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screampied · 6 days

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࣪₊ 𐙚 YOU SAY IT'S BIG BUT U TAKE IT ?! ★

gojo, nanami, toji, sukuna, geto. you come home struck by a love curse and need their help on "recovering" from the after effects. (anon req)

𐚁̸ wc. 3.8k

𐚁̸ warnings. fem! reader, feral reader, love pollen/curse, unprotected, sukuna has two dicks, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f + m receiving), squırting, biting, spanks, dumbification, overstim, brēeding, premature ejaculatıon, mdni.

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN

“wha— you’re clingier than usual,” the curse grumbles as you burst through the door. you’re panting steadily. he was almost shirtless with his usual kimono that’s exposing his abs. rickety arms of yours wrap around his waist before you drop right down onto your knees. with a raised eyebrow, he huffs. “eh. should i even ask.”

“no,” you reply within a second. your voice inwas nothing but a pure trembly tune. your body . . it felt hot all over, some stupid pollen or whatever it was was responsible for your feral state. you were even smelling the definition of the word too. you were grateful he didn’t ask, alas instead—he crosses all of his arms before glancing down at you. pawing at his boxers to fall down, it comes down slowly. the wait was killing you as you glance at his huge hardened bulge preparing to be exposed. oh, you’re already drooling. you needed sukuna so bad, your thighs were already quaking. the air surrounding you both suddenly felt scorching and the minuscule goosebumps that reside amongst your skin felt even hotter. “i- i need a taste, ‘kuna. please.”

he hums in amusement. “oh? don’t let me stop you then, horny girl,” and an oversized hand grips onto the crown of your head. with a nod, he views as your eyes light up at the now hefty sight of his two flashy dicks. with a groan—he shudders once he gapes at your tongue and how it licks against the one near the front. “mhm, you little . . minx. good, take it then. enjoy your precious meal.”

sukuna’s in love with your mouth—with your tongue, you’re so sloppy and you just can’t help it.

running your sweet tongue along both areas of his dicks—every part, the base, the length, and even the sensitive frenulum—he groans loudly. it’s an almost roar that echoes through his chambers. both of his dicks which were visibly stacked amongst each other. one was in front while the other was in back. each were the same amounts of thick and broad. thickset and fucking heavy, you bob your head down against the first one until he shoots raw into your mouth within just a few minutes. “fuck, easy, e-easy,” he stammers, feeling you snake a hand against his neglected cock to stroke it, fondling with his heavyset balls.

hearing sukuna stutter does something to you. you couldn’t exactly describe it, but you wanted to hear more of it. his head tilts back slightly as his lips purse, preparing to click his tongue. “ugh, can’t handle you when you suck that good,” and he grabs you by the hair, making you return his lascivious gaze. “look at you. jus’ a cock drunken mess. got m-me,” and he deeply exhales. sukuna chokes on his own words, barely even able to finish his sentence.

you took so much out of him in such little time. truth be told, maybe this love curse whatever it was, was a good thing. spit races down both sides of your mouth as you happily keep his shaft warm into your tight throat. his cum was a lot, a bittery taste of his own lingers on your tongue before he cock taps against the roof of your mouth. if it wasn’t for you doing a simple trick with your fingers, you’d have gag. you wanted more, lathering your tongue against his tip with no shame—you then reach a hand down to play with your pulsing clit.

“mphm.” you mumble inaudibly, feeling him start to push your head further down. a chaffing smile goes against your mouth and he scoffs. you’re making him feel things. things he didn’t even know he could feel. sukuna’s cold heart significantly flutters at the sight of you. it flutters simply at how good you make him feel. it’s a feeling he didn’t want to stop. at least not yet.

“god, ‘m gonna cum again,” he inhales before exhaling lowly. as he does so, his chest collapses back in from his sigh before he’s now facefucking you. the curse’s thigh taps and clenches, muscles creating a flexion within the nerves stored inside before he sees you drooling for more. as the bobbing of your head’s tempo increases, he groans before making you stare dead into his eyes with a simple grip. “nasty girl. comin’ home just to slobber on my dick, look at that f-face, fuuuuck,” and the moment you end up making him cum for about the umpteenth time of the night, he’s embarrassed. face flushed, you’re switching between his dicks to give them both equal amounts of love before he moves you off from sucking him. “brat,” he glares, grabbing your chin as a few sloshing spurts of cum pour down your chin. sukuna then leans in to kiss you, his tongue tweaks against your lips and he tastes own arousal with no shame at all. shame never exists for a man like him—a cursed being like him. you moan, feeling a fang of his gently bite into your bottom lip before he pulls away. in a low, shaky tone, he grumbles. “wipe that smile off your face, woman. this isn’t o-over.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO

“my love?” nanami hoarsely pulls down the newspaper he was reading from his face. the glimmer of the g-shock he wore that wraps around his wrist ricochets against the chandelier hanging above the two of you. eyeing you closely, he leans back against his wooden rocking chair. “how was work? your boss take it easy on you today?”

“kento,” you breathe, getting right on his lap. you’re met with those same gentle fawn irises that’s captured your heart within an instant. a hand of his gently strokes against your waist before he watches you speak in such a needy way. “touch me— please, i want you so bad.”

nanami chortles lowly. “aw, i want you too honey.”

“no . . like, i want you,” and he sees how you’re glancing back at him with feral, blown pupils. nanami could tell how needy you were just from your tone and body language alone. he could never say no to you, his beloved wife. nanami knew you, and most importantly, he knew every inch of your body like the back of his hand . .

the moment he’s got you laid on your back, everything’s lost. it’s as if time comes to an abrupt stop. the moment you feel his thick cock ease it’s way into your cunt, you immensely swallow him whole. “so warm ‘n snug,” he whispers, bringing his lips toward your face to pepper various kisses against your skin. he’s so gentle with you, he always was. he cups your chin before giving you a deep kiss to distract you from the brief tang of you clamping onto him. “how . . do you feel? is this okay—?”

his low voice was so smooth—leisurely, he’s rocking his hips against you before he playfully nibbles near your chin. a hand of his intertwined with your fingers as he waits for your sweet response. “i- i feel hot,” you moan, throwing your arms around him. “more please, ‘ken. makes me throb when you touch me.”

nanami chuckles, a quick piston of his hips and your legs wrap around his slim waist. his cologne swarms around your nostrils before you whine again. you sound so pretty—melodious, each moan that escapes out of you sounds like a harmony within each lewdly musical moment that passes. “so the curse makes you more sensitive for me?” he coos against your neck, another free hand of his rubbing against your tummy. you’re just laid back, taking every appetizing inch of him and your eyes roll and roll to the very backs of your cranium. “my sweet girl,” and his voice—you could get off to it, you were already profusely pulsing from his deeply through strokes regardless. “i’ll touch every inch of this perfect body if it ‘cures’ you, mhm.”

his touch makes you more sensitive though. nanami was sensual, taking his time with you. his pace was not to fast or too slow. just right . .

his fat cock slowly jackhammers itself into you, irregular breaths sounding more and more jagged. as he’s talking you through it against the shell of your ear, you dig your fingertips into his back. as you run a hand down, you feel a tiny mole print against his skin. “kento, r- right there, riiiight there,” and you’re keeping the entirety of his waist hostage with your ankles. “cum in me, your cum’s gonna save me i think . . s-so, please.”

“you say such silly things sometimes, my sweet,” he whispers against your neck, giving it a long suck. you moan from his tongue flicking against the new mark he created before he’s quickening his hips just a tad bit. the bed creaks and sings, it’s as if it’s making a new mixtape with its noises. “but alright, if my baby wants me to fill her up so she can feel better, i’ll do that,” and before he shoots into you—he grabs your chin. “ah, but look at me though,” and he’s panting heavily, sepia-colored strands sticking against the sheet of sweat that goes against his forehead. “look at me. look into my eyes, wifey,” and he sneaks a kiss onto your trembling lips. thrusting into you at brimming speed, he groans. “atta girl, there she is,” he purrs at you, a thumb brushing against your quivering bottom lip. he looked at you as if he loved you, nanami was sweet but a secret filthy man at heart. only for you though. “wanna see that pretty face. think ‘m gonna give you a baby or two while ‘m at it, my love. f-fuck.”

☆ GOJO SATORU

“girl—could be a little nicer y’know,” gojo grumbles as you lightly flick him against his back onto the plump mattress. you were always no match for his unprovoked sass. with a teasing pout, he’s staring right back up at you as you straddle his chin. grabbing a fistful of his hair, you inch your pooling warm entrance against his face. “how do you even get struck by a ‘love’ curse anyway? thought that only happens in fan fiction, heh.”

“just shut up,” you moan, hovering over your boyfriend’s face. he was so pretty — just gawking at him alone had you going more feral. gojo’s eyes, they were always so ethereal looking. a bright blueish cerulean—almost a viridescent green with how it reflects against the bedroom light. “f-fuck, i want you to taste it so bad, ‘toru. want you.”

with an impish smile, he slides the side of your panties aside. “soooo, what are ya waitin’ for? let me eat this ‘curse’ out of you, angel.”

and the moment you plant your sopping wet cunt against his face, he’s ultimately determined to do so. gojo was a messy eater. it was really no denying it. you’re swiping your slick heat against his nose like a credit card and he eats it up everytime. drool pours from the corners of his mouth as he’s gripping your thighs with both hands. doughy padded thumbs of his pierce into your skin as you’re rutting against his face in rapturing pleasure. “like that baby, f-fuck.”

“go on—praise me some more,” he giggles, warm breath fanning against your entrance. your stomach caves and seizes in and out as you’re still moving all around. it doesn’t take long before your legs start to quaver. “call me a good boy, yeah.”

as much as you wanted to eye roll in the most dramatic way, you couldn’t.

you’ve got a firm grip into his white, snowy strands before giving it a solid yank. “g- good boy, ‘s good for me, ‘toru. think your tongue is working,” and your voice was so soft, its delivery was almost a mere whisper. gojo’s sucking against your clit, casually making out with it in such a sloppy way that’s he’s imitating a french kiss. you continuously pulse into his mouth, feeling him breath through his nose before he spanks your sensitive entrance. as he does such a thing, a splash of your own arousal goes onto his face. teasingly, he sticks out his tongue to lick it clean. “f-fuck.” you whine, and he starts to feel himself get hard. not from you calling him a good boy, but the view itself.

the view of you, riding his face, straddling him in such a sexy way makes him feel a raging hard on in his boxers.

oh, the way you were maintaining such eye contact.

so sensual, you use his face for your own pleasure, hearing your heartbeat arise at a more quick through your ears. the sharp edges of gojo’s teeth nibble playfully against your thighs before you whimper once he prods a lengthy finger inside. he’s located your g-spot just like that, immediately moaning aloud before his digit curls up into your gummy walls. “fuck, you’re so hot when you pull my hair, ‘s no fair,” and as you’re whimpering loudly, chewing on the skin of your arm—you end up finishing after a while.

the moment you do, you end up squirting a bit. it comes out in a tiny trickle—gojo’s face lights up as you’re struggling to keep your thighs open for him but he spreads them further apart for you anyway. “shit,” he exhales with a cunning grin, that smug expression you oh so desperately wanted to wipe off. “i didn’t know my girl was a squirter. maybe you should get struck by that love curse again,” and he licks against your pussy for a final time before spanking your folds. “let’s do that again. wanna get you real soaked tonight. i always like my girls messy.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

“no way you woke me up just so i could fuck you.” toji deadpans, bringing a hand towards the hair that sticks against his chest, scratching it for four long seconds. two arched brows of his curl into a furrow before he grunts. “i was havin’ a good ass dream too.”

“toji i’m gonna die,” you protest, tugging at his boxers. “i searched up the symptoms a- and it said that if i don’t do anything um— sexual related, ‘m gonna die within four hours.”

“oh boo,” he rolls his eyes, and you moan once you feel the roughness of his palm squeeze against your ass. toji pulls you close to him, so close that you could feel the heat of his body radiate against your own. so close that you could smell his natural manly scent. the strong manly musk, his scent alone had you throbbing right inside of your laced little panties. in a groggy voice, toji leans in to suck against your neck, earning out a mewling whimper from you. “fine, but don’t be surprised if i don’t let ya cum. my dream was really fuckin’ good.”

knowing toji—he was probably dreaming about being a millionaire, but anyway . .

he happily helps with your little issue by fucking you thoroughly into the sheets. harp hips of his penetrate into you again and again. you whine, bratty cacophonous whimpers spew out of your lips as you cling onto the milky, pale sheets. it’s probably been hours, the entire room has a candied aroma of pure desire and intimacy. toji groans as your cunt clamps against him tightly. two scarred hands of grab ahold of your waist before pressing it deeper against him. “mhm, ‘s it workin’ baby? needed a good fuck, baby?”

“y- yes,” you moan, strands of hair almost blinding your eyesight by how it continues to get in your face from the quick paced movement. skin against skin—skin tight. everything felt heavenly. toji’s husky pitched groans only makes you throb even more before he leans right up closer against your ass. “harder, fuck me, ‘toji. pleaseplease. make me cum.”

with his own heavy huffs of breath escaping, he gets all the way up close before raising a foot to press down against your head.

a shrieking gasp comes out of you at the angle. he’s buried so deep now that your pussy stings and smacks from his sack. his hefty sack that hangs. kissing his teeth, toji rolls his eyes back from how good you squeeze around him before groaning once more. “goddamn, y’er a little slut. wakin’ me up for dick, ‘oughta edge the shit out of ya,” and he grabs a nice amount of your hair, making you raise up. the soft, delicate wool of his sock still glides against your skin and you moan from his rude, overzealous tempo. “yeah? should the baby girl cum, or nah. personally, i‘d say no. you were bein’ a brat. 'love curse' my ass.”

you try to sit up but he only pushes you back down, your face smushed against your fluffed out pillow.

“nuh uh, sit the fuck back down,” he snarls, swatting a soft palm against your ass. you’re so close—you moan again as he deepens his hits. his rhythm that was once so decent was now sloppy and merciless. toji’s fat mushroom tip thwacks and thwacks against your clit so much that you could feel it’s delicious curve. it’s a tickling sensation if anything—but the last thing you were doing was laughing. as he tightens his grip a bit, resuming to rock his hips into you, he purrs against your ear in a throaty chuckle. “heh, oh so you can’t speak now? thought ya wanted me to go harder?”

“i- i do,” you try to explain, but it only forms into a sweet meaningless babble. “fuuuuck, ‘s good but take your foot off me, toji. your sock is um.. wet.”

“your sock is um wet,” he mocks you before lowering his foot. you cringe as he pitches his voice—you don’t even sound like that. as he’s still having you arched over, watching as you then hide your face into the crook of your elbow. with a final smack against your ass, he pulls out before letting off an offended, tch. “ungrateful ass.”

☆ GETO SUGURU

“rough day?” geto slyly smiles, watching you struggle to walk into his room. he locks his phone to get a good look at you. you’re heaving insane amounts of breaths, pant after pant squeezing out of your full lungs as if you’d just got down with a marathon. “aw, let me guess. that love curse again? baby, you really gotta stop gettin’ yourself in these positions. it’s silly.”

“suguru,” you whine, collapsing right into his lap. the way you flop onto him was so cute—you’re met with a smug grin and dark, inky eyes that’s taking in all of your features. always so pretty. he smells so good, it’s driving you crazy. “wanna ride you.”

“you always ride me,” he strokes your chin, staring into your eyes lovingly. his hair was pinned into a unkempt yet attractive ponytail. geto gingerly wraps a hand around your throat before whispering against your lips. “so it is that lust curse again, isn’t it? careful. startin’ to think you’re doing this on purpose just to ride me, pretty girl.”

it works every time though—because within minutes later, you’re riding geto on the plump sofa. he was trying to multitask, trying to send an important email but your hips always snapped him back to reality. eventually, his phone slips out of his hand. geto groans at the way your rhythm’s got him in such a chokehold. you’re unhinged, playing with your tits right in front of him that he can’t help but feel against your soft mounds himself.

“s-shit,” he hisses, your body forever an image embedded in his mind that he couldn’t erase. your pussy squelches against his cock and you feel him reach such deep angles all at once. his girth was enough to make your mouth salivate with slippery saliva. mouthwatering, the upward curve of geto’s dick has you going stupid, you’re whining constantly before you lightly shove him back against the cushioned furniture. “slow down, you’re gonna make me c-cum quick, baby, goddamn.”

perhaps your hips alone were the enemy all along, you’re barely giving him a chance to breathe and it turns him onever more. how feral you were—he could see how blown and needy your pupils were. as you wrap your arms around him, still jerking your hips forward, you pull him into a deep, passionate kiss. geto groans right into your mouth, it’s guttural. playfully, you twirl a finger around his hair as you’re fucking him. geto’s hand placement was against your hips, long pretty lashes fluttering every few seconds before he gasps. “baby,” he huffs, a slippery strand of spit leaving your lips as he tugs away. with half-lidded eyes and a flushed face, he moans again, yet this time it’s louder, a bit more pitchy. “i’m gonna c- cum, shit your hips is gonna kill me.“

“don’t waste it p- please,” you plead into his ear, the soft breaths of your voice that exit from your throat makes his dick twitch inside you. you’re still grinding against him, the tempo was so speedy that it gives geto whiplash. he was truly witnessing his life flash before his eyes—all thanks to your precious pussy, featuring your crazed hips. he hardly doesn’t know where to roam his hands—but they remain glued to your waist, attempting to guide you closer. “inside, sugu. spill it ‘n me, make a mess.”

groaning—his head tosses itself back in rapture as he falls into his lewd, anticipated embrace. he’s feeling hot and warm just like you. the warmth your pussy provided him makes him bite his lip.

“fuck, fuck, f-fuuuuck,” he swears once you suddenly pick your hips back up. after a few seconds once you gradually slow down—he’s shooting a warm load of cum into you. so gooey, it fills you to the brim and you slow down finally, still swaying against him to make sure it’s fully plugged full. it pours into you all at once, a whopping amount of seed that’s so much that it oozes between the crevices of your thighs. you rode geto so good that he doesn’t even notice the sofa had ended up collapsing. the sound was short and concise—he’s moaning once you wrap a hand around his throat, feeling the vibrations of his grunts go against your fingertips. “phew,” he swallows, still dumping a good amount of ropy amounts inside before he goes limp against the couch. geto still has your hips in place before he’s gasping for short collected breaths. with glossy eyes, he notices your needy smug grin, not showing one ounce of fatigue. “again, huh? fuck, let me catch my breath first baby, you’re fuckin’ dangerous.”

