#because that's what the post that made me made enough to bust out the sports degree was about

[lesbianracecars]

The way some of ya'll talk about the money that pro athletes make betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of how any of this works. Absolutely they're not living in poverty or paycheck to paycheck. But they are still people who exchange labour for capital, the vast majority of them are closer to being just like us than they are to being like the billionaires who pay them.

They spend their entire lives being very good at one thing at the sacrifice of education or a backup plan. They exchange their health and physical well-being for that paycheck. If their careers ended tomorrow, most of them would NOT "be fine". The ones on short term (comparatively to their peers) lower paying contracts do NOT have financial or job security.

This is a labour rights issue!! If you watch sports and are entertained by the labour these people provide it's actually insane to dismiss people who point out the relative lack of security that some of these people have! You're not being smart and you're not being progressive

#travis dermott #sports #because that's what the post that made me made enough to bust out the sports degree was about #but this is about everyone from women to men to racecar drivers to hockey players

[wren-dy-flowergarden]

My precious treasures ✦ *.✧ *.✦

✦ *.✧.* Being childhood friends with Seishiro Nagi created a world just for you and him. Then Mikage Reo comes along with his energetic charm busting it all the pieces and you don't know what to do. Word Count: 2.9k / Nagi x f!reader x Reo Tags: childhood friends to high school love birds, sfw, character study, not that beta'd ───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ───────────── A/N: My first posted story here! ლ(◉‿◉ ლ) finally... pls interact if you want more, I don't usually write short stories so sorry this is so long. Grand ideas for nsfw later hehe. Let me know what you think!

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At first it was more of a chore to be friends with Nagi Seishiro than have what you define as a functioning friendship.

He was lazy, lazy in a way that you needed to check up on him daily just to make sure he wasn't passed out in his house. Not only that he was stubborn, stubborn in the sense that if the building was burning down vs. a high score on the newest game you definitely be attending a funeral the next day. Lastly, he's honest, honest to a fault where you have seen him deny so many confessions because 'they weren't like (Y/N).'

That always made your heart beat a little faster than healthy, but a little abnormality made life interesting right?

Ever since you were little you looked after Nagi. Whether it was coming to his empty house after his parents business trip was taking longer than usual, or after school grabbing ice cream (for yourself) then heading to the local arcade (for him).

It wasn't perfect, but it was something you gotten used to.

It wasn't until high school that your world began to shift.

You both went to the same school. A prep school known for its rounded curriculum, national sport teams and most importantly its connections.

You could find anyone here; the daughter of the Tamayo hospitality known for their five star hotels, half of the directors on the school board are wealthy investors looking for their next big venture and the most popular find would be Reo Mikage, the heir of the Mikage corporation.

A world outside her own and Nagi's.

It was by luck that you got accepted into this high school (plus countless nights of studying and coffee overdrive). Nagi on the other hand is a "genius". At least that's what his parents call him, they congratulated him with a quick three minute phone call and enough money to buy the newest game on the market.

You have never called Nagi a genius. Not that you don't agree, but it felt cold to define him as one and not as Nagi. The one who would always cheer you up by knowing your favorite sweets, turn on your favorite TV show while you be cooking at his house.

Nagi is Nagi.

He is your treasure.

A couple weeks later, spring started to turn into summer and with that beginning shift of your life.

It started with Nagi coming home with dirty cleats hanging off his school backpack and a jersey stained with grass.

"You've joined a club?"

Nagi gives a nod before flopping on the couch, you frowned, "Hey take a bath first, you're filthy." With that comment all you see is a bed of silver hair roll onto the floor with a grunt.

A short dinner later, a couple rounds of the newest Tekken game and you were off to study back at your own house. Putting on your shoes Nagi shouts from upstairs

"Hey (Y/N), you don't need to come here after school everyday."

You stop fidgeting with your shoe ties before twisting back to meet Nagi leaning against the wall. Towel over his head and droplets of water dripping down his neck to a barely exposed collar bone.

Your head whips down to your shoelaces, ears turning red. You don't meet his eyes as multiple thoughts spiral in your head, "If I don't come over who is going to make sure you eat?"

You expect a laugh, a shrug of the shoulder what you don't expect is a name.

"Reo."

You freeze. Reo Mikage the most popular guy in school, not Reo-san or Reo-kun just Reo.

It was almost as if Nagi could read your thoughts because he slumps further against the wall, "Its a pain, and football is not as fun as playing games, but Reo is ok." He says as if that explained the whole picture.

You want to ask a million questions. Oh Nagi how did you meet the heir of the Mikage corporation that literal net worth is in the billions, or why do you call him without honorifics?

"That's- um, great?" You try to compliment, because you don't know if this is a 'great' thing or not. You have never seen Nagi even touch a football in your whole time knowing him, let alone make a friend on first name basis in a week.

Nagi walks up to you as you fiddle with the unclipped thread tearing at the bottom of your shirt. He gives a small pat on the head, hesitant, the same form of love he use when you both first were 'required' to hang out with each other during your childhood days. It meant "you're alright" or "you got this" used after a tumble at the local park or if Nagi didn't go easy on you with his video games leaving you in a teary mess.

Today, it felt different.

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When you first met Mikage Reo you don't have good impression.

He has weird purple colored hair that you aren't sure is dyed or natural, a charismatic smile used by snakes of the business world and most importantly his refers to Nagi as "his treasure".

Now that just makes your blood boil.

Boil in a way that this sparkling water that you were barely sipping, out of a champagne flute while sitting on leather seats in a six person limo, would soon turn into boiling water that you "accidentally" drop (throw) into the heir of Mikage corporations lap.

Before thoughts come into reality, you see Nagi smoothly whisking your glass away before swallowing the bubbly mess in one gulp.

Mikage-san brightens as he pours another glass for Nagi before continuing his spew about becoming the best football star in the world or something like that.

Breaking away from Mikage-san's own world you stare at Nagi his brows twisted in concentration as he swirls a full glass clear bubbles.

You lean over, chin barely reaching his shoulder as you whisper, "You like bubbly water?"

He gives a pained expression, probably read as a blank expression from someone who did not grow up with Nagi.

"I hate the taste."

You tone becomes confused, "Then why drink mine?"

Nagi looks into the glass before taking another sip, lips frowning before turning towards the window instead of answering.

He didn't touch the rest of his glass the remainder of the car ride.

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School continued as usual. You go to homeroom as the teacher talked about the latest events happening this week. You go through the classes in similar style, homework, correction, lecture, questions until you finally be released for lunch.

Lunch, a usual fixture of leftovers you and Nagi shared from the night before wrapped with a blue cloth with printed on bunnies for cuteness. You were about to go find Nagi until purple hair entered the classroom making his way to your desk.

If only you could be swallowed by the ground right now.

"(Y/N)-san! Im so glad I found you." Clear enthusiasm shone in his eyes, he had a presence that announced himself to the whole class room. Everybody was looking at you two.

Bloody murder that what you think but you give a smile before tilting your head, "Ah. Mikage-san is there a reason you need me?"

He sits down on the chair in front of you, legs split leaning close to your unopened bento, "I was wondering if you could tell me about Nagi."

Oh. He was on first name basis also.

He looks down before smiling bashfully, "Sorry! I know it's lunch right now please eat."

You frown wishing you could be anywhere but here, as you crack open the bento revealing small rolled eggs cut into triangles and half a hamburger steak placed next to seaweed rice along with a small amount of cut out vegetables.

The boy in front of you eyes widened as you take your first bite, "Woah that looks like the one Nagi brought to lunch." A second he blurts out, "You cook for him?"

He says it in a way that makes you feel like a maid, rather than a friend and it doesn't leave a good taste in your mouth.

"It's easier to cook for two instead of one." You interject taking a mouthful of egg, hopefully you could chew this one piece as long as the lunch break.

Reo hums before continuing, "Nagi likes hamburger steak?"

"He likes crab." And you choke because why did you feel the need to prove yourself against a boy Nagi met a week ago.

Reo grins like a cat before leaning backwards, "Crab is a good choice though I rather eat steak." He looks at your meal, "What about you (Y/N)-san?"

After taking a gulp of water you beat your chest, coughing, "Ice- cough Ice cream."

Purple iris blinked before he gives a laugh leaning his head back exposing the curve of his Adam's apple- which no you were not looking just observing- before ducking your head back into your meal. He wipes a tear away from his eye, "Ice cream isn't a meal you know."

You give a shrug not wanting to continue, "It taste good." A pause and a smaller voice, "especially salty cream flavor."

Mikage-san gives an all knowing nod before he talks all about his favorite type of he emphasizes "desserts" until the lunch bell rings.

A couple days later the heir invites both you and Nagi to lunch, where it is a spread of crab dishes and lastly to clean the palate is salty vanilla ice cream.

...He's not terrible you guess.

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Things even get more confusing as football season went into full swing. The whole school was abuzz about Aomori Dadada High, one of the best high school team playing against a prep school during before Kanto tour was unheard of.

It wasn't until you heard Reo-san at the dinner table the other night, complain about how "easy" it was to stroke those "muscle head egos" and get them to play a game later in the week, getting the upper hand on his father or something like that.

Oh. How could you forget, Nagi started to invite Reo to dinner every night after football practice (which was every night). You stared at the two of them across the dinner table, currently munching on smoked mackerel spitting out bones.

"We could have had special grade tuna tonight if you just let Ba-ya drop by the market!" The purple head complained as he stuck a fin in his mouth to suck on. You've learned earlier that the comment wasn't more about your cooking but more about "living the fullest of life". Reo-san always had the most empty plate after dinner.

"It's fine- I be more worried if I ended up cooking it wrong and Nagi eat your carrots." You point to the carrots pushed to the side of his plate.

He gives a whine, pushing them back and forwards before looking over, "But you aren't eating your tomatoes..."

You put a hand over your miso soup, three cherry tomatoes bobbing lifelessly, covering it from scrutinizing eyes.

"I- they are sour today!"

Nagi lets out a non committal hum as Reo comments, "but tomatoes are good for your skin."

"My skin is fine Reo-san."

"She's already pretty Reo."

A pause before simultaneously all of you turned a different shade of red. Reo is the first to break the silence hands flailing, "He means you could be a model! You know the ones that are on the bulletin board promoting Calpico fresh!"

The red on your cheek darkens before you mumble, "I've only seen the ads with the girls in swimsuits." On the way to school there be smiling girl holding a bottle of Calico fresh as the showed just enough cleavage to the camera but not enough to distract you from the product itself. They all had flawless photoshopped skin tucked into a tight yellow bikini.

Reo, face as red as yours now (probably remembered the same ad), cries before ducking his face into his hands, "I mean the ad with the school uniform!" Before he gives a groan, "That sounds even worse."

You look at Nagi, the instigator as he stared at the curves of his fish bones a faint cherry red painted on the tip of his ears before he mutters, "Yellow is nice."

You kick both him and Reo underneath the table as you pop a cherry from your soup into your mouth urging them out of the kitchen so you could clean in peace.

.

.

.

It's game day, and you have not wanted (or did you) to continue that conversation at the dinner table. Instead you kept your head down sipping on now a mix of orange and cranberry juice in the Mikage's limo instead of that bubbly monstrosity people says is water.

Life has gone on rather normally other than the new friendship with Reo-san. What was more noticeable was instead of the yellow bikinied girl posing on a billboard it was now replaced with a more family friendly ad showing a girl in a summer uniform, head tilting back as she drank Calpico fresh, the word "refreshing" curved on top of her head.

You blinked, staring at the Mikage heir, him refusing to make eye contact with you.

Money could do anything.

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There was excitement in school that day. People gossiped about how Aomori Dadada high school would be arriving and that this be the spectacle of the year.

After the last bell rang you could see almost all the classroom make a mad dash towards the field. You included though behind the mass of crowd as you see figures on the field facing what seemed to be students two times their muscle build.

You're glad this wasn't American football, you know you be seeing Reo-san and Nagi in the nearest hospital.

"Miss (Y/N-san)." You turn to Reo's personal attendant an elderly lady who stood a good two heads taller than you, back hunched but suit bulking with muscle.

You give a greeting, "Ba-ya-san, weather is nice today." You look past the ocean of people noticing the kick off, "Think they will win?"

A chuckle answers your questions as she nods, "Though Mr. Mikage-sama does not agree with his son's decisions they share simmilarities, talent seeks talent Ms. (Y/N)-san."

Your eye brow rises, "That's why Reo-san is attached to Nagi? Because of talent?" The ball flies into the air as the crowd erupts into a roar you can barely hear the elderly women reply.

"Do you not agree?"

You shrug.

"No." You think about the more lively lunches, Nagi coming home exhausted with a hint of a smile, Reo eventually joining for dinner every night. You heart twinges with sadness as the whistle blows announcing the first goal of the inning. Nagi being tackled by Reo the two of them barely balancing on two feet.

"It just seems more than talent, that's all."

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Your world is shifting, rapidly.

From a singular world that revolved around Nagi Seishiro, Reo Mikage was forcing himself in this pocket of happiness. You be lying if you said you didn't mind before, but now his presence would be missed if he stopped hanging out with you both.

Reading through Nagi's letter from the Blue Lock Project, identical to Reo's letter (other than name) felt like vertigo.

Reo had excitement showing on his face, Nagi a look of boredom and you?

What type of look were you making right now?

"It's huge news (Y/N)! This is the first step of becoming top of the world, not only that but we will be meeting other stepping stones there that will take us further." He puts an arm over Nagi's shoulder who was playing on his phone, "We will become the best players in the world."

Again, like the start of Nagi's football journey you give a congratulations, "It's- ah" You look for the words a moment before you decide:

It felt like they were both leaving you behind, because talent craves talents and you, what did you do? A world of you Nagi and Reo was not seeming that realistic but you knew you had to answer as expectant purple eyes brimming with excitement waited for your answer.

"It's wonderful."

It must of not been the right word because Reo's face drops and Nagi even pauses his game sits up shuffling closer before he reaches out for you, "Don't do that."

You frowned, "Do what?"

He puts a hand on your cheek, cold, as he gently pressing his thumb against the bottom of your eyes rubbing back and forward.

"Cry."

You laugh, a type of laugh that gets caught in your throat, "I'm not though." Nagi grey eyes focused on you keeps pressing his thumb against you cheek as Reo reaches over taking your hands pressing them together to stop them from shaking, rubbing small circles against your wrists.

You didn't even realize you were shaking.

The heir's voice dropped into a soothing voice, reassuring, "It says a couple months..." He grins, confidence flooding his face, "But it will take only a couple weeks knowing how talented I am and how genius Nagi is." He hasn't stopped rubbing circles.

You sight, leaning into Nagi's hand as he moves his hand to the back of your nap massaging the tension, "You guys will eat healthy, right?"

Reo squeezed his hands against your as Nagi hums in agreement.

"And you guys will be together? You won't miss me?"

It was instantaneous.

"How could we not!" Purple irises burn with sincerity.

"It be hard not to miss you." Lazy eyes blink.

You give a small laugh leaning against Nagi's shoulder and gave a tight squeeze against Reo's in agreement. It was hard to believe Nagi was your only treasure before Reo butted into your life, I guess now you had two.

"Okay. I'll wait for you both to come back then."

#.wwrenwrites #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock x y/n #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #reo mikage #reo mikage x reader #blkbrainspam #nagi fluff #reo fluff #author begs for interaction she is so lonely

[dorianepin]

nba draft models

patrick bacon nhle blog post

f1metrics model blog post

f1 mathematical model 2023 ratings

f1 analysis 2023 driver rankings

+ there was a guy who charted specific prospect comps but i don't remember who it was anymore... need to look around some more

@__@ thinking about projection modeling for feeder series again. the thing is that the world of "advanced stats" does not tangibly exist in f1 fandom, which is mildly fascinating to me because it's a sport literally predicated on real-time data & predictive analysis... of course the issue is more so that the primary "product" is half black-box and there are limits to the confidence one can ascribe to any analysis because projections of a driver's performance must contextualize the inherent characteristics of the car, which are not entirely known to factually anyone, and even more importantly it is entirely impossible to predict or account for any team's incoming in-season upgrades, so by the time a general competitive order has been determined there is less of a desire to make the projections & evaluations that shape so much of nhl/nba/etc. analytical consumption (at least imo).

there are databases and apis (ergast... but it's shutting down) out there except f1metrics hasn't been active since 2019 and the other modeling work i've seen is quite few and far between... the brunt of f1 stats is basically telemetry overlays, race pace distributions, quali h2h metrics & gap medians, etc. etc........ in the end people love stats in this sport but i feel like the framework in which they get disseminated is always so restrictive ?

anyway the thing is that f1 being non-spec (or not the fact of it being non-spec specifically but rather how it makes evaluating team development impossible because of how complex & secretive the processes are) complicates this entire exercise in the first place, but then...... what of prospect evaluation??

it drives me increasingly crasy to see people incapable of contextualizing junior series dominance + the overall trajectory that a driver's career takes before they make it to f1. the big disclaimer is, of course, that f2 and f1 are not linearly comparable and it's presumptuous to be able to say that someone who dominates in f2 will be able to come to grips with the mechanics of a completely different car and the elevated competition at the highest level of motorsport, but the more i think about it the more i'm like well... is this not basically how nhle gets approached too??? sure you can say that someone who thrives at the european junior level might struggle to adjust to a specific coaching system while playing on smaller ice with increased physicality, but that's a speculative caveat at the end of the day... motorsport is one of the most ever Vibes Based fandoms in terms of rating junior drivers and proclaiming others as being washed but i feel like there are enough traits to create a better evaluation system than currently exists.

considerations

(get mecachromed) how 2 account for illegal engines and private testing etc. well: you can't. or i don't know how to

teams obviously know more from running their rookies privately than we do. but models aren't made to be right and in this case they're made to vaguely identify a measure of potential

instantly harder to evaluate the strength of the "rest of the field" if none of the other competitors have ever eventually made it to f1, because those drivers will hence always be something of an unknown variable

nhle is basically about contextualizing junior pts output & using that to determine a player's expected usefulness (further generalized by elite, star, nhler, bust etc.), which again is not really translatable to f1 because although quality of teammate does have a variable impact in hockey it's literally mathematically impossible to be to the same level of f1 wherein you can end up in a backmarker and score 0 points. and obviously it's like... the linear accumulation of points is simply not the same, you don't get 1 single point for every action you make, so going by absolute differences in f1 scoring is often misleading (though it does carry its own context... anyway)

that being said, Traits:

total points (adjusted per championship format)

year # in championship (i think being in your 3rd year Should be much more highly weighted than some people are willing to admit)

age / series run previously

dominance over field (% of total avail points)

dominance over teammates (quali h2h, sprint/feature h2h, quali % diff, etc.)

some measure of consistency? but the idea also, to me, is like....... i wonder how for example ollie would rate if this were applied to his rookie f2 season because how much does a team value his rough-around-the-edges quickness over theo's ultimately unremarkable 3rd year consistency?

that's really the crux of it at the end of the day.......... many thoughts but that's where i'm at right now. hmm. let me put this under a read more i did not think i'd write this much

also -> realizing things about evaluating ceiling of performance in f1 (there Is a maximum you can achieve unlike other sports where the human limit to how many points you can score is more evident) and also that retroactively evaluating current graduates requires some level of analysis wrt f1 performance & longevity anyway.... thinking about george/lando/sharl/alex comparisons + mick/guanyu/oscar co... Hm. idk

[russilton]

I don’t really know what people is on when they first shit talk Mercedes, Lewis, George and the team and then proceed to say “X driver to Mercedes in 2024 when Lewis leaves”! Dudes, Mercedes is incredibly selective on their drivers, You have not only to bust your ass to get a chance, but also have certain talents and qualities required. There’s a reason why they’ve had 5:6 drivers in there since their creation as a team. Now my rant is done, I’ll go lay down and drown in britcedes feels, goodbye

Yeah I have a lot of thoughts on this honestly. Some nice and some not so nice lmao but all agreeing with you.

Long ramble under the cut bc I guess I wanted to get some stuff out of my brain and I can just refer back to this later if asked again lol.

And let me say first of all that look, I get it, I would bend over backwards and lie to myself and god when it comes to my favourite drivers. Part of me deeply and truly believes George and Lewis could walk into any other car in the grid if they asked, I really do. I don’t think they’d want to, but if they did, they could. Because we are ALL delusional about our faves. Sometimes it’s what makes this site so fun, we’re all a little stupid for these dudes.

But I have a very salty view of people who people who think certain drivers could just walk into Merc without a Nico level fall out, or a Lewis level of skill in the sport*. ESPECIALLY when it comes to “problematic” drivers like Lando, Max, Carlos, etc.

* more on that one in a sec, spoiler alert: they’ve already got that, his name is George.

I think what really grinds my gears about it (and I mean the people who SERIOUSLY think their driver has a shot at Merc, not people having fun) is it comes down to three tracks of thought; people who think Lewis is genuinely about to retire, people who seem to forget George exists, and people who seem to profoundly misunderstand how Merc work as an organisation.

The first one is easy to be annoyed at and dismiss, Lewis has made it clear over and over he’s not going anywhere. I’m rankled by people who think he’s suddenly going to retire bc of his age. Alonso is still here and he’s fuelled by salt rather than skill, you think Lewis is gonna go just bc he’s 38? He’s insane, and there is nothing he is more buck wild about than F1. I also don’t like thinking about Lewis retiring. Sue me.

The second I get but hate a lot. I’m a George fan, I am biased but George is ignored by a lot of people; and the narratives about him being PR63, even by some Lewis fans, are flimsy and shitty. He’s got so much heart in his stick thin frame that it flows out his ears. You look at him, past the surface for a couple seconds, and god you can see it shine like a beacon. He doesn’t answer Lewis and himself when he’s asked for the perfect driver line up because of PR, but because he fucking adores Lewis. He adores the team. He goofs around with them, spends time with them, he’s embedded with the engineers and mechanics. He seems boring off track because he’s private, but he has been going to dinners with them and travelling with them for years, he’s boring because he’s an old soul who puts focus on his family and his mental health. He does try to be funny online and people scoff at him. He posts shirtless pictures and he’s teased for it. Like what do you want from the guy; if he’s genuine he’s cringe and if he’s reserved he’s PR boring. Fuck that, he makes Lewis smile and that’s enough for me.

But then It’s because of his less than popular off track self that people look past him on track, and you shouldn’t because this man is insane. This is what I was talking about earlier when I said Merc have got their Lewis 2.0. George is him. He drives like Lewis, he’s learning to approach the garage like Lewis, he knows how to restrain himself to the media just like Lewis. Talk less, smile more, because they want to bait you more than anyone, they’re waiting for you to slip. Don’t give it to them and then unleash a terror that leaves other drivers blinking in shock on track. Singapore this year SHOULDN’T override Austria, when George drove from the back in a garbage car to finish 4th. He copied Lewis in Spain like a text book because that’s the kind of driver George is. He knows how to manage his tires because Lewis taught him. He says over and over again how important he finds it to learn from Lewis because Lewis is his standard of greatness. Merc have trained him like this, because together he and Lewis mesh well. They both know where to put their cars to make overtakes others wouldn’t, they drive like their cars are an extension of their body. Nothing bothers me more than people who set team line ups at Merc without Lewis or George, because it often assumes Lewis would retire and Merc would just… throw George out?

George Russell is grit, spirit, positivity and determination, and I feel like the people who don’t see him as an insanely impressive generational talent like Charles or Max are choosing not to look, or were blinded by how trash Williams was. I’d you don’t judge Mick on where haas dragged him down; you can’t judge George.

(Yet another place george is like Lewis, is he let the hard times humble him and make him better. He will never, ever have to struggle the same way Lewis did and he’s been afforded privileges that Lewis won’t, he himself will tell you that. But they were both boys from families without much money who’s parents struggled to let them follow their dreams. Why do you think Lewis likes him so much? He’s said it himself, he sees the same instinct he had, in George)

And finally the third thing I’ve probably spoken on most: some people really only see Merc as a fast car and not as a team. Which I guess is fair if you aren’t a massive fan of either of the boys. You think I’m invested in how mclaren or RB or Ferrari behave as organisations outside of drama? Of course I’m not. I barely even cared about Williams outside of GR and NL. But Merc is another breed of team honestly. Not to suck corporate dick bc you know I hate it but there’s a reason they aren’t really ever involved in silly season. Why them CHOOSING to hire George was monumental. They are unlike anyone else in how they cultured George. He’s been in the Merc garage on race weekends since 2016. They watched and carefully primed him for it, they made him work so hard for every step. I’m not sure they would have ever got rid of Nico and hired Val if he hadn’t chose to leave. Do you know how resistant they were to put anyone other than George in their car? They were worrying about who would take Lewis’ seat in Sakhir if they couldn’t get him. Their reserve driver, stoff, WAS RIGHT THERE.

If George hadn’t gone above and beyond to prove himself ready for Merc, they would have stuck with Valtteri. Merc play it safe and close to the chest far more than they’ll admit, I think it’s why our number one issue with races this year has been emergency strat choices. We so often play it safe and panic when pushed. And that’s why I end up laughing at some driver move theories bc it’s like really? You think, safe playing, elitist weirdos Merc are gonna do that??

The only driver on the 22/23 grid I genuinely, truly think Merc would consider putting in their car if LH decided to split second retire, or George, idk, stabbed Toto in the leg, is Esteban Ocon or MAYBE they’d go back to VB if VaL would be willing to accept the pressure of the seat again. They like Ocon, he has history with the team, he’s got some real promise in his development, and he’s got a lil bastard in him they like their drivers to have. But that would ONLY happen if they had 0 prep time and had to pick another grid driver. Merc have their dream team right now.

#asks #anonymous #wank/rants #team Merc #mark’s driver meta #mark talks britcedes

[malk1ns]

7 and 12 for the writing questions <3

hello hello!

7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

oh boy, would i ever love to be able to say, ahhhh i write for the love of the craft and the joy of creating, feedback and support matters not! alas. comments and discussions about my writing are literally everything to my ~muse (ew). i love love love getting asks about headcanons i've posted here (sign-up sheet, i'm looking at you, i am returning to you soon), because so many times even if i don't answer the ask right away, it's triggered something for me—sometimes a continuation, sometimes a brand-new story, and sometimes just a little bit of not-fic rambling on here that still feeds that creative impulse. i am sadly at heart a vain creature who likes to hear when people like my stuff. comments are loved, treasured, and adored, and i frequently go back through my fics and re-read every single comment people were kind enough to leave. as far as support...yeah. i CAN write in a vacuum, but i prefer not to. i love talking about my concepts even if they're things i never plan on fleshing out into full fics, and i love bouncing my ideas around with the people i force to beta-read for me, because their feedback makes everything i do so much better.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

hmm this is an interesting one, and it made me actually go back and think about what i was doing the last time i successfully sat down and wrote more than like...one singular paragraph that i later deleted, lol.

i need:

-music. NOT podcasts, NOT tv, NOT sports. i get too distracted if it's anything besides just songs. sometimes it helps me to have it be a specific ~mood or ~theme, but usually i can just hit shuffle and go. OR i'll go hunt down one of @beggingwolf's playlists (she has many many good ones!) and bogart that to get me started :)

-mid-afternoon to mid-evening. i never am motivated enough in the mornings to get going early and if it gets too late i want to go lie down in bed and read. i CAN and have written on my phone in bed before, but those are rare situations where an idea absolutely lit me on fire and i needed to get it out right then and there. a few of my post-game ficlets have been written that way, and some scenes from my longer stuff, but for the most part no. i also do the best when i'm on my laptop, because i can type faster there. if i'm really having writer's block i'll bust out the old notebook and try to brainstorm by hand, too!

-the ability to contort my legs and torso into strange and ultimately horrendously uncomfortable positions—this usually means a wide chair with pieces of furniture around i can use to prop my feet on. i am very tall (6'1") and sitting in a chair at a desk tends to make my knees hurt because nothing is quite sized for me :)

-i need to be able to FOCUS. what that means for me is shutting down discord and muting my texts, at least at first, and getting solidly in the groove. if i can write for about 20 minutes sans distractions and really dig into it, i can chat with people both in person and online and be able to keep going no problem, but i have to get the flow going first.

thank you!!!!

fic asks here :)

#my writing #asks #fic asks #ask game

[qnewslgbtiqa]

Karna Ford: An Exclusive Interview

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/karna-ford-an-exclusive-interview/

Karna Ford: An Exclusive Interview

As the reigning queen of Universal’s Slay 2 Stay drag competition, Sydney’s Karna Ford is one of Australia’s newest drag sensations and has taken the scene by storm since the end of the pandemic. 

