts to stroke her saliva along his cock. She can’t get over how hard he is for her, barely having done anything yet, and the realization that everything she does seems to be turning him on has her comparing this to previous experiences.

There won’t be any second-guessing herself though, and as she pulls back to look up at him, her hand keeps moving, not wanting to stop the pleasure she’s giving him. She can tell it’s hard for him to concentrate, but she still asks the question, trying not to blush. “Will you tell me if I do something wrong?”

For a second, all Bucky can do is blink, his breath shallow from the way she’s touching him, the occasional brush of her thumb over the tip of his cock making him stutter. “Not… not gonna happen.”

She briefly bites her lip, his reactions causing her body to pulse and she resists the urge to touch herself, wanting all of her attention to be on him right now. With a soft giggle, she asks, “Because there’s no such thing as a bad blow job?”

Bucky grins and shakes his head. “No, sweetheart.” His free hand moves off the headboard to tenderly cup her face and his thumb slides over her bottom lip, the bit of saliva there making her even more gorgeous. “There are definitely bad blow jobs - if anyone involved isn’t enjoying themselves, no one’s gonna have a good experience.” 

Her words aren’t needed, but she still feels compelled to say them. “I’m enjoying myself.” 

“I know.” The grin on his face grows at the same moment his lips part and he exhales sharply again, the tip of her tongue teasing over the pad of his thumb almost making him forget what he wants to say. “Just… keep doing whatever feels good, okay? ‘Cause everything you do feels fucking amazing to me.”

She doesn’t need more instructions than that, and after letting his thumb slip from between her lips, she guides his cock back into her mouth, sliding the head along her tongue. She follows her instincts, finding an easy rhythm, listening to the way his breathing changes with each pass of her hand working in tandem with her mouth.

The incredible sounds she’s already eliciting from him ignite the fire inside of her, and she shifts, using the pillow underneath her shoulder for support. Her elbow digs into the mattress to give her more leverage and she starts moving faster, paying attention to the way her tongue flicking against the sensitive glands has him gripping the back of her head.

Careful not to take charge of the pace, Bucky runs his fingers through her hair and allows himself to get lost in the moment, his eyes never straying from her. The stretch of her lips around him, the occasional string of saliva that keeps him connected to her when she pulls back to take a breath, the perfect way she keeps stroking his cock.

“God,” he breathes, “you feel so good, baby.” 

She hums against him and he nearly loses it, his hips tensing, wanting to thrust into her mouth. He holds himself back, taking the opportunity to start touching her again, his hand moving from her thigh to her large breasts, the sight of her tits bouncing with each bob of her head driving him crazy.

The moment his fingers gently pinch one of her nipples, she gasps and pulls back, driven by lust to do everything she can to make him lose his mind. She slides her hand up, stroking just the tip of his cock, and tilts her head, slowly dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft, all the way down to his balls.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky curses immediately, his cock twitching, oozing more pre-cum, and he’s overcome with the urge to praise her, the words tumbling out of his mouth between soft grunts. “Look at you… Such a good girl… Doing so good for me…”

It’s too much, each utterance making her body pulse with arousal and soon her hips shift, spreading her thighs wide, her pussy just begging to be touched. She doesn’t even give him a chance to react though before she’s taking his cock deep in her mouth again, the head brushing the back of her throat.

The gag she makes barely even registers as her free hand moves between her legs, seeking out her swollen clit for a bit of relief. She’s so turned on and the only thing that would make this better is if Bucky finally stops holding back. She wants nothing more than for him to fuck her mouth.

And all it takes is just a bit of encouragement from her, the hand on his cock sliding between his thighs to grab his ass, pulling him towards her. The words spill out of him unfiltered, his hand on her head gripping her hair as he tentatively thrusts into her mouth, “Is this what you need, baby? For me to fuck that pretty mouth while you play with your pussy?”

It’s enough to almost make her come and she shifts, opening her mouth wider, welcoming his thrusts as he starts to move a bit faster, both his hands tangling in her hair for leverage. It’s never been like this for her and she can’t get enough, doing her best to relax her throat as she takes him deeper each time, hungry to take all of him.

Bucky doesn’t want to overwhelm her, but he follows her lead, holding her head steady as makes her take more of him, his body tensing at the tight heat of her throat. “Shit, baby, oh my god.” He’s having a hard time breathing, let alone talking, but he wants to keep praising her, loving the way his dirty talk brings her pleasure. “You’re so good… taking my cock so well… You wanna come like this? With my cock down your throat, sweetheart?”

Her fingers speed up, pressing hard against her clit, the familiar tingle building deep inside of her, and she can only imagine how she looks. Tears wetting her lashes, her saliva dripping out of her mouth, her hand gripping his ass as she moans and whines around his cock. 

“That’s it,” he growls, “don’t fucking stop. Want you to come for me... Show me how much you love sucking my cock.”

That’s all it takes, and her hips lift off the bed at the exact moment that Bucky pulls out of her mouth, his grip on her hair forcing her head back, letting him get to witness her fall apart for him. The cry of pleasure that pours out of her has him nearly coming with her and he reaches down to cover her fingers with his, keeping the pressure up as her legs clamp around both their hands.

“Oh, good girl.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You did so good for me.”

She’s so overwhelmed, intense waves of pleasure rushing over her, that all she can do is grind her hips, chasing the euphoria, even after it starts to become too much, her body quickly growing sensitive. 

Bucky already seems to know her body well though, how to keep her right where he needs her to prolong the feelings, and his fingers soon seek out her entrance, her walls still fluttering with aftershocks from her orgasm.

“Oh god,” she gasps, reaching out to hold his arm as her trembling thighs spread for him, already desperate for more. “Bucky… I… it’s…” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to tell him, but he immediately soothes her, settling next to her while he teases her with just the tips of his fingers.

“Just relax for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her softly, trying to find a balance between helping her catch her breath while also wanting to make her come again. “I’ve got you.” 

Her mind is still foggy, her thoughts hazy with the lingering effects of coming so hard, all because she was so turned on from giving him head. But, she can’t stop thinking that his pleasure was cut short for hers, and now she’s come twice. “What about you?”

“What about me, baby?” Bucky’s grinning, knowing exactly what she’s asking, but he wants her to tell him - to at least try. She’s come so far in such a short time, he doesn’t want her to regress.

She doesn’t want to either, and with a soft exhale of a laugh, she tries to explain how she feels selfish, whispering, “I… you didn’t… fuck.” It’s so hard to string a coherent sentence together, his fingers still stroking along her wetness, and another soft laugh leaves her as her hold on his bicep tightens.

Bucky takes pity on her, brushing his nose along her cheek, his soft beard tickling her jaw. “You made me feel so good.” Her breath catches and he keeps going, her slick pussy pulsing each time he teases her entrance. “But, right now, all I can think about is feeling you come around my fingers again. Is that okay?”

For just a split second, she almost tells him no. But, that’s her anxiety talking - her insecurities telling her that she’s already had enough pleasure and they should be focusing on him. But, if there’s anything he’s proved to her tonight, it’s that making his partner feel good is just as satisfying as being on the receiving end.

As soon as she’s telling him yes, he’s thanking her, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine and he pulls back just enough to watch her. The way her thighs tense and shake, her soft gasps and shuddering exhales, the fluttering of her eyelashes. He can’t get enough of her and the urge to fuck her senseless drives him to suddenly fill her with his fingers.

He wastes no time before he’s curling them, pressing hard against her front wall, massaging her g-spot, reducing her to nothing but breathless whines and cries of “oh my god” again. Her head thrown back against the pillow, her eyes shut tight, each stroke coaxing more wetness out of her.

Bucky’s on a mission, remembering how she told him she squirts sometimes. She’s never done it with anyone else before, and he wants to be the first person to have the pleasure of witnessing it. To be the first person to make it happen.

The only thing she can do is go along for the ride, her left hand spreading her pussy for him, giving him the perfect opportunity to grind his palm against her clit, his soft words of praise filling her head. She can already feel the pressure building, his fingers never letting up, fucking her perfectly as she cries out of his name.

She thought she’d be nervous or hesitant about this part, but it’s impossible. He’s just as turned on as she is, enjoying himself right along with her, and she wants to give him everything. Especially when he growls, “Give me what I want. Squirt all over my fucking hand, baby. Let me feel it.” 

Whatever he wants, she’ll give him.

With a loud gasp of a moan, her body lets go, her wetness soaking his palm, the wet, obscene noises pushing her over the edge. Her breath gets caught in her throat and her back arches, her thighs threatening to close but Bucky quickly sits up, using his free hand to hold her open, fucking her through her orgasm, making her squirt over and over.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

“Holy shit, look at that.”

“Never seen anything so beautiful.”

“So fucking perfect, baby.”

He doesn’t stop until he’s sure she can’t take anymore - the twitching of her thighs, the tensing of her stomach, the soft whimpers telling him exactly when to pull back, immediately gathering her in his arms. HIs fingers don’t leave her until his lips are on hers, swallowing the whine she makes from the loss, kissing her passionately as she shudders underneath him.

Bucky’s so proud of her, and he can’t wait to show her everything else she’s capable of tonight.

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Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[sourlove]

YANDERE TODOROKI SHOTO HEADCANONS

TW: YANDERE THEMES, MANIPULATION, SLIGHT NON-CON, COERCION

The biggest issue with Todoroki as a yandere is probably the dependence.

It's cute at first and you let him carry on as he liked. You didn't mind him coming to you for advice or sticking close to you at events. You didn't even mind him inviting himself into your room and looking through your things. At least, you tried not to mind.

Everyone knew what Endeavor was like and anyone who met his children couldn't help but pity them.

You pitied Todoroki. He was nice, albeit a little socially stunted, and curious about how normal teenagers behaved.

He just needed some help, that's all.

It was easy to accommodate him into your friend groups and activities. Most people were more than happy to have a handsome, mysterious guy amongst them and Todoroki seemed to be picking up social norms quickly.

You noticed that every time you turned to face him, he was already looking at you. It was mildly disturbing. Especially because he never broke eye contact. He just...continued staring. You could feel it even when he was across the room, like a beacon that followed you wherever you went.

You tried not to let it bother you, even when people teased you about Todoroki's obvious crush on you. It made you uncomfortable. Todoroki was a friend that you were helping out.

Unfortunately, it seemed you were the only one who thought that way.

Before long, Todoroki wanted to learn how to connect more intimately.

It was awkward, to say the least. You tried to dance around the topic whenever he brought it up but he was relentless. Todoroki finally cornered you in your room, cool breath fanning your face.

"Please, Y/N?" he whispers softly. "It's one kiss. I just want to know what it feels like. You're the only one I feel comfortable asking..."

Curse your weak heart. You give in and Todoroki takes greedily. His lips are cold and his teeth bite down on your lip, making you yelp and allowing him to slip his tongue in.

Neither of you are particularly experienced but Todoroki still looks at you in dazed awe when you wriggle free.

He begs for more and more, using your pity for him against you.

"I want you to have all my firsts, Y/N. I feel so safe with you," he pleads, so pitifully and so hopelessly that you can already feel your defenses crumbling.

He just needed a bit more help. And if he needed you too...well, how could you possibly say no to him?

After all Todoroki had been through, he could only trust you.

[rationaliity]

cockwarming | dr. ratio & gallagher

here you areeee !! your wish is my command ~ ratio and gallagher are a little mean but that's really it. also slightly ignoring on gallaghers part ? it makes sense when you read it idk i cant think of what that kink is called for the life of me

RATIO —

ratio was going to make you listen, even if he had to force it a little bit. it wasn't directly his fault that you weren't able to stay still, sat on his lap with your arms lazily slung over his shoulders, your legs straddling his with his cock firmly inside of you, stretching you out. he'd told you to do something simple : just keep his cock warm for him while he finished this bit of paperwork that he had to do, and then he would reward you for your time and efforts. if he could do something he didn't necessarily want to do, then so could you.

at first, you were all too eager to agree to these terms, even unzipping his pants for him and getting on your knees to get his cock wet enough for it to slide in easier. this was new to you, so of course you wanted to try it out to see if you liked it. besides, how often do you get to bother ratio while he's working on his papers ?

but now you were whining in his ear, begging for him to do something. you couldn't take this anymore, not with him filling you up all the way to the top and just staying there. you were completely stretched around his cock, milking him for all that he was worth. and with every annoyingly pitiful whine, you squeezed around him even more than you already were.

