#Because I KNOW if there’s one subject I can do really fucking good in it’s that!! ^^
Text
NSFW alphabet • j.maybank
Enjoy this!!
Warnings: p in v sex , oral m and f receiving , shower sex , dirty talk , fingering , aftercare , corruption kink , sex toys , dom! JJ , sub! JJ , dom! Reader , Sub! Reader , eating cum , oral fixation, size kink , smoking weed , mentions of UTI , male masturbation , talk of erections? , teasing , quickies.
18+
-
A- after care | JJ is BIG on taking care of you after you have sex, because of how rough he is afterwards he’s a big softie. Lets you wear his shirts, even sits with you in the bathroom checking on your while u pee as to avoid a UTI, he’ll then carry you back to bed place a kiss on your forehead then cuddle you till you both fall asleep.
B- body part | as much as he loves your personality my man is an ass man at heart, always squeezing your ass while you’re bouncing up and down on his cock, giving it it firm slap whenever you are just existing in your house. He always gives you his smaller boxers just so he can see your plump bum cheeks sneak through the bottom.
C- cum | my man cums HARD. Especially if he doesn’t masturbate for a while his white liquid comes out in strings after strings. He makes many jokes about being a proclaimed “artist” after he’s covered 90% of your body in his seed. Your face, your tits, your stomach,your ass, your thighs.
D- dick | JJ is fucking hung, he always thought he was average due to all the porn he’s watched. But when you first fooled around at the château, you were on your knees in front off JJ as he was man spread on John B’s couch when he quickly fumbled to open his belt and slide down his long cargo shorts which caused his large hard length to spring out of his boxers. He loves the thought of his big dick pressing against all the walls in your cervix , doing the stomach trick just to see him tip above your belly button.
E- experience | he had slept with quite a few girls before he met you, but once he did he stopped fooling around with girls out of respect in case you one day felt the same. He has experience on the sex side of things but he lacked the emotional connection with most his previous partners so when he met you he almost cried the first time you had sex. ( my poor touch starved baby ).
F- favourite position | he doesn’t understand all the really intricate positions he just thinks fucking is fucking and you don’t need to be mid twister match in order to have an orgasm. His favourite position is simple, you laying in his bed, his hands beside your head as he plowed into you from above, looking down at your orgasm face in awe.
G- goofy | his highness depends on how silly he is during sex. If he’s high he’ll be laughing and smiling the whole way through, it’s ten times worse if you’re both high, it’s just a laughing mess. But both fully sober and not in an intoxicated state he’s more serious.
H- hair | he has never once dared to try shave down there. Out of fear he might slice off his dick and also how much you begged him not to whenever he randomly brought up the subject of even trimming his pubes.
I- intimacy | the way he shows his intimacy during the act is with his words. He’s very vocal during sex. Doing so well for me baby , you can take it I know you can , c’mon princess cum for me , you’re so beautiful , m’fuck love this pussy.
J- Jack off | he is just as feral with masturbating as he is with sex, he’s cut down on his masturbation since you started dating ( always being able to have you get rid of his erections ). However, before you were dating my man would have to run back into the château bathroom after a day of watching you play volleyball with the other pogues in your tight pink bikini as your tits bounced around and almost slipped out every time you ran over to JJ in order to high five him.
K- kink | he isn’t the most kinky person ever, but he loves the thought of completely ruining you (corruption kink I think this is ) . If you’re a good girl kook he’ll love plowing into you and reminding you what your family would think about their A+ perfect daughter getting fucked rough by a dirty pogue.
L- location | he is a mostly bed sex guy. He doesn’t want to get caught or let anyone else see you in the orgasmic state that’s only for his bright blue eyes to see.But he loves surprising you by jumping into the shower with you, lathering your tits up with soap as he blows his load into your from behind.
M- motivation | he’s mostly turned on by just you in general. Your whole being makes him hard. But his main thing is kind of weird. It’s you being nice. If you smile brightly at him my man is bricked up immediately, or if your having a conversation with the bar tender as they’re making yours and his drinks he’ll watch your face intently as you smiled and laughed with the girl across from you ( if it’s a man it’s a different story ).
O- oral | as much as he loves getting his dick sucked, his favourite thing ever is pleasing his girl. He’s always eating you out, every spare second he has his tongue is exploring your folds as his finger enters your dripping hole. His tongue will flick and suck your clit as his fingers will brush against your gooey g-spot. ( he will also know that you have a massive oral fixation and will always bight his biceps whenever he’s wearing a short sleeved shirt or no shirt at all.)
P- pace | usually his pace varies during sex depending on the type of sex , sometimes he’ll be rough and fast and quickly overstimulate you enjoying watching you squirm but the other time he’ll be slow, allowing you to fully adjust to his size and stretching your walls, he will talk you through it and place kisses all over your face every time he lent down to your face.
Q- quickie | no matter how rough and fast he is, JJ isn’t the biggest fan of quickies, of course he will fuck your quickly in your pink bikini before going on a boat trip with the pogues but he prefers sex sensual and slow.
R- can’t think of one :( the prompt I’m using says risk for R but I can’t think of any I’m sorry guys :)
S- stamina | my man is fucking energetic , never once stopping to take a break during sex or take a breath while eating your pussy. But the second you both pull back, chests heaving up and down and heavy breaths filling the room he’s out like a light, falling asleep immediately or being stuck in a fucked haze.
T- toys | JJ doesn’t own any toys for himself but enjoys using your own toys on you. He’s not into the whole BDSM thing but he’s willing to use your vibrator and dildos on you so he can watch you in overstimulated pleasure.
U- unfair | JJ fucking Maybank is the biggest tease known to man. He will tease you from the second you get on the HMS Pogue. Hand on your thigh which inches closer to the hem of your bikini, pulling you into his lap and gripping your bare hips with his ringed fingers and lightly rubbing you against his hard erection.
V- volume | he’ll always try and match your volume, if your quiet, he’s gunna be quiet. But, he will always be talking you through it . M’Doing so good f’me baby , taking me so well , this pussy was made for me.
W- wild card | a random head cannon: he always tells John B and Pope that he’s the dominant one always. Which is pro dominantly true. Sometimes . Sometimes he’ll crumble under your touch as you’re overstimulating the poor boy by grinding forwards and backwards on his long length as it hits all the right places inside you, his hair was soaked in sweat at the tips as his ringed hands cling tightly to your bare hips, moving you in all the place he wanted causing his head to tilt back in pure ecstasy.
X- X-ray | under his clothes (we’ve all seen in obx cmon my mansey is fine) he has very tough muscular arms, his abs are formed into a perfect six pack which makes you drool every time he’s on top of you thrusting into you while you whine and beg for more.
Y- yearning | luckily for JJ he was blessed with a girlfriend with just the same sex drive as him. Let me just say for the first month of your relationship all you and JJ wanted was to be with each other inside all day, every day. Let’s just say you still go at it like rabbits and nothing has changed.
Z- zzzz | after sex, JJ’s eyes will to shut but he knows that he has to take care of his princess first, cleaning up his left overs from between her thighs, placing a soothing kiss on her still sweaty forehead before carrying her to the toilet for her after-sex-piss before carrying her back to bed and tossing one of his weed smelling shirts over her head with a smile.
Enjoy!!!
#jj maybank#obx netflix#jj maybank fic#jj maybank fluff#obx fanfiction#outer banks#obx fic#jj mayback imagine#jj mayback x reader#jj maybank smut#jj x reader#summer#nswf post
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing
#especically in the first two weeks of a new release everyone is feelings lots of intense emotions ranging from ecstatic to angry#everything in between is a part of it and i know i'm also feeling very strongly about it right now#i always try to stay levelheaded and rational and see things from an objective pov and be diplomatic about discourse#i don't want any of what i say drift off too much into meaningless hate instead of the constructive criticism it's supposed to be#but when you feel so strongly about something and sometimes you really just wanna say yeah i fucking hate it lol#but i always try to explain why and give understandable arguments and not just blindly hate on something#for example - I'm aware there are fans who have some problems with s2 and don't love the season whereas i do and it's my fave#and there is a difference between expressing some criticism and justified concerns which you can understand where it comes from#and those who are just like 'oh it's a horrible season. it was so shitty and we should get rid of it' which is dumb hate and just not true#and i can't support people like that and take them seriously#i can have my own issues with s3 from a subjective pov which can also include some justified criticism as well#but also still acknowledge it as a truly good piece of tv media and the quality is top notch#and that's why you have such high expectations and have critique because it is so good and sets such a high standard#yrtalk#with that being said i understand ppl not wanting to see any critic about it if they are riding the high of happy wilmon endgame#but that doesn't mean that i can't express my own opinions on my own blog and i will continue to do so#and maybe one day i will feel differently and accept or even like the ending who knows#but it doesn't have to happen. it's fine if it does but it's also fine if it doesn't
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
.
#personal#sometimes i wish i knew what it was like to be someone people want to talk to#or at least had students who could listen to what i say for just five minutes#god i hate yelling then they say thats all i do when if i talked normally no one fucking listens#then i take it way too hard when they say they dont like me when at least i stepped up to take their class#a class that had already ran off one teacher#but no im too useless because i actually make them do work and tried to have rules#last year was hard but at least i felt fulfilled by the end of the year with all my classes#i have never craved the end of the year so much or as much as i have this year#its not even both classes either its just this one that makes me dread working with them as much as they apparently hate me#sadly i can understand why their teacher left#and i know im not the best replacement since im learning how to teach them as they learn from me#but im just tired#its only a month left but i am so ready to never see any of them again#but depression does as it does and makes me question if im even good enough to get another job#one actually teaching my correct subject that i love#i hope like hell that i get a job and one i really want because i dont want to have to come back to this school#*it has the most substitute jobs#i dont like being loud even if no one believes me i dont like being mean though i know when i have too i just dont feel good enough#if i was i think i would have a job by now i mean im 28 and its been 5 schools in 5 years#sorry being sad on main#if you read this#thanks
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
well i think its finally time to open this box
#sorry gang apparently i am incapable of sticking to my word and am continuing to have a personality on main and subject you all#to all of my bullshit#i am doing my best but i am a weak bitch who does not know how to process feelings#so its a fucking miracle im opening this box tbh. ive wavered a lot around this one#this round of thinking is being brought on by the probable imminent break up between me + my gf 🙃👍#its been on the cards for a hot minute i mean. she hasnt sent me a message since the 8th of march until today and its like a.#we need to talk message so. like im not surprised. ans ive been thinking about it all a lot recently#i dont really want to realise im aro while im with someone so ive been avoiding it but like. ive been thinking. and ive been thinking if we#shouod break up too anyway because like. i get i am so hard to be around. but nothing. for a month. even a silly picture. it hurts dude#but i kinda didn't want to push because. i know i am. me. and a lot. and i know shes got stuff on her plate. but so do i#maybe we're both no good#to be around#nyxtalks#this is very not helpful in my whole. everyone i love leaves me eventually so i should isolate myself and push them all away thing i guess#but i dont think. i want to cling. i dont wanna be that pathetic.#she can do better than me (i cant do better than her)#i mean. idk ive been questioning if im aro anyway so. idk#i dont fucking know#honestly this is gonna be so cringe if this isnt what she wanted to talk about but like. what else could it possibly be i guess#dude i am so sorry if you read this this turned into relationship vent rather than my feelings around aromanticism#those are.complicated enough for their own post and i probably need to talk to some actual aromantic people about that
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
I LOVE TALES OF !!!!1!!1!11 🎉🥳🎊☀️🌻
#Ultimate comfort food series ✨💖#Been jamming out to all the openings in the past three days and I feel euphoric#especially ring a bell. Ring a bell is such a vibe actually that song just makes me smile#You only really realise how miserable and tired you were until you get some dopamine in your system again#Me I got 100% for the research phase of my folio and have at least a couple days before I have to commit to it wholeheartedly again#So in the meantime despite having so many other assignments (bio and chem…….:) I feel very relaxed and happy#Maybe I’ve lost it 😅#I legit do love viscomm tho I just also love making myself a slave to it#Because I KNOW if there’s one subject I can do really fucking good in it’s that!! ^^#And doing my folio so ✨ comprehensively ✨ only makes me better equipped for exams~#just pav things
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
haha tomorrow I have to present a really shitty essay I wrote and I already discovered multiple mistakes
#SO done with this subject.#it's partly my own fault that it's shit because I decided to go on holiday last week#which was our essay writing week#but well. can you blame me. we only have breaks during christmas and summer and god knows how expensive it is to go on a trip then#on the bright side: I received a really good grade for an essay I wrote for another course#but that's not the one I need to present! I need to present this piece of shit!#and this professor is very strict so I'm fucked#you have to do everything perfect or you fail#perfect essay but your conclusion wasn't the best? too bad! go fuck yourself and do the entire thing again.#and if you still don't get it right you'll have to redo the entire course next year :)
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Every time someone complains about a genre of fic (i.e. superhero au's) I make 5 more just to piss them off.
