#think of it as an exercise: i'm doing it just because i can and hope to make it at least subjectively better than original

[kurosagi-h8r]

Rain of Affection

Character: Alan Mido x reader

Summary: Trapped under the same tent during your camping, you had no choice but to seek warmth from each other under the sudden rainstorm.

tw/cw: just kissing. a bit slowburn maybe. grammatical error might exist

word count: 1340

The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and pine. The rain drops pouring down the tent like bullets made it difficult for you to hear anything else. It was soothing, in a way. But it put you in an awkward situation where you had no choice but to be stuck in the same small tent as your camping mate.

"I'm so sorry for making your tent wet, Mido..." You tried to hide the way your lip quivered from the cold. The jacket that was once protecting you from the rain is now dropping water on the floor.

"Take off your jacket. You'll catch a cold if you keep wearing that." He's sitting awkwardly in front of you, trying to make himself small to give you more space inside. Still, being the one carrying most of the supplies and gear, he had to carry them back in his own tent because of the sudden rain.

You're reluctant to take it off but he was right. You couldn't even hide your shivers anymore. "Maybe later... all of my stuff is outside, you see." Left outside under your unmade tent. You didn't even have the chance to bring it with you inside — not that there's any space left inside Mido's.

He awkwardly inched closer to you — even without doing that you could feel his breath on your skin. Flustered, your first instinct was to lean back, however you were met with bags of his stuff. His hand reached to grab something and you swore his shoulder almost touched you. You even caught a whiff of wood scent on him, most likely from gathering branches for the fire.

"Wear mine," He said.

You stared at the jacket on his hand. "But what about you...?"

“You need it more than me.” Alan sounded rather quiet compared to the sound of rainfall on top of him. “And we don’t know how long the heavy rain will last.”

Again, he was right. He knew more about camping better than you were, of course. You complied and took off your jacket. Some of the water at the hem of your sleeve left your skin freezing. Then Alan took your jacket and folded it to be put away elsewhere.

His jacket was thicker than yours, perfect for camping. Although the difference in size made you drown in it. Your hands could barely show themselves, but it made it easier for you to warm yourself. Looking at him, sitting in front of you wearing only a t-shirt that’s half drenched… won’t he also freeze himself like that? Even if he were, he clearly didn’t show it.

“Aren’t you also cold?” you asked. “I feel bad for having this all to myself…”

“You’re the one more drenched here, (y/n).” And you did. All because you weren’t that good in setting up your own tent. You couldn’t possibly ask him for help with that too on top of the pile of work he insisted on shouldering.

“Still…”

Alan was sitting with his legs crossed beside you, not looking particularly anywhere – for some reason you hope he's not trying to avoid looking at you. But sometimes you do wonder what he's thinking at the moment… because it's getting pretty awkward with just the two of you, unable to go anywhere with the heavy rain happening outside. So you decide to be the one to break the silence.

“Mido… what do you usually do to stay warm?”

That five seconds of another silence felt humiliating. Was it a weird question? Anyone can ask that, right? But if you hear it again, it feels like you were trying to suggest something. Oh God, what if he feels uncomfortable answering it…

As you were about to apologize to him, he responded with, “Exercise. But we can’t exactly do that right now.”

“Ah…” you nodded. It was expected from him. “That's one way to do it.”

Exercising was out of the option. You needed to look for another way so that he wouldn't freeze himself, because giving back his jacket was also not going to happen, he would pull out other excuses to refuse.

Then it came to you…

“We can sit closer…” in a normal situation, you would've wanted to hide yourself from embarrassment. “I can't let you freeze yourself, Mido. Please?”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. “There’s no option for me to say no, is there?”

A smile tugged at your lips. You scooted closer to him, attempting to embrace him, trying your best to not make things even more awkward than it already has. His body went rigid upon feeling your breath on his skin, his mind was screaming for him to back away but your warmth… Alan couldn’t help but find himself starting to melt to your touch.

“Alan,” you said softly.

He swore it went straight to his heart. You shouldn’t have let his name roll off your tongue like that. What blush was to appear on his face and you had to witness that? What if his heart beats a little too loud that you could hear them? So close to your ears like how close you were that you could count his lashes.

“Can I maybe…”

“Hm?”

“Can I put my head on your shoulder… please?”

Before Alan could react, a sound of thunder roaring not so far frightened you; making you jump at your seat– accidentally pulling him tighter in your embrace. You were trembling all over and his body confirmed it. To think that seconds ago he was only thinking about his own pride and honor…

Alan – not wanting to frighten you even more – carefully wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him as he whispered in your ear, “It’s alright…”

His touches, albeit too rigid in fear of hurting you, brought you the comfort you needed. His hand soothing you on your back, and the other covering your ear from the loud noise. All you could hear was each other’s breathing, and each breath made you feel drowsy. In that moment all you wanted was to drown deeper in his embrace and never wake up.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

Thinking that he’s giving you a sign, you immediately put some space between you and him. But his hold on your back couldn’t get you far from him. “I’m sorry! I-i think I’m good now.”

His soft gaze was fixed on yours. “You sure?” 

The realization sent blood rushing to your face. His face was so close – too close that your nose almost touched. Did he ask me something? To be able to utter any word would be a blessing but your ability to talk seemed to jump out of the tent the moment your eyes locked.

Alan, with all the courage he had, “Y/n.”

“Yes…?”

He’s not sure whether you said something or not just now. Not with you looking up at him and your hair between his fingers. The voices in his head were whispering things to him. Telling him that he should let himself go and feel his fingertips against your skin; that he should do something with how lonely your lips were. You needed more warmth. So let him be your warmth.

‘Please don’t hate me for this,’ was what he wanted to say before he listened to his demons.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

And then the rainstorm stopped. The world to your senses was no longer thunder in the sky, or the scent of wet dirt, or even the piercing cold in your bones. All you could feel was… Alan. His trembling lips on yours, his hand on the back of your head, the heat spreading through your body.

Your world had become him.

Everything became Alan. You see him when you close your eyes, you taste him at the tip of your tongue, drowning yourself in him and all his desire to have you.

And there’s nothing you want but to seek deeper, into the depth of his affection.

[violettierre]

I : majored in english, has a masters degree in it, studying philosophy, and have been an English teacher/Junior translator for almost a decade now.

My grandma : there is our future doctor <3

[supercantaloupe]

my poor body. she does not work so good

[photomatt]

You gonna do anything or make any statement about the rampant transmisogyny on this hellsite, especially in cases like predstrogen recently? Or yall gonna stay silent and keep letting/making us get pushed off of it.

I have a number of asks about this, so this is to address all of them, I won't do each individually.

We generally do not comment on individual cases, but because there seems to be mass misinformation around this, I will make an exception and comment on predstrogen.

First, Tumblr has a number of LGBT+ including trans people on staff, and they see things from the inside fully, and they're not protesting this case.

Why do we wrongly have a transphobe reputation? We did have an external contract moderator last year that was making transphobic moderation (and also selling moderation, criminally). As soon as we were aware that person was fired, and we later terminated the entire relationship with that contracting firm and have brought almost everything in-house (at great cost). I have previously commented on this publicly, several times.

I am not aware of any Automattician (people who work at Automattic and Tumblr) who has made any transphobic moderation actions. If it's reported it is investigated immediately, if anything were found that person would be terminated for cause immediately.

Predstrogen's account was suspended for:

Repeated mis-tagging of adult content against Tumblr's community guidelines. This has nothing to do with clothed transition photos, she had 20+ other blogs and multiple accounts with names so explicit I can't post them here without a mature tag.

Multiple cases of harassment of other Tumblr users, not just me.

Multiple threats of violence, not just the one I share below.

These represent a breach of our Terms of Service, and we've exercised our right to refuse service.

Threats of violence are never okay. Threats of violence are not protected speech. We will work with police and FBI where appropriate, though to be clear prestrogen's case hasn't warranted that so far. I'm referring to what we may potentially do for other threats. I just got a death threat yesterday from someone mad about predstrogen, and that account was immediately terminated.

So regardless of whether you still think Tumblr staff is somehow a bunch of transphobes, know that threats of violence or death are still not acceptable and will result in immediate and serious action. Know that when you rile people up, they can do dumb things with possibly permanent consequences.

(2 hours later update: I have changed instances of the pronoun "they" or "their" to "the account" because I am unaware of pronoun preference in this instance and don't want to misgender anyone. Thank you for the people who reported this as an issue. Update 2: "She" is apparently better, the post now says that. Sorry for the mistake.)

Here's one (of many!) examples of the harassment violations, this one targets me but there are others targeting other users on the site.

The second part seems to indicate she wanted to be suspended, I'm unaware of why, perhaps to create this sort of uproar. I agree the hammers feel silly, but the start, "i hope photomatt dies forever a painful death" is a violation of Tumblr's community guidelines and terms of service.

The car part did hit close to home as I have almost died twice in car accidents.

Update 2: Added this text to the adult content part: This has nothing to do with clothed transition photos, she had 20+ other blogs and multiple accounts with names so explicit I can't post them here without a mature tag.

[boredymcbored]

Let's Vent

cause IDK if this will see the light of day but I'm upset.

You're sad. You're miserable. You're so easily fixable too. But only indulge in the sad huh?

Like my mess of a room. My weight gain (I'm surprised I'm not more upset at that for all the work I've done). Your loneliness. Cause you were lead on by a woman to join a friend group that you desperately needed (nefariously). Then were lead on again by a woman to join a friend group you desperately needed (genuine?). And you can't step away cause you're So Dang Likable! (TM) and you also love those people and need them cause you're so dang lonely.

Which is also your fault. Cause even after seeing two close friends in caskets, you can't get over your guilt of not being there the last couple of years for your HS friends and think it's best to remove yourself from their grace cause they're better off without you. Even though they keep saying they miss you.

And it's not just your highschool, but college friends too. You know of one person that always forgives your proclivities to self isolate and still be there but you can only text him sports ball shit. Still haven't told him when you'd call back btw. And yes he's your best friend the world has ever gifted you, but he's not yours. For that reason.

You can't even get solace from your incredibly worried mother cause she is quarantined from you because you actually decided not be be a recluse and hang out with friends. But they tested positive for covid. Now you're cut off from the person that can smell your sadness from miles away cause you can't even socialize with friends right before leading you to more isolation. At least you dodge her looks of pity and concern a few days, huh?

And now you beg for a sports ball team you like to be playing a game so that you can dissociate with the parasocial environment of twitter and reddit to FEEL at least somewhat fulfilled in the social department right? But it's social junk food and you know it. The artificial connections that you formed are not meaningful and you can act like it adds validity to some type of work that you've done in the past cause PREVIOUSLY people noticed it but now you don't have much of an aura of notability now do ya? Probably cause you're not on TV and only seem to be doing the same couple jobs with no career growth.

Not that you even want that growth do you? Cause you could be applying but are letting something that potentially ruined your ability to smoothly get hired or just traverse through the world weigh on you. And TBF the weight of that will now stick with you. That INCREDIBLY stupid thing that was non consequential has been a dark cloud over you for 3 years and won't go away cause of forces out of your control. ONE thing you can't control in this vent.

But you can control how fucking sad you get when you don't answer work questions right away and your mind starts to replay the words you've found hard to push out your mind "You can never do shit. You don't do shit". That woman that was supposed to support you, that you went through hell and shame to earn, told you that shit after you gave up so much of your self to help her, while you were fucking spiraling. And she broke you, didn't she? All the confidence that you were just starting to rebuild brick by brick was once again laid askew. You still haven't built it back either. From doing the world to barely being functional, that shit broke you in ways that you still are struggling with today. Guess you don't do shit after all.

My brain isn't rational rn. It'll say things that aren't all the way true or are heavily influenced by my loneliness, my anxieties, my fears and general unhappiness that I have rn in life. It's bringing up all my childhood traumas and insecurities to front and center stage and I just ... And it's no one else's fault that I'm feeling this way. But I feel neglected. And scared. of what i'd do. And my rationality. It's stopping me from being dramatic. Like right now I'm screaming to myself BITCH STOPPPP being so dramatic. And knowing my goofy ass, even with all my tears and fears, I smile as I write this..

But I know it's coping. It's self soothing. It's just me playing survivor man. Les Stroud at your service. Spending 7 days in the deep Andrea mindfuck wilderness. Scary, I know.

Cause the instinct to call for friends. Or call for help. Has taken over by the big bad that is my mind. And it's winning. And eating my life away. By doom scrolling. Making content and never releasing it. Having ideas and never doing it. Good ideas too man. So much creativity. And a gift. Ruined by a brain hungry to dim the light I'm holding on for dear life.

This is not a cry for help. I've been a lot more sad. A lot more crazy. Nothing is like being in the bathroom of my dorm after continuous isolation and identity issues, just trying to rip myself out of my body and away from the negative voices that were screaming at me to hurt myself. Everything was so grey then.

I still see color. I can find joy in the media I consume, despite the immense guilt I feel afterwards for not doing much else but that. Steph Curry is playing well? That makes me happy. I streamed. That was pleasant as well.

I feel like a waste of space but there's SOME rational part of me that reads all of what I wrote and KNOWS it's a lie. And I pray that I never lose that voice cause it's a DAMN good voice. I know I am the reason for most of these things, but not even in a bad way. In a way I can fix if I work on myself, one step at a time.

I just need hope to pull that out. And idk where to find it. I'll have to be the one to pull it, I know. I just need.. I don't know. But I need. And I feel pathetic for being so needy. And wanting. And being so unstable. But I NEED. And I don't know where I've gonna get my need from..