" you seem to have a problem following even the most simple of tasks, " he lowly hissed in your ear. his free hand that wasn't holding his ink pen grabbing your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh, making you squeal a little. " i ask you to do something as easy as sitting still, and yet you still find a way to mess it up. i wonder how. "

despite his cruel words, you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, begging for more attention than what he was getting. the both of you were at your breaking point, needing more than just the warmth of your bodies colliding, but his ego wouldn't let him admit that he couldn't hold himself back either. and if you were to mention it, he would surely find a way to turn it back on you.

finally, he sat his pen down, both hands on your waist, picking you up and sitting you on his desk. you yelped almost immediately as you were separated from his body, the friction of him sliding out of you almost making you orgasm right there after thirty minutes of just sitting as still as possible, but before you could really react, his lips were on yours, tasting you feverishly. ratio's hands forced your legs apart, grabbing each of your thighs so he could nestle himself in between them, his cock more than a little ready to release everything inside of you.

" i've found your specialty lies more with taking my cock rather than warming it. "

GALLAGHER —

you figured that there was going to be absolutely no way that gallagher had better control over himself than you did. he was always needy whenever he could afford to be, always asking for your time, always wanting more of you than just a simple kiss here and there. so when the two of you made a bet that he could restrain himself from fucking you with his cock inside of you, you thought you just had a unique way of initiating sex as a game.

several minutes later, and gallagher had his cock nestled inside of you, and seemed perfectly content to continue doing what he was doing beforehand, much to your confusion. he had one hand lazily holding your waist as you sat on top of him while he laid in your shared bed, his other hand scrolling on his phone, probably looking at new drink mixes that he hadn't thought of before. that's really all he used social media for, which honestly didn't surprise you in the slightest.

and you were struggling, even though you didn't want to admit it. you really thought he would've cracked by now and started to fuck into you, but no, he hadn't. but you were dripping with need for him, needing more of him than what you were getting, and you were beginning to grow as desperate as you were impatient.

" gallagher- " you whimpered a little bit, your voice coming out as far more needy than you anticipated. " how are you holding up ? " you asked, hoping that this was all just a facade. but nope, he just glanced towards you, looking up from his phone with an almost unamused look on his face.

" i'm perfectly fine, doll. why ? didja think that just because i want to fuck you, it means i absolutely need to ? " if you were anyone else, maybe that would've stung a little bit. but you knew how he was at this point, that slight arrogance in his tone even when he didn't intend to sound egotistical was just how he sounded. but he was getting you back for thinking you had one over on him, that was for sure. you wanted to prove him wrong, but you were playing right into his hand.

" if you want it so bad, then do the work yourself. come on, doll, show me how worked up you can get. "

— ♡ rationaliity 2024

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Are you sure you want to keep working?” You ask Mr. Rogers as you bring in the printed report he requested. 

“Yeah, can’t really go home...” he mutters as he takes the report with a brittle smile. 

“I guess, but you could... take some time for yourself. I can call your one o’clock,” you offer. 

“Rosie, you’re wonderful. But I need the distraction.” 

“Okay, I—can I get you anything? A tea? When I feel down, I have this lavender chamomile in my desk that helps me feel better.” 

He looks at you, his blue eyes sparkling. You really can’t handle him crying. His eyes are already pink and puffy from the tears he hid in his closed office. 

“You’re so sweet,” he sniffs. 

“Look that over and I’ll steep the tea,” you insist. 

You leave him before your ingrained sympathy can have you joining his pity party. You feel awful for him but lost too. You’re not sure how to handle all this. Relationships have always been a bit of a mystery to you. You have lot of friends but never found anyone to be more than. 

You take your time in the break room. You smell like vinaigrette. It’s another reminder of the chaotic morning. The kettle pops and you pour the water over the tea bag. You bob it up and down with the string and make your way back to Mr. Roger’s office. 

He thanks you as you set it down and warn him it’s hot. He runs his thumb up and down the edge of a page then looks up at you.  

“Anything else, sir?” 

“You... you said you feel down sometimes?” He asks. 

“Oh, well, yeah, but everyone does.” 

“But... about what? Why would you feel down?” He lowers the stapled papers onto the desk. 

“Just... things, sir. Nothing big. It’s just the way people are.” 

“You-- you have everything, Rosie. You’re so bright and bubbly. What could make you sad?” He pivots his chair towards you. “Who do I gotta give a talking to around here?” 

“No one, sir. Really. I guess I just need a pick-me-up from time to time.” 

He nods and looks down. You hover on the other side of his desk. You should get back to work but you don’t know if you should leave him. 

“I get lonely too.” He lifts his chin up. “Even when Peggy’s right next to me. I get it.” 

“Sir?” 

“You said you’re not married, right? I—I'm sorry if I assumed--” he cringes. “Wow, I’m so embarrassing.” 

“It’s... it’s fine. I have friends and we have lots of fun. My friend Missie, she’s really cool. She lies to tie-dye. We do that sometimes. And you,” you perk up, “you have Mr. Barnes, right? He told me that you twohave known each other forever.” 

“He told you that?” Rogers tilts his head. 

“Well, sure, he’s a bit chatty when he stops by.” 

“He is?” A brow arches curiously and ripples his forehead. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re so easy to talk to. Even with someone like him.” 

“Erm, I guess. I just try to see the positive. You know. Um, I don’t mean to presume because I can’t begin to know but I know Peggy loves you. And you have a good job and you can fix this, Mr. Rogers. You could try counselling or I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t know much,” you shrug. 

“We did counselling,” he picks up the mug and blows the steam away, inhaling the scent. “She stormed out of that too. We’ve tried a lot of things. A second honeymoon, a vow renewal, everything.” He looks down and his shoulders slump. He looks tiny even though he’s a big man. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to overstep.” 

“You didn’t,” he inhales and pushes his shoulders straight. “You’re right, I can do something. I can put myself first. I think... I think I need to look into leaving.” 

You blink. You’re speechless. It feels like too much. Not his suggestion, just that he’s saying it to you. You’re fine getting him coffee and sorting his schedule but you haven’t been trained for this. 

“You should do what’s best for you, sir.” 

He nods and tastes the tea. “It’s good, Rose,” He sets the cup down. “Thanks. You’re... you’re too good to me.” 

“It’s just tea. I’ll let you enjoy it in peace and I gotta get back to it.” You smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

“Will do,” he utters glumly. 

You slowly turn away and stride out. You feel a tugging in your stomach. Like guilt. You feel bad leaving him like that. Yet, you don’t know what else you can do for him. Missie would know. She always knows how to make things better. Maybe you could ask her but it’s a long story. 

Hm. 

You take out your phone and open up the conversation. You giggle at the kitten pictures she sent you last night. It takes several attempts to get it right; ‘hey, Miss, what would you do for someone going through a break-up? Tryna do something nice. Thx <3’ 

You’re sure she’ll come up with something, even without all the details. You tuck your phone away and turn back to your screen. As you do, an email pings into Mr. Rogers’ inbox.  

You click on it and open the attachment. The legal letterhead has your blood cold. Before you can react, you hear Mr. Rogers exclaim.

Oh no, he’s already seen it. Divorce papers. 

[thepersonnamedsam]

hiii, love your stuff<33 could I maybe request a gen z reader blurb where after getting in a crash due to a mechanical issue everyone worries about her and she’s pissed because she felt seen as weak and vulnerable?? THANK U SO MUCH

life goes on

pairing: genz!driver x '23!grid and some seb cameo

summary: see request :)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: crash, blood, injury, anger issues, tears (idk if that’s a warning), media talks bad about genz!driver, foul language

note: thank you so much for the request!! i am not quite sure if i should write the genz!driver stories in a you pov or a she/her pov, what would you prefer, please let me know, ty :))

masterlist / taglist

It started with a bad day. FP1 was shit, FP2 was also not great. Her day was just not great. Free practice 3 was better, the car had finally responded to her again. In the first two laps, everything went smooth. She was already singing Smooth Operator in her head. But suddenly the car stirred, luckily she saved herself and didn’t crash, but she did retire from the session.

Her engineer and her sat together for Qualifying. She told him everything she noticed whilst driving.

„I feel like the steering wheel is not responding on time. It’s like it’s two seconds delayed, which is not good.“

He nodded and wrote it down on a notepad. „I feel like there’s nothing we can do, I can check with the mechanics, but qualifying is in two hours, which may not be enough time“, her race engineer told her. She sighed. The last two days were bad for y/n, she hasn’t slept good for at least four days. She nodded and told him that she’d be in her drivers room.

As qualifying started, she only got in one good lap before she had to retire. She was right, her steering wheel indeed had a slight delay. Which made turning corners very hard. She ended Q1 in P19, her worst result in qualifying yet. She was disappointed, in herself and in the car.

Her mechanics tried to fix the issue until the race started, but with no hope. She prepared herself for the race, knowing it would not be an easy one. She was scared, like scared shitless. She tried to call Sebastian during Q2, but he did not pick up. Opting for a quick text, she asked him to call her back as soon as possible.

Lewis heard what happened to y/n car during Q1 and wanted to comfort the young driver. With long strides he went to her motorhome. Her engineer just pointed to her drivers room as soon as he saw Lewis approach him. Three short knocks. Her head snapped up as the door opened. Lewis was standing there, looking pitiful and held his arms out.

„Are you okay, darling?“, he asked her as she nuzzled her head in his shoulders. She let her tears fall freely. Shaking her head she told him how she felt. „The steering wheel is delayed, which is so difficult to drive with and also dangerous. But my mechanics can’t fix it, they don’t know why it’s happening and a whole reboot of the system would take too long! I’m scared, Lewis. I don’t know what to do.“

His hand firm on her backside, he just held the young woman. Telling her to retire to not cause a crash would’ve been the best thing. Tell her to refuse to race. But he didn’t, knowing the girl and her ambitions. She would race, no matter what. She didn’t want to be seen as weak or even worse, girly.

She was girly, but not in the sense of racing. She was just as ‚manly‘ as the other drivers.

„I know that you will make the right decision about the whole situation“, Lewis told her. Oh, how wrong he was.

Q3 was finished with Verstappen on pole, as always, Perez on P2 and Leclerc on P3. Happy to see Charles starting this high, she went into the race with somewhat a good feeling. The first three laps were okay, she sank down to P20, DeVries overtook her with ease on the second corner, as she slowed down as much as possible to control the car. But the longer the race was, the more angry she got. It was not fair, the steering wheel was just not responding.

On lap 24 y/n’s car crashed. In corner eight, her steering wheel stopped working. Instead of a turn, the car just went straight into the pit wall. The front wing smashed against the wall, squashing it against her own car. Her head was spinning. What just happened?

„Red flag, the FIA just announced a red flag in corner eight. Seems like y/l/n crashed. Let’s hope she’s fine.“

Several team radios went through.

„Charles, y/n crashed in corner eight, there’s a red flag, be careful.“

„Lewis, there is a red flag.“

„Be careful, Max. You are approaching corner eight where y/n has had a crash.“

And many more. Everyone was concerned. What has happened? What did she do to crash her car like that. Was she responsive? Responsible? What was going on?

„y/n, please respond. The race has been stopped. What happened?“, her race engineer tried to speak to her, she was non-responsive.

„What the fuck, what happened?! Is she responsive? Are the medics on their way?“, Lewis was the first to address the situation. „We don’t know, we don’t see any medics yet, Lewis.“

And as Max pulled up to corner eight he hopped out of his car. He ran towards hers and yelled for her, to show him a sign that she was still alive, without a response. He was worried, he was always worried when someone crashed, but he was extra worried when she did.

„y/n! What happened? Are you okay? Please give me a sign!“, he tried it again, with no luck. He saw her helmet move, the flashy colours moving from side to side. „Ach godzijdank Ah, thank god“, he mumbled.

The medics arrived and ushered Max to the side. Taking her out of the car and laying her on a spinal board. Transporting her into the ambulance.

She was devastated. It was not her fault she crashed. But the media didn’t know that. They would accuse her of crashing yet another car. That she wasn’t good enough to be in Formula 1. They would report about her as if she wasn’t a human being and just something they could play with. They would talk about her like a doll. It was not fair.

Meanwhile on the paddock the talking began. Lewis was the most worried, he should’ve just told her to refuse racing. What if she suffered a serious injury? Like a neck or spine injury and couldn’t race anymore. It was his fault, that’s what he thought.