The reason for this is because their takes always reek of entitlement to people's hobbies and free time and they always demand for something "different" instead of realizing that a story someone isn't actually passionate about would be way more shit than one they like despite it being a genre you personally have grown bored with <3
#the blocks yell#Like I'm sorry but so many of y'all have been blessed with copious amounts of fic that isn't highly saturated by a ship#and I'm sorry but loosing a couple of fics by filtering them out really is not that bad#go into a different popular fandom and find the biggest ship and filter out the most popular ship or all ships and watch how fucking low#the fic count gets. Stop acting so entitled.#And that's not to say shipping is bad! It can be really really fun! But the idea of 'over saturation' in this fandom has become so skewed!#But don't complain becaus You Personally want something different. If you want something different then write it yourself!#And don't try and come at with a 'But I can't write!' do you know how many people Start Out writing fics? This day in age its a fucking lot#So get out there and make the stories you wanna see because until you do? Nobody else is gonna. Nobody else has your exact artistic vision#They can't do it like you.#And if one day you get to the point where you still like the story but don't like how you wrote it? Write it again!#Make it bigger and better! Use the old version as the first draft or even a really comprehensive outline!#And if you Don't like it anymore and don't feel any passiin for it then thats fine! You can let it sit because the thing is?#One day someone is gonna read that story and it'll be their absolute favorite thing in the world!#They might even make their own based off of it. Wouldn't that feel Good? Having someone love something you made so much that they create#something of their own. Despite the flaws you may now see?#Anyway. That was kind of a lot but if you can't tell I have a lot passion for this subject.#But just remember: fic writers make things to have fun. We don't get paid for what we do and yet we share it for free!#You accomplish nothing by whining about somethings success despite not having tried for yourself. Now go write a and have some fun#big rants at buildmart#<- also look i have a tag for these now
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
.
#i need to be away from here#gott i just...#im autistic right just fyi#and my mum does not treat me as if i were#like she has neurotypical standards for me which i have to meet otherwise there will be Bad Consequences#and this is killing me bc im not neurotypical#the only way she'll treat me as autistic is if i get officially diagnosed#which i kinda want but also dont want#and its just. she's. gott my relationship with her is so complicated but shes caused me so much hurt and trauma and pain and#thats what im feeling right now. that.#i should get a diagnosis for me not for her#but i dont think i can survive in this environment for much longer#i told my dad i might try get diagnosed (havent talked to him about autism before) n he was like “okay”#pretty much verbatim#which is realistically the best response i couldve had#then he went on a rant about how autism “didnt exist” in the past and how its caused by vaccines#and this drug which apparently helps with autism and when i said No im not doing that i dont want to be “cured” this is a thing that#shouldnt be cured he was like ??? then whyd you want a diagnosis#hhhh but that i can deal with. after 4 years of being subjected to his and my mums conspiracy theory bullshit i can put up with it#at first it really stressed me out but i can cope with it now and come up with well thought out and factual grounded counter arguments#n i told my mum that dads fine with me getting a diagnosis n then i asked her if when i get one she'll treat me as if i were autistic#and she laughed and was like wait until you get one#like she doesn’t think i am which shows how Fucking Little she knows about me and how much i have to hide from her#because shes always shouted at me for Every Autistic Trait i display#im never fucking good enough for her#she treats me and percieves of me as if im neurotypical and Im Not#i remember once (after something happened) i heard her shout “WHY CANT I HAVE FUCKING NORMAL CHILDREN” or something like that#that sticks with you.#that shit hurts and sticks with you#who gave this woman two queer autistic mentally ill children to raise who's fucking plan was that
0 notes
Text
.
#like i definitely need therapy lol#not that i havent tried in the past nothings just worked/stuck like the therapists werent a good fit for me perhaps#so im trying to reach out again because holy shit#i want to a) get out of my phd and b) have normal fucking friendships#but its so hard right now when anxious thoughts take over SO much some days like i know i cannot do this on my own#i have good friends i know who will hear me out#but man its the same thing over and over again with me but in a new font sometimes i swear#and my friends dont need to hear all those anxious depressive thoughts lol like#once in a while sure esp my closer friends but all the time? nawr#i have been trying to journal but man the emotions just bubble up and i dont feel better until ive like said things out loud#so honestly just having someone to rant about the same issues over and over again might be nice lol .#but i need to find a therapist that fits which is the hardest part#i do think ive made small strides on my own which is nice#but the emotions are just so loud and genuinely affect my day to day like its so hard battling things on my own#im at the point now where im like this cant go on for much longer somethings gotta change#if i want to have a phd in the next year and if i want to maintain friendships normally#and esp if i wanna stay roommates with this girlie cuz holy shit its been a lot harder than i expected maybe#i dont think i can do it on my own without major reprecussions#bro its also been like so long#i feel like ive always had some human i was extremely fond of for the past ?? years albeit most of them were like fake right like in the kp#*kpop world so it was fine when it becomes a real person it is absolutely terrible let me tell u .#but its also been a habit like i didnt realize how terrible my thoughts w ys were until now cuz they really wernet normal thoughts at all#like i want to break free of having these kind of attachments to people in a way cuz the only way i feel like ive been able to deal with bi#feelings is by transferring them to a new subject which isnt what i want anymore#like i just want it all to stop!#i also feel like mentally ive gotten worse ?? than before ?? in some ways like#i dont know if i want to make new friends and connections anymore#the same way i was trying so hard in the previous year which is worse bc now my efforts are like#SOLELY on this one girl in a way which is NOT. GOOD.#ive been trying to have conversations with the third roommate but i have to force myself?
0 notes
Text
.
#got knocked off my gourd last night. it peeled back some layers that I've already learnt to pull back.#tag talk#I of course took two edibles when I should have only taken one. because I do not do anything by half measures#any deeper thought feels like a fake deep like in a dream when you have a conviction but it's not real.#we split into two though. for a moment. he was watching a movie and I was fixated on a corn dog for like.. what felt like an hour#mostly my sense of time went to shit. everything in the past stopped existing so even speaking was hard because that requires forethought#how can you think about what you're going to say when you can't remember what you just said. a sentence is a linear construct#I just really wanna get fucked while high now. that would be wild as hell#I'm a fan of roller coasters. you get on and strap in and you have no control over stopping the experience until it's over. you just hang on#it's how I prefer to drink too. load up quick and ride it out. I don't want to ride the line as a static waveform.#I want to dive too deep and hold my breath until I surface.#I still had rational thought of course. I asked a friend about boundaries before talking about a few subjects.#I thought about frying bread but recognized it was not a safe smart thing to do in that state.#I kept a no-spill water bottle close. had a snack.#idk. very fun experience. but it feels kind of dumb to talk about it to people. it was such an internal experience. best experienced alone#like. very private. but like. not in some bs spiritual sense. I'm not trying to make it sound like I saw gods or anything.#I already know what I think and what I care about. I already love my friends and care for myself. but looking at it from a different angle.#it felt familiar though. cause like. being dissociative is something I'm pretty well used to. not as much anymore though which is good.#but yeah. I already knew how to be careful and direct my body even though I wasn't in the control room#muscle memory and habit carried me a ton through the experience.
0 notes
Note
You posted about adhd and I was hoping to follow up to clarify something. I’ve explained to my partner a million times about how the borderline-hoarding mess of his space is very mentally draining to me, and he understands but we’ve both essentially accepted he won’t clean his mess because he can’t because of his adhd. You’re saying he’s actually being a shit head?
This isn't necessarily an issue of him being a shithead, but it also isn't a sustainable situation. It's not good for you and there's a level of clutter that's probably not good for him either.
Large bastard is a lot more clutter-y than I am. The solution we've come to is trying to keep our messes at least isolated from one another; he can have his messes and I can have mine, but he can have those messes in his spaces, not all over the place. Sometimes those messes migrate, and that's when it's important for him to make the effort to rein them in rather than trying and failing to make a daily effort to keep our entire shared space tidy.
I think when you say "we've both essentially accepted he won't clean his mess" what I'm hearing is resignation; you're not happy about this but you don't know what to do so you've thrown up your hands and he feels helpless and unsure of what to do to improve the situation. This is the kind of "it's fine" that isn't really fine.
I think it would be worthwhile for you to each separately think about the mess and talk about it together. Are there areas that YOU *need* to have not-messy? Both for utility and your mental health? Are there areas where you can tolerate more mess than otherwise? Are there areas that are going to be harder for him to keep the mess out of than others? Are there things he doesn't *know* about cleaning up the mess?
I'm obviously a big "communication communication communication" person so I'm going to recommend a lot of talking about stuff, which is probably going to mean a lot of thinking about and interrogating stuff. I'm going to say "talk to him about why the mess bothers you" which means you also have to really articulate to yourself why the mess bothers you (for instance I'm not actually *bothered* by a messy kitchen, but I know it's going to reflect badly on us - and me specifically b/c of presumed gender roles - if someone pops by and the kitchen is a disaster, AND a messy kitchen is going to be harder to use). Genuinely, sometimes knowing *why* something is a problem might make it easier for someone with ADHD to do something. And it's not that he doesn't care that it upsets you, it's just that "Oh if I don't wash my breakfast dishes Anon won't have clear counterspace to make lunch" might be stickier in his brain (and less hard to look at emotionally) than "this thing I forget to do upsets my partner so I should do it."
For the record, I think that people with ADHD should read up on Demand Avoidance and see if it might explain some of the issues that they have in their day-to-day life; I've seen some really unfortunate situations with friends where trying to do things that their partner needed became the subject of demand avoidance. *I* have experienced negative outcomes of demand avoidance. The solution to that, however, isn't to stop making attempts to do the thing OR to simply try harder to do as they're asked/told (which reinforces the demand), it's to work on setting up a situation where the partners' needs are not interpreted as a demand. This is fuck-off difficult and requires a lot of patience and care and many attempts to succeed and will be different for each person and relationship.
(Also for the record demand avoidance isn't *super* strongly linked to ADHD and it's not a definitive symptom; like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it is something that occurs in some number of people with ADHD and can be a useful lens through which to examine various behaviors; you don't need to have DA or RSD to have ADHD, and having DA or RSD also doesn't invalidate your diagnosis; they're symptoms. For me, DA often feels like "if I don't look at it, it can't get me" - If I ignore all the messages I've got they aren't real and don't have real consequences so I'll just ignore my texts. If I don't look at the vendor email about the order, the problem with the order isn't real and it won't get added to my task list. If I don't look at the requests in my inbox I can't let people down when I don't do them. It's a self-protective coping mechanism but it's *maladaptive* and I can't just ignore the vendor email or all my texts. I need to work on a way of doing the stuff that I'm avoiding in a way that makes it less stressful and doesn't hurt the people relying on me. That takes a lot of effort, personal insight, trial and error, and )
But before I dive into specifics I want to be really really clear about one thing: sometimes people are simply incompatible. Sometimes one person has such a low tolerance for "mess" and the other person has such a high threshold for "mess" that it can't be reconciled. It sucks that this can end up being a thing that people break up over, but it is MUCH better to acknowledge incompatibility as early as possible instead of spending years and years building resentment.
There used to be a great forum called MiL's Anonymous that I spent a lot of time on. It had a lot of people in a lot of difficult situations struggling to get by and hold their relationships together. The question that was used as a litmus test to approach each situation was simple: If you knew today that everything about living with this person would be the same in five years, would you stay?
Because you can't control your partner. You can't control the future. You can only control yourself and your proximity to situations that are harmful to you. If you knew, 100%, that things wouldn't get better in five years, would you be okay with staying in this relationship? If the answer is "no," then that's that. Don't worry about questions of whether or not your boyfriend is a shithead, start the process of ending the relationship because there's a good chance the situation is going to be exactly the same in five years.