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moondirti · 1 year

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animalic (3)

← chapter two // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: he's got a plan that neither of you like warnings: enemies to lovers, predator/prey dynamics, biting, bondage, temporary paralysis, concussions, miguel is not nice, no use of y/n notes: this was supposed to be longer but the cut off at the original point was super awkward. this chapter is super exciting for all you fang lovers out there

You really can’t catch a break.

The city bustles with a verve rivalling your own, a kaleidoscope of luminescence dancing upon the glass facades of its skyscrapers. Their spires pierce the ink-dark cloak of night, and if you weren’t so busy running for your life, you’d stop to admire the way their aviation obstruction lights mimic the stars back home.

(Everything has a trade off, you suppose. You remember what it was like as light pollution gave away to reveal the cosmos above, the beauty of it lost upon your own grief.)

Now, it’s fear – clinging like a shadowy spectre to your heels. The pavement is unforgiving beneath you, each step sending a jolt of energy through your bones. Despite it, you can’t go any faster. Sidewalks crowd with the humdrum of everyday life – people filtering out from work and bodegas, dressed in a slightly odd fashion, their clothes a reminder of your unfamiliar landscape. Car horns blend into one another, providing an unsteady tempo to the race of your heart.

It’s disorienting, all of it. Times like these, you wish you’d been given the opportunity to hone your abilities. Stamina, flexibility. Web shooters in particular would have proved handy in avoiding the bustle of the ground.

Of course, he has that advantage on you too.

You can’t see Miguel, but you sense his proximity. It prods you, nipping at your flesh in a constant assault, intensifying goosebumps and raising hairs. Your spider sense usually doesn’t last this long, solely serving as a warning for immediate danger. Yet that’s just what he is, immediate. Dangerous. Predatory eyes track your every move, sourced from all directions. He’s everywhere; atop buildings, within alleys. Neon signs morph into twisted apparitions; serrated talons, red skulls.

How did he track you down so fast?

The day pass?

You wonder if he’d brought back-up – whether there are other spider-heroes here who trust in his noble cause. Your anxiety triples, and passerby’s begin to warp too. Their hurried footsteps now strike discordant notes, amplifying your isolation. You think you see some tense their wrists, or unbutton their coats, ready to reveal their tailored suits and ensure the capture you’ve managed to evade thus far.

It’s luck. It’s only ever been luck, and that fact changes depending on who you ask. You’ve never outsmarted him, never disabled him. You just so happen to have the power of being a pain in his ass.

Something itches at you, though. A nagging sense of foreboding. His presence in the past has spurred chagrin, annoyance, and – admittedly – arousal. But the genuine terror that lights your nerves now is new. Perhaps because you understand him, are far more familiar with his pride than most. The logical part of you can predict that he won’t let you off so easily, not after your stunt with the kiss. You won’t – can’t – get away this time, even if it damn well nearly kills him.

Any hope you had of a bargain dissipates, rolling back from shore and into the depths of an elusive sea. You jerk the rubber band off your wrist, throwing it into some undisclosed corner.

In a then desperate bid to throw him off, your path loses cohesion. Like a leaf seized by a tempest, you turn based on split-second instinct, weaving through the labyrinth of New York’s grid. Your body sways in frenzy, bolstered by pure adrenaline, which works to dim everything else. Your ribs haven’t fully healed yet – they’d taken a pretty bad beating upon your last fight with Miguel – but you can barely feel the ache as you focus purely on the task at hand.

Your determination surges, recklessness taking hold of your rationale. Veering abruptly, you just about collide with the racing line of cars that flow at a green light. In fact, you think you do. Your skin prickles, and a taxi runs straight through you, blearing a loud honk all the while. Some vehicles break off, drifting around your form at the last minute. In your peripheral, you can see the glowing red of your pursuers web, stretched across the gap between two apartment complexes.

Chest tightening, your breathing loses depth at the sight, shallowing to leave room for the distress that torrents up your system. You clamber up on the hoods of parked cars, using a mast arm pole to propel yourself forward. It’s a fruitless effort. You know it’s too late – have known it since he walked into that convenience, prowling in search of one thing.

(A lion only catches its prey a quarter of the time. But that twenty-five percent?)

Your ankle is the first victim to his hardwearing web, wrapped in the silk and pulled out from underneath you. The back of your head smacks into the concrete below, a high pitched ring reverberating through your skull upon impact. The collision sends a shock wave of pain throughout your being, and in that harrowing moment, everything stutters to a crawl. Spots speckle behind your clenched eyelids, metallic warmth flooding your mouth.

Well, fuck.

To add insult to injury, your atoms rip apart and splice into one another, a consequence of your abandoned day pass. The glitch aggravates the headache that begins to pound at you. You’d allowed yourself to forget how bad it could be.

The willpower that had just played a forefront in your mind steadily starts to trickle out, absorbed by your humiliation and the ground below.

“You really gonna give up that easily?”

Yes.

You make a point to never lie to yourself. In truth, you won’t ever get enough of Miguel’s cadence. Deep and resonant – it smoulders with a charred ruggedness. Commanding attention, rumbling like distant thunder, an unmistakable authority woven into each word. Yet, even amidst the rough contours, there lingers a softness, a subtle grace that soothes the edges of his threats.

(Sharp claws, sharp teeth, sharp cheekbones. Soft voice.)

More webs bind you, erupting from an unclear point to circle your legs, chest, and secure your arms behind your back. You’re diminished to little more than an aggravated caterpillar, ensnared in a spider’s web. And, just as his little game of bondage draws to a close, said spider stalks within view, splitting through the crowd that quickly forms around the commotion.

With his mask on, he stands as completely impenetrable. You, on the other hand, try to reduce your quivering the best you can, afraid of relaying how truly pathetic you feel.

“Maybe I’m biding my time.” You bite back, calling on a complete bluff. “I’m sure you know how good I am at that?” It’s a low blow. Even if you could control when and where to phase out, you wouldn’t get very far before he catches up to you again.

But Miguel doesn’t waver in his closing in – not until he towers over you, looking down at your incapacitated state. Space buckles under the gravity of his existence; you, too, can feel yourself sinking, drawn in closer by the credence that bubbles off him in flares. You wish you had a cover – your pair of makeshift goggles, a face mask, anything that could elevate you to a degree relative to his. But you’re bare, figuratively naked, and you’ve never hated him more.

He lingers, assessing you, weighing his options. The moment he turns to survey the mass of people who look on inquisitively, you wiggle upward into a sitting position, then throw your head forwards, aiming for his crotch. His wrist gets in the way, though, blocking your pitiful attack on his only defenceless area. Your forehead cracks against his dimensional travel watch, shattering its screen.

“Tu puta madre!” Miguel hisses, snapping back to survey the gadget while you begin to slink away. He seems to have an eye on you, however, because you’re tugged back just as soon as you make the effort.

Like a naughty cat. You shift uncomfortably at the thought.

“Are you gonna spend all night deciding what to do with me, then? I have plans, even if you don’t.”

“Plans. I have plans alright.” The low timbre of his threat slices you where it hurts.

With a calculated flex of his shoulders, he crouches down, gathering the webs around your arms. They serve as leverage when he hauls you upward, exercising his muscles – of which you’d suspected had been padding up to this point – with one swift motion. The world upends on itself, nausea enveloping your senses with its oppressive weight. It allows space for little else; not the uncertainty, not the trepidation. You divert all your efforts on keeping your scarce lunch down, accepting the possibility of a concussion by product of his less-than-refined manhandling.

The journey to wherever he takes you is not at all long enough for you to recover. Before you know it, he’s busting through the creaky door of an empty storelot, carelessly tossing you to the floor. Your vision doubles.

Yeah. Definitely a concussion.

Like you could afford one right now.

“You’ll stay, and you’ll listen.” He points an accusatory finger.

“Sure. Until I’ve had enough, that is.”

“And where would you go, exactly?”

“Nice try, O’hara. Like I’d tell you,” Snickering, you let your head roll to face the ceiling. The action sends you back to earlier, to the robbery you’ve been seeking to suppress. How careless you’d been, letting your fortune to date trick you into thinking that any collateral was safe too. You’d killed that woman. You. “Maybe I’ll fall right through the floor. That way, you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.”

The notion makes him pause mid-pace, hands on his hips, tilting his head to look at you with what you imagine is the most earnest glare. The air bobs, suspended in static tension, a crackling constant that only unravels once he seems to make up his mind.

Marching forward, he drags you along with him to a nearby wall, upon which he then pushes you upward until you have to look down to meet his eyeline. Your bound legs kick forward, but the struggle hardly affects him.

“I didn’t want to resort to this.”

You assume he means treating you like a toddler does its shiny new toy, hurling you across this playpen of a city. “You really didn’t have to, then.”

He stays quiet, fists clenching tighter around you.

“I suppose we’re past the courtesy of letting the other recover from the last fight before starting a new one? My forearm is still fucked, thanks to you. Maybe if you’d given it some time, I would’ve proved more of a challenge today.” Your words, whilst never your most steadfast allies, betray you in lieu of this restlessness, tumbling forth with unruly incoherence.

Miguel's mask pulls back, the nanotech collapsing to just above his adams apple. Your mouth moves faster.

“Okay, I get it. The fate of the multiverse and all that. I’ll listen, whatever you want, but at least try and make the lecture original.”

His hand cups your jaw, tightening around your chin to firmly guide it upwards. Your throat stretches taut at the motion, its smooth expanse spread across the wall – an evening repast for a party of one. The imagery breaks down an all too sobering realisation into fragments small enough for you to register. His talons rest against your cheek, bordering perilously close to your waterline.

Traces of that patchouli aftershave hit you. His skin looks especially bronzed in the dark, highlighted at the edges from the phosphorescence outside. His curls droop where they’re plastered to a sweat slicked hairline.

You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers down to those plush lips.

Fuck. Fuck. It’d felt so good to kiss them.

Please let this just be a kiss.

“O-Or go with the… the usual, y’know. I don’t–”

Miguel lunges, sinking his fangs into the fleshy sinew of your neck.

Christ.

Your jaw hangs open, but no breaths filter in. Shock wedges itself at the site of his bite, implacable, steadfast as a barrier between logic and uninhibited emotion. Your reasoning plays no part in this, provides absolutely no valuable contribution to the series of reactions you undergo.

It’s physical, first. The cold slither of paralytic venom distends through your nerves, neurotoxins striking their functions, rendering them useless beyond the point of sensation. Which, you’d say, is the cruellest part. Miguel’s poison doesn’t stop you from feeling anything; not the puncture, nor the burn. You can truly feel it, trekking its graceful path to all muscles in your body, taking hold of the tissue, suppressing their vitality. Your back arches, your body doing its very best to fight what it cannot prevent. It cracks up your bone, down your spine. Your toes unfurl, fingers loosening to hang lamely at your side.

And, when you lose all executive authority over yourself, you’re pulled in to centre on his mouth again. His canines slowly retract, tongue taking their place. It’s warm – so fucking warm – and dextrous, covertly lathering the blood that beads down your nape.

Your last proper breath is wasted on a whine; a loud, keening, absolutely wanton whine. After it, you can do nothing but hold your flat inhales to cycle in as much oxygen as possible – diaphragm weak, your resolve weaker.

Miguel draws away, letting you slump to the floor, heavy and just as useless as a sack of flour. He wipes the excess carmine from his chin, kneeling to regard your glassy eyed stare.

“Fall through now, and you’re as good as dead.”

(You might as well already be.)

chapter four →

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froggibus · 2 months

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hiiiiiii i just wanna say i love ur work so much. i was wondering if i could request a jason todd hurt/comfort fic. i recently had a really scary experience outside of a bar, and it has been taking a toll on me. maybe something like reader and jason fight over something silly, and then something like that happens to reader and he comforts them after and feels bad about the fight before? with a lot of fluff and reassurance. maybe he gives them a bath or something:) THANK YOUUUU

Never Let Me Go - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn! reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst -> fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: after an argument with Jason, you're left to fend for yourself outside of a bar

CW: attempted assault, attempted SA, chasing, slight violence, dissociation/shock (reader), arguing, alcohol, hurt/comfort, pet names (Jason calls reader baby/hun), bathing together, jason is snarky at first

sorry this took so long! really hope you're feeling better, but if you (or anyone else reading this) ever need to talk, my inbox is always open <3 i talk about my own struggles with ptsd on this blog, and i want everyone to be able to feel safe enough to talk about theirs, too

i tried to keep the assault scene short and brief, but i've also added cuts before and after in case anyone would like to skip it.

(title slightly based on this song)

“You know that stuff is pure sugar and no alcohol, right?”

You roll your eyes when Jason gestures to your drink with a look of distaste, hiding his snark behind the rim of his glass. You’re tempted to remind him that the foamy beer he’s pounding back has even less alcohol than your Cosmo, but think the better of it. He’s in a bitchy mood, and there’s no point making it worse.

He’d gotten into a fight with Bruce the night before, and had practically gone on a rampage through Gotham’s underground. The anger radiated off of him still when he’d showed up at your apartment an hour earlier, even after he’d flashed you a tense smile and planted a tentative kiss to your lips.

You’d told him at least three times since then that he didn’t have to come with you—given the bar was around the corner from your home, and you could stumble home from it drunk, backwards and in your sleep—but Jason had insisted. As if you ever thought Jason would be able to relax knowing you’re out at a bar in the heart of Gotham, despite your assertions that you would only be having a couple drinks and maybe some chili fries.

You swish your glass around, watching the raspberry coloured booze slosh on the sides. “We can go home if you’re not feeling up to this,” you say gently. “I don’t mind.”

He gives his broad shoulders an irritating shrug. “You wanted to get out of the house, we’re out of the house.”

Though he doesn’t say it, you can hear the unspoken words crackling through the air. What more do you want from me?

“But do you want to leave?”

Jason’s eyes narrow, black pupils forcing out imperial blue. “I go where you go.”

It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to resist tugging at your hair. Though it’s been years since he lived in Wayne Manor, and even longer since he studied under Bruce, the lessons he learned have never left him. Including this form of aggravating, diplomatic speech where his answers gave no answers at all.

“Whatever,” you sigh under your breath, crossing your legs and tilting your body back to your drink.

Jason scoffs, “whatever? Really?”

“Yes, really!” You’re grateful that the mix of conversations and the drone of 90s rock are loud enough to cover up your rising voice. “I just wanted to get out of the house for once and you’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean?” There’s a cruel smirk on his lips. “The only reason I’m here is because of you, so that you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“I never asked for that.”

Your heart races painfully in your chest. You’ve never liked arguing, especially not in public when the both of you have been drinking and especially not when Jason is already chafing under the expectations of others. It’s a nightmarish combination that leaves electricity sizzling in the air and everyone in the room on edge.

He chugs the rest of his beer, not even bothering to wipe away the tiny bit of white foam that catches on the shadow above his upper lip. “Fine then,” he grumbles, and tosses a fifty onto the counter. “I’ll see you.”

He leaves no room for protest, already barreling his way through the tables. By the time you’ve even processed what just happened, he’s already at the door, back muscles tensing beneath brown leather as he yanks it open hard enough to shake the hinges.

You wait until you hear the familiar rev of his motorcycle before ordering another round.

It’s late by the time you decide to pay your tab and head home. Your phone has long since been dead weight in your pocket, but even if it weren’t, you wouldn’t have bothered to check it. There was a part of you that hoped Jason would come back, that he would apologize, but that part is about as dead as your phone is.

It’s brisk outside now, and cold rain sprinkles from above. The dark rain clouds block out the moon, dim flickering street lights the only light you can see. You take a long, deep breath that clouds the air as you release it, rubbing your freezing forearms. Home is just around the corner, but that’s still an eight minute walk. Minimum.

A groan slips past your lips as you lean against the outside of the building, peering into the dark streets for any sign of a cab. A rock skids across the ground to your left and you snap your head in the direction it came from.

A man saunters towards you, his body encased in shadows. “Need a ride?”

A shiver rises up your spine. You shuffle further to your right, trying to put more distance between you and the stranger.

He doesn’t take the hint. He moves closer, purposefully slamming his boots harder into the ground to get your attention. “I said,” he repeats, “do you need a ride?”

“No,” you swallow hard, adding a quick, “thank you.”

You don’t know this man, but you despise him. You despise his imposition, the southern twang of his voice, the fact you’re instinctually polite to him so that you don’t risk pissing him off.

Despite your plea, he keeps coming towards you. “I reckon you do.”

The alarm bells in your head start to shriek. You shove off of the wall, stumbling only slightly before you regain your balance and take off down the sidewalk. It’s dark and though you can no longer see him when you glance over your shoulder, you can hear the pounding of his boots on the pavement behind you.

And then his cold, clammy hands lock around your wrist and tug you hard. You strain against his grasp, using your entire body weight to get away, to go anywhere but here.

He’s so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the warmth of his body. Not warm the way Jason is, but warm the way a fire you shouldn’t go near is. You cry out desperately. The bar is still within sight, someone has to come out, someone has to see.

“Why not just let me show you a good time?” He says, “I’m a really nice guy if you give me a chance.”

You drive your elbow into his arm and his grip loosens enough for you to tug away. You rip your wrist from his grasp, but as you do, you lose your balance and crash onto the dirty, wet Gotham pavement. With how cold you are and the adrenaline your heart is furiously pumping through your body, you barely feel the impact.

You can’t see the expression on his face as you drag yourself across the pavement, but you hear a low chuckle. You imagine it’s similar to that of a wolf zeroing in on its prey.

And then, a booming voice cuts through the darkness. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jason sounds pissed, but it's maybe the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. The most beautiful string of words in the English language.

The man spins on his heels away from you just in time to catch a harsh uppercut to the face. A loud crack reverberates through the buildings, and he goes down like a sack of potatoes on the concrete next to you.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, looking up at Jason through your lashes. “You’re—how?”

