#jams does real life

[androgynosaurus]

the other night I had a dream that I was watching a new episode of a TV show I like and my fave male character takes his shirt off and he's got clearly visible top surgery scars. Absolutely no preamble or foreshadowing in previous episodes that this guy was trans just. there they are. and I was so overwhelmed by emotion that I had to stop the episode and get up and jab my finger at them bc the people watching with me had no idea what I was crying about. for context we do not have a TV, but a school-style projector onto a blank wall. so here's an artist's rendition of what it looked like (and how it felt)

#raptor screeches #jams does real life #my art #terrible 5 minute art but it very much captures the emotion lol #i wish dreams could come true

[breelandwalker]

Couldn't sleep, so I stayed up making a mixtape for my inner 13yo with all the mid-to-late 90s songs I could think of. All the stuff that made me ask my mom to turn up the car radio. All the tunes made me leap for the record button on my boombox (I always had a blank tape in to catch my faves from the radio and yes I'm fully aware of how much that shows my age). All the things I danced to in my room in that old haunted house or requested from the DJ at school dances.

Some of it has aged well, some of it hasn't, but it's still such a huge nostalgia trip for my 40yo ass to get in the car in the morning, hit that shuffle, and hear the opening bars of a song that was audio caffeine for teenage me.

10/10 definitely recommend. Write a musical love letter to your younger self. Revisit all the songs that gave you hope or happiness or helped you get through your bad days.

#Bree in real life #Gonna spend this year healing my trauma with music and gardening #I GET KNOCKED DOWN BUT I GET UP AGAIN YOU'RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN #Also if you make a 90s mixtape that doesn't have the Macarena or 2Unlimited does it even really count? #For my fellow Elder Millennials pop your favorite OH THIS IS MY JAM tune in the comments

[pucksandpower]

Best Laid Plans

Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader

Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that

Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation

Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …

So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas

The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.

How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.

He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.

The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.

An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?

Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”

You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.

“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.

Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”

Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.

“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.

You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”

That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”

With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.

“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.

You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”

There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”

The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”

You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”

The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.

The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.

But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.

With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”

His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”

For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.

You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.

Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.

“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”

In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.

He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.

Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”

You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”

The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.

With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”

He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.

“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”

And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.

“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”

You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.

Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.

The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.

The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.

“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”

You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.

You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.

Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”

The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”

You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.

“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”

“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.

Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.

With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.

“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”

The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”

Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.

The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.

Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.

Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.

“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”

You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.

Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.

You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.

“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”

He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.

Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.

“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”

As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.

Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.

“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”

You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.

“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.

Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.

You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”

“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”

The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.

If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.

When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.

“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”

Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.

He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”

For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”

A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.

There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.

For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.

“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”

That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.

You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.

Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.

Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.

“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”

You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.

He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.

“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”

His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.

And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.

By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.

When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.

It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.

As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.

For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.

He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.

***

Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.

Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.

He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.

You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.

He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.

Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.

He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.

Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.

When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.

He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.

Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.

Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.

With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.

“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”

Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.

Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.

How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.

The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.

Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.

But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.

Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.

“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”

Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.

“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”

That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.

“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”

Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.

He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.

When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.

“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”

Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.

“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”

He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.

Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”

The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.

He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.

Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.

And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.

***

The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.

You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.

He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.

The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.

He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...

Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.

With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.

“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.

You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.

You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”

He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.

“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”

The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.

“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.

Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.

Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.

Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.

Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.

Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.

This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.

You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.

“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...

He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.

“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”

You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.

With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”

Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.

He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.

You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.

The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.

“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”

You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.

“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”

You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.

“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.

He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.

Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.

You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”

A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.

Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.

“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”

The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.

“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”

His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.

“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”

He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.

There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.

Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.

He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”

Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.

Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.

Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.

“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”

The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.

As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.

That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.

“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”

Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.

For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.

When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.

“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.

“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.

When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.

“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.

The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.

Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?

So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.

“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”

You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.

And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either

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[yameoto]

HELL IS A (FUCKING) ROOMMATE. JORDAN LI.

synopsis ; your roommate has the libido of a goddamn animal and it's driving you insane. not to mention the fact they have an annoying habit of jerking off in your dorm. to you.

they want you? fine—they can have you. only on your terms, though.

✗ warnings ; dom!reader, sub!jordan. fem!reader, perv!roomate!jordan, dubcon, voyeurism, excessive masturbation (soz). wc ; 4.2k

YOU can do this. you can do this.

you grunt as you fumble for the key. cursing as, with an extreme lack of coordination—you begin to forcibly ram the bloody thing into the lock with the grace and precision of a sledgehammer. what you lack in motor control you make up for with inner beauty—or something.

the do not disturb sign rattles mockingly off the handle, meaning your roommate is definitely inside and definitely not helping out. you grit your teeth, entire body off kilter as you're preoccupied with balancing the boxes cramful of belongings in your arms; big and bulky and absolutely not helping your aim. you curse, loudly as they almost almost tumble out of your grasp the moment the key miraculously jams into place, jerking wildly to catch them. (note: super strength does not come with super-hand-eye-coordination.)

“fucking– stupid- key– fucking better– woah!” 

without warning, the door swings open, inwards. a montage of your entire life flits before your eyes as you hurtle forward, boxes and all. you just about barely manage to catch yourself with an undignified stumble before drawing yourself up; coming face to face with—oh.

two figures. bodies very noticeably.. inside. each other. naked. on, what you realise after a bout of disbelief; your fucking bed.

"what the fuck?"

one of them growls, mop of black hair flopping as their head snaps up, even though you're pretty sure you should be the one slinging expletives around. with a frustrated scowl they pull out of the dude, sending a withering glare to the poor guy they were fucking into the bedspread—to which he.. disappears? glitches out? phases out of existence? because suddenly he’s not there anymore, and you’re stranded alone with a very attractive, very threatening looking college student. 

who is also—uh, very, very naked.

“um, hi–”

“why do you have a key to my fucking dorm?”

oh, shit.

they are, frankly, gorgeous – like, one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen. their hair is black, mussed, and you can’t help the way your gaze follows its way down the threshold of an.. extremely muscled, slick torso before snapping upwards to find a mildly paralysing glare that reminds yourself that you are not in a very good position right now.

“i’m uh- your new.. roommate?'' you don't mean for it to come out like a question, but by the way they're staring down at you like you're a cockroach that just flew onto their windshield, you almost aren't so sure.

"i'm a fucking TA— i don't have roommates." their eyes narrow, which is like—alright, way to be real welcoming.

“i’m a.. last minute transfer..?” you offer, wincing as you meet their stare. their eyes are unflinching, yet still lidded in a post-sex haze. you can feel your body involuntarily holding its breath; though from the steel in their gaze or the way their biceps flex when they run a hand through their dishevelled locks, you can’t tell. 

fuck, you hate hot people.

“oh, yeah. fuck, i forgot about that.” their shoulders slacken, mouth settling into an unimpressed line; which is only slightly more welcoming than the look of murderous intent of two seconds ago. “jordan. jordan li." they say, last name and all—which is how you know they're a prick. "make yourself at home, i guess.” they don’t sound all too enthused as they skirt away from the door, seemingly satisfied with the fact that you're not a home invader—dorm invader? whatever. you just pray that the sigh of relief you breathe isn’t audible.

“great! nice to meet you, i’m–”

“s’on the sheet." jordan cuts in with supreme disinterest as they move across the room, leaning down to pick their boxers from the floor. you’re struck once again with the realisation that they are still fucking naked, and you pointedly tear your eyes away. 

“um, yeah.. hey, uh—what’s your-”

“third year, crime-fighting. don't touch my shit. no pets, obviously. if you have a dog, get rid of it. give it to the animal shelter, don’t care. don’t snoop, don't make a mess, and definitely don’t take off the goddamn do not disturb sign. got it?”

you've barely opened your mouth to reply; probably with something along the lines of what the fuck? or animal shelter? before jordan's already turned away, back muscles flexing as they sink back onto the end of their bed, scrunching their briefs up in one hand and—

“hey, uh,” jordan interjects, turning round with an unreadable expression as they glance down, and like a fucking idiot, you follow; giving you front row seat to the massive, throbbing boner that they’re still sporting—pulsing an angry, flushed red as the tip drools with precum.

“mind if i take care of this? couldn’t exactly finish, if you know what i—”

you slam the door after you, and you swear a snicker follows you down the corridor. 

-

over the next week, it quickly becomes apparent that jordan either a): forgets you live in the same room as them, or b): simply does not care. 

for starters, there’s their apparent aversion to doing laundry until their entire closet is out of commission, the coke stash underneath their mattress and also—oh. their need to get their dick wet at least four times a day. (irrespective of whether they have a dick or not).

“what?” jordan scoffs through a mouthful of cereal. “‘m not lettin’ some fuckin’ freshie cockblock me.”

“i’m a transfer, not a fucking freshman.” you scowl, and jordan’s lips curl to form a lazy little ‘o’. it twitches upwards into that infuriating little smirk, like they enjoy seeing you squirm. 

“whatever. my libido stops for nobody, not even you. besides,” they set their bowl on the bedside table, wagging their fingers suggestively into a ‘V’ shape and licking the air between. "a bigender supe has needs too."

they’re slouching against their headboard, free arm stretching lazily above their head. your cheeks flush traitorously as their biceps flex—muscles visibly popping against their frame “you can just say 'a girl has needs'. i'm not an idiot, i know what you mean." is what you grumble back, if only to ignore the inane, stupid heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

"but i have needs when i'm a dude, too." jordan grins, propping themselves up by their elbow, eyes gleaming impishly as they curl their hand into a fist and making a fucking wanking motion over their (currently) non-existent dick. which is—yeah. that pretty much sums up your roommate for you.

the thing is about jordan, is despite all their excessive lockerroom talk and relatively abrasive personality; they’re still rank two in all of godolkin. ergo, they’re a surprisingly busy person; being preoccupied with either studying, sparring or partying ninety of the time. 

thus, like all horny, single college students, when you don’t have time to squeeze a good fuck in, you’re left with second-best option—yourself. this would otherwise be fine, except jordan’s compound v must have seeped through their bloodstream and into their libido because jesus fucking christ are they horny.

it’s not like they make an effort of hiding it, either. they seem to have zero qualms about rolling out of bed, morning wood popping out from their briefs like a fucking beacon. 