If the answer is "yes," and you'd stay in the relationship regardless of whether or not things changed, then it's time to take actions to improve your life within the context of the relationship.
(No judgement on that yes or no, btw. If you would hate living like this for another five years, and you would feel like you'd wasted your time and hadn't done the things you wanted to with your life, get out. Bail. Go. It will be better for you and better for your partner if you split instead of spending half a decade building resentments and and problems that you'll have to spend another half a decade healing from.)
Also, a note: you describe your boyfriend's mess as borderline hoarding - is the issue *mess* or is the issue *clutter*? I have friends who are very tidy, but whose homes are very cluttered. They like things, they have many things, they keep many things around, but their houses are always clean and well-dusted and orderly, just with a tremendous amount of *stuff.* I am addressing all of this as though the issue is mess, not clutter. If your boyfriend's situation is clutter (the space is busy and packed with things but it is functional and clean) and your issue isn't with *mess* (things out of place, things not having a place, things that need to be cleaned up gathering in stacks, falling behind on regular chores like laundry and dishes and taking out the trash) then you definitely need to assess whether or not you are compatible.
For instance here's a room that is messy but not cluttered compared to a room that is cluttered but not messy:
That first room is a *mess* but it would be very easy to clean up in under an hour. The second room is fairly tidy, but would take significant effort to pare down and declutter. BOTH of these can be difficult to live with but the second one is not dangerous or threatening to anyone's health. (The second one is QUITE cluttered and if every room in a house looks like this it can be overwhelming to live with; this is actually harder to deal with in a relationship than the first one in a lot of ways. I don't have a lot of advice for what to do if your partner is a high degree of tidy-but-cluttered because I don't actually think it's a problem or wrong to have thousands of books or bins full of lego or a million kitchen appliances as long as you have the space and can keep it safe and well-maintained; this is a really significant compatibility issue)
Okay, all that out of the way, here's the hard work.
Talk about this shit
Talk to your partner and define "mess." Make sure you are on the same page about what you mean when you're talking about what a messy room looks like versus what a tidy room looks like. Gather reference pictures. DRAW reference pictures.
Explain not just that the mess upsets you, but *why* and *how* it upsets you. In this context don't think of it as your boyfriend's mess, think of it as an unpleasant roommate. Discuss this using "I-statements". "When I have to pick up laundry all over the apartment, I feel like a parent more than a partner." "When there are piles of miniatures all over the table, I feel like I don't have anywhere to do things I'm interested in." "When there are dishes in the sink, I feel frustrated because I have to clean before I can feed myself."
Discuss, frankly and openly, whether he knows how to clean. I'm not trying to make excuses for him here but a lot of people with ADHD have a lot of stress and avoidance around cleaning because they spent a lot of time getting yelled at for not knowing how to clean properly.
Discuss your needs, be firm about what you require but willing to compromise. You *need* some spaces to be clean, and some spaces may be harder for him to keep clean than others. It may be MUCH harder for him to keep a bedroom tidy than it is to keep a kitchen tidy; if you need a clean and empty bedroom with everything put away and he simply cannot do that, that is a compatibility issue. But perhaps you need *your* side of the bedroom to be very orderly and can tolerate a moderate level of mess and clutter on his side. Maybe you're really really bothered by a messy kitchen, but it doesn't bug you if the dining table is covered with projects and papers. Figure out something more workable than "his mess goes everywhere and i live with it because he's incapable of cleaning" because he probably is not incapable of cleaning and you deserve to have places in your home that are comfortable for you.
Reduce friction for cleaning
Sometimes the problem isn't cleaning, the problem is the many many steps before cleaning, or not knowing where something should go when you are done cleaning. One of the absolute best things I've done for myself for cleaning my space is getting a broom holder and mounting the broom to the wall. Sweeping is now essentially thoughtless. I don't have to find the broom or pull it out from a pile of fans or go scrounging around for a dustpan it's right there on the wall, frictionless. So here are some ways to reduce the barriers to cleaning:
Make sure you and your partner both know how to use your cleaning supplies and know where those supplies are. When I switched dishwasher soap I had to re-show Large Bastard where I was storing it and how it was used, because to him what happened was the dishwasher tabs just vanished one day and he didn't know what I was putting in the machine or the process I used. He sometimes puts tools away in places that I can't see (he's more than a foot taller than me) so sometimes I can't get started on a maintenance project until he shows me where he put the battery pack for the drill.
Consider making a how-to chart to or having him make a how-to chart to keep someplace accessible so he can reference it while cleaning. Goblin.Tools Magic ToDo is great for this. Basically a lot of the time people with ADHD have trouble knowing what to do from step to step even if they've done something before, so having a step by step guide can make it easier (I have notebooks full of step-by-step guides for everything from paying for my tuition to removing licenses for my customers to weeding my yard)
Remove obstacles; don't keep cleaning chemicals in the garage in a box that's behind a stack of parts, keep them in the room you'll be cleaning. Don't keep the cleaning supplies that you use to clean the bathroom in the kitchen. Sometimes this means buying two bottles of bleach solution and two scrubbers and two sets of cleaning gloves but having fewer steps (fetch the windex, fetch the paper towels, fetch the gloves) is often the key to getting things done (open under-sink cabinet and grab windex, gloves, and paper towels that are there instead of in the kitchen).
This sort of overlaps with the next category, which is:
Create Dump Zones
One thing that I've found that seems very different between people with ADHD cleaning and neurotypical people cleaning is that neurotypical people are good at getting to a point where the cleaning is "done." They have checked off their tasks and they have finished and it is over. There are *SOME* chores that are like this (taking out the trash is a binary state, the trash has been taken out or it has not) and some chores are perpetual (horrid cursed dishes) but I think with people with ADHD, some chores that are binary for neurotypicals are actually perpetual chores. For instance "clean off the counter" is not a one and done for me. "Clean off the counter" may involve a three day reorganization project. "Clean off the counter" does not mean "wipe down the tile and put dishes away" it means assessing whether or not I need to make vegetable stock and bleaching three tea containers and reconsidering whether or not the sharps container should live somewhere else and going through the mail and figuring out what needs to be responded to and taking out the recycling and on and on and on.
We have had company at the house for the last two weeks, so I asked large bastard to clean off the dining room table, which is largely a project zone for him. Cleaning off the dining room table meant putting away his meds (and since he's a transplant patient that involves a 30 gallon rubbermade tote), throwing away some trash, and totally reorganizing his workshop. It also incidentally involved picking up a table from facebook marketplace and moving my plants, which has now involved moving my former plant rack outside (moving buckets, finding and organizing planters and gardening tools) and taking the former table to the thrift store (not done yet) and cleaning the rug that was under the former table. So "either the table is clean, or it isn't" isn't really true for us.
HOWEVER "hang on we can't eat until the table is clear so let's drive to Pico Rivera to get that console table right now" isn't a workable plan, so you create dumpzones as areas of holding between the start and the finish of the chore.
A dump zone can be a laundry basket. It can be a craft bin. It can be a back room or under your bed. It is a place to put things that you are going to deal with later because if you deal with them now it is going to derail the thing you are actually trying to do, which is set the table for dinner.
Dump zones are vital to cleaning with ADHD and I recommend them for day-to-day cleaning as well. The day-to-day dump zones might be more for you than for your boyfriend. For instance, Large Bastard works with bullets and he sheds bullets all over the house. I used to get stressed when I found bullets when I was cleaning because are these work bullets? Are these recreational bullets? Are they in testing? Do they need to be pulled? Do they go in the workshop or the office or the garage or does he need these today so they have to stay on the counter? And the answer now is "that's not my problem naughty bullets go in the jar." Which is perfectly sensible because he gets to say "mystery yarn goes in the bin" and "art supplies go in the bucket."
I feel helpless when cleaning a lot of the time. I'm frustrated and lost and I don't know where stuff goes and everything I pick up spins off into three projects in my head and every step feels like a wall to scale. Dump zones help me with that when there's pressure or a reason for cleaning beyond day to day home maintenance. People are coming over? The bedroom is a dump zone, I'll deal with that later. I'm just cleaning up because I need to? Okay I can find a permanent home for this new dish soap.
AS A VERY IMPORTANT COROLLARY TO THIS:
Active projects do not go in dump zones while you or your partner are cleaning. This may mean designating a project sanctuary area like a corner of the table or one particular chair in your main room where a project can be placed so as not to be disturbed. (if my current crochet project ends up in the yarn bin, that may mean that I don't pick the project up for another three months, it lives on the windowsill behind the couch because that's where it'll get worked on)
Do not put things away for your partner, put them in the dump zone for your partner. Your partner has to be the one to put their own stuff away in a way that works for them. I tend to find that this naturally puts a limit on the time stuff sits in the dump zone, because eventually you'll go "hey where's my thing?" and will put stuff away. If that doesn't happen, it's still generally better to have stuff in a dump zone than all over the home.
Do not decide you know what things go together from your partner's stuff and try to "put like things together." The neurotypical urge to put like things together is the mindkiller(j/k). You do not know which things are "similar" in your partner's organization schema and attempting to organize things on your own is going to end up with all of the things "organized" being functionally lost forever from your partner's perspective. Large Bastard's mom would do this and it was infuriating, she'd say "oh I put all the electronics stuff in one box" and she would mean soldering irons, transistors, ham radios, HDMI cables, and cellphone chargers. We are *still* going through boxes of stuff that she "tidied up" when he was hospitalized in 2020 and 2021.
To prevent the need for quite so many dump zones over time, you can work on setting up landing zones and "homes" for projects and tools.
Landing Zones
Landing zones are places where things go when you come inside from doing various things. Sometimes your landing zone only needs to be a tray for your wallet and keys, sometimes your landing zone needs to be a place to take off muddy boots and put a trowel and gloves down before you shower.
To make an effective landing zone, consider what behaviors you're trying to minimize and whether the people using it are ACTUALLY going to use it. For instance I was tired of the corner of my hearth getting cluttered with random junk so I hung up some hooks and put a shelf and a basket there and it became a really effective landing zone for my bag and keys and the mail, but it was VERY ineffective for Large Bastard because it's by a door that isn't the primary door he uses to enter the house. As a result I always know where my keys and bag are but he has trouble finding his keys and wallet. He tends to enter the house through our bedroom and has an overloaded valet next to the door and that's usually where his wallet ends up. Mounting a shelf to the wall above the valet and putting a basket and a hook on it will be a better place for his stuff to land. It's not that he's not using the first zone because he doesn't know that it's there, or because he doesn't care about lost time when I'm searching for my car keys after he borrows them, he's not using it because it's not by the door he uses. That's all.
I have a landing space for when I come in for gardening that's different than the one when I come in from grocery shopping. I have a landing space for when I walk into the dining room instead of the kitchen when I get home.
Landing spaces prevent stuff from piling up all over the place because they are a limited functional space that should be used frequently. Mail ONLY goes in the landing zone. If you have mystery mail or if you're not sure it's safe to toss, you put it in the landing zone. You can't let the mail get piled up too high or you won't have a space for your keys. You can't let the change in your wallet tray get too deep or your wallet is going to slide off, etc., but you also don't just put change on the coffee table or your nightstand because the landing zone is right there.
Homes for items are just what they sound like. They're the place the item goes. It lives there. My meds live on my nightstand. You would not believe how poorly I did with taking my meds on my vacation because they weren't on my nightstand. A while back large bastard lost one of his sets of sorted meds and we tore the house up looking for them because he couldn't find them in his nightstand, which is where they live. *I* found them in his nightstand because I emptied out the entire top drawer (he had only looked on the top layer) and found them underneath a radio and a hammock. Even though they were *hidden* they were in their home, so they were findable. I recently needed ink for an art class. Art supplies live in a dresser by my desk. Ink lives in the art bin or the top left drawer. The ink was not in either of these places (it was on a cabinet in the dining room behind a teacup) so it took me weeks to find it.