“Oh, baby. Baby, baby,” he sighs, dropping to his knees on the pavement next to you. His new jeans are probably ruined from touching the ground—as are yours—but that seems to be the least of his concerns right now.

He cradles your head in his lap, his hands trailing up your damp, aching skin for any sign of injury. You shiver, closing your eyes and letting Jason hold you. The adrenaline flooding your veins has not yet diluted, and the calloused warmth from Jason’s hands is the only thing keeping you from floating away.

“I didn’t leave, baby, would never leave you. I was waiting around back when I heard you and,” he sighs, “I’m so sorry.”

His words are faint, so faint, and more gentle than you’ve ever heard him speak. Though he clutches you tightly to him, the feeling registers as barely a whisper. And then you’re on your feet, propped up against his side as he helps you back to where he propped his bike.

Your mind is somewhere else now. You’d have completely forgotten about your own body if it weren’t for the frantic, rhythmic shove of Jason’s heart against his ribcage with every step you take.

You’re not sure how you got back to your apartment, but you’re sure it was through no small effort on Jason’s part. Your waist is warm from where his hand rests—he’s refused to let you go for even a moment since he saw you on that pavement.

You shiver violently even after you return to the warmth of your home. Jason had wrapped you in his jacket but even that did little to stop the shaking.

He cups your face, a soft intensity in his eyes. “Let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

You barely react to his touch, or to his words. It doesn’t take a genius to know you’re in shock—Jason’s seen it more than enough times in his lifetime to recognize it at a glance.

The shivering, that faraway and glassy look in your eyes, the way your lips move as if they’ll form words but no sound comes out. Your pupils themselves have almost doubled in size from the adrenaline coursing through your system.

He’d take the crowbar a thousand damn times if it meant he would never have to see you like this. He would give away all that he has, and all that he is, to never subject you to this kind of pain.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and starts towards the dark hallway leading to your bedroom and bathroom.

You let out a choked gasp—the most sound you’ve managed since earlier—and Jason whips around. Blue eyes snap to yours, looking more like broken glass through the tears catching on your own lashes.

Don’t leave, you want to say. Not even for a minute, not even for a second. But your words fail you, and all you have to fall back on is a gasp of air and the tears in your eyes.

Jason understands, though. “Let’s go together, then.”

He grabs one of your hands in his, and holds your waist with the other. You walk like that down the hall, Jason holding you tight and guiding you to your bathroom. He helps you settle down on the toilet seat while he runs a hot bath.

Jason has you sit on the side of the bathtub, only your bare feet resting in the warm water. He sits with you, his legs on either side of your own and his arms around your waist. Already, the shaking has subsided and your eyes have started to clear. Relief floods his system, wiping away the guilt that’s been bubbling in his stomach.

He waits a few minutes, before saying, “let’s get you out of those clothes and into the bath.”

It’s posed more like a question, his fingers tracing inquisitive circles on your hip. He’s asking, you realize, if it would be okay for him to help you undress. If you’re comfortable being naked in front of him right now. The kindness of the gesture has your shoulders dropping from your ears.

“Y-yeah,” you manage.

Jason keeps his touch firm, steady, while he peels your dirty shirt over your head. He has you raise your feet above the water so he can help you with your pants and underwear, discarding your clothes in a pile on the tiled floor.

He squeezes your shoulders reassuringly when he sees you hesitate at the side of the bathtub before finally stepping in and letting your aching body settle in the warm water.

It’s an immediate relief. The chill your skin has taken on, the ice running through your blood, starts to defrost.

Jason watches you relax into the warm porcelain, your impossibly tense muscles finally loosening. “Feeling any better?” He asks quietly.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble quietly.

He grabs a washcloth from the drawer beneath the counter. “Hey, none of that.”

“I just,” you take a deep, shaking breath, “if we had never gone out tonight, none of this would have happened and you wouldn’t have had to help me and—”

Jason splashes warm water over your head. “None of that,” he repeats. “I don’t want to hear any of that.”

“But—”

“Nothing that happened tonight was any fault of yours.” He brushes the wet washcloth across your face, wiping away stray tears. “You did nothing wrong. I should never have left you, plain and simple.”

“It’s not your fault either, Jay.”

He strokes the washcloth over your forehead. “I’m supposed to protect you, hun. I didn’t do a very good job of it tonight.”

“Get in here with me?” You clutch his forearm.

He chuckles. It’s been a very, very long time since Jason Todd could comfortably fit in a normal sized bathtub, but for you, he’d do anything. He’s gentle climbing in the bath behind you, propping his legs around the outside of yours so you can comfortably lay back on him.

It’s a cramped fit, it couldn’t possibly be comfortable for anyone—but Jason sucks it up for your sake. Despite the ways his knees ache from the angle he keeps his legs, it all feels worth it when you lay your head on his chest.

“Thank you for being here,” you say quietly.

He plants a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “For you? Anything.”

And you know he means it.

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

Masterlist | DC Masterlist

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd angst #jason todd hurt/comfort #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #batfam x reader

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lovekt · 7 months

Text

⋆ ｡˚ ⋆｡ SLEEPY NIGHTS IN NOVEMBER ⋆ ｡˚ ⋆｡

pairing; lando norris x girlfriend!fem!reader

word count; 1.5k

blurb; where practice goes on for a little longer than expected, and you’re extremely jetlagged. (based off of the las vegas gp fp2)

author’s note; this is my first completed fic ahhh! cant believe i actually finished something for once in my life this is a miracle

<< the library , ln4 masterist >>

LAS VEGAS WAS A BRIGHT CITY. So bright, and yet you were still battling with all-consuming darkness.

You’d arrived more than twelve hours ago. Cameras flashed, questions asked, your mind had been buzzing with excitement for the ever-anticipated Grand Prix at the new track. Hundreds of people; reporters, fans, drivers, bustled about. Drones and tripods followed your every move, microphones bursting your personal bubble, screaming people begging for their caps, shirts and babies to be signed. It crossed your mind more than once that you weren’t a driver, yet the cheers of sheer joy echoed when you walked by.

It was exhilarating, truly. You’d never imagined your life would turn out this way, your face being plastered onto live television, a banner across the bottom presenting you as Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

You’d arrived just in time for Free Practice 2, not getting a chance to find the man in orange before he was off and onto the track for the second time two hours later than scheduled. However, you were soon supplied with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a chair to get comfortable with.

It was colder than usual. Your eyes were permanently fixated on the screen above you. No matter how many times you’d watched your boyfriend race, in person or in the comfort of your shared home, it was never any less terrifying. The noises of pure acceleration, the sparks that would occasionally burst from the back of the car, the knowledge of what could happen and what’s already happened several times before. All of it was enough to keep you on your toes, wide awake, and alert every time.

Every single time, except this one.

The low hum of the engine through your headphones did nothing to help you stay focused, time finally beginning to creep its way back up to you. Your boyfriend’s voice calmly updating his engineers, the muffled chatter of the garage, all of it caused your mind to numb and breathing to begin evening out. It was so late. So, so late, and cold.

Your head suddenly lulled to the side causing your eyes to snap open, saving yourself before you slipped off the plastic foldable chair. God, you hoped the live broadcasting cameras were not allowing thousands of eyes to see you right now.

There were some eyes, though, that had seen you. The engineers dressed in orange pottering around were chuckling, they themselves trying to stay awake by toying with tools and fidgeting with other mechanical things that you didn’t understand. Most of them you were quite friendly with by now as you were a frequent member of the McLaren garage, and they all knew you were the one to go to whenever Lando needed a break. They were grateful to have you. An angry Lando is never a fun time.

Which is exactly why they decided to make an executive decision to save you from the concrete floor below. It was only a matter of time before you ended up hurting yourself.

The screen above you began blurring once more, eyes drooping against your will when a hand placed itself onto your shoulder. One of the engineers that Lando was particularly close with was smiling down at you, softly nudging you forward and guiding you to stand up. You looked at him, eyes glossy and brows furrowed, confused.

He sighed amusedly, “I think it’s time for bed.”

Slight slurred protests began to slip out of your lips but were stopped when you wobbled and had to grip onto the top of the chair for balance. The engineer’s hold on your arm tightened and your exhaustion was too heavy to resist as he began leading you towards the driver’s rooms.

You glanced back at the screen showing your boyfriend’s perspective of the car, not wanting to leave but knowing that it’s probably for the best. There wasn’t any action going on, every driver was tired, nobody was pulling any dangerous moves. It was safe enough to walk away, just for a little bit, just this once.

The door to Lando’s driver’s room was opened and you settled onto the small sofa in the corner, wrapping yourself in a papaya-coloured blanket. Darkness enveloped the room as the engineer flipped the switch, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving you to your thoughts for all of two seconds before a soft voice filled your ears. You’d forgotten to take the headphones off.

Lando spoke to his team, his voice calm and soothing, almost as if he knew you were falling into the depths of unconsciousness in that moment. He was safe. You felt safe.

The second he’d hauled himself out of the car, helmet removed, and interviews finished up, he was on the search for you. Often, you would wander off as soon as the car had been parked, for a bathroom break or to have a quick snack, refusing to do it during the race.

He walked back to his room as fast as possible, weaving between hundreds of people who he didn’t bother giving the time of day. Usually, he would’ve stopped and had a little chat, but it was so, so late and his whole body felt like it was about to crumble. All he wanted was to find you, get changed and make the small trek back to your shared hotel room.

The door was unlocked when he arrived, a sure sign that you were inside and waiting. But when he opened the door ready to be greeted with a sweet kiss, all he was met with was complete darkness. Weird.

His hand reached for the switch and light flooded the room. Sure enough, there you were, cuddled up in his bright orange blanket and sound asleep. Your face was half covered and smushed into the arm rest, knees curled into yourself and a set of headphones askew on top of your mussed hair.

The smile that had etched itself onto his face grew when he noticed the headphones. You’d fallen asleep whilst listening to him talk, even when he wasn’t with you. Even when you were jetlagged, cold, and exhausted, you still made sure he was okay. His chest warmed at the thought.

Lando placed the bottle of water he was holding down onto the table beside him, trying his best to be as quiet as possible as he changed from his suit to a hoodie. You didn’t move a muscle, only light breaths filling the silent space.

You looked so peaceful, lashes fluttering every so often. The urge to try and squeeze himself onto the sofa with you was strong, but the more logical side of him told him that it was finally time to head back to the hotel, and if you stayed in that position much longer then your neck would be unbearably stiff by tomorrow morning. He loved you more than anything in the world, so he knew you well enough to know that you would be moaning to him about it once you’d woken up, and not the moaning that he enjoyed hearing.

Carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers across your cheek, moving a few stray strands of hair. Your cheeks were warm, a contrast to Lando’s cool touch that caused you to pull your face away and tuck it further into the safety of his blanket. His lips twitched slightly. You would hate him for this now, but thank him later, he thought, as he swiftly curled his fingers around the edge of the blanket and pulled it down.

Your skin, exposed to the night air, broke out into goosebumps as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. Lando slowly rubbed his palm up and down your arm, bringing his lips to your forehead and kissing you softly.

Your eyelids fluttered open, pupils narrowing to the bright light of the room as an almost silent groan escaped you.

Your eyes darted around for a moment before landing on your boyfriend, crouched down beside you with his hand stroking your hair. He was smiling at you lovingly, eyes squinted and laced with a tinge of mischief. “G’morning, baby.”

You didn’t reply, instead choosing to open your mouth in a yawn directed straight at his face. He chuckled quietly.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed, hm?”

You rested your head back against the armrest, closing your eyes once more, “I’m already in bed.”

“I’m sure you are.” He said, before rising back up to his full height and slipping one hand underneath your neck, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and the other around the back of your knees. Your hand instinctively curled around his bicep as you were lifted into the air, taking note in the back of your mind at how effortlessly he seemed to manoeuvre you.

As Lando began to carefully place you onto your feet, a wave of adoration filled you to the core. He’d just been working for hours straight, and yet here he was taking care of you. The love you had for this boy was absolutely unmatched.

And what better way to show him this than by using the little energy you had restored during your nap to rise onto your tiptoes and press a sweet kiss against his awaiting lips.

@lovekt

#— lovekt’s works.#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #ln4 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one x reader #lando norris imagine #fluff #lando norris fluff

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fuck-hamas-go-israel · 7 months

Text

Ethnic cleansing? Genocide? Apartheid?

Throwing around these buzzwords to describe the Israel-Hamas war because you’ve seen them on social media doesn’t make you right, and it doesn’t make you an activist.

It makes you ignorant, intellectually dishonest, and lazy for parroting biased talking points with no concept about what these terms actually mean.

What is apartheid?

Well, it was first used to describe the political system in South Africa and today’s Namibia whereby racism was institutionalised. This manner of governance meant that clear racial segregation would occur, in a manner that benefited the white race and would actively oppress those who had darker skin.

This meant that there were white-only spaces, white people would get prioritised when it came to education and jobs, and relationships/marriages between white peoples and coloured people were illegal.

Is Israel objectively an apartheid state? There are no laws that actively favour one group over the other. There is a sizeable population of Israeli Arabs that can thrive in the same way as the Israeli Jews can. There are laws against discrimination on the basis of gender, race/ethnicity, and sexual orientation.

Palestinians from Gaza are allowed to work in Israel through a work permit system. There are about 150,000 Palestinians working in Israel, most of which live in Israel and some come from Gaza/the West Bank. They aren’t denied rights institutionally.

Is it harder to get a job or education in Israel if you’re a Palestinian from Gaza? Sure, because of different governments. It’s like how it’s a lot easier for you to find a job in your own country (in terms of paperwork and bureaucracy) than overseas. But you’re not denied the right to apply.

Of course, if you have a history of violence, a criminal record, or your family has ties to terrorists, then it’ll be a lot harder to get an approved work permit. But that’s not apartheid. That’s common sense, and a regulation practiced by all countries that minimally desire to protect their own population from danger.

Ethnic cleansing and genocide

These two concepts can go hand-in-hand. Ethnic cleansing refers to the mass expulsion or killing of a group of people based on their ethnicity. Similarly, genocide is the purposeful killing of a group of people solely with the intention of annihilating them.

Famous examples? The Holocaust, of course, where the Nazi regime believed in the superiority of the Aryan race and decided to declare genocide on the Jews, Romanis, the LGBTQ+ community, people with disabilities, people with “Asian features”, and many many other groups. Anyone who they didn’t think was “pure”.

Their aim was to ensure that the Aryan race propagated without having “impure” blood affecting the bloodlines. They even started a eugenics programme called Lebensborn to ensure that more pure Aryan babies were born.

More recent examples? The Rwandan genocide where the Hutus attempted to wipe out the Tutsis on the basis of ethnicity. They mandated that Tutsis mention their ethnicity on state-issued ID cards in order for the Hutus in power to be able to identify them and then kill them.

Or the Yazidi genocide which happened so recently, in which ISIL killed, raped, and sent thousands of Yazidis into conversion camps on the basis of their ethnicity. They also took Yazidi women as sex slaves and raped and tortured them.

Or the Rohingya Muslims in the Rakhine State in Myanmar, and how there was a mass killing and expulsion of them from the country, forcing them to flee to Bangladesh to take refuge, crating the world’s largest refugee camp.

Or how ISIS killed thousands of people from Christian groups in Iraq, Syria, Egypt, and Libya because of their faith, leading the US, EU, and UK to label this as religious genocide and condemned their actions.

Has Israel been practicing ethnic cleansing and genocide on Palestinians all these years?

Well, the birth rate of the Palestinian population in Gaza, the West Bank, and in Israel has been steadily increasing all these years.

So, no. No ethnic cleansing, no genocide. They are free to have as many children as they desire.

The UN Genocide Convention

The United Nations has 5 actions that constitute genocide.

1. Killing members of a target group

Israel is targeting Hamas officials with the aim of wiping out the terrorist group and ensuring that such a deadly attack on Israeli soil doesn’t happen again. I suppose you could call it genocide against Hamas, but they’re killing Hamas because they’re terrorists, not because they’re Palestinian. Shouldn’t everyone believe in genocide against terrorists?

But look at Black Saturday. Look at Hamas’ rhetoric. They repeatedly call for the annihilation of Israel and genocide of Jews. When will the media start believing what they say, word for word, instead of trying to spin it into “hmm maybe they want to kill all the Jews because they’re freedom fighters!”

War has collateral damage. Of course the innocent civilians don’t deserve to suffer just because of the actions of their government, but there have been warnings given to the Palestinian civilians prior to Israel striking the areas. There are consequences of attacking a country first, and then having that country attack you back.

2. Causing people of the group serious bodily or mental harm

The UN refers to sexual violence as the prime example of non-fatal harm.

Sexual violence has occurred. Hamas have kidnapped and raped women and even paraded the bodies of half-naked women around. But I f Israel had done the same, it’ll be the first thing appearing on everyone’s BBC push notifications (without even being confirmed as true).

3. Imposing living conditions intended to destroy the group

Many people refer to the blockade that Israel imposed around the Gaza Strip as an example of this.

This blockade was imposed by both Israel and Egypt in 2005. Its aim was to prevent smuggling of weapons into Gaza, and isolate the reign of Hamas to the region. This was to ensure the safety of Israel and Egypt.

Did this blockade pose serious challenges to the Gazan civilians? Of course. But that’s a consequence of having a terrorist government. If you have a terrorist group running your country, don’t be surprised if neighbouring countries are extra careful about who or what they allow in or out of the borders.

Many authorities from other Arab nations have also expressed approval of Egypt’s border restrictions, and even encouraged Egypt to flood the terror tunnels that Hamas has dug under the city. As a side note, other Arab nations have not historically been very kind or welcoming to Palestinians. Syria has killed over 4000 Palestinians, and many Arab countries are now refusing any refuge for Palestinians. But no one cares about that because it doesn’t make Israel look bad. All they do now is use the images of dead Palestinians under the hands of Syria and reuse them to propagate fake news.

The blockade has been labelled as a human rights violation because of collective punishment. Many humanitarian organisations believe that the blockade has caused the Palestinian civilians disproportionate harm.