Lando was worried too, not really knowing what happened, he was just worried. She could be injured. The minutes went by without any news from her. They were hard for Lando.

Even Checo, who wasn’t usually a companion of y/n, was worried. He didn’t see what happened, but he heard from Max how the crash looked - bad, it looked bad.

„We hear from the medics; y/n is okay. At least that. Let’s hope the race will continue without another crash.“

Lewis released a breather, not knowing he heals so much air in his lungs. He was glad y/n was okay. He still felt bad, always feeling responsible for her. And now that she crashed, his head was spinning with gut wrenching thoughts and worry.

The FIA announced the green flag and the race continued without y/n. When she got back to her garage, her motorhome, she expected a angry team principal, angry mechanics and engineers, expect she was greeted with relieved sighs and shoulder droppings. Her engineer was the first one to embrace her. He told her how sorry he was and how everything was definitely not her fault.

She was still angry, no points, no race, no happy ending for that day. Everything was shit. She had a shit day that race. And it was not even her own fault.

Her team principal came towards her, gripping her shoulders hard and said: „I know this seems bad, it is, but we can fix it. I wish I could send you home, but media still awaits.“

So she waited, she waited lap after lap until eventually Max won the race. She waited until her PR got her out of the drivers room and took her to the media pen, where the post race conferences will be held.

Sky Sports interviewed the todays winner. So, y/n waited for Max to finish. She hoped he would never finish, that she would never have to face the camera and talk about the incident.

But that didn’t happen.

„Hello y/n, how do you feel? Everything okay, no pain?“, the nice interviewer asked her. „Uh, yeah, everything is fine“, she struggled with her answer, not believing herself that everything was fine.

„Can you tell me what happened? We just saw you crashing?“ - „Uhm, yeah“, she looked towards her media PR, what was she allowed to say? She shook her head - no bad words about her team. „I-, uh, I lost control of my steering wheel.“

The interviewer nodded. „We saw you retire from the race after Q1, having struggled already in FP1 and 2. Did you have problems with your steering wheel during them as well?“

She sighed. She was tired, her neck ached and she just wanted to be in her bed.

„I mean, kind of, yeah you could say I struggled with it during free practice.“

If she told the interviewer that she struggled with it during the whole yesterday and today, she would’ve bad mouthed the team.

„Last question for today, y/n. We asked Twitter for some comments, would you be so kind to make a statement to some of them?“

She really didn’t want to, knowing exactly what most of them had to say; women don’t belong in motorsports, etc.

„Sure“, she sighed. Her PR nodded, happy that y/n decided not to refuse.

„Alright, @motodports_2 said: That’s the second time this season that y/n crashed her car and we are only on the 7th race. What do you have to say to that?“

She closed her eyes, the headache creeping in like a madman with a desire to kill. „That’s true, that was the second crash of the season. And I am sorry for that, my team doesn’t deserve me crashing that many times during the season. I apologise.“

Sebastian was sitting at home, watching the race from his couch. He couldn’t believe what she was saying. The team doesn’t deserve a driver that crashes so much? Bullshit.

He missed her calls earlier that day, he wished he would’ve picked up his phone or at least called her back. But what she was telling to that interviewer was absolute bull.

Charles, who was next in line, also couldn’t believe the stuff you were telling Sky Sports.

„Okay, @maydrive says: The way y/n is throwing away her career in F1 with those shenanigans. Get a grip, will you?“, the interviewer read from the screen in front.

Charles was shocked, he never had to respond to any comments like that. How was she experiencing something like that?

„Uh yeah, thank you @maydrive for that. I will try to get a grip, and you are right, I am throwing away my F1 career like that, but I don’t want that, that’s why I will keep trying to get better“, her eyes were starting water. Just don’t let those tears fall, y/n. They want to see her cry, don’t give them the satisfaction of it.

„Thank you, y/n. Rest up and good evening!“

Her PR pulled her away and onto the next interview. After all that, she was exhausted. Exhausted and angry. How could they be asking her questions like that? Not fair.

Back in her garage, she let the emotions flow. Tears were streaming down her face, sobs were heard and her body was shaking. Her PR handed y/n her phone, leaving her again with a gentle pat to the shoulder.

Seb was calling her.

„Before you say anything, don’t let them treat you like that ever again. Not your fault, if you had problems with the steering wheel, it is not your place to apologise“, Seb interrupted her, before she could even sob into the phone. He heard sniffles. „Don’t cry, liebes dear. You did nothing wrong today.“

„Seb, I wish you’d be here“, she sobbed into the phone. It broke his heart. Comforting someone over the phone was hard, much more if the person being comforted was a teenager.

„It’s gonna be okay, life goes on, okay?“, he told her. „I just feel so weak and vulnerable. They hate me, they always find something wrong with my driving.“

„You are not weak! Who told you that?“, a voice from behind her sounded from the dark. Fernando Alonso stepped out of the shadow. Seb instantly recognised the older spaniards voice over the phone. Glad y/n was not alone in a time like this.

Fernando embraced her. Hugging her tight and firmly. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, beating like crazy. „Breathe with me, y/n.“

They were standing in her motorhome, embraced in one another. If a camera had noticed, headliners would say: Alonso and y/l/n dating confirmed? But there was no camera around.

She had her family here in F1. She belonged here, just as much as any other driver. She was not at fault. She was not weak or vulnerable. She was strong.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23

[sommerregenjuniluft]

barty working at some run down convenience store and he has a thing for the pretty girl who comes in buying cigs even though she's underage

GASP llaaaaayyylllaaaaaaa !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you always manage to. ugh. just. YES. fuck this is so them!!!!!!! you get them, you understand them. ily.

—

Barty is still leafing through his magazine a moment later when he smells the gust of lilies and citrus from the other side of the counter. He grins.

A bottle of cherry coke zero clanks down on the counter along with a smaller bottle of vodka. “And a packet of Reds.”

Barty’s grin widens. He doesn’t look up when he winces and says, “I’m gonna need to see some ID on that, sweetie.”

Nothing. Then, a crumpled bill and some coins are thrown down next to the beverages.

Barty tuts when he finally lets himself look up and into enticingly piercing green eyes. Lily’s hair is a mess today and while her gaze is bright as any day, there’s a shadow of exhaustion hanging underneath her lower lashes.

“C’mon, kid, just show me that stolen ID again and let me tell you how much prettier you are than that girl in the picture,” Barty purrs, watching as Lily’s eyes narrow. “For old times’ sake, baby.”

Lily frowns, “Just hand me the cigarettes and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, but see that’s exactly what I don’t want to happen,” he replies, propping his palms onto the counter, leaning his long torso over.

Lily sighs and she shuts her eyes and her lips thin into a line and for a moment Barty thinks he’s going to get that one rare noise again where she’s whining like the most pitiful, exhausted, sweetest little thing. The first time she’d pressed it through gritted teeth Barty was so stupid from arousal he’d slipped the cigarette package over the counter and gave her the opportunity to leave earlier than planned.

Right now Lily takes a firm breath instead. Bummer.

But Barty isn’t giving up just yet. “Y’know, you shouldn’t buy that anyways. Stuff’s bad for you.”

“And you shouldn’t browse through the Playboy on the clock,” Lily sneers.

Barty grins and ducks closer, “Why, you got something better to show me?”

Lily’ cheeks take on a lovely pink tint, her freckles flaming over her rosy skin. Sometimes she reminds Barty a little of a cute fawn.

Barty nods at the beverages on the counter, “You gonna take that to a friend?”

“No,” Lily replies, frowning. Like it would be the most irrational thing to pick up a friend and have a drink with them. She’s so cute Barty wants to eat her.

“Gonna drink that all by yourself, sweets?” he inquires, grinning.

Lily huffs, “That’s none of your business.”

Barty hums, “Let me tell you something.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why don’t I take my break now,” Barty goes on, undeterred, “and I’ll have one with you. And I’ll let you purchase the cigs. Even throw in a lighter for free ’cause you’re so easy on the eye.”

Something just shy of a whimper catches in Lily’s throat. “I just want the damn smokes,” she mutters at the ceiling. Barty thinks the pale skin of her neck would probably bruise so easily if she’d just let him.

“Brilliant, then it’s settled,” Barty concludes and sorts the money into the register before slamming it closed pointedly.

He grabs the smokes from behind him and picks out a lighter with a wolfish grin. He fishes for the keys and the ‘Be Right Back’ sign from under the counter and then ushers a grumbling Lily out the back door.

There’s an old, ratty plastic chair and Barty lets himself plop down into it with a sated sigh. Lily keeps standing in the bare space in front of him and glares, “What happened to the second chair?”

Barty shrugs, “Someone stole it.” Someone being Barty and yes, the chair fits in nicely with the rest of his balcony furniture, thanks for asking.

Lily’s mouth tightens, she opens her soda. “Well, how hospitable of you to offer me the seat then,” she snarks.

“Oh, you’re very welcome to sit,” Barty returns, purposefully widening his legs and bucking his hips. “You look exhausted, love, and I promise I’m very comfy.”

He watches Lily’s gaze harden again, the wall building up, higher, and she purses her lips. She looks like she’s one more remark away from kicking Barty out of the wobbly chair but then suddenly she moves forward. She stops right between Barty’s legs and honestly, he hadn’t hoped he’d get this far today so his brain operates a little slow. Eventually he manages lifting his hands and guiding Lily around and to sit square in his lap.

They’re so close suddenly, Lily’s hair is tickling Barty’s nose and she feels heavenly where she’s placed on top of him. Warm and soft. She smells so good and the crook of her neck is right there. Barty has to work hard to control himself when spit pools under his tongue.

Lily tugs at her sweater subconsciously. It’s a low v-neck and Barty’s in a perfect position to ogle down her cleavage. “Smokes?” Lily asks, a little impatiently.

Barty hums, licking the corner of his mouth and gnawing on his bottom lip as he unwraps the cigarettes blindly, still hungrily taking in the soft swell of Lily’s—

“Stop staring at my tits, perv.”

Barty looks up to see her glowering expression. He licks his lips again. Lily’s gaze flutters down for just a second.

When the plastic wrapper is off, Barty opens it and flicks against the bottom of the carton. He takes the one that shot out the farthest and holds it up between them. “For good luck,” he explains, “Smoke it right before your exam.” Barty doesn’t know what prompts his brain in that direction but he finds himself planting a kiss along the length of the cigarette. Then he holds it up to Lily’s lips as well. She kisses it dutifully, so good for him, right on the spot where Barty’s mouth just lingered seconds ago, none the wiser that this is not at all a step in choosing your lucky cigarette. Barty puts it back in between the others with the filter up.

He pulls out two others and first sticks one between his own and then Lily’s lips. The urge to press his fingers in deeper is there but Barty ignores it skillfully.

The lighter is procured, Barty takes Lily’s chin between his fingers to light their cigarettes at the same time and then their smoking and nursing their drinks in comfortable silence. Barty can feel Lily readjust and squirm for the duration of her first smoke but then his arm lifts off the armrest and around Lily to pull her closer. She shifts up with a quiet yelp but settles quickly after the fact, if with a warning glance when Barty’s hand stays high on the outside of her thigh.

Lily’s skirt is soft fabric today, some kind of cotton with a mesh cover on top and it’s airy and short. After the third consecutive smoke and half the empty vodka flask later Barty has three fingertips digging into the bare skin of Lily’s thigh without complaint and a semi in his jeans.

“Lily,” Barty rasps after another two smokes. The redhead is mildly slumping against Barty’s embrace, eyes lidded and looking like she’s not far from falling asleep right on top of him.

“Hm?” she makes, blowing out smoke.

“You’re not feeling too well with exam season coming up, huh?”

“No shit,” Lily responds.

Barty’s lips tug at the corners, “I know a way to make you feel good.”

For the first time in a while Lily tenses in his lap, eyes widening in alert. “No,” she says.

Barty rolls his eyes with a grin, “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

Yet, Barty thinks. “That’s not what I was going to propose,” Barty corrects, smartly.

Lily raises her eyebrows in disbelief. God, she’s so hot when she isn’t taking Barty’s bullshit.

“I was gonna say kiss you.”

“No.”

“Just a little.”

“No.”

“Only the neck.”

Lily pauses. Bingo.

Barty lifts his unoccupied hand and moves her curls over her shoulder, exposing her throat to him. He lets his fingers flutter over her pulse point feather light. “Just gonna kiss your neck a bit and make you feel good.”