Sometimes the reason that ADHD spaces are so messy is because objects have been assigned homes in places that are visible and if they get moved they get lost. This is a genuinely difficult problem that requires a lot of effort to solve and can involve a lot of trial and error for creating a tidy living space. For some people, open shelving and visible storage might be a good solution. For some people, assigning a VERY clear home and inculcating that location by habit is the only way to clean up a space. For some people one very cluttered corner to at least isolate the chaos does the trick (for me and large bastard open shelving doesn't work because anything in one place for too long becomes invisible; that means that I rely on assigning things homes and large bastard relies on having contained chaos and a general idea of where to search but what that DOES NOT mean is that he is clean or tidy. His spaces look like an explosion. But he can mostly find his stuff and do what he needs to do and as long as that's limited to specific places in shared spaces I can live with it; the dining room table can be a disaster, the kitchen cannot).
People organize things differently. It often takes a while for neurotypical adults to settle into an organizational style that works for them and ADHD adults may need to settle into a new system every few months for it to continue working. The cleanup and declutter is most likely going to be a permanent project that is always going to demand some level of attention from everyone in a shared space, but "my ADHD means I can't do it" is not really going to fly. Maybe his ADHD means that he can't keep his space tidy, but it doesn't mean you can't move stuff from shared spaces into dump zones or that he can't do stuff around the house.
If he's insisting that his ADHD means that he can't clean it is possible that he's not being a shithead, he just feels helpless and doesn't know where to start and has adopted the belief that he's a useless piece of shit who can't even keep a tidy space like a grownup because he's internalized a lot of shitty attitudes (hello, my internal monologue about keeping a clean house). But it's also possible that he's just being a shithead.
It's something that's worthwhile to investigate with him. If he's unwilling to make an attempt, then he's being a shithead.
It is also not your responsibility to rehabilitate another person. If he wants to clean and it's something he feels bad about and needs some help and support with the way that someone might need help or support for learning to use a mobility aid, that is fine but you don't have to be the one who gives him that support if it's detrimental to your health, and you don't have to be the one to teach him that stuff if it's not something you're capable of. And if he is NOT interested in working on making your shared living space more accessible for you, that is not your suitcase to unpack and you just have to ask yourself the question from the start: would I stay with this person if I knew the situation was never going to change?
IDK, I'm sure a lot of this reads like "anon you must take on the emotional labor of training your partner to be an adult" but it's really meant to be more of a way of assessing yourself and your relationship. If you created landing zones do you think he'd use them? Would he get angry if you assigned a laundry basket as a dump zone for his stuff while you tidy the living room? Is living with him long-term going to be comfortable for you if nothing changes? Do you have enough of a shared definition of "mess" that you're at least in the ballpark for what counts as a clean house?
anyway good luck, and a reminder to folks that I'm compiling a bunch of adhd resources and other information on my personal website, ms-demeanor.com. It's coming along slowly but it will eventually include stuff like ADHD cleaning tips and how to tackle a hoard, so maybe keep your eye on that space.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Crowley actually says a barely-coded "I love you" to Aziraphale back in 2.03
In his proposal in the S2 finale, Crowley told us that he and Aziraphale know they're in love and have known it for damn ever but they pretend they're not a couple. This, by default, means that they've not specifically said the words "I love you" before, by Crowley's own admission. They've said I love you in their own little language and we've watched it before. It's little demonic miracle of my own. It's don't go unscrewing the cap. It's just a little bit of a good person and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing... But what Crowley says in the S2 finale is that they've never-- ever-- said in 6,000 years is just I love you in those normal people, human words. It has always been too dangerous for too many reasons to count so they have euphemisms for it and whole conversations around it and have made that be enough. Why do I bring this up? Because Crowley found a middle ground between the words and their coded language with one another in S2 and it's flying under the radar.
So you know that scene when Muriel has shown up and interrupts Crowley and Aziraphale talking in the back room? The one where while Crowley is speaking, Aziraphale suddenly looks like he's about to pass out with sheer want? Yes, our angel always looks at Crowley like he hung the damn moon (which he did but lol...) but this scene is different. This scene is like... someone get Aziraphale a chair and a glass a water because he is pupils-dilated, audibly breathing, and eyeing up Crowley with naked want. More than the lust? He looks happy. He looks delighted. You can basically hear his heart race from that look on his face. Why here? Yes, Crowley looks hot. Yes, he's in profile in a way that is a visual parallel to Before the Beginning (which was an inspired choice for this scene.) Yes, he's here with a Plan and taking charge of the Muriel situation and swaying his hips a bit while he speaks. It's not any of that. Those are nice bonuses. Aziraphale likes them. He gets them all the time. It's what Crowley said in this moment. To Aziraphale. Through what he said to Muriel.
Crowley cracks a dry, kinda dark joke that is meant for an audience of one: just Aziraphale. He knows Muriel won't get it. Since Muriel is cosplaying as what they think is a human Inspector Constable and they are here to verify the miracle Aziraphale has told Heaven and so are monitoring them, Crowley quips that Muriel is here to spy on them (since they, well, are, actually) and that he knows that many human police officers like to make a bit of a hobby out of spying on "people in love."
People. In. Love.
In a one-two punch in the same sentence, Crowley called him and Aziraphale queer humans and he called what they have love, using the actual word *aloud* for the first time in 6,000 years. He said he loved Aziraphale in front of an angel of Heaven in a little coded joke but this time, using the coded bit to say the real thing for the first time.
Then, just to hammer it all home and make sure that Aziraphale really knows it was very much intentional, Crowley says 'love' again in the next sentence. He starts going on about how Muriel can come to him anytime with any questions about love and he's happy to assist with their understanding of human love with all of his implied vast, vast years of experience with the subject and how he'll be here to answer their questions, in the bookshop, while Aziraphale drives his car to Edinburgh.
Go back and tell Heaven I'm here, Inspector Constable, I don't give a fuck anymore. *We* don't give a fuck anymore. You go tell The Archangel Michael that I'm who they're going to get managing Angelic Embassy X aka The Bookshop until Aziraphale gets back-- yep, me, former Demon of Hell. The Boyfriend in the Dark Sunglasses. He's asked me to, which is his way of saying he wants to stop hiding and asking me not to sneak out to my car in the middle of the night which hallefuckinglujah, Inspector Constable... Go tell Their Beatitudes that we ravish each other all over the bookshop. You won't even be lying. As Maggie'll put it later in the season: I'm done being afraid all the time. I love him. We're in love. There's your hot intel.
Aziraphale:
Aziraphale: Inspector Constable, be a dear and spray me down with all 700 of our fire extinguishers, will you?
#ineffable husbands#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#aziracrow#aziraphale x crowley#crowley x aziraphale#good omens meta#good omens 2
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello (◍•ᴗ•◍)
I really like your work it's so good!! And i saw your request is open soooo
Can i request delinquent/bad boy sukuna x student council president reader? Like they hate each other bc reader is very strict with the rule while sukuna just break it anyway. One day, sukuna saw the reader in a party which make him confused bc reader is not the type to do fun stuff. And moments later they fuck
Sorry if this is a very detailed request. Feel free to ignore it or change it :3
𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh my, another sukuna req! things bout to get hot, hehe~
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; Sukuna and you are college seniors - blackmail - fingering (f! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - oral (m! receiving) - facials - use of a phone; sexual photography - impact play (spanking) - full nelson position - degradation (cumslut, pig, slut, whore) - humiliation - overstimulation - pet names (brat, princess, woman) - dick piercing (frenulum) - usage of drugs & alcohol - mention of drool/spit and tears.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k
Sukuna was grinning ear to ear as he marched his way toward you. “Y/n.”
You perked at your name, and your face contoured to brief shock before shifting to mild annoyance. “Sukuna.”
Running into you at a huge party was the last thing Sukuna expected to see. But it’s a situation he will take advantage of expeditiously.
College is hard enough being the top dog of the student government association and trying to juggle senior classes. It is your job to keep the school and its students in order, maintaining a pretty face as it’s been doing decently for the several years before you. The entire student body knows you take your job seriously, earning the respect they give you with every step you take and being praised by professors and faculty alike — even being invited to have dinner with the university president along your association!
But of course, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows because there are always downsides to the good — one of them being a ginormous thorn to your being.
Ryōmen Sukuna is a man you’ve been dealing with for almost four years. Known for his intimidating cadence whenever he walks the halls, the brutality of his moves as he’s the famous trump card of the school’s jiu-jitsu club, and his cold and demeaning manner of speech when talking down to others he deems beneath him, he is regarded at the campus’ “demon dog.” Someone that many can never believe is the older brother of the freshman track star sweetheart, Yuuji Itadori.
He is a person that many say is the complete opposite face when compared to you, a fact you have no choice but to agree with a twitching brow. Looking through all the disruptive students you’ve dealt with, Sukuna would be crowned King for being the most colossal nuisance of your life. Whether it be reporting him to the campus police for picking fistfights with the juniors, smoking in smoke-free zones, adding more tattoos to his face and arms, or willingly trashing places because he thinks he can, no one has been more subject to give you more grey hairs. He just doesn’t listen — he won’t listen!
And the worst part is that he enjoyed making your life a living hell. God, he’s such a fucking bastard, not wanting to deal with outside of your academic life.
…Until you two see each other from across the living room where a huge party is held in one of the off-campus apartments, perplexed crimson eyes locked on with widened ones, too shocked to take a sip of your drink from your red solo cup. You immediately turned to the group before you, hoping the sea of kids and the bouncing bass could distort your image from his vision.
Too late; the salmon-haired senior couldn’t hide the grin on his face as he slithers past people to get to where you are. Students move out of the way for him to move, the group you were hanging with gasps with wary stares, and Sukuna taps your bare shoulder.
“Never figured the student government president would be here,” his voice was chilling as always. Yet you remain a neutral face when facing him. “Something tells me there isn’t apple juice in that solo cup.”
The group you were hanging out with instantly excused themselves to somewhere else in the apartment, leaving you alone with Sukuna. You rolled your eyes, “What is it, Ryōmen?” You feel disgusted as his red eyes scan your figure, taking in the off-shoulder, long-sleeved bodycon dress you were wearing. True, you don’t wear stuff like this all the time, but you can’t expect this bastard to have any amount of decency or subtlety.
“Whatcha doin’ here, prez?” God, you hated him calling you that, knowing good and damn well what your name was — but, again, why would he bother; not respecting you enough to do something simple as that. “Isn’t this kind of thing what you’re against for and all?”
“Hmph, am I not allowed to have some fun at a party I was invited to?” You furrowed your brows and took an aggressive sip. “Besides, this is off-campus housing; the property owners are the ones who’ll have anyone’s asses if stuff breaks or cause disruption against the codes.”
“Oh, so the uptight President is off duty this time? Hmm, ain’t that something,” he leans against the wall beside you with crossed arms. Your gaze was averted to the crowd bumping and grinding rather than acknowledging the delinquent examining you. “I figured you’d be somewhere pulling your panties to some poor bastard.”
“Watch your tone when talking to me, Ryōmen,” you finally send him a glare through your peripherals. It humored him, a devilish chortle you could hear even through the loud bass. “Lucky for you, I’m only here to have a good time with some friends before heading home to assignments. So, do me a favor and don’t start shit for me to take home and stress over.”
He lifts a brow, “Is that so? Miss Prez came to let loose, huh.” You didn’t like how he said that — nor how he moved to lean closer to you. His cologne disrupts your nostrils. “Never thought you had that side of you.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Ryōmen,” you swing your cup around with a scoff. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
And you thought you’d win this round as Sukuna doesn’t say anything to you for a few seconds. However, the man goes through his pocket to pull out his phone to pull up something. And when he finds it, he flashes the screen to your direction. “You mean things like these?” You turn to look at the device, and your eyes go wide with an agape mouth. What he was showing were photos — a whole lot — of you.
“You know, I’m sure it must be hard being president of the student body; that’s why I don’t envy you,” one photo shown is of you smoking in the Honors Lounge with a few of your student government associates, an action undoubtedly prohibited within the facilities. “So, I can’t blame you when you decide to settle down and let yourself go for a minute,” he swipes his finger to pictures of you drinking liquor with some other students who smoke blunts and have weed plastered on the coffee table. “However, you really outta be careful with what you’re doing, Y/n; you got people who look up to you and expect so much from you.” Another picture shows you at some dark nightclub with a guy friend, shoving middle fingers and sticking tongues out at the camera.