I just hope I find it soon.

[clamorybus]

i know a lot of people say things like 'if my post doesn't apply to you then its not for you' when they make advice posts, which i totally get. but when people make posts dissing picky eaters or adult cartoon fans or whatever, and other people point out that includes disabled adults, i feel like "oh i didn't mean them!" doesn't really work, y'know?

[alwaysshallow]

boys trying to survive nnn with their partner (141 + los vaqueros + könig x f!reader)

a/n: if it wasn't for @blissful-bunny, there wouldn't be nnn. LMAOOO i hope y'all will enjoy, it's my first time doing something like this... and i think i don't hate it as i did before!

mdni, as always. nsfw below + keegan's version here

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Being around Ghost durning this time is funny, to say the least. You know about this bet from Gaz, when you invited the whole Task Force 141 for dinner. There wasn't much of a reaction from you, just a nod and a hum that's interesting to hear that. Nothing more, until your boyfriend's friends went home, and you stayed with him, washing dishes.

"You think you're gonna last?" you ask, and you pretty much can't stop yourself from laughing when he gives you a side eye.

"'s just a month." he grumbles, and you know, you somehow irritated him. Or, the bet did, you're not really sure. "Been through worse."

Theoretically, it is true. He's military, he has seen things that you won't ever see, something so stupid like this challenge shouldn't be something hard to do.

Practically? Practically, he takes every fucking chance to get closer to you. You're making breakfast, showering, washing the dishes? He's gonna be right behind you. It's not surprising at first, he liked to be near you always, but it has a malicious intent to it, when he drags his clothed cock up and down your ass, grunting right into your ear. He gets you worked up, and you're pretty sure he's gonna lose, but he stops right before he cums.

You can't really decide if it's funny or sad to see him like this. It's his pained expression that he gives when he bites on his lower lip, grumbling something about watching you touching yourself, so it will be better. You can't really say no to a man starved, so you put out a show for him, thinking how so much better his fingers would be in your pussy.

If it would depend on you, you'd kneel and relieve him, but what can you do, when he has this ridiculous challenge of his?

He breaks after two days, when he sees you in your shared gym, exercising. It's unexpected, when he puts down dumbbells you were working with, doing squats; you want to ask what's wrong, but when he lifts you up, your back hitting the wall, you just know. You even forgive him when he doesn't prep you enough, and he just thrusts into you without much thinking of it, his balls heavy.

You know you won't leave this gym for a long time.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"You're participating in what?"

To say it was weird, was one thing. To say that Kyle does it, was even weirder, especially that he was straight from two months of deployment. Needy. You knew it, as you were with him almost three years by now, he had always spent hours in bed with you because he missed you like a madman. These two months were pretty much the longest you've been separated with him, so, you can imagine your surprise, when you learned about the challenge, when you two were cleaning your apartment. He was touching you every now and then, giving you little kisses, and now he was talking about something like this.

"I'm—"

"—No, I heard you" you chuckled, shaking your head. "I'm like… trying to understand who convinced you to do so."

"Bet with Soap. Lad thinks 'm not gonna last with you." he murmurs, and you just know that this motherfucker made this as a personal challenge. So, you just nod your head, to Kyle's surprise on his pretty face. "That's… all you're gonna say?"

"What else I'm supposed to say?" you raise your eyebrow, amused. "That I feel sorry for you, this will do?"

"That ain't funny."

"It is, kind of funny." you grin, as you kiss his forehead, at which he closes his eyes, so you repeat kissing his forehead a few times. "I'm gonna support you in this, yeah? So it's gonna be easier."

It wasn't easier. You could see that he glances at you every now and then, when you are doing domestic things around the house, giving him little, encouraging smiles. Little do you know that Kyle's bulge is growing larger and larger every time he looks at you.

Gaz is pretty calm, at least until he sees you in his t-shirt (that is way too big for you) and just panties underneath, sitting right beside him with a bowl of popcorn. You two planned to watch a movie, but your boyfriend quickly brushes it off, as his hand wanders under the hem of your panties.

"Kyle, you—"

"I know." he almost growls, as he puts you on his lap.

The moment he feels your wetness, he's a gone man; he makes you ride him, and the challenge is just a fading memory, when his lips attack yours.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap is absolutely offended when everyone in Task Force 141 tells him he's gonna lose the challenge. He can't shut up about it for an hour straight, as he lays with his head on your lap, telling you something about celibacy and being true lover, not some "horny arse like the others". You listen to it with a small, amused smile on your lips because as much as you love your boyfriend, everyone is right about it.

He's not gonna last, and he knows it personally too, but you say nothing about it. You just listen to Johnny's ramblings, until his eyes are on you, observing your reaction so casually.

"What do ya think? 'm gonna beat it? Be the best?" he tilts his head like a puppy, squinting his eyes. It's an icy ground you're standing on right now.

"I think… it's gonna be hard." you answer; slowly, reluctantly. It's not something that he wants to hear though, as he groans, shaking his head with displeasure. "What? You asked!"

"I ken it's gonna be hard. 'm askin', if 'm gonna beat it" he emphasizes his last words, and you can feel he barely holds himself from rolling his eyes.

"…well, baby, as much as I have faith in you in other things…"

It's not a good answer for him, nor for a challenge, considering that you end up getting fucked by him – it's some kind of punishment, he tells you, when he folds you in half. He tells you that he also didn't lose the challenge, technically, as you had sex November 1st , at 3 a.m. You nod, hesitantly, so you could go to sleep without causing him to ramble about it again; you are exhausted.

It takes him three days of fucking you in various places to finally come into the conclusion that the challenge isn't for him. Three days of promising and hearing him whining that it's gonna be 'st the tip, baby, to feel you good.

"Good that you've figured that out." you say with a small smile, in restaurant's bathroom, his forehead against yours, as his cock is still buried deep inside you.

"Lasted longer than lads. Sure of that."

John Price

You want to think of your husband highly, when you hear of this stupid thingy. The authority, someone that leads the Task Force 141, setting the example for his younger proteges with his willpower. Someone who actually cares about engaging in challenges, even if they're stupid, even if he shouldn't even look at something like this.

Yet, you know John, you're married to him, for God's sake – and you know his sex drive. When this man is home, nothing and no one stops him from getting what he wants, and that's on you. In your mind, there's a core memory of him saying that he absolutely loves your pussy, multiple times.

So it's not a surprise that he doesn't participate in this challenge. It's not a surprise when he babbles about having kids with you while he fucks you wherever he can; kitchen counter, under the shower, your couch. His obsession over kids grew over this month more than ever, and you were happy to meet his expectations in a middle, since you thought of having a little angel in your small family for a longer time now. Having a dog wasn't enough.

A surprise comes when he proudly admits that he won in the end of the month. Boys are pretty much shocked by this, considering that their Captain didn't even look frustrated once, and he was in better mood than usual. Yet, they don't have a place to complain, so they accept the defeat with a frown on their faces, and a quick comment from Soap that he for sure cheated.

"You didn't win, honey." you laugh to him, sitting at his lap, when he's in his office, alone.

Price arches his eyebrow in amusement. "I did."

"That's not really—"

"Listen, we were tryin' for babies, weren't we? It wasn't egoistical fuckin'." he explains, completely serious.

It takes all in you not to either gasp or laugh again. "So, if it would be without the intention of making babies, you'd lose?"

He gives you a quick nod. "Exactly, missus. Exactly."

Alejandro Vargas

It's easy to last a few days for Alejandro. Maybe even a week, or a bit more. With his kind of work, being a Colonel, you often didn't see him for days, or even weeks if it was a bad time. Right now, with working over destroying a Mexican cartel, being home was rare for him. Was it saddening? Of course, but you knew what you were doing when you married him, you've talked with him about it for days, maybe weeks, even.

So, maybe that's why he didn't really think much of a challenge when he agreed to it, one of the nights he was drinking with Los Vaqueros. Just for fun, just to make a fun memory in this mess they were in. Days were passing in the blink of an eye with the same routine; a few hours of sleep if he's lucky, patrol, documents, action and repeat. Nothing too fancy, nothing too new for a man of war like he is, he got used to it all.

Harder was the moment he came home to you, where you were waiting for him with your open arms, all needy for his presence, for his touch, but somehow, somehow he managed, giving you the best orgasm of your life with his mouth only, even if he was in need too.

"Cariño?" he calls you, confused, when he doesn't see you in bed in the next morning. In his sweatpants only, he goes to the kitchen, following the sound of pan that sizzles lazily in the background.

"Makin' breakfast, Ale!" you reply, looking behind your shoulder with the biggest smile that slowly falters the moment you see his eyes darkening in the span of seconds. "What's with the face?"

He approaches you slowly, caging you between his arms. "Just… appreciating" he says, as he starts kissing your neck "my little wife. Who's been really patient with me, gone for so many days. And now, you're making me breakfast—" he groans, shaking his head. You can feel his growing bulge, as you grind your ass against it.

It's obvious that Colonel lost the challenge, after he arrives to his work with his wife, his arm possessively around her. Why? Maybe it's your neck covered in hickeys, your trembling legs, or his arms visibly scratched, but no one says anything about it in the base.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

You have a kind of forbidden romance with him; you're the one of Los Vaqueros, and the romance is absolutely prohibited here, to prevent the collapse of the squad. Not to mention that he's a right hand man of Alejandro, so he has to follows the rules directly. Maybe even more than anyone here, to be honest; setting an example that he's not a exception to the rule.

It doesn't help that you're so kind. That you nod every time you see him as a silent greeting, and then you rush to do whatever you have to do today. It doesn't help him that you're helping everyone around you with a smile that could light up the whole town, and he smiles every time he sees it, too.

Everyone pictures that Rudy would win the challenge easily, since in their heads, his head wasn't occupied with anyone, and he could easily withold himself with his desires.

And maybe he would. Maybe he would, if you weren't the one guarding the base with him, if you weren't the one who was smiling at him with those plump lips of yours.

"If you'd only know how much I thought about… hah—" his breaths are ragged, as the pace of his hips gets quicker. His lips finds yours, as he kisses you with such hunger, you know without a doubt that he means what he says. It automatically makes you smile.

"It's fate that binds us, then" you say, your fingernails clutching at his arms; you're sure that you're the creator of bloody crescents here, but you can't care less about it. Not when the man of your dreams is fucking you.

He smiles at your words.

Rudy never been a good liar, and you painfully learn it, when Alejandro asks him why he's so happy; as you stand nearby, you hear the whole conversation. It's cute in some way, the way he's a blabbering mess, without any sense of it.

It takes Colonel's one look at you, and he knows.

You never walked faster to your work, neither did Rudy.

Konig

If you think he's gonna even try playing at this, you're in deep denial. Maybe if he'd be alone he could try of a genuine curiosity, but not when he has you. Such a pretty, obedient girlfriend, that he has wrapped around his finger, and a girlfriend that is pretty much at his service every time he wants.

He's a man to laugh about that challenge with his squad, telling them that they're filthy, and he would last the whole month, maybe even longer, if it weren't for you. Because he's such a caring boyfriend, he listens to your needs, even if you're whiny.

At least, that's the story that his squad knows.

He tells you about this while he folds you in half, that he needs to act a little grumpy around his squad, to put a facade that he's hungry because it's the right thing to do. When you suggest that he could even try, he barks a low laugh, while he pumps his cock before thrusting into you.

"Schatz, as if. Not gonna play the kids game." it's all he says, kissing you with affection on your swollen lips. "I do not intend on torturing you like this. You wouldn't survive a day without my dick."

There's some truth to it — but you're truly wondering if that's you who wouldn't survive without his dick, or he, that wouldn't survive without your pussy and sex, considering he is even more of a maniac than you are.

dividers by cafekitsune

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[occamstfs]

Diet Diaries

Hi all! Thank you so much for 500 followers! Here's a little style switch up to celebrate, got a lotta refs in this one and I quite leaned into the diary entries so I hope it's not too much! Hope y'all enjoy this stereotype reversal and as always, best! -Occam

Monday March 21st-

Andy:

I am beyond sick of Steve. Moving in together was a mistake, I don’t care how cheap the rent is, he is a narcissistic slob and I am eager to never see him again. Well no, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Our R.A. had this idea to try and walk in each other's shoes, which I don’t know? It might not be the worst thing? My big idea was switching diets actually- honestly I’m just hoping if he ate more like me he’ll stop stinking up the dorm. I can dream at least. Literally though he just can’t go to the gym as often if he eats like me. If I'm lucky at the very least his deodorant will last longer, I cannot take another day of his b.o. seeping through the walls, ugh! Anyway, wish me luck! I’m sure this will be a breeze for me, he usually just eats junk anyway, hope he enjoys my salads~

Steve:

Andy that little fucker. He was being such a little bitch to James and now I’ve gotta eat his rabbit food for a week or lose this bet or whatever. Steve don’t lose tho. Lil twink’s gotta eat whatever I make him too and you can bet your ass I’m gonna make him match my macros if I’ve gotta starve myself like he wants. Fuck! This shit is going to absolutely tank my routine! I’ve gotta make Andy give up. I’m gonna go so hard on him he’ll have to hit weights if he doesn't want to blow up like a pig. Maybe then he’ll stop bitching any time I don’t fucking shower every time I get back home. 

Tuesday March 22nd-

Andy:

My Lord! He is trying to kill me! I don’t know how anyone could consistently eat as much as he’s telling me to. I’m so bloated from all this food.. He looks so smug every time he tells me to keep eating, I’m sure he doesn’t eat like this. He’s just trying to break me but I’m not going to let him win this easy.