“Barty.”

“Gonna make you feel good, I promise,” he mumbles, gambling.

A sigh, then a barely there whisper, “Fine.”

Barty’s breath hitches and then he leans in and lets his tongue out flat to lick a long stripe up Lily’s pretty neck with a groan. He closes his lips around the skin and sucks hard enough to leave a mark, just behind her ear. Lily shudders in his lap and when Barty pants another breathy noise against her skin, he hears her moan quietly as well.

Lily tastes heavenly, like raspberry and lime, and clean and flowery. He licks and kisses and sucks and makes out with Lily’s neck, gripping her thigh so far up it’s nearly ass and getting increasingly harder the more she melts into him and the louder she gets.

Lastly Barty makes the mistakes of sucking too hard and pulling Lily from her trance so that she promptly extracts herself with a hiss. Her lips are bitten red and her eyes are wide and dewy as she stares at Barty in shock, cheeks flushed and Barty would literally sell all his organs to know what Lily is thinking right now.

Eventually she stutters her way through arguing why she has to leave now and Barty nods dutifully, still high off of the taste of Lily on his tongue, before helping her up and opening the door for her. Like a gentleman. As soon as her back is turned he cups and adjusts himself in his pants.

When they come back into the store there’s a small queue lined up outside and Barty smirks when he sees Lily blushing deeper.

Barty leans down to her ear from behind, “Well then, sweets, see you soon.” He presses the lighter into her palm and then steps past her to unlock the door for the costumers.

Lily responds something unintelligible under her breath and then rushes out after the people waiting have stepped inside.

On the sidewalk Lily turns and searches for Barty through the window. When their gazes lock she holds up the hand with the lighter and mouths, “Bambi?!”

Barty simply winks at her.

[drabblesandimagines]

Cuffed

Leon Kennedy x reader, Valentine's Day nonsense

I just really liked this gif*

You let out an annoyed huff, craning your neck back as far as humanly possible in the hopes that somehow this time you will be able to see the lock on the handcuffs you’re trying to pick.

It’s embarrassing – taken down by a scientist with a metal suitcase who’d swung it wildly in defence, rather than putting his hands up above his head as you’d so kindly requested. His antics had sent your gun flying out of your hand and skidding across the linoleum floor and by the time your fingers had grazed the handle of the dagger holstered at your hip, the suitcase had met the side of your skull, sending you toppling down, ears ringing.

You don’t think you fully blacked out, but it was enough of a blow to stun you, knock your earpiece out – all topped off with the scientist taking the handcuffs from your side and locking your wrists above your head, around some sort of metal grill.

He’d even had the gall to say sorry as he did it, before picking up the suitcase and running out of the room.

It’s fine, you’d reassured yourself once the room stopped swimming as much, you’ve got a lockpick hidden away in your watch. That first step had been hard enough – feeling blindly for the small dial on the side with your fingers to pull out the thing but you’d succeeded in the end, so surely you’d triumph here as well… right?

You don’t know how long it takes, but eventually you feel resistance, indicating you’ve finally managed to locate the lock itself. Great - now all you need to do is get through the pin mechanisms and you’ll be free, and you won’t even have to mention any of this to Leon-

Dink.

The sound of the lockpick hitting the floor as it slips from your grip is a kick in the teeth.

You aren’t granted time to commence a pity party as a beat later the door opposite is kicked open to reveal Leon, gun poised, finger on the trigger, looking mad as hell. His face relaxes a little at the sight of you, but he’s still sure to scan the area before he deems it clear, clicks the safety on and holsters his weapon. He holds a finger up to his ear and you hear a faint beep.

“Condor One to Roost. Hummingbird acquired – we’ll head to the evac point shortly.”  

Leon strides over as he speaks to HQ, before finally crouching down in front of you with a smug grin and a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Hi…” You trail off, embarrassed about your predicament.

“Well, this isn’t exactly where I was expecting to receive my Valentine’s Day gift, but you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Your face burns at the implication – you two keep it as professional as possible when on assignment together, but something about your current situation has Leon unable to resist. You attempt a half-hearted kick out at him in protest, but he stills your thigh easily with a hand.

“It’s not funny, Leon!” You retort, tugging at the handcuffs in frustration. “The target got away with the suitcase and-“

“Easy, I got him. He’s in custody, goods secured – much like you.”

“I’m not going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Uh-uh, sweetheart.” He shakes his head, before grasping your chin with gloved fingers and begins to check over you for injuries – a purple bruise already blossoming on your temple. “How many of me can you see?”

“One.”

He holds up his other hand. “And how many fingers?”

“Three. Look, can you just get me out of these now – please?” You pout, but he’s enjoying being the tease a little too much to concede just yet.

“It’s on the agenda. What’s the date?”

“14th February.”

“Good. Otherwise known as?”

You roll your eyes. “Valentine’s Day.”

“And who’s your Valentine?”

“Well, he won’t be if he doesn’t uncuff m-“ Leon cuts you off, pressing his lips to yours – a soft, slow and sensitive kiss. You don’t even realize his hands are now above your head until there’s a soft click and finally your wrists are freed from their confines.

“You were saying?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was you scaring the shit outta me when you dropped off comms, sweetheart. Come on.” He wraps an arm around your waist and helps you to your feet. “We need to get you checked for concussion.”

“Really?” You frown, though you do feel a little light-headed now you’re standing. “It wasn’t that hard of a hit.“

“Well, there’s a definite dent on that suitcase we confiscated, so I think we should play it safe.”

“Fine.”

He presses another kiss to your lips - this one a little more fierce, and pulls away only slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Leon smiles and retreats, but keeps a hand on the small of your back as he bends down to pick up your discarded gun and handcuffs. He proceeds to offer the gun back to you and you murmur a thanks and holster it, expecting to be handed the cuffs next, only for him to tuck them away into one of his many pockets on his pants and start to usher you out of the room.

“Wait, those are mine too.”

“I know.” He replies in an amused tone.

“Then why are you keeping them?”

He laces his fingers through yours, brings it up to his lips to kiss. “Let’s just say they’re going to come in very handy for my Valentine’s Day gift later.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

Having to be in pairs for a group project, two people with mixed feelings work together to create a presentation. Going into eachothers houses is easy until a certain cat wants to play cupid. Feelings erupt, and miscommunication has to be endured. A soccer game in the rain might prove that Descamps listens more than he should.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: bullying (poor pichon), boys being boys, very confusing feelings, angst bcs of achilles and patroclus (maybe even joseph and reader???), miscommunication in the enemies to lovers department, swearing

This chapter has references to The Song of Achilles book (ik its not the right timeline, but we have to do this for the angst so bare w me)

===

===

Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say

===

The scores of our exams are being published. I sit in my seat, eyes scanning the numbers and fingertips smoothing out the paper. Most of them are in the ranges of 12-16, which is good enough for me.

"As you know, this is a school where we like to experiment with new methods. Next week, we are going to try a new approach." I look up from my papers, interested in the proposal of something new.

"You're going to prepare a presentation, working in pairs. You'll be working with the classmate sitting next to you, and then you'll present your work in class together. And for a sense of free will, you can present about any subject. How does that sound?"

I look to the girl next to me. Her name was Louise. She's quiet most of the time and keeps to herself. I smile softly. She smiles back.

The teacher clears his throat, eyes on Descamps and Dupin. "You two, of which I already expect a chaotic presentation, will be paired with someone else." His eyes land on me and Louise. Please, no.

"Descamps and Pardine, Louise and Dupin. Please remember your partner." I internally groan, placing my head into my hands. I look to my side, already seeing Louise and Dupin waving to each other, Louise giggling. I groan again. I don't look at Descamps. He doesn't, either.

Pichon raises his hand. "What if we're sitting alone?" The class laughs. I look at Pichon in pity.

"Well, you can work with Ms. Sabiani." The teacher says in response.

"Look. Pichon is blushing. He's turned pink like a pig." Dupin says, and the class laughs again. Even Louise giggles. She likes him, it's obvious, but what is there to like? I roll my eyes.

"That's enough, Dupin." The teacher shouts at him, the smile on his face gone. Annick raises her hand.

"Do we really have to work in pairs?" She asks.

"That's the whole point." He answers. "And I'm warning you, half a pair's work will result in half the grade."

××《☆》××

As I walk down the stairs, I look up when I hear pigs oinking. I wasn't wrong. Descamps' group of friends are pigs.

When I spot Simone and Michèle in the bench under the tree, our usual spot, I make my way to them.

"Help me gain some decency to go up to Descamps and not punch him in the face." I groan as I sit on the bench with them.

"It's unfortunate for you. Our teacher could've picked anyone else." Michèle says, pity in her voice.

"Should I go talk to him now or later?" They don't answer because they see Descamps make his way towards us.

I fight the urge to start an argument with him. About anything, really. Just to get him to stay a bit longer. I clear my throat at the thought.

"Your place?" He says, now standing infront of us, hands in his pockets. I nod once, and he walks away.

"Thank god that was over quick." Something deep inside me knew I didn't mean that.

Jean Pierre walks towards us with a book in hand. I look at Simone with a teasing smile, but there's something in her eyes I can't really tell. Like she knows something.

"Here, this is yours." He hands Michèle the book. "I put it in my bag by mistake." Michèle thanks him. He walks away with a 'see you later'.

Michèle continues to complain to us about her grades. Simone sighs, mind floating away. I look at her confused. I'll ask her about it later.

I look towards Applebaum. We make eye contact, and I smile. He looks away, fear in his eyes. What's up with everyone today?

××《☆》××

In one of those rare moments, my parents are home for dinner. We sit in the dining table, enjoying our food.

"Someone's coming over tomorrow. I know you won't be here, but I thought it'd be better if you knew." I tell them, handing small bits of food to George.

"Oh? What will you be doing?" My father asks, cutting his food into smaller pieces.

"Group project. We'll probably just stay in my room." I pet George as he eats his food.

"Are we going to meet her even after the project?" My mother says, looking up from her food.

"He, actually. And no." This makes them pause, silence surronding the room. My father clears his throat.

"A boy? And both of you will be in your room?" He says, placing his elbows on the table.

I take time to process this. "Papa, no. It's not like that." I turn red in my seat. "Trust me, it's just a project. Nothing else."

"Of course we trust you. It's just, you know. You're a teen, and teens go through... stuff." My mother says, stuttering a bit. I cover my face with my hands.

"Mama, please don't make it weird." I groan.

"No, it's perfectly normal for your age. If you want, we can forget about it-" I cut her off.

"Yes, please. Forget about it." I cut my food aggressively, face as warm as my plate.

We stay quiet as we finish the rest of our dinner.

××《☆》××

"The league of nations, L.O.N..." I fade the rest of the discussion out, watching the way the sun rests on the trees leaves, the birds tending to themselves. Last nights conversation clouds my mind, and I catch myself smiling for no reason.

I sigh every time, biting my lip in my own embarrassment. I glance at Descamps. He's focusing on the lesson for once. Nothing will happen at my place, right?

He feels my gaze on him and gently turns his head. His eye meets mine, and there's a small quirk on the corner of his lip.

"Quiet at the back." Ms. Giraud calls out suddenly.

Descamps looks away. I purse my lips, something stirring in my chest. My breathing is faster, and I feel warmer. Have I gotten sick already?

Annick walks into the room, hair tousled and frizzy. Ms. Giraud shouts at her, and my ear drums are about to explode.

Ms. Giraud gives Annick detention, and with every word Annick said back, an hour or two more.

Ms. Giraud continues to piss me off every second of the day with her strictness and very clear jealousy towards Annick. She finally continues the discussion, and I (annoyingly) decide to finally listen.

××《☆》××

I wait right outside the gate for Descamps. He comes running to the gate but slows down when he sees me, acting like he wasn't just leaping to get here.

"Hey." He says, acting nonchalant. He even has his hand in his pocket.

"Hi. Let's get going." I keep my face blank as I lead the way to my place. We walk in silence, listening to our footsteps next to each other.

Once we make it to my flat's building, I go up the steps, stopping in front of my door and unlocking it.

We step inside, the flat looking warm with the sunlight entering through the windows. I lock my door and drop the keys on my kitchen counter.

"Your coat?" I reach my hands out. He throws his coat to me, the heaviness of it making me stumble. I scowl but hang it anyway.

"Head to my room. Down the hallway to the right." I say as I grab a few supplies from my father's office.