Drag Royalty in the Making

This is a queen that you can’t miss. Karna Ford is a force to be reckoned with, sporting an impressive resume for an up-and-coming performer. Notably, Karna has featured in Jessica Mauboy’s Right Here Right Now music video and on the TV series NCIS Sydney.

QNews spoke to Karna in an exclusive interview about what drag means to her and why she got into the artform in the first place. 

How would you describe your type of drag to someone who’s never seen a spot from you before? 

I would call myself a club queen. Most of my work is performances at clubs. The inspiration that I draw from are powerhouse divas like Beyonce, Nicole Scherzinger, J-Lo, Rihanna… I also dance, and so I love to show off my dance moves. 

I have a Filipino influence from my family and from the Filipino community here, but it’s not something that I’ve really tapped into just yet. I’ve been wanting to do more culturally inspired performances, but I was born in Australia, so a lot of my influences are westernised. But it’s definitely something that I want to incorporate more into my performances. I do love it when I perform a Filipino artist like Nicole Scherzinger. 

Do you remember when you first fell in love with drag? 

I’ve always been a performer and I used to be a dancer before I started drag. 

I got booked for a show called Queens of Asia and there weren’t enough Asian drag queens that could dance and perform so they asked me if I wanted to be a drag queen in the show. This was my first paid opportunity to do a show, but it was in drag. But I loved the whole process straight away. Of course, I was obviously busted. It was my first time doing drag. That’s why it’s lucky for me that I had the dance training because that’s what people wanted to see on stage. 

For my first year of doing drag, which was in 2019, I only did it about five or six times. And every time that I’d done it had been because it was a paid gig. And then we got into lockdown in 2020. 

I was craving to do drag. I would just be at home practising my makeup, and then going online and sharing what I did during COVID. 

But I think it kind of showed what I saw during my era of starting out- it showed who really wanted to push for it. There were a lot of queens that dropped off during that time. 

There was no reason for them to do it. Whereas the ones who I’ve seen blossom during COVID are the ones that are working now. 

What did winning Slay 2 Stay mean to you and your place within the Sydney queer scene? 

It meant a lot to me. I actually wanted to do the season before, which was the third season of Slay 2 Stay, but then I had a lot of people in my ear being like, “Oh, don’t do that. You know what those competitions are like. It’s all about hierarchy and sucking at people’s asses!” 

And I let that get to me, and then I saw how the competition went. I was like, I totally could have slayed that! So I made the decision to just do it for myself. 

One, to push my creativity to create something new every week and two, to just do it for myself. If it wasn’t for Slay, I wouldn’t have built a team and support system behind me that I have right now. 

The people who came and supported me at Slay are people that are so important to me. I wasn’t new to the scene before Slay, but it felt more cemented after the competition. 

It was interesting how everything played out in the competition, but I think that’s the thing about competitions is that you just have to expect the unexpected. I obviously wanted to come in and make it to the end. But throughout the whole competition, I felt like it wasn’t mine, and then I made it to the end, and it was just that last little performance that made me go over the edge that made me win. It was a bit shocking, but in the best way! 

Photographer: Hamid Mousa

Do you have any inspirations for drag specifically? 

Well, my absolute idol in the Sydney drag scene is Coco Jumbo. She was one of the first queens that I saw who I could feel like I connected to- that was a person of colour, that was a bit bigger, and could bring the house down. 

And now at times I get booked on jobs with her. So I feel like it’s a full circle moment for me. This was years ago, before she was on Drag Race, when she was doing a lot of shows at Arq. She’s got this ability to make everyone feel so special, and yeah, she’s incredible. 

What are your hopes for the future?

It’s wild because I’ve actually hit a lot of my goals that I wrote for myself a few years ago. 

I wrote myself a five year plan, and each year I wanted to achieve one of those goals. I wanted to have a weekly show, which I do now. I was featured in a music video with Jessica Mauboy, I got featured in a role for a TV show- NCIS Sydney on Paramount+. 

And then my last goal that I really wanted to kick was to travel internationally for drag. And then funnily enough, that only happened recently. 

So it was very cool that we achieved all these goals. And the thing about that is that I achieved all of these goals without me being on Drag Race. 

I just feel like there are people who go on Drag Race to book those sorts of gigs, but these are all things that I’ve gotten on my own. 

So I think what I hope for the future is. I think I just want to travel the world more with drag, so do more touring shows and just go around the world. 

You can see Karna Ford in NCIS Sydney on Paramount+ Australia or later this year on Network 10. 

Read the Latest from QNews

Karna Ford: An Exclusive Interview

Bendigo Queer Film Festival celebrates twenty years

Victorian Pride Centre launches LGBTIQA+ Visual Arts Program

Death of nonbinary teen Nex Benedict ruled a suicide

Sydney FC celebrates Pride across weekend of festivities

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

The Mad Dash (Trigun fanfic) part 2

summary: A new challenger enters the ring to save Vash and Wolfwood from a dire situation. Someone that proves to be a formidable and capable fighter.

characters: Vash the Stampede, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, OC

content: blood, violence, injury, medical treatments, broken bones, serious injury, mention of death, serious fighting, explosions, tending wounds, tending broken bones, established relationship

// apparently this fic is too long to post it in the sections I wanted but oh well will try to manage the posts the way Tumblr demands of me what yah gonna do? :) //

Wolfwood found the bottle as Vash brought a hand to her neck. His fingers pressed into her pulse as she gave a hard growl of a noise. Vash frowned as she snarled out, "So much for first impressions after getting my ass handed to me." Vash gave her a sad smile to state, "We made it out alive because of you stepping in. Thank you for that. But we have yet to get your name." She looked at him with those blue eyes. And she took a moment to get a good drag of air before she spoke. "Call me Naomi. And you're welcome." But then she gave a hard cough to then shudder as Wolfwood popped the cork on the bottle. His words to the point. "Get her over to the table Vash. Or she'll keep leaking." Vash did his best to move her without hurting her. But she gave a strangled shout none the less. Vash had the chest armor that she had been wearing off in seconds. But had to rip the tunic off her since moving her arm was out of the question. While Wolfwood started scrubbing at the dirt and blood on her good arm. And they both went wide eyed when they actually got a good look at her skin. She looked like she'd been tossed into a blender. Scars all over her arm and her chest along with bullet wounds and several deep burns. Removing her pants revealed even more. Her entire left leg covered in what looked like an acid burn that never really healed right. Vash gave a hard gulp at all the damage. While Wolfwood focused on getting the cuts cleaned. Naomi didn't seem very self conscious about them looking at her. Even though she was only in jogging short type underwear and a sports bra. But then she looked to be more concerned about breathing. Wolfwood started using the medical glue as Vash worked on cleaning her other side. And she gave a hard shout as the glue sealed the cut on her arm right away. But they both could tell it hurt. Her eyes watering as she huffed for air. Vash told her, "Sorry. We don't want to-" But she cut him off. "Not your fault. Just get it over with as fast as you can." Vash and Wolfwood nodded to keep working at getting her tended to. Vash cleaning her now bruising side with care. Which was blue from her armpit all the way down to her hip. He winced to note, "You are gonna hate breathing for a while." She gave a chuckle to note, "I already do." Wolfwood gave a snort to then seal her leaking leg. Which had her take a hard gasp to growl like an animal. He told her, "Yeah. Go ahead and yell." But she grit her teeth to grip tight to the table instead. Vash finished with the cleaning to then start sealing the cuts with the glue on her left side. The gash on her back looking more like an old wound had split open. It ran from the tip of her shoulder blade all the way down her back. Just ending at the waist line of her shorts. And he wasn't surprised when she gave the most gut wrenching howl when he did.

By the time they had finished with all the cuts, Naomi looked about ready to pass out. Her body trembling non stop as they bandaged the last of the cuts. Wolfwood looked to her still busted arm to grit his teeth. Vash also looking pained as they watched her heave in air. But then Naomi took charge to grab the end of her bag. Bringing out several sturdy rods just long enough to make a satisfactory splint. The two men went wide eyed as she set them on the table. Her hand shaking as she said, "Either you straighten this arm now or it gets chopped off later. So get to it." Vash jerked as if she'd punched him. Wolfwood nodding to then kneel in front of her. "Right. Vash. Keep her still." Naomi grabbed one of the red stained rags to stick it in her mouth. So Vash put his hands on her shoulders from behind. Bracing her down into the chair to say, "Do it." Wolfwood moved for a gut wrenching snap to sound out. Her eyes going as wide as allowed to practically shriek into the rag. Then Wolfwood moved again for yet another sound of bones aligning to rip through the air. And Naomi gave a hard lurch to then whimper. Her eyes streaming as Vash watched. He told Wolfwood, "Wait. Give her a minute." But Naomi shook her head to give Wolfwood a look that spoke volumes. Wolfwood gazed back with understanding. Even as he told her, "You get points for being so tough. Three more and it's done." She nodded to take a breath. And Wolfwood set her elbow back into place for her to scream hard into the rag. By the fourth setting she finally passed out. Her eyes rolling back to go completely limp in the chair. Vash took the rag out right away for her to breathe. And he looked about ready to lose it as he put a hand to her face. Wolfwood took a second to make sure she was out. Then he set the last bone to start setting up the splint. He looked like a mix of angry and sick as he told Vash, "We are getting her to a real doctor after we get ourselves cleaned up." Vash nodded to tilt her face to him. And he was already crying. Hot tears falling as she gave soft breaths of air. "Agreed, Nick. But let's not risk us moving out in the open. Those bounty hunters won't be giving up the chase." Wolfwood nodded to then finish with the splint. Tying the last knot to huff out, "Remind me to pay them back for this." For once Vash didn't protest. He just lifted Naomi up out of the chair and moved her to the bed. Laying her with care so her head rested on the pillows. Wolfwood got the bowl into the sink to then say, "You want first dibs on the shower?" Vash took a second to then answer. "Just be sure she-" Wolfwood smirked to then make a shooing motion with his hand. "Just go before I change my mind." Vash nodded to then head for the bathroom. With Wolfwood dragging a chair over to sit himself next to the bed.

Vash didn't take long in the shower before he was free of the dirt and the blood. His mind dwelling on their new partner in crime more than the fact that he was being chased yet again. She had come out of nowhere in the middle of that mad dash to cut down the two cyborgs that were about to rip Vash and Wolfwood to shreds. No forewarning. No reason. And no regard for her own safety as she had literally put herself as their shield in order for them to escape. A woman that looked to be no older than twenty years of age. Vash closed his eyes as her image came to his head. Long white hair that curled in fierce waves once it reached past her chin. The curls brushing over her shoulders to flow down to her waist. It was clear to him that her hair was not naturally white. Since her eyebrows were of a redwood brown hue. So it had to mean it had been from some kind of shock or trauma. And from the marring all over her skin he'd guess the latter. But her eyes were what took up all of his attention. A striking ice blue that was flecked with a metalic silver. The look she had given him had been that of a fierce and strong woman. One that didn't back away from a fight or give in to a tough situation. But then her image shifted into that of a look of serenity and warmth. And Vash gave a full shudder as his blood went hot in his veins. His body shivering as he shook his head to clear it. He was both confused and suprised at such a reaction. He'd never had that happen before. But then he gave his head a few light whaps to clear it and finish in the shower. Not wanting to leave Wolfwood alone without getting cleaned up. Vash made sure to get good and dry before throwing on some of his clothes. Coming out of the bathroom in his sweat pants and a towel on his head. He told Wolfwood, "All done. Your turn." Then Vash got the towel out of his face to turn to his friend. Who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and obviously wanting to ask a question. Which he did in the next second. "Spikey, did you boil yourself or are you blushing for a reason?" Vash blinked in confusion to ask his own question. "What? Blushing? What are you talking about?" Wolfwood then gave an evident smirk to laugh at bit as he got out of the chair. "I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it with my own two eyes! And the insurance girls call me a dog! Seriously! You really going to tell me you don't get my meaning?" Vash was now starting to feel his face flush even further. His mind piecing things together to squack at Wolfwood. "Nick! Don't say that! Just stop already!"

#The Mad Dash #Trigun fanfiction #Trigun fic

[spacelasagna]

School Rivalry AU headcanons

warning: long. So long. 8 pages worth of long.

@music-note120 @smolbisexualmess @coronahamilton1964 @peanutbell I’m tagging you all, space cadets, you made me do this and I love you for it. NO REFUNDS THO.

A while ago I promised some headcanons for [this] and [this], so despite my initial fear of writing and posting anything, now I feel comfortable enough with sharing. I mean, I’ve never met more supportive people.

First of all, I have absolutely no idea what high school football is like (or cheerleading for that matter), my expertise comes only from guilty-pleasure watching Glee. Where I come from school rivalry is not really that popular I think? Or maybe I’m just oblivious, I wouldn’t be surprised. I can pay attention for like half a second before my brain looses connection.

English = hard, I can’t stress that enough. Enjoy!

I mentioned in one comment that the thought process behind Owls design literally involved sitting my dumb bottom cheeks down to google “which animal danger to mole” and internet gods proposed owls, so. My brain farted: “owls occasionally hunt moles, moles=ground, owls=sky, one flies the other doesn’t, amazing, it was meant to be”;

I fiddled with colors for two hours. Canon already showed us that for Moles it’s violet, navy, some gold, then I had to color in Douxie’s varsity jacket and nothing worked. At one point I’ve given up. Black it is, I love black, can’t go wrong with black;

For this AU just remember any 80’s, 90’s, 00’s vibes teenage drama movie you’ve ever watched and it’s probably accurate to what I was going for;

There’s no magic in this AU. No trolls and trollhunters, everything is plain and mundane, Strickler’s the principal at AOH, others probably work there too (Blinky as school’s counselor, Aarghaumont as the sweetest janitor and Draal’s like, a security guard that’s very dedicated to their duty);

Douxie hc:

I don’t really think our emo-kid cares much about sports or this weird popularity contest that determines hierarchy in schools? But again, I blame Glee for athlete Douxie. I really liked this part in Glee where Kurt joined football team, found out how to do things his own way and succeeded because of it (also jocks dancing to Single Ladies, come on). So Douxie embodies best of both worlds in this AU, he’s a humble misfit with artistic soul who also happens to kick like nobody’s business and so he receives lots of kinda unexpected attention from different people, also those he doesn’t particularly want to be associated with;

He tries to be nice to anyone though, while his heart truly belongs on stage and he mostly looks forward to extra-curricular theater rehearsals;

That’s where he met most of his true friends, including Zoe; first year of high school started and they were already breaking rules. They got detention assigned in auditorium, had to sort through a massive pile of props and then clicked with each other instantly, two peas inside a pod doing improv renditions of classic plays, mocking Shakespeare in tacky costumes. Of course the teacher busted them eventually for neglecting their detention duties, but they were more enraptured by their goofing around than mad and instead encouraged them to join drama club;

That’s how Zoe and Douxie became Team Rocket ended up finding their place among other theatre kids;

This Douxie loves freerunning and is surprisingly good at some sports, so by second year his coach made him try out for the team, which Douxie wasn’t thrilled about, but he likes experiencing all sorts of new things, so he hesitated only a little before agreeing to take up Owls’ kicker position;

Zoe had a blast when she heard about it, she was like Janis in Mean Girls, instantly asking for any gossip on Owls’ meatheads/cheerleaders;

She just likes knowing things and holding all the power of information. She keeps tabs on all kinds of people. Mostly for any future revolutions she plans on leading to dethrone bullies at the Academy;

Douxie doesn’t enjoy gossip, but he does share similar opinions with his bestie, so he happily indulges himself in spilling all the tea when they meet up almost every evening at their favorite dingy cheap diner for milkshakes. Then he describes every drama he’s seen or heard of while spending time with his team;

They’re not all that bad people, sometimes just misunderstood big softies or folks too pressured to be someone they don’t want to be, so Douxie tends to stick with those instead. He tries to support them and encourage some soul searching lmao, realize your true potential, Brian, forget about toxic masculinity and let me paint your nails dude;

At one point Zoe and Douxie start a garage band, to reach people’s hearts with their awesome rebellious music and Ash Dispersal Pattern is born;

If wizards&magic are not a thing here then maybe Merlin’s the headmaster at Arcadia Oaks Academy and not many people know that Douxie is actually adoptive son of the principal;

He rocks some serious dark eye circles, he’s having a very complicated relationship with his sleep schedule. Douxie took a part-time job on top of his football practices and drama club activities, while also trying to keep up his good grades. Maybe he overworks himself to make the most of his time. Or maybe he’s just trying to get HIS ADOPTIVE FATHER TO NOTICE HIS EFFORTS Merlin get a grip sheesh;

When overly stressed to the point of almost panicking, he rarely, but still smokes;

Archie’s not a cat, they’re a person now. Archie’s a snobbish librarian working at the Academy that’s more a parental figure to Douxie than Merlin, guiding him, giving advice on various things like asking out a cute cheerleader and offering a nice cup of hot tea every time Douxie comes. Besides drama club, library is the place where Douxie spends most of his time, preferably at later hours;

Douxie just loves the peacefulness, that smell of paper and how empty it gets after sun starts to set outside. Archie even saves Douxie his favorite spot in a far corner, right next to a small window, should he ever feel the need to sit down and wind off;

And Archie often finds this tired boy sunken deeply in a beanbag, right in that corner, so they don’t interrupt him and just cover him with a blanket, letting him nap for however long he wishes;

Nobody questions that Archie practically lives in the school, they’re so mysterious that you make up scary creepypastas about it but don’t dare to actually ask;

Krel hc:

It’s not like it was his dream to become a cheerleader, far from it actually, but his sister insisted that they should do something fun this junior year and sign up to something together. It sounded nice and thoughtful in theory, in reality no one was surprised when she chose cheerleading, considering one of her best friends, Mary, was cheer captain, while her other best friend, Darci, was a mascot;

So Krel got fed up with the idea as soon as it came up and Aja got frustrated too. Then she decided that she won’t pass this chance just because he’s prejudiced, and told him she’ll go for try-outs with or without him;

And obviously he took it personally, because he won’t be spending yet another year being called Kevin by her sister’s many, many friends. Popularity? Sign him in, he’ll get as popular as Aja just to prove a point and then he’s going to have a great summer;

So he goes to those try-outs for cheerleading team with her and knocks those girls’ socks off with his performance, clapping, stomping, throwing in some impressive flips and a split jump for garnish; 

That panic at the janus order disco episode still haunts me to this day (because of that cursed flossin), still, Krel did a handstand AND a frontflip out of nowhere just to show off his sick dance moves so I’d argue he’d make a nice addition to cheerleading squad. There’s some serious flexibility hiding in that body I’m telling you;

He’s actually greatly appreciated among his teammates and most cheerleaders don’t really question his ideas: he helps immensely with choreographing. Where he may lack a little with acrobatics – pulling of complicated stunts is more Aja’s expertise – he makes up with his dancing. He comes up with transitions for their routines, so changing from one pose to another goes more smoothly, which gives their team’s performances a unique vibe;

They’re also trusting him with choosing their music. His feel of the rhythm is inexplicable and he can easily remix anything to fit more with team’s ideas. It helped with refreshing and elevating their whole repertoire;

Cheers that Mary writes for them are unmatched;

At first Mary’s like “ew” towards him, cause he’s that insignificant nerd with an attitude and even when she was spending time with Aja at their house she purposefully ignored his forgettable existence;

They bicker a lot during practices because they’re both very stubborn and have strong opinions about, well, everything, then they argue just for the sake of arguing;

Before any of them noticed a shift in their relationship Krel and Mary were already almost inseparable at school;

She started noticing Krel probably after he loudly told off some gossipers for spreading ugly rumors about Mary’s love life (and for using slurs while at it, gross). She’s THE Queen Bee of AOH, so she had to grow a thick skin, yeah? She doesn’t need anyone’s protection, she’s used to hate comments, she has to handle trolls every day. She has a reputation to uphold, she build that flirty, overconfident and very comfortable with her body persona to make a statement, no one will bring her down with some pitiful remarks about her dating history just to gain some attention;

In Krel’s book she shouldn’t have had to get used to any of this judgmental crap in the first place, whether those gossips really bother her or not. They’re still vile and hearing them makes his ears bleed, so he gladly calls out people for their filth, making a whole spectacle of it;

Mary’s honestly touched the first time it happens, it’s nice to have someone in your corner for a change even if you don’t really expect it, least of all from a guy that doesn’t seem to pay much attention to anything he can’t explain with equations and numbers;

There’s no greater pleasure than standing up to bullies and ignorant buffoons so they start doing it together with Darci now;

Mary still calls him Kevin tho even though she remembers her new bestie’s name perfectly fine;

Mary made Krel’s school career her personal project. There you go, Kevin, I’m going to make you a Shining Star of Arcadia Oaks High, thank me later when they’ll crown you their King;

Now she comes to their house to visit Krel as well, they play videogames a lot and, of course, banter in the meantime. She loves teasing Krel about Douxie, him crushing on anybody is a gem;

Their friendship is pure chaos and dragging Krel to participate in social events he absolutely doesn’t want to partake in;

(“Remember Kevin, our goal is to actually make you popular, so less whining and more smiling.”);

(“Oh god no stop smiling that is horrific.”);

He doesn’t actually care for popularity, making some unexpected friendships was more than enough already;

With those baggy clothes and headphones and having actual hoverboard in canon, you can’t convince me Krel wouldn’t be a sk8ter boi on top of being a cheerleader;

He swears. A lot. I signed the petition to let Krel freely use his favorite f-word;

You’d think that between Krel and Douxie it’s most likely for the latter to find or cause trouble, but no, it’s actually Krel. He’s just always so stubborn and arrogant enough that when you try to limit his creative processes with rules or just tell him he shouldn’t be doing something, he’ll most definitely find a way to do exactly that and then more. He’s just that set on proving you wrong. And he has an issue with authority, just let him experiment and work on his own terms or don’t even bother interrupting;

Zoe absolutely loves this about him and unapologetically takes advantage of it, easily convincing him to join in on her shenanigans. She’s like: “bet you can’t hack into my principal’s computer” and Krel just gives her his most unamused look, already reaching for his laptop and cracking his knuckles with “This is child’s play, give me a real challenge”. Then Douxie’s chuckling a little, saying: “You know this is actually breaking the law, right?” and to celebrate Krel’s famous ‘your mom’ joke he doesn’t even look up when he instantly replies with “Your face breaks the law” then there’s this short pause and he actually looks at Douxie, adding “I meant it as a compliment obviously, your face looks really nice, Doux.” and he goes back to typing furiously;

Last but not least, Krel and Aja are rich kids living in a mansion with their weird but loving uncle Varvatos who took custody of them after their parents died;

Their relationship hc:

It took months of stealing curious glances, bumping into one another and exchanging a total of maybe ten words at games and joint practices for the two of them to finally have a real conversation;

It happened after one of their games. Owls won, but Douxie didn’t feel like a winner at all – Merlin was supposed to be there and watch, he promised, but yet again he didn’t show up excusing himself with too much work. And Douxie was so done with excuses that this one time he couldn’t bring himself to shrug it off, so he didn’t bother with pretending that he was fine with it. It was nighttime already, they all changed back into their casual clothes and showered, his teammates went to celebrate their win, shouts slowly dissipated and the crowd dispersed – blinding lights went off, making the whole stadium look almost pitch black and abandoned. Douxie stayed behind and waited patiently, so when everything went quiet as if the winning match never happened, he sat down in now empty bleachers, pulled out his headphones, turned on some music and just, allowed himself to breathe;

That’s when Krel comes in. In all the commotion he left behind his hoodie, so he went to get it before going home. He saw some creep sitting high up in empty bleachers with his hands buried deep down into his varsity jacket, then recognized the creep to be this weird boy from rival team that doesn’t quite fit one’s idea of a football player;

Which was perfectly fine, he preferred weirdos anyway;

And normally he’d just ignore him and mind his own business, but with that resigned posture he just looked so heartbreakingly sad that Krel decided to risk it and make it his business after all;

So he slowly approached him and sat down next to him, minding Douxie’s personal space, but he didn’t say anything to him;

They sat like that in silence for a minute or three before Krel poked him lightly and asked what was he listening to;

Instead of answering, Douxie just pulled out one of his headphones and offered it to Krel, not really expecting him to take it;

But he did, allowing himself to scoot closer. And that’s it, they just shared Douxie’s headphones and listened to his music in silence, each one too deep into their own thoughts to bother with starting meaningless chit-chat. Douxie occasionally side-glanced at Krel who was bobbing his head and tapping his fingers against any hard surface perfectly to the rhythm while keeping his eyes closed;

After an hour or so Krel poked Douxie once again and asked if they could switch to his phone now, so Douxie shrugged and nodded, because why not, it was only fair after the boy listened with him to all of his music without complaining;

But after plugging out Douxie’s headphones, Krel just tossed them aside and put his playlist on speaker. He stood up and started actually dancing in front of him, maneuvering through empty benches and even daring to do some handstands. He didn’t stop until he finally made Douxie laugh;

He definitely did not notice Douxie’s tongue piercing then;

And now that he achieved loosening the boy up, they turned off the music completely and started talking instead. They were still strangers so it was supposed to be awkward, but after those two hours spent on simply existing near one another, sharing songs in peace and quiet – it didn’t feel awkward nor forced at all;

To Douxie’s surprise Krel stayed with him for the whole night. They spread out on benches in some odd positions that would later result in major back hurting and talked for hours about nothing in particular, easily falling into comfortable silence before jumping right to a new topic;

At one point they lied down together on that artificial turf and stargazed. Then stayed like that till sunrise. And finally Douxie told Krel all about his troubles, why he stayed after the game instead of celebrating with Owls, how he felt disappointed with Merlin but also kinda worthless himself because of it, like what he did wasn’t good enough for Merlin to pay attention, like he won’t ever be enough to make him genuinely proud;

Krel didn’t push for any answers, he just listened. When they gathered their stuff and finally decided to call it a day, Krel’s parting words for Douxie were “Next time I’ll cheer for you, how about it?”. And maybe it wasn’t much, but it meant the world to Douxie;

Then Krel told him to be proud despite whatever his adoptive father thinks, because he did great at that game. Though maybe he shouldn’t say that to his enemy, considering that his team lost because of Douxie being too good at his job. But eh, whatever, he’s earned that praise for being so impressive;

Douxie did not blush;

(“Go treat yourself to some chocolate chip cookies, loaded nachos and a well deserved nap. Emphasis on napping, Doux, you look like hell.”);

(“Why, thank you, darling.”);

They started talking much more after that night;

Krel wouldn’t know how to flirt to save his life. He’s so used to saying all the time that he doesn’t get everyone’s fixation on dating and romance – he’s not oblivious, he just doesn’t care. Douxie knows it, yet sometimes Krel just says the loveliest things to him with such blatant honesty it puzzles Douxie even more than any flirting he has ever experienced. Because he doesn’t expect Krel to compliment his looks or make any affectionate gestures towards him, every time it happens Douxie’s brain just fries, because Krel is not trying to hit on him, he’s just saying exactly what he thinks of him and how being near him makes him feel;

And Krel likes him. So much, it’s stupid;

Krel’s a capital A-hole (or simply leaves impression of being one) to almost anyone who’s not his recently discovered crush, so their more or less mutual acquaintances sometimes ask Douxie how a guy like him, charismatic and selfless,  can stand such an evil gremlin like Krel. And Douxie’s genuinely confused, saying: “What are you talking about, he dropped by my school this morning just to give me coffee, he’s the sweetest angel.”; 

Just imagine Krel getting up to a text from Douxie that he didn’t get much sleep last night and he is now tired out of his mind. So right before his classes start, Krel runs up to meet with him by the Academy’s entrance and then gives Douxie his usual coffee & blueberry-muffin order, saying something like “Here, some carbs and your gross satan’s puke, how can you even drink this”. He hates coffee, just the smell of it makes him almost hurl, he’s grumpy about it, but he knows Douxie enjoys it and he’ll need all the energy to survive till practice, so without second thought he just makes a stop by Douxie’s favorite coffee shop. He barely has time for any conversation, so right after giving him everything he quickly makes his way back, jumps on his skateboard and almost vaults himself over the railing in a hurry, because Arcadia High is not as close to the Academy as one might hope, especially when you also have morning classes. Meanwhile Douxie just stands there alone with a dumb love-struck look on his face till the bell rings, hopelessly smitten with Krel. Yep, the sweetest angel;

Mary, Krel, Aja and couple of other cheerleaders (along with Darci obvs) sometimes stay behind after their training to watch Moles and Owls joint practice. They occupy one corner of the whole field to sit down, play some music, talk, gossip, and wolf whistle at sweaty bois. At one point Mary and Krel start showing off to their teammates, doing jumps, cartwheels and flips for funsies, trying to one-up the other, and Douxie suddenly gets very distracted by those violet booty shorts;

It takes his coach screaming right into his ear and commenting on getting his head in the game to finally have Douxie stop staring and get back to practice. The cheer squad all giggles knowingly while some of Douxie’s teammates just look at him sympathetically, the poor boy’s so obvious;

At their games when Moles’ cheerleading routine ends, Krel straight up waves at Douxie while still standing in formation and trying to catch his breath. And Douxie absentmindedly waves back, wearing the dopiest grin on his face, red from his neck to the top of his ears. It’s ridiculous, he pays no mind to Owls’ cheerleaders, but instead feels motivated to crush this game with Krel’s one smile;

So he kicks that ball like it personally offended him, scoring points for accuracy and style, cause you know, you gotta impress that crush who has to watch the game anyway whether he enjoys sports or not really;

And Krel is very impressed, just let him run his fingers along Douxie’s chiseled chest and ohmigod that back carved in marble—uh. Suddenly developing appreciation for fine arts, yes; 

As established, of course they both think the other one’s attractive, but Krel wouldn’t catch feelings based on looks alone, c’mon. He favors Douxie above other humans, because his determination matches his own – he never met someone as driven as him, not afraid of taking risks to achieve their goals. Douxie’s loyal to a fault and he’s so patient with him, so sweet and attentive, while everyone else, even his sister, tends to treat him like temper-tantrum throwing kid that has to be restrained. Douxie doesn’t, he’s always willing to listen, doesn’t jump to conclusions, doesn’t easily take offense and he actually admires Krel for his unabashed confidence, even more so when he learns that it may be a facade to hide his own insecurities and doubts that frustrate him, cause he feels he has to prove himself, otherwise he won’t be acknowledged and won’t ever leave other people’s shadow. Krel’s exceptionally smart and his snarky humor is so on point, his retorts are more funny and clever than vicious. If he cares for something or someone, he does it like he does everything else – with clear intent, with all his heart. What’s not to love about the boy?;

So yeah, they both feel like they have to show their superiors what they’re truly capable off, always underestimated, so they bonded over finding comfort in music and being convinced that they won’t ever live up to people’s expectations. Upon realizing that, they both thought at that moment “what the hell, this needs to change, I’ll show him he’s actually too good for any of this, he deserves the world”. Inside, Krel’s all like ‘who hurt you gorgeous, I’ll evaporate them out of existence three generations backwards’ then he and Zoe spam Merlin’s work e-mail with scam offers from hundreds anonymous accounts;

Krel doesn’t really get the appeal of pet names because most of them just sound too cringy, but he pays no mind to Douxie calling him “darling”, even before they started seriously dancing around each other;

Though on occasion he’ll mockingly ‘darling’ him back, just to see that tall guy fluster; 

One time it just thoughtlessly slips from Krel’s lips and he calls Douxie “starlight” and Douxie starts glowing with all the excitement, so the pet name stays;

AND FINALLY some random dialogues because why not:

-one, fanart related-

Krel: What?