Ugh, I feel so bloated my pants are so tight on my waist. I didn’t think meat sweats were a thing but man I am needing to put on deodorant like twice a day now and I’m not even exercising. I will say that now that I’m eating so much, I don’t hate the idea of going to the gym. It’s been a while since I went but I should probably at least hit up the treadmill lest I get even more of a gut- maybe I’ll see if he wants to go tomorrow. This is all just an exercise to understand each other more after all, no need to make it a stupid competition like he wants eh~

Steve:

Fuck! I am so tired of Andy’s pussy-ass diet. I had absolutely no energy at the gym today, I told all my bros that I was just gonna take it easy but fuck! I really was working my ass off and I struggled to even meet a PR I set last week. It was supposed to be a push day and I didn’t even get a chest pump! Why the fuck am I still going. I’m abso-fucking-lutely not getting gains on his fuckin’ bitch-ass salads and oats.

Eatin’ like a fucking twink and the fucker has the nerve to ask to go to the gym with me tomorrow. I’ll make sure he regrets that >:) Gonna work him like a horse so he’ll throw in the towel! After feeling how sore actually working on yourself makes ya, he might actually learn something. I’ll turn in early so I can go all out and show him what a real man looks like.

Wednesday March 23rd-

Andrew:

Man! I totally get why Steven eats so much now~ I am absolutely raring to go and get this; He said I could go to the gym with him today! He even seemed like he wanted me to go with him! I feel like I have more energy than I’ve ever had before, I might even try some weights!! I don’t know but I’m so excited! It’s like I can feel my chest and biceps begging me to go and hit some iron haha! Or whatever those “bros” say~ I hope he’s got something good planned for lunch because I fuck Sorry! I just want to show him that I can do all this dude stuff too! I’m a man right? I guess all this protein is making me feel more like a man than usual idk. Either way though I’m ready to go! Hope we have some fun!

Steven:

That bitch’s fuckin’ fru fru salads are ruining my PR’s for sure! I bet he knew that when he begged me to take him to the gym today, knew it was the only time he could show off to me was when I’m so out of it. And he didn't! Just to be clear I could still wipe the floor with  him even if I’m not at my A-game. Ugh, I do gotta hand it to the little fucker though. I KNOW he hasn’t even really set foot in a gym before but man. Beginners luck my ass, as soon as I showed him a technique he lifted like he’s been doing it his whole life! It’s like I could see his pecs and tris swelling up with each lift. Not that I was staring at the bitch or anything but he’s just I just need this fuckin’ diet thing to end so I can get back to my grind, I guess I wouldn’t hate taking him to the gym more often, would be hot to make a bitch into a bro Fuck! What am I writing, I just need to lift again.

Thursday March 24th-

Andrew: 

Bro! Weird? Whatever, I am absolutely on fire! Steven’s diet is absolutely killer! I don’t know how it’s working so well but man I couldn’t care less, I felt like a pro in there! My coaches in school would always shit on me for not trying but man! I was barely trying yesterday but I could tell from the look on Steven’s face that I was acing it! I guess I’ll have to admit to him that he is definitely onto something with his macros but man, not until he gives up haha! Man, I need to chill haha, it’s not like I’m any stronger than I was Monday but man, looking at myself in the mirror it just seems like my clothes are just fitting better. Catching on my chest rather than my stomach y’know? I’ve never noticed that there is muscle on my arms before but man the way my sleeves are kinda hugging my biceps mm. I need to chill haha! Can’t use all my energy before hitting the gym again today!

OH! Also totally weird, I’ve had to shave twice this week! Once last night and then again this morning which is so weird! I’m not complaining though, it’s not like I wouldnt look hot with a beard right? Although my face is a little itchy already, my chest too? Whatever though haha! Time to head back to the grind lol!

Steven:

God!! Andy Andrew is being such an asshole! He’s clogging the sink shaving which I know he would so be on my ass if I had done that. Wait, he did get on my ass for shaving! But it hasn’t been a problem this week, it’s like I’m not even growing stubble for some reason? Probably from not working so hard at the gym, is that how that works? Whatever it’ll be over as soon as this stupid diet thing is. We’re halfway through now. Thank God! Because that fucking twink is starting to stink up the dorm which again!! He was such a little bitch all the time to me about that! It’s like he’s literally stopped using deodorant as soon as he started needing it! He’s never exerted himself in his life and now that his pits are sweating at all he’s suddenly allergic to hygiene, ugh! I saw last night too the fucker fell asleep with his head in his pit too so it’s not like he doesn’t know it. 

It was a little surprising actually, cause I would’ve sworn he was hairless like one of those freak cats but man his pit was as thick as my pubes! Thicker maybe, uh? Man I wish I could get that image out of my head, it’s like the tuft was pushing out further each time he inhaled, man that’s kinda hot? Fuck! I swear this twink-ass diet is making me think like him too. I need to sneak to the gym later, without him. I cannot have him getting ahead even while I’m still on his chickenshit diet.

Friday March 25th-

Steven:

Ah!! That Little bitch! He was already at the gym when I got there! Ugh! It makes me want to punch a wall, or fight him. Or something I dont know! It’s just, he was lifting my body weight on the bench when he saw me, it was so ho ugh! It doesn’t matter what it was, I can’t stop thinking of that smug look on his face- what I would give to wipe it off… That absolute prick knew what he was doing. Ugh, speaking of pricks! He may as well have not been wearing shorts at all by how much his cock was showing through them.

I knew my meal prepping was fucking tight but man, I can’t believe hot its made him. It just really fucking turns me on, or no its such a turn on for chicks. Yeah. Whatever. I need this bet to end already. Clearly he’s totally obsessed with my lifestyle so he should just admit it already! Also, hate to say it, but to Andrew’s credit his diet ain't too bad either. I’d never tell him this, and it is all a little emasculating but my skin has never looked this good. I’m not even doing skincare or anything but it’s like I’ve been on a routine for years, it’s crazy! It’s still ruining my upper gains but man, my ass looks so good it's crazy..

Oh also re: facial hair, I woke up this morning and could’ve sworn I used to have chest hair but now it looks like I’ve got just a little left around my nipples and leading up from my pubes? I might go ahead and shave those too, might as well be totally smooth like a chick right haha, I wonder what Andrew would think? I need to chill haha, maybe I’ll go see if he’s still at the gym~

Andrew:

Fuuuuck dude lol. I should’ve started hitting up the gym ages ago. Don’t know what I was even wasting time on before I started doing twice-a-days? Studying I guess but I can figure that shit stuff out hm. Fuck it is so much better to be strong than a dweeb. Every set it feels like I’m just busting out new PR’s! Gonna need to buy new clothes though cause I am absolutely tearing up my crop tops, my twinky little wardrobe just isn’t cutting it anymore. Maybe Steven’d be down for a clothes swap, I’ve seen him eying up my fits all week, god knows he’ll fit them better lol. Oh haha, and speaking of him eying things up >:) You should’ve seen his little face blush when he walked into the gym this morning! He looked so pissed at me lol, but I’m not gonna grab him to come along every time I need to get some sets in right? It was pretty embarrassing for him yesterday anyway, the way I showed him up lol. I’m not just gonna sit around and watch him not lift weights when I can figure this shit out myself, thought it was supposed to be his thing though lol.

Mm, saying that though, I def didn’t hate having a little audience from his treadmill. God, his blushing face as he stared directly at my work-out chub. Fuck, it really got me going. It really helped my sets too haha. Maybe I should hit him up lol, I can tell how bad he wants me >:)

Saturday March 26th-

Stevie:

Ugh! That douche is walking around the dorm completely shirtless! Do you know what it’s like to have an oaf flexing away across the room from you 24/7! He knows what he’s doing, and thank god my dick isn’t showing through my shorts like I thought it usually does because he might literally pounce on me then-

Ugh! I didn’t even mention this morning. I literally woke up to him jacking off his morning wood! Do you know what a bitch-fit he would have thrown if I did that! He would’ve filed a police report, probably the dweeb, or. I guess I could too?? But it was just so fucking hot. I tried to pretend I was asleep, but he totally caught me. He literally smirked and made eye contact as he finished too- thank god he didn’t see my boner as he asked if I wanted to clean up his mess. He’s such an ass! 

I still have a boner now actually, it’s his B.O. driving me actually crazy! It’s like I can’t think near him if he’s going to stink this bad god.. Oh, he’s doing pullups on the door frame fuck. He’s supposed to be hairless but I see sweat dripping from his pits god I can't. God with each pull up his chest looks even more powerful. His cock is bobbing up and down in his pants and I can not look away. Fuck it’s getting even bigger. I’m supposed to be the strong one right? It’s not, fuck. This isn’t right. He just so fucking, god that body, I need him-

And Drew:

Heh. I knew that fucking twink couldn’t resist me. Every little thing I do wraps him even tighter around my finger. Every flex and smirk turns him on even more I bet he can’t even think straight the way his little dick is losing it in his briefs- I took all his jocks since I’m sure he would need them anymore. Bet the little bitch didn’t even remember they were his.  

Might as well have been drooling when he saw me jacking my cock this morning lol, surprised he didn’t take me up on the offer to lick up the mess. I know he wanted to lol. He’ll get the chance soon enough though >:) God it’s a two-way street though. That fucking twink is so fuckable now, thank god he doesn’t need to shave anymore, don’t want his peachfuzz scratching my cock cause god that mouth is so fuckable now.. To say nothing of his fucking juicy ass, god! I’ve been working out in the room all morning waiting for him to give in and ask me to fuck him, idk if I can hold it in much longer. I might need to jack it again, my balls are bluer than I ever thought they could be, fuck. It’s like they're sore. Ugh I feel them getting heavier, heh, that little fucker cant resist though. God I feel precum starting to pool in my jock. If I put my pit within a foot of his face I give him five before he can’t help but shove his face in. I need to fuck him, but as if I’m going to let him see how desperate I am. Stevie that little fucker. He’ll be riding my cock any second now.

Sunday March 27th-

Stevie:

Fuck <3 !! He finally fucked me!! God, it was like nothing I’ve experienced before~ His cock was like a beer can and goddd the scratch of his beard as we were making out.. Hehe if I keep thinking about him I might just cum again right now! He can fully toss my body like a ragdoll and I’d thank him ugh! He’s just so hot, and to think he wants to fuck me!! Ah~ I’ll need to keep myself pretty so he won’t get tired of me hehe! Not that it’ll be a problem, I just need to keep on his diet, God who knew it would be this good! I don’t even remember whatever problems we had before all this and I can’t imagine anything better than getting fucked by him <3 Ah! He he~ He’s staring at my ass right now so I guess it’s time for another round! Can’t thank our R.A. enough for this idea, well he he I’ve got an idea for how to thank him, oh! Drew’s ripped off his jock! Wish me luck he he~

Drew:

My little bitch is so tight, fuck. I’m surprised he can even take my cock but god can he ride it. Gonna have a hard time taking a break from fucking him to even hit the gym. Need to make sure the twink keeps up the diet tho or we’ll have an issue. Be sure to make him come to the gym whenever I do, if not to tighten up then to watch me heh. Won’t hate fucking him in the locker room too. Mm, God his fucking tiny body makes me feel so powerful. And I fucking am. God my bis are the size of his thick thighs, fuck his ass. My cock is straining my jock just thinking about it. His tiny waist ugh, I need my sweaty body over him now. Not like he’ll mind, the horny fucker. Mmm hope he’s ready to take my cock, bet his mouth is already watering heh. Pop my pecs at him and he’ll struggle not to cum on the spot, he better keep it together until I let him though. Can’t be having my bitch blow his load that fast. Thank fuck he’s chilled out finally, though I guess my cock’ll work wonders on anyone >:) speaking of it’s about that time again. Hope he’s ready for some more action, hate to have to find another hole.

[eldritch-spouse]

Going to be thirsty here for a moment-. But rereading Breg's fics made me wonder how he would be if Roomie started training herself to be able to take both of his dicks in one hole. Just to let him inside and hammer away. Like, please, sir, break me. 🤲🥺

[Love when people come here like "I hope I'm not being too thirsty". Fem reader. Ignoring anatomy for this because hhhnn-]

TW: Double penetration; Slight dubcon moment.

" Listen to me Breg. "

You start, and even if you're currently beneath the breeder on the bed, you still sound like a drill sergeant. Mostly because you have to, Breg's not to be trusted when he's excited.

" I've been working up to this for a long while- "

" I know! " He interrupts, the bottom of his face still covered in drool and slick when he dove between your legs after you were done with the stretching exercises.

Breg hates that you had to use toys to size yourself up for this, but the promise that you were doing it so you could welcome both of his members made him slightly more tolerant of it. Didn't change the fact that the breeder would often sit and watch, whining in jealousy of whatever you were stuffing yourself with.

" I'll be really careful! I'll be nice- I promise angel! "

His babbling is a waste of slaver, the monster isn't even looking at you, eyeless gaze perched entirely on the sight of your inviting pussy and the way both of his cocks frame it. The breeder looks like he's thrilling himself with the show, making a horny little noise of appreciation and biting at his lower lip. It's as if he's already envisioning himself deep inside you, not having to squeeze one of his cocks between you two. It's been a fantasy of his for a long time, even you have to admit that it's... Exciting to think about.

Now though, you need Breg to focus, so you grab the sides of his head and bring it closer to yours. " I mean it, listen to me. "

His happiness is infectious, you have to turn away to hide the smile tugging at your lips when Breg simply dips to place kisses all over your face, hearing that long tail sway and swat around.