“oh, shit,” jordan yawns when slide the covers off, giving way to the immense boner throbbing against their boxer-briefs. they don’t even have the decency to look sheepish when they walk past you, adjusting themselves lazily. you don’t miss the grunt of relief that escapes them as their hand palms their crotch before they disappear into the bathroom, either. or the little groans of relief that sound behind the door before they saunter out, towelling their hands with the stupidest grin on their face.

it shouldn’t piss you off as much as it does, except for the fact that even when jordan rouses without morning wood (or wood in general); they end up making their usual bathroom trip anyways. noises slipping from a half-ajar door and toilet lid left slippery, as always. 

they have to be doing it on purpose. they have to be. like, they left their strap-on on your desk once. which, first of all, gross. second of all, why was it so fucking big?

“jordan!” you holler, aghast as you nudge the thing on your desk, conveniently placed right next to your laptop.

“oh! that’s where i left it. sick.” jordan grins as they saunter over, veined hands reaching over to wrap around the shiny, plastic length and fuck, since when were their palms so massive—

“thanks, roomie.” they ruffle your hair with an impish glint in their eyes, smile only growing when you jerk away with a scowl. 

and that’s not even the worst of it.

“oh, shit—was that yours?” to their credit, jordan looks somewhat sheepish as they pinch a rock-hard pair of socks off the floor. your fucking socks, which have clearly been well-loved and cared for in places other than your shoes. 

“those were my favourite!” they weren’t your favourites. they’re socks. however, it makes jordan wince, which almost makes it worth it. 

hey, a little remorse is better than nothing. 

“..i’ll buy you a new pair?” jordan offers, scratching the nape of their neck. you’re almost content to let the awkwardness linger just give them just a piece of the torture you’ve been subjected to for the past several weeks — except the sliver of satisfaction is completely negated by the way jordan’s lip twitches upwards, like they’re fighting back a smirk.

“you little fuck—“

anyways, the point is jordan wanks. a lot. 

you can’t stop thinking about it. because it’s annoying. and disrespectful. and god, do they think you want to hear every pretty little moan that falls from their mouth? every grunt and groan that slips from their throat in that raspy, godforsaken timber— 

long story short; if you have to find a wadded up sock or sticky residue at the bottom of the computer desk one more time, you’re going to lose it. 

you think jordan knows it, too.

-

it’s midnight when you wake up to the sound of a bed creaking.

you’re an early sleeper, jordan isn’t. it works. you’re typically long knocked out before they even make it back in the dorm, out there doing god knows what. today, though, you’d far overestimated your ability to finish your latest assignment; so when jordan finally staggered through the door, slumping into bed with a little grunt, you thought nothing of it.

minutes pass, and the bed shifts. jordan groans. under the moonlight you can see the shadowed visage of their figure, splayed out on their bed with one hand underneath the covers; moving, repeatedly.

jordan grunts again, and you squint; bleary eyes adjusting to the darkness. the muffled, wet sound of slapping resounds, subdued by the weight of the blanket. if you didn’t know better, you’d think they were—

“mm, fuck—” jordan moans, blanket slipping down their hips and—oh my fucking god.

like pulling back a curtain, jordan’s cock springs enthusiastically to the surface; standing tall and proud as their fist pumps up and down the thick, veined girth of their length. it’s practically pulsating with need, bordering on desperate—they must be desperate, because jordan’s shameless, sure, but.. jacking off in the same room as you? 

you didn’t think they were that much of a fucking perv.

but maybe you’re a perv too, because the moment jordan’s hips rock upwards and their tip glimmers in a thick sheen of pre-cum; you can feel the telltale surge of heat in your stomach, the fabric of your panties dampening and oh, this can’t seriously be happening right now.

“fuck—motherfucker..” jordan hisses, drawing your bleary-eyed gaze from the flushed, throbbing bob of their cock to their pink cheeks and fucked-out face, mouth lolling in pleasure. they twist their head, nosing into something tossed onto their pillow that makes you stop in their tracks.

that’s.. you thought you lost that!

“need ‘m—so—fucking bad..” jordan slurs stiltedly, nuzzling into your shirt like their life depends on it. “fuckin’—stupid fucking—”

your stomach tightens, and you can’t help it when your fingers dip down under your shorts, slipping into your cunt. you should be mad, should be disgusted, should be shoving open the door and ripping them out of their covers and.. wrapping your mouth around their adorably flushed tip? seizing their hips and yanking their cock into your tight, wet little—

"oh, fuck," jordan interrupts your thought process by growling through their teeth, precum spilling from the slit of their dick and glazing their palms. there’s so much of it, so wet that even in the dark you can see the stain pooling in their sweatpants, their bedsheets. 

you’re so entranced you barely even register when it when their grip releases; length arcing and splattering thick ropes of cum against their abdomen. the sight is so mesmerising that you almost don’t pick up on the sound of your fucking name that tears out of their throat—husky and half gargled as jordan’s chest heaves. you don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until jordan’s figure simply lays there, pants echoing in the silent room. 

they wrap your shirt around their dick and wipe it clean. it’s only when they murmur something unintelligible—burying their nose back into your jumper that you finally, finally turn away, fingers curling deep inside your cunt.

fucking hell.

-

the second time it happens, you are wide, wide awake. which unfortunately means you have no excuse for the minutes seared into your memory and sticky residue on your thighs.

granted, at first you didn’t know. as always, the bathroom door hangs carelessly agape. steam curls from the room, wafting up and dispersing in the stuffy dorm air. what lingers, however, is the fresh note of jordan’s shampoo, body wash, and something.. saltier, headier.

whatever. with nothing more than an arched brow, you pick over the discarded basketball shorts and tank tops that litter the floor, intending to kick the bathroom door shut and be on your way. it’s when your hand reaches out, closing around the cool metal that you see it.

jordan’s slumped against the slick shower wall, fingers buried knuckle-deep into their pussy.

oh, shit shit shit—

“shit..” jordan hisses, muscles working like well-oiled sprigs as they pump into their cunt, droplets of water trickling down their skin and pooling into the divots of their body. 

your hand tightens around the doorknob. god, their moans.. if they think the sound of the showerhead can disguise the filthy nothings spilling out of their mouth, they are very, very wrong. 

somewhere between the fuck’s and annoying’s and pretty fuckin’ prude’s their full-weight crumples against the shower wall, plush ass pressing up against steaming glass like some (high-quality) porn ad as they ram their fingers in one last time, free hand shooting out wildly to grasp at nothing before the shower wall splatters with something you only catch a glimpse of before you’re slamming the bathroom door, cheeks burning and fingers trembling. with a start, you realise you’ve almost wrenched the goddamn metal off.

the doorknob is always a little bit loose, after that. 

-

you’re getting ready for a party.

well, you’re supposed to be getting ready for a  party, hence the sultry eyeshadow, glossy press of your lips and sheer amount of skin laid bare. your crop-top is just a little bit too high, mini-skirt more than a little too short.

in reality? you’re enacting your fucking vegeance.

jordan likes you. it’s a fact that stares you right in the face. and if not a crush, it’s a massive, raging hard-on. for you—only you—citing a certain roommate’s post-nut ramblings you’ve heard one too many times. 

as it turns out, jordan becomes considerably less insufferable when you know you’re the only thing that gets their dick wet.

“how do i look?” you call, doing a little twirl. it’s impossible to keep the smirk off your face, skirt flipping very purposely upwards as you spin, revealing a tad more than they ever (usually) get to see. 

jordan glances up, and their breath fucking hitches.

bingo.

“what?” you cock your head, lashes batting innocuously as they stare. playing the oblivious role is just too sweet, especially when your eyes flicker down, just for a moment, and you can see the bulge in their sweatpants growing.

poor little jordan, hard because their roommate flashed a millisecond of ass.

“you look—good.” they grunt, tone carefully measured. their gaze lingers, only for another moment before they abruptly snap their vision back to their screen. an admirable effort, really. if only their cheeks were a little less red, cock a little less needy.

“well don’t flatter me too much,” you twist away, lips twitching upwards. feigning normalcy is easy, seeing as how you’ve been doing so ever since that first night. you're practically buzzing with anticipation when you make a big show of leaving the room, snarky comment and all.

and really, jordan could've waited for longer than two minutes before moaning that raspy, broken moan (you're so intimately familiar with) from behind the door.

your lips split into a grin, and when you slide the door back open, the look on jordan's face is so priceless you hope it'll be seared into your memory forever.

“shit!"

it’s undeniable, this time. you’re no longer a fly on the wall, and they’re no longer blanketed by the illusion of secrecy; caught red-handed with their cock in their fist and head on your pillow.

“wait—fuck—i can expl—!”

like clockwork, jordan's cock twitches as if in reaction, and a drop of fresh semen spurts from their tip before trickling down to join the messy puddle on their stomach. 

“i thought—fuck! you said you were going!” 

“that doesn’t sound like an apology to me.” 

you delight in the way jordan flushes, their breath hitching. they take a ragged breath before they make a valiant attempt to cover up their falter with aggression. "doesn't mean anything," they retort through gritted teeth, mustering up as much conviction as they can. 

it’s adorable, how much they pretend they don’t want you as if they don’t jack off to the smell of your sweatshirt every night. 

“shut the fuck up.” you roll your eyes, novelty of the movement finally wearing thin. you have needs too—and with a fluid movement, you slide onto the bed and yank their hips against yours, pulling them into a straddle over your torso.

jordan can't help but hiss at the sudden contact, hips jerking instinctively. "fuck, you're cold," they mutter under their breath, though there's no denying the thrill running through them; hips bucking forward into the touch of your cool fingers as they wrap around their hard member. it feels euphoric—the contrast between your heat and coldness heightening every single nerve ending in their body. the tip of their cockhead brushing against your belly button, dripping a thin line of hot, sticky fluid after it.

“go on.” you coo, eyebrows raised. 

jorda’s hands fly almost immediately to the hem of your skirt. so eager, like an impatient puppy. 

 before you curl your hand around their wrist, grip firm and punishing. 

they freeze, head cocking like a confused puppy. “huh?” they say, biting back a noise of complaint. they want you so bad its goddamn gruelling; their fingers twitching around nothing, screaming in impatience, let me fuck you, let me ruin you already. don’t you know how long i’ve been waiting? how long you’ve kept me fucking waiting?

of course you know. they don’t know that, though. 