"Want me in your bed already?" He calls out once he's inside. I hear a yelp.

I run to my room. "Descamps, are you okay?" I ask worriedly. He stares at George.

"What is that?" He points to George, who's currently walking toward me. I bend down and pet him, planting a kiss on his head.

"This is George." I carry George and craddle him like a baby. I walk towards Descamps with the furball in my arms. I rock him slowly.

"You can touch him if you want. He doesn't bite." I smile at the orange cat, then look up at Descamps. He's staring at me with the most soft look I've seen him wear. My heart thumps in my chest.

He clears his throat, hand going up shakily to pet George. George purrs when Descamps pets him. There's now a smile on Descamps face, as warm as his stare.

I bite my lip at the proximity. I memorise as much as I can about him.

The way he was breathing, like he was on a bed so soft he could sink into it. The way he smelt like faded cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. The way his bones moved under his skin as he bent over to take a closer look at George. The number of times he's blinked, the number of times he's laughed under his breath.

I dive deeper into my trance as he looks up at me. The way he stared now is so different from the way he did all those times before. Like we knew something that we haven't acknowledged yet. Or chose not to.

Something falls in the kitchen, and we snap back to reality. My face warms up, the lighting from the windows making it clearer.

Descamps walks away from me, clearing his throat again. "The cat's ugly." This makes me snap my head to his direction.

"What did you just say?" My brows furrow, defensive of the cat sleeping in my arms.

He rolls his eye. "Nothing. Let's get the project started, I guess." I glare at him for a couple more seconds, then I gently place George down on the bed, excusing myself to get more stuff from my father's office.

When I'm halfway to my room, I hear whispering. I peek at the slit on my door, wondering what was happening behind it.

Descamps is petting George, whispering words as if he's hushing a baby to sleep.

My aura softens, and my heart bursts with admiration. I accidentally drop something and curse to myself. Descamps hears the thud on the floor and pushes himself away from George. George continues to sleep.

I open the door then close it gently. "Let's get started."

××《☆》××

"Do you have suggestions?" I ask Descamps. He doesn't answer, his head turned to the side. I sigh.

Before I could say anything, he talks. "What's that?" He nods to the book on my shelf. It was a copy of the story of Achilles and Patroclus, with a notebook strapped on the front.

"It's nothing important." I shake my head. He purses his lips in thought.

"Can I see it?" His question catches me off guard, his head finally turning to look at me. No one's ever showed interest in my books or notes. I stay quiet, then after a while, I nod.

He gets up from the bed and grabs the book. He takes the string that attaches the notebook to the copy off. He scans the back of the book and hums.

"We can base the project off of this, if you don't mind." He holds up the paperback and the notebook. I'm stunned in my place.

"It's really not that interesting-"

"It must be if you had a whole notebook dedicated to it." There isn't even a teasing tone when he said that. He meant it genuinely.

"Fine." I sigh, grabbing the notebook from his grasp.

"Good." "Great." "Amazing." "Piss off." "Whatever."

"Mind if you read it to me?" He says. "I have a feeling I'll understand better when you say it, since it's your work."

I nod, hesitantly. I opened the first page of my notebook. Most of the stuff I've written in it is a summary and a review of the book.

He leans back on my pillows. I let him. I started to read.

"Patroclus was a young prince, exiled from his kingdom for accidentally killing a boy, and was taken in by their neighbouring king, King Peleus."

George purrs as I pet him. I shift to a more comfortable sitting position. Descamps' eyes are on me.

"When Patroclus first saw Achilles, it was in a competition run by Patroclus' father. He described Achilles as if he was looking at a painting made with precision and grace." I flip the page. George walks over to Descamps' lap. I huff, ignoring it.

"When they met and officially talked, Patroclus thought he'd hated Achilles. Achilles and his beauty, his speed, his perfection. In the years that pass, they grow to be attached to the other." George meows. The meow that indicates he wants petting.

I pause my reading, and Descamps looks at me confused. "Why'd you stop?"

"George wants pets." Descamps makes an 'oh' sound and pets George. He meows again.

"Maybe he wants you." Descamps says, petting the fur baby on his lap. I sigh and lean in close to pet George. With the uncomfortable position, I shift to sit beside Descamps on the bed. I clear my throat and pet George. I continue to read.

"They knew everything about each other. What they'd prefer, like how I like the rain too much to cover it with an umbrella, but know I'll get sick without it. That's how the two worked. They knew every detail, every routine, every habit, every movement. A love you'd have to fight the gods for."

A page is flipped, smoothing out of paper echoes in the room.

"Achilles and Patroclus loved each other with every inch of their heart and soul. Quoting the book, Patroclus states, 'He is half my soul, as the poets say'. Along with the famous paragraph." My eyes switch to the next page.

Descamps shifts in his place, leaning back on the pillows, looking at the pages where I'm reading off of. I start to relax, leaning back, too. George purrs.

"I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

I take a glance at Descamps, and he's already looking at me. George snores in his sleep, making the aura of the room warmer. More comfortable.

His eye dropped to my lips, and I could've sworn I was hearing a heartbeat as fast as the wind at fall. I glance at his, pink and soft, like a cushion ready for rest.

When we lean in, slowly, too slow, my heart drops as he pulls away and stretches. I furrow my eyebrows, a dread of realisation. He's been toying with me. I close my notebook and gather my things.

"Where are you off to?" He asks. I don't answer him.

"Hey," He grabs my arm. I take it back from him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." I say coldly. "I'll finish this project myself."

"What? No. This is a group project remember?"

"I can't keep doing this. You're too hard to work with." I stack the books and materials in my arms.

"We haven't even gotten anything done yet." He flops his hands in the air.

"Exactly. You're too distracting."

"What did I do? I've been quiet the whole time."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem. You're too quiet. You aren't suggesting things."

"What does that have to do with anything?" He raises his voice.

"Just shut up, okay? Just leave. I told you I'll finish the project by myself." I get up from the bed, heading to my father's office.

"But I don't get why you're suddenly mad!" He stands up, following me.

"You don't have to know. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Fucking fine. You're being too stubborn anyways. Do all the work. Getting pissed off for no fucking reason." He grabs his coat from the rack, putting it on. He doesn't even glance at me, opening and shutting the door with a loud slam.

I even out my breathing. It was going fine. Then I think to myself, what was? Me and Descamps, going fine? I laugh at the thought. I hated that boy. I hated him with my whole heart. My mind travels to the notes I was just reading.

Patroclus had thought he hated Achilles in the start, too. I shake the thought out of my head, slipping against the wall to sit on the floor, knees to my chest.

I hear tapping on the floor boards. I look to my side to see George, meowing softly. I take a deep breath in, then reach my hand out to pet him.

I hate him. And I know I do. He lingers in my mind like a fog in the mountains. The way his aura had softened, his smile, his warmth. I hated the thought of him, but then he smiled, and like Achilles, his face was like the sun.

××《☆》××

Night comes, and I lay in my bed, windows slightly open for the wind to come through. I'm restless, not getting a blink of sleep. I'm halfway through the project already. If Descamps had helped, it'd take longer, I think to myself, trying to still feel angry.

I don't feel angry at all anymore. There's a sort of regret in me for pushing him away. But at the same time, it's what he deserved. We had leaned in, and I didn't even know what I was expecting. I should've expected him to pull away, but what was he going to do in the first place?

Was he going to whisper in my ear? If so, what would he whisper to me? Was he going to say something about how I write, how I speak? A thought so blurry pops up in my head, and I brush it off. But it felt warm, so safe, so soft. There was a scent stuck in my head as I reminisced on the thought, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

I fall asleep in the process, dreaming about the thought instead. Limbs touching, bending, adjusting. I taste cigarettes and strawberries. I smell smoke and expensive perfume. I feel something soft against my lips, hands cupping my face, my neck, my head, and my waist.

He felt warm, tall, and heavy against me. I hold onto the dream, relaxing.

××《☆》××

I wake up, sweat coating my skin. George sits on the window sill, the sun making him shine like gold. I sit up and stretch. I get off my bed and head to my bathroom.

My hair is messy, and I have a bit of dried drool on the corner of my mouth. I wash my face to give myself some energy. I take my clothes off lazily, tying my hair up and getting inside my shower.

Once I finish, I comb and fix my hair, head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, grab my things for school, including the unfinished project, and head to the front door.

A stack of paper tied with string greets me. I furrow my eyebrows. There's no note. I squat down and pick it up. I instantly know who it's from.

It's an essay about Achilles and Patroclus, detailed and opinionated. Written on the last piece of paper, sitting at the bottom of the stack, it reads, "I bought a copy. Finished it for you."

I stood still, processing the words, flipping through the papers to double check if they're authentic. I let out a scoff of surprise. My head snaps to a nearby clock. I'm going to be late if I don't start walking now.

My feet carry me to the front gates of Voltaire, the familiar faces and light chatter calming me. I spot Simone and Michèle, and I make my way to them.

××《☆》××

Rain starts to fall. The rain always brought me comfort. The different sounds it made when hitting different objects, the way it sways with the wind, the smell it gives the grass after.

I lag behind Simone and Michèle as they make their way to the field. I look for my satchel, then remember I'd forgotten my umbrella. I curse to myself, finding the satchel. It felt heavier than usual. I look inside, then see a clear umbrella. I open it and twist it around, gaping in awe. There's a note in the bag. I open to read it.

"Don't get sick from what you love." The note said.

There's only one person I've told about my love for rain.

I head outside, hiding my red face once I see a drenched one-eyed boy. I smile to Simone and Michèle, spotting them seated on a bench. I glance behind me as I sit down, finding an eye already looking at me with a small smile. His smile drops, and he looks away when I catch him. I purse my lips.

We watch the match, getting my mind off of the boy with ash brown hair. Once the match finishes, we all make our way home. I look up, seeing the rain pattering against the clear umbrella. I smile, watching the water droplets slip off the plastic, hearing the pattering of rain.

××《☆》××

The next day, I repeat my routine. I thoroughly read through Descamps' essay, rewritting it to fit in with mine. I should be thankful, and I am, but Descamps is making my head hurt with the way he acts. I walked to school, going subject after subject, until our presentation finally came.

Earlier, I'd slipped him the script, tucking it in his bag. I hope silently that he's memorised it.

Annick and Pichon are presenting in front of the class. I smiled softly, impressed by the presentation, and refreshed with the dynamic of the two. If only things had gone differently with Descamps, we could've been good friends. But we aren't. I don't think we ever will.

Once they finish, our teacher calls me and Descamps to the front. My anxiousness radiates off my body. Simone and Michèle give me a reassuring look. I nod at them slightly.

My eyes meet Descamps, and we're standing at the front of the class. They're quiet, and my eyes scan all of them. Surprisingly, Descamps starts.

"Me and Pardine are going to present the story of Achilles and Patroclus and the debate of their relationship; romantic or platonic?" Descamps looks at me, his hand hovering at the small of my back for support.

I start, and faster than I thought, I finish the presentation. The room claps, as they do with the others. I glance at Descamps but see him already walking back to his seat. My smile dropped slowly, remembering I was still on his bad side, and vice versa.

I walk back to my seat quietly. I don't even hear the score because my mind is too occupied with the thought of him. Would we stay angry at eachother always? At the same time, it shouldn't matter. I hate him. Right?

I shake my head. I hate him, surely. I should. I dig deep in my head for a reason. Bullying Pichon and Michèle, toying with my feelings (feelings I'm not aware whether it's good or bad), the way he acts, and smells, and feels when he's near.

I fucking hate him. I really do. I hate him, I repeat in my head. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Then, like earlier, something inside me knows I don't mean it.

At the end of the day, I make peace with solitude. My mind wanders, and I notice that every time it does, they always end up with the face of a one-eyed boy.

Sure, Descamps gave me a finished essay for our project, and sure, he gave me an umbrella that was clear so I could see the rain. So what? I still hate him. Maybe just a little less now.

××《☆》××

End- Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say.

Next- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

××《☆》××

End of chapter three. Rollercoaster of emotions this one. It's a bit shorter than usual because i took out a bunch of the scenes in the series to focus on the emotions of reader and hopefully u guys get what im trying to give. Thanks for reading, requests r open, and see u next chapter!!!