Contrary to popular belief, Israel isn’t disallowing humanitarian aid from coming through the borders. Fuel, food, hygiene products, clothes, and shoes have been coming through the borders regularly for years. The Gaza Strip also has electricity and internet access and water.

Do all these items reach the Palestinian civilians? Well, there has been evidence that Hamas has been intercepting a lot of the supplies sent by humanitarian groups. This is not surprising since the UNRWA tweeted that Hamas has stole fuel from hospitals in Gaza in order to launch more rockets at Israel (but quickly deleted it after realising that it goes against their agenda to paint Hamas in a bad light.) In addition, the returned hostages have mentioned that there are many aid supplies hidden in the terror tunnels by Hamas. Instead of giving them to the civilians, they are hoarding it for themselves.

There has also been video evidence that some people are reselling these aid items in stores at exorbitant prices in order to turn profits. This has been well-documented for the last 10 years.

Is blockading the region to mitigate terrorism a disproportionate response? Well, it’s like asking if heightened security and stricter border control at airports is a disproportionate response after 9/11. Is being cautious and worrying about the security of your country an irrational reaction to the constant threat of terrorism?

4. Preventing births

Gaza’s population growth rate per annum is about 1.99%, which is the 39th highest in the world! Their population is allowed to propagate freely.

Israel isn’t preventing births of Palestinian babies.

5. Forcibly transferring children out of the group

No, Israel hasn’t been taking Palestinian children and forcing them to convert/keeping young Palestinian girls as sex slaves. Like I said, if this was truly happening, all the news outlets would be so quick to publish the story before verifying it.

Can we trust the UN Genocide standards?

The UN is known for corruption and have been exploiting the Palestinian people by selling them the humanitarian supplies instead of distributing them for free, which they should because these supplies literally are donations.

The UN also has differing standards of what they would label as genocide. For example, they refuse to call what China is doing to the Uyghurs in Xinjiang as genocide, even though the situation does fit many of their own criteria.

Hence, to all of you out there overusing these terms without knowing what they mean, make up your own mind about things. No one can force you to believe anything and no one can force you to change your mind.

But at the very least, do your due diligence and educate yourself before spouting tired buzzwords. Repeating misinformation doesn’t help anyone and can be very harmful.

977 notes · View notes

feeder86 · 9 months

Text

Taste

Mike could remember how his breath caught in his throat when he saw Bruno for the first time. Having always been so slim and athletic himself, it was as if all of the blood in his entire body rushed down into his groin and he felt lightheaded; his heart racing with lust for the man in front of him. Bruno was the epitome of Mike’s dream man: taller than everyone else in the bar, large and very, very fat. He was flaunting his chubby physique with pants that were clearly too small; his butt crack on show, as well as the lower half of his gut that pushed out over his belt. There was a buzz around him at the bar. It was rare that a man so large came in here and it was obvious, from the twitching hands of the bear-loving guys around them, that there were many who wanted to touch his remarkably overfed body.

Mike stood behind him at the bar, waiting to be served, feeling like he was invisible in the wide man’s shadow. Even the scent of him, slightly sweaty in the humid environment, was turning Mike on; his large love handles shimmering gently as the bodies crowded around. Finally, with a space opening up at the crowded bar, Mike squeezed himself next to the big man, waiting to be served as well. He looked to his side and smiled shyly, without speaking. Even then, the eye contact, however brief, made Mike’s hardness flex in a way that made him hope he wouldn’t be served too quickly in order to allow the bulge in his crotch to calm down.

“Mine’s a beer,” the big man stated confidently to Mike.

“Sorry?” Mike spluttered back, surprised that he had been spoken to.

“My drink. I’ll have a beer,” he repeated expectantly.

“Oh… I wasn’t…” Mike mumbled, full of embarrassment. “I guess I…”

“Geez, relax, would you! I’m just joking,” Bruno chuckled, raising hand and finally ordering his own beer. “And what would you like?” he offered Mike, as if by way of an apology for causing Mike to get in such a fluster.

Mike accepted the offer and found himself following the heavy man out of the bar queue moments later. It seemed as if the big guy had come here alone, leaning against a small, high table where he could view the entirity of the bar. “Are you a chaser?” he asked Mike in his usual plain manner.

Wishing that he could act cooler, Mike mumbled once again, unsure how best to answer. “I’m not sure,” he lied. “I guess I could be.”

“You’re cute,” Bruno smiled, after formally introducing himself. “Do you want to touch my belly? Most guys in here seem to want to.”

With a free pass to feat his eyes upon Bruno’s large gut, Mike wasted no time in admiring it’s size and shape. He checked with the big man one last time, then let his electrically charged fingertips spread over the fleshy skin. Pure heaven.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Bruno nodded in approval. “Gentle. Sensual. I bet you’re good at giving a massage.”

“I’d be happy to work on your whole body if you like,” Mike shot back, unsure where his sudden boldness had come from, and immediately feeling a little embarrassed by it.

“Maybe,” Bruno chuckled. “If you play your cards right tonight,” he added, leaning into the table and seemingly about to take some time to really invest in finding out a lot more about his new admirer.

It was strange to think back on how shy Mike had been that night. Although Bruno still never failed to make him feel flustered and aroused, he liked to think, nine months later, that he at least managed to keep a cooler head around him. Being in a relationship with someone that he found so attractive should not have been as much of a challenge as it had seemed to be. His parents and friends had taken one look at Bruno and allowed their sizeist prejudices to rise to the surface. Mike had heard no end of slanderous things about Bruno that had been said to him: that he was lazy and greedy, selfish and unambitious. It was all based entirely upon his weight, and Mike knew it. They seemed to hate how much Bruno felt comfortable in his own skin. It was as if they were offended by it; believing that Bruno should feel ashamed and insecure, just like every other 400lb man of his stature. How dare he simply not care about being so fat?

There were sighs whenever Bruno went to grab Mike’s hand and show him affection in front of others. Perhaps it was the way that Bruno dressed that most irritated people and made them feel embarrassed in his company. He enjoyed his clothes being overly fitted and figure-hugging. For him, a t-shirt shirt should be over-long and tucked into his tight shorts, displaying the full arch of his gigantic gut, or else it should be too short, allowing the fat of his underbelly to show through and catch the breeze as he walked about. However, it was also his grotesque appetite that Mike knew his dad in particular found especially repulsive. He wasn’t wrong in saying that Bruno was always eating something or searching in the cupboards for snacks. He found it cheeky and rude how Bruno would help himself in their kitchen, and when he once upturned the milk bottle to chug it straght from the refrigerator, Mike’s dad had raised his voice in a way that Mike hadn’t heard since he was small.

Mike’s friends and family didn’t understand though. They didn’t realise how far Bruno had come to be in the sort of shape he was in now; how he’d always wanted to be a big man. Back when he’d started college, Bruno had been incredibly slim, and even lanky, given his great height. He’d documented his body well by taking lots of pictures during those early days and continued to do so as he began pushing his appetite to the extreme. His body had responded in just the way Bruno had wanted, as a doughy belly began to form on his slim frame.

Mike felt an arousal he’d never experienced before as Bruno guided him through all of the pictures of him over the years: the time when he’d started to get love handles, the first signs of his double chin beginning to show. Even from quite early on, his butt had started taking on a fair amount of fat. Bruno had said this had been down to the way he’d tried to limit his exercise so much and make those calories as effective as possible when fattening his body. It had taken time; especially at Bruno’s height. Even when he’d left college, his fat stomach had still been faily easy to conceal under baggy clothes. It was only once he’d started working and had his own place that Bruno’s overeating and weight gain really started to turn to very obvious obesity. Bruno recalled with glee the time when his weight started impacting his everyday life: when he’d become too heavy for store-bought clothes, the stairs becoming more intense to walk up. He’d embraced each one of these changes, accepting the fact that his lovers would now purely be confined to those who enjoyed his fatter body. He’d taken on several feeders, of all shapes and sizes, but he’d never committed to any of these other guys in the way that he had to Mike.

Sometimes Mike would pick up the guy’s empty clothes off the floor and just admire the sheer size of them, hardly comprehending how lucky he was to have such an oversized and greedy boyfriend. Twenty to thirty pounds a year, that was Bruno’s steady gain rate, realised by maximising his opportunities to overeat and consume as often as possible. As Bruno himself had said, fattening his skinny college body had been a lot simpler than pushing the fat on now he was well over four hundred.

Mike often wondered what it was that Bruno saw in him. Whenever they were out at some sort of bear event, it was obvious how much attention the big man could command. Mike had become accustomed to the grumpy stares of jealousy as he held his enormous boyfriend’s hand. Bruno claimed to like how constantly aroused Mike was for him. He could submit and take a pounding, yet also take the reins and feed Bruno far beyond his daily calorie goals. Not that such a mission was often required. Bruno was, if nothing else, highly motivated to overeat, and always so very self-sufficient. Despite the many hours Mike had spent feeding Bruno in the past, he knew that the big man would most likely be just as big, even if he was still single. Everything to him was so erotic, from the new stretch marks and shape, to the retirement of old clothes and the reactions of those who had not seen Bruno in some time. Every last little chance encounter was a reason for the guy to get aroused, and that horniness was more than infectious.

With Bruno’s birthday approaching, Mike began to feel a little anxious about what to do for it. Last year, they had only been dating a couple of months, and so he hadn’t gone too overboard. However, four months ago, for his own birthday, Bruno had arranged an entire weekend away to visit Mike’s hometown; the one that his family had left when he was just eleven. It was incredibly sweet and thoughtful, not to mention remarkably satisfying to show off the town he knew so well to the man that he had fallen so helplessly in love with.

Mike thought about buying an enormous cake, or an entire banquet of food to surprise Bruno with on the big day. However, when considering how much Bruno ate in a normal day anyway, he didn’t really feel that he could make it all that special. Bruno’s hobbies weren’t any help either. There weren’t any special video games coming out anytime soon and the hot summer sun was zapping the large chub’s energy levels daily.

“What would you like to do for your birthday?” Mike finally asked, having exhausted his entire creative reserves. However, Bruno dutifully denied needing any sort of fuss, claiming that birthdays were nothing special for him.

Mike persisted. With only a couple of days remaining, he was feeling desperate for an idea to delight his lover for his birthday. “I guess maybe there is one thing I might like,” Bruno began cautiously, as if he had been thinking of the idea for some time.

Breathing a sigh of relief. Mike nodded enthusiastically, wanting to hear Bruno’s thoughts.

“Well, maybe we could try a little role reversal that night?” he asked tentatively.

Mike furrowed his eyebrows. “Role reversal?” he asked. He already thought they did that, having quite an active, versatile sex life.

“I mean… maybe I could feed you for a change? Just for one night,” Bruno added hastily, trying to express the idea in baby steps. “I used to be quite good at it, back in the days when I played around with lots of different feeders and gainers. They all said I was good at it.”

Mike mumbled awkwardly. Despite the length of time he’d been with Bruno, he’d never anticipated the man making a request like this. “I thought you loved my body how it is?” he asked, knowing how hard Mike worked at the gym classes he attended.

“Oh, I do!” Bruno nodded emphatically. “I love all body types. It’s just a one-night kinky idea I had.” He shrugged, then laughed at how ridiculous this scenario was. “It’s not about changing you, and if it’s not your thing, it’s fine. I’ll think of something else.”

Mike considered for a moment. “No, wait…” he mumbled; his brain trying to catch up. “It’s fine,” he shrugged. “It’s for your birthday,” he nodded, feeling that a little sacrifice like this would help show Bruno how important he was to him. “Let’s… let’s do this.”

The bus-worker strikes had completely messed up Mike’s day as he arrived home late on Bruno’s birthday a couple of days later. It was nearly half seven already and he’d been out of the house for almost thirteen hours. He apologised profusely, but Bruno already knew how much chaos the strikes were causing on the city, having seen it on the news. He could see the tiredness in Mike’s eyes and offered to forego his birthday treat in order to let Mike head to bed. However, Mike was having none of it. He tried to rally himself, heading for a shower and coming back in, feeling more refreshed. They ate a normal meal and chatted about much of the same things as they usually did.

“Come sit down,” Bruno smiled, patting his extra large, personal chair in front of the TV; a wicked, horny grin plastered across his face.

Mike did as he was told. He never sat in Bruno’s chair and it felt strange to him now; so roomy and worn-in. He stood briefly once again as a hugely fat Bruno kneeled on the floor in front of him and pulled down his pants so that he could play with him more effectively. Right away, the fat man’s expert tongue set to work, making Mke take huge long sighs of pleasure. He put his hand on Bruno’s head for a moment to stop him. “Honey, it’s your birthday. I should be doing this to you,” he worried.

Bruno shushed him and set back to work, making Mike’s legs twitch as he came close to cimaxing at least a couple of times. Then, just like that, Mike suddenly felt a long, chocolate cream cake getting pushed between his parted lips. He chuckled, having been caught off guard completely. He’d almost forgotten about this part of their horny evening. Where had his kinky boyfriend even hidden those cakes? Still, he chewed and swallowed, having accepted this would be exactly the sort of thing he would be getting up to that night.

Bruno’s demeanor was entirely different. His hands caressed and stroked Mike’s body like he was a precious, god-like being; his large, chubby hands stroking his flat stomach and fondling Mike to keep his hardness as he pushed in another cream cake, then another. Yet, still Bruno was edging him, making him think his time had arrived, then pulling it away.

Mike had never felt such a rush of different emotions. At one point, he would feel dominant and pampered, being hand fed and pleasured by his lover. But then, the next, Bruno would stop everything and chuckle at all the food smeared around his face, declaring him to be a ‘greedy boy’, before resuming as before.

Mike’s stomach was getting tight and yet he still hadn’t climaxed. The shape of it was distended as Bruno rubbed his giant hand over it with a wicked smirk plastered across his face. Mike stared at his boyfriend’s chubby hands as they gathered the fattening foods and felt as those wide, sausage-like fingers he had long admired, now stuffing it all into his open mouth.

“You’re such a good little piggy!” Bruno teased him as it was clear just how full and aroused Mike was at that moment; those expert hands now whipping his erection up into a dangerous frenzy that could tip him over the edge. Mike stared down at his body, having never seen himself so bloated, nor felt his stomach quite so full. Then, that was it, the moment that Bruno chose to let him climax, just as his eyes settled on the little swollen midsection that was now his stomach. The feeling was intense; more so than Mike had ever encountered before and he let out an embarrassing multi-toned moan that only highlighted just how caught out he had been by the whole experience. He felt utterly spent and withered like a dead flower, being taken to bed by his enormous lover.

The next morning was much the same as any other. Bruno thanked Mike for indulging his kink to let him feed him, and chuckled as he apologised for how bloated and full Mike felt, right up until dinner time that day. But Bruno hadn’t stopped lamenting about how much he had enjoyed it and how well Mike had eaten. He recreated the moan Mike made when he climaxed as if it was the sexiest sound he had ever heard, eating more than usual, as Bruno tended to do when he was aroused.

Perhaps it was the way that Bruno recounted that night over and over that made sure the experience never left Mike’s mind, but now, even the thought of it was making Mike feel horny. His memory was crystal clear as the image of his bloated stomach came back to him each and every time he ate.

“I see you guys are still very happy,” commented Danny, one of Bruno’s gainer friends that Mike had been introduced to when they first started going out.

“He’s wonderful!” Bruno gushed, rolling his big arm over Mike’s shoulders. “I’ve never been this happy with anyone before.”

Mike blushed and smiled, always enjoying how open Bruno was about his affection for him. “Thanks,” he mumbled shyly.

“Mike also had his first, er…” Bruno began cheekily, looking across to Mike as if to gauge whether he should share these sorts of intimate details. “He had his first feed the other week,” he finally finished.

“Seriously?” Danny laughed aloud, his jaw dropping in surprise. One look at Mike’s athletic form and no one would ever have suspected that he would be open to try feeding.

“No… it wasn’t like that,” Mike tried to explain, feeling that Danny was suddenly seeing him in a whole new light. “It was just a little birthday treat for Bruno. That’s all. I didn’t want to do it.”

“He fucking loved it!” Bruno went on; full of excitement to explain; like this had been bottled up inside him ever since it had happened. “He ate like a pig and then squirted absolutely everywhere afterwards. Shall I do the noise you made when you came?” he asked Mike with a cheeky smirk.

“No!” Mike shot back with blood rushing to his face.

“Well, well, well!” Danny smiled to himself. “I never would have picked you for a gainer!”

“I’m not!” Mike tried defensively. “It was just a one time thing!”

“Sure,” Danny teased him. “That’s what they all say!” He winked and laughed, letting Mike know that he was only joking with him. Then the conversation changed, leaving Mike feeling surprisingly disorientated as they went back to discussing more mundane affairs. His heart was racing. Was he annoyed at Bruno for sharing their intimate secret like that? Or was it something else?

A few more weeks passed by. Bruno had made some significant progress with his weight, to the point where his tummy was starting to fall out of the t-shirts he had worn when he and Mike had first gotten together; arousing them both beyond belief. Bruno had wanted to celebrate, getting high on some weed and stuffing himself full, just as he had done in his early days, back in college.

“I fucking love you,” Bruno growled, barely able to focus properly. He slapped his big gut and grinned. “I’m getting so fucking huge with your help, and I love it!”

“Well, I’m very pleased to be of some assistance,” Mike chuckled back, in much the same way any sober guy would, speaking to someone so high.

“And you know what else I love?” Bruno asked mischivously.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Mike smiled back, indulging Bruno with his attention, despite the fact that he knew the big man would never remember any of this in the morning.

“I love how chubby you’re getting too!” Bruno whispered as if not wanting to be overheard by a thousand invisible people that surrounded them.

“I’m not getting chubby,” Mike laughed, rolling his eyes at how far gone Bruno was by now.