“you’re not gonna do anything?” despite all their irritating, fratboy-esque bravado; jordan’s unable to prevent the whininess from seeping into their tone, hands tugging insistently at the hem of your skirt. their cock pulses, painful and needy.

“you have hands, don’t you?” your lips quirk at the way jordan’s expression drops and their mouth opens again, probably to protest until you yank their thighs open and press them forward, dick pressing flush against your torso. 

"unnhnnngh.." jordan grunts, gasping for air while trying to maintain eye contact with you—an impossible task considering how goddamn desperate they are. their free hand grabs hold of your waist, grinding sloppily as precum spurts all over your chest. “f-fuck off," they hiss, lips crashing against yours, teeth knocking at their eagerness.

“goddamn tease—” they groan, rutting against your torso, to no avail. they bury their face into your collar, utterly miserable, fingers twisting into the hem of your shirt. “just get the fuck on with it—ahnnn.. f-fuck—”

“so mouthy,” you tease, delighted at the mewl that slips past jordan’s lips when your hand wraps around their tip. their chain necklace swings wildly, bucking their hips desperately into your fist.

“hands feel so fuckin’ good,” jordan sputters, drooling almost as much as their dick is. their fumbling grasp finds purchase in your shoulders as they pump themselves into your hand; you barely even have to move, with them doing most of the work.

“need to be— inside—“ jordan grunts; glassy eyes blinking down at you like it’ll change your mind just like that. it’s cute, how they look when they’re not scowling or fucking smirking at you. it’s even cuter, the way they inhale sharply when you shake your head and deliver a cool “no, baby,” their back arching when you cup one of their balls and squeeze, forced into dismal acceptance with a keening whine. 

jordan’s movements are getting unsteady, now. eyes glazing over by the second. “y’gonna make me cum,” they slur, grip on your hips tightening. it only takes a moment before their movements stutter and they’re muttering “fuck fuck fuck oh, fuck!“ and a long, gargled moan rips from their throat and all of a sudden hands wrapped around cock are sinking in wet, sloppy heat; your fingers sliding knuckle-deep into their pussy with almost breath-taking ease.

“jesus christ!” jordan croons in sheer, unexpected pleasure as they feel you shove yourself inside them, cum spurting and squeezing out helplessly from between their walls and your fingers. they squirt so fucking messily, their leaking cock replaced by a cunt spilling out out all over your palm. 

“i didn’t—didn’t mean to—” they slur, panic two steps behind their mouth. struggling to sling anything coherent together with you kneading your fingers into their pussy like its goddamn putty. “oh?” you arch a brow, and jordan visibly flushes, moaning openly when your digits curl.

“can’t–don’t really—”

“what? fuck yourself?” is your reply, because you both know they fucking do; it’s not like you don’t how their pussy sounds when it’s sliding slick against their pillow, how your name sounds cried out, thick through the muzzle of your jumper.

it’s a dual guilty pleasure—you watch, they do. at this point, you can’t tell who’s the more perverted out of the two of you.

jordan. definitely jordan. 

“too busy humping my clothes, is that it?” you purr, and jordan honest to god whimpers, squirming away from your fingers both out of overstimulation and plaintive shame. “ah, ah,” you tut, nails digging into their hips as you hold them in place, finger thumbing harshly against their clit as they cry out a gargled moan. 

“f-fuck off—” jordan hisses, practically an admission of guilt itself. they seem to know it, too, with the way they abandon all pretence and pound violently against your knuckles—their gaze burning into yours like they’re daring you to say another word. “don’t act like you didn’t—shit—fucking like it.” jordan gasps out between sputters, teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“hm?” you pause, eyes meeting jordan’s heated, quivering stare. “jerk off to watching me?” they choke, eyes glossing over when you thrust “did you fuck yourself to my—mmhnn—!” 

an easy, all-too-familiar eye roll graces your face before you shut them up with your fingers. their pussy clenches; hot, slippery walls gripping your digits as if afraid to let go. oh, this is too easy.

“don’t get cute with me, roomie.” the nickname tastes sweet on your tongue, and jordan’s face grows hotter. a well-timed thumb to their clit flickers their bravado out like a light. “fucking hell!” they gasp, mouth gaping into a moan and eyes rolling back into their skull.

“you wanted me to watch, didn’t you?” you coo, and jordan squirms; mouth open in protest—or at least attempts at them, what with the way they keep gasping out in pleasure as you roll your fingers against their clit. 

“shut the fuck—i didn’t—”

“a pervert and a liar now, are we?”

jordan makes a noise somewhere between a hiss and a whine, crying out when you slide two more fingers into the slick canal of their core. their eyes screw shut, hands seizing so wildly into the mattress you almost think they’re about to tear a hole through the bedsheets.

“god! fuck—i can’t—”

they cry out your name when they cum, and even if its a sound you’ve heard countless times by now you don’t think it’ll ever get old. “that’s it, baby.” you coo, lips curling upwards at the way they bury their face into your collar.

they lie there, panting, for what feels like forever before a muffled, half-delusional groan leaves their lips.

“oh, fuuuckk..”

“what?”

“..i thought i would top.”

#(っ ‘o’)ﾉ⌒💥my works ! #૮ smut🔞 #inbox ! #jordan li #jordan li x reader #jordan li fanfic #jordan li headcanons #jordan li smut #gen v #gen v smut #gen v x reader #gen v fanfic #gen v headcanons

[wonderlandwalker]

Trying to Forget | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Part 2 of Remember. Finnick is trying to make peace with simply being your friend, because he thinks that is better than not getting to see you at all, but he might be proven painfully wrong. Find part 3 here

Content Warnings/Tags: Memory loss, insinuations of smut, angst, foreshadowing

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I have seen all your requests so here it is, part 2 of Remember. Happy ending is unfortunately not part of my vocabulary so this will have to do. I want to write more as a continuation of this but I have a big exam coming up so unless someone wants to take that for me I might have to take a break for a little bit

He still wasn't used to it, to see you there, to see you sitting next to your friends and how he had to join them as if that’s all he was, a friend. And don't get him wrong, he was glad you were there, he was thankful they had found you, but it hurt too.

You spend your days as if nothing was wrong, and he supposes to you there wasn't. He had to hold himself back from falling to your feet and praying to the gods to give you back to him. And he didn't understand what he had done wrong to deserve this punishment. He knows he has made mistakes in his life, but surely the cruelty of his current situation could not be matched by any and all of his past. When you look at him with those eyes full of excitement he wants to kiss you and make you remember, but it would only push you further away. So he pretends, he pretends he’s okay with the way things are, that he is okay with being a friend. 

He tries to let go, he really does. He tries to separate you from his love for you. He tries to remember not to hug you from behind when he walks into a room, but every time he remembers a piece of him withers away. 

And he doesn't know how to deal with this, because whenever he was upset, he would go to you. He would talk to you, or lay down next to you, and your presence would assure him he’d get through it, it would show him what he was doing it all for. But your presence isn't assuring anymore, it's shattering.

So he’s stopped touching you, he’s stopped looking at you like you’re about to remember him again, he’s stopped showing you affection. But he doesn't know what to do with himself, he’s spent as long as he can remember loving you, and he doesn't know where to channel this hole that is threatening to swallow him. So he makes sure you have everything he knows will light up your days, even if you don’t remember, he’ll remember for you. He makes sure they don't run out of blueberry jam because he remembers the time you told him it made the perfect breakfast with yoghurt. And whenever he does, you always look so surprised, asking him how they possibly could have known, but the real question is how he could possibly ever forget. 

Yes, he’ll remember for you. He’ll remember how you get cold at night after a long day, and he convinces someone to stack an extra blanket on your bed. And you might think it’s a coincidence every time, but he’ll never let coincidence make a turn for the worse. 

He sees when you go to visit the doctor, but he doesn't know what is going on anymore, because he isn't your boyfriend anymore. He’s asking people, bribing people to tell him, but it rarely works, because it’s confidential, and he no longer holds the privilege to your heart. 

There’s a small party tonight, and he knows you’ll be there. He knows because you’ve become close to Johanna, you laugh with her and you spend your days with her. And he’s glad that you’ve found someone you can talk to, but he still wished it had been him. In a way, it’s a small victory, because Johanna has taken pity on him. In any other situation, he’d tell her he didn't need it, he didn't need anyone's sorrow to comfort him, but he’d just be lying to himself and she knows it too. In any other situation he would have shut down on himself, he would have locked himself in his room and not come out. But you’re still here, haunting him like a ghost from a comforting dream he once had, so he goes on as usual, but it might be worse this way. 

Yet he still takes every crumb he can find, and so here he is. He’s standing around talking as if everything isn't so very, very wrong. He sees you walk in, and he wants to look away, because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, but he just can't. He remembers the dress you’re wearing, and if you had too he would have called you cruel for it. But he knows you don't, he knows it's just him basking in the memory of your skin against his, and that you probably don’t even remember what he feels like anymore.

He recalls the memory as clear as day, but if someone has been repeating them in their head like he had been, there wouldn't be any other option. You’re wearing the dress you wore on your anniversary last year. He had seen you wearing it and insisted on staying in, but you just laughed at him and called him silly for the idea, he didn't think it had been silly. He thought that if you had let him, he would have cancelled everything he had spent weeks planning. Because truly, all he really needed was you. You had shown him the dress and asked him how you looked. He had said you looked good enough to eat, and he was ready to prove his point to you over and over until the sun went down and took his vision of you with it, and even then he would have gladly continued.

But this time he doesn't get to, he sees you walk in with Johanna by your side, and he honestly doesn't know if this was intentional, but the grin she gets when she sees him watching tells him it isn't purely coincidental. Johanna had taken pity on him, but she was testing him as payment. 

All he wants to do is walk over to you, take your hand and kiss the soft base of your palm as you start to giggle nervously. He wants to, but he can’t. He can’t because this time you won't grace his ears with laughter, you’d just pull away. And he tries not to think of the way he wants to trail his fingers from your silk hair to the top of your dress. He tries to distract himself from the urge to kiss you while he drags the zipper down your back. He tries not to remember the way you used to moan his name as he traced a path up your thighs with his lips. 

He wants to forget, he wants to forget so he can find peace again. With all of his might he tries to forget, as if that will make everything more bearable. But in reality, if he did forget, he didn't think he would ever forgive himself.