" Breg! " Mercifully, he stops. " You have to pay attention to what you're doing when you start okay? If we do this wrong, it could hurt me a lot. "

" Yes. " He rushes. " Yes, okay. "

"Good. " With a pant, you spread your legs just a tad further, figuring you couldn't possibly be in a more comfortable positions for this, especially with the support pillows helping to angle you. " Now straighten up a bit, I need to see what I'm doing. "

When the breeder does, you note the way his breathing is already sped up, how feverish he's already become. It's impressive how Breg always manages to make you feel so hot, even when you think you look like a fresh mess. Gently, you reach down to grab both of his dicks, keeping them together as much as you can, and he helps the process by scooting forward to line up against your pussy.

Feeling both tips park there is enough to get you to blow a tense exhale, knowing it's going to be a stretch and a half. In sharp contrast, Breg moans like he's in heat, looking as if his self-control is hanging by a very thin thread currently peeling itself apart.

Some hesitant seconds pass.

" Please angel- Please! I want this so bad. It's going to feel so good, let me fuck you, please! " White claws rub at your thighs comfortingly while he pleads, tail thumping impatiently on the mattress behind him. And curse him, because the breeder's shameless imploring always rises a fire in you that's hard to put out.

" I- I want you to push slowly, okay? " You caution, hold still firm on him, your spare arm clutching the sheets.

" Uhuh! "

True to his word, Breg is careful, torturously edging his cocks forward. The lube helps immeasurably, and pretty soon, both heads pop inside, making you hiss and gasp, immediately clenching at the intrusion. Massive. Fucking massive, holy shit. A wave of warmth courses through you as a pleasant shiver moments later.

" Hhn- Ohh... " He's drooling. Like actually drooling on you. " Hahh. " You can tell by the visible flexing of his legs that the only thing Breg wants to do is buck and hammer the rest of himself in, but with an almost pained grunt, he just sits there statically so the two of you can catch your breaths.

" Good- Very good. " You praise his surprising discipline. " Just keep going like that. "

He makes what you think was an affirmative "Mmn" noise and lolls his tongue out when the next couple of inches are softly rolled into you. It's insanely filling on its own, your thighs squirm and you're not sure if you want to edge away from this or even closer. Breg's instincts kick in and he holds your hips down sternly, slowly sinking more of himself in and making deep, pleased moans that wash against you like waves.

" Ngh- Deep- Slow down, give me a second. " It's stealing the breath out of you.

It takes a couple of moments before Breg's brain registers the command, but he eventually pauses with half of his cocks buried in you. He physically has to tear his gaze off the sight of you stretched around him, chest heaving as he curves to blanket you.

" You're so tight, fffuck you always are but this- " He sighs shakily over your ear, and instead of calming down enough to relax, you only tense and squeeze around him harder, making the breeder growl and whine. " Mmnph-! If you keep doing that I won't hold it, angel. Please, can I put the rest in, please? "

One of these days his begging is going to burst a blood vessel of yours. Or maybe it's the way you feel so bloated already.

" O- Okay, but then you need to let me catch up, okay? "

" Mmmf- " You think he growled there for a second. " Yes! Thank you! "

You expected him to push in slowly the same way he did up until now, though you should frankly know better by now... Breg pulls away in a preparatory motion that should have given it all away, then slams home with a force you have no words to describe.

Your stomach bounces and your lungs knock into your throat, eyeballs jostled in their sockets from the strength of his wild horse piston into your cunt. The disgraceful wet noise that echoed in your bedroom doesn't help in keeping yourself grounded. Although you didn't have enough air in your body to do much more than choke and convulse at the intrusion, the breeder makes more than enough noise for the two of you, howling in delight at the way your poor walls all but crush him in an attempt to adapt to the brute size just forced into them. You can feel him perfectly hilted into you, cockheads kissing as deep into you as they possibly can. It's an indescribable fullness that has the two of you stunted.

" Oh gods fffuck- Hahhn I'm all in. " He mumbles amidst desperate noises. " Mmn feels so good so good- I knew it'd be perfect- Love you angel. "

Both lengths throb inside you. You couldn't respond even if you wanted to.

Although you can very well sense Breg trying to rock against you minutely, he keeps his promise, studying your overwhelmed features and giving you time to welcome him properly. There's some pain, you won't lie, but it's slowly ebbing into something forgettable. The pale monster's sweet cooing and trilling help steady you as he licks your throat and lets his teeth deform slightly to place a loving bite on your shoulder.

Eventually, the breeder shifts and looks down at where the two of you are joined, finding imprints of his lengths in you. His grin is so wide and self-satisfied it looks borderline manic. A large hand comes to palp at the bump in your lower abdomen, but the sensation causes your legs to twitch and you bat his arm away.

Breg whines, a trail of drool slipping down his chin to drip onto your skin. " Can- Can I start? "

Your eyes widen a little, though you nod and take a deep breath. " G-Gentle. "

And that's all it takes.

The monster admittedly has a bit of trouble moving at first, the drag of his cocks inside you bordering on painful until fireworks start firing in your brain from all the spots he has no choice but to stimulate with every minuscule motion. The first moan you let out, throaty and helpless, makes him shiver. Wetness gradually builds, helping along with what's left of the lube, and pretty soon Breg's huffing with every thrust, making noises that almost concern you and visibly sweating. You know he's doing his best to behave right now, and you appreciate it, because both at once is... An experience.

" Ah- Ghn so full- " You choke when he fills you out again, causing the breeder to wag his tail slightly and respond with shorter, faster bursts of movement.

" Does it feel good? " He pants.

" Y- Yeah. " Putting it lightly. Your breath hitches and you cling to his arms for support, unable to help the fluttering of your pussy as you get used to this brand new size.

" Angel... " He begins, in a tone you already know means he's going to ask for something. " Hhn- I know you said gentle but... "

He bucks his hips suddenly, the two of you crying out together, pleasure and shock.

" Breg! "

" B- But I know you like it rough! " He stresses. " You clamp around me so hard, it's so hot- " Your face burns. " Come on... Just this time? "

It's not going to be "just this time", obviously.

When you don't say anything, the breeder hums and drapes over you again, legs readjusting so he can plunge somehow even deeper into you now. And with no hesitation, Breg starts well and truly railing into you.

" AH! HN- Breg?! "

You have to hold onto his neck and back, each desperate slam of his thighs on yours digging his softly barbed cocks so far up into your hole he jostles you forward. But you can't deny that it's making your eyes glaze in rabid animal pleasure, mouth opening and hips grinding back onto him as much as they can, the sloppy noise of his every slam filling you with a gross sense of glee.

You don't like to admit it, but you love being under Breg. It makes you feel small in a very arousing way, trapped under his strength, his smell, hearing how fast he breathes for you, how much his body strains to breed you stupid even if the effort is always pointless in the end. You like that he's always just as enthusiastic, that he always fucks you like it's the last time he's going to get to do it.

" S- See? " He groans, looking down at your flushed, probably disheveled face. " I know you like it- I can smell it. " And just to accentuate the point, there's a snort-like sniff when he dips his head into the crook of your neck, rising goosebumps everywhere. " Gghn- I'm- I'm not going to last too long... "

That startles you a little. Breg's always had surprising stamina. Sure, the first time he penetrated you was a bit short, but he had never been with a human before. Still, this puts an incredulous smile on your face. " R- Really? "

" Yeah- " His words melt into slurred moans, previously speedy motions now interspersed by hard grinds that have your eyes rolling slightly. " 'M sorry, you're so good- Sorry. "

" It's- It's fine. " It's hotter than it should be.

" My mate is so perfect- " He growls in-between sharp, jutting thrusts. " So nice to me- " The whimper on the edge of his voice is more than a good tell of how close he is. " I'm so lucky I get to ahhn- Put both in! "

Even if he doesn't recognize it, Breg has a penchant for this very specific type of dirty talk that makes your brain pop and crackle in a hormone-fueled static, and before you can even beg him to fill you with cum, he fucks into your stretched cunt with three dizzying pistons before flexing and coming so hard you can feel it shoot into crevices you didn't even know you had.

It's too much for such a small space, coating both you and him before it has no choice but to squeeze out of you in depraved spurts. Even if you wanted to hear Breg's rattle of ecstasy, you were too lost in your own orgasm to do so, making something akin to a desperate, sobbing mewl at the overload of sensations.

When you can focus minimally, the breeder is planting amorous kisses everywhere on your upper body, still buried hot and wet inside you. His whole face is flushed blue and he's never looked giddier, shuddering as another glob of seed escapes around his still hard cocks.

" Thank you so much, angel. I loved it! "

Oh, you can tell. " ... Don't mention it. "

Breg chirps. " Tell me when you're ready to go again. "

Why are you even surprised...

[vbecker10]

Hey love, how are you doing? Hope you’re all good. Could you write a Bucky x fem!reader who has an eating disorder, but she hides it from the team and she does it successfully, but on one mission she passes out, which is weird because she’s one of the best. She says it was just because she didn’t feel well and everyone believes her, but not Bucky. He senses that something’s off and eventually finds out, because he leaves reader no choice but to tell him, and so she does.

I’m struggling with my ed and I would love it, but if you don’t want to write this, it’s totally fine! I am a huge fan of your work💚

I Want You to be Healthy

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N) - established relationship / reader has an eating disorder

Summary: You pass out on the way to the jet after a successful mission. The team quickly accepts the excuse that you don't feel well but Bucky knows you well enough to know that you're lying. As soon as you are alone together, Bucky pushes you to open up to him about what truly made you pass out.

Warnings: Eating disorder, passing out, denying you have an eating disorder, feeling insecure about your weight & body image, keeping secrets from your friends and boyfriend, relapsing eating disorder

Background: Female reader has an Eating Disorder (a combination of anorexia and bulimia). Reader has the following behaviors: Skipping meals, frequent checking in the mirror for precieved flaws, constantly using a scale and tracking their weight, eating alone and at odd times of the day / night, exercising more frequently and more intensely than needed, not taking rest days or days off for injury, using the restroom soon after eating, making their own meals rather than eating what the team eats, often complains about needing to be healthy and talks about having to lose weight or gain muscle, thinking they are in control of their eating habits

A/N: Hi my lovely anon, I'm so sorry to hear you are struggling with your ED, I hope you can focus on yourself and get the help you need. I'm here if you want someone to listen 💚 Thank you for trusting me with this, I tried not to focus too much on the specific type of eating disorder since there are a few but I found some similarities between them when I was doing my research. I used those symptoms for this to make it a bit general. I hope this is okay 💚

I didn't tag too many people in this because I wasn't sure who exactly to tag, I won't be offend if you skip this 💚

Steve walks at the front of the group, one hand firmly gripped around the arm of a captured Hydra officer, her hands cuffed tightly behind her back. The mission was simple enough and more of you had gone than was needed but you couldn't pass up the opportunity to be out in the field. It was the only place you felt you belonged, where you could show the others on the team you were good enough to be here.

When Bucky had knocked on your door earlier this afternoon and asked if you were free to join them, you agreed eagerly. It was a welcome distraction from what you had been doing for the last hour, standing in front of your full length mirror, scrutinizing every inch of your body. The flaws in your physique are so glaringly obvious to you, you couldn't help but fixate on where you need to lose fat or gain muscle.

Bucky had smirked when you answered your door to him in nothing but a towel, he assumed you were having a lazy day after a relaxing shower. You hugged him tightly and told him you would get ready for the mission. There was no point in telling him what you had really been doing. A super soldier could never understand your daily struggle with your weight or the constant drive to be perfect. None of the Avengers could.

Natasha and Clint follow the captain closely, another captive officer walks with his head down between them as they discuss dinner. They quickly decide that since its Friday, they should get take out when they get back. There was no reason to make an excuse of course, take out was the easy option. Most of the team was either too busy to cook or had simply never been taught how to.

This meant you had to be even more careful because the food that was ordered was never healthy. Soon after you joined, you learned that it was easier to prepare all of your own food and eat in your room. Eating away from the team also meant they couldn't ask why your portions were what they considered small or why you were eating much later than them. It was none of their business anyways, you had told yourself often. As much as you would have liked their company, it was better this way. You could focus on your weight and health instead of answering all of their questions or dealing with their concerned opinions.

Bucky chuckles as he slips his arm around your waist, unaware of your thoughts. "I'm voting for spaghetti and meatballs, not that anyone asked me," he joins his friends conversation but you are barely listening.

Natasha checks to make sure Clint has a firm hold of the captive then she effortlessly turns, walking backwards smoothly through the thick leaves. "What do you want for dinner, Y/N?" she asks you with a smile, pointedly ignoring Bucky's comment which gets a laugh from Clint.

You don't answer, too distracted by the pain that is spreading deep in your stomach, the one that means you've almost reached your limit between meals. When you get back, you'll need to find something to eat, even if that means more time in the gym.

"Earth to Y/N," the spy waves at you to get your attention. When you make eye contact with her, she again asks what you want for dinner.

You shrug in response, the pain in your stomach growing as you walk. You know the type of answer she is looking for. Pizza, Thai, sushi. You could easily suggest any one of a hundred things but you can't. If you did, you would be expected to join them and that isn't something you are willing to do.

"Don't bother," Clint says when you are silent for a few more steps. His tone is relaxed but you worry he can tell what you are thinking. "You know Y/N never eats anything we order. We don't get anything healthy enough for her," he reminds Natasha. "Too much grease and fat and deliciousness."