But Bruno simply threw his head back and smiled with complete joy and happiness. “Oh, I love that!” he moaned with pleasure. “I love how you don’t even realise it! It’s so fucking… insanely hot! You’ve got a little chubby paunch and you haven’t even noticed! It makes me so fucking horny. If you only knew how much fucking butter… and cream… and oils I throw into your food when I cook! Oh, you’d be so fucking mad if you knew!” he giggled to himself; still with that blissful smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Mike stood up, resisting the urge to touch his body and feel. His heart was beating with a peculiar speed, considering how little attention he usually paid to the ramblings of Bruno when he was high. Calmly and without speed, he took himself to the bathroom and shut the door. He saw his face in the mirror, much like every other time he was in here. Pragmatically, he lifted his shirt from his body and dropped it onto the floor. He realised quite quickly that he hadn’t scrutinised his body in quite some time, especially given how quickly the mirror steamed up in this tiny bathroom whenever the shower was running. And yet, the shape of him was all wrong. Since when had his stomach looked so swollen? As he brushed with his finger against his belly button, he noticed a strange, alien fluttering beneath the skin. Unlike the sleeping Bruno in the next room, he hadn’t just gorged himself to create such a bloat. No, underneath his skin was an entirely new, and surprisingly thick, layer of fresh blubber. He grabbed it and pinched at it, surprised at how much he could hold between his fingers and thumb. He turned to his side and noted with horror how very much the shape of it curved out enough to look like a paunch, just as Bruno had said.

Throwing down his sweatpants and underwear, Mike turned and inspected his rear, only to discover peculiarly plump glutes where his tight butt had once been. His fingers delicately traced the marks on his skin around his waist where his underwear had been quietly digging into him and he bounced on his toes, seeing a ripple of fat flutter through developing love handles.

Just what had happened to him, he thought with horror, pressing his fingers into his face and realising that there was indeed a little padding of fat growing under his chin. His body was so altered and he hadn’t even realised it! His focus had been so squarely on Bruno, it had left him blind to all else.

Yet, there it was, as he prodded and poked, grabbed and jigled: the very thing that had led him here, into a kinky relatioship with an ever fattening 440lb man; his raging hard-on, pumped full of blood and throbbing with lust at the sight of his own reflection. Mike’s hand reached for it, as if from pure instinct. Then, with very little time needed, he stroked it up and down, up and down, until it ejaculated with a violent force all across the mirror.

The next morning, Mike awoke to the smell of frying bacon. Bruno was always up early after a session like the one last night, and he generally consumed more than usual the following day. The big man re-entered their bedroom with a grin, passing a large plate of greasy goodness to Mike; it’s hefty portion cleverly camouflaged by the more extreme size of Bruno’s own plateful.

Instinctively, Mike accepted it, only remembering Bruno’s confession from hours earlier as he was halfway through. Just as he had anticipated, Bruno didn’t remember much from the night before. Once he’d finished the box of doughnuts, he claimed that his mind was a blur, and Mike knew there was no point in bringing up what had been said. However, he did notice, for the first time, how much Bruno was casually glancing over to check on his lover’s progress with the food, inexplicably eliciting a surge of blood into his groin. Throughout the day, Mike also noticed how much Bruno’s eating and snacking habits were rubbing off on him. Whenever Bruno headed to get something for himself from the kitchen, he would always return to the couch with something small and seemingly insignificant for Mike as well. How long had Bruno been doing that without him even registering how these incidental, accidental calories must have been bloating his usual diet?

There were other revelations as well. When Mike went for dinner at his parents’ place one evening, he noticed straight away how small their dinner plates seemed in comparison to what he was now so used to, living with Bruno. He ate it all up, yet his stomach still churned with hunger, even as he left to head home. Then there was the night that he went out for food with his friend, Martha. He’d worn something loose and relaxed, given how much he was starting to notice his paunch in all his other clothes, yet Martha still picked up on a differene to his eating, laughing at how quickly he ate and how full he filled his mouth. Mike blushed. The way Martha described the way he was eating seemed to be exactly how Bruno gorged himself. It had been one of the traits that had turned Mike on the most about his huge boyfriend: the way he ate so ravenously, taking enormous mouthfuls that filled his cheeks and then swallowing it all down and starting again. But had it become a habit that Mike had subconsciously picked up himself as well? Was he now eating in a way that was reminiscent of his 450lb boyfriend?

There was an easy solution to all of this confusion that Mike felt. All he had to do was ask Bruno what was going on. Was he noticeably fatter than he used to be? Was Bruno overfeeding him, as he had claimed that night when he was high? However, Mike had never been particularly great at facing issues head-on. In fact, he found the silence and the ‘not talking about it’ to be strangely comforting. He could forget it was happening and attempt to convince himself that it was all just a kinky little fantasy that was playing out in his own head. That was, until the obvious strain of his pants, underwear and t-shirts started to become too much. Mike remembered how flustered he had been when someone in work had called him out on his weight gains, prodding an outstretched finger into his middle and laughing. He remembered the plethora of emotions within him: embarrassment, shame, disappointment. However, it also supercharged his libido to an insane extent, giving him a boner that he had hardly been able to shift for a whole week.

Upgrading his work pants became the logical strategy, not wanting to generate too much attention to his new shape, nor rip them open if he were to bend over. Likewise, his shirts could look unprofessional if they were to strain any more than they currently were. Mike looked in the mirror and nodded in approval. Yes, these would work well. His new body shape was nicely concealed with ease if you could ignore the slight puffiness to his face. It was certainly something he could learn to live with without too much worry. But that was before the fat started to build up more in his chest. He’d noticed a slight bounce under his shirts for a few days, but it was only when he stood in the mirror that he realised how pointed and full his nipples now appeared. They began to show through, even when he wore his most flattering of shirts and t-shirts. Then Mike could see Bruno staring at them hungrily, knowing exactly what he was doing, and loving every second of it.

It was only a few weeks later, when the concert tickets arrived that Bruno had booked for Mike as a Valenetine’s Day treat, that the enormous Bruno made his next big move. Mike had been gushing about what an amazing gift his thoughtful boyfriend had surprised him with, and kicking himself instead for having forgotten Valentine’s Day altogether.

“You really didn’t get me anything, huh?” Bruno asked with a bemused smile.

“I’m so sorry. I just don’t know where this month has gone. It feels like yesterday we were taking down the holiday decorations,” Mike tried as an excuse.

“That’s okay,” Bruno smiled, grabbing Mike’s butt and rubbing it suggestively, as he tended to do quite often these days, having become seemingly very obsessed with the shape and feel of Mike’s glutes. “I’m sure you can think of a way to make it up to me.”

“I’m positive I could,” Mike smiled back suggestively, turned on by his lover’s chubby hands touching his softer body; his shirt being lifted off.

Bruno headed straight to his target; his tongue sliding over Mike’s nipple with an expertise unkown to Mike beforehand.

As Mike moaned, Bruno’s hand massaged it’s way into Mike’s groin until the increasingly thicker legs parted to grant him better access. “It’s time you had another feeding,” the enormous, horny man whispered as he lifted his head to kiss Mike.

“Another one?” Mike asked, as if it hadn’t been months since his last one.

“Another one,” Bruno nodded, leading his porky lover to the big chair by the TV and sitting him down. “Right now!” he stated with a smirk.

Deciding not to argue, Mike waited patiently as Bruno disappeared and then returned with mountains of supplies. Where had he hidden all those things?

Mike sighed and let his head flop back into the chair. Bruno had clearly orchestrated the whole thing, knowing that Mike would forget all about Valentine’s Day, given how busy he had been in work. “All right… Just this once,” he chuckled, surrendering. After all, he really should have remembered their Valentine’s Day. No excuses

This new feeding was kinky from the offset. Bruno’s hands rubbed and pinched at Mike’s extra pounds more than usual, and he pushed in the food with a lot less compromise than he had last time. “What a greedy little pig…” the man whispered between sucking Mike off and pausing at just the right moments to prolong the experience.

There was a swirl and great gushing of chemicals and pleasure in Mike’s brain throughout the entire process. He thought he would climax, then not. He thought Bruno’s teasing couldn’t get any better, and then it did. He’d almost forgotten how arousing his feeding had been last time, and then it all came rushing back with ten times the original intensity.

“Are you going to keep getting fatter for me, Mike?” Bruno asked, expertly stroking his lover’s hardness as if he really might let him climax this time.

Mike moaned. The answer was obvious. “Yes,” he nodded submissively, desperate to feel that final pleasure.

“Say it. Promise me!” Bruno ordered.

Mike inhaled as much as he could as the orgasm built and his legs twitched with the impending climax. “I promise. I’ll get fatter for you. I’ll eat whatever you want me to!”

“Are you a gainer?” Bruno asked, suddenly deadly serious.

“What?” Mike asked back, completely thrown by the word and the thought of it being deployed to describe him. He looked down at his body, so completely altered and swollen, not just with the food he had eaten that day, but with the pounds and pounds of pure blubber he had amassed over months and months. He’d let it all happen to him without so much as a second thought. His gym subscription had been a pointless outgoing from his bank account for weeks now. He really was… a gainer.

“Say it!” Bruno demanded, knowing that he had taken Mike over the edge and he was running out of time before he would squirt everywhere.

“I’m a gainer!” Mike shouted as he came. “I’m a gainer!”

The smug smile couldn’t be wiped off Bruno’s face over the next few days, even as Mike had panicked and asked if they could take this new direction of his quite slowly. Bruno had agreed, without any sincerity whatsoever. Mike found that his portion sizes had almost doubled overnight and Bruno immediately began experimenting with new pet names for him, like ‘piggy’ and ‘hog’. They’d also had more sex than even in the early days of their relationship; both allowing the eroticism of food and bloating to overtake them.

As Mike’s paunch swelled into a full gut, he hardly recognised his own kinky reflection. He’d started adopting items from Bruno’s old wardrobe from the time when he’d just finished college. The comments on his weight from colleagues and friends had stopped, just as Bruno had warned him they would; the seriousness and speed of his rapidly increasing weight startling them all into silence. Aside from eating a little bit more, Mike could hardly understand why it was all happening to him so quickly. Pants he had bought only weeks before, were now unable to close; the buttons on his shirts straining to contain the expanding flesh behind them.

Likewise, Bruno had packed on weight at a greater pace than usual, gaining his annual 25lbs in only three months of Mike becoming an official gainer. His double chin had continued swallowing up his neck and his remarkable gut had a new, more extreme width and sag to it than ever before. The gainer bug inside of him was more ravenous than it had been in years - and it showed!

“Look at you two!” laughed Bruno’s gainer friend, Danny. “Fuck!”

Bruno smiled proudly, lifting his enormous t-shirt up to show off the huge expanse of skin and faint stretch marks across his own monstrous stomach. Meanwhile, Mike held back, unused to such attention and merely smiling at how delighted Bruno was to have gained so much weight.

“And look at you!” Danny marvelled, seeing the stout stomach that was pushing its way out of Mike’s torso. “I hardly recognised you!”

“He’s still a little shy about it, aren’t you?” Bruno grinned at his boyfriend, giving his wider butt a little pat at the same time.

“I can’t believe you finally let Bruno have his way with you!” Danny smiled at Mike. “He’s been wanting to fatten you up ever since you two met.”

Mike looked across at Bruno with surprise. “Since we met?” he asked in alarm.

Bruno smirked, despite the truth slipping out. “Of course I did,” he laughed. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I just knew that with a little time and patience, you’d make the perfect piggy for me!”

“Piggy, huh?” Danny chuckled, watching their interaction with more than just bemusement.

“He loves it!” Bruno smiled back excitedly; his tone full of mischief, just as it always was when he was about to overshare. “If he’s eating something and can’t quite finish it all, all I have to do is…”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Mike jumped in, full of embarrassment.

“Take a look at his butt too!” Bruno insisted, spinning Mike slightly so that Danny would see.

“Jeez!” Danny marvelled, seeing Mike’s previously tight glutes now so overwhelmed with the fresh fat that had both widened and rounded out his once pretty little rump. “Not to mention those love handles!”

Mike’s face flushed.

“He’s at that stage where everything is starting to jiggle, all over his body. Such a turn on! In fact, he’s already gained his first hundred pounds!” Bruno boasted.

“First?” Mike asked to clarify, trying to keep his composure and hide the erection that the seemingly throwaway comment had just given him.

“It looks like this fatty really got to you, didn’t he?” Danny chuckled, proudly throwing his arm around Bruno’s big shoulders, like he had acomplished something monumental.

“Yeah,” Mike nodded in agreement, looking on at the man he knew he never wanted to be without; the man who had changed his life in multiple ways - and all for the better. “I guess he did…”

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theemporium · 10 months

Text

[2.9k] when your boyfriend is giving his piano more attention than you, you set out to remind him just where his hands should be instead. (smut)

based off this request

It was torture.

Pure fucking torture.

That was the only way to describe his current predicament, and yet, a sadistic part of him enjoyed it. He enjoyed it far more than he should have. He enjoyed it more than he ever thought he would. He didn’t even know if he wanted it to stop, even if his body was begging for it too.

The situation leading up to this moment was stupid, honestly.

Charles loved the piano and it was a fact known to everyone. Despite the love and passion he had for racing, it had become a source of frustration in more recent months—something the people close to him knew all too well. And even if he kept loving it, there was times where he needed to step away from the sheets of data and the SIM car set up in the spare room of his apartment.

There were times he just needed a release.

And, it came in the form of the piano.

At first, it was just a simple skill he decided to pick up in hopes that it would be a nice distraction from the endless hours he spent worrying about racing. Then, it became a hobby, a genuine interest to further the skill he had and become better. He was competitive after all.

Then, it became a way of expression.

The notes flowing as his fingers danced across the keyboard felt freeing. The way the instrument did exactly what he wanted when he wanted it was something he lacked in other aspects of his life in recent years. The compositions were something to be proud of, a mark he could leave on the world beyond his career in motorsports.

The piano became an outlet for Charles, something he became more reliant on in the last few weeks than he even realised.

And it left you as a very sexually frustrated girlfriend.

You loved Charles. There was never a doubt in your mind that you loved Charles. You loved and supported what he did, you encouraged him to express himself whether it be in words or notes played on the piano. But, something bitter and resentful bubbled inside you at the fact you were fighting for your boyfriend’s attention, and your competition was a fucking musical instrument.

It just became easier for him to vent out his frustrations in a wordless hobby, and you understood that. But you missed him.

You missed his touch and the way his fingers would glide over every inch of your body. You missed his kisses and the way they would leave you panting and breathless. You missed the way that when you were with him, you were his whole fucking world.

You missed your boyfriend’s attention just being on you, so you decided to teach him a lesson.

Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it wasn’t cruel enough. Maybe it was exactly what your boyfriend needed to remember the pretty girl he got to call his.

“I didn’t say you could stop playing, Charles.”

He let out a shaky breath, a shiver running down his spine as his eyes snapped down to the keyboard beneath him. His hands were hovering over the white keys, his fingers itching to move but his brain was blank. Every single coherent thought was lost and he couldn’t fucking remember how to play a chord, let along a song.

But you asked him to keep playing, and who was he to deny his girl?

Even if said girl was currently lying on top of the grand piano he bought a few months back, clad in some lacy number he swore he had never seen before as her hands glided over the body he should have been touching, kissing, loving.

“Play, Charles. Show me what you’ve spent the last few weeks composing instead of touching me.”

He cleared his throat, his brain scrambling to remember the song that flowed so easily for him mere hours ago. But now, all he could think about was the noises that you were making, that you sounded better than any song he could ever compose. He was thinking about how he could listen to your pretty moans for the rest of his life.

His fingers were moving, slower and less confident that he would usually play, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he watched you closely.

The slick, black wood beneath you was cold. It was cold and refreshing against your heated skin as you ran your hands down your stomach, your touch feather-light and teasing as you heard your boyfriend let out a strangled moan.

Your eyes were closed but you could imagine it so clearly. You could imagine the flush on his cheeks, the colour sweet and pink and a colour you wanted to pain the world. You could imagine the dazed look in his watercolour eyes, the same look he got when his head was between your thighs and he had no expiration on when he had to pull away. You could imagine the way his broad shoulders tensed, the stiff movements as he tried to grasp onto whatever self-restraint he had left.

“Cherie, please,” he whispered, almost too low for you to hear.

Your lips twitched upwards. “Play me your pretty song, baby.”

He was distracted, and his playing told you as much. He was distracted with the way your fingers glided over your nipples, the way they hardened beneath the lacy material you wore that barely covered them. He was distracted when your other hand slid lower down your body, as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your panties.

He was distracted by the small gasp that left your lips when your fingers pressed down on your swollen clit. He was distracted by the needy whine you let out as your fingers glided along your soaking cunt, collecting your arousal before you finally slid one finger inside yourself. He was distracted by the way your body squirmed and arched as you touched yourself, as you moaned his name with his broken playing in the background.

Charles was completely enraptured by you. He couldn’t fucking get enough of you. He didn’t care about the piano or his song, he didn’t care about anything other than the pretty girl fucking herself in front of him and the fact his cock was straining in the confinements of his boxers and sweatpants right now.

He needed you. He needed you so fucking bad.

“Let me,” he croaked out, his eyes locked on the way your back arched off the piano. “Let me make you feel so good, baby. I can make you feel so good.”

Your head turned to the side, your eyes fixated on his glassy eyes and pouty lips.

“Charles,” you moaned, your face contorting as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Please, baby, please,” he continued to beg, one hand dropping away from the keyboard to palm the length of his cock over his sweatpants. “Anything you want, let me give you it.”

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he repeated breathlessly.

“Make me come, Charlie,” you whispered. “Show me what a good boy you are.”

The words had barely left your lips before his hands were on you. His fingers were digging into the fat of your thighs as he turned your body to face him, as he pulled you towards the edge of the piano until your panty-clad cunt was inches away from his face.

His fingers ran over the lacy material of the nightgown you were wearing before he pushed it further up your stomach, until it pooled just above your belly button. He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he leaned down to lick a strip over your clothed cunt.

“Fuck,” you groaned as your head fell back against the piano, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue pushed against the material of your panties. “Charles—”

“I know, cherie,” he murmured, his words hot and breathy against you as his nose nudged against your clit. “I know, I know what my baby needs.”

“Thought you were my good boy,” you goaded, your hands fisting the material of your nightgown as his arms wound around your thighs to lock you in place.