Your lips quiver with every swipe, and lips quiver, “Wh…Where did you get those…”
“Hmm? I can’t share that information. Heh, plus, I like to keep tabs on those who can get on my nerves,” he stuffs the phones back into his dark jean pocket. “But I can’t lie; the more I look at those pictures and compare them to the little president that nags too damn much, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if someone were to leak these out for the whole school to see. Which would drop quicker: your presidential scholarship and accolades or your reputation?”
“You fucking asshole…!”
You swiftly throw your cup at Sukuna, but the pink-haired man dodges easily and grabs your wrist — the poor guy behind him gets drenched with your drink. “Hey!” The guy grabs Sukuna’s shoulder and is immediately met with the infamous death glare. “…My fault, bro, don’t worry about it. I’ll go dry off,” the student says while backtracking away from those fearsome eyes.
You’re trembling with vexed shakes; the hand on your wrist holds you tight with no sign to let go unless necessary. Otherwise, you know he’ll break it if you make one wrong move. “…What the hell do you want from me?“
Now Sukuna has you in the palm of his hand — his sinister grin growing as he leans closer to be inches away from your face. “My apartment is on the top floor; you have ten minutes to get your ass up there,” you don’t move a centimeter when he draws near your ear to whisper. “I’ll show you how to really get loose, Miss President.”
The words felt like sharp daggers to your throat, “You…devil.”
He snickers into your ear, “Pick your poison, and you’ll see just how much of a devil I can be.”
And with that, Sukuna straightens himself up and heads out, his frame disappearing deep into the crowd till you can’t see him anymore. Your heartbeat goes at a pace way too irregular to call ordinary, and your blood too cold as it has your skin suffer in shivers.
This was a nightmare — an absolute, horrifying nightmare. There’s no way the guy that you hate with your very guts just blackmailed you! This was not how this night was supposed to go; now your whole reputation — what you’ve built with your own two hands — is being held in front of you and is dependent on going to this asshole’s apartment. Who the hell does he think he is!?
You didn’t want to go. You wouldn’t go! Especially under the premise of that fucker, playing with your life like some toy. Your thoughts were inner turmoil, challenging your morals and conscience on what to do. Your pride was trying to pull up a good fight, holding onto whatever dignity you have to validate not going up on the elevator and seeing Sukuna for what he’s about to do to you. They’re just pictures; people will think they’re edited or question if they’re valid!
However, the fact that you spent five minutes going back and forth with this suggests those were anything but pictures. He had ammunition to bring you down — to humble and look down on you — and have everyone do the same, no matter what you could say to justify yourself. So, swallowing your ego, you exit the party and walk the hallway down to the elevator. Every floor you ascended made you feel small, and when the doors opened for you to step out and you saw him leaning on his door waiting for you, your fate had been sealed.
The same smirk he had at the party was plastered on his face. You were no longer in control of the situation; you are now in his domain — and you should follow his commands to keep up.
“Gahhh! Mmmph, Ryooo, stop—Eeek! Y’re hitting so ha—Ahhh!”
“What? You thought I was going to be easy with you? After all those times you’ve pestered me to no end? Hah, think again, prez.”
Being in the same space with Sukuna is something you never comprehended happening civilly in all your years of knowing him. Now, being laid on top of his knees as he sits on the edge of the bed is jarring in its own sentence. The skirt of your dress was pulled up, your ass and panties out for the cool air to caress. Not until Sukuna rips you off your underwear and starts giving your bare butt unforeseen strikes. The impact of his hand was so harsh that you gripped his jean-clad leg with a scream.
He goes about this for a solid five minutes, giving your asscheeks slaps – and your cries have him chuckle and do some more. And you can’t squirm out of his hold, or else he’ll dent the skin of your butt with his fingertips, piercing into the tense muscle to inflict pain like no other. God, it hurt so bad, every smack taking your breath away.
“Look at you,” he coos, rubbing his hand on the hot skin. The pain was so bad to the point of your eyes watering; simply hovering his Hand over you was enough to have you in shudders. “Whatever happened to the poised and resilient Y/n who’d always dare threaten me for my behavior? This person on me, screaming like a whore, can’t be the same Y/n.”
You grit your teeth, turning over your shoulder to express your seething glare. “Who are you calling a whore, you fucking—Deeeii! Ohhh!” Sukuna sneaks a forefinger inside your wet cunt, not bothering to warn you. “Wai—Tahhh! Take it out, take it out right—Noooh!!”
“Oh, don’t even think you’re in any position to tell me what to do, slut,” you bite your lip as he moves his finger into your vagina with such merciless vigor. “And with how you’re crying like a bitch, you sound pretty whore-ish to me.”
Oh, go fuck yourself! You could have told him that — but you didn’t because he squeezes in his middle finger to insert inside your tight chasm, both digits now rummaging inside your vaginal walls and scraping them to the point of drooling babbles on your part. You couldn’t think of anything, not when he’s still throwing smacks on your ass with his free hand. You can’t even wipe the spit that comes down your lips because he distracts you with more jabs to your inner walls and pinches to the skin of your butt. Fuck, fuuuck!!
And it gets worse when you feel his thumb dance around your asshole. “N–No, stop it, Sukuna! That’s dirty, don’t—Mmnaahh!!” He slips it inside without care; the pain of his thumb forcing inside your puckered anus almost has you shut down.
“That’s the point, prez,” he bites his lip with a pestilent snicker. “Gonna make you so fucking dirty tonight, wanna ruin that perfect image of yours that you don’t recognize yourself. He scratches your butt, resulting in you clamping onto his digits with a grip that feeds his ego. “Mhmm, just like that, princess.”
How dare he play with your ass like a toy and have the nerve to call you that? Such a sick man; the hate you have for him boils your blood to no end. “Ahhh, stoop, too fast, please, go slo—Mmmph!?”
He shoves two fingers in your mouth to stifle your cries. “That’ll keep you from squealing, fucking pig.” And he continues to toy with your slit and anus, your whimpers muffled by his thick fingers.
“Take it all in, Y/n, every single fucking inch, ya hear?…Mmmm, yeah, deep in your throat like that.”
This. Is. The. Worst! There’s absolutely no way you’re sucking Sukuna’s cock right now; this is the very last thing you’d want to be doing! He’s standing with his dark jeans and briefs on his thighs, his hand on the back of your head to make sure your mouth remains on his dick at all times. If you could, you would’ve chewed the damn thing off and made a run for it.
But you came here for a reason, so you keep your disdain at bay and begrudgingly suck on Sukuna’s glans, having the salmon-haired man purr from above you. And it doesn’t help that he holds his phone to take pictures of you and said add more to his collection. God, he’s so disgusting…
“Fhhh, fuck, that feels good,” he groans at you taking his girth. Your lips down to the hilt, burrowing his length deep into the warm, tight tunnel of your throat. “Who woulda thought the strict, by-the-book Y/n would take in dick so well?” You narrow your eyes at him as you bob your face up and down, earning a hearty chuckle from the pleased man. “That face of yours, baby, so furious with me, huh.”
You try to pay him no mind, distracting yourself with the task at hand by licking one of his balls before sucking them. Your hands increase in speed when stroking him, having the man above unable to stop bucking his hips to your fist for more enviable friction.
“Shit, yeah, yes,” he throws his head back in bliss, and you can tell he’s about finished while feeling his cock pulsate under your touch. “Bring your face here.”
He does it for you – his hand on your head for a reason – and forces you close to his cock before he jerks himself for release. And his come exudes with a force, landing right on your face. You fight every fiber of your being to move away, accepting his essence to paint your cheeks, nose, and lips. It was unbelievable how disgracious he was, just plain selfish and unapologetically nasty.
You hear the phone snap, throwing another scowl at the pink-haired responsible. “Lookin’ like a real cumslut for me, prez.”
And the worst part of all finally comes around — the thing you dreaded once you stepped out of that party and into that elevator.
“—Fffaaahh! Hooohshiiit! This is crazy—Eeeee!”
“Fuckin’ shit, you’re tight as hell, woman…Khhh…! Tryin’ to milk me dry, huh, Y/n…”
Sukuna lies beneath you with his legs bent away, his arms wrapped underneath your legs, and pushing them to your chest from behind. His cock is entombed inside your leaking slit as he thrusts up to you with every second, and the sound of your ass smacking onto his thighs fills the space.
He has his hands behind your neck, demanding you to look at the union of your sexes, and your face couldn’t get any hotter than watching the obscenity. He’s been fucking you for more than ten minutes now, his cum inside you from the last round stains a white ‘o’ around the base of him, and the sticky substance so vulgar to look at it stretching with his push and pull motions. And the squelching – the goddamn squelching! – it only furthered the fog clouding your mind.
There was no point concealing your wails; your lips were forced open with every jab from Sukuna. Jesus, he was so fucking big — your poor cunt stretched to accommodate his intrusion. You clamp onto him more when he pulls, the barbell piercing his frenulum and scraping your walls from the descent and grazing your G-spot.
“Fuck, fuuuck, hsssh…!” It was hard to concentrate on anything outside of this, and you couldn’t tell if you were speaking adequately or prattling like some sex-crazed fool. You sigh with rolled eyes when he sends sporadic ruts out of nowhere, clenching onto his shaft with a tug.
It has Sukuna groan hotly, his breath steaming your skin. “Holy fuck, you really love gripping my cock, don’t you, princess?”
“I–I can’t help it! You keep ’n hit—Haishhh!” Your eyes meet the ceiling at the jab of your A-spot, the pressure making you feel full. “You—hic—…Yo’re the one m’king me like thisss…”
“Is that right?” He takes slow thrusts to draw out your pleasure; your broken howls were music to his ears. “Sounds like the to be enjoying yourself.” You hurriedly shake your head no, and he throws a bitter pound to your hypersensitive chasm. “Brat, why the hell else are you milking me like this for, then?”
“Becauseee, it feels….Mmmm,” No, you can’t say that. Don’t tell him what he wants to hear.
“Hmm? Feels what?” You can hear the smirk on his lips. You don’t say anything except muffled hums, so he probes you, “You want me to send out those pictures, huh? Show just how much of a terrible president you are, how you love to go dumb on my dick?”
Of course not! “Do—Don’t you dare…!”
“Then answer the question: how does it feel, hmm? Tell me, how do you feel being fucked by the guy you hate so much?”
Oh, damn you, Ryōmen Sukuna! It was now you shed a tear, your hands grabbing for his forearms for purchase.
“—Fucking ‘ell, it feels good,” you said it, your last bit of dignity finally thrown for the man to shred apart. “Feels ‘oo good, you make me feel—Geheehh…so damn good…!”
Oh, that was more than enough for him. Sukuna’s sneer becomes broader, and his chuckles are felt from your back. “What a dirty bitch for me, princess…”
His hips go back to an unsteady fashion, propelling his dick to his base, and the brushes of his piercing massage your walls too precisely. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to come crashing down on you with a scream, the walls of your cunt contracting around Sukuna for the third time that night. Your nails dig into his arms, and drool leaves your pretty agape mouth as he allows you to ride out your climax.
Sukuna whistles at the sensation of you fluttering on his girth. “Phew, damn, that was a good fuck. You know how to keep up with me, woman; you’d make a great pet.”
You were sick of him, gulping to wet your dry throat. “Delete…the fucking…pictures.” Your empty threat only has him click his tongue with a scoff.
“Not so fast there, prez; the fun was just getting good.” Your heart sinks to the soles of your feet. “So, be a good brat and know your place is under me tonight.
requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen smut#ryomen sukuna smut#sukuna ryomen x you#sukuna ryomen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fic#jjk imagines#anime smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Saw a drawing of Steve and now I'm suddenly thinking about artist Eddie who designed the Hellfire shirts and Corroded Coffin fliers and who draws the villains of his D&D campaigns to slap onto his DM screen for visual aid and doodles in class and-
And i'm thinking about Steve, in a relationship with Nancy, trying to ignore that things are rocky but knowing it all the same. He finds a notebook left behind in school and he only takes it because he forgot his own. He plans to use it for the day and then figure out whose it is and get it back to them in exchange, that's probably more than fair, right? And the person is really gonna want this back - it looks like half their life is contained in this thing; there is... a shit ton of loose paper stuffed between the pages and notes on all kinds of subjects and drawings and.... he doesn't even know what that is. Who is Vecna and what the hell is a... lich?
Anyway as he leafs through it he finds that some of the drawings are... actually really good. Like, absurdly good for being in a lined notebook that looks like it has taken a trip into a dumpster and picked up some debris on the way out.