"It's not my fault I'm the only one at the Tower worried about my figure," you roll your eyes at him.

Bucky laughs, his hand squeezes your waist, a part of your body you've always been self conscious about. "Your figure is perfect, doll," he smiles and you wish you could believe him but it's not that easy.

Natasha turns back to Clint, not missing a step and pats his stomach once. "Maybe you could learn something from her," she jokes.

"Hey!" he calls after her, sounding like an annoyed sibling. She laughs, jogging lightly towards Steve to hold the female officer while he opens the hatch.

Your ears begin to ring and the trees in the forest around you blend together, becoming hazy. Bucky kisses the top of your head and asks you a question but you can barely make out what he is saying. His voice is just above the ringing that vibrates in your mind. He looks down at you, his expression quickly turning to concern as he says your name but you don't respond.

You're light-headed and suddenly feel cold as your vision blurs more of your surroundings together. You take one more small step and stop, unable to continue forward. Bucky's hold on you tightens but you can't make out his words. You recognize what's happening to your body but only a second before you lose consciousness.

"Y/N," you hear Bucky say your name softly as he runs his metal fingers through your hair gently. Opening your eyes with a quiet groan, the jet gradually comes into focus but everything is sideways. You turn your head to look up at Bucky and realize your resting on his lap. "Slowly doll," he says, helping you sit up in the seat next to him.

"You okay?" Clint asks from the seat across from you.

You nod, still a bit dizzy, "Yeah."

"You had us all worried," Bucky says, his eyes not leaving you.

You shrug, hoping a few simple lies will calm everyone including yourself. It's been almost three years since you passed out from not eating. The last time it happened, your eating disorder had spiraled out of control for the second time and your family urged you to get treatment. It couldn't be happening again though, you think desperately. You are in control of your eating habits this time, you had just accidentally gone too long without eating.

"I felt kinda sick this morning. I know I probably should have stayed home but this sounded like a really quick mission," you offer an explanation that sounds likely.

"Next time you tell us if you don't feel well enough to go out," Steve says sternly from the pilot seat of the jet.

"Will do cap," you plaster on a smile to hide the wince from the dull ache in your stomach and salute him. This earns you a huff and a dramatic eye roll from the blonde super soldier.

"Good, can't let anything happen to the second best spy on the team," Natasha says with a smirk as she opens some files on her tablet.

You force out a small laugh, "Second best?" Then you look at Bucky who still hasn't taken his eyes off of you. He doesn't seem to have accepted your excuse as readily as everyone else but he also knows you better than anyone. "Are you going to let her talk about your girl like that?" Hoping the joke with Nat will distract him from his concern for you.

Bucky responds with a smile almost as fake as yours and says, "Of course not doll."

"Hey," Tony says when he spots you coming towards him in the hall. "How are you feeling? I heard to passed out in the field today."

"I'm okay, just a bit dehydrated," you tell him, holding up your bottle of water as proof.

"Okay, just try to be more careful next time," he tells you and you agree to as you continuing towards your room. "You're not gonna eat with us? Nat ordered from this new Mexican place."

"I'm still feeling a little off," you touch your forehead lightly and he nods. It's an easy excuse and it slips out before you even realize you've said it. You take a few more steps down the hall then add, "I'll see you all in the morning for training, though."

"Only if you're feeling up to it," he says and you give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles, shaking his head when you turn away from him again. "You're allowed a rest day you know," he calls after you. You continue towards your room without responding, you know that's not true.

A soft knock on your door interrupts your reading and you get up to see who it is. "Hi Bucky," you greet your boyfriend warmly but he doesn't offer you a hug or even a smile in return.

"Can we talk?" he asks in a serious tone and you nod, letting him in as your heart races. Those three words send panic through your body in an instant. You freeze as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed, rubbing his hands together anxiously. "Come sit, doll," he taps the bed next to him lightly without looking at you, his eyes still fixed on his hands.

You walk over and sit next to him silently. What do you two need to talk about that is making him this uneasy, you think. The only answer that surfaces is that he's come to end your eight month relationship, but why? Did you do something wrong, had you forgotten something, your mind races in search of an answer.

He takes your hand in his metal one gently and takes a breath to steady himself which only makes you more nervous. "Y/N," he starts slowly, "I love you so much, you know that right?" He lifts his head to look at you and you nod, too anxious to speak.

"I'm going to ask you this once," he says, "And please, don't lie to me." You bite your bottom lip, searching his face for any hint of his question. "Why did you really pass out on the mission today?" he asks.

You feel the smallest hint of relief that this isn't about your relationship but then you are instantly filled with a different type of fear. Has Bucky figured out what you've been hiding from him, from everyone? Does he know about your eating disorder returning and your worry that you're losing control? Your mind fills with all of your most easily accepted excuses, hoping that you can convince him you are okay.

Before you can open your mouth, he shakes his head. "I need the truth doll," almost as if he can see the lies forming.

"I-" your words stick in your throat and you look away from Bucky, your eyes roaming around your small room. You focus on the high tech scale positioned in front of the tall, full length mirror you spend so much of your time in front of.

He cups your cheek, bringing your eyes back to his, "Talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong, Y/N."

"I'm fine, I promise," you tell him in the most sincere voice you can, kissing his cheek softly. "I told you, I was just feeling a little under the weather today. It's not a big deal."

"You didn't eat again today," he states, no hint of a question in his tone. You're in too much shock to begin defending your reasoning for skipping a meals when he adds, "You've been missing meals a lot lately, haven't you?"

You nod, suddenly feeling caught which makes you feel both guilty and embarrassed. Bucky is the one person on the team you have always been able to confide in, even before you started dating but this was something you wanted to keep even from him. It was the reason you forced yourself to eat when you went on dates with him but you always found a way to excuse yourself and use the bathroom soon after. Had he noticed that too, you worry.

"How long do you think you can go without eating?" he asks but you don't want to admit you know the answer. Since college, you've developed a pretty good sense for how long you can go between meals, today truly had been a miscalculation. Instead you simply shrug as you guage whether or not you can convince Bucky you missed those meals by accident.

"Y/N," he says when you are quiet. "You can't keep doing this."

You chew the inside of your cheek, this conversation reminding you too much of the one you had with your parents the first time they caught you hiding and throwing away your food. Your eyes flicker away from his and back as you start to realize you might be struggling more than you thought.

His jaw tightens and his gaze follows yours to the scale and mirror then he sighs. "I should throw those stupid things out," he says, more to himself then to you.

"No," you respond quickly and he furrows his brows when he looks back at you. "I need them," you try to explain, your body tensing at the thought of being without them even though they do nothing but cause you anxiety and distress. "I have to keep checking..." your voice trails off, you don't want to open up any further. You don't want Bucky you judge you.

"Checking what?" Bucky asks, hoping you will let him in.

"I have to keep checking my weight," you finish and you find yourself suddenly unable to hold the rest in. "I've always been just a little over from where I need to be with my weight." You look down at your body as you sit next to him, you can easily envision all the flaws you saw in the mirror this morning. "I'll get there, I'm close," you tell him as if he's the one you need to convince and not the small voice that dictates what you can and cannot eat.

You had been focused on your weight for almost your whole adult life and never reached your target. It doesn't matter that the target keeps shrinking anytime you are even remotely close. A few times, you had almost reached the number you thought would finally mean you were perfect only for the small voice to disagree. It would insist you could still lose more weight or you had put on too much muscle or needed more muscle or any number of things. Each time your goal changed, your eating habits became stricter and your workouts became more intense.

Bucky cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin lightly, "What are you talking about? You're in the best shape of anyone on the team. You're perf-"

"No," you shake your head, pulling free from his fingers. "I'm far from perfect, you of all people should know that. You're a super soldier, you were practically built to be perfect," you tell him and Bucky's metal hand twiches as he removes it from your waist. "I knew you wouldn't understand," you add with deep a sigh.

"I want to understand. I'm worried about you," Bucky says but you don't look at him.

"You don't need to worry about me," you say, shifting away from him on the bed. You feel yourself becoming defensive and worried he will want you to stop checking your weight and eat more. "I'm fine, I told you. Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Because you're not fine," he says, his voice raising a bit to show his frustration, not at you but with the situation. "You don't eat, Y/N, not nearly enough and I've seen the way you push yourself too hard when we train. I kept telling myself you knew what you were doing and you would stop if you needed to but then today..." he shakes his head as his voice trails off for a moment.

"Today was an accident," you insist but you're less sure of yourself then you had been. "I have it under control. If I had known about the mission beforehand, I wouldn't have gotten sick."

"You didn't get sick, you passed out," he says and you can see he's becoming more upset by the conversation and the fact that you will not listen to him. "What if that had happened in the middle of the mission? What if we had been somewhere more dangerous and I couldn't get to you? You've gone on solo missions, no one would have known what happened to you."

You get up quickly, needing to distance yourself from Bucky's questions and concern and the doubt they are creating in you. You pace around your room, trying to absorb his words but you don't want to believe he's right. You don't want to admit that you're not okay again.

Without realizing it, you walk towards your mirror and tap the scale with your foot. Bucky gets up, coming over to you but your eyes are fixed on the scale. You tap it again and it turns on, the zeros blinking slowly as you remember the number that stared at you this morning.

"I get that your worried about your weight-" he starts but you cut him off.

"Of course I'm worried about it," you look up, folding your arms around your body tightly. "You have no idea how easy it is to gain weight, one little slip and I could lose all my progress. I have to watch everything I eat and workout so I can be good enough to be here, so I can be perfect," you voice your inner thoughts to Bucky for the first time. "I can't just stop," you tell him.

He moves closer to you, removing the empty space you created between the two of you and you begin to feel nervous again. "I want you to be healthy," he takes your hand in his, pulling you away from the scale.

"So do I, that's why I need to do this," you argue but you feel defeated, as if you are only moments from admitting you know he is right.

He shakes his head, his metal arm rests on your lower back, pulling you closer to him. "What you're doing is the opposite of being healthy, doll. Can you see that?"

You look up at him, seeing the concern fill his eyes and you know you can't deny it any longer. You bite your lip and nod slowly, "I think I need help."

"I'm here doll," he responds softly.

"This isn't-" you struggle to find the words and he gives you time, holding you quietly. "This isn't the first time this has happened," you tell him honestly. Bucky holds you silently as you tell him about your struggles with your eating disorder and how you have relapsed previously after getting treatment. He doesn't ask questions or interrupt you, his hand moves gently up and down your back as you open up completely. When you finish, he wipes your tears softly and kisses your forehead.

"I thought I was okay," you tell him, your voice breaking. He pulls you flush against his body, wrapping his arms around you.

"You will be," he assures you and you rest your head on his chest, hoping he is right. "You are the strongest person I have ever met, you can do this. I will help you any way I can, I promise."

You pull away to look up at him, realizing you'll be gone for at least a few months for treatment. "What am I going to tell everyone?" you ask him, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. It was one thing to break down and admit to Bucky that you had an eating disorder but it was an entirely different thing for the Avengers to find out. "I don't want the team to know," you shake your head, worried about their reactions.

He cups your cheek and you look up at him again, "Don't worry about the team or anything else, doll. I will take care of them and everything else. The only thing I want you to do is focus on getting better, on being healthy again." He gives you a hopeful smile and says, "I'll tell them we're going to visit your family. Fury will approve the time off, it shouldn't be an issue."

You sniffle in response then smile slowly, "We?"

He nods, "If that's okay with you. I know there are things you'll need to do alone, but I want to be close, in case you need me. I want to be there for you, every step of the way."

You wipe a tear quickly with the back of your hand and nod, unable to express how much Bucky's offer means to you in words. Instead, you reach up and press your lips to his softly, holding onto him tightly. Pulling away slightly, you look into his eyes and tell him, "I love you."

He smiles, running his fingers through your hair gently, his metal arm still holding you close. "I love you too, Y/N. You will be okay, I promise you will get through this."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

@soubi001 @mochie85 @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lulubelle814 @siconetribal @jiyascepter @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @dracoswhorexx @lokiandbuckysdoll

[fallingdownhell]

i love your recent posts but can i request hurt/comfort genshin impact xiao, wanderer, cyno where like they get into an argument about the reader being weak or something like that

although they didn't mean it, but after a few days after the argument, they see reader like training hard for them because of the fight.

<3

Mhh, always. You know I love me a good dose of angst! And I'm sorry, but I only included two of the requested characters, because otherwise this would haven gotten way too out of hand and too much to read. Hope you're okay with that.

Characters Included: Xiao; Wanderer

Content: gender neutral reader; angst; comfort; hurt/comfort; established relationship; arguments between them and reader; shouting and cursing at reader in wanderer's scenario; Kunikuzushi/Kuni is being used for Wanderer

Word count: 2,2k words

Enjoy the read!

Xiao

You have to understand him. He's just looking out for you!

There is a clear, natural difference in strength between you and him!

He's an adeptus after all, and you're just a human! Sure, you possess a vision and you know perfectly well how to utilize it to your advantage in battle, but he's still your boyfriend! Let him be worried about you!

Honestly, he really just had your best interest and saftey in mind when he approached you one day, offering to train with you and possibly make you stronger, since he noticed your form to be a bit lacking when he watched you train.

The problem was, he told you exactly what he was thinking, no filter whatsoever. Which in turn caused you to get a bit defensive with him. That didn't sit right with Xiao, because in his eyes, he was only trying to help you.

This then resulted in a huge argument, where neither of you wanted to back down against the other.