“I am,” he mumbled, his eyes falling shut as he placed kisses along your inner thighs, the slight stubble on his cheeks scratching against your skin in a way that made you arch closer to him. “Gonna show you how good I am.”

The sound of fabric ripping was the least of your concerns as he tossed them away, the cool air hitting your exposed cunt for less than a few seconds before his mouth was on you. Charles loved being between your thighs, he could have spent his whole life between them if he got the chance.

And now, with your thighs squeezing his ears and the sounds of your pretty whines echoing through the room, he realised just how long it had been since he had found himself in this position. That between the countless meetings, back-on-back race weekends and constant travelling, that he hadn’t been giving his princess the love she deserved.

That he had been depriving himself of his favourite meal.

“Charles!” You cried out as his tongue sloppily lapped at your cunt, appreciating groans vibrating against you as your legs squeezed around him. You tried to clench your thighs together, only for him to pin your legs open again.

Charles was a starved man, and he was fucking devouring you.

The words leaving his lips were better off being incoherent to you. Phrases mixed between French and Italian that you didn’t quite understand, but it was hot as he lapped and licked and sucked and kissed every inch of your needy cunt until your thighs were soaked and you were certain that you were dripping down onto the keyboard.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whined, your hands darting down to entangle themselves in his thick curls he had grown out. He let out a needy noise from the back of his throat, one that had his fingers digging into your skin so tight that you were sure it would bruise in the morning, but you didn’t care. “Right there, baby, fuck! Feel so fucking good, Charles, so good—oh!”

Your nails scratched against his scalp as his eyes fluttered shut, as he groaned against your cunt until you were coming. Your body tensed and shook, your moans pathetic and loud and just the way he liked it. His name was like a mantra on your lips, repeated over and over like a prayer.

But Charles didn’t stop.

The swipes of his tongue were slow and lazy, but he didn’t stop even after you came. He licked up the mess he had made, he pressed your hips into the piano as you wiggled and squirmed under his hold. He enjoyed the dull pain as you pulled on his hair as he licked your wet thighs and needy cunt until you said the single phrase that could make him pull away from between your legs.

“Please, Charlie,” you whispered, breathless and whiny and greedy for more of him. “Need your cock.”

The noise that left his lips was some pathetic mix of a groan and a whine as he pulled away from you, his lips and chin glistening with your release as his tongue darted out for one more taste. He pushed himself up onto his feet, the piano bench now long forgotten as he quickly shoved his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees.

His hand slid up your leg, lightly slapping the side of your thigh until you lifted your head to look at him.

“Turn around, baby,” he murmured, his voice lower and gruffer than it was before. “Show me that pretty ass, cherie.”

Your hands were braced against the piano as Charles placed one hand on your waist, the other guiding his cock deep inside your cunt until he was buried to the prim. You let out a noise of content, the desire for the slight burn of his thick cock pushing into you eagerly fixed after weeks of craving him.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, a desperate noise leaving his lips as his head dipped down to press his lips against yours. And you let him kiss you. You let his tongue swipe over your bottom lip, you let yourself taste your release on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. You let him kiss you until your lungs burned for air and your body craved for him to move.

“Fuck me,” you whispered breathlessly against his lips. “Fuck me like you miss me.”

“I have fucking missed you,” Charles groaned as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Missed every single part of you, cherie. You’re fucking perfect.”

“Show me, Charles,” you sighed as your fingers gripped the edge of the piano. “Fuck me on this stupid piano and show me.”

Charles was a patient man. He was a patient man who had the tolerance and restraint that would make a saint envious. He was usually so collected, so calm and put together even in situations where he didn’t have to be.

But any semblance of patience was thrown out the window when it came to you, especially when it came to fucking you.

The room that was usually full of beautiful notes and passionate music was now replaced with the sound of skin on skin, slapping against each other and accompanied by debauch noises that left a pink tint to his cheeks.

He had one hand pressed against the middle of your back, keeping your tits and face pressed against the cool wood as he fucked you from behind. His thrusts were hard, his tempo was fast and you felt the coil in your stomach tightening faster than you ever had before.

He could feel the walls of your cunt clench around his cock, could feel the slick of your arousal staining his own thighs but he didn’t fucking care. His lips were red and raw from how hard he was biting down, his skin felt like it was on fire and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

And yet, he never wanted to leave that moment.

The sight of you bent over his fucking piano, your ass jiggling with every snap of his hips and your nails desperately trying to dig into the glossy wood like you needed something to grip onto, like you needed a lifeline to ground you. The way you screamed his name, the way you screamed for his cock and the way he thrusted deep inside you, hitting that spot over and over again until you could feel him in your stomach.

“So good f’me,” he groaned as his hand groped the meat of your ass in his palm. “You were made for me, cherie, my perfect fit.”

“Charles,” you choked out between moans, but your boy knew you better than you knew yourself.

“That’s it, baby,” he whimpered. “Come for me, let me feel you. I wanna feel how good I make you feel, princess.”

The nickname wasn’t used often, but it was more than enough to tip you over the edge. The noises you let out were borderline pornographic as Charles continued to fuck you through your orgasm, as he leaned over until his chest was pressed against your back and his cock was hitting a new, deeper spot with every thrust.

His lips were on your neck, kisses placed on your skin between whispered French phrases of praise as he finally came, as he released inside you and felt your walls clench around him like you didn’t want his cock to leave you just yet.

You were panting and breathless, your cheek pressed against the grand piano as you let your eyes fall shut at the feeling of his gentle kisses and the soft touch of his hands all over your body. Your lips twitched as you heard him murmured ‘I love you’ over and over again in different languages until he needed to pause for a breath of air.

“Je t’aime aussi,” you murmured back, your pronunciation still a little dodgy despite the time you’ve spent dating the Monegasque, but it made him smile nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he ducked his head down to kiss your cheek. “I love you more than the piano, you know that?”

You snorted. “Well, I sure hope so after that.”

Charles grinned. “Nothing could ever compare to fucking you, mon amour.”

You peaked a look at your boyfriend. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” he confirmed.

“Not even round two?” You teased.

“Depends,” Charles murmured as his fingers pulled at the hem of your nightgown you were still wearing. “Do you have any more surprises for me?”

“I did a lot of shopping while you were gone,” you told him with an innocent smile.

His eyes darkened. “Cancel all our plans for this weekend.”

You raised your brows. “Charles—”

“We aren’t leaving the house,” he told you as he squeezed your hips. “We need to make up for lost time, even if that means fucking you on this damn piano in every single piece you bought.”

“We need to eat, Charles,” you murmured, though the problem sounded just as dumb as it did in your head when he grinned at you.

“I’ll order you food in.”

“And what will you eat?”

Charles’ smile only widened. “Jump up on the piano again and I’ll show you, princess.”

It was safe to say, neither your friends or family heard from you or Charles until at least three days later.

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aerynwrites · 6 months

Text

Whittle Mistakes

Halsin x GN!Reader

A/N: Based off this Request. Hope you all enjoy this little fluffy piece!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: small injury, magic healing, mostly pure fluff

The afternoon is a mild one today, the usual heat giving way to a pleasantly cool breeze as you listen intently to Halsin’s instructions.

You managed to convince the druid to show you how to whittle, a feat that actually took very little convincing in truth. Once you found out about his hobby, you’d been wanting to ask him to teach you. Not only because you are genuinely interested, but because you knew it’d give you an excuse to spend time with him away from the others.

He’s been increasingly patient with you, bringing all of the supplies you both would need in order to take on this task. He even had small blocks of wood already prepared, and was now walking you slowly through the steps of what to do.

He’d already shown you how to draw a rough shape of what you want to create on the sides of the wood with a small piece of charcoal, and now he was showing you the actual techniques of whittling.

He holds the wood in one hand, and his knife in the other, large hands holding the tool steady as he slowly carved small slivers of wood away.

“The key is to not cut away too much wood at once,” he says, as you lean over to watch from your seat next to him. “You can always cut more away, but you cannot put it back. Better to go slow.”

You nod as you continue to watch him. You’re both sitting in a small clearing in the woods, Halsin having one leg propped up to support the arm holding the knife while the other lays comfortably out in front of him as he works. You sit right beside him, cross legged as you support the block of wood on one of your legs.

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

Halsin smiles. “Precisely. Now,” he gestures to your block, “go ahead and start, let me know if you have any questions and I will also try to keep an eye on you if you need assistance. But there’s no better teacher than instinct, so just do what you think is best.”

You nod as he turns back to his work, but don’t kiss the way his eyes flick back over to you as you pick up your knife. From everything he’s told you so far, it can’t be too hard, once you get to the intricate parts of the project it will be, but right now you’re just trying to get a general shape.

What could go wrong?

You start slowly, pressing the knife’s sharp edge against the wood and pulling it towards you slowly as you dutifully work to shave off more and more of the wood. Halsin is of course whittling a duck; but you’ve opted to try and carve a bear, wanting to give it to Halsin at the end.

Silence falls over the clearing as you both work, only occasionally making small talk or commenting on one another’s work. It’s comfortable like this, a nice reprieve from everything happening around you all.

You and Halsin have grown close over the past several weeks, and to say you were surprised when he expressed interest in you was an understatement. But you’d happily accepted, and as time went on, it feels like you both have known one another for years, falling into such a comfortable partnership that it never made you think twice.

Even now, despite the silence, you’re content just being close to him and sharing something that he cares about. You’re happy to just be in his presence even if there’s no words passing between you.

Soon, more defined shapes start to appear from your respective wood blocks, Halsin’s looking much more identifiable than yours. Taking a moment to look at your misshapen attempt at a bear, you realize its malformity is because of its head. You don’t seem to carve enough wood away to create a defined difference between the head and body.

But as you try to do so, you find your knife slipping against the awkward angle. So, in an attempt to achieve your goal, you turn the wood in your lap, and move to run the knife away from your body, hoping the downward angle will help.

You just start to push the knife when you see Halsin reach for you.

“Be careful, my heart-“

His warning comes too late. Your knife slips from the woodblock, and with the pressure of you pushing down, you’re unable to react fast enough to stop the sharp blade from slicing into your leg where the wood rests.

You cry out in surprise more than pain, but as the blood wells up from the shallow cut, the sharp sting makes itself known.

Halsin is up and crouching in front of you before you can even blink, taking the knife and wood from you. The blade cut through the thin cotton of your pants, allowing you to see the wound clearly. It’s nothing serious and doesn’t seem too deep, but Halsin brows are creased with worry nonetheless.

He reaches out for you, placing gentle hands on your thigh just around the wound, inspecting it quickly.

“Halsin,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop his own. “I’m fine, it’s just a little cut. Nothing some bandages won’t fix.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because before you can stop him, bright golden light glows beneath his palms and you watch as the wound closes up in the blink of an eye, the pain ebbing away until it’s gone completely.

Halsin looks up at you then, eyes soft and you can’t help but let out a quiet huff.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly as Halsin shifts closer, one hand coming to rest behind you as a smile tugs at his lips.

“I could not very well leave you injured, what kind of partner would I be then?”

You roll your eyes, but reach up to cup his cheek affectionately. “You’re such a mother hen, sometimes.”

A small chuckle escapes him before his lips capture your own in a chast kiss. One your return happily before he pulls away.

“I should have warned you not to carve away from yourself,” he says softly, moving back so he’s sitting in front of you once more, reaching for your now lumpy piece of wood.

“It’s alrigh,” you assure him, taking your project from his hands as you pick up your knife once more. “I should have known that wouldn’t end well,” you admit, staring down at your sad excuse for a bear. “I was trying to make this look more like a bear but…I think it’s a lost cause.”

Smiling Halsin shakes his head. “Do not give up, my heart. You can achieve whatever you set your mind to, even something as simple as whittling.”

You laugh, and start to continue your work. “We’ll see about that.”

The smile on his lips doesn’t leave as he takes up his position beside you once more, and this time, you shift to lean into his side as you work, smiling when you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“And I love you more,” he replies.

Then, the comfortable silence falls over you once more. The only sound being the gentle scraping of knives in wood as you both continue your work.

#Halsin x reader #bg3 x reader #halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 halsin #bg3

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bloodsbane · 30 days

Text

what i love about laios is that he's actually very good at putting puzzle pieces together BUT HERE'S THE THING 1) he needs to HAVE the information, and 2) (this is important) he needs to KNOW it is information he should care about

and i think this could be said of anyone but the thing with laios is that people tend to view his lack of awareness wrt social etiquette and memory problems as pure indifference and/or obliviousness; sometimes they misinterpret his motives based on their inaccurate expectations of him and therefore don't give his thoughts on a subject the credit he deserves

one of the most obvious examples of this happens at least twice in the manga as i remember it, but the most recent incident was when they were trying to resurrect falin. there's a moment where laios mentions reconstructing both of the warg skeletons, as their bones are mixed in with hers. both chilchuck and senshi balk at this, with chilchuck complaining aloud, questioning laios' priorities,

and laios quickly, angrily retorts. his reason for making the suggestion is perfectly logical and practical, but because his friends are used to his interest in monsters influencing his judgement, often in ways they see as frivolous or dangerous, they don't come to the same conclusion. one which i'd argue is kind of obvious considering the situation

we see it again during his fight with toshiro, where toshiro demands to know what laios plans to do to save falin. laios takes a minute to answer, but he DOES answer, following the logic that if falin is a chimera because of (and controlled by) the mad mage, then the logical next step is to confront/defeat/usurp them

then in the following episode, when chilchuck brings it up again, laios explains what he (now) knows about thistle, mentioning that he's the same elf that laios saw in the living paintings, which is why he knows thistle's connection to delgal. the party reacts like this:

i'd say this is an example of them feeling frustration over laios' habit of having 'bad timing', not knowing when or how to speak at appropriate moments. theyre judging him for not saying something earlier, as if he already knew all this but didn't think to mention it when it was relevant, when the reality is that laios only just now had all the pieces he needed to understand the full picture

and i mention this bit specifically because i think it's a great way to explain what i mean by point 2: laios needs to know when information is important and worth considering

which, again, feels fucking obvious. but as someone who ALSO has debilitating issues with remembering important shit, i find this particular element of it pretty relatable and critical to my overall point. it's not laios' fault that he didn't know who thistle was or his significance - why the hell would he assume that a person he met in a living painting, presumably long since dead in reality, should be someone who's face, name, or motives he keeps in mind?

ultimately, i guess what i'm trying to say with all this is that the way others treat laios' intelligence is not congruent to how actually smart he is. one of the things i love most about laios, what is possibly his biggest strength and the reason he is such a great protagonist, is that laios is willing to think things through and find the most logical conclusion to a problem, no matter how outlandish or dangerous or seemingly impossible that conclusion may be. sister got eaten? race back down to go get her. can't afford food? fight, defeat, and eat dangerous monsters. sister's fully digested? use black magic to bring her back. now she's a chimera? defeat the mage controlling her and use that power to fix it.

anyways. what was even my point with this post? i guess it is that laios is smart, at least as smart as anyone else in the cast, arguably smarter than some. he is intelligent and utilizes that intelligence in many ways, not JUST when it comes to monster info (though that is his best and sexiest brand of knowledge)

and also please be nice to your friends with memory problems. it's rough out here for forgetful bitches

#banebabbles #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi meta #cant remember if that's my tag for it. oh well #this post is kinda messy but it's fine it doesn't matter #i just had to express some thoughts after rewatching some eps w partner #i was fumbling w my closer but i guess it really is just that like #i have a lot of feelings about anyone calling laios dumb or dense or totally oblivious #bc he's not. he just doesn't think The Same Way as the other chars and also #is at a DISADVANTAGE. bc of the AUTISM. can you believe it #he gets taken for granted and others' perceptions of him influence how they treat him in lots of way #including his intelligence. unfortunately. and you hate to see it

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swiftiesusa · 19 days

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could you write something based off "so high school" about Caitlin?

SO HIGH SCHOOL (C.C)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

PAIRING: Caitlin Clark x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and Caitlin are eachother’s number one supporters

WORD COUNT: 891

A/N: first fic on here!! keep sending those requests! but guys i literally wrote this on google docs and why did i kinda eat it up..

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Everytime Caitlin has a game, you sit right where you can see her. It was tradition that neither of you wanted to break. She makes you wear her jersey to every game and can always spot you in the crowded arena. Sure, other people wear her same jersey but when you wear it, it's a different story. She calls you her ‘good luck charm’. But deep down it was more than that. It was a connection between you guys.

You and Caitlin were complete opposites. While you buried yourself in books, she lived and breathed basketball. Her life revolved around the court and it seemed like her million followers followed every move.Every game and every hoop was pure dedication to not only her sport but to you too. Despite your differences, your guy’s bond was unbreakable.

The first time you guys met you were sitting in a large library in the city of Des Moines. It was late, late for a basketball star-player to be in there at least. You were hunched over in textbooks, notes and color coordinated highlighters. Caitlin wandered in and went straight to the sports biography section. You could recognize that high ponytail and athletic build anywhere. She immediately caught your eyes peering at her but there were just silent glances with awkward smiles here and there. It seemed like you guys were the only people in there, because you were, besides the ancient librarian. You saw her stride over to your table and you looked up at her standing right in front of you.

“Hey” She started, “Is this book any good?” she flashed that smile you had gotten used to. From then on, you guys would regularly meet at that same library where that meet cute happened. Caitlin would always be dripping in sweat with a basketball by her side when she found you hunched over like you always were.

As months passed, you guys became each other's biggest supporters. You couldn’t help but be hypnotized by her. One night after her basketball practice she invited you to be away from the books and watch her shoot hoops at the outside courts. “Y/N? Can I tell you something” she sat down next to you on the metal bench and your heart raced when she spoke those words, “I always notice you, at my games, all the time.” You went a little teary eyed. Having a crush on Caitlin took you back to the times in high school where you would get so giddy after one singular interaction with your crush and it felt childish at first but it felt right.

Tonight, it was Caitlin’s biggest game of the season and getting tickets was intense but thank god you managed to get them. You sat alone, in the second row up from the court watching Caitlin warm up and shoot 3-pointers like it was nothing. Her eyes scanned the crowd and her eyes immediately landed on yours. She pointed to you and then to the ball, “This ones for you!” She mouthed and you beamed her a smile. She shot the ball and made it. You laughed at her attempt to flirt. The game was intense and at times you had to look away because you were so stressed for Caitlin. The way she moved the way her brain worked on the court left you in awe. She made every shot she threw and the announcer would make that loud announcement like “CAITLIN CLARKKKK MAKES IT IN”.