Douxie: Nothing, darling.

Krel: *gum popping*

Douxie: Just admiring your bow.

Krel: Is that so? Then you may wear it for your next game.

Douxie: I... That’s not...

Krel: It’s only fair, I get the jacket, you get the bow.

Douxie: You’re teasing me, aren’t you?

Krel: Of course I am, darling.

Krel: But for the record, I think you’d look ridiculously attractive with it.

And Douxie just, gives up. He flares up and hides his face, he can’t handle Krel when he’s being like this.

-two, probably after Krel called someone out for their bs-

Douxie: You can be pretty scary when you want to be.

Krel: Which is all the time basically, yeah.

Douxie: It’s kinda hot.

Krel: You’re the only person who’d think that.

Douxie: Fortunately so. I wouldn’t be able to fight off all of your suitors otherwise.

Douxie: Not that I wouldn’t try to anyway.

Krel: Doux, if I wanted a meathead that picks up fights I’d date Steve. 

Douxie: Then you’d have to fight your sister.

Krel: And Pepperjack.

Douxie: And Pepperjack.

-three, before game-

Krel: Hunt them down, starlight.

Douxie: You know Owls are competing against your school tonight, yeah?

Krel: Sure, and? Your win is my win, basically.

Douxie: My role on the field is not that important really, darling.

Krel: It’s important to me though, so just literally and figuratively kick their sorry asses.

Steve: STOP ENCOURAGING OUR ENEMIES, KREL, I SWEAR YOU’RE THE WORST CHEERLEADER--

Krel: Well that depends on one’s perspective.

AND WE’RE DONE. ✺◟( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)◞✺

I don’t truly dislike Merlin and I don’t think he’s that bad of a person, I just really enjoy jumping on his hate-train. High five to Zoe.

And Steve’s definitely Moles’ quarterback or something, being team cap and dating Aja-the-star-cheerleader, so together they make that picture perfect couple. Aja doesn’t mind Steve’s passionate bromance with Eli. 🏈❤️

if anyone wants to make any fanwork inspired by this i’ll marry them or at least promise them my firstborn child

no but seriously, feel free to interact with me, I’d love to know your headcanons for them as well!

Uh... are people going to unfollow me now that they know I’m uncool??? Please come back I’m sorry I can change

#krexie #krouxie #krel tarron #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #tales of arcadia #toa #school rivalry au #lasagna writes #others are here too i guess

[restapesta]

Piercings. 5+1 ficlet, but with piercings. I have a problem.

1.

Ian thought he knew pretty much everything about his husband. He knew him, inside and fucking out.

How could he not? Ian's pretty much been with him for a better part of his life, and they've had enough late-night talks to share all their demons with each other, however hard it may have been. They knew each other.

There was no doubt about it.

But, well. Ian should have known Mickey kept secrets.

He also should've known that one of those secrets was bound to put him in the grave one day with the inscription on his tombstone saying that he died from horniness.

Because one of these days, he would. There was no doubt about it.

It wasn't the most conventional way to go, but Ian didn't mind it.

Because, holy fuck, Mickey just admitted he used to have his ears pierced.

"Sorry," Ian balked at his husband who was standing in the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror, a pair of black studs in his right hand. "Did you just say you had your ears pierced?"

"I probably still do." Mickey grabs an earring and places it against the healed-up hole that is so faint, Ian needed to come impossibly closer to see it. Mickey had pointed it out to him after he initially said he was getting his ears pierced again. Right after Ian was left with his mouth wide open, staring widely at him, not trusting he heard him right. "And if not, I'm just gonna reopen them."

How did Ian never notice it? How did he never see Mickey, the love of his life, with earrings in his ears? With little patched-up spots of skin that were so plainly visible to the eye, now that he really looked at it.

Mickey grimaced as he pressed the needle against the hole, pushing and prodding against the uncooperative entrance. He eyed Ian in the mirror, eyes narrowing. "What are you staring at?"

Ian was stunned speechless. Of course he was. Of fucking course Mickey was about to bust out some crazy thing two years into their marriage that would make Ian finally break. Like having his ears pierced, making every single yet-undiscovered fantasy come to life.

He couldn't help but imagine Mickey with a nose ring, now. Tongue piercing. Eyebrow piercing.

Nipples.

Holy fuck.

Blood was rushing straight to his dick, and goddamn it, this was it. Ian was about to die.

Because holy fuck, the earring went through.

So did the other one.

And now, Ian was staring at Mickey, who was sporting black studs in his ears. Two dark diamonds that were obviously fake but could've not been, because this wasn't Mickey anymore. This wasn't the Mickey who rolled his eyes at anything gay—except getting pounded, obviously.

No—this was Mickey with earrings.

Ian's mouth was dry. It was dry as Mickey turned away from the mirror to face him. He stood in front of him, a determined look on his face as if waiting for Ian to call him out. Him, in all his fucking glory.

"Did you, uh," Ian finally stammered out. "sterilize the needles? I don't want you to get an infection."

"That really all you gotta say?"

Ian swallowed. "How come I never saw you with," He pointed at Mickey's ears, unable to even say the word. "those?"

"I was really young. I got 'em pierced when Mandy did. Took them out fairly soon, 'cus, you know." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Ian knew.

He gripped Mickey by the shoulders pulling him closer. His eyes were on Ian's, but Ian's were on the earrings, and Ian never really knew he had a kink for jewelry.

Well, there was the wedding ring, but fuck, this had nothing to do with their relationship, and yet Ian was still sporting a raging hard-on Mickey had yet to notice.

"I love them." He said truthfully, mentally noting to get Mickey real studs once he got the chance. Not the cheap grocery-store ones, but actual diamonds that he wouldn't mind spending money on. Not when they would look so good on his husband.

Mickey blushed, pushing Ian away immediately, not getting away far, arms practically out so Ian could pull him back in. And he did, squeezing him tightly against his chest, careful not to place too much pressure on the newly-reopened piercings.

Mickey mumbled something against Ian's shirt, incoherent.

"What? I didn't hear you"

"I love you."

Ian smiled. Pulled Mickey away so he could stare into his eyes.

"You know you gotta let me fuck you with those on. Pretty sure it will be the best orgasm of my life."

Mickey only smirked, eyes lighting up immediately at the suggestion. He looks fucking amazing, Ian thought.

"Lead the way, hotshot."

Ian was right. With the earrings and the smugness—

It took him less than a minute.

2.

When Ian saw the photo, he was pretty sure he was going to die.

No, not pretty sure. One-hundred percent sure. Death was awaiting him now, ready to pull him in. He was already feeling faint, ready to just slip away into unconsciousness. He was going to die, for sure.

Or maybe it was just the loss of all the blood that was heading way down south that was making him feel this way, because holy shit.

Holy shit.

When Mickey took the earrings out after a few days of usage, claiming how they sucked, Ian thought that was it. Mickey was never going to do anything that reminded him of being gay ever again. He had probably been embarrassed and wanted to take them out, and Ian was feeling at such loss when he saw his ears vacant that he was ready to throw hands.

But, oh God.

Ian was now staring at a picture of Mickey—a picture he posted on goddamn Instagram for everybody to see—and it was him.

Him with a fucking nose piercing.

Ian checked the comments first. It would've probably been saner to call his husband and ask if he actually got a nose piercing and if he was ready to be a widow because Ian won't be lasting much longer, but there were a bunch of comments on the photo, and fuck if Ian wasn't going to leaf through them all. This could be a joke for all he knew.

Some sick joke to get Ian's hopes up, just to get them crushed down until he never had any hopes in life ever again.

Mickey with a nose piercing. Mickey with a nose piercing.

Carl said it looked 'fuckin' sick'. Lip was putting 😲 emojis all throughout the chat, sometimes even adding the 😏 one, probably a reference to Ian (at least Ian hoped it was). The other comments were just about how good Mickey look, which was really no surprise, but holy shit, did that mean this was real?

Mickey was out running some errand. Said he had some shit he needed to. That sneaky bastard. Ian didn't care if he was in the middle of the goddamn line at the Costco aisle or in the middle of a drug run.

He facetimed him.

When Mickey's face came into view, the nose ring present and very much real, Ian was lost for words. Mickey was biting his lip to keep from smiling and once he noticed Ian was just going to continue and stare, he scoffed.

"Man, it's just a piercing."

"No," Ian said. "This is much more than 'just a piercing'."

Mickey chuckled. "Well, I figured since I didn't really like the earrings, I could do this. It felt right."

This was the Mickey Ian knew and loved. The Mickey who wanted to try new things, get to know his own style. Mickey, who was finally confident enough in himself, and hopefully comfortable in their marriage, that he didn't even consider this a big deal. Ian was filled to the brim with emotions, and he was ready to explode.

"You need to come home now."

They met each other's eyes through the screen, blue glimmering in mischief. Mickey smiled. "Why?"

"Because."

"This piercing shit really gets you going, huh, Gallagher?"

It did.

It really did.

"If you're not home in ten minutes, I'll get the whip. So better be fucking home." With that he hung up, getting up to ready the supplies.

Mickey was home in eleven.

Ian knew it was fucking intentional.

3.

Ian might've been getting used to the fucking hotness that Mickey Milkovich with a nostril piercing was, but that didn't mean others were.

In the end, it probably didn't even matter that Ian was one million percent down for any types of piercings Mickey wants to get—he might have even been pushing him for a nipple piercing, but the why of it was for another time—what would eventually decide whether or not the earring stayed in was the reactions of somebody other than Ian.

It was unfair, really, that others would be able to affect Mickey's decision to finally do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, despite his ever-growing confidence. Still, Ian had a way of making sure that nobody made him feel shitty for doing something he wanted to do. Something for himself, without fearing the judgment of others like he had his entire life.

He was an arsonist, for fuck's sake. Let them try and eye his husband the wrong way.

Ian perhaps expected it from old, batty women at the grocery store who didn't have a clue what century they were in or Karens who were homophobic pieces of shit—but he never would be guessed it would be his own family poking fun at something that probably took guts to do. Because it took guts to actually get something like a nose piercing if you were a Milkovich with a past of growing up in a homophobic household.

"So, uh, you gone full gay now, Mickey?"

"Watch out, Ian, I think he might out-twink you."

"You look like Sandy now. Don't be surprised if I jump you."

"I think you look cool, Mickey."

"Uncle Mickey, what's that in your nose? Can I have one?"

Mickey didn't seem to really care about the Gallaghers' opinions. It was mostly just him flipping Lip off at the twink comment and winking at Franny for that last one. Ian, on the other hand.

Ian was the one who was getting fucking offended.

What if Mickey decided that all the teasing and sideways glances aren't worth it and he takes the nose ring out? What if Ian's deprived of sexy, liberated Mickey because of assholes like his own siblings?

It didn't matter how selfish it sounded. There was no way in hell Mickey was ever going to feel conflicted over something he didn't need to feel conflicted about.

So, the second Mickey was out of the room, and the Gallaghers were still unrelenting at the teasing, Ian knew what he had to do.

"Okay, that's enough," He said simply after the eight-hundredth joke about how the ring looked like a booger in his nose—what the actual fuck, Lip?—his voice stern.

"Come on," Lip said, despite the others clearly relenting, palms going up with sheepish expressions on their faces. "We're just joking."

"Well, enough jokes. You could be more like Liam. Tell him he looks good."

Lip snorted. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I asked you to?"

"He knows it's all jokes. He doesn't even care."

"I do." Ian narrowed his eyes. "I care whether or not he feels like he's done the wrong thing because you won't shut the fuck up after the joke's not even funny anymore."

That was what made the smile on Lip's face thin. He lowered his head sightly, as of bowing it down in shame. Ian knew he had finally caught on. Finally understood that, sometimes, even jokes could hurt people's fucking feelings.

Maybe Mickey wasn't at all touched by this. Maybe he really didn't give a shit about what Lip or some old-ass grandma at the store thought. Maybe it was only Ian who gave a shit.

But fuck it, he could give enough shit for the both of them.

If it meant Mickey would always feel comfortable in his own skin, then fuck yes he could.

"Okay," Lip said simply, and Ian smiled at him, thankful.

And when Mickey reappeared with a slight frown on his face and a, "what, no more jokes?" followed by a wide smile, Ian knew he had done the right thing.

Because Mickey looked good.

And the ring stayed on.

4.

"What is it with you and the goddamn nipple rings?"

Ian bit at his lip. Okay, he may have gone a little overboard. With all the research and the reference photos and all the places you could get one... But fuck, he had a fantasy, and he needed to see it come true.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Come the fuck on.

"Babe, listen," Ian started, moving so he was positioned against the headboard of their bed. It was almost midnight—what better time to lay it down on Mickey that he would look really fucking good with piercings in his nipples and that it would be Ian's dream come true. "They'd look so good."

"Then why don't you get them?"

Ian made an incredulous face. "Because they wouldn't look good on me. They would look good on you."

Mickey swiped at his nose, diverting Ian's attention once more to the perfection that was his black nose ring. How could Ian not see all the possibilities with multiple piercings when Mickey looked like that with just one?

"Come on," He said again, the image in his head even more vivid than before. "I googled it. It doesn't even hurt that much."

"I have a feeling like that is a very obvious lie."

Ian rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was.

He pushed himself back down onto the comforter, shifting so he could have access to Mickey's chest. He trailed a finger from his neck, then slowly down so it rest in between his nipples, laying out his palm so it could feel the beating of Mickey's heart.

"Imagine the sex," He whispered, trying out a new technique. Seduction. It had to work.

"Probably not until it's healed up and stops hurting," Mickey scoffed. "Also, I really don't think I'd like it. I'd look like a bull."

"You'd look like a very sexy bull. Oh, by the way, septum piercing." Ian wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't you see it? Don't you think it'd look awesome?"

Mickey looked like he was on the verge of either laughing or punching Ian straight in the dick. "I think," He began. "that I've created a monster."

"A monster who is extremely horny for your ass."

"Why do you have to have a kink for this? Ian, out of all the things. Just look up porn with a bunch of jewelry on the guys if you need to get off."

Ian frowned at the imagery. "It's not the jewelry, Mick. I've had hookups who wore a shit-ton of jewelry and it never made me all hot and bothered."

Mickey smiled at the hot and bothered part. "Dork. Then what is it?"

"Well, fucking obviously it's you."

Mickey's face lit up. "It's me?"

"Ugh, Mickey, we've been together for a while. Don't make me feel shy over this."

The exasperation made Ian's cheeks pink. Suddenly, Mickey was leaning in and pressing his lips to the heat, smiling all the way through it.

When he pulled away, there was a wide grin stretched across his face. Ian was a sucker for that grin. That grin was everything he needed in life. Nothing more.

"I won't get a nipple piercing."

Sadness. All Ian felt was sadness.

"But maybe we can check out other options." It was Mickey's turn to wiggle his eyebrows. "Tongue piercing float your boat too?"

Happiness. All Ian felt was happiness.

5.

Eyebrow piercing. It ended up being an eyebrow piercing.

And God. Ian was done. He was completely done with everything. This was it. This was all he ever needed to see in life. Now, he could die peacefully.

He was married to the hottest man alive. Ian could pride himself in that fact. Mickey truly was the hottest person Ian had ever laid eyes on.

Especially now that he had a nose and eyebrow piercing at the same fucking time.

Ian knew there would never be another man to get his attention again. Never anybody else to make Ian feel like he need to avert his gaze. Not when all eyes went to the Mickey with the hot body, amazing ass, great face, and perfect piercings.

"Maybe you should get some piercings, too," Mickey said as they sat together at the table, munching on cereal. "I mean, if you act this way over my shit, who knows how I'll act over yours."

Ian smiled. "I can't pull anything off like you can."

"Bullshit. You're hot as fuck."

Ian's cheeks pinked. "Shut up."

"No seriously," Mickey said as he got up to get more coffee. "Hottest guy I know."

Ian licked his lips, slowly running his eyes down his husband's body. "Well then, guess we both got lucky."

Mickey smiled and the piercings come into view again.

Ian really was a complete goner.

+ 1

"No," Mickey said once he saw Ian come into view. "No. No. No."

Ian grinned widely, tilting his chin slightly so he could showcase the tiny diamond—actual diamond—studs in his ears. "You like it?"

Mickey knew then that this was what heaven felt like.

He barely stopped himself from tackling Ian onto the floor.

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding.

He didn't stop shit.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #PIERCINGS #piercings #5+1 things #:))))))))) #i said i had more #i wasn't lying #*ficlet

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

next

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics. 

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had. 

*

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead. 

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat. 

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke. 

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife. 

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?” 

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

*

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye. 

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed. 

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward. 

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier imagine #frankie morales imagine #triple frontier fic #francisco morales #Triple Frontier #frankie catfish morales #Frankie morales fic #Frankie Morales x OFC #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #benny miller #will miller #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia #ben miller #dove fic

[memeadonna]

Metallica

You are an intern working at Fatgum’s Agency alongside our favourite Hard Himbos: Tetsutetsu and Kirishima. Your quirk allows you to control metal, which attracts the attention of a certain someone. 

Alternatively: I thought Tetsutetsu might have a thing for piercings and then @malicealieness bullied me until I posted this because we Tetsutetsu simps are starved for content (and don’t worry guys she promised to post more of her own writing if I posted this so I’m more than happy to do so (I love you mom ❤️))

Word Count: 5,971

This story is NSFW. Minors DNI. 

Warnings: Switch Tetsutetsu and Reader, Piercings, Size difference/Kink, Mentions of Blood, Biting and Scratching, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Intercourse, Creampie, mentions of birth control, Tetsutetsu being a Simp, mutual pining, this boy deserves more love. 

Update: Part Two is Out! 

When Tetsutetsu was in his last year at UA, an underclassman joined him and Kirishima at Fatgum’s agency. She was in class 2-A and went by the hero name Metallica. That was you, and you were certain he was terrified of you when you first met. To start with, your quirk was metal manipulation; you could control anything metal and, as the name implies, manipulate it however you’d like – changing its shape, sending it flying, or even adjusting its hardness – and that meant if he were to ever fight with you, he would be at a major disadvantage. It wasn’t like you wanted to hurt him (unless you counted raking your nails down his back and biting his collarbone), but the threat was there. 

Tetstutetsu spent a lot of time staring at you, especially when you were in your hero costume or when the two of you had been left alone for a moment. On the rare occasions you met up with him on campus, he always stared at your piercings while you talked. You had ended up fighting with UA over their dress code: students in the hero course were supposed to be limited to only earrings (which you had several of) and small necklaces as jewelry, but due to your quirk you preferred to wear as much metal as you could. Different metals reacted differently to your quirk, and because of that your piercings, bracelets, and rings had been a mix of many different types that you had painstakingly organized so it was stylish rather than garish. It was hard to pull off so many different colours, but you managed. The school wanted you to only wear the piercings in your earlobes during class (the rings were fine), but after a long argument, you managed to convince them to let you wear something so your holes didn’t close up. The stainless steel you ended up with was much less flashy than the other colours you had had before, but you didn’t mind. It was a versatile metal, and the ability to shape and change it to your will was an asset. Besides that, your piercings were not technically support items, so you could use (and had used) them at the sports festival. 

The first time you met Kirishima and Tetsutetsu, Fatgum had insisted the three of you go out for food together. Kirishima had spent the whole time talking and laughing with you, trying to get to know you, and Tetsu had just spent his time staring like he was in a trance. You were used to people staring – like someone with a mutant quirk, the large number of piercings you wore every day was unusual, and you had gotten used to stares and comments. You tucked your hair behind your industrial and sipped on some boba. His eyes never left your face, scanning over the barbell bisecting your eyebrow then down to the one on your tongue as you took another sip. 

“So, metal,” Kirishima spoke, kicking Tetsutetsu under the table and shooting him a glare that said Pay Attention. “Tell us about that.” 

You waved your hand, the ring on your index finger unwrapping itself and forming into a bowl shape. You concentrated as it dipped into your parfait and brought a delectable scoop of vanilla ice cream up to your mouth and took a bite. Tetsutetsu’s brain was all but short-circuiting as you casually dunked the ring into your untouched glass of water and wrapped it back around your finger. As you explained how your quirk worked to his companion, all he could think about was being bent to your will like that. His legs felt weak and shaky, and he was so, so glad you were all sitting in a dark restaurant. 

He seemed skittish around you – never wanting to be alone with you, always fidgeting when you used your quirk. Even Fatgum noticed his strange behaviour and pulled you aside to ask if anything was wrong. You felt so guilty as he asked you if the two of you had had a falling out and what he could do to help – was the transition into working at his agency smooth? Were you happy in the position? Why does one of his interns hate you? He hadn’t asked that of course, but the question was there. 

In the end, you had cornered your colleague. “I’m not going to hurt you,” you had told him softly. “I don’t think my quirk would even work on you. I don’t want to find out though, because if it did hurt you, I don’t think I could forgive myself.” You told him. “I want to be your friend, Tetsutetsu. I don’t want you to be scared of me.” 

Scared? It had taken him almost ten entire seconds to process this as you tried to make yourself look as nonthreatening as possible. “I – I’m not scared of you,” he had answered dumbly. 

Your friendship blossomed from there. He had to hide a boner whenever you used your quirk in front of him (which was a lot, you tended to overuse it if anything), but now he got to see you smiling and make you laugh, which melted his steel heart every time. He felt extraordinarily guilty whenever he’d sneak off to the bathroom, shove his shirt into his mouth, and beat his dick like it owed him money. This resulted in more than one shredded shirt and several raised eyebrows from Kirishima, but he learned to pack a spare change of clothes in his bag. At least his frantic two-minute tangos were almost enough to get him through patrol with you. Almost. 

His situation became more difficult when the agency was working towards a major drug bust. You and your coworkers were excused from school for two weeks and were living out of the agency’s basement. There were three rooms set up there – one for Fatgum with a massive bed, and one for each off-duty intern. Someone was supposed to be patrolling at all times, and all four of you were feeling exhausted. Esuha was not a horribly busy city, but as the dealers you were after were backed more and more into a corner, they began to lash out and take matters into their own hands. 

Tetsutetsu was so ready to slide into a comfortable pair of pyjamas, eat a quick dinner and pass out, but the zipper on his hero suit was stuck. Of course it was. Kirishima had taken up residence in the room Fatgum normally slept in, and was snoring loudly, so he shuffled his way over to your door and reluctantly knocked. 

You answered the door after a few moments, wearing only a tight tank top and a set of loose pyjama shorts. You were rubbing sleep from your eyes, and if he wasn’t so hyper-focused on what he was sure was the outline of a set of nipple piercings through your tanktop he would have felt bad for waking you. “Zipper,” he said quickly, fighting to tear his eyes from your chest. “My zipper is stuck.” 

You reached out your hand and activated your quirk, but frowned slightly. “Your zipper is plastic. Wonder what moron made that design choice. If it gets too hot, it’ll melt,” He was about to agree, but then your hands were on him and he was so, so thankful it was plastic. “Come over here, the light is better.” Your hands unclasped the steel straps across his shoulders, and you used your quirk to send it across the room to rest gently on your nightstand as you worked to get him out of his jumpsuit. He barely registered the door closing and the sound of the lock sliding into place as his brain once more began to short circuit. 

You pressed closer to see the zipper better, which only gave Tetsu a great view down your shirt. He had to be hyper aware of his hands, so he didn’t accidentally touch you. He was a gentleman, after all. He had to be a gentleman, even when you once more tugged him towards yourself to get him closer to the light on your desk. Yup. Had to be a gentleman. 

You continued to fiddle with the zipper, tugging it this way and that. You stuck out your tongue and dragged it backwards along your lip so the little ball on it clacked against your teeth, and he had to physically stop himself from letting out an unmanly noise. 

You triumphantly grinned as you finally got the zipper unstuck, and then your tongue was back in your mouth. “I think the fabric got caught in the teeth!” you told him with a grin. “It was no match for me.” he was so close to you now. You were all but pressed against the wall by him, and as you looked up into his eyes, a lazy smirk crept its way onto your face. “What? Embarrassed that you had to ask me to help you out of your clothes? Aren’t you at least going to say thank… you…” your voice trailed off as he leaned in closer, one arm bracing himself against the wall above you. You weren’t a small person, but he had hit a growth spurt in his time at UA and was now almost 6’6. He made you feel small. 

He didn’t lean in to kiss you like you hoped thought he would but instead leaned over to your ear. As you felt his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear and his warm breath prickling the hairs on the back of your neck, you felt your heart fluttering in your chest. “Do you have any idea how much you make me want you?” he growled out, voice gravelly and low. “Are you doing it on purpose?” he pulled your earlobe and the trio of studs it housed into his mouth, and you had to place your hands on his shoulders to stop your knees from buckling. 

He was so warm as his tongue teased at your earlobe and one hand came up to run itself up your side, splaying itself over your ribs before slowly trailing upwards. “Well, this is one way to thank me,” you smirked to yourself as he pulled away, snapped out of his trance. “Not even going to kiss me first? No, you’ve just gotta fondle my piercings, don’t you? You have such a one-track mind.” 