"(Name), for the love of the Archons. Can't you see I'm only trying to help you here?"

"By berating me and telling me all the things I'm doing wrong? Without offering any advise at all? Yeah, great help.", you scoff as you turn your back to your boyfriend, trying to resume your exercise in peace. You were hoping that he would get the hint, to leave you alone. But he didn't.

"I'm really only looking out for you. You lack basic knowledge with the sword and you lack stamina as well. You're moving around too much, you make so many unnecassary movements. The hold you have on your weapon is too loose. Anyone could easily knock it out of your hand. Also-!"

"Okay! I got it!", you suddenly burst out as Xiao keeps on listing the things you're doing wrong in his eyes. It not only frustrated you, but it also made you feel so inferior.. to him and basically everyone else. You know that everyone starts out at some point. Everyone has to learn from the beginning. So why is he being so mean to you? Shouldn't he be more supporting of you as your boyfriend?

"I get it. You've made your point very clear."

You speak again, while Xiao just stares at you, mouth still hanging open. He didn't expect for you to raise your voice like this. You were usually so soft spoken.

You stared into each others eyes for a few more seconds, before you let out a sigh and placed your sword back into its sheat.

"I'm going home.", you announce as you go to grab your stuff. You collect everything and put it in your back, leaving without taking another look at him.

Suddenly, Xiao got the feeling that he made a huge mistake. Not only by "helping" you out with your training, but also as he let you go like this without having a talk with you, but something told him to let you be for the time being.

.....

Well... did he regret letting you just go like that. It has been almost a week since he last saw you, because you refused to call his name like you usually did on a daily basis.

And he was afraid of seeking you out himself, since he feared to only further sour your mood with an unannounced visit from his side. But he wanted to see you again so badly...

When the one week mark was reached without hearing anything from you, Xiao has had enough. He needed to make sure that you were okay. He was certain you would have called his name if you were in mortal danger, despite the argument at hand, but it's better to be safe than sorry. He needed to know you were still alive..

So, he teleported to your home, waiting for a few seconds in front of the door, gathering courage, before knocking on the door. He waited and waited, but nothing happened. He knocked again, but still nothing.

Xiao was about to leave again, scolding himself in his head, because of course you wouldn't open, you obviously didn't want to see him right now, when he heard noises coming from a bit further away.

Deciding to investigate, he followed the noises. And what he saw did shock him a bit..

He saw you, standing in a circle of training dummys, practicing different moves and tactics. He could tell that your hold on the blade has gotten better over the week you have been apart. In fact, everything he had critiqued about your skills seems to have improved...

Have you been training relentlessly this entire time??

This made him feel even more bad about this entire argument. He wanted to help you, not make you overexert yourself like this, just to prove something to him..

Deciding that it was finally time to talk, he approached you. You heard the footsteps coming your direction and turned towards them. Surprised to see Xiao there, you stopped in the middle of your session, facing him.

It was quiet for a few seconds as he arrived in front of you, and when you couldn't take it anymore, you decided to speak up again.

"What? Here to berate me even more?" It sounded way more sarcastic and hurtful than you had intended it to, and you saw Xiao flinch the slightest bit at your words, but you didn't back down from them.

"No..", Xiao answered weakly.

"I'm here to apologize." His words left you surprised, not expecting this at all.

"I didn't realize how much my words were hurting you. That was never my intention, (Name). I.. I'm just worried about you. There is a clear difference in skill, after all, but I shouldn't have been like this to you. I sincerely apologize for the way I treated you."

You have been with Xiao long enough to know two things. First, he was being completely honest with you. You could tell by the tone in his voice and the way he tried to look into your eyes, while also trying to avoid them at the same time, feeling embarrassed about being this vulnerable with someone.

Second, you knew just how hard it was for him to be honest and vulnerable with you. Saying this must have caused so much for him to do, yet he did it anyway.. for you.

For a second, you stood there and stared at him, before sighing and walking over to him, wrapping your arms around his body in a warm, comfortable hug. He did not hesitate for a second before doing the same, having missed this feeling dearly for the past week.

"I don't mind you helping me or giving me advise.. but maybe don't be so brash and insulting about it. Okay?"

He nodded, promising you to be more careful with his words from now on.

Wanderer

You sighed with relief as the Ruin guard in front of you collapsed and shattered into its parts, the cut on your side hurting a bit when you breathed, but it wasn't bleeding too bad, so the wound must not be too bad, either.

You were usually not that easy to surprise, but for some reason, you overlooked that particular ancient machine, resulting in it getting a hit on you before it was taken down.

Though, you were not the one responsible for taking it down. The actual reason was flying in from behind it, your boyfriend, Kuni. And while you were smiling at him, wanting to thank him for his help, he had a scowl on your face as he landed in front of you.

"What the hell were you thinking, Idiot? You would be dead now if it weren't for me being here!", he shouted as soon as he landed, not letting you get a word in.

You were taken aback by his harsh words and tone, staring at him, which only made him even more agitated.

"The hell? You don't even have an excuse! How can you be so fucking careless? I know you're weak but I wouldn't have thought of you being this stupid as well!"

You heard each and every single one of his words, and they all stung right in your chest. You were aware of the difference in power between you two, but that didn't mean you were incompetent with your polearm. You've trained long and hard to get to the point where you are now, and you were proud of yourself for it.

When you looked into his eyes again, you could see a bit of shock behind them, like he was surprised himself that the words actually left his lips.

You waited a few seconds, to see if he would apologize to you or take them back, but nothing came. Kuni's pride hindered him from doing the right thing..

"I see. If that's what you think of me, I won't be in your way again."

The words sounded cold when they left your lips, and Kunikuzushi flinched ever so slightly when hearing them, but you didn't react to it. Instead, you turned and walked away from him without acknowledging his presence any longer.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Where are you going?", he shouted after you, but no response. Then, he chased after you, but when he noticed that you were still ignoring him, he gave up on it, figuring that it would be best to leave you alone for the time being.

Surely, you would come crawling back to him soon enough... right?

....

....

Two weeks.

The incident has happened two weeks ago. And for those two weeks, he did not hear or see anything of you, whatsoever.

He was so sure that you wouldn't even survive a week without him before coming back and apologizing, but it seemed like he was wrong this time.

And he hated to admit this, even to himself, but.. he missed you. Missed your stupid, cheerful smile, your laugh and the way you always made his day better, just by spending time with him.

After about a week and a half, he began to think, that maybe, this time, he was actually the one in the wrong. That maybe, he took it too far with his words this time around.

Maybe.. he should be the one to apologize to you.

And yet, it took him a few more days to overcome his stupidly high pride and actually follow through with his thoughts.

Nahida, who knew all about the situation from Kuni himself, smiled and nodded proudly as the puppet went to leave the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

He first searched for you at your home, but you couldn't be found there. Then, he went on a stroll through the city, hoping to run into you along the way, but that too, proofed to be without success.

His last hope was the adventurers guild, and that someone hopefully has seen you there.

And luck was on his side this time, as some other members told him about how you have constantly been taking commission after commission for the past few days.

Feeling his worries for you rise again, he went to the locations given to him, hoping to find you there.

About an hour or so later, he spotted you at the location of the third commission you took, standing next to a defeated ruin drake while facing another one head on.

He had half a mind to rush over and take care of it for you, but something in him told him to let you handle it yourself. So he watched with bated breath as you easily took care of the machine, letting it fall to the ground while you remained completely unharmed.

That's when he really realized what his words might have caused for you. You are by no means a sheltered human, you're capable of defending yourself, and very well so.

As you were checking the defeated drakes for useful stuff, he came out of his 'hiding spot', walking directly to you. You noticed him approaching but chose to ignore him still. In fact, you've noticed his presence in the middle of the fight, but decided not to call him out and see what he would do.

When he arrived, he just stood next to you in silence for a while, watching you. But when you still wouldn't acknowledge him, he decided to speak up.

"(Name)... I... I'm sorry..", he mumbled quietly. He felt embarrassed, not used to acting like the bigger person, but he was in the wrong here, so he had to do this, no matter what.

The words out of Kuni's mouth caught you by surprise, your head swirling around to look at him, finally.

Kunikuzushi didn't know what else to say right now, so he stayed silent, hoping you would understand how difficult this was for him right now.

"..I'm not weak.", you answered him quietly as well, fully facing him now, but your posture and tone seemed a bit more open and calmer now.

"..I know."

He may not be the best with words, but somehow, you always understood what he wanted to say, anyways. It has always been this way between you. It was one of the many things he loved so much about you.

And that's how it was this time, too. He quietly thanked the Gods when he pulled you into his arms again, holding you for the first time in what had felt like an eternity.

[wannabehockeygf]

messier - luke hughes

part of the think later fic series

"You're the only one, Who can boil my blood, And make that shit cut, 'Cause you know that I'm always yours, I'm so in love."

*** request: "can we get Luke Hughes and messier pleaseee some angst then smut" summary: visiting your boyfriend's childhood home didn't go was well as you hoped... word count: 5.8k pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader warnings: 18+ NSFW! fingering (f receiving), sex in a semi-public place (in a car) but other than that nothing, pretty tame smut.

notes:

hi guys i'm back sorry my brain has been rotting this entire weekend

this is pretty tame, gentle smut because I've written so much rough stuff recently I needed a detox.

requesters. i love ya'll but we need to make a habit of giving me some sort of guideline besides genre. i suck so much ass at making tropes.

my first luke fic lol

also yes, I’m well aware that Jim and Ellen nor Quinn would ever be mean but this is pretty much the only idea I head

not proof read!!!

***

You hate road trips.

The endless stretch of highway, the stiff leather seats clinging to your skin, and the way time seems to crawl backward. It’s not even the scenery—darkness had swallowed the landscape hours ago, leaving you in this metal box on wheels with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional flash of headlights. You’d always preferred flying. Short, direct, and quick. But no, Luke insisted. “It’ll be good for us,” he’d said, like this visit to Toronto to his childhood home was some sort of bonding exercise rather than a trial by fire.

Well, the way there had been fine. More than fine, actually. Jack came along for the ride, filling the hours with nonstop chatter. You didn’t have to think or drive, just laugh at his dumb jokes and let the miles blur together. It was almost fun.

But now? Now, it’s just you and Luke. Jack had opted to fly back to Jersey, and the silence in the car felt suffocating. The weight of the weekend pressed against your chest like a rock you couldn’t shake off. It all went wrong the moment you stepped foot in their house. Their eyes, the judgment—thinly veiled but thick enough to cut through. His mom’s smile never quite reached her eyes, his dad’s questions too sharp, like they were trying to pry something out of you. And Quinn... you don’t even want to think about how Luke’s older brother barely looked at you, as if you didn’t exist.

Gold digger.

They didn’t say it, but you felt it in every sideways glance, every half-hearted attempt at conversation. It stung. You shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, staring out the window at nothing but blackness.

“You’re too quiet,” Luke says, his voice breaking the silence, but it doesn’t soothe you like it usually does.

“Hmm,” you respond, noncommittal.

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about what exactly, Luke?” You snap, before you can stop yourself. The tension’s been building, and now it’s spilling over. “How your parents probably think I’m only with you because of who you are?”

The headlights illuminate the curve of his jaw as he clenches it. “They don’t think that.”

“They do, though!” You turn toward him now, your voice rising with each word. “It was written all over their faces. I’m not good enough for you, right? Why would I be?”

The passing headlights flash across Luke’s face in rhythmic intervals, casting sharp shadows across his jawline, making him look as frustrated as you feel. You hate that his jaw is clenched like that, hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, he looks perfect, unbothered, like this isn’t tearing at him the way it’s tearing at you.

Luke grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “They don’t think that,” he repeats, like if he says it enough, it’ll become the truth. His voice is steady, but you hear the edge in it, the frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface since you left his parents’ house. He always gets like this when you bring it up—as if acknowledging the problem will somehow make it worse.

But it’s already bad. “Luke, please.” You shift in your seat, your hands gesturing helplessly in the small space between you. “They didn’t have to say it out loud. I could feel it.” Your voice is shaky, betraying the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep locked away since Friday. “Your mom looked at me like I was some kind of—” you search for the right word, something that encapsulates the disappointment that had been practically dripping from her, “—charity case.”

You hear his deep exhale, the frustration in it. He’s always been calm, steady, the kind of guy who doesn’t let things get to him. It’s one of the things you loved about him—his ability to stay grounded when everything around him seemed to be spinning out of control. But right now? Right now, it’s infuriating. How can he be so calm when you’re falling apart?

He runs a hand through his hair, the action a little too deliberate, like he’s trying to stay composed. “You’re reading into it too much,” he says, glancing over at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “My mom’s just... cautious. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Cautious?” The word tastes sour in your mouth. “She practically grilled me about every job I’ve ever had like she was waiting for me to slip up and admit I’ve been freeloading my entire life.”

Luke presses his lips together, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence stretches between you, pulling tight like a thread about to snap. His eyes stay on the road, but you can tell he’s thinking about what to say, about how to avoid turning this into a full-blown argument. He’s good at that—at diffusing things before they can blow up. Normally, you’d appreciate it. But right now, you need him to blow up with you, to feel what you’re feeling.

“Look,” he starts, his voice low and careful, “I get that it wasn’t... easy, okay? But you don’t know my mom like I do. She’s protective, that’s all.”