You cheered louder than anyone and everytime she made a basket or one of her teammates did she would always look for you first to make sure you were supporting her. Your voice eventually became hoarse from yelling and cheering too much but you only focused on her. The final buzzer echoed and Caitlin had led the team to victory again! Her team crowded around her but her eyes were still fixed on you. She broke away from her team after their big group hug and made her way over to you in the stands.

You put your arms out and she gave you the biggest hug. Neither cared about how sweaty she was, the hug felt like you were the only ones in that arena, besides the countless cameras that were probably on you guys. “Thank you,” you felt her say in your ear while still embracing in the hug, “For always being here. For believing in me” Your heart melted when she said those words to you. You pulled away, but not completely away, so you can look at her in her eyes. “Always.” Your voice was filled with a million emotions, “I will forever be your number one supporter, I'm so proud of you.” There was a swift moment but you both knew what you wanted.

Caitlin rested one hand on your cheek and the other on your waist and pulled you in for your long awaited kiss. It's what you've dreamed about for the last few months. She pulled away with a smile that made you melt and her eyes were shining under the bright gymnasium lights. Fingers entwined with one another, “Let's get out of here,” She grabbed your hand tightly, “I want to celebrate with you” No matter how different you guys were, she always made it feel like it was just a high school crush.

#wbb #uconn wbb #uconn #wnba #iowa women’s basketball #indiana fever #wcbb x reader #caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #wnba draft #send requests

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cheesec4kee · 3 months

Text

they’re just nostalgia ⸺ CL¹⁶ ୨୧

you’ve always been the light in charles life. but he knows that if he wants to beat his childhood rival, he’ll have to let you go— even if it’s hard for him, he knows he can’t afford any distractions.

[ warnings ! ] : gn reader, brief mentions of alcohol, angst-ish ??, use of y/n once, poorly written

[ a/n ] : first time writing angst, so please don’t judge LMAO. based on the song ‘answer’ by Tyler the creator, and I initially wrote this as a joke but I needed something to post so there’s that. . anw hope u enjoy this !! (reblogs very much appreciated btw !!)

⸺ angst under the cut

he fumbled with the keys in his hands, hastily unlocking the door to the apartment that he shared with you. he closed the door quietly, sucking in a breath as he sees you sat on the couch— reading a book.

he’s greeted with a smile, and it nearly broke him. he loves you— he truly does, but not over his dream. to beat his childhood rival. he simply couldn’t let his efforts go of waste.

“how was practice?” you questioned, a soft smile tugging the corner of your lips, as he watched you close your book and set it down beside you on the couch.

“it was.. it was okay.” he mumbled with hands in his pockets as he avoided your gaze. he felt bad. you were everything he ever wanted— he felt stupid for even doing this. for choosing his dream over you.

“hey— uh, I think..”

“I think we should break up,” he murmured, his voice a mere octave above a whisper. shifting his weight from one leg to another uncomfortably, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

you were the light and joy in his life, and he knows it. you’re the only thing he looks forward to seeing after a shitty race, or after a bad qualifying. he’d search for you in the crowd, wanting to engulf himself purely in the warmth you provide.

his words hung in the air, the tension of emotions thick.

“why? what went wrong?” you managed to muster out, your voice coming out shakier than you thought it would be.

he stayed silent for a minute, before clearing his throat— his eyes boring into yours. “I found someone else,” he lies, his gaze softening— but you could tell that it had a distant look, like his mind was wandering elsewhere.

his words were like daggers being thrown on your heart, piercing right through it.

as tears welled up in your eyes, a wave of emotions washed over you. confusion, insecurity, and betrayal. you couldn’t help but start to question your worth to him. did you really mean something to him all this time, or was that all just a lie? you knew Charles was popular among the ladies. he was a good looking man, surrounded with women with scarcely credible beauty.

but you were hoping that the bond you two had was special, that it could resist any temptations you, or Charles had towards any other men or women. Charles was a beacon of light in your life, and you were his. you truly did believe that the connection between you two was strong enough to overcome any obstacles.

with a heavy heart, you knew you had to face the harsh reality of his confession. you knew you had to muster up the strength within you to let him go.

you couldn’t force someone to love you, after all.

“I swear, I loved you at some point but—”

“..I understand.” you cut him off and wiped your tears, swallowing back the tears threatening to spill out.

“I’ll pack my things.”

for the past few days after the breakup, Charles struggled to get rid of the memories that you left in his apartment. he struggled to get rid of the paintings the two of you made for fun, hell— he struggled to change his lock screen which was you.

he kept making excuses, excuses to not remove that little widget in his phone that was a photo of you— the photo he took secretly.

he could only stare at his lock screen, the guilt washing over him whenever he turned on his phone to see you. he could feel the nostalgia, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

he’s standing on the podium, lifting and glancing at the trophy he earned while reminiscing the memories and moments the two of you shared together, he could imagine how proud you would’ve looked at this very moment. he felt stupid for wishing that you were here even though he was the one who broke things off.

winning doesn’t feel the same without you. he misses the way you’d squeeze him so tight when he won, the heat radiating off of you— he doesn’t feel as happy as he usually would. it felt like that winning simply wasn’t worth it without you there to congratulate him.

he has the urge to message you. to ask you how you’ve been, if you were doing much better without him, but he knew he couldn’t. not after what he did to you.

he walks off the podium, his clothes reeking of champagne as he heads to the garage— before noticing his teammate, a wide smile on his face as he comes to congratulate him.

“you did well out there,” Carlos grins, wrapping a arm around Charles shoulder, squeezing him slightly.

Charles simply smiles, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’— though Carlos knows something was up. it was obvious for everyone that Charles seemed odd, seemed distant.

“you’re not gonna tell y/n about this?” he questions, raising an eyebrow as he pulls his arm away, noticing how stiff Charles was despite managing to win first after a while.

Charles stays quiet for a minute, before responding, “I’d call them, but—” Charles pauses, sucking in a breath and glancing at his teammate, before adverting his gaze elsewhere.

“they’re just nostalgia.”

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golden1u5t · 1 month

Text

mess it up | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: angst + fluff

ꨄ summary: spencer hadn't been answering any of your phone calls and every time you showed up at his apartment he pretended he wasn't home. so, you go to his job, hoping to get a second chance with him. based on “mess it up” by gracie abrams

there had been towering walls built around your heart, walls you thought were indestructible, walls that had shielded you from being vulnerable. for the three months you and spencer had together, getting to know each other and exploring something that could have turned out great, the walls you built had started to crack and it scared you.

you found yourself starting to care for him, more than you ever cared for anyone before. you were scared of letting him get too close, scared of a possible heartbreak, so you closed yourself off again. the mere thought of letting someone in again, of exposing all your fears and insecurities, sent shivers down your spine.

the day you broke things off with him you thought you were doing the right thing, the thing that was best for you. you hadn't realized you missed him so much until you started losing track of your days. days turned into weeks and the weight of it piled on top of you until you finally broke.

that's when you finally reached back out to him, started leaving messages and voicemails that he never responded to. you had even went so far as to sitting outside of his apartment hoping that you would run into him, you never did.

so here you are, sitting in your car in the parking lot of his job, your fingers tapping against your thigh as you watched the raindrops race down the windowpane, each drop mirroring the turmoil deep in your gut.

you looked over to the passenger seat and picked up your phone. with trembling hands, you went into his contact and type out a message- an apology that would probably end up sitting with the rest of the apologies you've sent.

you let out a shaky breath and looked up at the building in front of you before looking back down and deleting the entire message. you figured that there was no point in sending a message when you were right in front of his job.

+++

derek spotted you as soon as you stepped off the elevator. it was purely coincidental but he's glad he saw you because he was able to jump out of his seat and stop you before you entered the bullpen.

"what are you doing here?" he crossed his arms over his chest and looked you up and down, making it known he wasn't exactly happy to see you. when you and spencer broke up he went to derek for advice, mostly because derek was like a big brother to spencer but also because he had the most experience with women.

given his attitude towards you, you knew that he knew about everything that went down with you and spencer and he wasn't just going to let you off that easily.

"¡ need to talk to him." you tried to look around him to see if you could get a glimpse of spencer but derek just moved his body in every direction you did. "derek, please just-"

"no. he's just now coming back around, i'm not about to let you mess everything up again."

"that's not fair. you don't know everything about the situation."

"i know enough."

while you and derek stood outside of the office arguing, spencer was coming out of hotch's office. as he walked down the stairs he noticed that mainly everyone's gaze was directed to the double doors.

"who is morgan talking to?" he asked, dropping the pile of reports on his desk. he looked back at derek and furrowed his brows, he could tell by his body language that he was not happy with the conversation.

"oh, boy genius! i need your help with something." garcia turned to him and quickly stood up of her chair, she placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to usher him away before he found out that it was you behind those doors. just like derek, she and everyone else only wanted what's best for him.

she couldn't get him away fast enough because the doors opened as someone walked in and right before they closed again, spencer could here your name come from dereks mouth.

"y/n?" his lips turned down and he quickly turned back around, garcia's hand falling off of his shoulder as he started to walk towards the doors.

even though he had been ignoring your calls and messages, he couldn't just ignore you showing up. everything derek had told him about just cutting you out of his life forever and all of those things were being thrown out of the window as spencer walked through those doors, he figured that you showing up had to count for something.

"morgan, can you- i can handle it from here." derek started to protest against it but spencer gave him a pleading look so he backed off. spencer waited until derek was back in the office before he put his focus on you. "why are you here?"

"you haven't been answering my messages." you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you stood in front of him for the first time in a while. you looked him over and figured he still looked the same but his hair was different—he was still that same boy you fell for.

"you made it clear that you weren't interested it me." spencer pressed his lips into a thin line and crossed his arms over his chest. he tried to make it seem like he was over it all but he wasn't, his heart was pounding just as hard as yours. "what else is there to say?"

"you don't understand. I've never-spencer, i've never liked someone as much as i like you and that scares me." you take a step closer to him. "i was scared that you would see my flaws and decide you didn't want me anymore. after i had already opened myself up to you, after i became vulnerable."

"you didn't give me a chance to decide that for myself, even though i would have never done such a thing! i liked you a lot, i thought we could actually have something together." spencer's arms dropped to his sides.

"i'm so sorry, spencer, and i know i've said it a million times but i truly am. after getting to have a glimpse of what we could've been, i want that with you. i miss the long conversations we had, i miss all the phone calls we shared when you were away, i miss the feeling of your arms around me."

spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, he couldn't lie and say he didn't miss those things too. he knew he should probably just turn back around and go back to work, say that you had your chance with him and you blew it, but relationships were never spencer's strong suit and he really did like you.

"i'm willing to try again but this is the only chance i'm giving you so if you mess it up-"

"¡ won't. i promise." you shook your head quickly. spencer bit down on his lips before giving in and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and letting out a sigh as he remembered how much he really did miss holding you. for a moment, you both stood there, holding each other close and breathing in each other's scent. you eventually pulled away, reluctantly though. “i want to take you out tonight, on a date."

"¡ thought the guys are supposed to take the girls out?" he teased, laughing when you rolled your eyes and shoved his chest.

"j'm serious, ill pick you up around 8." you said, figuring that'll give him enough time to get settled back down from work before you picked him up. "okay now get back to work before you get fired or something. your friends hate me enough as it is."

"they don't hate you." he replied. you raised your eyebrows as you could see right through the lie. "okay, maybe they do."

you shook your head at him and gently pushed him back, urging him to go back into the office. you watched as he made his way through the doors, ignoring the dirty looks you were getting from everyone else.

as you walked out of the building, you felt that a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. you knew you would have to work on tearing those walls around your heart down but for spencer it'll be worth it.

#golden1u5t #myrarants #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #sub spencer reid #soft dom spencer reid #dom spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader angst #spencer reid x fem!reader fluff

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vinvantae · 2 months

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝

Based off of this ask from @pear-1206

Summary - Dad!Jenson x wife!reader - where you bring your daughters to their first race and Jenson is determined to do his best.

Warnings - none, short and sweet, pure fluff

Word count - 1.2k

Spa was always one of the best tracks to race at - the atmosphere was unlike any other, and - thankfully - the chance of rain was slim. And this weekend was arguably the most important race weekend of Jenson’s career so far - sure it wasn’t for a championship win, but it was the very first race that his daughters would be attending and he was determined to make them proud.

They knew their daddy was a race car driver, but they’d never seen it themselves, you’d both agreed to wait until they were at least confidently walking before bringing them to a race and now aged 2 and 4, it was time for Isabelle and Ava to come to see him drive.

He wasn’t sure if he was more excited or if they were, both of them practically bouncing off of the walls in excitement when he asked them if they wanted to come watch. He’d been sure to pick up some of the smallest merch he could find - wanting his girls to be in his colours as the 4 of you walked through the paddock together.

Ava clung to his shirt as he carried her on his hip, looking around curiously at all the sights - whilst Isabelle was more than happy enough to explore on her own two feet, asking lots of questions. Jenson couldn’t help but feel pride and joy blooming in his chest as he finally got to spend time with his 3 favourite girls in the world in his favourite place.

“Oh hey! I wasn’t expecting the full button clan this weekend.” Lewis grinned, crouching to give Isabelle a high five before offering one to Ava who giggled shyly - patting her little hand against his. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, we thought they’re both old enough now and it coincided with a weekend that my gorgeous wife could take some time off work.” Jenson hummed, smiling softly at you. “And imagine being able to say that Spa was their first race, that’s pretty cool.”

Lewis smiled. “Who are you girls rooting for this weekend? Is it me?”

Isabella stuck her nose up a little. “No! Daddy, of course!”

“Duh, that was a silly question wasn’t it?” He chuckled. “See you all later, yeah?”

“Say bye to Lewis, Ava.” He whispered, bouncing the toddler in his arms a little - encouraging the toddler to wave.

“Bye Lew!” She grinned. “Race fast! Not fast as daddy, please.”

Jenson helped the three of you set up in the back of the garage - ear protectors comfortably over each of your ears, Ava now in your arms and Isabelle perched comfortably so she had a good view of the screens. He pressed kisses to each of your foreheads before heading off to get race ready.

He always raced better when you came to see him - 2009 was proof enough of this, you’d met the year prior and suddenly everything seemed to fall into place for him. And whilst another championship may not be within his reach like it had been before, he wouldn’t stop at anything to try and make his babies proud of him this weekend.

So when he put the car in P1 for qualifying, seeing your proud faces at the barrier was proof enough to him that he needed to repeat the performance tomorrow. Your gentle whispers of love for him in your shared bed that evening, telling him just how happy his girls were to see him do well - praising him between kisses.

“I’m gonna win for them tomorrow.” He hummed softly, taking your jaw in his hand as you laid, side by side. “Want our girls to see me win… be proud of me.”

You cooed softly. “Jense, they’d be proud of you no matter what. You’re always going to be the coolest dad in the world to them.”

“I mean… I am the coolest Dad.” He grinned, earning a playful roll of your eyes and a kiss goodnight. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

It wasn’t a particularly sunny day for a race, but it was comfortable and the endless piles of raincoats you had brought with you were now unnecessary. The girls both donned in their Dad’s merch - Isabelle’s blonde hair braided, a little red bow at the end, swaying as she skipped along and Ava’s tucked away beneath a cap, her head once again rested against Jenson’s shoulder as she dozed.

He almost didn’t want to put her down - loving the feeling over her in his arms. “Daddy’s got to get in the car, princess.”

“M’comfy.” She yawned. “But okay… Mummy?”

“Hey, I’ve got you.” You hummed softly, taking her from your husband. “I’ll wake you when the race is about to start okay?”

Jenson smiled fondly - giving his little family one more glance before heading out for the race. Whilst he always felt motivated before any race, there was something about knowing the three of you were watching in the garage that gave him that extra kick up the ass to do his best. He rolled his helmet over in his hands, smiling at the girls names he had printed on the carbon fibre before pulling it over his head and sliding into the car.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest as the race immediately started with a messy incident - Maldonado jumping the start turned into a multi-car incident, but thankfully Jenson managed to keep his nose clean and lead the race the whole way through.

As he climbed out of the car, he didn’t even hesitate to run over to the barriers to sweep the three of you into his arms - his heart racing.

“You did it, Daddy! You won!” Isabelle giggled.

It was Ava’s turn to cheer next, her little fists balled up in Jenson’s race suit. “Yaaaay, Daddy!”

He pulled back just enough to look at the three of you, his eyes crinkled up in a smile through his open visor. Jenson pulled his helmet over his head and gave you a chaste kiss. “I love you girls… so much. Thank you for being here today.”

“Go get your trophy, we’ll be right here.” You hummed softly, somehow effortlessly balancing a daughter on each hip. “Then the celebration dinner is on me.”

“…and dessert?” He smirked, raising a brow - leaning a hand on the barrier - eyes only for you, twinkling with mischief.

But before you could scold him the girls both squealed in excitement. “Daddyyy! We want dessert too!”

“See what you’ve done?” You laughed. “Seriously, get out of here!”

He returned your laugh before heading up to do just that - this trophy was like no either; it wasn’t his first, it wasn’t for a championship win… but as the national anthem played over the crowds, the feeling of being able to look down and see the three of you smiling up at him was like no either. His chest felt warm and fuzzy, he absolutely loved racing and finally getting to share it with his girls was a dream come true.

I love you. He mouthed, relishing the way your smile brightened.

I love you too.

He was brought out of his almost trance-like state as Sebastian sprayed him down with champagne, the German gripping his bicep as he lent into whisper. “Congrats man, can’t imagine the night you’re in for with the way your wife was looking at you.”

Jenson laughed, giving him a playful shove before returning the spray of the sparkling drink.

He took one more glance over the podium at the three of you, grinning as the girls waved up at him once more. Definitely his favourite podium ever.