You ran your hands up from his shoulders to his hair, pulling him closer and standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. It wasn’t heated or anything, just a simple brush of your lips against his. He leaned into it, and for the briefest moment, as you pulled away, he chased your lips. He caught himself as he did, a bright blush spreading over his cheekbones. “I’m sorry, I-” 

You kissed him once again to shut him up, deep and slow and filled with passion. He relaxed above you, letting himself become putty in your hands and against your lips, pushing his body flush with yours and pinning you to the wall. He was strong enough to keep you there – he could easily snap your neck if he wanted – but the way he held you was so gentle. Like you would break if he wasn’t careful. 

That was nice, but it wasn’t what you wanted. You bit his lip which made him yelp and took the momentary parting of his lips to conquer his mouth, tugging his hair as you took control. He let out a sweet little whine as he felt the barbell against his tongue. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the ground, holding you by the ass and thighs as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, kissing you more and more frantically. As you wrapped your legs around his body you felt him throbbing against the soft skin of your inner thigh and smirked triumphantly to yourself. He sat down on your bed and you peeled his jumpsuit off, grinding down into his lap as you kissed. 

Once the fabric was pooling around his waist, he flipped you over onto the bed, pinning you beneath his hulking form. “You’re awfully bold,” he rumbled. “Thinking you can get off domming me.” 

He kissed you deeply, a rolling kind of pleasure that made your knees weak and your toes curl. A wave of desire swept you away and made you almost forget your name. Then, you remembered you were Metallica and you had a series of bracelets on your nightstand. Maybe it was time to put them to good use. 

He was back to mouthing at your ear and teasing your numerous piercings, then trailing his hot mouth down your neck, before grazing sharp fangs along your collarbone. You squealed as he gripped the collar of your tanktop in his teeth and ripped it violently off of your body. The animalistic look in his eyes sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through you, and his hands left your wrists to rip the remaining shreds of your top off of your body. He sat back to admire you, letting out a quiet “Fuck” as he took you in. 

He was right, you had a set of matching barbells in your nipples, but he hadn’t known about your belly button piercing. It was one of the more basic piercings, but he seemed enraptured by it for a moment before his hands reached out to cup greedy handfuls of your breasts. One of your bracelets clicked around his right wrist and yanked his arm upwards, sending his body crashing down onto yours. You giggled at the “oof” he let out, and wrapped your arms and legs around him, mouthing at his ear. “I am bold. That’s why you like me,” you held his cheeks in your hands and gave him a commanding kiss before returning to his ear to whisper: “I’m also going to get off with your pretty mouth.” as you sank your teeth into the shell of his ear he full out moaned. What a glorious sound that was. You formed your bracelets into hooks to pull off his boots and his hero suit, careful not to tear it. He did need the thing after all. 

Pressed up against you like this, he could feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, and also the drag of cold metal across his body. He began to kiss and suck at your neck and shoulders, relieved that the bodysuit you wore under the armour of your hero costume would hide this come tomorrow. He resisted the urge to sink his teeth into your warm flesh. That was probably too much for your first night but in the future…

Yielding his right arm to you, he used his left to finally grab one of your breasts and caress the barbell with the pad of his thumb. He felt you shift underneath him, and then your thigh was between his legs and he allowed himself to hump it out of desperation. “God you are such a needy bitch,” you laughed into his ear. “Do you really want me this much?” 

You were winning. You were winning and he knew it. But if there was one thing Tetsutetsu was, it was hard-headed. In more than one sense of the word. He redoubled his efforts on your collarbones, leaving dark hickies that would probably take days to fade. You raked your nails down his back to get a reaction and he bit you. Hard. The strangled wail you let out was more than enough to make him come back to his senses and he pulled away with a hundred apologies on his lips. “I didn’t mean to-” 

“Fuck that was hot. Yes please, more,” you sat up with him and gave him a kiss, ignoring the taste of your blood on his tongue. The feeling of your tongue piercing against him once more made him lightheaded, especially as he felt your bracelets closing around his neck like a collar. You pulled away from the heated kiss with a sly smirk, your lips just barely grazing his as you murmured: “You want to act like a dog then I’ll treat you like one.” 

His response was to lift you up a bit so he could get his mouth around one of your nipples. You squirmed in his arms, letting out breathy groans, tugging at his hair and struggling to keep hold of your quirk. He switched breasts, falling backwards so you were on top of him. One hand grabbed the meat of your ass and as you finally released your psychic grip on the bracelet restraining his other hand he was squeezing and fondling the tit he had just been sucking. It was like he couldn’t get enough of your body, and that thought made you gush.

He pulled away from you, grinning triumphantly. “Not so tough now, are you?” he teased, pulling you into another kiss as his big hands roamed your body, squeezing and touching and sometimes just holding certain parts of you. You couldn’t help but feel grounded and safe in his arms, even though you were still bleeding from the shoulder. The warm, fuzzy feeling of safety spread across your body, mixing with arousal, and you smiled into the kiss because he was yours. 

Fucking finally. 

You then squealed as he ripped your shorts in half, tearing the thin fabric off of your thighs and laughing to himself as you slapped his chest. You pulled back to pout at him. “You asshole I liked those!” 

“Fuck, baby,” he answered, hands exploring the newly exposed skin. “I’ll buy you new ones to show you just how sorry I am.” Based on that grin, the amount was zero. You rolled your hips down into his just to wipe that smug look off of his face, and the way he gripped your body to help you made sparks dance inside of your core. You could feel him throbbing against your sex, and based on what you could feel pressing up into you, you were almost sure you would be sore tomorrow. 

You made a show of crawling down his body and snapping the waistband of his briefs against his toned stomach. You peeled the garment off and tossed it over your shoulder. In the two seconds you were turned away the smug bastard had folded his hands behind his head and had leaned back into your pillows like he was presenting himself to you. 

Your eyes took in his muscular frame, sweeping from his toned arms down to the throbbing cock between his legs. You tapped the tip. “This is bullshit,” you told him. 

“What?” his brows furrowed. “Bullshit?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, what exactly I supposed to do with this? It’s as thick as my wrist what the fuck. Can it even fit in my mouth? Of course you would have a magnum dong,” you rolled your eyes at him as you pressed a kiss to his tip, wrapping your hands around it. “Fucking bullshit. You’re lucky I brought lube.” 

As he processed your words you licked his tip, and that damned piercing grazed his sensitive skin, drawing a strangled gasp out of his lungs. You smirked up at him, giving him another slow lick as you showed off the tongue piercing. He spread his legs a bit and bit his lip, closing his eyes as he slipped one hand into your hair. “You’re good at that,” he mumbled, pleasure washing over him as you finally slipped him into your mouth and gave him an earnest suck. He was absolutely mesmerized by his cock disappearing into your mouth, and the position of your body between his legs (face down ass up – something he hoped to explore more later). 

You worked more and more of him down your throat. You reached over and tugged his hand away from his body to bring it gently over your head. You winced as he stretched your throat open for himself, moaning happily as you gagged around him. “Shit, sweetheart…” he let you pull off of him and a hot bolt of guilt shot through his chest as you coughed. “Princess, did I hurt you?” 

After coughing a bit more you offered him a sweet grin. “I’m okay, just-” you coughed again, “-your stupid horsecock is too big for me to blow.” 

“Oh,” he turned bright red. “Sorry.” 

“I have another idea,” you grinned at him, taking his free hand and kissing his fingers before pinning it back behind his head. “Harden it.” 

“What?” his eyes widened and his cock visibly throbbed. “O-okay.” He obeyed you, and you licked your lips as you watched the grey steel colour spread across his dick. It was pretty, which was a weird way to think about a dick. It was also way too thick, and you were sure was going to mess up your insides, which only made you want him more. 

You raised your hand over him and met his eyes. “Tell me how this feels,” you told him. He nodded at you, and you activated your quirk. His heavy eyelashes fluttered as his back arched, and his breathing picked up speed. 

“Tetsu, baby, talk to me,” you cooed. 

“Feels good!” he moaned, spreading his legs more. “So good!” 

His eyes were all but rolling back into his head as you played with him, and his cock pulsed hard beneath your ministrations. It was almost strange, really, because normally when you manipulated metal it was obeying you and nothing more. With Tetsutetsu, you could feel his nerves lighting up with pleasure, and you smirked to yourself as you twisted your wrist to make him vibrate. He let out a loud moan as you did, and you giggled to yourself. 

He squirmed more as you stroked him with your psychic grip, careful not to change his shape. Lord knows that would happen if you did that. “Gonna cum!” he moaned, back arching. “Fuck, what are you doing to me Sweetheart?” you looked up at him, at how wanton he was for you, and your insides clenched around nothing. 

You straddled him and leaned up to kiss him again. “I’m ruining you,” you answered lowly. “You’re mine from now on.” 

You could feel how his throbbing changed as he came. You felt the thick streams painting your ass and back, and smirked to yourself. He arched up into you and moaned loudly, before slumping backwards, limbs jelly, and panting loudly. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Sorry.” 

You reached down to yourself and gathered some of your slick on your fingers. You spread them for him, showing off how wet you were. “Looks like we both enjoyed that,” you told him, watching as his eyes widened once more. He leaned upwards desperately, and you watched in amusement as he sucked your fingers into his mouth. You once more clenched around nothing, and the slick between your legs only got slicker. You wondered if you could take him with how wet you were. 

Probably not, but you wanted to try. 

Once your fingers were clean you leaned down to give him a kiss, your hands gently tracing themselves over his pecs and down his abs. He had released his hardening after he had finished, but he was still hard beneath you as you continued kissing him, your tongue piercing clacking against his teeth every so often. You slid back down his body and he reached his free hand out to cup your ass. “You’re covered in it, baby,” his voice was gruff and husky. 

You brought his massive hand up to your mouth and then it was your turn to suck his fingers clean. He watched you with hooded eyes, and as you pinned his wrist behind his head alongside his other one, he watched you with growing trepidation. You were also a little nervous – would he even fit? You should probably stretch yourself out first, but it just looked so delicious to you. You wanted to feel him. Now. 

You wrapped one hand around his thick shaft and guided the tip up to your lips. You were so slick it was practically gushing out of you, and as you ran his head along your lips and thought “I’m going to take all of this,” your lust only grew. 

You started to lower yourself down onto him, holding him steady. The pressure of him trying to push inside gave way little by little, and he threw his head back with a ragged moan as you slid the tip inside. It was so thick it was hard for you to breathe, but the stretch felt euphoric. You coaxed more of him into you, bit by bit, but stopped suddenly and pulled off. You used a bracelet to bring over your lube bottle and you squirted a generous amount onto his cock. 

“Where do you get off on having such a stupidly huge dick?” you asked him. “Are you trying to split me in half?” 

“You’ll learn to take it,” he purred at you, and that thought made you clench once more. You imagined him one day effortlessly able to slide it inside of your ruined pussy, imagined how the stretch would burn so good as you eased him back into you. You could feel him tugging against his restraints like he wanted to grip your hips and help you. You braced yourself against his pecs as you sank further down onto him, and he grinned smugly at your efforts. “Your face is so fuckin’ cute when you’re stuffed too full.” He purred, groaning as you sat back up and slid him in once again. “Not even halfway down yet and you already look like you’re about to break.” 

“In your dreams,” you teased back, riding him slowly as you slid his too-big dick further and further inside. Your body swallowed him up like it was made to, and the stretch burned the way you had hoped it would. He was quite a bit bigger than the toy you normally used on yourself, and you wondered briefly if you should get a new one to train your body better. You raked your nails down his chest and slid a bit further down. “Just shut up and enjoy this.” 

He looked down and watched his dick disappearing inside of you, and licked his lips. Even with all of that lube, you were still the tightest thing he had ever felt, so tight he could barely move. Even tighter than he had imagined. As he watched you take him, he noticed the slightest tinge of red on his dick. As he realized it was blood, he was not proud that his first thought was to thrust up and ram as much of himself as he could inside of you. You let out a choked sound and clenched around him, scrambling for something to hold onto. “Fuck baby, you okay?” he asked, apologies tumbling out of his mouth in a borage. “You’re bleeding, did I hurt you?” 

You had released your psychic grip as you lost focus, and he was instantly up with his arms around you, peppering your face with kisses. “I’m sorry princess,” he cooed, running his hand down your back. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, looking down between the two of you. “Just surprising. Guess that was my hymen breaking or something.” 

He thrust up into you as you said that, once more attacking your neck with bites and hickies as he carefully rocked your bodies together. He growled at you as you tugged on his hair and let out a strangled sound. He rolled you over, so he was on top, and kissed you hard as you wrapped your legs around him. The drag of his cock inside of you hit all of your nerves at once, and in this position, you were almost certain you couldn’t push him off even if you wanted to. 

You once more restrained him, pinning his hands on either side of your head and using his bracelet-collar, brought his face down to you. You kissed him sloppily, once more tugging on his hair as he moaned and panted into your mouth and sucked on your barbell. The feeling of being stuffed beyond what your body could take was absolute euphoria, and as your toes curled and you held on tightly, moaning as he kissed and bit you, you knew you would have to do this again. “Princess,” he cooed. “You feel so good! Fuck!”

“Y-you too,” you hissed, scratching at his back. He tugged at his restraints once more, but as you held his hands firm you smirked up at him. “What’s wrong, want to touch me?” you slid your hands down your body and began to tease your clit, back arching as he sped up his thrusts. 

“The things I’m going to do to you,” he growled. “Gonna make every inch of you mine!” he carefully lowered his body so he was in a push-up position over you, and lavished your breasts with his tongue, sucking on your nipples like he was trying to pull out your barbells. He worked them with his tongue, which made you moan and keen and scratch. You could feel his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and at the same time felt the drag of his abs against the back of your hand with every thrust. You used your free hand to tangle in his hair, and he bit down again as if on instinct. You let out a surprised yelp and he kissed your sensitive flesh as an apology, licking at the little beads of blood he had left on one of your breasts. Your cunt clenched around him as you heard the gravelly noises he was making, although he was stretching you so open you weren’t even sure it could be called clenching. You were too overstuffed and it was everything you had ever wanted. 

“Please,” he groaned. “Please let me fucking touch you. I need-” he cut himself off as he kissed you once again, sloppy and full of passion. “-I’m gonna cum. Need you to first…” you released his hands and he was immediately pulling you up into his lap, kneeling on your bed and bouncing you on his dick while he kissed you hard. Your legs were too high off the mattress to kneel on it, so you settled for wrapping them around his waist instead. He slid a hand over your abdomen. “I can feel myself!” he growled, pressing down. “Right here.” You kissed him back, moaning because you could feel it too. Feel him destroying your insides. 

His fingers found your clit and roughly began to abuse it. He was so hot inside of you, pulsing like he was happy to be there. You panted against one another, lips connecting and sliding apart as he bounced you for all you were worth. It was wild, it was feral, and he was grunting like a caveman as he claimed you. You gripped his muscular shoulders desperately, looking up into his eyes as he smirked down at you. He kissed you again, long and hard and slow, and you felt his tongue turn to steel in your mouth. You tightened your grip on his shoulder, activating your quirk on him. 

The change swept across his entire body, including his dick, and as he jackhammered even faster into you, you manipulated his body to send twinges of pleasure zinging through him. You could just about hear his thoughts, every “Yes!” “Good!” and “More!” and then the word “Mate!” popped into your mind and you once again clenched hard around him. 

He let you fall backwards a bit, once more kissing at your chest as he fucked your plaint body. Your back arched from the new angle, and you gripped at him desperately, insides twitching as they waited for that last push over the edge. You trusted him to hold you and released your death grip on his shoulders, splaying your hands in the air and making his entire body rapidly vibrate. That feeling threw you into an orgasm almost instantly, and your insides clenched around him. You leaned backwards and he held you close. It was so intense you couldn’t even scream. All you could do was lie there stiffly, unable to even breathe as the feeling washed over you. He kept fucking you through it, burying his teeth in your shoulder once again as he pumped you full. As you came down from your high, you gasped for breath and wrapped your arms around him once again. You kissed him desperately as he held you, and as he leaned back into your pillows he kept you in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside of you. You panted against him, aftershocks making your pussy twitch around him. 

The metal beneath your fingers softened to skin, and he ran his fingers gently through your hair. “Fuck me,” he croaked. 

“What, again?” you laughed a bit, drunk on the euphoria flowing through your body as you reached up to kiss him again.

“I should get my zipper stuck more often,” he grinned, running his fingers gently over the bite on your shoulder. “Does it hurt?” 

“A bit, but I like it,” you looked at him flirtatiously, before lifting yourself on shaky limbs and reaching down to pull him out of you. The wet Schluck! sound made both of you giggle, and so did the wet slap of his softening dick hitting his abs. 

He let out a gasp as his cum began to pour out of you now, dripping heavily all over him. “Fuck, we didn’t use condoms!” he looked absolutely mortified. 

“Relax,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got an IUD.” 

He pulled you back down to rest on his chest, tracing patterns into your skin. His eyes drifted from the piercings in your ear down your jawline and up to your lips, and he gently ran his thumb over them. “You’re my girlfriend now, right?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled sleepily, nuzzling further into his chest. 

He resisted the urge to do a happy dance or pump his fist in the air. “We should get cleaned up,” he kissed your shoulder as he sat up and carried you to the western-style shower. You clung to him as he turned it on, and finally put your feet down as the water warmed. 

You removed the bracelets from around his wrists and neck very carefully, and as you smiled up at him, he smiled back. He then blasted you full in the face with the showerhead and the two of you were giggling again. He washed your body carefully, reverently, and even somehow made hosing you out with the shower head feel intimate. 

By the time you were done with your shower, you were putting on your hero costume to go out for your patrol. He helped you zip up your padded bodysuit, and his dick stirred back to life beneath his towel as you gently draped your armour-esque hero costume over your body. “You should go rest in your own room, Fatgum will get suspicious,” you gave him a kiss and used your quirk to slide his hero suit onto him, doing up the zipper with a flick of your finger. 

“H-huh?” he stared down at it as you clasped his chest straps. “But I thought the zip was plastic!” 

You chuckled a bit. “How else was I supposed to get you alone in my room?” you teased, before offering a wink and slipping out the door. 

“Clever girl,” he whispered to himself, grinning like a moron. 

Taglist: @malicealieness 

(If you would like to be added to the Taglist, please send me an ask :D)

#bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha #tetsutetsu #bnha tetsutetsu #tetsutetsu x reader #reader insert #mha reader insert #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu #Memeadonna #Tetsutetsu is a simp #I will die on this hill

[halstudandruz]

Had Me By Halftime

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Kevin Atwater x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Based off the song Had Me By Halftime by Morgan Wallen

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: I know this game was on a Monday but we’re gonna pretend it wasn’t. Also I know there’s different rules to cornhole, but I did the 21 or bust version for sake of the story.

You were talkin' trash, we were tossin' bags

When I caught your name at a corn hole game

You and your friends had decided to tailgate at the Chicago Bears game. You were in your last semester of college and your group had collectively decided to forego buying tickets. Not wanting nosebleed seats, but knowing your broke college student bank account would not offer many other options. The parking lot was crowded with Bears fans; scattered Minnesota Vikings fans sticking out in the crowd. It was surprisingly warm for a Chicago October. You had just finished a game of flip cup and informed your friends you were going to get food from a nearby food truck, your best friend, Madison tagging along. You hadn’t made it far from your group when you made eye contact with a handsome man. Slowly walking you heard him talking to a man about the same age as him,

“Adam come on!” He exclaimed.

“I am not playing against him, he might as well be a pro.” The brown haired man shook his head.

“Don’t take it out on me cause I’m better than you.” Another good-looking brown-haired man from the group laughed shrugging and throwing an arm around a pretty blonde girl who wasn’t even paying attention to the men, already conversing with a group of girls. The handsome dark skinned man groaned seemingly pouting. Grabbing Madison’s arm you stopped her to pull her over to the group.

“You need a couple players?” You smiled gesturing to the corn hole boards.

“Actually yeah we do.” He nodded.

“Let’s roll.” You challenged taking your place by the board and picking up the orange bean bags. Madison sighed already reading your dirty thoughts about the man as she walked to the board opposite of you and the broad muscled man took his place next to you, gathering the navy blue bags. “Let me just get you a menu cause you’re about to get served.” You joked and luckily he let out an adorable laugh.

“That’s the best you got?” He sported a wide smile causing you to instantly blush.

“Yeah...sorry I’m not the best at trash talking. My game usually speaks for itself.” You shrugged, turning to throw the bean bag on the board Madison stood by. Watching it slide right through the center. Humming he looked at you impressed, gearing up when you threw him a seductive smirk.

“Let the games begin.” He grinned.

The game was close, full of playful banter, and maybe a little flirting from you and the man you now knew was named, Kevin. Luckily you and Madison came out on top thanks to Kevin’s partner’s accidental bust over 21 taking their score back down to 13.

“Ruz, you might want to take up a math class in your spare time.” Kevin teased, knowing he only aimed for the board because of his poor math skills.

“Shut up.” He attempted to throw a bag at him, but it fell short. “I’m never playing this game again.” Adam huffed, walking away.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You shrugged, winking at him.

Said "Girl, where you sitti'g? I got an extra ticket

It's right on the 50"

“Sorry. He gets a little competitive.” Kevin smiled, “Thanks for playing though.” He leaned against the side of a truck crossing his arms. Madison stood awkwardly a couple feet away as you two flirted with each other.

“Thanks for letting us. It was nice to do something other than a drinking game for once.” You chuckled gesturing to where your group was now playing beer pong.

“Where are you guys sitting?” He asked gesturing to the stadium behind him.

“Oh we actually don’t have tickets. Just here to tailgate.” You explained and his smile got slightly bigger.

“Well I actually have an extra ticket. It’s right on the 50 if you want to join me?” He offered.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to just leave my group hanging..” You contemplated looking back at Madison who was nodding quickly mouthing the word “Go!” Sighing you turned back towards him with a smile, “you know what. What the hell why not?” You pushed the tingling of your body deeper down at his happy grin.

You had a 16 home team jersey on

Singin' every word to the fight song

Had your airplane bottles from your purse out

“Okay. I have to ask. Why are you wearing that jersey?” Kevin asked, sitting down beside you.

“Because we’re at...a Bears game?” You looked at him skeptically, causing him to laugh.

“Obviously.. I mean why O’Donnell? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone actually wearing his jersey.” He explained.

“Well I do like to be an outlier,” you joked, “punters never get the credit they should. Same with kickers. They deserve more love.” You answered.

“Good to know you’re not a bandwagon fan.” He said.

“We won one super bowl 35 years ago and we just benched our newly signed QB for a rookie. I don’t think there’s any wagon for someone to hop on.” You retorted.

“You got me there.” He agreed watching you pull a few tiny bottles of alcohol out of your small bag you had strategically hidden to make it past security.

“You a fan of fireball? I hate it but it came with the pack.” You asked, turning to see an amused grin covering his face. “What?”

“How in the hell did you sneak those in here?” He inquired.

“Can’t give away all my secrets on the first date.” You shrugged, wiggling your eyebrows. He took it from your hand nudging Adam who sat on his other side. Adam took it graciously.

“Hell yeah. We’re keeping her!” He exclaimed, twisting the cap off to take the shot.

The first half of the game was rough. Only lucking out with a safety in the first quarter.

“I hope to god Trubisky starts to prove he has more than just a pretty face.” You shook your head preparing yourself for the second half. You and Kevin had talked throughout all of halftime, and you caught him staring with a wide smile more than once as you might’ve got a little too competitive throughout the first and second quarter.

“I could play better defense than his line is. Kev, get down there you know how to tackle people.”

“He does realize he’s supposed to be throwing it to his own team right?”

“Fucking 2 yards isn’t gonna get you anywhere!” Were just a few things you remember spouting off.

“This is ridiculous.” You threw up your hands when Rudolph took it into the Vikings endzone.

With 5:33 left in the 3rd quarter O’Donnell took the field for the punt, but instead to everyone’s surprise the punt is faked and #16 puts up a pass to Cunningham who runs it in for the touchdown. “Oh my god!” You jumped up and down, “No fucking way! That’s my man!” You yelled pulling Kevin in for a hug who was in utter disbelief.

“I cannot believe that just happened.” He laughed, cheering with the crowd. The fans were hyped watching Barth kick it between the posts.

“Believe it baby!

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation with your T-formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, and let them know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down.” You sang along loudly to the Bears’ fight song roaring throughout Soldier Field. The second half was much more heated than the first, but unfortunately thanks to a successful kick from Forbath in the last few seconds the Vikings took home the win.

You would've thought that post-game

Kiss would've made me wanna make you mine

But you had me by halftime

Everyone was starting to file out of the stadium, Kevin’s group included.

“You comin?” Adam turned to you both.

“You wanna wait till the crowds disperse a little?” Kevin asked and you smiled nodding.

“We’ll be waiting for you.” Adam winked, a knowing smirk covering his face as he grabbed tightly ahold of Kim’s hand to lead her through the crowd.

“You would’ve had to keep a tight hold on me. I’m small and can get lost easily.” You joked, body frame tiny compared to his broad muscular one.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I do regardless.” Kevin flirted, looping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him.

“I told you. Punters and kickers, they don’t get enough credit.” You reiterated, “I mean how often does the game come down to a field goal? Too often in my opinion.”

“I can give you kicker I’m not sure about punters though.” He looked at you amused.

“Did you miss that play?” You scoffed.

“And how often does that happen? I’m sure you didn’t buy his jersey banking on that.” He replied.

“Yeah, alright. I just thought O’Donnell was better looking than Barth.” You admitted.

“You really know your football though.” He observed.

“I grew up with three brothers. It just came with the territory.” You explained.

“Three brothers?” He looked over at you, a faint look of fear appearing on his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure you could take any of them though.” You bit your lip squeezing his bicep to get your point across.

“Is that so?” He grinned face inches away from yours.

“Mhmm.” You hummed searching his eyes, begging him to make the move and he did. Closing the distant for a gentle, smooth kiss. His hand caressing your cheek to pull you closer. This is nowhere near what you expected your day to turn into when you got up this morning. You were just supposed to be tailgating with your friends too drunk for your own good. Instead you were seated inside the stadium making out with a guy you had just met this morning. Not that you were complaining, but what were the chances?

“Was that okay?” He asked lips still slightly brushing against yours and as an answer you gripped his face pulling him in for a deep bruising kiss that had him groaning low in his throat. Pulling away to get a breath you looked around to see very few people still seated, a warmth buzzing throughout your body despite the chilly fall air becoming more prominent.

“We better get out of here before we get in trouble.” You whispered. And he nodded tightly clasping your hand in his as you made your way out of the stadium back out into the parking lot.

Now every time the leaves start fallin' down

I get to thinkin' 'bout

5 years later

“Kev, can you check on the pizza while I get Carsyn dressed?” You asked after seeing your daughter stir from her nap on the monitor. Walking in her room you retrieved her from the crib. She was all smiles and giggles. “Well I take it you had a good nap.” You kissed her chubby cheek, attempting to flatten her bed head before laying her on the floor to get her dressed. “Daddy is just gonna be head over heels when he sees you. Not that he isn’t already.” You smiled trying to slide her tights on despite her wiggling legs. Succeedingly picking her up 10 minutes later. “Look who’s awake daddy.” You caught Kevin’s attention as he turned away from the stove to take her from your arms.

“You didn’t.” Kevin laughed, a smile wide on his face when he took his daughter into his arms admiring the outfit she was sporting. A blue tutu accompanied by an orange jersey that repped the #16, outfit topped off with a Chicago Bears bow. “Well don’t you just look adorable. Yes, you take after your mama.” Kevin laid kisses all over her face erupting numerous giggles from her. “Where’d you even find this at?” He asked and you knew what he was talking about without even turning around as you took the pizza out of the oven.

“I had to specially order it as one of those custom name jerseys. Seems they don’t make O’Donnell’s jersey for babies.” You laughed checking on the wings in the air fryer when a knock at the door interrupted. Adam and Kim strolling their way into the kitchen minutes later.

“Where’s my girl?” Adam asked, spotting her in Kevin’s arms. Carsyn immediately reached out for Adam. “There she is and aren’t you just the cutest Bears fan in the whole world?” He tickled her stomach taking in her outfit, “Gotta say [Y/L/N] it looks better on her.” He joked gesturing to your identical jersey.