“Protective?” You scoff, louder than you meant to, the word coming out jagged. “Protective of you from what? Me?” The accusation hangs in the air, sharp and undeniable. You don’t need to hear his answer to know it’s true. You’ve known it from the moment she gave you that polite smile at the door, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, the kind of smile that says, I’m being nice, but I don’t trust you. You’ve seen it before, just never aimed at you. “She doesn’t trust me, Luke.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly like he’s trying to keep his own frustration in check. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” he mutters, but even he sounds unsure now. “She’s just... adjusting. Give her time.”

You let out a huff of disbelief, shaking your head. The dark road ahead feels endless, like you’re driving in circles, like this conversation is just looping back to the same point over and over again. “Adjusting to what?” Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does because it makes you sound more vulnerable than you want to be right now. “To the fact that I’m not some high-society debutante with a trust fund? Or is it just that I’m not good enough for their golden boy? Don’t pretend your dad didn’t do the same shit, and Quinn? Barely fucking looked at me.” Luke rubs his temple with one hand, the other still gripping the wheel. “Quinn’s just quiet, you know that. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right,” you mutter, bitterness slipping into your tone. “I’m sure it’s not because he thinks I’m not good enough for you. It’s not like literally everyone else was thinking the same thing.”

“They weren’t!” Luke insists, his voice rising, frustration creeping in now. His grip on the wheel tightens, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. You almost want him to, to raise his voice, to match the energy that’s been building inside you all night. But instead, he just sighs again, that same exhausted sound that feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Stop it,” he says quietly, his voice firm but tired. “Stop worrying about what they think. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. It matters so much it’s consuming you. You turn to stare out the window again, the landscape outside a blur of darkness. The silence in the car is deafening now, the kind that fills every crevice and drowns out the hum of the engine. You can’t stand it anymore.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter under your breath, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you, half-hoping he does. “You’re their son. They’ll always love you, no matter what. But me? I’m just some girl they think is using you for your money or your status or... whatever.” Your hands are trembling, but you clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself.

Luke’s jaw clenches again, and this time when he speaks, there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “You’re not ‘just some girl,’” he bites out, finally letting some of that frustration slip through. “And they don’t think that.”

“How do you know?” You turn to him, your voice rising again, the words spilling out faster than you can control them. “How do you know what they think? You weren’t the one sitting there, being interrogated like you’re on trial!”

His eyes flick over to you, narrowed and sharp. “I know my family, okay? You don’t. You’ve met them what—twice? Three times?”

Your chest tightens at that. You’ve never felt more like an outsider than you do right now, like you’re intruding on something sacred, something you don’t have the right to understand. It makes you feel small, insignificant, like you’ll never truly belong. And maybe you won’t. Maybe they’ll always see you as the girl who’s not quite good enough for their perfect son.

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem,” you snap, your voice cracking again. “Maybe I don’t know them because they don’t want to know me.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you think you might’ve gone too far. But then Luke exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’re having this argument. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost tired. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?”

Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to do something—anything. You could reach for the radio, but that feels like a betrayal, a cowardly way of cutting through the tension without addressing it. You steal a glance at Luke, but his gaze is trained on the road, jaw set, eyes forward. His hand grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale, and the leather creaks under the pressure.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Impossible?” you repeat, your voice cutting through the still air like a knife. The words echo back at you, sharp and unforgiving, and suddenly, there’s no holding back the flood. “You think I’m the one being impossible?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just lets out a long, heavy sigh. It’s the kind of sigh that says, here we go again, and it makes your blood boil. Like you’re the problem. Like your feelings are the inconvenience here, something to be tolerated rather than understood.

You don’t let the silence linger this time. “God, you always do this,” you mutter, shaking your head as you stare out the window, watching the dark blur of trees rush past. “Every time I bring this up, you act like I’m crazy. Like I’m just imagining it all.” You pause for a breath, but it comes out shaky. “Do you think I want to feel like this?”

Luke shifts in his seat, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something, but all he does is keep drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel. It’s almost worse than if he’d argued back. At least then you’d know he cared enough to fight with you.

The silence stretches, suffocating, until finally, his voice cuts through it, low and strained. “I just don’t know why you let it get to you like this.”

“Let it?” The disbelief in your voice is almost tangible, hanging heavy in the air between you. “As if I have a choice? As if I can just flip a switch and suddenly not care that your family thinks I’m some... leech or gold digger or—” You break off, your breath hitching slightly, the words too bitter to finish.

Luke’s eyes flick to you for the briefest second before returning to the road, his jaw clenching again. “You’re overthinking it.”

It’s the casual dismissal, the sheer indifference, that makes something inside you snap. “I’m not overthinking it!” you nearly shout, the words bursting out of you before you can reel them back in. Your heart pounds in your chest, the frustration bubbling up until you can feel it in every nerve, every muscle, making you fidget and shift in your seat like you’re too restless to stay still.

Luke slams his hand against the steering wheel, not hard enough to scare you, but enough to make a point. He lets out a frustrated puff of air, and he mutters something under his breath—something you can’t quite catch but know isn’t good. His frustration mirrors your own, though his is quieter, more controlled. His eyes stay locked on the road as he speaks, his voice cold. “Why do you care so much about what they think? Why does it have to matter?”

You stare at him, incredulous. Why does it have to matter? Is he serious? The words swirl in your head, disbelief mixing with anger, making it hard to think straight. How could he not see it? How could he not understand?

“I care because they’re your family!” you snap, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I care because no matter how much you tell me it doesn’t matter, I know it does. You love them, Luke. You value their opinion, even if you won’t admit it. So yeah, I care about what they think of me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his fingers turning white again. His silence now feels like a challenge, like he’s daring you to keep going, to keep pushing. You almost want to—almost want to see just how far you can push him before he finally snaps.

And then, just as you’re about to spit out something else, something that will no doubt escalate this even further, Luke suddenly jerks the steering wheel to the right. The car swerves slightly as he takes an exit ramp, the tires squealing against the asphalt. You lurch forward in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as the sudden movement jolts you out of your anger for a split second.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising with panic and confusion as you glance around, realizing that you’re nowhere near home. The highway disappears behind you, replaced by a narrow, deserted road lined with thick trees on either side.

Luke doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw still clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The tension in the car is palpable, hanging heavy between you like a storm cloud about to burst. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls off to the side of the road, the car coming to a stop in a small clearing, illuminated only by the faint glow of the headlights.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of the engine as it cools down. For a moment, neither of you moves. The weight of everything hangs in the air, pressing down on your chest like a stone.

Luke turns off the engine and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just—” He pauses, exhaling sharply, and finally turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, intense, and there’s something simmering just beneath the surface, something raw. “I needed to get off the damn highway. We weren’t getting anywhere.”

The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on you. It wasn’t just the road he was frustrated with—it was the entire situation. The argument. You. And that realization sends a shiver down your spine.

You sit there, staring at him, unsure of what to say. Your heart is still racing, your hands trembling slightly in your lap. But the anger you felt before is starting to ebb away, replaced by something else—something quieter, but no less intense.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for him, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, tentatively. He glances down at your hand, then back up at you, his eyes softening just a fraction.

“Come here,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. It’s not a demand, but it’s not a suggestion either. There’s a weight to his words, a pull that you can’t resist.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your seatbelt and move toward him, your body shifting awkwardly in the cramped space. Luke’s hands are on you before you even reach the back seat, his fingers gripping your waist as he pulls you into the space between the seats. The leather squeaks beneath you as you settle into the back, the air between you charged with an energy you can’t quite define—part frustration, part need.

He moves over the console to join you, and in the dim light, the shadows carve out every sharp line of his face, highlighting the tension that’s still etched there. But now, there’s something else in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

“I hate that you think that,” Luke murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, mingling with yours in the small space. “I hate that you think you’re not good enough.” His hand slips around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and the softness in his eyes almost makes you forget why you’re upset in the first place. But then the worry, the doubts, creep back in, unbidden. "I just—" you start, your voice thick with frustration. "I can't stop thinking about how they see me. It's like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough."

Luke's expression tightens again, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. He pulls away just enough to lean back against the seat, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" His voice is laced with exasperation, but there’s something else there too—concern, maybe. "They don’t matter. We matter. Isn’t that enough?"

You want to believe him, you really do. But it’s like every word he says just sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach, twisting. "You say that, but... God, Luke, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it because you’re not the one constantly under their microscope." The words spill out before you can stop them, your frustration bubbling up again.

Luke shakes his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "No, you’re right," he mutters, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t get it. But you know what I do get?" He pauses, and for a second, you think he’s going to stop there, but he pushes on, his voice lower now, almost a growl. "I get that I’m sitting here, telling you that none of it matters. And you’re sitting there, acting like it’s the end of the world."

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your lips as he leans in closer, his hand sliding up your thigh. "What I don’t get," he continues, his voice softening but still carrying that edge, "Is why you can’t just trust me when I say you’re enough."

Your breath hitches as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles against your leg, the tension in the car shifting from the argument to something else entirely. You try to stay focused, try to keep your mind on the conversation, but his touch is distracting, making it hard to think straight.

"I... I do trust you," you stammer, your voice unsteady, "but it’s not that easy. You don’t just stop worrying because someone tells you to."

Luke raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really?" he murmurs, his hand moving higher, his eyes locking onto yours. "Maybe I just haven’t been convincing enough."

His words send a jolt through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, the argument feels like a distant memory, something less important than the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s daring you to keep pushing him. And maybe you would have, if his hand wasn’t already slipping under your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin, making it impossible to think about anything else.

You let out a shaky breath, your body leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to stay focused. "Luke..." you start, but the rest of the sentence dies in your throat as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Stop worrying," he whispers, his voice rough and filled with that dark intensity you can never quite resist. His hand slides higher, sending sparks up your spine. "Let me show you how much I don’t care about anything but you."

Luke's fingers drift up, warm and deliberate, as if mapping out every inch of your skin beneath his touch. Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between the tension that lingers from the argument and the undeniable heat of his closeness. It's a mix of frustration and need, your thoughts spiraling as the sensation of his hand grounds you and unravels you all at once.

But there’s still that nagging voice in the back of your head, reminding you why you’re here in the first place, why your heart had been racing with something other than desire just moments ago. “This isn’t fair,” you whisper, half to yourself, half to Luke, as you shift in the seat, his hand momentarily slipping from your thigh.

He pauses, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, and you can feel the heat of his breath fan across your cheek. “What isn’t fair?” His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it, the kind that tells you he knows exactly what you mean but wants to hear you say it anyway.

You sigh, the sound barely audible in the dark, cramped space of the car. “I’m still upset with you.”

Luke lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s no real humor in it. “You’ve made that pretty clear,” he mutters, his lips brushing the side of your neck now, almost absentmindedly, as if he’s more focused on you than on the argument itself.

Your heart skips a beat, torn between wanting to push him away and pull him closer. “No, I mean it. You can’t just—” The words falter on your tongue as his hand moves again, more insistent now, tugging you toward him.

You can feel the tension in his muscles, the subtle shift in the way he holds you, as if he’s trying to balance the frustration with the desire that simmers beneath it all. “I know you’re upset,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing a soft kiss just below your jawline. “But I’m not letting you spiral over this anymore.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the firmness in his voice, but the frustration bubbles up again, tangled with everything else you’re feeling. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you snap, though the bite in your tone is softened by the way your body instinctively leans into him.

Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “I’m not trying to control how you feel,” he says, his voice steady, though you can see the tension still lingering in the set of his jaw. “But I am trying to remind you that what they think doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.”

You stare at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, torn between the desire to argue and the warmth of his hand now resting on your waist, the weight of his presence calming you even as it sets your heart racing.

“Maybe not to you,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze. “But it matters to me, Luke. And that’s not something you can just... fix.”

For a moment, the space between you is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, the tension palpable. Then, slowly, Luke shifts, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, the sharp edges of frustration dulled. “I know it matters to you. But can you trust me enough to let me show you that it doesn’t change anything between us?”

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket, and for the first time since the argument started, the tightness in your chest loosens just a little. “I want to,” you admit, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the car. “But it’s hard.”

Luke leans in, his lips barely grazing yours, and the softness in his touch makes your heart stutter. “Then let me make it easier,” he whispers, and the kiss that follows is slow, gentle, as if he’s trying to reassure you through the warmth of his mouth against yours.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, tangling in the strands as the kiss deepens, the heat between you simmering quietly, like embers waiting to be fanned into a flame. Every movement is deliberate, slow, as if the argument has faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

Luke’s hands are careful, guiding you down against the leather seats as he follows, his weight settling over you in a way that’s both grounding and exhilarating. There’s no rush, no frantic movement—just the quiet urgency of two people who know exactly what they want but are taking their time getting there.

The quiet inside the car feels louder now, broken only by the soft rustle of clothes and the barely audible hitch in your breathing as Luke’s hand glides up your side. His touch lingers just below your ribs, fingers tracing a slow, teasing path that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. Your skin hums under his fingertips, every inch of you tuned to the way he moves—so careful, so focused, as though he's trying to soothe the lingering frustrations with each touch.

You shift beneath him, the leather seat creaking ever so slightly, and your breath catches when his knee nudges between your legs. He hesitates for just a second, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light, searching your face as if asking for permission. The look in his eyes sends a shiver through you—not just lust but something deeper, a quiet reassurance that everything is okay now, even if things had been tense before.

Your fingers move up to his neck, pulling him closer as you press your lips against his, the kiss soft at first, but it doesn’t stay that way. Luke responds immediately, his lips parting slightly as his hand finds its way under your shirt, the warmth of his palm against your bare skin sending a surge of heat through you. The kiss deepens, and you can feel the frustration melting away, replaced by a slow, simmering need.