Like! Those hands! Steve has no artistic bone in his body but he's heard people whine about drawing hands and - he looks at the hand not holding the book and back again - yeah, that's exactly what hands look like! And here - a few pages further (it's one of the most empty pages of the whole thing, mostly because this one seems to have started as a drawing and not as a page of notes that turned into a drawing) there are only a few lines on the page but it's still very clearly the back of someone's neck, the collar, one shoulder.... Then there's another one that is almost all lines, but they were all carefully placed to give the effect of perfectly windswept hair. Then there's one that he actually can't make sense of at first (he almost pages past it because it is just a few lines and dots taking up a quarter of a page of very annoyed... history notes? Maybe English.) It's just a jawline with some moles but... only the day before he had cut himself shaving a finger's width underneath those exact moles. And that's when it clicks. He goes back to the hair... yeah that- that could be him too. Maybe. He flips back to that one very detailed drawing of hands and... putting down the book he tries to get his hands into the same position - the angle is off but. Yeah. That's why they looked so perfectly...! Uhhhh... Handsy! Because they're his fucking hands!
Anyway Steve realizes that about a third of the drawings are or could be him. He realizes that he actually can't go through with giving it back because - what would he even say? "Hey found your notebook, nice shrine to me?" Yeah no. But he's... also reluctant to take it to the Lost and Found. There's something in the handwriting.... He has a feeling that it might not be a girl secretly drawing him. What if someone else connects the dots? What if they confront the mystery artist about it? Flashbacks to his fight with Jonathan, the line he crossed and immediately regretted. He doesn't want to be the cause for someone else getting called that. And unrelated to that, things with Nancy aren't great right now and it's... it's just nice to think someone is paying attention, alright?
Then Halloween happens a few days after. The Break-up(?), the demodogs, Billy and the tunnels- and afterwards it's nice to have the notebook to distract him from the pain. The mundane mystery of a schoolmate maybe having a crush on him. He might not even have to confront them - he can just figure out a way to slip it into their locker; it looks like at least half their schoolwork is crammed into this thing, no matter how half-heartedly done. They definitely want this back.
Man, I wish I could actually write this thing. Damn. Maybe I could even do a scene where Steve tries to Sherlock Holmes his way to Mystery Artist and confronts a (hatefully seething) Robin, because she sits behind him in that one class, only to find his own Watson in her instead. But alas. It cannot be.
#as usual this is as good as it's gonna get#steddie#steddie season 2 au#steddie ficlet#hey i'm talkin' here#steddie fic prompt#steddie notfic
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
All You Got
Charles Leclerc x teammate!reader
Masterlist
Summary: You hate Charles Leclerc. The feeling is mutual. He’s made that clear from the very beginning. enemies to lovers anon I hope you’re still here and I hope I got this right!
Word Count: 5.4k
Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild swearing, mild car crash (everyone is fine), panic attacks, comments about sexual activities (but no actual sex/smut)
Everyone in the entire world seems to love Charles Leclerc. Honestly, you can’t blame them. Objectively, you get it. He’s the total package- good looks, kind, generous, rich. They fall at his his feet, and they worship the ground he walks on.
Everyone except for you.
To you, everything he does rubs you the wrong way. Charles Leclerc annoys you to no end. You can’t even pinpoint what it is, just- you can’t stand him. Which is becoming a problem, seeing as he’s your teammate, so you have to deal with him constantly.
Charles was a constant thorn in your side when you were just competing against each other from separate garages. Now he’s your paddock next door neighbor, your supposed collaborator, and the only person who you can truly be compared to. Equal machinery and all that. The truth is, he’s good at what he does, which only makes it so much worse.
You’re having a good season, a great one, even. You’re not a rookie, but it’s your first year with Ferrari, your first year with a car that isn’t a tractor. It’s just that you’re constantly being compared to and overshadowed by him. It’s awful and exhausting and you sit in the briefing before the race glaring daggers at the side of his head.
He’d slowed you down in Q3. You were on a flying lap and he got in the way, left you starting in 9th when you were on track for your best qualifying yet. He’d said it was an accident, and everyone else believed him. Including your own race engineer. You think maybe if you stare hard enough you could actually light all the product in his hair on fire. Then he has the audacity to come up to you after the meeting, to lay his hand on your upper arm softly. You wrench yourself out of his grip, turn to him with a snarl. He must take it as surprise rather than what it really is, because he has a soft smile on his face.
“I’m sorry, again, about quali,” he says, and you spot a camera over his shoulder and fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, yes?”
“Crash out at the start,” you tell him, raising one brow. There’s a smile on your face and venom in your words. “And take Max out with you.”
“Anything but that,” he says.
He winks before he breezes past you, and if there hadn’t been so many people around, you think you may have actually slapped him this time.
…..
You collapse into a chair in a swanky restaurant that night, resting your chin on closed fists, elbows on the table. Lily, jumps when you do. Alex is sitting across from you, doing a bad job of hiding a laugh behind his hand.
“I’m gonna kill him,” you tell them, knuckles digging into your cheeks. “I’m going to pass all the cars between us tomorrow and ram him into the wall.”
“No, you’re not,” George says as he sits down, Carmen following behind. “Because when you do pass all those cars tomorrow, you’re going to want to stay in the race.”
“I was going to qualify second,” you groan. “I was, seriously-“
“I know,” George says, patting your shoulder. The waiter has appeared at the end of the table.
Alex points at you. “She’ll have a shot of tequila, please.”
“She has to drive tomorrow morning,” Lily reminds him.
“And we have to sit through dinner tonight,” George says.
You slap his shoulder, glaring daggers at him, now.
“Did he apologize?” Lily asks.
“Of course!” You snap. “Because he’s fucking Charles Leclerc, and-“
Before you can launch into one of your tirades, Lily waves her hand. “Forget I asked. Never mind. This subject is banned until the weekend is over- we’re all here, this is supposed to be a nice dinner.”
You sigh and slump into your chair. “Okay, mom.”
Once the conversation starts, though, and you have your shot of tequila, you forget about Charles. You’re here to spend time with your friends, not worry about your teammate. It’s the first time in a while that both of their girlfriends have been able to make it to the same race. You’ve been looking forward to it all week, and you refuse to let Charles sour it. Besides, they’ve all heard it before, they don’t need to hear you complain again.
The next day, when you take 5th and Charles takes first, you don’t let him see you cry. You sneak out of the celebrations as early as you possibly can and head back to the hotel.It’s just so frustrating. You’re trying so hard, giving it your all, and it’ll never be enough. You want the podiums, the trophies, the champagne spraying in your face. You want it all, everything Charles has. He takes it for granted.
When you open your hotel room door, there’s a giant bouquet of flowers on the dresser. For a moment, you think maybe it’s from your family, or maybe George and Alex, a sympathy present for a race that held so much potential. You slip your finger under the flap of the envelope and pull the card out of the white flowers.
Sorry about Quali,
CL
You throw the flowers and the note in the trash and cry yourself to sleep.
…..
Lily tried to convince you that the flowers were actually supposed to be an apology, but you’d refused to see it as anything other than what it was- a way to get in your head. So at the next race, you leave it all on the track. You manage to qualify 4th- not the best you’ve ever done, but you feel pretty good about it. You feel even better that Charles is starting in 7th. He’ll be stuck in the midfield, in the dirty air, while you fight with the big dogs. You’re on cloud nine, floating around the garage, thanking your crew and your engineers and offering drinks on you if you get a podium on Sunday. It wouldn’t be your first, but it would be your first in a while, and it would really crush Charles, you just know it.
“Congrats,” he says, standing next to you in the media pen.
You think he waits to talk to you until there’s cameras around. It makes him look good, being nice to his teammate. You can play the PR game too. You plaster on a bright smile. Behind Charles, Alex raises his brows at you. You tone down the smile and he gives you a thumbs up.
“Thanks,” you say, shrugging slightly. “Sorry about seventh.”
He shrugs. “Could be worse.”
You head into the lion’s den just after that, hit with a barrage of questions about every aspect of the weekend. How does it feel to be starting fourth? Good. Do you feel good about your chances tomorrow? Yes. How’s the car feel? Good. Are you hoping for a podium? Always. What did you give Charles to convince him to let you qualify higher than him this weekend? What?
The reporter who asked it is sneering at you. Your media handler balks at the question, fumbles to grab your arm. She’s afraid you’re going to snap, but to be honest, you’re too dumbfounded to find the words. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a response anyways.
“She didn’t give me anything,” Charles says, grabbing the microphone from your hand, and now you’re seeing red for a different reason. “She didn’t need to. She did it all on her own.”
Which is true, and nice of him to say. Objectively. But he’s not saying it because it’s true, or because he wants to be nice. You can already picture his devoted fans, clipping the video and making TikTok edits that make him look like a saint. He is, in their eyes. In everyone’s eyes.
You leave the microphone with him and stalk back to your driver room.
You run into Charles in the hallway later, when you’re slinking your way to catering to try and find something good to eat. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, broad shoulders taking up all the space. You try to slip around him, but he moves with you.
You look up at him, raising your brows and throwing your hands up. “What, Leclerc?”
He raises his brows, too. “Just wanted to say sorry. For what he said. It’s not true, you know.”
“Yes, Charles, I know I didn’t… blow you or whatever to get you to let me qualify better,” you say, and he rears his head back. “Can you move?”
“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Look, I just wanted to say-“
“I think you’ve said enough,” you snap. “You said it all, live on camera. The whole world heard it.”
“I was just trying to stand up for you.”
“I can stand up for myself,” you say, throat feeling tight. “I’ve been doing it my whole career. No need to step in now. And honestly, we both know you get off on being the savior, so cut the shit.”
You finally find a gap and slip around him. You walk out of the garage and all the way down to Williams. Nobody stops you when you head to Alex’s room- he’s there, and George is too.
“We were wondering when you’d show up,” George says, as Alex holds his arms out wide. “Fucking bullshit, the whole lot of it.”
You nod and collapse into Alex’s chest. Neither of them comment on your tears.
“At least Charles stood up for you,” George says brightly.
“Fuck off,” you say, and Alex slaps his shoulder for you.
…..
They call a red flag three laps in, and your team calls you into the pits before you can even figure out what’s going on. You’re in third, having moved past Lewis in the opening chaos. Your heart sinks, knowing that when the race restarts you’ll have lost the lead you’d built up. You search the big screens as you pull into the pit lane, trying to figure out what’s happened, and then your heart sinks even more.
It’s a Mercedes, crumpled against the barriers. They only show it for a second, and you can’t hear any of what the commentators are saying. You hadn’t caught the number or the helmet, and- it’s either Lewis or George.
As much as you like Lewis, you’ve been friends with George since you were little. He and Alex had taken you under their wings, accepted you when a lot of the others wouldn’t. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as they help you climb out of your car.
You flip your visor up and look to the nearest mechanic. “Who is it?”
He stares, blankly, and you already know.
“Who is it?” You ask, louder, looking around the room frantically.
“S’George,” someone finally answers.
“Is he-“
“We don’t know yet,” someone says, gently. “Just-“
The panic claws at your chest. You haven’t felt like this a long time, not since Lily called you from the hospital when Alex had appendicitis. You can’t breathe, can’t see, can feel your fingers.
There’s a ripple of noise, applause from the crowd. You look at the TV, see George, standing strong and holding up a thumbs up. It should be a relief, but the panic doesn’t fade. Suddenly someone’s hands are on your shoulders, guiding you into the hallway. Fingers brush against your jaw, unbuckling your helmet and wiggling it off your head. You gasp for air, and strong hands hold you steady.
“Breathe, breathe, it’s okay, he’s okay,” Charles says.
You should be shocked it’s him, but right now all you can feel is panic. You grab onto his wrists, looking for an anchor in the storm. He doesn’t let go, just holds onto you, squeezes your shoulders until you start breathing slower and slower. He only drops his grip when you drop yours. You wipe tears and snot and sweat from your face and sigh.
Suddenly it hits you- it’s Charles, holding onto you, witnessing your panic attack. You take a couple steps back.
“It’s okay,” he says again, reaching out. You brush him away. “Hey, how about we go sit, yes? Have some water?”
“I’m fine,” you sniffle.
“You’re not.”
“Why do you care?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes again.
“Because you’re my teammate,” he says. “Because your friend crashed and you are upset.”