“Joke all you want this jersey got me a husband.” You leaned up on your tippy toes to lay a kiss on Kevin’s cheek.

The rest of your crew arrived not too much later. Hailey and Jay bringing along their son who was a few months younger than Carsyn. This was now a football season tradition and you loved every minute of it.

All Tag List:

@corebore123 @scarletsoldierrr @hehurst23 @beautiful-bunny89 @ingie @halsteadsway @malrunaway @grettiwrites @inlovewith3 @wanniiieeee

#kevin atwater x reader #kevin atwater imagine #kevin atwater #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #Chicago pd #one chicago imagine #one chicago

[izukukuzi]

not my first non-queued post being me bitching jdjdjdndjdjd

so i actually brought this up on twitter, but i need to rant about it more because people make me SICK:

so, essentially, i am very.... childish, i guess, about how i feel towards the fandom's overall handling of Izuku’s character. i know that it's not case, but i still get the impression that i can't expect anyone other than izuku stans specifically to actually value his character (not only as it is in canon, but also in their fanon depictions as well), and that point that I referenced in the tweet (i can't find op and I'm also not trying to argue dudhdjdjd) just makes it worse.

this idea that it's, in some way, wrong or weird or bad to depict shouto (one of izuku's best friends) being upset/angry about his friend being mistreated is just?????? so odd to me? like, when you consider just a few pieces of sho and izu's dynamic, you have:

izuku meeting endeavor for the first time (before izu and sho could even be called friends) and telling him that his son is his own person, not endeavor's toy to manipulate and live through

izuku literally tearing his bones TO PIECES during his sports festival fight with sho, just to relay a fucking message (it was an important, very valuable message, but still)

izuku, recently, using his black whip quirk through his fucking mouth to try and save shouto from touya when his limbs were too busted for him to move otherwise

like, i know i whoop and holler about Todoroki "Ride-Or-Die" Shouto all the time, but izuku will pull up for sho just as much, and has done so multiple times in the series. so, with that being said: what is weird about having shouto hate bakugou for the abuse he put izuku through for all those years??? why is that not a conceivable idea? what is so wrong about someone actually giving a fuck about izuku enough to be angry on his behalf (again, especially when izuku's done the same for that person)????

like, i also don't understand the attraction anyone feels for shouto and bakugou's friendship (it makes no sense to me, honestly), but even if that's a part of it, no one can dispute how much izuku means to shouto. i cannot fathom a scenario where shouto finds out about the severity of bakugou's actions and doesn't get pissed off, at least, because izuku is his friend. canon has done a superb job building things up for us to have that understanding.

BUT, again, i want to touch back on that point i made about izuku stans being the only ones who really value izuku (which again, is a generalization that i don't mean as an absolute): points like this ("it's goofy/weird/what-the-fuck-ever that people making shouto hate bakugou for what he did to izuku"), feel like they come from people just really not caring about izu. like, why wouldn't you want that for him? what's so good about bakugou, or dismissible about his actions, or bad about izuku, that you come to this conclusion???? izuku can support and love everyone faves, but imagining those other characters giving just a fucking crumb of that energy back to him is just not possible, right?????

it literally makes no sense to me :/

BUT ANYWAYS, this is so much longer than i meant for it to be didndidndjdj sorry to put nonsense on the dash. I'm just in my feelings dudbdidnd

#i honestly might delete this later idk #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #anti bakugou #um #tododeku #but make it platonic #todoroki ride or die shouto #rant #also no i didn't read over this so sorry for nonsense #but also don't feel obligated to read this #I'm literally just complaining

[poutyhannie]

warnings: tsundere!minho, boxer!minho, fem!reader, mentions of d*ath, bl**d, kn*ves, violence, smut, fluff, angst :), dark cold minho finds a soft spot in y/n :))))

word count: +8k

The blisters on your hands burn as you placed the cash register on the shiny white counter. Finally, your life’s goal to begin a small cafe in town was complete, but this was only the beginning. Even the ache in your feet and back from the boxes and produce you carried in last night couldn’t shake the beaming smile you greet the empty store with. Golden light streams in from the freshly washed windows, bouncing off the racks of freshly baked breads and pastries. These beams of light must be the physical representation of the heavenly aroma of baking goods and you fill your lungs with it, content and elated at the prospect of a new chapter.

Among the normal baked goods, everyday items were placed around the counter, such as umbrellas and first aid kits. It was a small tactic to make a bit more profit or a thoughtful gesture, just in case customers needed something other than coffee and a croissant.

If you didn’t close the door soon, the cold morning gusts of wind would stale and harden the goods, but this display of openness was necessary to garner new customers so you quickly hopped from behind the counter to cover the goods with glass domes which served as lids.

The people of your city had been relatively friendly, spreading the word of your grand opening. Thanks to this, streams of customers filled your lavender-themed shop before the morning and evening rush. When the sun’s golden shine began to dissipate to cold blue, the goods were dwindling on the shelves, prepared to be restocked for tomorrow.

The front of your lavender purple apron was streaked with flour, chocolate, and jam as you wiped the counters of the same substances. The giddy excitement in your bones contradicted the cheerfully ticking clock on the wall that told you it was late into the night. When did the day spin away from you so quickly? Would all the days at your shop be this enjoyable? Sighing contently, you settle on one of the comfortable white chairs, finally feeling the pinching ache in your feet. You’d have to get employees once you made enough revenue, you were bound to only get more customers from here on out. Maybe you’d hire cleaners once a month to do a deep clean? 

Thoughts prospective of your future and the future of your shop were interrupted when the door swung open—you were concerned the force would shatter the glass door itself. In stalked a darkly clad man, his back was turned to you as he quickly scanned the shelves and displays of your shop. He’d ignored the ‘closed’ sign. Still, one more customer couldn’t hurt. “Welcome,” you greeted warmly, feet aching as you walked back behind the counter. The customer gruffly rolled your word off. 

The gloves on his hands didn’t have fingers and when he placed a small first aid kit and sandwich on the counter, you could see the beds of his nails were bleeding. However, when you saw his face, you realized his wounded fingers were not priority. A blistering red patch scored his cheek under his dark eyes. There was a fresh cut on his left cheekbone that matched his bust eyebrow and lip. At the state of his lip you quickly reached over to add a tube of chapstick to his order. “Don’t need it,” he grunted but made no move to put it back. “Its on me,” you explained, ringing him up, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Though his hoodie was pulled down, the sweaty strands of black hair were still visible, slightly blocking his vision. “Take care,” you offered him, placing the bag into his hand. The empty night was louder than him as he exited your store.

A month in and you’ve managed to perfect the flower-shaped croissants, exploiting the layers of dough and butter croissants naturally proved to achieve petal-like flares. Proudly, you arrange them on a baby blue decorative plate, fixing the eyebrow raising price tag in front of it. People would have to accept that baking was another type of art and that your croissants tasted as good as they look. Many customers have become regulars, your yellow post it note stuck on the cash register denotes what they usually get, just a courtesy. New people enter your store everyday, sometimes stopping to pose for pictures in front of the arguably aesthetic display case filled with your best work. A swell of pride always elates you and you remind them to tag the cafe in their social media posts.

Its because your shop has a softer, pretty theme that you’re surprised when you find yourself writing down what the bruised man from before would always order. Though you formally close at seven, you leave the light on as you close down for him because he usually enters at nine. At the end of every week, he replenishes his first aid kit, sporting nasty red, brown, and purple wounds on his face every day. His placement of the bandaids and salves are sloppy at best and as the daughter of a doctor, you can’t help but stop him before he disappears into the inky night once again. The accusative glare he shoots at you leaves you stuttering. “What do you want?” His words and tone almost have you denying that you even called him in the first place but you wonder why he’s always beat up and why he’s so cranky. “You’re not putting on the bandages correctly.” “What would you know about it?” “My dad was a doctor—here, just let me fix it for you.” You’re released from his heavy glare as he thinks over your proposal, eyes flitting around your shop before landing back on you. “Just make it quick.”

He’s never sat in one of your shop’s white chairs and he shifts on plush cushion, you across from him, preparing the first aid kit. No sound escapes him as he rips off his existing bandaids, though just watching him makes you want to wince. The used bandages are shoved into his pockets and he slouches in front of you. The wounds this time congregate around his jaw, a nasty blue-green bruise spreading from his chin to the end of his jaw. Cuts and rug burn-like patches are scattered around his face and you can’t picture what he’d look like without a black eye.

In the name of being prepared, you keep an extensive first aid kit under your counter. You gingerly smear the bruise with the respective salve before dousing the cuts with alcohol. All the while, the damaged man in front of you says nothing, but glares at you through his shaggy bangs. Though scared to anger him him, you softly push back his hair to reveal another bruise above his left eyebrow.

The tense silence tears at you and you blurt out, “Have you not met any left handed people? They’re always on your left side.”

“More like they haven’t met me.” 

“You’re left handed?” 

“Ambidextrous but they still never see it coming,” is his gruff reply. 

Slowly, as you spread salve on his cuts you put two and two together. “You’re a fighter.” 

“Boxer.” Though his uncomfortable silence had previously left you at a loss for words, you quickly get back into your old habits, “You’re a boxer? That’s why you’re always beat up. You must not be very good if you’re always getting hurt. Are you paid to fight other people or is it based on bets? You’re really young to be boxi—” 

The coldness in his eyes as they snap up to you has your words choking in your throat. “I let my opponents have a semblance of victory before I beat them. Its based on bets so I get more profit if viewers place more bets against me.”

He rises and you follow him to the door. “I-if you…when you get injured, just come here. It’ll heal faster if I tend to it.” 

A nod is all you get but its more than the silence you’ve been struck with by him before so you’re not complaining.

He holds you on your offer, coming in every night from nine to midnight. You don’t mind lingering at your shop longer because his scuffed boots find their way into your store every night. You learn that his name is Minho and that his boxing nickname is Lee Know. The air between you has melted from cold tension to quiet casualty. Though your heart clenches in wariness every time his battered face shows up, it also pangs in empathy for him. Empathy that he refuses to accept.

The glint in his eyes that he regards you with every night informs you that he scowls upon your empathy, the pout on your lips as you concentrate to clean his wounds and the worried laced in your voice as you ask him about his upcoming matches. “I’ve been preparing for the season to start. If it goes well, I can progress past my current bracket,” he explains and though his voice has been exclusively monotone, if you strain your ears hard enough, there’s a trace of hope and anticipation there. 

“You haven’t been doing matches this entire time?” You exclaim, dumbfounded that this amount of damage has been from practices and preparation for the real thing. 

For a passing second, everything in his demeanor except his voice calls you an idiot before he softens, realizing you know nothing about his underground life. “If we had matches all year, we’d kill each other in no time. No,” he laughs humorlessly, shaking his hair out. Its grown a bit longer than his eyes but you’ve secured it back, clearing his face up with a pink fluffy headband he scoffed at. “The lower division guys have up to 40 matches but the really good ones only have two or three.” 

In the beginning of your late night first aid sessions, you’d timidly ask Minho small talk questions and he’d gruffly respond with a word or two, but never a full sentence. Now, you ask him because you’re genuinely curious about his profession. “How many do you have? Do you know who you’ll go against?” 

“Twelve. Edging on the more professional bracket but still not there yet. Opponents are rolling; I don’t know until a few days before and even then, it’s not necessarily helpful. Just need to touch up on their weaknesses.” 

“What’s your weakness?” You ask him, dabbing some burn salve on the glove burn stretching over his cheekbone. At the silence stretching across the two of you, you hope your tone came across as light and playful, not offensive. Though you were acquaintances with the boxer, you couldn’t yet bring yourself relax around his dark gaze. 

“You’ll have to figure it out.” A giggle rises in your throat, maybe a nervous habit or maybe because you found him interesting.

An exhale eases out of your lungs as your legs give out, throwing yourself on your bed. The soft blue glow of your bedside lamp washes the room in a calming light but exhaustion refuses to let you bask in it. Soon, your eyelids are drooping and back is pressing into the sheets.

Danishes. 

A harsh, ringing voice rips through your head; you bolt up, pulling your neck at the speed and abruptness. Gasping, you fling your shoes on, realizing that you left the dough proofing. If it were any other dough, you’d roll over and shrug off the loss of a batch, but this dough was made with premium French artisan flour that a kind customer had gifted you. Somehow, the panic in your throat wards off drowsiness and you speed down the empty streets. Bursting into your store, you rush to remove the dough from the bowl and knead them into small loaves.

Based on how the dough smells, you don’t believe it over proofed so the worry loosens your throat allowing you to inhale a yawn, sliding dough into the warm oven.

The chairs in your cafe are plush but nothing compared to your bed. It’s making you slowly regret coming back tonight.

A loud bang rings through the silent air and immediately fear grips your heart which is thrumming in your throat. Maybe its your drowsy state that has you flinging into panic at the noise. The rubber soles of your shoes slowly squeak over the tile as you move over to grab a knife you use to score the bread. Its size won’t scare anyone off, but its sharpness is one to be reckoned with. From your fuzzy, sleepy memory, the sound came from the small storage room so with white knuckles gripping the knife, you creep over. In your rush, had the door been carelessly left open? The storage room door is ajar but you can’t see anything inside. Relaxing the slightest bit, you nudge the door open slowly, entering on tip toe. Though dimly lit, you can see that the small room is empty and relief floods you, though not completely ridding you of the former panic—your heartbeat is still in your throat.

When you return to the main room with the counter, tables, and register, cold, blinding panic returns tenfold. There’s three dark figures in your shop, crouching next to the counter, quickly stuffing their bags with the money stashed away. In a flurry, you press your back to the storage room door, cursing yourself for leaving it in there and at the front door which you left wide open.

Your mind whirls, trembling with fear and apprehension. Where was your phone? You couldn’t possibly stop these men but would the cops come in time?

“What the fuck are you bastards?” A voice rings out. Harsh. Cold. You don’t dare turn the corner to look.

A muffled cry pierces the tense air, strained grunts, and sounds of impact following in succession. There’s a loud cracking sound and a wail that raises your goosebumps and you slink back further into the shadow, hoping that whatever is happening behind the wall will leave you alone. Breathy curses and threats are thrown before visceral, bodily squelches and groans silence them. Digging your fingernails into your palms to get your hands from shaking, you tremble in the corner, even after the sounds have been reduced to low, pained moans and a pair of footsteps. They wander around, heavy and assured before edging closer to where you’re hiding. You don’t dare breath, but you don’t think breath would come even if you asked it to.

“Y/n?” At the sound of your name, your eyes grow wide, though you’re still frozen in place. The footsteps round the corner and you’re met with scuffed black boots and ripped black jeans. Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind whirls as you remember staring at those boots, tending to wounds. His wounds.

When your eyes fly open again, he’s crouching in front of you, face significantly less wounded than you’ve seen it. The sound of your knife clattering on the tile startles you into flying into his arms. He makes uncomfortable, awkward noises above you, hands floating above your back as his butt smarts from the force you knocked him over with. “Did you beat them up?” You voice is shaking and you’re either on the verge of tears or already crying into his black hoodie, filling your mind with his deep sweaty musk, “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Yeah, its not that big of a deal though. Just call the police,” he pushes you off of him with surprising gentleness, seeing that his hands are stained with the blood of those three men. On his feet in a flash, he drops a bag onto your lap. “Here is your money.” 

There’s no proper reason why your hand shoots out to pull him from leaving. Maybe it’s because the would be thieves are still laying in your store, maybe its because you want to keep inhaling the warm scent he exudes, maybe it’s because the thought of being without him tonight scares you. “The police won’t believe that I did this,” you whisper, hoping that that will ward off his need to leave. It’s impossible to interpret what the dark look in his eyes are—you can never seem to read his thoughts. 

Only his verbal confirmation has relief flooding your chest, “Fine.” 

After tying up the perpetrators, Minho settles half an arms distance away from you, a waft of his musk filling your nose as you think you hear the piercing screech of sirens. “Were you just gonna let them take your cash?”

You were wrong. His eyes can deliver something other than blank darkness: incredulous accusation. The disbelief and an audible scoff in his question has you curling up tighter, burning with the implications he poses. You’d let these men reap the fruits of your labor; you wouldn’t try to stop them. 

“Y-yeah,” you attempt, trying to concoct a reasonable excuse that would get his disapproving stare from burning off the side of your face. “There were three of them, so of course I’d let them go.” 

A scoff rips from his throat, clawing at the back of your neck. “This won’t do. You know,” he turns to you, one eyebrow raised, “this’ll just be the beginning. Are you gonna be prepared to defend this shop, bub?” 

You bristle at his know-it-all attitude and the patronizing nickname, “Why do you care? And why were you even here this late at night?” The pale yellow suggestions of sun peak from the inky black sky as you’re reminded that you’ve gotten no sleep. Ignoring your questions, he rises, adjusting his jeans and walking over to the policemen now at the glass door of your cafe.

Even after the robbers were detained and police left, he remains, his dark scent permeating the air around you. “Listen,” he starts, hands shoved into his pockets and the regular scowl on his face, “I was just walking back from practice and saw them in here. And you need to get protection around here.” 

“And how would you suggest that?” You throw back, fueled with remaining sass. A shrug. He turns away, walking to the door. Habit says he’ll ignore you, disappearing into the lightening city horizon, but he stops, hand resting on the glass door. You slap his hand off of it, but his hand’s grimy residue clouds a part of the door already. 

His shoulders drop in annoyance before he grunts, “I could teach you how to defend yourself.” Mouth agape and eyes wide, you repeat his words, “You’d teach me how to defend myself? Isn’t your season starting up soon?” 

His gaze drops, you think he’s taken aback at your remembering the dates of his season. “Coach doesn’t want me sparring. Get healed or some shit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m offering because it’ll be good for me to refresh on the basics and the next shop is twenty minutes away. I’ll be inconvenienced if this shop closes anytime soon.” The thought of Minho scowling down at you as a personal defense teacher scares you, but the vivid memory as you clutched the knife terrifies you. 

 “When are you free?”

**

“No, widen your feet; squat more, bub,” Minho lets out an exasperated sigh and slips behind you, hands on your hips to adjust your stance in front of the punching bag. The yellow lights overhead and the pale wash of moonlight are the only things illuminating your ‘self defense’ classes. With as much punching as you’re doing, you think it’s more of a boxing lesson than self defense.

“One.” 

Your left glove strikes the bag. 

“Two.” 

Right hand. 

Minho repeats these instructions, the two words seemingly molding together into a mash of sounds. As his cold voice continues to command you, the burning in your lungs intensifies and your thighs, arms, and stomach ache, screaming at you to stop. _Give up. _ A voice lures you, reminding you of how your knees shake and eyes sting from sweat. “I can’t,” you whimper, hands retracting as you meet Minho’s disapproving stare. It makes you avert your gaze, the burning in your cheeks from something other than physical exertion. 

“I’m heading home then.” Scoffing, Minho slings his bag over his shoulder, nodding back to you, “see you tomorrow.” 

Dejected, you fumble with the straps of the boxing gloves Minho gave you, unable to grasp them when both your hands are cocooned. The usual mocking sarcastic glint in Minho’s eyes were replaced with disappointment and his abrupt departure burns your chest. Maybe you should have pushed yourself more? Maybe he shouldn’t have.

“One, two. Don’t lean into it. One, two. Rotate your wrists. One, two. Guard your jaw, he’s gonna knock you out.

“Keep going, Y/n,” interrupts the usual ‘one, two’ and your teeth grit, pulling your elbows in and snapping your punches. Minho’s lips lift from the corner of your eye and this spurs you on, extracting energy from a place you didn’t know existed. Fueled with anger—anger at yourself for having given up last session, anger at Minho for pushing you—you pummel the punching bag, breathing harshly as the sound of slapping synthetic leather fills the musky room. 

“Okay, break.” The ground collides with your body as your legs give out under you. Your breathing must have been uneven, because there’s white patches in front of your vision. After blinking them away, you’re met with Minho’s outstretched hand offering a water bottle. His face is turned away from you, but his cheeks rise, insinuating a smile. With a breathing ‘thanks’, you practically inhale the water.

“Slow down, bub. You’re gonna puke.” 

Laying a hand over your spazzing heart, you give him the best glare you can muster, “No thanks to you, Lee Know.” He smirks at your use of his boxer nickname, sprawling on the ground next to you. 

“Y’know,” you gasp in between breaths, “I don’t think this is self defense, this is just offense.” 

Minho’s head tilts in acceptance, tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip. “No, what you’re doing is not boxing if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, pulling a face at Minho, “I’m in boxing gloves, attacking a poor boxing bag.” 

The veins in his forearms strain as he leans back onto his hands, “I could show you real boxing, bub. I have a match next week. I can get you in.” Your heart clenches at the thought of seeing the blood and gore you’ve seen on Minho’s face being made. He senses your uneasiness and leans forward, hand brushing over your knee almost…timidly? “You don’t have to come, but you can. I’ll text you the details,” he shrugs, “show up or don’t.”

**

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn a pastel purple skirt to a boxing match but it’s too late to turn around and change. At least you had the sense to wear safety shorts and sturdy combat boots. Yelling can be heard in the distance and while you’d usually flee from sounds like that, you find the GPS on your phone leading you right to it. 

The barbaric shouts are deafening as you stand in front of a grey building. A man, who’s arms are the size of your shoulders guards the door. “You lost, little girl?” He asks gruffly, but he doesn’t seem sarcastic. 

“I-I um,” you clear your throat, “Lee Know has a match here?” Your statement comes off more as a question and you wince at how weak your voice sounds. 

The bearded guard nods, his black shirt straining as he crosses his tree trunk forearms in front of him. “So you’re the lady he’s been babbling on ‘bout.” A blue tattoo stretches on his forearm as he opens the door, a wave of stench, heat, and yells ramming into you. Thanking the man quietly, you slip through the door. It’s an arena, like a football stadium but scaled down significantly. Burly and wiry men alike fill the seats, howling like dogs. You pull your sweater closer to you and your skirt down. The lights and sounds whirl in front of you as you try to spot Minho in the crowd. Further up, closer to the boxing ring, there’s a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders. You hope it’s him as you squeeze past the admittedly scary crowd of men.

Tapping his shoulder, you breathe in his musky scent. It almost cancels out the stale rotting stench around you. When he turns, his eyes are dangerous and dark—you almost stumble back—but when he sees you his eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t think you’d come,” he shouts over the chaos, “here,” he pulls your shoulders into his chest, shielding you in his arms as he begins to weave through the crowd, “my match is in a little bit so I was gonna head to the back.” 

The screams are muffled now as Minho closes the door to a small, empty room. He slouches on a chair, gesturing you to do the same. “It’s always so fucking chaotic out there. I can never focus before a match. I can never think,” he mutters, mostly to himself, so you freeze, not wishing to distract him, “My mind is always somewhere else and I can’t remember anything. It’s like nothing else but my nerves exist.” 

Only after a beat of silence, after Minho turns his wide eyes up to look at you, do you realize he was talking to you. “But you’re so good. You’ve been training all year,” you blurt out, not pausing to think about your words, taken aback at how innocent and lost his eyes look, “isn’t it like muscle memory?” 

He groans, you worry you’ve said the wrong thing, “Yeah, I know but it’s just so fucking frustrating, bub.” 

Smiling widely, you tease him with a nudge on his shoulder, “You’re gonna be great. Plus, you’ll have me cheering you on.” Awkwardly, you make punching movements, “I’ll take your opponent down if you can’t.” 

That’s the first time you hear Minho laugh. A genuine, hearty laugh. Not a scoff or a mocking tease. It’s warm and sweet and surprisingly high. His eyes crinkle, still smiling at you when he stands, “Okay sounds like a plan.”

Seeing the dark glare Minho holds his opponent with as they circle the ring, you understand why Minho sports the look so often. It takes you off guard; you feel like you haven’t seen these dark eyes in a while. A strong swallow of spit tightens your throat. You blink, his opponent strikes, mitt slapping against Minho’s blocking forearm. Gasping a breath, you freeze in apprehension as the crowd around you roars to life. The sharply muscled, bald man circling Minho does not lack in speed; the blurring blue of his mitt once again slams against Minho’s forearm. The bald man tenses, charging at Minho with a flurry of attacks. Desperation clenches your throat as you will Minho to do something. He ducks his head behind his forearms, abdomen clenching at every blow inflicted to him. Soon mutters calling Minho a ‘punching bag’ and a ‘free win’ crawl into your ears. Anger flares in your chest—you know how good Minho is at fighting. Why isn’t he doing anything? However, Minho’s wiry muscled, grey haired coach standing beside you is stoic, a stark contrast to the screaming audience, hurling saliva with every abusive word they target at Minho.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” You whisper to yourself, too engrossed in the match to care about the raw vulnerability in your voice. The bald opponent retreats, panting as Minho continues to circle him. 

Minho’s coach growls, a smirk breaking his expressionless wall, “It’s over now.” Wide eyed, you turn back to the match, taking in the sweaty, hunched—you’d daresay weary—shoulders of the bald man, heaving with pants. A relief spreads a smile across your face. Minho had been doing something. The red boulder of Minho’s mitt slams into the side of the man’s head, jerking his neck awkwardly, hurling him into stumbling, expression blank shock. An electric wave of excitement shoots through you. Minho is merciless, unwilling to let his staggering opponent recover, pummeling him with firmly resounding attacks. You recognize some basic moves he’s taught you, only now do you realize capabilities of those punches put into action.

The red of Minho’s mitt is soon darkened with the seeping blood of his opponent and the fickle crowd now screams Minho’s name, invigorating him, causing his blows to land harder, until the bald man is thrown onto the blood spattered floor. The referee slams the ground thrice and the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers and groans.

A satisfied smirk cuts across Minho’s barely harmed face as he unfurls his sweaty arms in victory, bathing in the cheers of those who bet on him and the cries of those who bet against him alike. His coach turns to you, a satisfied twist to his lips, a wad of cash already in his clutched, calloused hand, “This is why he wasn’t doing anything, sweetheart,” he says, shaking the money, “Minho’s a tough kid but he’s also a smart kid.” After a pause, his coach shifts, frowning in, “You’re the first person Minho’s brought to a match. Nobody else. Take care of him,” he warns.

Minho’s panting presence behind you raises goosebumps on your neck. You turn to see his glistening bare abdomen as he towels himself off with a sweat rag. Bruises bloom on his forearm and but he ignores them, receiving the majority of the cash from his coach.

“Let’s get out of here before some ass crack takes his faulty betting out on me,” he says, resting a hot hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the back exit, ignoring jeering crowd members. The empty night greets you and he nods to a black car, gruffly explaining, “You walked here, right bub?” 

“Yes, also,” you gush, “that was pretty cool." 

He looks away, deflecting with, “Yeah, get in.” 

“Why do you do it?” You ask, strapping your seatbelt on and retrieving the makeshift first aid kit from your purse.

The car murmurs to life and Minho’s voice is surprisingly quiet and soft, “I got into a lot of fights up to high school so coach came up to me and asked me if I wanted to make it a profession,” a pause and Minho murmurs, “he took me in, taught me how to channel the joy I got from fighting. Turn it into something better. Focused.” 

“He seems really proud of you,” you observe, leaning over to rub a salve onto his shallowly cut lip. “You should put on more chapstick, Minho. Where’s the one I gave you?” 

Under flash of passing yellow streetlights, you can almost make out a dusting of pink on Minho’s cheeks. “I lost it,” he admits, tilting his head slightly to give you better access to his lip.

Sighing, you settle back onto the carseat. “I can take better care of you when we get there.” Minho’s eyes are wide, looking back from the road to you, “Where?” 

A clench of nervousness holds your gut, but you shrug, “Yours, mine, I don’t care.” 

It’s Minho’s turn to be flustered; he nods quickly.

**

Minho’s apartment is bare, only cluttered with various trophies and medals, a ground table, a tv, and a small couch. You set down his bag, you insisted you carried it and Minho opens a cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit. He settles on the couch, legs crossed tightly underneath him. For some reason, its stupidly endearing. The alcohol on his cut stings and Minho’s eyebrow furrows in pain. “Y’know, you don’t have to be tough around me, Minho.” 

His eyes are blank, “What do you mean?” 

“You barely let yourself feel pain, you’re always glaring at something, and you never open up about anything. You don’t have to be like that around me, Minho.” 

An eyebrow lifts and he tilts his head to the side slightly, “I told you about coach,” he offers. 