#jenson button x reader #Jenson button x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #x reader

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theemporium · 10 months

Text

based of this request!🫶🏽

Max deemed it was only fair that he shared some of his childhood experiences with you after the countless ones you shared with him.

You were all up for it until you realised it was karting.

At first, you were hesitant because of the ties it connected to in his past. You thought about the countless stories he told you about being a young boy, crying and desperate to please his father who seemed to have impossibly high expectations of his son.

But then you remembered that it was his childhood. That this was something he wanted to share with you, that he wanted to experience with you like the way you had shown him countless experiences for the first time. And you couldn’t find it in your heart to say no to him when he asked with those puppy dog eyes.

However, by the time you got into the karts, you were met with a pretty harsh reality.

You were absolutely shit at karting.

You thought Max would get a bit annoyed and impatient. After all, he was five years old and doing this with ease. And here you were, almost two decades older and unable to even go around the track once without crashing into something.

But when you got out the kart after the first round, Max took off his helmet before coming to help you with yours, and he had a massive grin on his face.

“You’re not annoyed by how shit I am?” You asked him, almost warily as you took his hand to help pull yourself out of the kart.

“Why would I be annoyed?” He asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s cute.”

You raised your brows. “It’s cute seeing me crash?”

“It’s cute seeing you get so frustrated at not being automatically good at something,” he corrected with a cheeky grin.

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned.

However, between glaring at the kart and trying to listen to the tips Max was giving you, you seemed to miss the small child standing a few feet away. He was young, probably no older than six or seven years old. And he was staring at Max with wide, eager eyes, listening to every single word that left his mouth.

Max paused when he noticed the young boy, a small smile on his lips. However, the boy looked sheepish and embarrassed, and quickly turned around to try to run off.

“Hey, little guy,” Max crouched down, nodding the kid over.

“I’m sorry!” The young boy blurted out, fiddling with the straps of his small race suit. “I just…I wanted to know how you did that.”

Max raised his brows. “How I won?”

The kid nodded and something in his chest tightened, in a good way. In a way he wasn’t really used.

Despite the short-temper Max tended to have on track and with people in general, he had the patience of the saint as he kneeled next to the boy’s kart and began talking away to him. He gave him tips and tricks, told him little mottos that helped him before a race.

It was a light you had never seen Max in before and it warmed your heart.

By the time you made it on the track for the second time that day, and even though it was purely on purpose (by Max, at least. You couldn’t say the same with yourself, you truly were quite shit behind the wheel), the young boy had won.

He was grinning ear to ear when you made your way to the makeshift podium, standing proudly on the top step as he shook the bottle of fizzy juice until it sprayed everywhere. Max was smiling just as hard as the young boy. A smile that only grew when the boy launched himself at Max into a hug to say thank you.

Your boyfriend was still buzzing by the time you made it to the car. The track was a decent drive away, and with the day finally taking its toll on you, you were happy to close your eyes and lean your head against the window as you listened to your boyfriend ramble on about the day.

Until he said something that made your eyes snap open.

“I think if our kids ever kart, I think I’d wanna be pretty hands on, you know?”

You froze, unsure if you even heard him correctly. You opened your eyes, turning to look at him, but his eyes were still on the road as he spoke. However, when you remained silent, he finally glanced over and noted the expression on your face.

“What?” He murmured before frowning. “I don’t mean like my dad…if that’s what you thought. I just meant like—”

His hands gripped the wheel as he faced forward again, trying to find the words to speak but they were a stuttering mess.

But that wasn’t what caught you off guard. It was his use of our. Not my, but our.

Our kids.

Your relationship with Max was still in the early stages, though there were the months of friendship that stood as a solid foundation of your relationship. And maybe it should have scared you that he was talking about kids so soon, that he was talking about your kids so soon, but it warmed your heart.

You imagined the young boy at the race track once again, except this time he was the perfect mix of you and Max. Maybe your skin tone and his nose. Or your smile and his eyes. Something that was a little bit of both of you. Or maybe even a young girl, one that Max would treat like his absolute princess.

You found that if that was your future, you didn’t mind it one bit.

“I think you’ll be a great father and teacher,” you said eventually, interrupting his stuttered rambles.

Something on his expression eased as he turned to you again, a small smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “And hopefully the kid has more of your genes than mine when they want to race.”

Max snorted. “If they want to race.”

“If they want to race,” you agreed with a nod.

And maybe both of your dreams that night were spent imagining a world with the two of you and your mini-me at the race track, matching helmets with their father and cheers from their mother.

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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goldsbitch · 5 months

Text

That one call overseas

part 7 to That one Christmas flight

summary: Now that we don't talk.

warning: pure angst this time, cheesy af, swear words I guess, cliche probably, typos most definitely

The hole Y/N dug for herself was getting deeper with each day of no contact with Lando. Gone was her ability to contain her emotions within herself. Her friends were getting concerned. Their ever so calm and easy going friend turned into an impulsive, unreliable and even slightly rude menace.

Teresa was the one who kept patience with her in the worst days, as only the best of friends do. When Y/N got kicked out of a bar for the first time in her life for her comments in lousy bad Italian on a random couple in the late hours of their Friday night, Teresa walked her home and screamed Hits Different with her at the top of their lungs to ease the atmosphere. And once they were home, she listened to Y/N rant about how she would never ever call the asshole who does not even bother to text her again. Teresa also stopped her from throwing his hoodie away, knowing that the following morning would hurt just a little more.

When Y/N woke up the following noon, she took a hard look in the mirror. This was getting ridiculous. She swore to herself and all of her roommates that no more alcohol and no more Lando desperation. It's a crush - it'll pass. One day this will be a nice story to tell the kids she'll have with some Antonio, the accountant or Ignacio, the lawyer. Not Lando, the racer - and that was ok.

Lando was off to Montreal and things could not be more busy for him. New updates to test, again, as his frustration grew. He only wished to be finally at the top podium, which seemed to always slip in between his hands. His mind, of course, was clouded by the thoughts of Y/N. At first he thought ashamed of himself for not reaching out and appearing like an asshole - but he somewhat expected her to break the silence. He started to second guess every aspect of the time they shared together. Perhaps she did not have as great time as he had, perhaps he acted like an asshole, or perhaps he just was not good enough for those who were not under the F1 charm spell. Not good enough for her. He finally resorted into doing something he tries to avoid as much as possible - looked at the fan pages and comments to boost his ego up. It only led to him feeling more shameful and pathetic than when he started. He kept her necklace and brought it with him. For all it was worth, he had an amazing memory to look back at, no matter how delusional he felt doing that.

The paddock was a great place to be at when searching for a distraction, so he made sure to spend as little time as possible alone and surrounded himself with people. He even walked to the stands often than he usually would, searching fans and giving photos out, smiling a little to extra on all the girls who looked remotely close to Y/N. Who knows, he might pick up someone like that at the end of Montreal ride. Why not. Nobody was stopping him.

He went to the race with all he had, fully prepped and focused. However, red flags, poor strategy choice had him finishing way below the targeted place. To his luck, Oscar was on a roll of luck and finished way better compared to Lando - and of course that everyone compared. Debrief meetings like that drown the soul more than usually.

Influx of all the journalists was overwhelming that day. The interview fatigue hit hard and after few of those, Lando felt that based on the questions he was asked, everyone thought of this race like a massive fail for him. His own answers continually worsened.

"Why do you think this week has ended the way it did?" asked one of the more prominent interviewers.

"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes the week just does not go the way you'd wish, even if last weekend it seemed like we're on a track to something good. One things affects the other and getting out of that rut is challenging."

"Are you talking about the updates, or something different?"

"Yeah, something like that. But as they say, when life gives you lemons, right. Make lemonade...or limoncello for a rainy day, ey?"

"Well, we hope to see the cheerful Lando soon and ideally at a podium too!" Lando knew the interviewer was only doing his job and technically she was not doing anything wrong, but he could not help and for a split second let his face do a look, that was certainly not appropriate for someone who was so used to media and knew he had to be smart around them.

He was in no mood to watch a celebration of Oscar or to get wrapped up in the post race chaos. Once he felt free to leave, he did, putting his phone on don't disturbe mode and went for a walk around the city with his headphones on, to dwelve in some sad tunes and solitude of his own thoughts.

Y/N asked Teresa to punch her anytime she looked like she was about to search Lando news. Her roommate refused to do that as it would be a full time job, but did help her set up some tags to block. Saturday was a success, however once Sunday evening and race time rolled in, Y/N knew she was absolutely not ready to try and ignore it. So instead they made a girls evening in about it. The idea was to replace real memories with Lando for race watching and distance him. They were trying... So they sat together with their study books to combine distractions. Y/N was explaining the race rules, avoiding any personal remarks about Lando. To her own disappointment, he was not featured a lot as there was not much really going on for him during the race. But maybe it was for the best. It really felt alienating, seeing his face on the screen, a character in the story of F1, so far removed from the unfiltered smiling face she had burned in her memory. The mood in the apartment was calm, maybe a little mellow. There was a weird calmness in Y/N, as she knew for a fact that he was busy. Knowing that she will definitely not get any text and that he was not ignoring her was soothing for the soul, even if for just few hours. At the end, the girls had way better time than expected, Teresa taking the initiative to comment on all the rest of the drivers and ranking them based on looks and vibes. She became a Leclerc girl all the way in.

"Right, that's my cue to go to the bathroom," Y/N stood up as the post race interviews rolled in. That would be too much at the moment.

"Love the drama vibes you give off. I'll watch it and let you know if there was anything alarming," Teresa assured her.

"Doubt that," was the bitter response she received back.

Once Y/N came back, she returned to her friend sitting with a puzzled look.

"What?!" all the pent up emotions took the stage, all the hard worked stillness gone as if it was a dream.

Teresa sat in silence, looking bluntly at the screen.

"What??!" Y/N repeated impatiently. "Ugh, forget this charade. I'll just watch it." This all felt like she had passed the test, but hadn't learned the lesson at all.

"Yeah, maybe you should. Interesting, his voice is higher that I imagined," Teresa replied as Y/N became to rewind the stream. They sat in silence, as they watched post race Lando in his tiredness, obvious annoyance and visible dark circles under his eyes. A shock went through Y/N at the word limoncello.

"Y/N, it must a coincidence. He's just been to Italy, so the connection was there...means probably nothing," Teresa said quietly as she watched her bewildered friend.

"Limoncello. Name a more Italian drink...What the fuck?? Is he joking right now? What is this?"

"Y/N, he has no idea you're watching, remember?"

"Yeah, I don't care about that. Makes it even worse actually." She replayed his interview once again.

"Ok, that's it - I'm taking this away from you," Teresa ordered after she saw Y/N going for a third round of the interview. "Do you wanna talk about it, talk it through?" So they went on to the kitchen, cooked some pasta while Y/N went on a rant where she let all her thoughts let loose.

"Honestly, fuck him. I don't need the mess he brings into my life. I can find great sex on every corner in this city!"

"Yeah, you go girl!"

"You know what, I'm gonna call him!" Y/N turned directions again for 17th time that day.

"Yeah, I kind of thought you would," Teresa sighed tiredly. "And I think you should, the worst thing you might get is a peace of mind...eventually."

"Yeah, I'm gonna do it! Now!"

She dialed his number. The phone rang for the first time. The second and third. With the seventh dial, she hung up. The girls looked at each and Teresa went for a hug.

"He might be busy with some racing stuff?" Teresa said in a tone which suggested that she herself had a hard time believing.

"I'm so stupid," Y/N whispered.

Of course he would miss it. Obviously. Because that just what seems to follow him and this girl around. It was deep evening over at her timezone, but still ok for a late night talk. He called back. What was he even planning on saying? He had no idea. When she did not pick up, he called for a second time. She picked up his facetime call and to say his heart skipped a beat would be an understatement. His heart triple jumped. A face appeared in low light. She smiled.

"Hey you," he opened with. The word honey almost slipped his tongue, but he was not sure how it would be received on the other side of the line.

She waved and gestured him to be silent. Lando was bewildered.

"Where are you?" he whispered, trying to unsucesfully figure out from her background. Again, he was met with a shush. Well, this will be real fun, Lando thought, slightly annoyed.

"Wait, you have me in your earbuds...so you need to be silent, not me!" Y/N frowned and nodded. She got up from where she was sitting and started walking.

"Well, since I have some guaranteed no interruption time, let me fill your ears with a story! There once was a beautiful girl, who talked so much and was so obnoxious that the city decided to ban her from speaking. Luckily, she found the most handsome guy in the town to keep her company with his wit, charm and great looks. To reward him for his services she sent him-"

"Ok, you can STOP now," she exclaimed, as she walked down the stairs.

"Where the fuck are you at this hour, young lady. Someone should seriously keep an eye on you!"

"Yeah, well, I sometimes think the same - and then I'm suddenly sitting in some random hotel room hundreds of miles away from where I was supposed to be," she winked at him. "No, I was at the church."

"Oh...you religious? Wait, are the churches still open?"

"Yes, silly. It's Italy, one always is. And no, I'm not religious per say."

"Oh, well then it makes perfect sense that you're hanging out in churches at midnight, yes."

"Yeah, you know. One gets bored."

"Ok, weirdo," Lando laughed.

"No, I like to go there to clear my head. There is some magic in the architecture and in the old walls," she explained. She really did go to get her head clear, to think it out. "Oh, and one day, I'd like to fuck in like a really old building. Not church exactly, but like I dunno. Our university halls are making me super hot sometimes." She had no idea why this was the first thing she'd pick as a topic. God, she felt lame.

"Well, that would be a hard thing to decline, if you're offering."

"Cheeky as ever, are we?"

"Obviously. So, tell me. Whats up? It's nice to see you by the way. I wanted to tell you that before you shushed me down so politely."

"Aw, nice to see you too, man." Lando would prefer to be called differently. "Some school stuff, completely blew my Monday's presentation, so that was fun."

"You should have studied in the weekend, hmm!"

"Yes! I should have," she had a hard time keeping the smiles in, "Anyway, otherwise it's been pretty much a lot of nothing."

"So you called me because you're bored and not because you wanted to talk to me?" He knew he was pushing it. But desperate times... She hesitated and shot him a strange look he could not decipher.

"Did you know we also have leaning tower here in Bologna?" Y/N panned the phone to show him one of the two towers in the city centre. She was walking around with no apparent destination. "Have you been here?"

Lando smiled weakly. There was a strange frustration regarding the distance he felt towards her. Not the physical miles. "Yeah, I've been there once." His Bologna trip was not exactly a great memory. Maybe this call had been a mistake. The last thing he needed now was to feel strange. He showed her the park he had been walking in.

"I'm in Montreal! Have you been?" Y/N also felt some strange vibes coming through this dry conversation

"No, but sounds fun."

"Not really. There has been a lot of pressure at me lately. I'm starting to hate it. Can't say it to anyone, nobody seems to get it." He looked off to Y/N from the start of the phone call. She took few breaths to triple check that she really wanted to break the elephant in the room. It somehow seemed like a "now or never" situation.

"Saw the race today." Lando paused. He suddenly felt the most vulnerable he had ever felt with her. Did she know him from the first moment? Was she lying? He had a hard time gathering out a response. She felt that, so she started blabbering. The cat was out of the bag, so what the hell.

"I broke our rule after we met. Not immediately! But I just...it felt nice meeting you. And I had no idea about racing beforehand. I overheard your name once and I was like "there can't have been two sets of parents naming their child Lando in this century". She looked at his puzzled face. "I'm sorry." Range of emotions floated through Lando, who was particularly sensitive today. It was only a matter of time when she'd find out who he was, he knew the day had to come at some point. But there was a part of him that wanted him to be the one to tell her. To tell his side of the story first, before she could get it elsewhere. He only had to trust her that she wasn't lying from the start. Very few people liked him for him and not "the racer Lando Norris".

But then again, who was he judge? He practically stalked her down - no, not practically, he actually tracked her down. Why did he do that? Because he was wonderstuck too. He liked her. So that meant that she liked him too. Sense of pride took over.

"Don't say sorry. You look too cute doing that," se said feeling braver now and less like a teenager with a crush. "Nah, it's ok. Wanted to spare you of the NDA, but I guess too late now." The more he came to terms with the fact he was not an enigma anymore, the more confident he became. "I mean, I was the one to find you even though you're not exactly famous, so..."

"Yeah!" she said as if she forgot that. "See, bordeline creepy," she laughed, obviously feeling relieved that he hadn't hung up the phone. "But, it's you, so I guess cute?"

"I'd say it's a little problematic on both parts, so we're even, honey."

She laughed. The looks they shared were a little more intimate than their previous looks. A sense of warmth washed over Y/N.

"It's funny. Do you know when I was in Bologna?"

"Ha, I do actually. My friends saw you at a bar."

"Yes...That's not exactly a coincidence. I wanted to "bump" into you accidentally."

She bit her lip down and closed her eyes. Took a deep breath and replied: "Do you know what was also a massive fail?"

He shook his head.

"I was at Imola. I wanted to "bump" into you accidentally."

Silence followed, as the two idiots took the new information in. Butterflies flying all over Bologna and Montreal.

"I think it's time we stopped dancing around and start being clear with each other or we'll start to look really stupid," Lando stated after a moment.

"Agree, Lando."

"Great, Y/N. I want to see you again soon."

"Me too."

They talked for another hour. Chatting lightly around about this and that, heart racing, not pushing more boundaries anymore that night, as the leap felt big enough to hardly swallow for them at the time. Y/N had final exams so the next weekend was a no go for her. But they agreed she'll come over to Spain, as he calendar was clear until the summer. Apart from seeing each other, confidentiality was a big thing for both of them. They barely knew each other, even if it had felt differently every time they talked.

Y/N was unable to relax that night, as the line "I can't wait to kiss you again," which Lando said instead of a goodbye, burned in her mind with the brightest of all flames. Some people were never destined to be friends.

part 8

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Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @ilove-tswizzle @thehufflepuffavenger1 @superlegend216 @mehrmonga @lovely-blackinnon @mylifeihate1029 @lausdigitaldiary @tswizzleismother @goldenharrysworld @llando4norris @classiclitfreak @ophcelia @leclerc13 @starmanv @k4r1402 @biitch-with-wifi @drunk-teens-doing-drugs

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