He tears his eyes away from you and starts to leave before you can meet them, and if he hadn't, if he had given into his wish to keep getting lost in the vision that you were to him, he might have seen the smallest spark of memory flash through your eyes. He might have seen you walk his way to greet him with a new sense of sentiment, trying to nourish the bubbles that had surfaced after the storm. But he never gets the chance, because he has convinced himself keeping his hopes up was futile, he had resigned himself so much to a life of admiring you from a distance that he didn't even consider it might not be forever, that even the cruellest of circumstances can't keep two people destined for each other apart. But if he wasn't careful, the scissors of the fates might take it from him once more before he got the chance to see it.

Part 3: The Will of the Moirai

#finnick odair angst #finnick odair #angst #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick fanfic #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games finnick #finnick #thg finnick #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick smut #finnick imagine #finnick odair fanfiction #the hunger games fanfiction #thg series #hunger games fic #hunger games catching fire #the hunger games finnick #smut #light smut #hunger games #the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #thg

[getodrools]

GOOD AFTERNOON LAVIII !! hwo are ya :3

i might js make an everyday appearance but HEAR ME OUT !! a year ago or so i made a lil joke saying i want toji to fuck me with his gun but like.. what if he actually did > 0 <

just wanted to share that :333 IM SO HUNGRYYY, im cravin pancakes but im pancakeless :( you could he sleeping so if you are i hope ur sleeping well and dreaming of super cute things :D : D TA TAAAA (that’s a fancy bye)

— pearl anon

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ omg gm, i was dreamin’ ! ♡ ‘n i’ve been well, which i hope you've been feeling the same too pearl ! <3 besides the no pancakes disruption ;( ( ! ! but i do hope this feeds ur cravings in some way ??! sob — chocolate pancakes ( >> ) or fruit-based ??

★ ┆ CONFESSIONS .ᐟ ───── TOJI FUSHIGURO ‧

⟣ WARNINGS ‧ MDNI | f! reader | pwp, dub con ( coercion ), gun / fear / and power play, interrogation, degrading, slight praising, squirting, choking / asphyxiation, humiliation, &’ dacryphilia. ᡣ 𐭩 | WC ‧ 1.1K + |

“Tell me where your brother is.” The silencer attached to the sauntering man's gun was cold – at first… The teasing against your ridden hood was no longer enough to set you straight – to spill out any more information he coveted for, solely wreaking a mess out of you; a spill of only silky cum ran down the table he interrogated you on, all shame flowed into a glistening puddle below…

Now the slim, steel barrel between the quaver of your thighs was scolding… “This’ll all end if you just open more than these pretty legs and tell me where my scared little target is. Alright?” And he jams it deep, no hesitation in plugging you up with a loaded gun to the hilt…

Slippery folds spread wide to make room ‘till the invading metal eases in – ramming through your cum-soaked embrace. It hilted in your steaming depths with shocking ease before dragging back with a slight roll; he'd twist at the handle to slide around — left and right, left and right like a q-tip swirling around.

Eyes squeezing tight, “Sir… Please, I told you–” You hiccup, “Told you… I don't know…” You didn't know him, or even knew your brother had a damn hitman chasing him down. Well, it’s a slight explanation as to why he abruptly vanished last week… but you still had no clue of the exact reason!

You didn't know anything!

But you do know, you couldn't risk your brother's life any further. Damnning family loyalty.

The scar lined down the broad man's lips wrinkled stiffly as he frowned, “Where did you see him last goddamnit.” You shake your head, almost a sob falling through feeble lips in response.

Still not good enough. He clicks his tongue.

“Sweetheart,” The mix of gentle words and a pistol shoved up your pussy was… odd, “Before he left, did you at least see him take a scroll?” Raspy voice drawing out slow for you, he tilts his head, “Think real hard f’me, ok?” You barely could muster up words! How in the world could you even remember a stupid piece of paper while a gun is lodged inside you?!

Oh fuck…

Your eyes fill with light, and so does the killers, believing you were about to spew out the truth, “Yeah, yeah, I know that look, tell me.” The only truth spewing out was your cunt reacting vividly to the twisting pole splitting through you.

Another, milky mess splatters at his grey pants and around his gun. Runny with a shimmer – damp and soiled, he soughed as you tremble embarrassingly along the tabletop… Cunt clenching around the working barrel, you cry out; the trepidation, adrenaline, and coerced pleasure from a — truthfully, a hunk of a man was all foreign, shaking a deep rattle in you.

Gasping ‘till the shady room fell silent…

The man's shaggy hair falls with his head, dropping it low with a sigh followed, “It’s just a simple yes or no. Use your words this time, honey.” Patience running eerily low.

Toji had a damn job to do. He was ranked highest in his field of work for a reason. He never cared to show mercy when it came to his money, and that's exactly what his consumers loved. Toji always got the job done one way or the other... Even if working his gun with lethal strokes inside your pussy ‘till you couldn't bare another rumbling high was undoubtedly a way… Anything to get what he needed to get what he wanted.

And before you could reason by catching your breath, your interrogator leans over your feeble body; a stiff leg booted between yours as the other crowded you in on the side. Hovering over you full flush, Toji fills his free hand with your throat, as if he was trying to stifle the very answers out of you.

“I’m giving you one more chance,” Those same words he's said a good handful of times rang through your ears, “Speak up.”

“… I–I…” But the firearm pulling and twisting around your insides was forcing your lips to clamor.

You haven't had room to properly suck in a fresh breath of air in the past three hours…

Verdant eyes scanning your face, so close, you could feel the flutter of his lashes tickle at the stained, wet cheeks that puff out. Welting in tears, you shiver, “I don't… I don't remember…—!” You hear the stiff pistol driving through your silken furrow cock back.

Oh fuck.

“Heh. You really don't now?” Burying all inches of glossy metal inside tight walls, then retracting and slamming down harder, Toji’s grip tightend too, “ ‘Cause I feel like you do. A little birdie told me you even helped him out, huh.” Fuck.

Cum churned with sappy liquids; dragging a translucent milky ring around his suppressor, nothing was going to impede his assignment.

All brisk motions left your gummy insides shivering potently and brain to slosh into a mushy pile… Toji kept at it ‘till you seemed fucked out of your mind. ‘Till you actually couldn't give him any more answers...

<– BACK : PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ NEXT : MORE TOJI –>

#i HAD to write more on ur lil joke !! :p #i might've gotten carried away tho :c sob ♡ #🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮! #ᝰ toji fushiguro! #tw dub con #tw coercion #tw gun play #tw asphyxiation #tw dacryphilia #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #📮 [ nonnie : pearl ]

[jihyoruri]

INTO YOU bada lee x reader

warnings: yn is apart of jam republic, bada is older than yn, fluff, one sided enemies to potential lovers, fluff, yn is lowkey insane but it’s okay we love her

yn poked her tongue into the side of cheek as her gaze hardens on the tall dancer, of course she just had to be here and look the way she does, so annoyingly attractive.

yn felt a nudge and turned to look at audrey who had a teasing look on her face, “you know people can feel when you stare at them right?” she laughs nudging yn again, “she’s a good dancer.”

yn rolled her eyes at that, “I wouldn’t say good…” she fibbed, looking off to the side, she was really good dancer actually but yn would never say that out loud.

audrey have a pointed look that screamed “be real” and yn reluctantly shrugged her shoulders, “okay maybe she’s a little good.”

“why do you hate her again?” audrey asked taking her turn to have a look at the taller girl, ever since she’s met yn, yn would always rant to her about some “tall asshole.” that she hates, it’s amusing to see yn’s hatred in person.

“she just has it out for me.” yn answered dramatically, throwing herself on audrey’s shoulder, “have I told you about the time she chose me to do a duet with her just to get under my skin? and it was so intimate ugh i hated it.”

“yes yn, yes you have.”

“oh.” yn says before perking up again, “but it’s okay.” she says clapping her hands together as audrey looks at her confused, “since this is a show, she’ll probably be focused on that.”

“really?” audrey asked sarcastically, raising a brow as yn nods happily, “are you sure about that?”

“100% positive.” yn says flashing her teammate a charming smile. “she’ll probably forget I’m here.”

“yeah?”

“yep.”

“then why is she staring at you?” audrey asks in faux confusion. nodding over at the taller girl she smiles when she seees yn tense and slowly look behind herself.

yn makes eye contact with the person that she highly despised, she narrows her eyes at the other dancer who “smiles.” at yn.

to anyone else it would seem like a friendly smile but yn knew that smile. she turned back to audrey with a scowl on her face, “did you see what she just did?”

“uh..” audrey trails off, “smile at you?”

“no, she just revealed that she’s gonna make my life a living hell.” yn said taking another quick look behind her to get another look at bada, before turning back around to audrey, “oh, she’s so cocky I hate it.”

audrey lets out a loud laugh and leans closer to yn, “I love you but you’re insane.”

“I’m not insane.” yn says shaking her head seriously, “I’m real, and I’m gonna avoid that spawn of satan like my life depends on it, she’s not gonna ruin this for me.”

“ugh.” yn groaned looking up at the taller girl, “why do you ruin everything for me?” she whines hitting the dancers shoulder repeatedly, glaring at her when she laughs at yn.

bada continues to laugh as she hooks her finger in the loops of yn’s pants and pulls the shorter girl closer, “you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“get your hands off of me.” yn says slapping the other girls fingers, her face heating up, she hates when bada does this, flirt with her just to get under her skin, “and stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.” bada says as she ruffles yn’s hair, she lets out another laugh when yn gives her a an aspirated look “okay maybe I am.” she shrugs.

she laughs even more when yn groans and turns to walk away, she grabs the girls wrist and turns her back to her, “just because your reaction is always amusing.”

“okay so, me suffering is amusing to you?” yn asks looking up the taller girl who just looks down at her and smirks.

oh how yn wanted to wipe that smirk off her face, but instead she took a deep breath and turned around to walk away but came to a stop when bada’s voice was heard again.

“you know what can get me to stop annoying you?”

yn groans and turns back around to face girl, expecting her to make one of her stupid jokes but was shocked at what came out of bada’s mouth. “go out with me.”

the only word that could describe yn’s face would be shock, she took a step towards the older girl, “what?”