You roll your eyes. Charles has the audacity to look confused. Like he doesn’t know.
“You don’t have to act like you like me, Charles. There aren’t any cameras around,” you snap.
Charles blinks once, then again. “What?”
“You can drop the act,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. “I already know you hate me, you don’t have to pretend. You can go.”
Charles looks utterly and completely perplexed. For a moment, you falter. He hates you. Why does he seem so confused? It’s not that difficult to understand. Why had he even come back here with you in the first place? He could’ve let one of your crew members help you, or left you to deal with it alone. What the hell is going on here?
“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice soft. “Why would you think I hate you?”
“You’ve hated me since I got here,” you remind him. “Actually, since before I even signed the fucking contract.”
“What are you talking about?”
You stare at him, wide eyed. Is it possible he doesn’t even remember? Maybe he hates you that much.
“When I came to the factory for contract negotiations,” you start, “you made it very clear I was the last possible person you wanted as your teammate.”
You’d been leaving the factory. He’d stopped you in the hall. Sounds like you might be my new teammate, he’d said. Hopefully, if it all goes well, you’d replied. Any advice?
He’d looked around, checked to see that nobody was there. Then, voice low and serious, arms crossed, he’d said, this is the last place you belong. If you know what’s best for you, you will not sign that contract.
You’d left that day heartbroken and with a vendetta against him.
Charles’ eyes go wide when you repeat his words back to you. “I did not say that.”
“I think I’d remember,” you tell him, trying again to shove past him.
“No, no, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, insistent, grabbing onto your arm gently. “I- that was before they hired Fred, yes?”
“Yes?” You answer, furrowing your brows at him.
“And before they changed the staff, before they-“ he sighs. “I had a shit year. I was worried the next was going to be the same. I was trying to warn you.”
Now it’s your turn to blink once, then again. “No, you…”
“I swear,” he says. “On my life, I swear.”
He draws a tiny cross with his finger, right over his heart. You take a step back and drag a hand down your face. Your head is spinning, tilted on an insane axis.
“You thought I hated you, all this time?” He says, brows furrowed. “I sent you flowers, after the quali thing-“
“I thought you were playing mind games!” You cry out.
He’s reaching for your arm again. This time you let him. His fingers dig into your skin pleasantly- not enough to feel bad, just enough to know he’s there. It’s like the fight has suddenly left your body. He doesn’t hate you. He sent you flowers because he really was sorry.
And you threw them in the trash.
“So when I stood up for you with that reporter, you thought…” he trails off, then laughs. “What, you thought I was- this is why you reacted so badly. This explains so much.”
“Yes!” You say, nodding. “Why are you so fucking ominous with your warnings? Why were you so cryptic?”
“English is not my first language and I had to be careful about how I said it, there could have been people listening!” He says, laughing again. “You didn’t listen, anyways.”
“No, because then I wanted to prove to you that I could handle myself, that I deserved the seat!”
“Of course you deserved the seat,” he says, wide eyed. “That was never a question.”
The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Then you double over in laughter, tears streaming down your face for a different reason. Charles joins you, his laughter mixing with yours for the first time ever. The noise of it sends a jolt through your heart.
He doesn’t hate you. How crazy is that?
…..
When you run into Alex in the paddock later, he’s staring like you’ve grown a second head. Actually, with the intensity of his stare, you think you may have grown two extra heads. Maybe even a third eye. He comes to a stop in front of you, and you cock your head at him.
“Hey, Al,” you greet him. “Have you seen Georgie? He’s not at Merc.”
“Yeah, he’s… he’s at the stewards, doing a debrief,” Alex says. “He said he’d meet us at the driver briefing.”
“Oh, cool,” you say. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine,” Alex says, eyes flickering across your face.
“That’s good. I’m glad,” Charles says from his spot next to you.
His arm is slung around your shoulders, his race suit tied around his waist, just like yours. You take it in from Alex’s viewpoint- the proximity, the fact that you’re even letting him touch you, and the look on his face makes sense.
“Hey, did you know Charles doesn’t actually hate me?” You ask Alex, and next to you, your teammate laughs.
“I told you that a million times,” Alex deadpans.
“Huh. Weird.” You shrug. “We should go, the briefing starts in five minutes.”
Alex trails behind the two of you, quiet the whole way there. Charles peels off when you arrive and stops to say hi to Max. George is already sitting down in a chair near the front. You sit down next to him, eyes tracing over him like you’re looking for injuries. Alex sits on his other side.
“I’m fine,” George says, nudging your shoulder lightly.
“Excuse me if I’m worried,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
Alex opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, someone sits down next to you and elbows you lightly. It’s Charles, a cold water bottle in hand, extended towards you. You take it eagerly. His knee nudges against yours, and you nudge him back. You thank him, opening the water bottle and taking a drink.
“Mate, I think I hit my head harder than I realized,” George whispers to Alex.
“Nope, you’re seeing correctly,” Alex says, holding his hands up when George turns towards him. “I don’t know either!”
…..
It turns out that when you’re not busy thinking Charles hates you, and hating him back, he’s actually pretty fun to be around. The two of you have nearly everyone else bewildered for the next few races, because you’re suddenly attached at the hip. You’ve always been civil in public, but this is a different story.
In briefings, Charles saves you a seat, and Alex and George have to fight over who gets to sit next to you. You eat lunches and dinners together in the paddock, out in the open at a patio table. Charles brings you coffee in the mornings, and you bring him pastries. During breaks, the two of you can often be found hunched over your phone, watching YouTube videos together. You have a surprising amount in common. You wonder how you never saw it before.
Charles even takes you with him to play padel one morning, brings you a half hour early to try and show you how. When George and Alex show up to play against you, they stare at you in confusion for a solid thirty seconds.
“You don’t understand,” Alex says over lunch with you and Lily later that day. “He had his hand on her waist.”
Lily is the only one who hadn’t been surprised. She shrugs.
“He was correcting my posture,” you say. “Alex is just mad that I beat him.”
“Charles beat me, you were just on his team,” Alex corrects. He’s not exactly wrong. “Come on, like, two months ago she hated his guts. Tell me this isn’t crazy, Lil. I think we need an intervention.”
“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about the intervention in front of the intervention-ee,” you say, stirring your pasta. “Intervention-ette?”
“She’s fine,” Lily says, smiling at you. “She’s just finding out that hate and love are a lot more similar than you’d think.”
You drop your fork, wincing when it clatters. “I don’t love him.”
Lily cocks her head at you. You freeze. Alex is looking back and forth between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You can feel your face growing hot.
“I don’t,” you repeat. “We’re friends, that’s all.”
Lily blinks, feigns surprise. “I never said anything about romantic love.”
You swallow. “Yeah, but that’s what you meant-“
“That’s what you assumed I meant,” she says, and you blink.
There are butterflies in your stomach- where did those come from? You definitely don’t love Charles. Like Alex said- two months ago, you hated him. Well, you hated that he hated you. You hated the way you thought he was treating you. But now, in a different light, his actions seem a bit endearing. You’re just swept up in the new friendship, that’s all. Lily’s reading too far into it.
You tell her as much, and she drops the subject. Alex seems happy to move on, a bit unprepared to handle the whole conversation. But Lily watches you, and you can’t help but feel like maybe she knows something you don’t.
…..
It sticks in your head, is the thing. Hate and love are a lot more similar than you think. And to be honest, it sort of makes sense. Both very strong emotions, both making your chest feel tight and your cheeks feel hot. You’re not in love with Charles, though. You can’t be. He’s just- a friend. He’s a friend, and it’s new, and of course you’re going to spend time together. You’re getting to know each other! This is normal, this is teammate bonding like you were supposed to do when you joined the team.
It’s not weird that Charles introduces you to his family when they come to one of the races. It’s not weird that you’re inviting him out for drinks when you go out with George and Alex after a race. It’s not weird that you start actually playing padel and asking him to help you practice- it’s fun, and he’s good at it, that’s all.
Then you’re out at a club in Monaco one night, surrounded by other drivers. You go to leave, Lily tugging on your hand. The two of you are having a sleepover without Alex. You’re saying your goodbyes, waving and smiling and-
Charles grabs onto you, hauls you into a hug. He’s a little tipsy, you think, but not drunk. You laugh and lean into the hug, wrap your arms around him, breathe in the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. Then he pulls away, puts his hands on your shoulders, and kisses both of your cheeks.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach. Lily has to drag you away as you giggle before you make a fool of yourself. Charles waves and smiles brightly when you turn around. You burst out onto the sidewalk and cover your face in your hands. Really, it means nothing. It’s just his way of greeting people or saying goodbye, it’s a thing he does. But your chest feels warm and your head is swimming, and it’s not the alcohol.
“Oh, shit,” you say to Lily, who’s smiling at you.
“Love and hate,” she reminds you.
…..
You swear Lily to secrecy, and though she loves Alex, she would never sell you out, thank god. You’re determined to act like everything is normal. You can’t be in love with your teammate. That would be crazy. It would be awful. It would be everything that everyone has ever said about female drivers, all confirmed. You’d get torn apart on the internet.
It’s not easy, though, because it’s Charles. Because he’s sweet and kind and handsome, and he cares about you. He doesn’t hate you. He wants to spend time with you, all the time. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you think they’ve got it backwards. Maybe there’s a second part- presence makes the heart go crazy.
When you qualify in pole position for the first time in your F1 career, you have a panic attack. It’s a massive one, one that has your legs giving out and leaves you hyperventilating. It’s bad enough that Charles almost goes and gets George or Alex, but you beg him to stay with you, so he does. Eventually, he just wraps you up tightly in his arms and holds you there until you can breathe again.
“I’m not going to be able to do it,” you sniffle, as he runs his hand over your hair and rocks you from side to side. “I’m gonna crash on the first turn and then everyone is gonna be right, and I’ll lose my seat, and then-“
“No, amour, that is not going to happen,” Charles soothes, chest rumbling against you. “It is not. You are going to do just fine.”
“But what if I don’t? What if I can’t win, what if I don’t do it-“
“Then you will try again next time,” he says, so sure of it, like he can see the future. “You are starting on pole tomorrow. It’s scary, I know. But it’s just another race. You just… go out and give it your all. The same way you do every weekend.”
“You’ll keep them away from me?” You ask. Charles is starting third.
“No,” he scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his lips. For just a moment, your heart breaks. Then, he says, “I will not need to. You will be so far ahead you’ll forget anyone else is even there.”
You laugh, press your teary face into his chest. “Shut up.”
…..
You check your rear views before the race starts, something comforting running through your veins when you see Charles behind you. You can’t see his face, can barely see his helmet, but you see the red. Then the lights go out, and he disappears in a blur. Give it all you got, you hear, unsure if it’s your race engineer or you or a voice in your head. You hold your breath for the first few turns, maybe for the whole first lap. And then your race engineer is talking about gaps and clean air and tire management, and you’re looking ahead, trying to see what car you need to try and pass next, trying to tell if you’re in DRS range, and then-
There’s nobody in front of you. Clean air. You’re in first. You’re leading the Grand Prix.
When you come careening over the line at the end of the race, when you see the checkered flag first, when you spot your crew on the pit wall, you swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Your race engineer is yelling in excitement. You think you’re yelling too, but you have no idea what you’re saying. It doesn’t matter.
You pull the car into the first place slot and climb out. You have to wrack your brain to remember what you’re supposed to do- it’s been so long since you’ve won a race, back when you were still in F2. Hug the team, get weighed, shake hands, grab the hat- Someone grabs your arm. You spin around and come face to face with Ferrari red. Charles.
He pulls you into a tight hug. Your helmets knock together. He’s saying something, over and over again.
“-told you, I told you, I knew you would do it,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.”
Charles takes your helmet and balaclava for you when you finally get them off. He takes his off too, and his face is red, dimples deep as he grins at you. He’s finished 7th, he tells you. Got passed in the first lap and never recovered.
“-told you you didn’t need me defending,” he says, and you’re laughing, shoving his shoulder. “You did so fucking good-“
The butterflies are going crazy in your stomach. You want to kiss him. The helmet has left a little indent on his cheek- you want to run your finger over it. But there are so many cameras and people watching, and suddenly you’re being pulled away from him, sent to the cool down room. Then it’s shaking hands with Max and Lewis again, watching the race highlights, basking in the excitement of it all. There’s the podium, the champagne, the trophy that you don’t let go of until you get back to the Ferrari garage. The giant group photo with the trophy, more champagne dumped over your head, Charles lost in the sea of red somewhere. It’s all such a blur.