You nod slowly, “Yeah, that’s true. I guess, I just like seeing you smile,” you shrug, “that’s all.” 

Suddenly bashful, Minho looks down, biting his lip to repress a smile.

“That’s what I mean!” You exclaim, placing your hands on his cheeks to cradle his face, forcing him to look up at you, your heart in your throat. He groans, an endeared smile finally breaking out, “Quit being so fucking cute and maybe I could think enough to talk properly to you, bub.” 

Burning excitement fills your chest and you pose with a peace sign, “You think I’m cute?” 

An exasperated roll of his eyes is all the answer you need. “Well,” you say, patting his head, “you’re very cute too.” 

This time, his scoff is soft, “I’m a boxer.” 

You press a bandaid over his cut, “Yes, a very adorable boxer who needs to smile more.” He breaks out into laughs, filling you with bubbly warmth, gazing down at you with eyes that are anything but dark and dangerous. It’s warm and tender.  He is.  Sobering up, Minho tilts his head slightly, his eyes traveling down to your lips. 

Anticipation fills your chest and your mind whirls, not knowing what to do so you blurt out, “Oh yeah! Chapstick,” leaning over, you retrieve a tube, “Here.” Minho, however is unfazed by your awkwardness and cocks an eyebrow, suddenly confident, nodding to the chapstick, “Put it on for me.” 

Its your turn to blush, but you do still, not realizing that this isn’t clear chapstick. Its only when you pull away do you realize his lips are painted a pretty shade of pink. Clapping in joy you shove your phone camera in his face. “You’re so pretty!”  

Stuttering in surprise, his eyes bug out but he doesn’t make any move to wipe it off, “The fuck?” 

“So pretty!” You exclaim, holding his face to put more on, laughing at his shocked expression.  Minho pulls back, tumbling you with him until you’re staring down and all your laughter has been swallowed. Silently, his hand travels up to the back of your head, gently pulling you towards his freshly moisturized lips. Smiling because of nerves, you don’t need his hand to guide you.

His lips are surprisingly soft but perfectly sticky with your pink chapstick. Almost timidly, his tongue caresses your bottom lip and you whimper as he eases your lips apart. Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth and your arm cramps from holding yourself up over him but he’s so gentle and careful with the kiss you don’t want to stop. Your arm gives out and you press against Minho, snaking your fingers into his slightly sweaty hair. Panting, Minho pulls back as he gazes up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I don’t want to go too fast, Y/n,” he whispers, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone.

Brazen with unfound confidence, you pout at him, “No. Be mine now.” Minho smirks, laughing softly as his eyes crinkle up, “Okay, okay,” he reassures you, pulling you down to lay on his chest, “I’ll be yours.”

**

“Don’t you dare do that, Y/n. I’ll sue you,” Minho threatens, eyes wide but voice joking.

Giggling, you ignore him, continuing to create a new dessert of your own design called the ‘Minho Mochi’. It’s a soft peach mochi covered with waffle cone. “No, I take inspiration from you and plus,” you mention, “you said yourself that the juxtaposition of the soft sweet mochi and the shell of the waffle cone was good.” 

“Yeah,” he groans, plucking a mochi ball from the counter and popping into his mouth, “but that was before you decided to use my name for it, bub.” 

Reaching up to clean the potato starch residue on his lip you correct, “I made the mochi with you in mind first, not the other way around.” Minho mumbles half heartedly, turning away to smile but you tug his arm. He’s blushing and grinning softly; your heart clenches in adoration. 

“I can make you one for every match you have, would that make you feel better?” 

Minho laughs, bringing your potato starch and rice flour covered hand to nuzzle his cheek, “Fine, I guess this is what I get for having girlfriend that owns a purple bakery.” 

“Hey!” You deny, pulling back, “This is lavender, not just purple.” 

“Yes, yes,” he agrees quickly, tugging you into him. “I’m covered in flour,” you protest into his chest, his deep musk a relieving break from the sweet scent of mochi. You feel him press kisses to the top of your head as his arms tighten around you so you relax into him, circling his waist with your arms.

**

“You should really decorate this place, Min,” you comment, gesturing at his bare apartment. You’re comfortably draped across his shoulders from the couch as he sits on the floor. He looks back from the TV, eyes wide and a puppy-like pout graces his now well moisturized lips, “What do you mean? I have my trophies as decoration.” 

Groaning you protest, “No, those are trophies. You need proper deco here, it’s just sad.” 

A familiar, flirty smile spreads across his face and he winks at you, “You’re prettier than any other decorations I can get.” 

Though you feel your face burning, you roll your eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile bubbling in your chest. He gets up to sit next to you on the couch. Still smiling, he pats his lap, making your stomach jump in excitement. Settling down on his thighs, you play with the collar of his shirt, avoiding his stare. He ducks his head, forcing you to look at him. “Why you shy, bub?” 

“I really love you, Min.” 

His eyes are soft and you don’t expect him to say it back. You’re just content that he knows. 

“I love you too, bub.”

**

You’re at Minho’s apartment basically every day for the past year and today’s no different. The soft beating of his heart resounds in your ear while the other listens to the calming voice of the audio book you guys are working through. The plot follows a personified kitten who tries to find her place in the world that is too cruel for her. Despite the objectively morbid theme, this part of the story is hopeful—the kitten has found friends and feels at home. 

When the narrator concludes the end of the chapter, Minho reaches over to turn the recording off. You take the opportunity to crane your neck up and plant a kiss on his lips. He smiles softly, grabbing your waist so that you’re straddling his hips. One hand travels up to gently tug on your chin, deepening the kiss. His tongue is hot and lavishes against yours, a juxtaposition between his hand, methodically stroking your hair. Your fingers dance across his face, stroking his cheekbones, tracing his jawline and neck. 

Soon, your fingers are replaced by your mouth and Minho’s Adam’s apple bobs with the groan he lets out. The fire in your chest and the beginning aching in your core has you tugging at the hem of his soft black tee shirt. His breath is shaky on your cheek as you pull the shirt over his head, softly dropping it next to the bed. Sitting back on his hips, you gaze down at his bare chest, wonder and admiration filling your heart as your hands travel across his toned torso. The lightest breeze of pink blush blows across his cheeks so you lean down to reattach your open mouth to his. The whirling in your mind rids your thoughts of everything except how he feels under you. His wet lips against yours, rising of his chest against yours, his hips pressing against yours. 

So his tense voice catches you off guard, “Y/n, are you sure?” He’s pulled back and his eyebrows are furrowed softly, his pretty lips red and swollen but glossy with your spit. 

Your gaze drops, hands fumbling to play with his hair. “I want to but if you wanna still take it slow, I’m fine wit—” 

“I want you too, Y/n,” he whispers. Hungrily, he pulls off your shirt, sitting up to cradle you in his arms as he nuzzles your breasts, pressing hot kisses against your skin. Sighing contently, you unclip your bra and try not to blush at the dumb, awestruck look on Minho’s face. His rough hands come up to gently fondle them and you press kisses to his forehead and cheeks.

“You’re beautiful, Y/n,” he breathes, his hands firm against your bare waist as he gingerly turns you over so your back is pressed against the cool sheets. “We can take it slow.” Nervousness tightens your stomach and you’re sure he can feel the thrumming of your pulse as he slowly drags down your pants, maintaining eye contact. An endearing toothy smile spreads across his face and he hides it by kissing your tummy, trailing down to your pantie covered core. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or wanna stop, okay?”

You smile softly, “Okay, you too.” Minho nods, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/n,” he murmurs, reaching to tug off your underwear. Being completely bare underneath someone would make anyone ashamed or uncomfortable and your face burns as his glossy eyes take your most vulnerable state in. His lips are parted slightly and the soft glow of the lamp casts shadows of his eyelashes onto his red cheeks. A harsh swallow has his Adam’s apple bobbing. “God, you’re dripping, Y/n” He whispers, eyes shining, “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, Minho,” you confirm. He slides his finger into your hot, aching core, his lip caught in his teeth as he watches his digit being sucked in. Slowly, Minho pushes his finger deeper into you, gaze dancing from your face to your core.

“M-more please,” you whimper, consumed by the unfamiliar feeling of your velvety walls around something. When he adds another finger deep inside you, you gasp, a hand traveling down to clutch his free one. His thumb strokes the back of your hand as his other continues, scissoring into you as wet sounds fill his bedroom. When his fingers curl up, hot white pleasure shoots through you and Minho smiles proudly, working at that spot.

“H-holy fuck,” you moan, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder at the unfamiliar pleasure. 

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse, bub,” Minho muses, releasing your hand to push himself up the bed so that your faces are close together.

“I-its because of you, Minho.” 

That triggers something in him and his eyes turn dark, but rather than scaring you, it makes the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten. When Minho removes his fingers from you, it unwinds slowly but clenches at the sight of his now solid length being pulled out of his sweats. His eyelashes flutter closed on his cheeks as he strokes himself with his fingers, still slick from your juices as he retrieves a condom from the bedstand and rolls it on, hissing at the friction. “Are you ready, Y/n?” He pants softly, eyes hooded as he stares down at you, hand still moving up and down his red glistening cock in a way that has your pussy throbbing and mouth salivating. You respond by hooking your legs around his hips, smiling as he leans down to kiss your lips softly. His tip pokes at your hot core and you sling your arms around his shoulders.

Minho’s eyes are piercing as he gazes darkly at you, searching for the slightest trace of hesitance on your part. Painstakingly slowly, he slides into you. Maybe the foreplay did help to prepare you, but the stretch has tears pooling at the corners of your eyes and he’s not even all the way in you. Shakily, Minho exhales, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to hold back from pistoning into you. His lips press into the tears forming and spilling over at your eyes and he nuzzles your cheek with his nose softly, staying still until you reassure him, “Okay, you can keep going.” 

His teeth and tongue travel over your neck as he fully enters you, but his soft hiss has you unintentionally tightening around him. “Ah, Y/n don’t,” he groans, lifting his head from looking at the place you two are connected at to to smile at you. “Can I start?” 

You nod, hooking your ankles around his hips, “Yeah, just go slow for now.” Minho starts thrusting deep into you, angling his hips and going slow enough to feel the drag of your soaking walls rub against his throbbing cock. “You feel so good,” he moans, reaching to hold your hand as his hips continue to rock against you.

“I-I feel so full,” you whisper, squeezing his hand and he smiles softly at you, eyes crinkling up. “C-can you go faster?” 

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he snaps his hips into yours, groaning. The lustful and loving sounds of skin slapping resounds in the room, mixing with both of your moans to create a beautiful sound you tuck away in your mind. Minho pulls out till the tip before slamming into you, sweat forming at his forehead. With his free hand, Minho reaches down to rub your clit in tempo with his powerful thrusts. Moaning loudly, you whimper, “P-please, Min I-I think I’m gonna,” your words get swallowed by another moan when Minho’s hips increase their pace, his stamina through the roof.

“Me too, Y/n,” he pants, “Cum for me.” 

The hot coil tightens and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed at the sensation until white, electric pleasure crashes through you and you release around Minho’s length. He moans loudly, quickly chasing his high. His face twists in pleasure as he reaches his high and your fuzzy brain is left awestruck at his beauty. Minho collapses next to you, removing the condom, chest heaving in deep pants as he stares into your eyes, smiling like an idiot.

“How was that, Y/n?” He asks, arms circling your shoulder, pulling you close. 

You giggle into his chest, fingers tracing imaginary doodles, “That was fucking crazy, Min.” 

Minho’s chest bubbles with laughter and he boops your nose, scrunching his own nose up, “That’s great cause I was kinda worried about giving you a bad experience and all.” 

Looking up and tapping your chin with a finger in mock thinking you smile, “I loved it, but I want you to call me cute names, Min.” 

“I call you bub. But you mean like princess? Babygirl?” he says, an eyebrow raised. 

You roll your eyes, “Bub is not a cute name but yes, the others are okay.” “Okay,” Minho laughs, gently rubbing his nose against yours, “You’re my princess, you’re my babygirl, and you’re always my bub.”

Minho shuffles in the sheets, turning to face you, an excited smile on his face, “Just move in with me. You’re already here more than your own place and it’s unsafe there.” Still after loving him for so long, your stomach churns with nervousness, but you laugh softly, scooting closer so that you can bury your nose into his bare chest to breathe his scent in deeply. “This apartment building is safer than mine?” His arms find their way around you and he hold you close, his chest rumbling against your face with every word, “It’s safer because I’m here.” Laughing you pull back, supporting your weight with one arm as you gaze down at him. He lifts an eyebrow, stretching his arms towards you and you can’t help but collapse into them. “Okay, I’ll move in with you.”

A shining smile breaks out across Minho’s face and he nuzzles his nose into your hair softly, gently stroking your bare back.

#stray kids #minho #skz #stray kids smut #minho smut #skz smut #stray kids angst #minho angst #skz angst #stray kids fluff #minho fluff #skz fluff #stray kids oneshot #minho one shot #skz one shot #stray kids imagine #minho imagine #skz imagine #stray kids hard hours #minho hard hours #skz hard hours #bangchan #changbin #jeongin #seungmin #felix #jisung #han #stray kids soft hours #skz soft hours

[yamithediaperdork]

My Little Brothers revenge Part 1

My little brothers revenge

The Hickman's were for the most part a average middle class family. both the parents worked and they had two children.

A 12 year old named Justin who had natural blond hair in a brush cut though he currently had it dyed indigo blue to go with his icy blue eyes. He had a jock's build (well as much as one could have at that age) and wasn't scared to use his physical power to his advantage.

his little brother Alex was short for his age and was always being mistaken for a 6 year old or worse when he was 9 and a half. He had red hair that went down to his shoulders and he kept in a pony tail and his checks were sprinkled with freckles.His slim body meant he was last to be picked for any sports though unlike his brother he was a strait A student and actually sometimes had to help his older brother with his homework, a fact that neither of them enjoyed.

It was their mother Anne (who Alex took after in appearance) who insisted that he help his big brother and it always ended with Justin pissed off and Alex hanging from a bed post by his sponge bob underoo's.

Their father who Justin took after in appearance refused to believe his little all star could be such a bully and so it was usually left to Alex to figure out a way to hold his own or go and whine to their mother, getting him labeled a mama's boy.

Still all brothers fight, it was just a fact of life and it might of all just gone this way with them being a semi happy family till the day the bully of a big brother took things a step too far and Alex decided that Justin had to be put in his place once and for all.

Alex had been hanging out with his friends Saturday afternoon, playing video games in the living room and having semi pissed off Justin who had wanted to watch a movie with HIS friends.

But mom and dad made sure that the TV time was shared and that both boys got a block of time and with their parents just down the block, Justin knew better then to try and strong arm them out.

Said friends were Kyle and Lyle, twins from down the block who had a semi creepy habit of finishing each others sentences and had light caramel skin and black hair in matching mushroom cuts. it was easy enough to tell them apart as by a semi quick of fate Lyle had brown eyes while Kyle had green.

Missing in action because he'd gone fishing with his dad was Max, anther shrimp who had dirty blond hair in a short Mohawk (his attempt to look cool which had backfired) and was so white he looked pale most of the time.

being shrimps themselves they had hit it off well with Alex and had formed a semi losers club of sorts, though Alex wasn't found of the name the twins who loved anything Steven king had insisted and he was out voted 2 to 1 since Max had joined the group after.

the boys were doing a retro gaming session of sorts, playing downloaded old games on a new machine and the game of choice for the moment was Ninja turtles two.

"Man, this game is so bad.." Lyle spoke up, playing as Leonardo.

"That it's almost good!" Kyle finished and was playing as Ralph.

"heh, that the fun part of these old games..you know they were giving it their all but just were limited." Alex said.

all three of them were seated on the hard wood floor of the living room though they had spread out a blanket since despite the chill of the October air his parents had refused to turn on the heat yet.

the twins nodded and Alex went to say something else when he hear the booming footsteps of his brother then a familiar stink hit his nose.

'No way, he wouldn't!' Alex thought.

"Hey Little Alexandra, Didn't mom tell you to toss out your pissy wet diapie when you got changed this morning? It's bad enough your a bed wetter, do you have to leave your soggy huggies around?" Justin asked.

and indeed Justin was holding out a totally soaked Spider-man print diaper in front of him, holding it with just a finger and his thumb and holding his nose.

Behind him were his friend Adam (Nicknamed grizz or grizzly because of his girth and wildly unkempt brown hair) and Rayne, actually a year younger then the other two but a head taller and so very, very much stupider. Rayne kept his head shaved because he thought it made him look more like the pro wrestlers that he so so loved.

"is that-" Lyle asked, pausing the game and turning to look.

"-A diaper?" Kyle finished, raising a eyebrow.

"JUSTIN! Mom told you not show people those! and I DID toss it out!" Alex huffed and whined, his cheeks going crimson then adding. "And DON'T call me Alexandra!"

"Whatever you say pamper pisser. Look, I went to go into our room to get something and was assaulted by the stink of your bed wetter pants." Justin said and then tossed the soggy thing at Alex, hitting him in the face and knocking him over.

the truth was Alex KNEW he'd tossed the diaper out this morning, he wasn't allowed to toss his very much needed bed time diapers out in the house trash because Dad and Justin would raise a fuss about it stinking up the house and he'd had to wait five minutes because the paper boy had stopped to talk to Mr. Johnson next door.

"JUSTIN GROSS!" Alex whined and sat up, whining and now smelling like stale pee.

"Whatever dork, go and toss your diaper out then take a shower..me and the guys are gonna start our movie early. Wonder twins, I'm sure you don't wanna stick around and hang out with a pamper packer like my little brother right?" Justin said.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Lyle huffed and went to put a supportive hand on Alex's shoulder, but then pulled it back.

he was with his friend but that didn't mean he wanted to get any of the ick on him.

"What he said! Everyone matures differently! Heck, Lyle only just stopped needing a night light this year!" Kyle said, then pout his hands over his mouth as his brother glared at him.

"...Pfffftt BWHAHAHAHAHA!" all three big bullies broke into gut busting laughter.

"I'm not the one who has to suck on a pacifier during thunder storms!" Lyle shot back and blew a raspberry at his twin who huffed and glared.

the bullies naturally were loving it as the twins only dug themselves in deeper and Alex just face palmed.

"Guys, you're NOT helping yourselves." He pointed out.

"Oh my god, it's a group of BABIES! No wonder they all get along!" Grizz laughed, slapping his leg.

"I bet their next sleep over is gonna have them in a crib." Rayne added.

"Alright pamper packers, out of the living room, this movie is PG 13 and I don't want you all blorting your pants when something scary happens. Wonder twins, get your asses home. Alexandra, go take a shower AFTER you toss out your pissy diaper." Justin said, unable to believe just how well all of this had worked out.

"Whatever jerk.." Alex huffed and got up.

he saw his friends off though the twins were still semi huffing and fighting, shoving each other as the walked away and Alex got his wet diaper tossed out without anyone seeing him.

as he went upstairs and got his shower ready one thing was on his mind.

'This means war. I'm gonna make him feel EXACTLY how embarrassing being seen in diapers around your fiends is.' Alex vowed to himself.

Ok, he had no idea HOW he was going to do so, but while Justin may of won the first battle, it was going to be Alex who won the war and prove his Brain's out did his brother brawn.

The movie was going about as well as could be expected since they had to keep pausing it to have anther laugh at just how dorky Alex and his friends were.

Of course Rayne and Grizz had known for awhile (even if Justin technically wasn't suppose to of told them) about Alex being a diaper filler. (and he might of exaggerated what all Alex used his diapers for)

Maybe a SMALL part of Justin had felt sorry for Alex being humiliated like that in front of his friends, but Grizz had actually come up with the idea and he didn't wanna look like a pussy in front of the guys.

Besides with it coming out that the twins were just as big of dorks as his little brother any real guilt had vanished and he toyed with the idea of dragging out Alex's old play pen out of the basement for the next time he had all his dorky friends over.

'heh, get some pacifiers to shut'em up..put them all in Alex's diapers and take lots of pictures. boom, homework and chore bitches till I graduate.' Justin thought with a smirk and chuckled.

"what's so funny? Oooo and I know that look. Someone's had a evil thought." Grizz asked.

"Heh.. How would you guys feel about making some diapered nerds do our homework for us?" Justin asked.

"well, could be funny, but where are we gonna find some?" Rayne asked.

"..." Grizz roiled his eyes

"...Rayne buddy just smile and listen." Justin said semi sweat dropping.

"I can do that!" Rayne said with a big toothy grin.

Shaking his head Justin started to explain his evil plan, and his friends laughed and chuckled, and were MORE then on board.

Getting out of the shower and drying off, Alex got dressed in a pair of black jogging pants and a t-shirt then sat on his bed with his laptop.

He tried different google searches trying to figure out just how to get his brother back in diapers but for the most part it ended up giving him story link's that he bookmarked to look over later and see if there was anything usable.

He did find a forum called little brothers revenge and it had some really wicked ideas for the most part, but only two threads popped up when he searched for diaper.

the first one was clearly bull with it talking about how this kid had pooped in a diaper and hide it in his big brothers room and gotten the big brother in trouble (and even if it wasn't, Alex would hold off crapping himself as a weapon of last resort.)

the other thread was old, and had been posted just before Christmas of last year and had a little brother talk about how he had set his brother up to look like he wanted diapers for Christmas and his dad had fallen for it, and so had the rest of the family.

Of course there was a lot of disbelief in the read over that and one guy commented 'pics or your full of shit!'

As Alex scrolled down, he pretty much thought the same but then his jaw dropped as there was a picture of a sleeping boy, in a t-shirt and thick diapers and sucking on a paci and a younger boy was in frame too, it was a semi selfie and was smirking and giving the peace sign. the caption under the picture read 'Believe me now bitches?'

"Hoooly shitttttt." Alex said, this guy was his hero!

he didn't seem to be activate on the forum anymore though, there were a bout a dozen replies and a few more comments from the guy but then he vanished.

his user profile did have a e-mail attached to it and so Alex snagged it and went to write the guy a e-mail.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: DUDE YOUR MY HERO!

Hey just wanted to say, I saw your post on Little brothers revenge and wanted to say how awesome that was and also I was wondering if you had any advice or tips on getting a big brother in padding. mine's being a total butt hole lately and just ugggghhh @_@

I had one idea about maybe like peeing on his bed after he gets up to frame him for bed wetting, what do you think? hope to hear from you soon!

E-mail written Alex clicked send and then went to kill some time play a few games online, never once suspecting that while he was trying to plot his big brother diaper doom, he was likewise plotting out Alex's downstairs.

It was a hour latter when Alex heard the ding that told him he'd gotten a reply and he switched tabs to go and take a look.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:DUDE YOUR MY HERO

Heh, thanks for the high praise though I gotta warn you, first of all this is something you've gotta be reallllly careful with. Diaper humiliation is a double edged sword, trust me. Had a friend named Ken who tried this and now he's in diapers.

Anyways just taking a leak on your big bro's bed is dumb, you'll get busted for sure! what I'd recommend is making use of laxatives and pee pills in increasing doses till he's wetting his pants all the time and blorting them too. It's a longer game but better results.

what made you wanna get his butt back in diapers anyways, and FYI i expect 'baby pictures' when your plan works.

Alex thought about that for a second and couldn't help but wonder if maybe this 'ken' was really Ben, but pushed that thought out of his head as he started to write his reply.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Re:DUDE YOUR MY HERO!

Oh well, I'm a bed wetter and the butt hole went and fished one of my soggy diapers out of the trash and threw it at me while I was hanging out with my friends, trying to say i never tossed it out. so trust me, he totes has this coming.

I really got nothing to lose if I get busted since I'm in huggies every night so I'll try out your plan. it works out because he likes to make me get him drinks and snacks.

as for the picture of him once he's back in huggies heh, sure. thanks for the advice and I'll let you know when the plan starts to work.

E-mail sent Alex closed his e-mail and his game tab then went searching online for the best med's to get to reduce his brother to a helpless pants wetting stinker, only to pause after a few minutes recalling that Max had gotten in trouble awhile back for causing a series of messy accidents around school.

'nggggh..no way he'll be back yet though. I'll go and talk to him tomorrow.' Alex thought and set his laptop aside and laid back on his bed, thinking about just how much fun he was gonna have and ended up conking out.

which was unfortunate as he hadn't put on one of his spider-man diapers and with in ten minutes a wet patch was starting to grow on the front of his jogging pants, which while the dark color would hide it, the tan covered blanket he was laying on wouldn't.

"So when do you think we can do this?" Grizz asked.

the movie was basically forgotten but had been kept on to cover up their voices on the off chance Alex came downstairs (Small chance of that) or if their parents came back early.

"Welll that's the tricky part. I have to have all four of the dweebs here AND have my parents gone. they're going on a weekend trip in about 2 weeks though so I'll try and convince the dweeb to get the loser's club all over here." Justin said.

Rayne, who had just shut his mouth like he'd been told to raised his hand like he was in class.

"heh, Yes Rayne?" Justin asked.

"Aren't they into that dice game, Dragons and prison or whatever?" he asked.

"..Dungeons and dragons, yeah." Justin chuckled.

"Same difference. anyways, say you've been reading up on it and wanna try your hand at hosting a game, but just want them over before you embarrasses yourself in front of us.Most nerds I know love to play and will jump at the chance." Rayne said and smiled.

"Sweet fucking cthulhu. Rayne had a good idea." Grizz chuckled and to patted the bigger boys head. "good boy!"

Rayne beamed and was clearly proud of himself and Justin chuckled.

"Ok, I'll just have to learn enough about this nerd stuff to fake it and get them over. you guys will have to be ready to help though, I don't wanna risk one of the losers getting away." Justin said nodding.

"Hey, as long as I don't have to change any shitty asses I'm in." Grizz said.

"Wait, your gonna make them USE the diapers?" Rayne said and then laughed lots. "Gross!"

"Heh, well the best blackmail is a sobbing little brat in a stinky diaper blackmail. no way the dweeb will risk him in all his smelly glory ending up ALL over town."

"Man, I am glad your not MY big brother." Rayne said, never mind the fact Justin was pretty sure if he tried anything on the semi giant he'd be the one in huggies.

"Eh, No worries. you'd be a awesome little bro. Now all we need to do is go and pick the perfect pampers for them."

"Oh, I got it! There's this discount store my mom drags me to because they have her cream of wheat and other junk she likes cheap, but they got in a shipment of over night diapers for big kids, boys and girls. the boys has rockets and stars on them and are blue." Grizz said, setting up the best part.

"Oh, this is gonna be good." Justin smirked.

"the girls has unicorns and rainbows and are pink!" Grizz finished and cackled.

Plans set for his brother's diapered humiliation, the boys finally turned they're attention back to the movie.

After the movie it was getting late and so Justin sent the guys home as technically speaking they weren't suppose to be over, only him or Alex could have friends over for the most part if mom and dad weren't home. (Weekend vacations were the exception, though their folks made it clear the house had been be clean when they got back)

Whoever had their friends over was also suppose to clean up after them and after a chip fight in the living room Justin smirked, knowing he could get Alex to clean the mess up, since it would be Alex and his friend getting blamed for the mess.

Of course Justin usually made Alex clean up after him and his friends anyways but that always took a little bit more effort in the form of using the dorks undies to bounce him like a yo yo if he didn't listen.

He toyed with leaving Alex sulking in their room where he been since the shower and just letting the dweeb get in trouble but since it was Justin's turn to start dinner so it'd be ready and he didn't feel like cooking, he had to get Alex downstairs anyways to be a good little chore bitch.

"This will be SO much easier once I have the blackmail on him." Justin sighed to himself as he made his way up the stairs to the boys shared bedroom.

Opening the door he went to go and say something but was hit by the stench of piss and a quick look confirmed the little bed soaker had gone night night without a pamper on.

"Hey dork face! wake up! you pissed the bed!" Justin said in a loud voice.

"Ngggh a gigi boo..Five more minutes mommy.." the still mostly asleep dweeb said, trying to shoo Justin away.

"heh, baby talk? really? Wow, just when I think you can't lower the bar any more Little bro.. ALEXANDRA! WAKE UP!" Justin said then cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled.

Alex jumped sort in bed then sat up, eyes wide and panting, looking around.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" He growled once he locked eyes on Justin."ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK?!"

"No, but you had a wetting attack dork." Justin said and pointed.

Alex went to say something then looked down and went from pissed off to blushing and tried to cover himself up.