[catmelonwriting]

the fic of aku and chuuya where the reader has bulimia was so good omg :,)

as someone who also suffers from bulimia i found it so so comforting

if possible could i please request another one with dazai, nikolai and poe <333

please remember to take care of yourself!! <3

More BSD Men with a bulimic! Reader

Warnings: Bulimia, vomit type purging, Nikolai is ignorant, Nikolai spoon feeds you, Nikolai in general, I really fucking hate Dazai so I'm a little mean in his part, reader is not underweight b/c this is based on my experiences

Characters: Dazai, Nikolai, Poe

A/N: this is my first time ever writing for poe and I do not think I nailed his character but yk it's chill.. also I don't really like this I think the only one I really did good was Chuuya in pt 1

Part one here

Nikolai

- I'm so sorry 4 this but he probably thinks ur pathetic..

- Thinks bulimia is gross IM SORRY

- He won't try and stop u till his DUMBASS is informed by Fyodor that Bulimia, especially vomit + laxative purge types are very very very dangerous!!

- A sick part of him wants to encourage you to continue so if you die he'd feel free but ofc he pushes that away and won't encourage you

Oneshot

Catching you purge

You two had just finished eating dinner on your couch when you promptly excused yourself to the bathroom. He looks up at your standing form with suspicious eyes, but doesn't say anything and lets you wander off towards the bathroom.. just until he hears choking and coughing coming from your shared restroom.

You let out a gasp of surprise as you hear the bathroom door open with a loud bang. Fuck, did you really forget to lock it? You pull the end of your toothbrush out the back of your throat and turn around to face your loving boyfriend with tears in your eyes, who had a look of pity on his face.

He groans in exasperation, "Dove.. didn't I tell you to stop doing that?" He asks, his time filled with faux sympathy as he picks the toothbrush out of your hand, placing it back in the holder. All you can do is sigh.. he just didn't get it. "Kolya, I wish it was that easy, but it's not. It's really, really not."

"Oh please, excuses excuses." He mutters, pulling you to your feet before closing the toilet lid and flushing your dinner down the drain. "C'mon, let's get you some more food." Pulling you out of the bathroom by the arm, he drags you to the kitchen and sits you down on the floor.

"Kolya.. no.. I don't need anything else. I don't want anything else." You grumble while he digs in the fridge and pantries. "Well, you just threw up all the nutrients I gave you.. so we gotta get at least a little bit more in you." He smiles, sitting down in front of you with his legs crossed. He placed a bowl of applesauce in front of you, lifting up the spoon to your mouth. "Say aahh.." he giggles, and you begrudgingly open your mouth.

Once the bowl is finished, he places it in your sink and looks down at you with a serious edge in his eyes. "Now.. bathroom is off limits for.. let's say an hour. Cmon, I'll tuck you in."

Poe

- such a sweetheart omg :(

- holds you in his lap with his arms everytime you try and scurry off to your bathroom after a meal

- unlike nikolai he WILL stop you before you even get the chance to throw up

Oneshot

Stopping you from b/p

He had just finished cooking dinner and had placed your portion in front of you, before sitting across from you and staring down at his own meal. Poe had never eaten much himself.. but tried to start eating more to be a good example when you told him about your 'mia.

You wanted to cry. You knew you were either going to shove this all down your throat in five minutes or you weren't going to eat any of it, and you knew he knew. "My love.." He starts, his voice soft. "Can you try? Just a small bite?" He mumbles, reaching across the table and piercing a piece of broccoli on your fork, holding it up to you.

You took a deep breath, and took the fork from him, placing the food in your mouth. You tried, so, so hard. You placed the dirk down while you were chewing, making sure to go slow and take your time tasting the food.

Slowly, with his help, you finished your meal in what you two would call a normal length, around fifteen minutes, but everything inside of you told you to runaway towards the bathroom, stick the back of a toothbrush down your throat and rid yourself of all these calories. "I'll be right back, Ed." Clearing your throat, you stand up and walk towards the restroom.

You heard him sigh and his hand caught your arm, causing you to turn around and face him. You let out a huff as he pulls you down onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist and keeping you there "I know what you're going to do." His voice was soft, and gentle, you hated & loved it at the same time. It comforted you but it also made you feel so.. small, like you can't take care of yourself.

All you could find yourself able to do was lean into his touch, muttering a thank you while you rest your head on his chest.

Dazai

I fucking hate him so much I want him dead I hope the next attempt works Dazai

- Another IGNORANT man although this time he'll probably try and act like he cares

- bro probably threatens to tie you to the bed to stop you from binging

- "You can't ruin your perfect physique by binging, 'donna." Little does he know that does NOT help

- He'll say similar things about purging though too so it's fine

- "Shouldn't purge either. You're gonna screw up that pretty little throat and then I can't use it for .. other things."

Oneshot

Catching you binge

You were on the kitchen floor, stuffing your face with the pan of brownies you had made last night. You had already downed a bottle of milk, a loaf of plain bread, dry oats shoved into your mouth by the handful, anything you could think of. You wanted, no, needed, as much as you could get.

You jump as you hear a key turn in the front door, followed by the door opening and closing before Dazai stood above you, a look of disappointment on his face, and was that.. disgust? You knew people thought bulimia was disgusting, but him? Really? Your loving boyfriend?

"Okay, bella. Let's get this cleaned up." He sighs, pulling you to your feet. You were frozen, you just stood there as tears welled in your eyes from the humiliation and guilt. You needed the throw up. You pushed past him and sprinted towards the bathroom, only to be caught by the waist halfway there.

"No, no, no." He tuts, pulling your back against his chest. "There's no need for that. Remember what I said about needing that throat to be ready? Yeah, it's not gonna be if you're vomiting." He looks at you with a sickly sweet smile and all you wanted to do was collapse on the floor and sob but his arms kept you there.

Eventually, he pulled you down onto the floor with him so you sat on his lap as he whispered sweet nothing's in your ear, while you cried wishing you could just vanish.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

riffing off socially awkward deeply anxious König, do you think he would do better digitally? chatting with someone he met online or someone who streams an obscure game? you have a lovely relationship with him and then before you meet in person he's like so. i'm. very. awkward. as a real person. i might not. talk a lot. you'll be carrying the conversation, don't take it personally. you have a captive audience for ANY topic. anything. you want. and why is it going to be a/b/o's spn origins

Okay yes this absolutely. I can totally write something for that. I hope this story suffices!

Now, I have no idea what you mean by the omegaverse, but I could try making an omegaverse!König if you’d like. I do not understand by spn omegaverse origins. Please feel free to either respond here or ask in my inbox. It should be open??? Tell me if it isn’t.

Anyways, onto the story! More below the cut.

König Prefers Quiet Time

König is a voracious reader, so he’s rather verbose and eloquent when online. His messages are witty, insightful, yet practical and grounded. He’s quick to become your best online friend. After all, he’s so well-spoken! He writes beautiful paragraphs that are easy and amusing to read. It’s rare to find such a delightful person online.

And he’s so quick to win over your heart. Whenever he can be, he there’s for you. He’ll take pictures and videos of sights on deployment or jot down little stories to tell you when he can. Sometimes he can drop off the face of the earth, but he’ll be back online soon enough and messaging you about how his latest mission went and what he did (within reason, can’t give away secrets).

Every time he comes back online, you know you’re in for a good time. Whether it’s him complaining about teammates, or having to argue about directions with a local, he’s got fantastic (yet terribly awkward) stories about his days. He always says he’s so shy and hates social situations, and sure he sometimes sounds a bit strange when he recounts the stories, but they're so fun that you don't really take in how it would look from an outside perspective. Sure, he sounds a bit dorky in these stories, but still so eloquent! He’s got this little way of describing things with abstract metaphors that make you smile and wish you were there by his side.

It took a lot to convince him to have a relationship with you. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s that you ask to meet up in person. He tells you that he’s happy to meet you, but then why does he suddenly have more missions? He’s so punctual, but he missed his flight? When he goes on about having a stubbed toe, you have to put your foot down. You want to see him, and that’s final.

Begrudgingly, he books a vacation with you.

When you go to pick him up from the airport, the first thing that stands out about him is how tall he is. Then how big. You didn’t think they made people in that size. This guy has Shaquille O’Neil running for his money. Like, how? And then you realize that he’s crouching down to make himself look smaller. It’s insanity. At the very least, he’s easy to pick out in a crowd, what with his hood and all. You do worry about him fitting in the car, though.

So you go up to him, and then he sees you and he looks nothing but elated. It’s a beautiful moment between you two. In that hectic airport, with people calling in many languages and bags squeaking and the cars outside honking and revving their engines, it’s perfectly silent and beautiful. It’s a wonderful moment that you think you’ll cherish until you die.

The next moment is where it all falls apart.

He accidentally drops his bag and it spills everywhere. He scrambles to pick it up and he keeps looking around with wide eyes of terror so you take pity on the poor lad and lean down to help. He then promptly stands up and cracks the crown of his head against your nose and now your nose is bleeding and oh no he dropped his bag again and now he’s apologizing and then he’s rushing to the bathroom and you’re left with the realization that you fell in love with an absolute mess. 

By the time he’s back, your nose has stopped bleeding and you’re packing his belongings back into his pack. He tries to silently offer you tissues, so you take them and wipe your nose tenderly, but when you make a joke about it he doesn’t say anything. Odd, but maybe he’s just a bit frazzled.

You’re driving back home when he finally says his first words to you besides ‘hi’, ‘sorry’ and ‘oh no’.

“Thank you,” he says as he stares at the road ahead.

“What, for the drive?” you laugh, “it’s no problem! I mean, it’s not too bad. It’s about an hour’s drive, but I’m fine with that!”

König says nothing, just nods as you speak. You’re starting to worry that you picked up the wrong person. Where was the confident and friendly man you spoke to online? Where was his friendly joking? At least you now understand his awkward and amusing stories he told you, because even though you love him, you can’t help but feel terribly awkward. If he’s this bad with you, you can only imagine how bad it is with others.

You were prepared for someone who was going to talk your ear off, but you felt like you just picked up a skinwalker instead. Was he even blinking? You can’t tell. He looks shell-shocked as he gazes off into the distance.

“So, um, how was the flight?” you ask with a wide smile.

“Gut.”

Anything more? No? Nothing more. Well, that’s helpful.

“Did they give you anything to eat on the flight? Are you hungry?” you ask, hoping to pry more than a couple words out of him.

“I ate,” he says quietly.

You nod and bite your lip. So this is what it was going to be like?

You take him into your home. For the entire night he refuses to take a step outside.

By the time noon rolls around the next day, you decide to take the initiative and knock on his door.

“Hey, König?” you call.

You get a hum from behind the door.

“Can I come in?” you ask nervously.

There’s a pause, then a hiss and a curse, then the door opens.

“Thanks,” you whisper as you squeeze by him, but he doesn't move to let you in any easier.

König sits delicately on the edge of the bed while you sit on a stool across from him. You look at each other for a few moments before you crack.

“Am I… Am I not what you thought I’d be?” you ask nervously.

König tilts his head as he narrows his eyebrows.

“I mean, just…” you sigh, “you talked so much online, but you’ve barely said a word since I picked you up from the airport. Are you okay? Is there something wrong?”

You hesitate for a moment, before you tack on, “Is there something wrong with us?”

König’s eyes slowly widen before he shakes his head quickly, the fabric swinging like a dog shaking after a dip in a lake.

“Nein, you are…” he gestures towards you with one hand, “you are perfect. It’s just… Ah…”

You brace yourself.

“I am not good at talking,” he admits.

You deflate. That’s it? He’s not good at talking?

“But you’re fine online,” you point out.

“Ja, but this is… It is different,” he sighs, “I am not good at talking to people in person. It is.. Scary. I do not like to talk much.”

You nod as you listen carefully.

“So…” you rub your thumb over your kneecap, “would you like me to do most of the talking for us? Would that make things easier for you?”

König nodded quickly.

You laugh as you feel your shoulders relax.

“Great. I think I can do that.”

From then on, the visit is wonderful. Now that you know that König just isn’t great at talking in person, it’s a delight to talk to him. Sometimes you think you talk at him, but you realize pretty quickly that he’s listening attentively to everything you say. He’s a delight to speak to. If you ever lose your train of thought, he’s quick to help you get it back so he can listen to you further.

You realize pretty quickly that he worries too much. When you take him out to places, he’s nervous and flighty. The louder and more chaotic, the worse his social anxiety gets. As such, you find yourself going to more quiet areas. You chill and relax in quiet cafes, go to the aquarium at night, even play some games at a board game cafe in the middle of the day, when there’s nobody else there.