“you heard me.” bada responds, laughing softly at yn’s face, “oh, come on yn, don’t tell you didn’t know?” she asks teasingly. “you didn’t know I was into you?”

yn shakes her no head rapidly as bada walks closer to her and grabs her hand, “so…?”

yn looked up at bada and then down at her feet, maybe it wouldn’t so bad to give it try, “uh, okay…. but only because it will get you to stop annoying me.”

bada hums teasingly and wraps her arm around yn’s shoulder, “you sound so sure of yourself..” she trails off before leaning down lightly to yn’s face, laughing softly at the girls flustered state.

“you’re gonna be so into me by the end of that date.”

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #street woman fighter 2 #street woman fighter #fluff #bada x reader #bada lee x y/n

[androgynosaurus]

Okay so after MONTHS of trying to get my work laptop login changed to use my new name and IT not doing anything about it because "aww sorry we don't know how to fix it, it's an older laptop model so we can't change it :(" and other weaksauce excuses, it was literally changed in five minutes, while I was getting help for a completely separate issue, by the only other trans person in the entire company (to my knowledge). I didn't even have to ask, I logged back in and boom no more deadname staring me in the face every time I start work. Miss ma'am I love you. Trans women working in tech support are truly the backbone of modern society

#raptor screeches #jams does real life

[missmonsters2]

—Just Like Silk

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday is a rigid person. She wears the same type of clothes everyday, eats the same thing every morning, and always wears her hair in braids. You find something exhilrating about undoing all those things—undoing her.

Warnings: the intimacy is real

Masterlist || Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: just a little something as I cry over my other wips 🫶 Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 💘

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday will never be the type of person to say the words, 'I love you,' even if she feels them. They could build in her chest and claw at the back of her throat, but they will never make it past her lips. 

The words themselves are incomprehensible. It carries too much and nothing at the same time, and Wednesday may never be ready to release them into the air where she can't monitor them. 

Love is flexible, and Wednesday is a very rigid person. 

The day starts the same way it always does. She wakes up at exactly 6:15AM, dresses in her monochrome clothing, and braids her hair neatly. After ensuring her bangs are brushed four times, she wakes Enid up before leaving for the cafeteria. 

The cafeteria is usually empty at this hour, with many students still sleeping and dreading their day. It's something Wednesday likes to soak in the quiet morning hours. She gets a tray and grabs the same thing she does every morning: a slice of toast with jam, much too sweet, and orange juice that will undoubtedly taste horrid after brushing her teeth. 

Wednesday's about to leave when her eye catches a small cup of fruit. It's filled with slices of strawberries and grapes, seemingly the last one, as the other cups are filled with apples and bananas.

Wednesday clenches her jaw, her hands tightening on the tray slightly. She begrudgingly grabs it, places it in the top left corner of her tray, and briskly walks to an empty table. She can already hear the miserable moans of students who are already awake and feels herself relax at it. 

As she grabs the little packet of salt and rips it open, someone slumps beside her on her left.

"G'morning," you mumble sleepily as you fight back a yawn and rub your right eyelid delicately. 

"You've been up early." Wednesday skips the greeting as she sprinkles the salt on her toast. "Why?"

You smile lazily at her and rest your temple against your hand on the table. You point at the fruit cup on her tray, and Wednesday makes no movement to suggest you can or cannot take it, but you do. 

"Because if I'm not, you'll have grabbed the fruit cup for nothing," you tell her as you pop a slice of strawberry in your mouth. 

"Are you suggesting that I'm grabbing it for you?" Wednesday's tone is threatening, and her eyes are narrowed at you. 

"I would hope you are," you pop a grape into your mouth. "I'll be upset if you're grabbing fruit cups for other people. That's a terrible thing to do to your girlfriend."

The words do something to Wednesday, making her both miserable and filled with pride. 

All of this was new to Wednesday, but if she was honest, the beginning of you didn't disrupt her life. Yes, there had been times she was vexed because of you and what you made her feel, but you didn't disrupt her rigidity. 

Wednesday had still woken up at the same time, did the same things in the morning, and ate the same foods. 

Until recently, it seemed. 

Usually, you weren't up until just before the bell rang, often forgoing breakfast for sleep. Then suddenly, you showed up one day, five minutes after Wednesday sat down. You didn't have much of an appetite in the morning, but you looked on in envy at one of the students eating a fruit cup with strawberries and grapes as they typically were the first to be gone. 

And Wednesday had watched you stare at the fruit cup. 

"You think too highly of yourself," Wednesday's narrowed eyes relaxed. "I'm merely taking it to deprive others—"

You shoved a grape into her mouth, smiling innocently as Wednesday looked murderous.

"You should eat some fruit in the morning, ma diable. It's good for you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You've been disruptive lately, and you know it. 

It's hard not to push Wednesday's boundaries, knowing she'll let you in it. She may grumble and threaten your life, but she quietly does. She may never tell you she loves you but, quite frankly, this was better.

You had woken up early one day on a whim, and it had nothing to do with disrupting Wednesday and all to do with the fact you simply missed her. And then the next day, when you showed up early again, Wednesday had been waiting for you with a fruit cup. There was no promise you'd be there early again, but Wednesday had done it, and that could only mean that she hoped you would be there. 

So, sacrificing some sleep for your murderous girlfriend, who always saved you the best fruit cup, was well worth it. 

And now, on a Thursday evening with it pouring outside, you were about to be disruptive again. 

You watched as Wednesday typed stoically, her hands never hesitating. She worked methodically, the story endlessly pouring from her mind and her hands working in tandem. 

When Wednesday returns the carriage, you see your opportunity. 

"Wednesday," you call softly from her bed, grabbing her attention as she looks at you without moving her head. 

"What?" Wednesday looks back at her paper.

"It's raining."

"Stellar observation."

You smile at her. "It's raining, so come keep me company."

"We are in each other's company, are we not?"

"Come actively keep me company."

Wednesday furrowed her brows, her lips pursed in displeasure. She turned fully to you, and you knew it could go either way. "You know I write every day for an hour," Wednesday reminded you.

You nodded. "I know, and tomorrow you'll have an hour, and the next day after that, and the next day after that." Sitting up, you look at her more clearly. "But today is the only Thursday evening with thunderous rain and my shifting desire for you to keep me company."

"Are you saying you won't want my company the next time it rains on a Thursday evening?" Wednesday's looked even more displeased and threatening. 

"I suppose we'll only know the next rainy Thursday," you nonchalantly retorted. 

It was silent as Wednesday debated it; your breath caught in your chest. When she sighed, you smiled wider. Wednesday stood up and walked over to her bed, sitting at the edge rigidly. 

"What do you want to do?" Wednesday asked to deflect how weirdly awkward she felt right now. "I've had enough of beating you at scrabble, so not that."

You chuckled without answering as you leaned over towards her, lifting your hand gently to grab her braid and dragging your hand down softly until it reached the end. 

"Wednesday, I've never seen you with your hair down," you commented.

Wednesday remained rigid.

"Yes," her voice was stiff. "I only take them out before bed."

You hummed, playing with her braid. 

"Wednesday," you called softly again, and Wednesday almost wanted to command you to stop saying her name like that. Except, she can't. She enjoys the way you say it.

"Can I undo your braids?"

The rain thumps against the window roughly, and Wednesday was glad it covered how harshly her own heartbeat was against her chest. It beat with a mission to break her rib cage. 

"You can say no," you told her softly. 

Wednesday closed her eyes. As much as the word 'no' was in her vocabulary, she nodded once stiffly. You pulled at her, and she let you guide her to sit further on the bed. You sat facing her side as you softly grabbed a braid, gently removing the black elastic at the end. 

Wednesday braids her hair so often that it stays in its form without the elastic. But as you start to weave your fingers through the strands of her hair, gently undoing the work she'd done this morning, something starts clawing at the back of her throat. 

You looked at Wednesday as her hair fell like water through your fingers. Her eyes were closed with concentration, and every time she swallowed, you could see it. 

It was silent as you worked on the second braid, dragging your fingers through her dark hair. When it was in their neat braids, they were contained and distinguished. But undone, they were wild waves and slipped through your fingers unless you endeavored to tame them. 

You continued to run your fingers through her hair, even after the braids were undone, watching as the strands slipped from you.

"Your hair is just like silk," you said just seconds before there was a crack of thunder. 

Wednesday didn't comment. Her hands were tightly gripped in her lap to the point where her knuckles were white. 

You brush her hair over her shoulder, the waves cascading down her back like beads of water. Your hand slid against her jaw as you cupped the back of her neck. 

You pulled and pulled at her, and she let you until you were sharing the same air. 

"Wednesday," you murmur, your lips brushing against hers. Wednesday visibly swallowed, her eyes opened and intently looked at you, but you're looking at her lips. 

You kiss her tenderly, then. It would've been more chaste if Wednesday hadn't insisted on pressing against your lips more firmly and lingered. When you pulled back, your thumb caressed the bottom of her lip.

"Wednesday," you said her name, and Wednesday didn't think you knew how disruptive it also was in the way you said her name. "Your lips are soft just like silk, too."

"I see this has been your agenda all long as of late," Wednesday's voice is quiet as she basks in your scent and cold fingers. You had such terrible circulation, and she's obsessed with it. "You're suave at being disruptive."

Wednesday bit your bottom lip before her tongue smoothed it over. 

"Just like silk."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesdayedit #wednesday addams x you #mm: my fics

[gallusrostromegalus]

all the captains and lieutenants accidentally get slipped some of ukitake's fucked up gigaweed edibles, what happens

First of all, it's not an accident, they straight-up plan a Friday-Night-Of-A-Three-Day-Weekend event of this. Everyone is curious, and Ukitake thinks it will be a funny way to celebrate his Birthday. He is correct: Yamamoto: Veteran of The Dank Arts, gets real high but not unpleasantly so. Would do it again next time he has a long weekend to enjoy it!

Sasakibe: Claims Ludwig Wittgenstein makes PERFECT sense now, attempts to write this philosophical revelation down but is thwarted by the jammed machinations of a clicky pen.

Soi Fon: Gives herself a hernia laughing at one (1) bad pun.

Yoruichi: Used to Urahara's Megaweed Edibles, so approaches the Gigaweed with undue confidence, declares This Edible Ain't Shit five minutes in and eats a second one. She has to be coaxed down from the top of the fridge where she's hiding from The Hatmen by bribing her with a can of Tuna. (Ukitake keeps the $21-a-can Good Shit in the house)

Omaeda: Creates a God-teir marinara Sauce, AND has the good sense to have Nemu pause her Game of Go and come into the kitchen to write down what he did.