His hand trails down your stomach, stopping just above your waistband. The anticipation alone has your heart pounding, and you bite your lip to stifle a soft whimper. Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he smiles—soft, almost teasing—before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His fingers tug gently at the hem of your pants, and you can’t help the way your hips lift instinctively, silently asking for more. The need between you is palpable now, the air thick with it, but there’s no rush. Every touch, every kiss, feels like it's drawn out, like you're both savoring the moment.

Luke’s hand slides lower, slipping beneath the fabric, and you bite back a gasp as his fingers find you, moving with the same careful intensity that he always has. Your back arches slightly, and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet, every nerve in your body tuned to the sensation of his touch. You feel the tension building again, but this time it’s the kind that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason.

Luke's fingers press deeper, deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every second of your reaction. The touch sends a ripple of heat through you, unraveling all the tension that had been coiling tight from the argument. Your skin feels electric, each stroke of his fingers igniting something raw and instinctive inside you. The leather beneath you squeaks softly as your back arches, the weight of him grounding you even as your body craves more. Every nerve feels alive, responding to him in a way that makes it hard to remember why you were upset in the first place.

Your breath stutters as his lips graze your ear, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. A quiet moan escapes before you can stop it, the sound slipping out despite your effort to keep quiet. Luke smirks against your neck, the curve of his lips brushing your pulse in a way that makes you shiver, the heat between you intensifying. You can feel his restraint, the way his hands move with purpose but not haste, as if he’s determined to make this last, to take his time with every single touch.

His fingers move more deliberately now, sliding deeper, and your body reacts instantly, a sharp gasp caught in your throat. You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the sound, but the pleasure building between your thighs is impossible to ignore. Luke’s free hand grips your hip, holding you steady as your hips start to move on their own, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

The air in the car feels suffocating in the best way, filled with the sounds of your shared breathing and the faint rustle of clothes. You catch the briefest glance of his face in the dim light, his jaw clenched, eyes dark and intent on you, as though he’s barely holding himself back. It sends a wave of heat crashing over you, and you can’t help the way your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, wanting him—no, needing him—deeper. His thumb brushes against a spot that makes your vision blur, and a sharp, involuntary whimper escapes, too loud for the quiet space.

“Shh,” Luke breathes out, his voice a low rasp that barely conceals the strain in it. “We gotta be quiet, baby.”

But there’s nothing quiet about the way he touches you, the way his body presses against yours, every slow, deliberate movement setting you ablaze. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and you press your forehead against his shoulder, your fingers digging into his back as you try to focus on something—anything—other than the wave of pleasure threatening to spill over.

You can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as his lips brush your skin, soft kisses that trail down your collarbone. It’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. But there’s something teasing in it too, something that makes your breath hitch as his hand continues its agonizingly slow rhythm between your legs. The frustration builds alongside the pleasure, the need to cry out so overwhelming that you have to bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds escaping from your throat.

The pressure builds, winding tighter and tighter, and you’re barely holding it together when Luke’s lips find your ear again. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, the words barely audible but sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. His voice is ragged, strained, like he’s barely managing to keep himself in check. “So damn good for me, baby.”

The praise hits you like a punch to the gut, your entire body tensing beneath him. Your thighs squeeze around him involuntarily, your hips lifting again in response to the slow, torturous rhythm he’s set. You can’t help the way your body reacts, chasing that high even as you try desperately to stay quiet.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer as your lips find his, muffling the moan that finally breaks free when his thumb presses just right. The kiss is messy, frantic, but it does little to hide the soft, breathless gasps escaping from both of you now. His hand moves faster, more insistent, and you can feel the tension in his body mirroring your own as the space between you narrows further.

Luke’s breath hitches as you tug him even closer, your lips parting to let out another soft, desperate moan that’s swallowed by his mouth. His fingers curl inside you, and you’re done for, every nerve sparking with heat. You break away from the kiss, your forehead pressed to his as you gasp for air, trying to keep your voice down but failing as the pleasure builds.

“Luke…” you gasp, his name barely a whisper, more breath than sound, but it’s enough to make him groan, low and rough, as he pushes himself harder against you, his lips brushing yours in another heated, sloppy kiss.

Your body trembles with the effort to keep quiet, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His touch becomes more insistent, more confident, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he leans in, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers, his voice low, rough with need. His thumb circles just right, and you’re nodding before you can even think, your body already teetering on the edge. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “I wanna feel it.”

And you do—hard, your body shuddering as you clamp your mouth shut, burying your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds that threaten to spill out. Your fingers dig into his back as the pleasure washes over you, hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling in his arms as he holds you steady, his fingers never stopping.

You ride out the waves, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your legs tighten around him, your body still humming with the aftershocks. Luke slows his movements, his hand gently pulling away as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

For a moment, everything is still, the car quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Then Luke shifts, his forehead resting against yours as he looks down at you, his expression soft but still dark with desire.

“I love you, okay?” he whispers, his voice rough, but there’s a softness to it that makes your heart flutter. “We’ll get through this.”

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss that feels like a promise—like he’s not done with you yet.

[daenysx]

Hiiii,,,I have a request 😋

How about gym rat!james and gf reader going to the gym together for the first time? He’s like helping her out and teaching her how to use the machines,, basically acting as a coach hahahaha

Idk thought it was cute c:

thank you for requesting, this is so sweet!!! i'm being really honest right now, i have no idea about gym things, angels, so i'm really sorry if there's any mistake. i hope you enjoy <33333

james potter x fem!reader, fluff and a bit suggestive at the end (because james looks perfect when he works out and you're definitely turned on by watching him)

"james, i'm not strong enough for this."

james looks at you like you say the strangest thing ever. you only spent 10 minutes at the gym and you can feel your sore muscles getting tired.

"what?" he asks, holding a huge bottle of water. "of course you are strong. you just need some warm up before doing more strenuous stuff."

you huff, looking around. people here look so concentrated, just like james. it's been a long time since you've done any sport but you accepted james's offer to try some exercises to spent time with him at the gym. he loves being here, always says how good it feels to forget about anything when he's focused on working out and these days he needs to be here more, before the beginning of the new season with his team.

"you look really good in these clothes." you say to him cheekily. he's so tall and the top he wears makes his muscles more prominent than ever. what can you do, ignore the fact that he looks like a statue?

"you're not gonna get what you want this time, you little minx." james says, kissing your cheek. "come on, try again."

you try to warm up for a few minutes, doing exactly how he shows you. james counts down, sometimes he adjusts your legs or your waist to correct your posture. at the end of the first twenty minutes, you're sure you'll faint on him.

"i promise i'm not saying this because i don't like it-" you start. "but it's so hard, jamie!"

you pout, sitting on the floor. james gives you his bottle before sitting next to you. "you've done so well, angel. you just gotta give your body some time."

"i won't be able to leave the bed for three days."

"come on, you're being more dramatic than sirius." he laughs.

"no, it's true." you say, seriously. "you'll see that when you have to carry me everywhere."

"poor baby." he mocks, rubs a hand over your thighs. "do you wanna take a break? you can watch me if you want."

"yes!" you say, standing up happily. "i wanna watch you."

james holds your hand, leading you to the room where people use weightlifting stuff. he chats with a few guys, introduces you proudly. you smile, he looks so happy to have you with him here. you kiss his cheek before letting him go to do his thing.

watching james here feels so strange. he looks perfect, your legs shake with pride. he's doing it flawlessly, his skin shining with sweat as he keeps lifting. you smile, he makes a lot of noise. he breathes loudly when he finishes.

clapping your hands, you go next to him. "you're so good, jamie." you admire your boyfriend. he smiles. "i had a lovely audience this time."

he pulls you to his lap and you settle down on his thighs. the gym isn't so crowded, there are only a few people in the huge room you are in. you look around before kissing his lips.

"i need a shower." he says. "sweating."

"don't care." you say. "you look hot."

"stop being distracting." he says but you know he doesn't mean it. he kisses you so nicely. "i'm not done yet."

"it's been 45 minutes." you say. "aren't you tired?"

the truth is, you know james is not tired. he can keep going for at least an hour, he's used to this stuff. you just think you can't keep watching, it makes you wanna jump on him and this is a public place so it's not such a nice thought to have here.

"do you wanna go home?" he asks. "i usually do a little more but if you're tired we can leave."

he's so gentle with you and you don't wanna interrupt his training for your not-so-subtle intentions. you give him a smile before leaving his lap. "i'm not tired. we can stay as long as you want."

somehow you manage to keep your thoughts to yourself and leave james do his thing. you walk inside the gym a bit, james showed you the equipments when you first walked in. even though you only spent like half an hour working out, you still feel good. your arms and legs feel sore a little but james says it's normal, you trust his word.

after another hour with you watching your boyfriend and him doing his usual exercises, james says you can leave. he takes a few minutes in the shower while you wait for him and then holds your hand. "thank you for coming with me." he says as you walk to the car.

"thank you for putting up with my dramatics." you say. "maybe i can come with you more. i'm not promising working out though, only for watching you."

"you liked watching me?" he asks, smirking.

"james, you gotta be kidding me." you say, being so so serious. "do you know how you look when you're lifting and making it look so easy? i was trying so hard to keep my hands to myself."

you don't think you've ever been this bold with your affections but james deserves it. he looks kinda shocked but he has no right to be, what did he think you'll say? now, you're the one who's smirking and he blushes a bit.

"you should've told me before, angel." he says, going back to his normal self a second later. "we could leave earlier for home if i had known."

he opens the door of the passenger side for you. "and then what?" you ask, pulling him closer as you sit. he holds the door with one hand, your cheek with another.

"i don't know." he shrugs. "you could show me what you were thinking of doing."

"i really could." you whisper. you don't know how the conversation turned into such a teasing thing but you like it anyway. "too bad my legs are hurting."

he kisses your lips before closing the door. "you won't have to use your legs for the things i'll do to you." he says. you swallow before buckling your seatbelt. the car feels too hot suddenly. james has to keep his hand on your thigh the entire way home.

[clairdelunelove]

badges of honor

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost

synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–

a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

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holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.

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it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost. 

ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest. 

ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.” 

ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer. 

ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep. 

ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.

ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.” 

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I get a particularly nasty message, I always check to see if they're following me first. Nine times out of ten, they're not. But they're also, unfortunately, the same people who feel entitled to send me multiple messages in a row, most of them heavily steeped in the language of moralization and purity.

Like whenever I talk about painkillers or pain management, I always get a handful of well-meaning people who are maybe new to my blog or are just young, asking me if I've tried diet/exercise/meditation, etc.

Sometimes I'll respond to them. Other times I'll just ignore them because I get those kinds of messages so often it's like white noise, and maybe part of me hopes if they stick around on my blog, they'll learn it through exposure via my incessant bitching.

When you see me responding to someone offering that kind of advice, it's either because I'm at my fucking limit or because I'm hoping it's a teachable moment and an otherwise seemingly nice person might unlearn some harmful biases.

The people who don't follow me are not interested in any kind of conversation on the subject. They do, however, feel the most qualified to tell me, someone they didn't know existed until one of my posts crossed their dash, how to manage my life, everything I'm doing wrong, and why I'm a bad person.

And for them, my disability is proof that I am a bad person because they view health as a moral issue.

If you're sick, it's because you don't exercise enough, don't eat the right foods, don't pray enough, don't do enough. They genuinely believe that if they say and do all the right things, like a Good Person, they'll never get sick.

It's their security blanket against the harsh reality that anyone is one bad day away from disability. One faulty gene, one bad infection, one bad accident away from a life-long diagnosis. And if they do get sick, it's a test. A challenge to be overcome with Willpower as they learn the True Meaning of Life.

It can never just be a simple fact of life that sickness happens. That disability exists without a moral reason.

And it's suffocating.

Day in, day out. Folks who don't know me from fucking Eve telling me I'm being punished. Not always as outright as that. They don't always use that word. But sometimes I appreciate it when they do because at least then they're being honest. They're not couching it in the softer language of leftist circles. Not hiding it behind concern.

Because the truth is, there are just as many folks who think they're liberal and enlightened who'd be happy if disabled people just stopped existing. They don't like thinking about us because it makes them think about themselves. About their own fragility and mortality, and they hate that. They hate that there's something they can't control with their thoughts and actions. That they can't moralize their way out of.

Honestly, it's a relief when people are just cunts about it because I can hit the block button, safe in the knowledge that they were never the kind of person who would see me as a person. But when it's some 20yo kid with their pronouns, orientation, and "ACAB" in their profile spouting the same kind of moralization, sometimes even with the language of eugenics, it feels like such a betrayal. Like a loss.

And perhaps if I wasn't multiply disabled, I'd have the energy to pull them back. To tell them why they're wrong and hope like hell they realize what they're doing is harmful. But then, if I wasn't disabled, they wouldn't be messaging me, so I wouldn't be dealing with it.

I wouldn't be expected to use my existence as a teachable moment to spoon-feed them compassion. But I am, and I do. When I can. Not always with the grace that's warranted. Not always with the thought and compassion I ought to. (And I don't; I acknowledge that. I'm prone to anger and off-the-cuff remarks that are hurtful too. Though I try to keep most of it to myself or save it for therapy.)

Basically, if you've made it this far through the TED talk, don't be fucking cunts to disabled people. Don't tell chronically ill people to try yoga. Don't moralize pain relief. Suffering is not noble.

You need to kill the cop and the priest in your head telling you otherwise.

And also if you're the nice people sending me nice messages. Thank you. It helps cushion all of *gestures* this.