He’s a friendly man, all things considered. You also quickly learn the basis of his awkward stories.

You’re at a grocery store when you see it in action.

“Oh my God you’re so tall!” a woman looks up at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

König barely turns to acknowledge her, but he gives her a curt nod.

“Can you, like, help me with something?” she asks eagerly.

König looks down at you, then back to the woman.

“What is it?” his voice is sharply cold, and you can see the woman wince.

“Well, um, there’s this thing on the top shelves, and I was hoping you could get it for me?” she says, a bit nervously.

“What is it?” he’s somehow worse than last time.

“Um, uh, I can show it to you?” she offers meekly.

“I need to know what it is,” König practically tears her head off with how brutal he sounds.

You grab his hand and squeeze slightly, but it seems like it’s all going downhill too quickly.

“It’s-”

König turns to face her abruptly and she’s stumbling back before scurrying off. König watches her go, then turns to you.

“Why did she go?” he asks innocently. You can hardly believe him.

“König…” you start slowly, “is that how you usually speak to strangers?”

He thinks for a moment, then nods.

“König I think I know why you think people hate you.”

König’s eyebrows raise up for a moment, “You do?”

You nod, and give him a brief explanation. You can see his brain doing somersaults in his head, practically melting out his ears as his entire world view is shattered before him. Before he can respond properly, the woman is coming back with security in tow.

It’s no wonder König has so many interesting awkward stories.

[love-fictional-ppl]

Sooo... What if you did some fluffy angst with a pro-hero Bakugo (and his hearing problems of course) with a pro-hero reader who has REALLY bad hearing problems but doesn't tell anyone and tries really hard to hide it. Ahhhh. I feel like this is hard to explain but since like, he has hearing problems of whatever he'd pick up on the hints that you're hearing is shit and what not. I hope you get what I'm asking for 😭🙏

Ok so I hope this is what you’re asking for, also I just want to put a disclaimer out there for everybody that I am not somebody who experiences hearing loss so feel free to let me know if anything written is offensive, incorrect, etc.

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Birds of a Feather

Summary: look at the request silly’s😋😋

Pairings: hard of hearing!prohero!katsuki bakugou x deaf!gn!reader

Warnings: Angst, language, Bakugou & reader reads lips and knows ASL, Bakugou wears hearing aids, crying, low self esteem lowkey, Obsession on both ends, L word, kinda ooc Bakugou

A/N: I wanted to make this longer but like I kinda got writers block halfway thru😭😭

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Being deaf was hard on you, always the target of bullies in school. Pitied by everyone else, talking slow and loud thinking it will help you hear them. Hey dumb fuck, I can’t hear you. You wanted to scream at everybody, then one day through tinder you met Katsuki Bakugou.

Katsuki was the most relatable person you probably ever met. Angry, blunt, hard of hearing, overall an introvert. You swiped left on his profile, you suddenly felt obsessed with him. Quickly you realized he was pro-hero Dynamight.

You and Bakugou talked for what felt like an eternity, an eternity of bliss. Eventually Katsuki asked you out on a date. You met at a cafe, apparently his favorite.

It was pretty easy for you to pass as “normal”, if you focused on his lips and watched their movements you could tell what he was saying. He doesn’t have to know.

What you didn’t know, Katsuki was as obsessed with you as you were him. He felt drawn to you, that how he wound up stalking your social media accounts. Through that stalking, he quickly realized what most dumb men likely wouldn’t, you were deaf. He figured you wanted to tell him on your own, so he pretended he didn’t know better.

Then, you two started dating and suddenly katsuki had to pretend he didn’t know better for months. You slipped up a lot of times and made it obvious but he didn’t care, he loves you.

It started getting hard to pretend he didn’t notice, considering you recently moved in with him. Katsuki concocted a plan in his head to tell you he knew so you could both move forward. You both felt the tension between you.

Sitting down for dinner one day, you and katsuki were both enjoying the meal you had cooked for the two of you. You sat directly across each other at the table. Katsuki made sure to turn his hearing aid on, he had a habit of turning it off.

You went back and forth talking about each other’s days. “-shitty fucking Deku, thinks he’s better than me.” You laughed at your boyfriend’s aggressive behavior.

Bakugou felt relieved at your delight, he took a deep breath and spoke, “look, I wanna talk to you about somethin’ but I don’t want you to get upset.”

You frowned slightly, “hey, it’s ok. Go ahead and say it.”

Katsuki let out a breath, “we’ve been together for months now. I’ve made it clear with you from the beginning about the fact that I need a hearing aid, there ain’t no judgment. That’s why I wanted you to tell me on your own terms, but anyway I know that you’re hard of hearing or deaf or whatever.”

You were stunned. Your big hunk of a boyfriend, the number two pro-hero was rambling. Even more so, he knew your very well kept secret.

You let out a sigh of relief, “I’m deaf. How did you-“

“You lip read. Also I’ve known since we first met,” Katsuki admitted.

You started sobbing and not because you were sad, but because you were glad to have it out in the opening between you two.

You chuckled and signed, I love you.

Katsuki signed back, I love you too.

“You could have told me, dumb ass.” His words were playful with truth behind them.

“I know it’s just-“ Katsuki must have heard how shaky your voice was.

Once more, he cut you off, “hey, you don’t have to talk about it right now. We’ll talk about it another day.”

You couldn’t help but lunge yourself into your boyfriend’s arms. Katsuki securely wrapped you in his arms.

“You’re the only person who has ever understood me,” you admitted into his chest.

“I’d kill for you,” he wasn’t sure why he said, but you both knew it was true.

You chuckled, “just keep holding me.”

And he did.

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Not Proofread!

[ravencincaide]

Precious flowers get picked first

Summary: Being in charge was not an easy feat for Chuuya  especially when his subordinates reached a new level of failure. A mission a glorified monkey would be able to accomplish. Yet here they were, humiliated in front of the entire Yokohama by a little brat. Still if you kept up with that attitude then Chuuya would just have to make the move himself. Before anyone else managed to pluck his flower from him. 

Pairing: Ability user fem!reader x Boss Chuuya!

Inspired request from anon: “Placed in a universe where Chuuya is the port mafia's boss and the reader is someone who made a mistake and caught the eye of the port mafia. Maybe they got involved with some mess and ended up being a port mafia's target?” 

Warnings: Cursing, blood, an intrigued, possessive and annoyed Chuuya

Enjoy~

“ So let me get this straight” the executives words were spoken slowly, condescendingly, as if addressed to a child or a barely competent idiot who sputtered pure gibberish “- you butchered the fuckin’ mission; got your asses kicked, pick pocketed and left naked at the bank of Yokohama river to waddle all the way to the base by a fucking brat?!” 

Chuuya’s piercing eyes studied the dozen men in his office. He ran his gaze over each and every one of them; their blank faces, fear filled eyes and a slight shift in their body language that loudly screamed ‘failure’. The disheveled appearance of the more experienced members and the fish-out-of-water expressions from the new recruits only added to the awkward atmosphere. They all looked like they would have preferred anything- even death- to the predicament of delivering such a humiliating report, in person, to their boss. To stare Chuuya in the face and admit that they not only failed in their assignment but did so in the most shameful fashion- a disgrace so spectacular that death was the least of their worries. In fact they all looked like they would have preferred the encounter with the grim reaper instead of this. 

For a second, Chuuya shared that sentiment. Frustrated sigh escaped his lips; a gloved hand reached up and pressed against the bridge of his nose between his eyes in a futile attempt to combat the oncoming headache at the realization that he had yet another mess to clean up. Why bother with subordinates if they were this fucking incompetent? Why be a boss if he spent more time in the field than ever before? 

Fucking morons. 

Chuuya’s free hand rested on his desk, a nervous finger tapped away against the mahogany wood right beside his top hat, a freshly poured and forgotten glass of wine and an unlit cigarette propped up against the ashtray. A ritual to mourn the lost. The initial plan was the lost comrades- now he had the mafia’s tarnished reputation to lament for. An incident that would make Port Mafia the laughing stock of the entire district; an invitation for other organizations to challenge them. To challenge the current world order, the long since established status-quo. 

“..A girl” 

Chuuya’s eyes instantly shifted to the youngest recruit who’s pitiful voice echoed around the office. The man ducked his head; finding the carpet-clad floor uncharacteristically interesting as he repeated himself an octave louder “ It was a girl” 

“ So you had the fucking time to check the brat out instead of roundin’ her up?”

Several men flickered their gazes between each other; the closest to a lewd grin they’d dare express in front of their boss. It was as if they took Chuuya’s question as an invitation to share their observation- perhaps if they appealed to the man rather than the boss then their punishment would decrease from certain murder to manageable- albeit torturous existence.  

“ Well she was really pretty, like a serene pretty and her voice was-—” Chuuya’s fist made contact with the table; the crack of protest from the splintered wood- like the fracture of bones- silenced the office. The red power surrounded him like an ominous warning; it dared the next person to open their fucking mouth, and  become very acquainted with gravity.  

“ A little girl beat a dozen mafia and you’re fucking raving about her appearance? Get out of my sight before you regret it” Chuuya’s voice was a dangerous hiss that came out in between deep breaths. When none of the men moved he launched an ashtrash at their heads; the heavy glass hitting the youngest subordinates in the forehead. It split the skull in half, spilled its dark red insides all over the boy's face and Chuuya’s office. Not sufficiently to kill but damned near close. 

The final warning. 

A warning no one questioned as the men shuffled out of the office; some of them lingered just long enough to gasp out an apology and a ‘thank you’ for his mercy. A sharp look made them rush out and shut the door firmly behind themselves. It left Chuuya in dead silence for once during this entire damned day. Surely no one would be stupid enough to disturb him more on this godforsaken night. 

Chuuya took several calm breaths. Regained his composure, calmed the spiraled bloodlust into a manageable humm in the back of his skull. Then he stood up from his desk and made sure to take the glass of wine with him. He took a sip of it, the sweetness of it shifted the murderous bloodlust into a different emotion-  a different type of lust. For a moment Chuuya lingered by his desk, torn between going back to the icy luxurious apartment in the city or to remain in the stuffy spare room of his office. He glanced at the paperwork; eyes lingered on the late evening newspapers that depicted his underlings humiliation. 

Then he groaned audibly. 

He would need to gather his executives first thing tomorrow. Silence the publicist- deal with anyone who dared question Port Mafia's authority. Sign new deals; shut Dazai the fuck up before the damage could spread to irreversible proportions. 

With quick steps Chuuya headed towards the door in the corner of his office partially hidden by a dark curtain. Past it was a simple room with a bed, a dresser and another door which led towards the bathroom with a shower. He walked past those and towards the tiny glass table with a lamp in the corner by the only window.  He flickered it on. The lamp flared and lit up, the strong rays chased back the darkness of the room. In doing so, it illuminated a handful of pictures on the wall. 

Your pictures.

 The ones stolen from city archives- copied from security cameras. Most were fuzzy with the exception of the largest one in the middle which he had stolen- purchased- from your old family photographer. A picture unfitting the family album- or engagement-proposal photo. It was most certainly Chuuya favorite. This was the one where you showed your true character. Large curious eyes half lidded in boredom behind long lashes, lips pulled up into a displeased frown and arms stubbornly crossed over your chest. A huge red flower in your hair, just barely held in place with hair pins. 

“ You’re losing your touch, flower” Chuuya murmured as he stared at your picture. “Such a mistake to be seen; so careless. Tsk tsk tsk” 

A twirl of his wine, its sweet aroma filled Chuuya’s senses. He took a sip of it- salvaged it in the moments it took to walk up to your picture. A gloved finger trailed out your features; from your hair, to the outline of your face, over your neck then up to the frown on your lips. He ran his thumb over them, as if to brush out the sullen look. His own lips itched up into a humorless smile.  

“ hmm  m’precious, keep showing off, keep being a such stubborn naughty girl and I might just need to fetch you myself” Chuuya’s grip tightened over the photograph, scrunched it in between his fingertips as his expression twisted into something obsessively morbid. Indeed you, alive and in front of him, would be magnificently better than a mere photograph. A precious little flower who would not escape his grasp; a pretty flower he would not let others-  let any other man-  touch ever again.

After all, Chuuya was the boss of the strongest underground organization, the leader of Port Mafia. And what kind of boss would he be if he let someone else pick his precious flower first? 