"Ah crap crap crap crap!" Alex whined and got up off the bed.

this was NOT good. not good at ALL! Dad was already riding him on the bed wetting and if he found out Alex had soaked the bed from a little nap he would NOT hear the end of it, or worse, dad would make him wear ALL day tomorrow!

"Ah..ah..Justin big brother who I love ever so much.." Alex started, swallowing and trying to put on his best 'I'm so cute help me' faces.

"Save it dweeb. I'll keep my mouth shut about your little..well BIG accident as long as you go and be a good little chore bitch and get the living room cleaned up and start supper." Justin said and leaned on the door frame, a evil smirk on his face.

Considering his options Alex just hung is head and then did a small nod.

"Butttt to show you I'm not totally heartless..I got some clothes that need to be washed so you can do them and wash your sheet at the same time as a cover up. I know, my kindness knows no bounds. just be thankful mom got you that rubber sheet or you'd be going to sleep in a soggy bed tonight." Justin said and laughed.

'gee he's all heart. letting me do his landry and clean up AND cook.. ' Alex thought but it WAS better then trying to explain the sheet alone.

"Yeah ok.." He said finally and went to strip stripping the bed.

"ah ah ah, what do you say to your kind and wonderful brother for helping you out?" Justin said, milking this for all it was worth.

'He has to be..ok no, I know him better then that.. just keep digging your grave jerk.' Alex thought then took a deep calming breath.

"Thank you for letting me do your landry big brother." he said, clenching a fist.

"Anytime dork. not get to it, you don't have a whole lotta time. my clothes are in the hamper in the bathroom." Justin said and started to walk away, then poked his head back in. "Oh and dweeb? next time don't forget to put on your diapies when your going for your afternoon nap."

and with that he walked off laughing.

"...I'm SO going to enjoy getting him in diapers." Alex huffed.

Changing into a pair of clean spider-man shorts and a captain America t-shirt, Alex got the load of landry started and then went to work cleaning up the living room while keeping a eye on the time.

the chips were everywhere and every time he though he was done he'd spot some more and wondered how much the three bullies had actually managed to get in their stupid fat mouths.

Between the cleaning and getting landry switched over he didn't have time to make anything too special so he went with the old stand by of making macaroni and cheese with hot dogs as it was quick and simple and his parents never really expected Justin to go all out when he was cooking anyways.

Dinner was ready and the landry was finished by the time their parents got home, Alex just had to go and get it out of the dryer but he figured he'd have time to do it stealthy after eating.

"So, what did you boys do for fun today?" Dad asked as they were sitting at the dinner table, a small grimace on his face at the prospect of eating the old stand by.

"Oh well-" Alex started by Justin cut him off.

"It was pretty much same old same old for me, went out and played some football with the guys and had fun. Came back though and I think The twins brought over some super sugar loaded snacks or something because Alex and them where have a chip fight and trashed the living room. it was cute though." Justin said and smirked, winking at Alex who's jaw hung open.

"Alex, you didn't!" Mom signed and shook her head. "After supper you'll be cleaning up the living room!"

"Oh don't worry about it mom, I know little guys like him just need to get it out of their systems. after the twins went home he was super pooped though, think it was a sugar crash so let him go and take a nap and I cleaned up the living room." Justin lied.

"Well that was was nice of you Justin, but in the future leave the cleaning for Alex to do." Dad said and shook his head at Alex. "Alex, we've talked about this."

Alex for his part was stuttering now, trying to think of a way to prove his innocence without getting scolded but first shots had been fired by Justin and there was nothing he could do now.

"Alex did you say thank you to Justin for cleaning up after you?" Mom asked and her tone made it clear if he hadn't she expected him to now, but again Justin spoke up.

"Oh, he's already thanked me for something else. see somebody was just SO sleepy when he went for his nap that he forgot to get his bed wetter pants on and well, Let's just say it's a good thing I had to do a load of landry anyways." Justin said as Alex,'s jaw dropped.

"Y-You said..you.." Alex stammered.

"Alex! what have I told you about not going to sleep without one of your diapers on?" Dad asked in a sharp tone.

"N-Not to do it again or..or.." Alex whined, looking down and feeling ready to cry.

this wasn't fair! he'd done everything Justin had asked him too and he was still gonna get punished!

"Or you'll be spending the next day in your diapers all day. Now I was hoping NOT to have to use that punishment but clearly you've left me no choice. you can still use the potty of course, in fact I encourage it, but you WILL be in diapers all day tomorrow." Dad said.

His tone left no room for argument and feeling hot tears start to slid down his cheeks Alex looked down at his bowl of food and sniffled.

"Yes sir."

After supper Justin offered to do the dishes if Alex would go and get the landry out of the dryer, but mom said since Justin had already cleaned up after Alex, made supper and did the landry for the most part he could go and relax and watch TV with their dad while Alex got the landry out and folded it.

Justin smiled and kissed his mom's cheek and asked if she was sure, but she insisted and so he went and plopped down on the couch, ready to watch some hockey with his dad and giving Alex a shit eating grin as the huffy and tear stained cheek dork started to stomp his way up the steps till dad called for him to knock it off unless he wanted to go to bed early.

'Oh my god. this worked out even better then I could of hoped! Mom and Dad are just too easy!' Justin thought, having to bite his tongue every so often to keep from laughing.

the dweeb had done all the work and yet here he was sipping on pop and munching on chips with their dad while the dork was off folding his undies and was gonna be a crinkle butt the next day.

'It'll be a nice little preview of whats to come.' Justin thought and let out a little chuckle despite himself.

"what's so funny?" Dad asked.

"Oh, just thinking of how silly Alex and his friends looked this after noon. they were like sugar crazed toddlers." Justin lied.

"heh, Next time you should try and get a video of it, I bet it looked cute." Dad chuckled.

Upstairs Alex was mentally cursing up a storm, pissed off and fuming like crazy as he folded pair after pair of his brothers skid marked undies.

'Son of a bitch! son of a bisket eating bitch! I'm not just gonna get him in diapers, I'm gonna make him the biggest dumbest big baby loser of all time! I'm gonna have him in the halls of his school in nothing but huggies and a bib and bonnet!'

of course a small part of Alex knew that going that far likely wasn't gonna be possible, it was a warm thought that helped him keep from just having a melt down fit that would of gotten his bun's blistered and him put to bed before it was even 8 pm.

He should of know better then to think that Justin was gonna hold up his end of the deal, or he should of spoken up about getting the landry done but nope. He'd trusted his big brother and was paying the price for it now in spades.

'And now I have to wear a diaper all day tomorrow..Maybe I'll wait till Monday to go and talk with Max.' Alex thought.

it would mean putting his plans on hold for a bit but he really didn't wanna waddle the block and a half over to Max's with pampers on under his pants.

Finishing up the folding and putting the clothes away Alex checked to make sure that his rubber sheet was dry and tugged in his blanket he'd hung out the window to dry (as it would of taken up too much room in the machines to do Justin's landry too) and with it dry he started to make his bed.

'God, what did I ever do to deserve a asshole like him for a big brother.' Alex whined mentally and finished making his bed, looking it over and then jumping and letting out a girlish shriek as a hand came on his shoulder.

"heh, Relax sweetie, it's mommy." Came his mother voice, sounding a little amused.

"That's ok, I didn't need that heart." Alex huffed, blushing and turning around to face his smirking mother. "what's up mom?"

"Well I wanted to come up and check on how the folding was going and to help you get ready for bed." She said with a smile.

"...Mom it's not even 8 yet, and it's a Saturday night.." Alex said, not liking where this was going.

"Oh You can stay up and everything till 11 like normal, but I just wanna make sure you don't conk out with your 'special armor' on." she said, using finger quotes.

"Mom I think I'm quite capable of putting my own diaper on." Alex huffed, feeling a hot blush cover his face.

"And yet you soaked your bed earlier." She cheerfully pointed out.

"T-That was different, I was just all tired and didn't realize I'd be conking out!" Alex whined, sounding more like a fussy toddler the the big kid he was trying to be.

"I know sweetie, but it kinda goes with my point. what if you just conk out again tonight? do you really wanna have to go to school on Monday in a diaper?" She asked, and the ruffled his hair.

The mental image of it stopped Alex's whining in it's tracks, picturing himself in a bib and spider-man diaper and sucking on a paci in the halls.

"No way! I'd Dieeeee!" Alex whined and shook his head no A LOT.

"well then let mommy help you out. And also if your gonna keep being so tired maybe we'll lower your bedtime for awhile." She added, then smirked and winced at the glare Alex gave her. "Now now, no using your super pouty powers on family."

"Moooom!" Alex huffed but resigned himself to his fate, when she got like this there was no getting her to back down.

He reached under his bed and pulled out his pack of spider-man diapers and noted that he was running low, and started to tug down his shorts when mom spoke up.

"Oh Alex, before we get your in your bed time diaper, do you have to use the potty?"

"mom, I know I wet the bed but I THINK I would know if had to take a leak or a dump you kn-" Alex started and then there was a loud 10 second poot out of his bottom and his tummy was gurgling.

"You were saying?" Mom asked, holding her nose but smirking."

"I-I'll be back.." Alex said in a small voice, blushing SO bad as he went past her he was shocked his hair hadn't caught on fire.

As she watched him go and had to fight the urge laugh, the little guy's undies had a fresh skid mark appearing on the back.

'Maybe I should look into getting him some of those washable training pants.' She mused.

One trip to the potty later and with Alex realizing what's he'd almost done in his undies, and the fight was all out of the little guy at least for the moment.

Zero fight was put up as he let his mom take his shorts and briefs and then proceed to diaper him, numbly just going along with her requests of butt up and the like.

"Are you sure your feeling alright? Maybe I should of checked your temperature before getting the diaper on." Mom asked, putting a hand to Alex's forehead.

"N-No I'm fine..just I dunno, Tired." Alex said, wincing.

he had to be the only boy his age to still get his temperature checked via the back door and it's wasn't that fun of a experience.

"Hmmm I think somebody better lay off of the sweets for awhile if it leaves you JUST drained after." Mom said and then started to tug Alex's blanket up on him.

"M-Mom what are you doing?" Alex whined, looking at the clock, it was 7:51 PM!

"I think you've had a big day, and your just not feeling that good. it would explain all the huffing and whining too. if you be a good boy and go night night for me now I'll see what I can do to get your father to back off with the all day diaper punishment tomorrow. I have to take you shopping for more diapers anyways with you almost being out and you get embarrassed enough as is when your in your undies."

Alex whined and whimpered a little but after a few seconds just signed and nodded.

"Good boy." She said and leaned down, kissing his forehead and then went and got one of his stuffie style Avengers from their display shelf and handed him Thor.

Lacking the energy to fight back Alex just took the offered stuffie and snuggled into it as his mom turned off the lights in the room and paused at the doorway.

"Night night little guy. Mommy will leave the door open a crack for you so you don't get scared. Love you and see you in the morning." She coo'ed/

"..Love you too mommy." Alex said, blushing.

He hadn't been scared of the door in like ages but somehow mom had the impression he still was and the only reason he wouldn't accept a night light was Justin would complain.

She left the little guy to go to sleep and Alex listened to her footsteps.

'This is bull shit. I'm not some little baby! I bet I don't even fall asleep till 11 anyways.' He huffed, crinkling and squirming in his bed.

Five minutes later he was snoring softly around his thumb as he sucked it in his sleep.

"So did Alex give you much of a fight?" Justin asked as Mom came downstairs.

"Just a token one, he's already gone to bed. I don't think he's feeling well and I think that should excuse him for needing his punishment tomorrow." Anne said, though the last part was more directed at her husband.

"Look, rules are rules, and if we start g-" Jackson started but was cut off.

"Excuse me, but who's idea was the rule that a D or worse meant no TV or computer time, and yet Justin who got a D on his last English test is watching the game with you?" She asked sweetly.

Justin gulped now and turned to his dad.

"Uh..you know..I think mom's right, we can't punish Alex if he had his accident because he's sick!" Justin chimed in.

"Heh, Nice try buddy but your mother is right in a way. I can't really punish your brother and not punish you. "Jackson said

"Soooo Alex isn't wearing a diaper tomorrow?" Justin asked hopefully.

"try again buddy, but do it in anther room so I can finish watching the game." Jackson chuckled and ruffled his sons hair as the 12 year old pouted.

"Finnne, I'll just go to my room an-." he started to huff and went to get up.

"ahhh nope. First of all I know you well enough you'll just go on your laptop." Anne said. "and second of all your brother is sleeping. Don't worry though, we have LOTS of board games you can play with me."

"Geee, spending Saturday night playing board games with my mom. aren't I lucky." Justin groaned

One mind numbing night of games later and Justin went to bed, taking note of the fact that Alex had semi drenched his pillow in drool and was still sucking his thumb.

'Heh, He's kinda cute...Still gonna make him a big dumb diaper nerd chore boy..but he's cute.' Justin thought before going and climbing into his bed.

as he went to go to sleep he had the most wonderful evil idea that could at the same time be played off as just being a nice big brother and help get 'revenge' on Alex for making him miss the end of the game.

'Hehehehe damn I'm so smart!' Justin chuckled and dropped off to sleep.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

This is a request from @dashhoney25

Erik and his boo, London, make up for lost time. 😈

Warnings: LOTS of Smut, Rough sex, dirty talk. This shit...had me wet AF.

There are four levels of assassins: the novices, dilettantes, journeymen, and lastly masters. The masters, men with military or paramilitary backgrounds who travel to their contracts have few local ties that law enforcement can use. They excel at their craft, and operate quietly and without incident. In theory, the whispered meetings will be held in secret, the job will be executed with precision and grace, and no one will witness the escape. As a class one type assassin, Erik Killmonger was genetically enhanced in order to perform physical tasks much more efficiently than an average peak-human. To keep his skills in balance, Erik Killmonger practices his combat, shooting, assassination, and stealth skills whenever he is not on an assignment. He has over his life become a myth in the underworld due to his skills. Many doubt Erik Killmonger’s existence because of his skills in completing impossible assignments to the point that the FBI and CIA denies his existence…

Erik Killmonger spawned on a beach in Miami from his F470 Combat Rubber Raiding Craft at approximately 9:30 PM. He’s wearing a Roka wetsuit that provides luxurious comfort and no restrictions. The ocean waters emit a bright blue glow as the waves crashed and the tide came in because of tiny organisms called Lingulodinium polyedrum. With him, Erik Killmonger has on a pair of thermal imaging goggles resting on top of his tapered locs. Frontwards, Erik Killmonger spots two armed guards pacing in front of the architect-designed luxury beach home. Erik Killmonger tugged on the goggles, bringing them down over his onyx eyes. Both of them are carrying a GLOCK 19 and wearing crisp black suits and polished black dress shoes. One beefy man and the other looking about his weight and height. Good. 

Erik Killmonger has mastered the art of stealth, being able to terminate multiple enemies in the same area one at a time and sneak up on almost anybody and quietly neutralize them. Erik Killmonger also has an expert level understanding of the use of disguises in order to access unauthorized areas of a location. He needed the disguise of one of the guards to get inside of the home so he could grab what he needed for his Nightcall mission. Keeping low, his body hidden by the Lyme grass that sprouted from the beach, Erik Killmonger spots a pool on the left side. Moving quickly,  He walks inside the pool room and finds a tool box sitting on a surfboard table. Walking back out, he went around to the left side of the house until he saw the garage. Erik Killmonger uses the screwdriver that he picked out of the tool box to short-circuit the signal box, which will allow him to open up the garage door for access. He rounded a corner and parkour rolled, finding a good hiding spot. 

“Man, this is a bust...what exactly are we guarding?” The beefy guard with a Glasgow smile and a clean shaven head says before taking a quick puff from his cigarette. He spoke with an Australian accent from what Erik Killmonger could pick up while hiding behind a cherry-red sports car. 

“All I know is I’m getting paid,” The other guard that sounded like a Florida native says before turning to grab the cigarette from his partner's hand. He runs a hand through his jet black hair that reminded Erik of how greasers used to wear it back in the 50s. Blowing smoke towards the sky, he chokes up a bit. 

“Are these M-Marlboro golds?” He says between coughs and slight wheezes. 

“Yep, the only kind I smoke...looks like you can’t handle it though,” The beefy guard laughs tumultuously. 

“I’m more of a codeine guy,” The greaser says before handing the cigarette back to the other guard, “I prefer my prescription drugs.”

“That shit will have you on the floor, man.” 

Erik checked the time on his G-Shock Casio Camouflage watch. He didn’t bring a lot of tech with him since this job is supposed to be silent, quick, and precise. He couldn’t leave any traces of himself behind. For Erik, these types of jobs were always the hardest for him, that’s why he took another week to survey the area with his Dragon X12 U11 Drone late at night before accepting the Nightcall mission. The two guards kept talking nonsense, wasting a breath with every word when Erik Killmonger could be in the luxury beach home. He only had thirty minutes left. Since taking out both of them will bring too much attention, he decided to take them down one by one. 

“Hey...what was that?” The greaser says mid laugh. He shared a look with his partner before they both went stony-faced. He pulls out his GLOCK 19, checking the magazine for rounds before turning towards the garage, “I’ll be back, you know we aren’t really supposed to leave this post. If Alma asks, tell her I’m checking for a noise.” 

“Gotcha, just hurry back, you know that bitch will have something to say,” the beefy guard reminds him. 

With his gun pointed straight ahead with a two-handed grip and unwavering eyes, the greaser walks slowly past the cherry-red sports car, Erik Killmonger’s body no longer there. Making a left turn, heading towards the pool room, the greaser aims his gun left, right, behind, and in front of him. It was dark and anyone could be hiding behind the many shelves filled with storage bins and other miscellaneous items. Erik watched the greaser walk far enough into the pool room before stepping out from behind a cluttered storage cabinet. 

Erik Killmonger got really close behind the greaser without being detected, grabbing him around his throat by putting him in a choke hold, the crease of his arm between his bulging bicep, tricep, and flexor, squeezing with ease before he went limp in his arms. He dropped him, getting down on his knees to remove his suit and get dressed. Once he was fully clothed and looking like the other armed guards, Erik Killmonger places the GLOCK 19 in the suit jacket pocket before taking a calm yet treacherous stroll out to the other guard. 

_____________________

London’s eyelids fluttered open with a hassle around 3:18 AM, just five hours before she had to be to work. London is a Cyber Security Analyst for CSOC, a five-star rated computer security company in New York City, New York. The high and wide windows within the bedroom of her Penthouse gave her a nighttime view of the Midtown Manhattan skyline and at its feet is the whole geometry of Central Park. The high end silk bedding duvet cover set in black has perfect temperature-regulating properties that would usually help her sleep but with the absence of her man there was little to no chance for her to drift off again. London scoots over towards the edge of the left side of the upholstered platform bed in black to effectively turn on the side lamp. After rubbing her tired eyes, London grabs her phone to see if she had any missed calls or texts from him. Sure enough, the busy man himself sent her a text almost two hours ago. 

Erik: I just boarded my private jet, I’ll see you when you wake up baby girl. I’ll be right next to you. 

London and Erik have been exclusive for a little over a year. They met because Erik was a longtime client of CSOC and London would personally work for him whenever he needed it. She picked up on his flirtatious cues and the way his eyes blazed every time he looked at her. It was her round, sparkling topaz eyes with sweeping lashes; glowing honey skin; high cheekbones every time she smiled; glossy full lips; bouncy blunt cut copper hair; and trim frame with a plump backside. London didn’t expect anything to happen between them since Erik could be a bit emotionally closed off but he had a deep, and in the beginning, unexpressed admiration for London. He very rarely showed a liking towards anyone around him but for some reason, London changed that. Beneath his bad boy persona is a charming, mysterious, and intellectual man. London fell in love with him before she found out what he did for a living. Erik is an Assassin. Killing people as an occupation of course terror struck her in the beginning but she couldn’t leave him alone no matter how much her conscience tried to sway her. 

The beginning of their relationship...let’s just say it was nothing short of wild. Erik used to take London on big trips to places like Dubai, Japan, Colombia, and Saudi Arabia whenever he had work. That changed when Erik almost had a near death experience when trying to escape from a mission. He ended up hospitalized in a secret facility for trained killers like himself somewhere in Arizona. London made up for his lack of being there by working more hours which led her to a position as a Lead Cyber Security Analyst. Her pockets swelled even though she didn’t necessarily need the money since Erik could afford to take care of both of them. London grew tired from working long and hard hours and whenever she would come home to find Erik there she wouldn’t feel up to doing anything sexually. He was always on the move and she was always at work back in NYC. A strain between them both began to form. 

Erik didn’t fuss much about it, knowing how demanding his job is but whenever London felt a certain way about their situation he would let her vent to him, rubbing his baby girl’s back, kissing her gently, whispering reassurance to her; that things are going to get better; that she should leave her job and stay home. As easy as all of that sounded, London couldn’t bring herself to leave all that she worked so hard for behind her. To top it all off, London is a strong, independent woman who has done almost everything herself before Erik walked into her life. Yeah, he’s her daddy, but sitting at home waiting on his FaceTime call, his text, or to even simply hear his voice wasn’t enough. Also, she had to keep in mind that the future isn’t promised for the both of them. If things didn’t work out, London would be on her own again. The lack of sexual attention was indeed driving London crazy. Taking baths alone turned into London using her waterproof rabbit vibe or the faucet to make her cum. Other times she would mount her suction cup dildo that is an exact mold of Erik’s dick on the edge of the tub to ride. If she couldn’t have daddy’s long, thick, veiny black dick, then the toy would just have to make up for that when he’s not around. 

London snatched the silk duvet from her body before walking to the master bathroom. With the lights on, London turned to stare at her reflection through the backlit vanity mirror. London gently touched one of the taps twice, the warm water flowing out and into the single copper basin of the bathroom sink. Cupping her hands, the white iced out diamond Cuban link 10k yellow gold bracelet on her right wrist twinkling beneath the lights, London watches with drowsy eyes as the water fills in her hands. A few times, London rinses her face with the warm water to calm herself down so she can go back to sleep peacefully without tossing and turning. Lifting her face from the sink basin, eyes closed because of the water dripping from her face, London blindly grabs a folded black cotton facial towel with gold trimming. She dabs her face, taking in the clean and soft fresh linen smell. 

“Why are you up so late?”

London blanched, when Erik startled her with his large hands grabbing at her waist from the back. To this day, London still wasn’t used to Erik’s stealth. His feet are like feathers hitting the floor. London is wearing a black Sheer Marabou Romper that has a cinched waist, fluffy feathery trim, and thin straps. One thing Erik loves to see her in any chance he got was lingerie or nothing at all. Looking up into the vanity, London took in Erik’s appearance. He’s wearing his usual all black from head to toe; black cable knit long sleeve top that clung to his hulking frame and black drop crotch destroyed jeans. The layered diamond tennis chains around his neck matched the bracelet on London’s wrist and the Rolex on his left wrist with its diamond bezel didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I couldn’t sleep, it’s been that way for the past few weeks,” London rubs his strong hands with thick fingers around her waist, “How was this job?”

“Unnecessary, but I have another two million in my bank account so I can’t complain,” Erik’s thick lips circled London’s exposed neck, “You can’t sleep because of me, huh?”

“I’m used to you being next to me, yes, but I know you’re so busy,” London turns to face Erik. His hair from the dim lights of the bathroom looked almost raven, dreads messily resting against his forehead. London’s hands reach out to stroke his tapered waistline. She could feel all of the tiny raised scars beneath her manicured nails the more she lightly scratched him. 

“I’ve been getting calls for jobs left and right. Nothing else matters when I’m with you...I miss my baby,” Erik’s hand makes its way to London’s copper hair, slicking back the pressed out strands from her face before placing some behind her ears, “Haven’t been giving you the attention you need, and then you’re wearing my favorite too, probably waiting for me to come home and properly take it off of you.” 

“Properly taking my clothes off for you is ripping them to pieces,” London giggles before lifting to her tiptoes to kiss Erik’s thick, moist lips, “Why don’t you take a shower so we can lay in bed, I want you to wrap your arms around me,” London rubs Erik’s biceps. 

“Aight, ma, let me take a quick shower and I’ll meet you in bed,” Erik traced the pout of London’s bottom lip before giving her another kiss with a little bit of tongue. 

London walked back to the bedroom, pulling the silk duvet back and climbing back into bed. She propped herself up on her side to watch Erik undress. The standing shower system they have was London’s favorite. It has a square shower head with LED, remote-controlled LED, a detachable hand shower if you wanted to use it, and a thermostatic touch panel mixer with a digital display. The Rainfall mode made London experience the pleasure of a warm summer rain in her own bathroom. Her body was so tired but she couldn’t stop staring at him as he stripped out of each piece of clothing. Erik’s sinewy physique is so defined and well-built, so much so that you can even tell through his clothing. The raised marks on his torso, arms, and back caused her pierced nipples to grow taut as if she could feel his body rubbing against hers. 

Stepping into the shower, Erik puts it on Rainfall mode before standing directly under the square shower head. As the water sprouted from the shower head it trickled over Erik’s body making lazy patterns. He grabs for his favorite peppermint and eucalyptus body wash with a soap sponge to clean himself. He must have known that London was watching him because his ridiculously big dick was swaying back and forth with each movement of his body. London hasn’t had that big black dick in her for at least a few weeks now. When she first saw that fat dick in person she was sure she wouldn’t be able to take it. All that dick you’ll end up with no walls, tangled intestines, and half a stomach. She paid close attention to the way Erik grabbed his dick at the base, bringing it up against his lower abdomen to wash his balls. That heavy nut sack on him had her drooling. It had to have been almost 5 AM now. She was going to be extremely tired at work. 

________________

London arrived to work thirty minutes late with her daily homemade green smoothie in hand. She’s wearing a charcoal grey pencil skirt with a silk black top and black So Kate pumps on her feet. Her copper hair is swept to the side and bouncing with each step she took. When London woke up Erik wasn’t on his side of the bed. After freshening up and getting dressed, London went looking for him and found him in his weapons room unloading a few rounds to test out the new artillery. She didn’t want to disturb him too much so she gave him a quick kiss before leaving him alone until she made it back home. London walks past the rounded glass top receptionist desk before pushing open the commercial double glass doors to her work area. 

Having her own office means peace and quiet now. London gave some of her coworkers tight lipped smiles before entering her work space, allowing the frosted glass door to close behind her. 888 Seventh Avenue provided magnificent views of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline. London takes a seat at her modern black wood executive desk with a Mac desktop computer and other office supplies. She has two meetings to attend and one will be starting within the next hour. London checks her work email for any important information from clients while sipping her green smoothie. Time trickled by slowly and London hadn’t noticed that Erik had called her a few times. After receiving a reminder about the meeting via company email, London checks her phone. Erik sent her a voice message which was rather unlike him. London listens despite her confusion. 

“Hey what’s up, baby, how are you doing? I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you this morning since the new artillery came in, but...I’m sitting here just thinking about you and baby... I just want to see your face. Can you send me a picture or a video of yourself? I miss that pretty face….” he paused for a second, “I’m not gonna lie, ma...I’m feeling some type of way because I’m sitting here just thinking about you...thinking about tasting you...thinking about the other night when you watched me take a shower before you fell asleep…” Erik exhaled, “I miss that wet pussy, baby...I know that shit was wet last night...like goddamn...I know you’re panties had to be soaked, shit.” 

London was seated on the edge of her seat while her free hand gripped the handle of her seat. She couldn’t believe he was saying this to her in her voicemail. She instantly needed her man. 

“I’m saying...I’m not complaining at all because I love that wet ass pussy on my face and in my fucking mouth...grinding that pussy across my lips and my beard...Still tasting your pussy juices on my mustache...I wanna suck on that clit...that shit make you so goddamn wet, girl...spread them fat pussy lips and slowly guide my tongue up and down...up and down...fuck,” Erik hisses, “I miss that pussy gripping my fingers...you like that shit don’t you? Daddy’s fingers in your tight little pussy? Goddamn...fuck that I want you to take a picture of how wet your pussy is right now...yeah, I know that’s a little naughty but I know you’re my nasty little girl so you’ll do that shit anyway, right? I’ll spank that ass if you don’t send me a fucking pic, girl...I’ll spank that ass just how I do when I’m busting that pussy open from the back…”

London closed her eyes, praying to god that she would go through the rest of her day after this voicemail. She’s definitely wet alright; fucking soaked. If London pulled her panties to the side right now it would probably reveal a sticky, slimy mess. He had to be beating that fat ass dick right now. 