Rose: Writes a magnificent new symphony, it's his best work ever, it's life alteringly beautiful, it's effervescent- When he sobers up, it's half a piccolo solo that barely qualifies as a ringtone.

Izuru: In the kitchen crying while eating an inadvisable amount of Omaeda's Spaghetti Marinara.

Retsu: Category Five Mukbang Incident

Isane: Thinks she's filming the Mukbang Incident, actually has her phone open to the calculator app.

Shinji: refuses to touch the Gigaweed because he "Owes The Hatmen Money" and nobody can tell if he's joking or not (he's not).

Momo: Literally Everything is HILARIOUS

Hiyori: Did not know it was possible to have a bigger, gayer crush on Momo, but she somehow opened up a new level of lesbianics. She calls it Gay 2.

Byakuya: Couchlocked for 24 hours straight.

Renji: Couchlocked right there with him, but able to text Izuru to bring them Spaghetti.

Komamura: Can't. Canine Weed Toxicity. (Relieved, offers to spend the weekend watching Toshiro and Yachiru so he has an excuse to go winter camping over the weekend)

Iba: Got High as FUCK. Found out later that the thing he actually ate was a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie.

Shunsui: his alcohol tolerance actually makes his weed tolerance terrible so he's on the floor from jokingly licking the wrapper.

Nanao: Challenging people to knife fights (Romantic Intent).

Tousen: Immediately passes out because he managed to get his blood pressure down to normal levels, sleeps for 26 hours straight and wakes up feeling genuinely well-rested and in a good mood for the first time in two centuries.

Kensei: Gets his hand bitten at the Category 5 Mukbang Incident because he thought it would be funny to try to snitch off Retsu's plate.

Shuuhei: Attempting to refinance Shinji's debt with The Hatmen. Possibly succeeding?

Mashiro: Said "This Edible Ain't Shit", took a second, and appears to be unaffected. Playing Go with Nemu and winning.

Matsumoto: Makes the Hernia-inducing Pun. Will not STOP making Puns.

Hitsugaya: Being babysat by Komamura, would be madder about this if he wasn't also having a blast doing wintertime camping.

Kenpachi: Attempts to fight his own shadow, loses.

Yachiru: Also on the Wintertime Mountain Expedition, trying to talk Toshiro into joining her and Komamura on an Elk Hunt.

Ikkaku: Has done weed before, but only smoked it, but has a naturally suspicious nature and waits to see how Yoruichi does on her second edible, and avoids running afoul of The Hatmen.

Yumichika: Stays sober to collect blackmail on everyone. Actually films the Mukbang Incident for Isane

Mayuri: This is NOTHING compared to the Quantum Formaldymeth shit he's been on for the last century.

Urahara: from a prominent weed-growing family and lifetime connoisseur of The Herb. Takes one bite and realizes he's in deep shit, lies down on the floor next to Shuuhei and gives him terrible financial advice.

Nemu: Not chemically effected by The Edible but she loves A Group Social Activity so she's a little crunk on Social Recognition Euphoria and it's interfering with her game.

Ukitake, peeling his lieutenant off the floor: Y'all are wimps.

Rukia: has to be peeled off the floor, is affectionately dumped in the laps of Renji and Byakuya, where she forces them to have an emotionally honest and borderline normal conversation.

#AEIWAM #drugs mention #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach fanfic #long post #weed mention

[whorbidmore]

okay, so, I've fallen victim to the leon kennedy brainrot steadily overtaking me, following me from Tumblr to Pinterest, to Instagram and even the absolutely fucking dreaded application of TikTok. I don't even use it that often??? and the algorithm is just like 'wow, yeah, this little fuckers gay as hell send in the 40 year old meow meow!!' and having watched Death Island fairly recently, I'm gonna have my opinions on what this dude would be like. Cus my brain loves to rationalize shit and think ab 'what if this mf was someone real?' so... fuck it.

Leon Soft Kennedy Headcanons

SFW

accidentally bigoted. - im sorry but let's be so fucking real here. he's a 40 something year old man who spent the majority of his life in either the military, a police training academy in the 90's, or otherwise working under the U.S Federal System with minimal/no time between missions to unpack absolutely everything he's got going on... the guys gonna have some problematic tendencies. Obviously that doesn't mean he means any of that or is incapable of change, etc. etc., but I know for damn certain this dude would laugh a little at Bill Burr's borderline to blatantly misogynistic material and has probably chuckled unironically at the attack helicopter jokes. But, he's not a complete dick, and would definitely become more critical of those kinds of jokes if it's pointed out to him.

honest to God, Dad Without Kids™ - it's not simply enough for me to leave it at 'but it's the vibes!!' so, I'm gonna break this shit down. Leon is absolutely Gen X incarnate. I can fucking guarantee you that on his off days he accidentally ends up dressing as an undercover cop; I'm talking cargo shorts, light blue button up, those fucking standard issue boots cus "they're perfectly good shoes" and those stupid ass sunglasses... you know the ones I'm talking about. Let's say you're living with him, right? And you're... you, and you wanna watch something on TV. This dude would strain himself getting up like a turtle fallen backwards on its shell, stand up, walk right in front of the TV screen and stand there with his hands on his hips. It doesn't matter that he had to piss, he needs to get a better look of what's happening! Does those really loud, obnoxious coughs and sneezes, absolutely blows his back out doing one at least five times a year.

Only watches British Reality TV - Considering he's canonically a film buff, I'll say that this is purely for whatever he gravitates towards on general streaming services. I honestly don't see him being the type to regularly tune in to standard American cable TV, or only does so under specific circumstances like American Ninja Warrior or maybe Forged in Fire if there's absolutely nothing else. It's not something that's exclusive to Americans, — I'm from New Zealand and I do this too, — but Leon absolutely falls into the category of watching British Reality and Game shows purely because of the accents. I'm talking Jeremy Kyle, The Big Fat Quiz of Everything, Taskmaster, The Great British Bake Off and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter that baking isn't his forté or a passion of his, if Josephine curdles her buttercream by over mixing, his hands are in his hair in utter disappointment. 100% tries to mimic their accents too. We all do it, don't lie.

Has... very dated music tastes - I don't know if you could guess, but the last paragraph included me calling myself out and name dropping some shows I watch anyway or grew up watching, and I'm just saying that this is gonna be no different. If anything? This'll be worse! Since I'm very passionate about the music I listen to and have the inability to keep my interests separated from the other, of course my love of particular bands will bleed over into my interpretation of Leon's character! Anyway, all that for me to say that Leon fucking LOVES 90's grunge musicians, specifically Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, as well as early nu metal bands like Korn (their dubstep phase did not happen.), TOOL, and Rage Against the Machine — and no, he unfortunately doesn't see the irony of him being a fed and listening to Rage, — but would also have a soft spot for psych rock, post-punk and shoegaze. My man's definitely laid awake at night, sobbing without expression as he struggles to accept that Ada never really wanted him like he wanted her while listening to fucking Slowdive. My hottest take here is that he doesn't really listen to Deftones. Like he'll occasionally blast My Own Summer, Change, Bored or Rosemary, but anything outside of those? He just didn't listen to 'em. My second hottest take is that he does NOT like Slipknot, which kind of pains me 'cus I do, but I fucking bet you this dude would actually adopt one piece of "Gen Z lingo" or whatever just call them cringe. Though admittedly he would've been jamming the fuck out to Psychosocial and The Devil in I when they came out. Went off the deep end in Vendetta, obviously, and drunk-cried himself to sleep on the couch listening to Linkin Park.

Very confusing spending habits - On one hand, we all understand that Leon came from money, — he was implied to have been born into a mob family from my understanding? And I doubt he'd ever really had to worry about being fully, irrevocably broke, — but I'm sure that growing up in the U.S Foster Care System made him at least a little more cautious of where his money comes from, where it's going, what he's spending it on, etc. So, on the one hand, he's apprehensive to spend recklessly, particularly on perishables. But also, if he can drop over $100,000USD on a motorcycle that got absolutely fucking cheese grated into the road, and spend a perceived, metric fuck ton of money on designer leather jackets and massive watches, it's gonna be hard for me to call him 'financially conscious'. On one hand, he gets apprehensive on spending more money than he needs to on food since he's "just gonna shit it out later", but if he sees a cool watch or a nice suit in a shop window? Money's suddenly not an issue! Not because he's materialistic, but because the one thing he really maintains a sense of control over in his life are his possessions and the way he dresses. The D.S.O can call him in for another months long mission whenever they please, and all he can realistically do is allow the government to tug on his leash and put him where he's needed. He may as well spend their money on things he wants!

Gets out... enough? But also, not really? - So, personally I've pegged Leon as more of an introverted person, — amateurly typed his MBTI as possibly ISFJ? — so he doesn't really feel the need to go out and meet new people or really hang out with anyone. If somebody invites him out? Sure, he'll go. Otherwise, it rarely occurs to him to meet up with friends or colleagues at a cafe or anywhere. I think he'd prefer to just go there alone, mostly for the sake of having somebody else cook for him as opposed to actively seeking out the atmosphere. It's pure convience in his mind. And remember when I said in the beginning about him accidentally being at least a little misogynistic? Yeah, that was me trying to say that he regularly tries to hit on younger waitresses. Not because he actually wants anything to do with them, but simply because it's an ego boost. He likes that he can make girls half his age blush or offer him their numbers, because it tells him that he's still desirable, and ultimately, that gives him the power to reject them politely and go about the rest of his day. If they don't reject him first, of course. Admittedly, Leon's audacity towards women peaked during Infinite Darkness.