Author Note: Finally this fic is out! It took me longer than I wanted it to and I hope this piece fulfilled the anon's request (if you're still around of course! So so sorry it took me so long!).

And for the rest of my gorgeous reader I hoped it peeked your interest enough that you'd wanna read a (possible) part two ;)

Liked this fic and want more? check out Raven's masterlist!

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[got-me-moonstruck]

Talk down to me…

⚠️🔞NSFW WARNING

Sub! Jungwon x GN!reader/mommy! Reader

Warnings: degration, a bit of swearing, “wh0re” is used, reader is called ‘mommy’, Jungwon is shy

“Y-y/n….. can we, um.. t-try something….d-different…this time?”

★・・・・・・・★・・・・・・・・★・・・・・・・★・・・・・・・★

You know jungwon likes to be praised, a lot. It’s at the point where it is incorporated somehow every time you have sex. He sometimes even gets hard from you praising him outside of the bedroom. Just telling him how well he did at the recent dance practice, or stroking his hair and calling him a cutie.

So when jungwon wants to ask you to go the other way, degrade him, it’s very hard for him. He’s so embarrassed, trying his best to hint it at you, but you don’t pick it up at all. Yes, he LOVES the praise, he would never deny that, but he’s recently had different fantasies. The thought of you calling him names and punishing him for being a brat until all he can do is cry out your name drives him crazy. he just doesn’t know how to say it.

At some point he breaks, frustrated that you’re not picking up any of his hints. He is underneath you, like he has been many times before, But now you hear a faint, small voice stuttering…

“Y-y/n….. can we, um.. t-try something….d-different…this time?”

He’s not making eye contact, just blushing like crazy and looking as far to the side as possible. You can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks.

“Of course baby, anything you want.” Your voice is breathy and calm.

You stroke his chest to try and ease his tension and he lets out a shaky breath.

He mutters something, but you can’t hear him.

“What was that?”

“Can you, um..maybe…. T-Talk down to me..?”

You smile as you take in his words.

“Oh? What’s this? Can you say that again? Hm?”

You asked but your smile tell him you already heard. He covers his face and whines some apologies.

“look at me.”

He looks at you again, eyes dark and glossy, almost crying from embarrassment

“Why’d you never tell me you were such a whore? How long have you been keeping this from me? I mean, honestly, who has both a praise kink and a degration kink? That’s just filthy, Jungwon.”

His eyes widen a little as he stares so deep into your eyes. You move to kiss his neck

“The way you were looking at me earlier…. you were just begging me to fuck you, weren’t you? Poor thing….”

you move to whisper in his ear

“can’t think about anything but me, can you? Head empty, can only think about getting fucked stupid, fucked like you deserve. You know I have to punish you, brat”

You bite his ear and he lets out a cry he’s probably been holding forever.

“Are you crying now? What the hell, haha? You asked for this, didn’t you? Did you change your mind?”

You press Your hand onto his bulge.

“No! Keep going. It’s so good, soso good, it feels really good.”

He’s very hard, dick practically bursting through his sweats.

“You’re so pathetic, Jungwon. You really get off on this? How embarrassing.”

You keep massaging him through his pants.

“Take these off.”

He quickly does as you say. He doesn’t waste any time in freeing his swollen cock. He gasps as he feels the cold air hit.

“You’re so fucking easy, Jungwon. Why should I even touch you? All you’ve done is be a slut. Honestly, I should just leave you with this. It looks painful. You are such a pervy boy”

Jungwon lets out another whine as you look him up and down and click your tongue.

“Look at this, You’re leaking already, I didn’t even touch you. That’s disgusting”.

You rub your thumb over his wetness.

“Look at you. What a pitiful sight.”

You pull his cock towards you and watch it spring back. Jungwon whimpers at the contact.

“Please- pleasee”

jungwon cries

“please what?”

Jungwon lets out another cry at your strict tone.

“I want- want y-you to touch it. Please, please, please. Mommy, please!”

Hearing him say mommy definitely made you weak

“Call me that again.”

“Mommyyyyyy! mommy mommy mommy mommy mommyyy” he cries and grips onto your shirt. “Please mommy, pretty please? I’ll be so good, I’ll be so so good. I wanna cum, pleaseee”

Jungwon surprised you with the sudden confidence. He looks ethereal like this, how on earth could you ever say no?

You give his dick a few good strokes and he sighs out in relief.

“I think, I’m c-close…”

you laugh.

“Wow, what’s that? 10 seconds? That’s pathetic. You really are a whore. My stupid fucking whore.”

“I-I’m gonna c-cum!”

He holds onto you very right before he lets out a line of moans and cries. His cum shoots out all over your hand.

“Look, you made a mess. How gross.”

★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★゜・

A/N: I am so down bad for him today i don’t know why. Subby jungwon will always have a special place in y heart <3

[hungharrington]

this might sound a bit weird, but personally i find comforting someone and like. boosting their confidence really fucking hot. like i get off to fixing someone’s insecurities

like maybe an insecure steve about how he’s not the same person he was in high school, thinks he’s lost his charm and attractive looks or whatever due to his scars as well as change in body (he’s not 16 anymore, he’s gonna have a bit of pudge)

just like body worship and, in the best way i can describe it, fucking the belief into him that he’s still gorgeous. like lots of praise

hot or not?

HOT !! HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT!! i'm not sure if 'fix' is the right word for it but i am GOBBLING up what you are putting down my god <3 lots of praise is my fuckin JAM MDNI this entire blog is 18+

i actually don't think that steve is overly that insecure, especially to do with his appearance-- most of the insecurities that pop up with him are to do with his abandonment issues :( but that does not mean there aren’t little moments, yknow?

sometimes it’s a comment, sometimes it only takes an old photograph, especially something something from his earlier years when it was just sport after sport after sport— and look, he likes that he's not as lean as he used to be but then, well sometimes old jeans just don’t fit right and his tummy pushes over the waistband and steve doesn’t hate it, he swears he doesn’t, he just spends a couple extra minutes in the mirror.

he thinks you won’t notice— thinks there wouldn’t be any way you would be able to tell and honestly, he thinks he gets away with it- his usual charm gets all the laughs and you seem to be more giving with your kisses tonight, on his neck and cheeks whenever you can, but he doesn’t make the connection at all. but then back at his, when the kisses get more heated and you’re sprawled in his lap, both of you half undressed, steve starts to notice the extra attention. the lingering lovebites on the inner of his thighs, the nuzzling along his happy trail and tummy — these these motions that draw attention to these parts, these fickle little moments of insecurity, all while you douse him in pleasure.

steve doesn’t mean to let you lead, to let himself squirm on the sheets while your hot tongue licks up his cock but you have a determination in you tonight that he’s far too willing to submit to. every moment your lips aren’t stretched around him, not making him cry out and tremble with how good it feels, you’re whispering into his skin— “feeling good, baby?” you murmur sweetly, pulling your mouth off and pumping the length of him in your hand, teasing at the top. steve nods quickly, arching his back as you speed up your hand. you kiss the skin where his thigh meets his pelvis, your free hand soothing up to his tummy.

“mm, good,” you hum, lightly tonguing his vein, as your hand slides back down from his tummy, gripping into the flesh of his thigh. “s’want you to feel good, stevie— want you to feel good always, cos you are. so fucking good and so fucking beautiful, hmm? my beautiful boy.” and god, steve knows what you’re doing now, a loud whimper slipping out his throat at the realisation - that you’d somehow picked up on his own disappointed looks at his appearances and taken them in stride, showing him in a way he’d understand just how easy it was to love all of him.

steve moans loudly, the noise all high pitched and pitiful, his hands pawing at the sheets for one of your hands to hold, that familiar hunger in his gut boiling hotter and hotter— you release your hold on his thigh in an instant to reach out and lace your fingers together, squeezing tight, and when you take him back in your mouth, steve whines again loudly— feeling hot, feeling loved, and the sour thoughts about the extra pudge on his tummy far far from him now <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Close to You 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you have a crush on your roommates boyfriend but getting over it isn't easy.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Author’s Note:  Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“I got it!” Nick snarls as he stomps out of the bedroom. You flinch and sit up. You didn’t even know he was there.  

Of course, it isn’t his bedroom that he’s strutting nearly naked out of. No, it’s your roommate’s. Lindsay cackles after him. 

“Don’t be such a grump,” her words barely carry through as her television blares loudly from the other side. You should’ve known why she cranked the volume so high. 

It's strange how she's always snappy with him, and he barks back at her just the same. You always imagined relationships to be more peaceful. Well, you wouldn't know, would you?

Before you can catch it, your book tumbles to the floor and you gulp. Nick stops short and grins crookedly as he fixes the elastic on his boxers. They hang so low you can see the perfect vee of his pelvis. You try not to look even as your eyes disobey your embarrassment. 

“Hey,” he drawls. “When’d you get home?” 

You rub your lips together and bend to grab your book. You don’t think he really cares but he’s just that type. He always says what he should. He always knows just what to say. And he’s so dreamy. 

Ahem. No. 

“Just... an hour ago,” you stand up and fold the throw blanket. “Sorry, I didn’t...” 

“Didn’t hear you come in. You’re always so quiet.” 

“Am I?” You clutch the book to your chest and avoid looking directly at him. 

“Well, compared to Linz...” he snickers. 

“Get me a cooler!” Your roommate shouts as if she heard her name. He rolls his eyes and strides into the kitchen. He grumbles but you can’t make out the words. 

His praise sticks with you as you watch his broad back disappear. He has muscles where you didn’t know muscles could exist. And his eyes. Beautiful and blue. His arms... 

Stop. 

You scurry for the hall but before you can pass the doorway to the kitchen, he comes back out. You stumble back and pick at the corner of the book cover. You look him in the eye, afraid your gaze might stray a bit too far. 

“Oh, woah, sorry,” he brushes his hand over your hip. “We’ll try not to keep you up.” 

“Uh, sure,” you step back and sway nervously. “I never... I can’t hear...” 

“She’s loud,” he scoffs and turns, two bottles hanging from one hand, necks squeezed between his thick knuckles, “have a good night.” 

“Er, you too,” you squeak after him. 

The door shuts and you cringe. Uh, you always sound so stupid. You barrel forward, forgetting the whim for a snack before bed, and close yourself in your room 

You’re so pathetic. Lindsay knows it and Nick does too. It’s obvious. That tension between you is nothing more than pity. They’re always together and you’re always alone. 

You put your book on the shelf and shuffle to your bed. You open your laptop and turn on the period piece that always makes you feel a little better. It doesn’t work tonight. You just feel lonely as you watch the pining between the straight-laced lord and lady. 

You turn it off and put on an endless lo-fi track instead. You can her Lindsay’s television. You change into your pajamas and shut off the lamp. You lay down but you’re wide awake. 

You try not to think of them. Not to think of him. 

You close your eyes and let the soft tones ease you. Still, you’re uneasy. It takes an hour to drift off and even then, it’s shallow.  

When you wake up again, the low music plays from your laptop but all else is quiet. You sit up, groggy to the point of dizziness, and amble around your room. You go out into the hall and click the door shut behind you.  

You head down to the bathroom. You should have gone before you laid down. 

You pull your bottoms down and sit on the toilet as you’re about to burst. You sigh and bend over your lap. That bottle of diet coke was a bad choice for more than the aspartame. 

You sit up, your muscles stiff from sleep, but before you can stand, the door opens. You cry out and cover yourself. Oh no! It had to be him. 

Nick puts his hand up and apologises as he backs out. Your body is set alight with humiliation. You quickly get up and pull your pants to your waist.  

You take your time washing your hands and stare down at the sink. You can’t even look at yourself. Why didn’t you lock the door? Stupid. Stupid. 

How much did he see? You try not to think of it as you near the door. You open it slowly and peek out through the tine slit between the frame. You poke your head out completely and step into the hallway. 

You set each foot down lightly, not wanting to give yourself away. As you approach your bedroom door, it’s open. You can’t remember if you shut it. 

You stop just before your door and raise your nose. You smell his cologne. You know it’s him. The scent clings to the couch and often trails after him.  

Ugh. You hate yourself for even thinking that. Even your inner monologue can’t help but be the most embarrassing narrative. 

You flit behind your door and lean into it until it’s closed. You drop your head and sigh. Well, you will be hiding until you’re sure he’s gone. You’ve dug this hole deep enough.