You finally stumble back to your driver’s room, in a rush to change out of your race kit and grab your stuff. Someone has rented out a bar- they apparently did it when you qualified on pole, and didn’t tell you for fear of jinxing it. You text George and Alex, tell them where to meet you. With your stuff in hand, in a pair of sweatpants and a Ferrari sweatshirt, you finally stop and look in the mirror.
F1 Grand Prix winner.
There’s a knock on the door. You open it and find Charles standing there, in a very similar outfit. The line on his face has faded, but his hair is still a mess. You step back from the door and give him room to step inside. He’s staring at you, a soft look on his face. You’re holding your breath again. It’s the first lap. You just have to make it through the turns, get out ahead into clean air. His lips are parted, eyes wide and sparkling.
His hands are shaky when they cup your face. Yours are even shakier when you fist your hands in his sweatshirt. But the kiss he pulls you into is steady and sure and true. You melt into him, shoving your hands under his sweatshirt as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist. You reach up, thread your fingers through his hair, let his tongue slip into your mouth.
When he pulls away, his eyes are wild.
“We have to go,” he says, squeezing your hip. “You have a party to be at. Also, you are so pretty.”
You can remember the way he looked at you at the start of the season. How you thought the fire in his eyes was going to burn you alive. You’d stoked your own fire to burn him up first. Now you’re blazing, and you never want the fire to go out.
“I can’t believe I thought you hated me,” you say, muffling a laugh into his chest. “You’re coming to the party, right?”
“Of course,” he says. He cups your face in his hands again and presses another kiss to your lips. “And tomorrow, you are coming on a date with me, right?”
You laugh, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Of course.”
“Perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead and then letting you go. “Come on, winner. You have so many people waiting to buy you drinks.”
…..
When you walk into the bar hand in hand with Charles, Lily slams her hand down on the table.
“Pay up, boys,” she says, a wide grin on her face.
“Never in a million years did I see that coming,” George says.
“I’m never betting against Lily ever again,” Alex adds.
Max leans down over the table, holding his hand out, too. George and Alex groan and start pulling cash from their wallets.
“Hate and love,” Max says, a smirk on his face. “Very thin line, huh?”
woo! enemies to lovers, classic trope in the bag! come say hi and let me know what you think. send me a dm or drop me an ask to be added to the tag list!
taglist: @4-mula1
#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc oneshot#charles leclerc#formula 1 fanfic#formula one fic#Charles Leclerc angst#enemies to lovers#cl16#honeywrites#Charles Leclerc
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
us series! reader has gotten a little lazy at riding, so keigo and touya decide to fix that (*/ω＼)
“You’re spoiling her, you know?” Touya points out one day as he and Keigo grocery shop together, “She’s getting all princess-y ‘cause of you.”
Amber eyes gloss over the selection of bread in the aisle, looking for a particular brioche that he’s been craving for the last week. The bread is found and placed into the cart, Keigo walking ahead for the next thing on the list they need to get. “I don’t know what you mean. I think we’ve been waiting hand and foot for her this entire time.”
It’s not really unusual for you to be used to the princess treatment, not really needing to get up if you need or want something for yourself.
“That’s not what I meant.” Touya sighs as he pushes the cart and lets the blond decide what’s needed for their purchases. “She’s not riding dick like she used to. It’s because when she’s on top of you, you’re doing all the work from the bottom. I’ve noticed it the last three times.”
“Okay, and? What does how we fuck have to do with how you fuck?” Keigo glances back at Touya briefly as he continues to walk towards the next aisle, “If she’s getting lazy with you, you know what to do with her.”
Opting to fuck around, the cart gets pushed into Keigo’s backside and the metal is noisy from the impact.
“You need to do it, you’re the one making her lazy when she’s on top.”
“It should occur to you that I fuck her the way I do is because I enjoy it. I like putting in the work.” Keigo points out, dropping the subject and flipping off Touya for being a menace with the cart. He really doesn't think anything of what was brought up and continues on normally.
But the point comes up in his mind the next time Keigo has sex with you. How he ended up just fucking you from the bottom, keeping your body pressed down to him and thrusting up into your pussy that he just can’t get enough of. And there’s no fight from you to try to take control of riding him. You used to sometimes at least attempt to be the one to take reigns and he’d entertain it before fucking you the way he wants.
He cums in you, your body relaxing against his and it’s like you melted. Keigo moves you like a rag doll, rolling you over to lie back on the bed so that he can fetch a towel and clean himself up. “So good Keigo… so good…” you mutter, leaning back into the pillows and reaching for your phone to start scrolling on your social media.
Not even a thank you for the dicking down you just got—Touya was right.
You are getting spoiled.
Keigo is a bit more gracious when he’s proven to be in the wrong. He goes to Touya says the magic words, “You were right, she doesn’t put in the work anymore.”
Blue eyes are full of mirth when Keigo comes with the admission, already knowing exactly what they’re going to do so that you learn a little lesson. Not that he doesn’t like spoiling you but even you are expected to put in a little bit of effort here and there. And if you’re not gonna do it willingly—
They’re just gonna make you.
“Get on Kei’s dick baby, wanna see you with him.” Touya mutters against your lips, letting you taste your own pussy after he had eaten you out. You’re eager for more kisses from him, almost too lost in the affection before he spanks your ass and directs to the blond laying back on the bed.
Crawling over to Keigo, you hold his cock as you slowly slip it in you. You let out a small gasp, the stretch of him entering you is always pleasant and when he’s fully sheathed inside, you get a dreamy smile on your face. You start to lean down to him, having gotten used to Keigo hugging you back when you move in that motion and you expect him to put in the work of fucking you that he’s been doing the last few times.
So you’re surprised when you’re pushed back by Keigo and surprised again when Touya grabs a fistful of your hair and cranes your neck back. You whimper, being unable to speak a word from the position your first boyfriend has got you in. Only little sounds are the best you can muster as you wonder what’s in store for you.
“Ride him, you’re putting in the work today.” Touya tells you, releasing your hair and spanks your ass hard that makes you yelp. It wasn’t a playful smack either—it was meant to hurt you a little.
Keigo is usually nice when Touya is mean. A comforting hand smooths over the area you were struck, his touch is soft and his gaze is soft too when you look down at him. His hand lifts and strikes you in the same spot Touya did with just as much strength.
“Agh! Hurts!” You whimper and you look down expecting to get a bit of mercy from the blond, but he’s shaking his head and tutting at you.
“You heard him baby, ride me. You can do it, yeah?” Keigo’s voice is sweet, gentle, but the hand smoothing over the spot you were hit has you a little tense. “Yeah baby bird?”
They’re being mean to you together.
You hadn’t even realized how lazy you had been lately when it comes to being on top. Keigo was having fun being the one to do it all for you whenever he had you like this so you had gotten used to it. So you think that acting a little pitiful will earn you some kindness, maybe even make the boys feel bad.
Touya doesn’t have it with you, making you assume the position as he tells you firmly, “Ride him.”
With your hands placed on either side of Keigo’s head, you clench your hands and groan unhappily. You know better than to argue back though. So you move your hips, fucking Keigo’s cock into you for the first time in a while. It feels good, it does feel good, but you don’t have the stamina that you used to.
“Tired, ‘m tired!” you whine, “Please Kei, please just do it for me?”
Touya wasted no time in spanking you again, harder than he did last time. Keigo delivers one too that’s just as mean.
“I said ride him, that was barely even five minutes.” Touya admonishes you, “C’mon brat.”
“I can’t!” you whine petulantly and pout back at Touya.
“You don’t ride him, I’m gonna lift you off his cock and you’re not gonna get fucked by either of us until you actually put in some effort.”
The threat actually makes you mildly panic, looking down at Keigo to see if they actually mean it. They wouldn’t do that, right? They’re not just gonna hold out on you all because of this, right? Right?
Keigo thrusts up once, reaching one hand up to cup your jaw in his hand. He holds you gently but firmly, his voice reflecting the tender way he touches you, “Ride me, you can do it.”
You hesitate, a noncommittal sound hummed out.
This time Keigo is the first to hit your ass and then he gestures to Touya. “Alright, take her off me. She doesn’t want to.”
You feel Touya’s hands go underneath your armpits as if you to lift you up, but you shake him off and hastily speak out, “No! No, I’ll ride Keigo! I’m sorry, I will!” So you assume the position again, moving your hips in the motion that you know how to do but no longer have the stamina for. And what’s worse is that they’re not praising you—they’re still bullying you!
“You’re such a brat, fucking ungrateful. Keigo does all the work for you all the time and that’s the best you can give him?” Touya sneers at you.
“It hasn’t even been that long and you’re that tired already? Everything I do for you and you can’t at least give me half the effort. Lazy little slut.” Keigo sighs in disappointment.
Tears prick at your eyes, sniffling a little but you know better than to stop. Even the grinding you’re doing is at least something but it’s just not enough. You want Keigo to hold you down and use you. You want him to do what he does best and just fuck you until you’re stupid.
“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry!” You whine. So you muster up what little energy you have and do your best to ride Keigo until he cums. It doesn’t matter if you do at this point. What’s important is focusing everything on him. He’s good to you, so so good to you and he deserves to sit back and relax while you show him that you’re willing to meet him halfway.
Your thighs burns as you bounce up and down on Keigo’s cock, your breath is shaky and you want to collapse. But you can’t stop until he’s happy, not until he decides that you’ve done a good enough job. No asking for help from Touya either—you know that this was his idea to do this to you.
“You want Keigo to cum in you, doll?” Touya turns your head to look at him, “Think you deserve it?”
You have to be careful with your words. If you eagerly agree, they could still bully you for being desperate and still only thinking of yourself.
“Whatever Keigo wants. I want to do what he wants.” you manage to speak out and hope it was the right thing to say.
Keigo seems to be satisfied with your words. “Then make me cum.”
It disappoints you a little that he won’t take over but you should know better because Touya is here as well. Maybe if it was just the two of you, Keigo wouldn’t have been as influenced to be as mean. But still you love them and a small part of you loves when they are mean. It can be frustrating when you’re ganged up on but you also know what kind of treatment you’ll get afterwards.
This will be worth it.
You ride Keigo as hard as you can, concentrating with all the effort you have left to focus on him. Touya’s at least kind enough to play with your clit, giving you a little something in return for saying and doing the right thing.
Keigo’s eyebrows start to knit together and you recognize the expression he makes, noticing how he grabs at your hips and his body starts to flex. His muscles and his chest, they get more defined as his body tenses underneath you. So with the last shreds of strength you have left, you fuck Keigo until his eyes start to roll back and he’s gasping for breath.
Then you remember how exhilarating it is to be on top and to watch him unfold beneath you. Even when you know he’s finished cumming inside you, now all of a sudden you just can’t stop. Keigo is the one babbling as you overstimulate him, nonsensical words that can barely be strung together to form a sentence.
“Good girl.”
Touya is the one to lift you off Keigo, immediately setting you onto the bed and pushing your legs open. You and Keigo are catching your breath together, whimpering when Touya shoves two fingers into your pussy. The pads of his fingers stroke inside you and your body writhes a little, but you know to not try to push Touya away.
He likes this.
He’s obsessed with you having Keigo’s cum in you.
“Good girl,” he repeats after he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, “what do you say?”
“Thank you for teaching me a lesson.” You whisper and you’re relieved when you’re rewarded with a forehead kiss. This is the best part of your boys being mean to you—they’ll be so nice afterwards. They coddle and adore you, shoving their tongues into your mouth for sloppy kisses before doting on you.
Keigo holds you in his arms, muttering little praises along the crown of your hairline.
Touya massages your legs and thighs, his hands comforting and relaxing. But he doesn’t let you forget the lesson he put on you today, “Next time when either of us say that you need to put in some work, what do you?”
“I’ll listen,” you answer, “I won’t complain.”
“Good.”
741 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
demihumankin
annoying kin
byopiapress
Byopia Press
eaton09arthur-blog
The Blogging of Henningsen 245
historicity-was-already-taken
HISTORICITY (was already taken)
filmlandbaby
Film land, baby