Since I'm planning on posting more NSFW headcanons for this guy, — and more NSFW kinds of posts, — here is the obligatory Minors DNI attachment. For your own safety, I don't care if what I have to say is tame so far, you can hold it off I promise.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy headcanons #babyfangs.txt #fangsfic #idk man im literally talking out my ass on all this 💀

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

Summary: When a new Star Wars TV show called The Mandalorian premiered, you found yourself completely enamoured with the titular character. Enjoyment of watching the lone bounty hunter travel through the galaxy quickly turned to obsession. There was just something about the show that captured your imagination. Now, you spend much of your free time — when you're not working a fast-paced, minimum wage and incredibly stressful job at a prestigious London Museum— speaking to your online friends about your love for the show. There's just one thing... Despite how much you love The Mandalorian, no one knows the identity of the man behind the helmet... either in the show, or in real life. You only know him as Mando. No one has ever seen his face, no one knows his name.  Even after the countless hours of speculation from fans online, which even you have occasionally participated in, no one is any the wiser to the identity of the mysterious man who wears the shiny armour.  Surely, given the depth of your love for the show, you'd recognise if the man who you spend so much time obsessing over online was to ever cross paths with you. Right?

Content Warnings: Reader is AFAB, uses she/her pronouns and in her mid 20s. Age gap between her and Din is noted but not really central to the story. Grogu is human, hints of past trauma/child abuse before Din adopted him are mentioned but not described in detail. Some mature scenes later on in the fic but not explicit smut... because I just cannot write x reader smut! Author's Note: SO very excited to finally share this fic! Thank you to the lovely @suresnips for being my beta. I really appreciate you ♡ This baby was originally my NaNoWriMo 2023 project and was inspired by this post from @toxic-seduction that I saw one evening and couldn't stop thinking about! POVs will alternate chapter to chapter from Din to reader. It was fun to write that way! Set in London for a few reasons: partly because I love the movie Notting Hill and it has some of those vibes (if you squint), also, the village where Din lives is based on Elstree Studios just outside London, where the OT was filmed and ultimately because NO WAY was I writing a modern!AU set in the states, it would've been painfully obvious a Brit wrote it. While there are lots of references to places in London, I don't live there so it might not be truly accurate (Londoners don't come for me). Also, to be political for a sec, reader works at the British Museum and I hate that institution. This was actually the line of work I was interested in when I was at Uni but for many different reasons I did not pursue it. However, it works for the plot of this story and as you'll see, she doesn't exactly love it either and goes on a few rants. Just wanted to make that clear that her job there is not an endorsement of it or anything. I can't stand them or their historical apologist bs and I wish we would give back all the things we stole (including the Parthenon Marbles)! Finally, it was incredibly important to me that the actor behind Mando in this fic clearly be the fictional character of Din Djarin rather than the real person Pedro Pascal, because rpf is not my jam! I hope I did that pretty well but just wanted to warn that if you're expecting me to use Din as some kind of way to write a Pedro fic, this won't be for you! Okay, I'll shut up now! This fic is fully written, just needs editing so hopefully I'll get a couple of chapters up each week, but life happens. I'm very proud of this one and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also if you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, please let me know! Happy reading ♡

❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader POV]: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend.

He Is My Only Priority [Din's Pov]: The character of The Mandalorian is known and loved by millions. But there is another, much softer side to the man who portrays him that Din Djarin is determined to keep hidden from the world, despite the challenges that presents for him and his beloved son, Grogu.

This Is Why (I Don't Leave The House) [Reader's POV]: Your internet bestie arrives in preparation for the Star Wars convention you will attend together. Everything is set for the greatest weekend of your life! Until you arrive at the con and find yourself overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. At least you have numerous incredibly realistic Mando cosplays to distract you from how stressed you feel, and there's one in particular which is uncannily accurate...

Curiosity Killed The Cat [Din's POV]: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected...

He's So Tall (And Handsome As Hell) [Reader's POV]: Being back in the real world and returning to work after an incredible weekend at the convention where you had so many fun experiences is taking its toll on you. The thought of collapsing on your couch in front of The Mandalorian is the only thing keeping you going. However, the universe has other plans for you. News of an out-of-hours tour for a private client that you are asked to lead almost sends you over the edge, but when you finally meet the man, he is the opposite of what you were expecting. Weirdly, he seems familiar...

With A Little Help From My Friends [Din's POV]: Din returns to the set of The Mandalorian to begin filming a new season. Despite his experience and capability, he finds that he struggles to focus as his thoughts remain firmly fixed on a certain someone...

You're The Sunflower [Reader's POV]: Despite feeling certain that you'll never see the ridiculously handsome man you gave a tour of the museum to, a special delivery is about to change everything...

Your Face Hung Up High In The Gallery [Din's POV]: After a difficult few days of filming The Mandalorian, Din is excited to spend time with you as he finally takes you on your first proper date...

Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? - (Reader's POV):  Despite a messy evening which led to you waking up in an opulent hotel which you have no memory of falling asleep in, memories of kind brown eyes and breathless kisses soon come flooding back to soothe your soul. Your relationship deepens as the two of you spending time together whenever your busy schedules allow. But one night, a turn of events causes you - despite Din's reassurances - to wonder if everything you have been working so hard to build together has just come crashing down around you...

There's A War Inside Of Me - [Din's POV]: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather...

It Could Be Love, We Could Be The Way Forward - [Reader's POV]: With your respective busy jobs keeping you and Din apart, a mystery date after a hectic day at work is exactly what you needed.

The Calm - [Din's POV]: When filming overruns and conspires to keep Din from the fun weekend he planned for you, he agonises over his decision. Fortunately, he manages to salvage the weekend, even after a calamity involving a rowboat...

P.S. - I tried to be inclusive for all body types and skin tones in this fic, but if I missed something, I do apologise. If you do spot something that takes you out of the fic, I am more than happy for constructive criticism as I wouldn't want anyone to be excluded on those grounds. I am always trying to do better and would love to know where I went wrong so I can improve and be more aware of these things going forward, so I would appreciate it if you could let me know if you do spot anything. Thank you so much! ♡

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro boys

[caffeinemachine]

Life Jacket - Chapter 1

Conrad Fisher x Eldest Conklin Sibling Reader

I just wrote this so quickly cause it was sitting in my head and it had to get out. Go read this post for an idea of what this series will be! I'm very excited about it!

Here's Part One!!!

Word Count; 1.2K

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cousins. Lots of mixed emotions came with going to Cousins. I loved it I really did, but I wasn’t blessed with the privilege of experiencing the blissful, worry-free love like my sister. Things still followed me to Cousins, responsibilities. And I always was stuck wishing they didn’t.

My siblings got to go swimming whenever they wanted, I had to swim once a day to “keep up with it” in my parents' words, mainly my Dad. I know they don't mean it. That in their hearts they do it out of love. Cause I do love swimming, I really do, but sometimes I wish reality could go on pause so I could live freely for a little while. With no concerns, or right way or wrong way, just me doing as I please. Without my Dad here the past two summers it helped. He’s harder on me than Mom. I grew up to realize it was just cause he didn’t really know how to be a parent. Does anyone really?  But his way of showing me love as a parent was by promising my success and ensuring my future. Well, I got recruited to Harvard's swim program with a scholarship so I guess his way of love kind of worked.

Despite everything, Cousins meant I got to see them. Susannah, Jeremiah, and him. Conrad. He was what stirred my emotions about Cousins the most. I’d had a crush on him for as long as I could remember. But I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t jeopardize our families like that.  I didn’t have time for boys. I had tried to date here and there, but everyone got bored, or mad that I “didn’t have enough time for them”. I couldn’t even get upset because they were right. I didn’t have time for them like normal high school girls did. I couldn’t hang out after school, I had swim practice and very few high school boys wanted to hang out just to do homework together once I got home if you know what I mean. I couldn't afford to be distracted, so I let them all go. I couldn’t do that to Conrad, put him in that situation. I also think I couldn’t do it to myself. The other boys didn’t matter, but him? Losing him would crush me so hard that I don’t think I would recover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I drove to Cousins with Steven in my car.  I had saved up all summer and bought my trusty Volkswagen Passat last Fall. That was another pro about Cousins, the money. I've worked as a lifeguard at the club since I was 15, and I also did swim lessons there as well as private lessons. Those people will pay real well to have an all-star swimmer teach their three-year-old how to float I’ll tell ya.

“So you excited to work this summer?” I asked Steven. He got a job at the pool snack stand at the club and I had helped Jeremiah get a position as a lifeguard.

“Yeah, I guess, I’m excited to make big bucks like you have been all these summers.” He smiled at me making me instantly light up. Steven just had a natural energy to him that brightened people's moods. 

We jammed out to music for the rest of the drive and before I knew it we were pulling in the driveway. I noticed my mom's car wasn’t here yet. Knowing her and Belly, they probably stopped for snacks. Man, this house. I dreamed about this house. It was absolutely beautiful. I honked, our signal to them we had arrived. 

Jeremiah was the first one to run out to see us, but Susannah was not far behind. Conrad was nowhere to be seen, odd. I didn't have time to think about it though as Jere scooped me up in a big hug and spun me around. I noticed then how much he had grown since last summer. He probably started working out and he definitely grew a couple of inches. As we said hello he had a huge smile on his face, he usually did Jere was always a golden retriever in human form. 

Then Susannah came up to me. when Susannah hugged me it was like life went on pause, the way I always wanted it to. In her arms I was safe, in her arms I was still just her baby, the first born girl. 

“ Wow Y/N look at you, my precious girl, you've bloomed," Susannah said to me as she held the sides of my face. I never doubted a word Susannah said, the way she said things made me believe them. Susannah never said it and neither did I, but we were each other's favorites. She always spoiled me, she always was my number one fan. Susannah had a level of enthusiasm to her that most people didn't have. It probably wasn't fair for me to call her my favorite. She got to love me like a mother and spoil me like the fun aunt, and she never had to give me any of the negatives. So yes it probably wasn't fair for her to be my favorite, which is why I only ever told her private.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We all walked back inside, Susannah and Jere helping Steven and me carry in our bags. Still no Conrad. I dropped my bags on the floor as I scanned my eyes around my room. Nothing out of place, everything was as I left it. I really do love this room. It was bigger than my one back home, it even had a small walk-in closet.  Conrad and I had the biggest rooms, we were the oldest so we got the first pick of rooms. 

I'm mindlessly unpacked for a while before hearing the same signal I had done myself just a bit earlier, Mom and Belly were here. I didn't rush down after all, I had seen them just a few hours ago. I thought it was okay to let them have their own proper reunion with the Fishers. So I finished putting the rest of my clothes in my drawers before I went downstairs. However, when I open my bedroom door, I open it to find Conrad with his hand in mid-air as if he were about to knock. 

“Whoa- oh, hi,” I said somewhat skeptically, he had just appeared out of nowhere, where had he been when I would got here? He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet somewhat awkwardly as he put his arm down from its spot in the air and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Hey, um I was uh coming to say hello!  I was down at the beach surfing all morning, I didn't even realize you were here until your mom pulled up and you weren't with her.” He seemed nervous for some reason, I wasn't sure why.

“Don't worry about it, was the surf any good?” 

He smiled at me then, “ Yeah it was so good, I lost track of time.” I smile back at him, I had missed him. 

“Glad to know you missed my entrance for something worthwhile.” He laughed, me along with him before his face went back to being relaxed. He stared at me in silence for a few moments before suddenly, before I could even realize what was happening, Conrad had his arms around me. Conrad was hugging me. It was nice, but odd. Conrad wasn't the most affectionate person and this was very out of the blue.

“I'm happy you're here Y/N.” He whispered, slightly muffled by my hair. We backed away as I said,

“Me too.”  The silence stretched a moment too long for my level of comfort. He was too intoxicating, his gaze on me was all consuming, I had to get out of there. “I'm going to go say hi to my mom and my sister.” I rushed out, going past him down the stairs before he even replied.

This summer was already off to an interesting start.

#conrad fisher angst #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher fluff #tsitp conrad #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp jeremiah #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher imagine #tsitp s2 #jeremiah fisher fanfic #jeremiah fisher x reader #steven conklin

[squirmifyoulike]

Imagining a scene where there's a prey that's a stuntsperson. They brag about their abilities, how they can escape any room, any cage... Anywhere.

And so, in their confidence, they decide to host a show where they'll escape from a pred's gut. They're so skilled and talented, afterall; they're sure to escape.

Soon enough, they're on stage. The auditorium is filled with people, eager to see the prey escape from a hungry pred. And maybe this will help other preys learn how to escape, too, right?

The show goes as planned: the prey gives an obligatory speech, introducing themselves, maybe even cracking a few jokes, and they go on and explain what they're going to do. Once they're done speaking... They get started.

The sight is, admittedly, a little scandalous; the pred takes the prey in eagerly with thick, deep gulps. Public consumptions don't happen often, so the reaction from the crowd is mixed; some are bored, waiting for the show to go on. Some are disturbed. And others find themselves feeling jealous.

Then, the pred on stage takes a seat and yawns. The crowd watches intently, eager to see the prey escape. The pred's stomach is still for a few seconds... But then, it comes to life, with the prey squirming and writhing within.

At first, the prey is still confident and composed. They're taking their time, getting a feel of the pred's stomach; the muscles inside are overactive, with them already churning at full strength. It's sticky and humid inside... But the prey can handle it; they won't be inside very long, anyways.

And so, they start squirming. They jam their hand against the sphincter above them, expecting that they'll be able to force their way up back into the pred's throat...

Only, it doesn't budge. They try a few more times... But all they're met with in response is powerful churning, and a few low gurgles from the organ around them.

Still, they stay calm. Maybe they just need to irritate the pred, that's all. So, they turn their attention to the stomach walls around them, and they start viciously kicking at them, punching them, even scratching them. Of course, unbeknownst to the prey, this does nothing but make the pred feel good. Outside, the pred lets out a low moan of satisfaction, and they run their hand over their squirming belly. Of course, the audience thinks that most of what they're seeing is just an act, so they're unaware of the danger the prey is actually in.

After a while, it eventually dawns on the prey that they're in danger; real danger. They can't escape this belly, despite their hard squirming, and the pred is only enjoying themselves. The prey's squirming only starts to get more desperate and panicked... But of course, nobody can help them now. The pred's stomach lets out some ominous gurgles, and the stomach only starts to churn harder and even tighten around the prey, giving them even less space.

By the time the audience realizes that the prey is actually trapped, it's far too late. The pred's gut is constantly gurgling and growling, and their stomach has finally stopped struggling. The prey within has succumbed to digestion, and now, they're nothing more than a large lump of meat for the pred to finish digesting. The audience is disappointed by the prey's inability to escape... But the pred is left in bliss, running a hand over the curve of their stomach in satisfaction.

#tw vore #vore tw #v.ore #fatal vore #digestion #soft vore #tw fatal vore #implied digestion

[ooctlt]

general navigation: about | all art/answered asks | TUTORIAL | ko-fi

DIRECTORY is under the readmore with basics, living together, fun, and story continuity

DISCLAIMER: there is always the possibility that the characters here will not take your question well. they might answer rudely or dismissively, and their answers are heavily opinionated. instigating behavior is not only encouraged but expected on both ends. this does not reflect my personal opinions as the artist. answers are put on a daily queue and will be tagged with keywords relating to the question. please search for existing answers before sending an ask! PREVIOUSLY ANSWERED/VAGUE ASKS WILL BE DELETED.

FAQ: introduction | living layout | why are gideon and harrow living together if they hate each other? & why can't harrow just go? | what's the dynamic? who is dating who? who's friends with who? etc

OOC: on asking harrow questions | does covid exist here? | why is harrow miserable? | on birthdays, holidays, and timeline | where is [CHARACTER] in this? | will we ever get a POV switch? who can we ask questions to? | Q&A POVs | can we do fanart? |

WILL NOT ANSWER: advice asks (ex: my ex broke up with me what should i do, i graduated college what next, do you have any art/study tips) "reaction" asks (ex: x is funny for that, i loved xyz post, x is feral) are seen and appreciated but wont be posted; "recommendation"/hyperspecific asks (ex: can you guys rec your favorite brands of jam, can you pick my next car, what is your least favorite part about 3rd year med school) require me to do the research for the characters, which takes a lot of time; asks referencing real life shows/video games/comics (ex: have you read homestuck/played minecraft) for the same reason mentioned previous, plus it relies on my existing knowledge of the media. also i do not want there to be discourse on these fictional characters having opinions on more fictional characters

DIRECTORY continues below with basics, living together, fun, and story continuity

BASICS: pronouns | whats the story behind your names? & nicknames? | how old are you? | heights | jobs/university majors (pt 2, 3) | how did you all meet? how did gideon and harrow meet? | how did cam and pal meet? | are you in contact with your parents? |

LIVING TOGETHER: interior decorations | cooking | any reoccurring roommate arguments? | who drives? | does gideon go to the gym? (pt 2) | HAIRCUT DAY | drawing each other (pt 2) | any neighbors? |

FUN: what do you do for fun? | do you have pets? | do you have tattoos? | what do you like to read / what is harrow reading? |

favorite colors? | favorite foods? | harrows favorite bone/organ? | favorite movie? | favorite/earliest childhood memories? |

feed harrow something spicy | what music do you listen to? | opinions on each other's outfits/fashion? (pt 2, pt 3, pt 4: dulcinea's crochet) | give harrow a hug | social media |

#the plot thickens (for plot/development relevant) #locked (for asks that ask too much too fast) #misc and #mass answer (for one-off minor asks)

STORY CONTINUITY: lines in ORANGE count as "storylines" that can be continued.

NOTE: if you want to progress their relationships with each other, try to prompt ideas that theyre willing to engage with.

gideon's parentage: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

griddlehark: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

gideon: mass answer 1 |

harrowhark: 1 | 2 | 3: piercings | parents 1, 2 | religion 1, 2, 3, 4 | job 1, 2 |

third: 1 | party 1, 2

fourth & fifth: 1 |

sixth: 1 | 2 | cam's art: 1 |

seventh: 1 | 2 |

nona: 1 |

#OOCTLTpp #<== if you have followed this long enough and wish to block the long post #will be updated as we go along but i thought a masterpost of basic continuity would be helpful #actual ooc

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hello sweetheart heart, hope you are having a nice day. We love ghost, sow now i love you.

You, me and Jesus Christ know that when Ghost loves hard, he loves STRONGLY. This man gives you every bit of his soul little by little, in his own way, in his own time, but he does it with every fiber of his being. Now, Ghost gave his soul to his women. He opened himself in every possible way with her, he loves her too much. Until he loses her one day, on a mission, the last thing he saw was her being wounded. They are separated and she doesn't answer his calls, he thinks she is wounded to the brink of death. how would ghost react? does he's go "devil mode"? etc.

I NEED ANGST, I NEED TO CRY. I want this man to break my heart.

ily2 ghost solidarity (Damn dude you got me turning on my angst song, this hit me hard lmaooo)

TW: graphic descriptions of violence, angst

God, he’s a fucking mess. Ghost who is normally so calm and level headed. He is normally the picture of grace under pressure. But when everything started going sideways, you did what you do best and you protected him. Your 6’4” hulking behemoth of a man. The floor crumbed and broke under your feet, forcing you both to plummet down to the ground floor. The only part of the building that so far survived the blast. Ghost saw your attackers aim their guns into the hole you were both in. You acted quick and shot them, but not before they shot at you first. You pushed him away from you as hard as you could and the last thing he saw before you were separated was a spray of blood. And then more debris came crumbling down. And then silence. His blood went ice cold. There’s no fucking way. There’s absolutely no fucking way this is happening. He screamed. He screamed your call sign until his throat was raw. He’s not a religious man at all but sweet god above, this can’t be real. This is just a bad dream. Please god, this is just a bad dream.

You weren’t responding and it sounded like more of the enemy force were coming in. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t remember what happened. He wouldn’t remember mowing them down, one by one. He wouldn’t remember jamming his thumbs into their eyes, or plunging his knife in their throats over and over and over again, or even the tears. The hot tears that glued his mask to his face like a second layer of skin. He wouldn’t remember any of it.

Just the kisses he never gave you. The mornings he could’ve spent in your arms. The nights he could’ve spent curled up on the sofa, letting the TV run with whatever you wanted. The pointless arguments you would’ve gotten into about the pros and cons of having a dog. The time he could’ve spent unpacking your belongings in his house and watching you turn it into a home. The stupid texts you would’ve sent him about the most ridiculous things, groceries, jokes, those stupid quizzes you loved so much.

And as he held you in his arms, his hands shaking and applying as much pressure to your side as he could, his love is pouring from his lips and his eyes. He won’t let go. He absolutely will not fucking let you go. Even as evac came and put you on a stretcher, loading you into the chopper, he is holding onto you for dear life.

He’ll never let you go.

I might decide to do a full one shot from this 👀

#ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #angst #cod one shot