“Man...now you got me wanting to fuck the shit out of you, London...put my hands on your hips and start off nice and slow in that pussy...shit, we both know that pussy good...puss will have me busting a fat nut so fast...hell nah, girl…” Erik’s voice lowered over the phone to a whisper that ran down London’s spine and straight to her clit, “I just want you to know how good that pussy tastes and feels baby...pussy so fucking good...I love when you say don’t stop daddy, you know daddy ain’t stopping for nothing. Daddy got something long and thick for your ass…and I want that fat pussy in my mouth…”

The voicemail had ended two minutes ago but London was so frozen with shock that she couldn’t move enough to close her mouth. She finally removed the phone from her ear before checking to see that no one was watching. They couldn’t anyway because of the frosted glass doors but London wanted to be absolutely certain. Scooting back in her black Sterling Leather Executive Chair, London gathers the bottom of her skirt, bringing it up and around her waist. London brings her left hand down between her legs to pull the crotch of her panties to the side. She scoots to the edge of the chair so her pussy is sitting nice a plump for a perfect picture. Grabbing her cell phone, London activates her camera from her lock screen, turning it to selfie mode before aiming it as best as she could to achieve a good angle so he can see everything. London takes a few pictures, one with her lips sitting nice and fat and the other with her lips spread so that he can see how hard and poked out her clit is and how much of her creamy wetness spilled from her pussy. 

“There you go daddy,” London says before sending it off to Erik. She wasn’t happy at all that she had to leave for her meeting. London brings all the necessary material for the meeting before exiting her office for the conference room. When she entered the conference room, everyone was already in their usual spots so London quickly found hers near the front right across from the manager of CSOC, Linda Yeager. 

“Goodmorning, London, do you have the contingency plans packet for the meeting today?” 

London’s eyes swept over Linda’s appearance. Linda has her long strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail and a navy blue women’s suit on with a white blouse underneath. Her veneer smile is wide and similar to that of a horse and her thin lips are painted red to bring out the heavy makeup look she went for today. 

“Yes,” London opens her portfolio, handing Linda the packet that she created yesterday, “I made sure that everyone received a new one before today.” 

“Excellent,” Linda stands from her seat before making her way to a podium situated in front of the conference room, “Okay...Good Morning everyone! I know today is going to be yet another stress-filled one but we all know this is a necessity,” Linda pulls out a laser pointer, aiming it at the presentation behind her, “Today we will be discussing contingency plans that the company will implement in case of a successful attack. Since cyber attackers are constantly using new tools and strategies, cyber security analysts, such as yourself, need to stay informed about the weapons out there to mount a strong defense.”

Linda went on and on for about an hour before everyone was dismissed to assist with clients to keep intruders, attackers or hackers out of networks in order to protect digital files and information systems against unauthorized access. London made it back to her office with a bottle of Fiji water, taking her seat again. Before she started any type of work, London grabs her phone from her desk drawer because she knew Erik had a response for what she sent him. Sure enough, he left her yet another voicemail. London prepared herself for a lustful ear full. 

“Baby...fuck...I just wanna eat that pussy up...I might have to come see you for lunch today...Goddamn...mmmhhh...you know eating pussy is my shit, right? Ima tear that creamy pussy up, girl...make love to that pussy with my fucking tongue...put that whole pussy in my mouth...mmmh…damn, I wish I could eat that...Look at the lips on this pretty motherfucker.. gawd dayum! I’d slurp the hell out of them lips...call me back...call me the fuck back, London.” 

London calls Erik back with no hesitation. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat almost with the amount of anticipation running through her veins. 

“London...can daddy come eat that suckable pussy for lunch?” That was his greeting as soon as he picked up. 

“In my car? baby, you know it’s an open lot...people will see,” London says with a sultry voice. 

“London... I’m tryna eat that pussy… you gon’ make me wait?” 

“I can try to get home sooner...that way, you can eat my pussy all day if you want to.” London’s tongue dragged across her upper lip, “it’s been a while, I know you miss this pretty pussy.” 

“Yeah?” Erik says, “All day baby?”

“Uh-huh, all day...any way you like…”

“That’s a mouth full of pussy ima need a lot of time to eat that shit up,” Erik chuckles, “I guess that will be dinner then, swallow all that pussy juice and slurp up that clit, yeah?” 

London ran her pink and white ombré acrylics through her copper hair. She could feel her clit poking against the crotch of her panties and her pierced nipples stiffen behind her silk top. She wanted Erik to suck on her nipples so damn bad that she thrust her chest forward like his wet mouth was wide open and waiting. London is a B cup so she could easily go without a bra. She wished she would have now because her nipples are rubbing against the silk of her shirt. They are so damn hard. 

“Ima be face first in that ass as soon as you walk through the door, London.” 

“I know, baby,” London spoke softly while using a single finger to circle her taut left pierced nipple. 

“Yes, sit that fat pussy on my face.” 

“Daddy, I gotta go,” London’s voice didn’t match her words. 

“Aight...just Gon’ leave me drooling all over myself until you get home, huh?” 

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

London knew Erik had to be fiending since they haven’t had sex in over two weeks. He would have another job lined up soon and from his words and the harsh, uneven sound of his voice, that told London everything she needed to know. Erik needed her. Part of it made London feel guilty because there were times when he would simply watch her masturbate in the tub. He would sit on the toilet after coming home from a job, his body just as tired. London would be in the jacuzzi whirlpool tub, her waterproof rabbit vibe going to town on her clit beneath the water. She didn’t mind him watching her, he didn’t even complain about her pleasuring herself instead of letting him do it. No, Erik would simply sit there with this sexy, devilish grin on his face, his eyes all low and seductive while they peered through the soapy water to take a look at how she worked that vibrator over her clit. 

That’s it baby..make that pussy cum

Mhm, good girl...you making that fat kitty cum, baby?

Then, there were the times he walked in on her riding her dildo in the shower with it mounted to the wall. These times she hadn’t expected him to be home so soon. His sudden appearance would make her feel timid to finish but Erik would insist that she continue because he really wanted to watch her. He would stand outside of the shower, his eyes focused on the way the dildo that’s an exact mold of his dick would slide in and out of her creamy pussy. The look on her face is so beautiful while she fucked herself. She just looks so helpless and useless with each stroke. Water mixed with her creamy mess would drizzle down her inner thighs with each stroke and it made his dick chub up real fast but he didn’t intervene. He knew he wasn’t around often to take care of his baby girl, she deserved to play in her pussy. 

You’re opening that pussy up beautifully, baby

Definitely A Greedy Pussy Indeed. I Love It. 

His words made her cum in an instant. 

________________________

[ Greetings Killmonger…..]

Erik heard the alert from his personal work computer all the way from the bathroom. He walked into his master bedroom with water still trickling from his body and a towel wrapped around his hips. His office was just in the other room where his laptop was located. He walked up to the laptop, tapped a series of keys and his Oracle message popped up in green letters with a black background that reminded him of the Matrix. 

“Oracle,” Erik spoke lazily before taking a seat at his desk, “another mission?”

 [Yes...do you accept the mission? ]

“...yes,” He says while stroking his goatee, “Lay out the details.” 

[ Russia’s ambassador to Turkey named Andrey G. Karlov is supposed to be attending an art exhibit two weeks from now on Monday in Ankara, the capital of Turkey. Your assignment is to get to him and kill him before he reaches the art exhibit. We can’t have any witnesses. This job will require special gear and technology. We will provide a black Ducati sports bike and you have a suite booked at the JW Marriott Hotel Ankara. If the mission is successful, 3.5 million will be wired to your offshore bank account in Belize. ]

“Sounds legit...send me all the information I need on Karlov along with my hotel and I’ll be ready.” 

[ Excellent. Happy killing Mr. Killmonger….]

His laptop screen blacked out which meant that whatever information that was previously mentioned would be deleted without a trace. Erik has two weeks to prepare for his next job. He trained all day to keep up with his skills. It’s never a good look to take too much relaxation time. Standing from his desk chair, Erik makes his way into his master bedroom to rub his body down with cocoa butter body oil and slip on a pair of lounge pants. The body oil softened and conditioned his body perfectly. He slipped on a pair of black joggers and walked to the bathroom to finish his facial routine. Erik believes in taking care of himself, in a balanced diet, and in a rigorous exercise routine. Erik applies an herb mint facial masque which he leaves on for ten minutes while he prepares the rest of his facial routine. After rinsing the mask, Erik applies a moisturizer, some under-eye balm to help alleviate the dark circles forming, then finally, he sets it with a protective lotion. 

Back within his bedroom, staring out at Midtown through one of his wide, ceiling to floor windows, Erik realizes that London couldn’t make it home earlier like she promised. After their call ended, Erik decided to train so he could clear his head. He did his usual routine that involves jackknife crunches, crucifix push-ups, single leg burpees, jumping lunges, and other workouts. Then, Erik trained a little in combat; your fighting skills can always be improved. To end it, Erik let off a few rounds from his new Smith & Wesson pistol with a crimson trace sight. Erik walks down the modern stairs that ended within a corridor. He made his way towards the kitchen, turning on the lights and opening the fridge. Grabbing a box of leftover egg foo young, he places it within the microwave for 2 minutes. The front entrance to the penthouse opened and from the surveillance cameras in the kitchen Erik can see London removing her pumps before walking barefoot further into the penthouse. 

“Hey, baby,” her silvery voice soothed his ears, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it home earlier, today was yet another busy day...what are you heating in the microwave?” 

“It’s okay, I figured you were tied up,” Erik opens the microwave, grabbing the hot takeout container filled with shrimp egg foo young smothered in extra gravy, “Some Chinese I never ate yesterday, you wanna share?” 

“Yes,” London places her black Louis Vuitton tote bag on the galaxy storm granite countertop of their kitchen island before taking a seat on one of the stools. She finger combed her blunt cut bouncy copper hair away from her face while Erik grabbed two forks for them and after that two water bottles. He sat across from her before passing her a fork. London hissed from how hot the food was against her tongue before blowing it rapidly.

“Mmm...I haven’t had egg foo young in so long,” she licked her fork before going for more. 

“How was work?” Erik asks between chewing his food.

“It was alright, I’m exhausted,” London rubs her neck with her free hand, “How was your day?”

“Productive, did some training most of the time. I got an alert from my Oracle for a new job.” 

“...oh, yeah?” London swallows her food, hoping that her eyes didn’t read disappointment, “I figured it would be happening soon. When is it?”

“Within the next two weeks. It’s a big job so I gotta do some research over the next few days…” Erik reaches across the counter to rub London’s chin, “Hey...it’s two weeks from now. You got me for two weeks before I go away.”

London played with a piece of egg with her fork, “I know...I just get really lonely when you’re not with me, daddy.” 

“You sure about that? Still using the dildo I bought you?” Erik gave London a lopsided grin. 

“I am...but there’s nothing like daddy’s dick,” London laughs, before yawning, “I didn’t get any sleep last night.” 

“If you weren’t watching me take a shower and rub down with my body oil you would have,” Erik teased. 

“It’s your damn fault, you’re so sexy,” London strokes a single vein on Erik’s left hand with her pink and white ombré acrylic nail. 

“You know what I want, right?” Erik drags his tongue across the corner of the inside of his mouth to catch some food, causing a single dimple to form in his other cheek.

“Yes, let me shower first and I’m all yours,” London takes one final piece of egg foo young before grabbing her tote bag, walking around the kitchen counter to kiss Erik’s lips before walking away. Erik finished off the food before trashing it. He drank his water before tossing the bottle in recycling. Upstairs now, London is already out of the shower, her naked body seen walking into her walk-in closet to find something to sleep in. Erik brushes his teeth before joining her in the walk-in closet. London is wearing a sheer babydoll with berry-red trimming. 

“I got you something,” Erik says while walking up behind her. He picked it up in Miami for her. Reaching inside one of London’s many drawers, he pulls out a Cartier box. Erik presses his crotch against London’s curvy backside while leaning over her shoulder. London watches him open the box to reveal a stunning 18k white gold necklace with 264 brilliant cut diamonds. London’s topaz eyes locked with Erik’s onyx ones. They twinkled and it made him smile. He grabs the necklace, opening the clasp before placing it around her neck. London touches it with her delicate fingers. Erik’s thick lips lightly kiss the baby-soft skin of her cheek. 

“You look good in diamonds, girl,” He whispers to her before kissing along her neck, “icy just like your daddy.” 

“Thank you, daddy,” London fought for oxygen when Erik’s hands began to lift the bottom of her baby doll up. 

“Come sit on daddy’s face,” His nose was in her hair smelling the strands. Erik strolled back to the bedroom, laying back on the bed. London follows him, crawling onto the bed between his wide legs before climbing onto his lap to straddle him reverse cowgirl. Erik lifts the bottom of the baby doll completely up and around her waist to reveal her dangling fat pussy from behind. He takes his thumb to rub her protruding clit and labia that sat stunningly between her fat pussy lips. Lifting his thumb away, a slimy string of her fluids connected with it. Erik sucks it off before grabbing London by her thighs, roughly scooting her back towards him so that her pussy hovered over his lips. 

“Mmm, I miss this fat pussy,” Erik brings his lips to her pussy. He starts off by placing soft, lingering kisses that caused her to let out little gasps. Erik continues kissing her outer lips until her hips start oscillating back and forth. 

“Calm down, girl, daddy got you,” Erik spreads her pussy lips to reveal her cotton candy pink center, “had me wishing I could eat this pussy all day and I finally got it in my face,” Erik’s tongue poked out and he delivered stiff licks around her protruding clit. Erik could see her pussy contract with each lick and a single stream of slippery lubrication drip down to her labia. Erik dragged his thick bottom lip up to catch the fluid before sucking her labia into his mouth. His eyes closed one at a time after he got a taste of what he hadn’t tasted in two weeks. That sweet puss. 

“Yes, daddy,” London’s toes curled, “Fuck, baybeee.” 

Her drippy pussy was evidence that it missed his tongue among other things. 

“Sweet, tasty, pussy...sit on my face, London...THAT'S it…yeah, baby,” he groans, “Yummy pussy,” He sounded out longingly with a deep, alluring voice.

Erik loved spreading London’s lips with his tongue and tasting the warm sweet juices from her pussy. He loves when she puts her pussy on his face and rides his tongue. The loud smacking sounds from his slurping and licking mixed with London’s quickening breaths were sounds unheard of in two weeks. The way she was dripping in his mouth she was ready for his big black dick but all Erik wanted to do was eat. Both holes honestly. Erik wets a finger with his spit before sticking it in London’s tight, virgin booty hole. He was gonna get in that tight ass one day but for now he simply pushed his thick finger inside. It was so tight that it sucked his finger in. 

“Oooh, shit,” Erik says while watching his finger stroke London’s booty hole, “That ass is tighter than a motherfucker...you gon’ let me get in that ass?”

“I don’t know, daddy...fuck,” London looks back at Erik while he finger fucked her booty hole, “Damn, daddy, oh, my God…”

“I said, you gon’ let me get in that ass with this fat fucking dick?”

“Daddy it’s too big-

“If you’re used to this you’ll be used to my dick in no time, baby...taking that shit beautifully,” He wraps his lips around her clit and starts sucking. 

“Oh my God, daddy, that’s my spot,” London started speaking in tongues, “Yes, baby, suck on my pussy…”

Erik brings a finger from his other hand to slip inside of London’s pussy. The soft, fleshy ridges of her walls massaged his finger. He found her G spot and started massaging it with the pad of his finger. Erik started loudly sucking on London’s pussy and licking it sloppy with a lot of spit in between. Each time he licked London could feel his tongue print still lingering. 

“I’m gonna cum,” London says when she could feel her entire body spasm, “Daddy I’m cumming.” 

Erik continued sucking her clit, fingering her creamy pussy, and fingering her tight ass. He was working the hell out of her pussy that London almost collapsed. 

“You’re making my pussy cum,” Her voice grew louder, “Oh my God!!!!!” London started throwing her ass back, fucking Erik’s fingers before she started leaking all over his face. Her milky white orgasm covered his facial hair and lips. 

“Yes, daddy,” London became overstimulated and lifted her body from Erik’s. She fell back on the bed beside him, stroking her hair from her sweaty face. 

“I’m not finished...you said I could have it all I want, right?” Erik spreads London’s thighs before leaning over her body with a hankering desire. His tongue wiggles all over her pussy with exhilarating speed that strokes her clit in the right spot. London’s hips began to lift off of the bed but Erik held her in place. After licking it a few more times he went right back to slurping her up but this time he did it with fervor. Each suck came with a deep grunt. He was enjoying the hell out of her pussy on his mouth. He had London screaming his name. Erik was telling her through every suck and lick that this was his pussy and that she better cum in his fucking mouth. 

“Unnffttt!!!!!” London moaned out repeatedly. She yanked Erik’s tapered dreads, “eat this fucking pussy,” London rolled her hips, driving her pussy in Erik’s mouth, “yesssss ima cum in your mouth so fucking hard keep doing that.” 

Erik started sucking on London’s clit while swiveling his head back and forth. He was loving that pussy. 

“Suck on my pussy...suck on my pussy...sucking on my pussy…” London’s mouth unhinges, “Oh, yes, right there, ooooohh, DON'T stop...Yep...right there, daddy, uh-huh...uh-huh...uh-huh...FUCK YES...you’re making your pussy cum...FUCK!”

London fisted Erik’s hair as she climaxed in his mouth. 

___________________

The next day, London awoke to the sound of her alarm at 7:00 AM. She turned it off, sitting up in bed. Blinking her tired eyes, London rubbed her inner thighs together, feeling her pussy juices gathering in a puddle. She’s still wet from the repeated head she received from Erik last night. He ate her pussy three times before she fell asleep next to him then he woke her up at 2:00 AM with her clit in his mouth again. Spreading her thighs, London could see that her clit is still stiff and her inner folds are still engorged with arousal. The bed shifted behind her and London turned to find Erik stretching his built arms above his head. He blinked at her with low eyes before giving her a lazy smile.

“Good morning, baby,” Erik spoke before yawning, “You’re leaving me again, Princess?” 

“Duty calls,” London stood from the bed giving Erik a tantalizing view of her slim-thick frame. She leaned over the bed to kiss Erik nice and gentle, “I’ll miss you.” 

“Stay home,” Erik looked up at her through his long lashes, “We got some making up to do, girl...I ain’t have that puss in two weeks...we got some making up to do.” 

“I know, I know,” London was pulled down into the bed with Erik, “Daddy-

“Hush, Princess,” Erik’s hand made its way between her thighs, “That fat puss is still wet.” 

“Umph,” London shielded her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Nah, look at what I’m doing...London,” Erik yanked her hair, forcing her to focus on him, “LOOK.” 

Her eyes widened at his barbaric tone. The rough edge made her shiver. London’s eyes watched as Erik used two fingers to rub her clit side to side. 

“Mhm, I got that puss,” He bites her jaw, causing her to squeal, “Damn, that clit stiff...you going to work and leaving daddy home to take care of this fat ass dick by himself? Hmm?”

“Erik,” She could feel herself leaking all over his hand, “Daddy stop...I gotta go to work...fuck,” Erik pushed three fingers inside of her, “Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.” 

“Princess, I plan on hitting this pussy from every angle imaginable,” Erik whispered to her before giving her sloppy kisses on her neck, “cum on my fingers, girl, you know you want to.” 

“Umph, Yes-

“I see you girl…FUCK,” Erik aggressively bites his bottom lip while he watched London cream his fingers, “Thats a good pussy, baby...such a good girl,” Erik’s fingers slip out to smack her pussy. London jumps from his lap while squeezing her thighs tight. 

“I’m gonna go take a sh-shower,” London lets out an unsteady breath while watching Erik suck her juices from his fingers. 

“Go ahead, Princess, I’ll see you in there.” 

London grabs her silk bonnet and shower cap before walking into the master bathroom. With her out of the room now, Erik grabs his cell to call London’s job. On the third ring, the receptionist picks up. 

“Thanks for calling, CSOC, this is Taylor Bianchi, how can I direct you?” 

“Hi, can I speak to Linda Yeager, please? This is Erik Stevens, a long time client of CSOC.” His eyes fall on London lathering up her soap sponge with her body wash. 

“Okay, I’ll transfer your call.”

The line clicks over and there is a brief pause before Erik could hear the phone being picked up and Linda clearing her throat. 

“Erik! How are you? Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, everything is fine...I’m calling about London...listen, I’m requesting that she has a few days off. She’s exhausted and London needs to rest her mind and her body. With her being Lead Analyst now it’s taken a heavy load on her.”

“I understand,” Linda sighs, “I wish she would have told me she needs time off, it’s never a problem. Of course, London can take however long she needs.” 

“Thank you, Linda, I’ll let her know her vacation starts today.” Erik hangs up his cell before tossing the silk duvet back. He takes off his black joggers before walking naked to the bathroom. London has just finished washing herself a second time and now she is rinsing off. Erik opens the glass shower door, stepping inside the steamy shower, “Finished without me?” 

“Sorry, baby, I have to go to work, I’m already gonna be late.”

“Nah,” Erik closes the shower door, “I called your job, you won’t be going to work for the rest of the week.” 

“Huh?” London says with a perplexed expression.

“I requested for you to be off. Linda said it was okay.” 

“Babe…” London blushes, “You did that for me?”

“You know I got you, Princess. We can use all this time to fuck as much as we want...and I’m gonna fuck you good,” Erik approaches her with a gait that had her week in the knees.

“Okay...it’s been a minute…” London was backed into a corner, “All I’ve known is my vibe and dildo…”

“Aww, I know,” Erik takes his thumbs to twirl her pierced nipples, “That’s why I gotta remind you how daddy does it...dig that pussy out.” 

Erik snatches London’s bonnet and shower cap from her head before picking her up, walking with her until their bodies are beneath the squared shower head. Erik’s long dick began to thicken up beneath her pussy. He stuck his tongue down her throat, kissing her roughly while gripping her ass. London braced herself by wrapping her arms around Erik’s shoulders. From her lips, Erik’s kisses were on her neck now right along with his teeth leaving marks. He was so hungry for her, not even a grizzly bear could stop him from getting all of London. 

“You want daddy to fuck you in this shower?” Erik sucked on her bottom lip. 

“Please, daddy, can you fuck me in the shower?”

“You know how to ask daddy for what you want...good girl,” Erik used a little force to push London’s back against the shower wall. She sucked in a sharp breath, before raising a single brow at him. He was being rough with her. 

“Being rough with me, daddy?” She questioned sweetly because she knew that drove him crazy, “It’s okay…I know you need this pussy.” 

“You’re fucking right,” Erik growled before his mouth made its way to her erect pierced nipples, “This pussy hasn’t stained my dick in two fucking weeks...that’s way too long for me, girl...you know daddy gotta have this pussy any fucking chance I get,” With one hand, Erik places it around London’s neck, “those eyes are so sexy, baby...you better look at me just like that when I fuck this pussy,” Erik grinds his dick up against London’s pussy, “and when I cum on that pretty face.” 

“Anything, daddy, just fuck me,” London tried grabbing his dick but Erik’s hand around her neck grew tighter.

“Is that how you ask for this fucking dick? Try again,” Erik spoke through clenched teeth. 

“Can daddy fuck my little pussy, please?” London asked with a pout of her lips. 

Erik smiles devilishly, “Yeah...daddy can fuck that little Princess pussy.” 

With short, heated gasps, London watched Erik grab hold of his dick with the hand that was around her neck, rubbing it back and forth over her clit. It didn’t matter how much water covered their bodies from head to toe, London’s pussy is still drenched with her slickness. Erik strokes his dick against London’s entrance before pushing in just the tip, purposely stopping so he could watch the helpless expression on her face. 

“Yeah,” he spoke smugly, “And that’s just the tip, baby,” Erik pushes in some more with just his hips, “Damn...clenching up already? You know how this dick can be,” Erik continues without stopping this time before licking away a single tear from her face, “you know daddy gets in there, ma...this shit ain’t new.” 

“Damn,” London hisses, “You got my pussy opened up, daddy.”

“And you got my dick tickling your cervix,” Erik pulls all the way to his wide tip before pushing back inside deeply, “Like how I pull it all the way out? Huh?”

London could only nod her head.

“I asked you a fucking question, Princess,” Erik does it again. His thick, long, curved dick pushed back inside. London’s pussy is so warm and wet that it made his ass cheeks clench. 

“What the fuck did I say?” He barked out.

“If I like the way you pull it all the way out,” London’s lower lip trembled between moans. 

“Pull what out?” He asked her with narrow eyes.

“This big ass dick,” London’s head extended back, “This shit is hitting the bottom of my pussy.”

“Mhm,” Erik angles London’s hips with both of his strong hands, “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” He picks up speed, London’s hips loudly smacking against his, “This what you kept from me?” 

“Yes!!” London’s eyes never left his, “God...you’re stretching me.”

Their tongues flicked wildly before Erik pressed his forehead against hers. He was still watching her, his hands moving her hips in a circle while he stroked her pussy long dick style. 

“Unfff, if you keep doing that- daddy, shit,” London pouts, “Daddy it’s deep.” 

Erik wasn’t listening, he was too busy moving her hips in a multitude of angels just so his dick could reach every single part of her pussy from her walls, to her cervix, to her G spot, and then her A spot. Warm, liquid leaked from her pussy and it made Erik smile handsomely at her. 

“I got this fat pussy squirting,” Erik starts banging London’s pussy out harder, “Ima make you do that shit again...UH-HUH…nut on this fucking dick.” 

With a silent scream and her feet nudging against Erik’s back from his forceful thrusts, London gave him exactly what he wanted. Erik’s dick left her pussy and he put her down. London has to brace the wall because her knees are wobbling.

“Get down on your knees and clean this daddy dick off.” 

London was on her knees, grabbing Erik’s balls with one hand while wrapping her plump lips around the tip of his dick with just the power of her jaw muscles. 

“You better suck it good too or I’ma tear that throat up,” Erik bites his bottom lip down at London. He runs his fingers through her loose curly strands, “feeding my pretty baby some dick...see? You needed that, right?”

“Mhm,” London hums whole slurping on Erik’s dick. She had to work extra hard since his dick hadn’t been in her mouth for two weeks. She worked her jaws overtime and her head moved in a circular motion. 

“You’re such a good girl,” Erik licks his lips before leaning over, spitting on his dick. He watched London lick and suck his saliva into her mouth. 

“You sucking this dick, girl, mm,” Erik shakes his head, “You want me to unload down your throat?”

London responded with puppy dog eyes and a harder suck. Erik thrusts his hips forward suddenly, causing London to gag. She removed her mouth from his dick to take a breath but Erik grabs a fist full of her wet hair, making her look at him, “Did I tell you to stop?! You know this dick is long, girl,” Erik slapped his dick against her cheek, “Open your fucking mouth, Princess.”

London opens wide and Erik didn’t waste anytime getting back inside. His head went back while he uses London’s mouth like a pussy and started fucking her throat. London’s nails clawed his thighs. 

“Told you I had something for little ass girls like you who keep running from dick...don’t stop eating that dick up, Princess.” 

“Mmm...mmmhmm,” London blinked away her growing tears, striving to finish until his cum was down her throat. 

“I need it nice and sloppy like this. Make a mess like the good girl you are. You look so sexy when you get nasty,” Erik says between London’s sucking, “Yes baby...mmmh...fuuuckkk...make it nasty, baby, that’s it,” Erik’s face fixed into a mug, “Ughhhhhh fuuuckkkkkk, don’t ever stop sucking baby girl, make daddy bust a nut...ughhhhhhh…yes, empty me...mmmm...here it comes baby... getting the job done just drain your daddy and you never have to worry about anything...FUCK YES,” Erik’s entire body spasmed out of control. He gripped the back of London’s head before erupting deep down her throat. London welcomes her gift graciously with a flickering tongue. It was a lot of cum, definitely overdue. 

“Good girl,” Erik says between ragged gasps. 

___________________

After their shower, London and Erik had a nice breakfast that Erik prepared. Veggie omelette, turkey sausage, and a side of shrimp with cheesy grits. London did a bit of yoga, something she hadn’t done in a long while. Erik cleaned up before joining London in their personal gym for a morning workout. Erik couldn’t keep his eyes off of London stretching her body. After taking yet another long shower, London and Erik lounged around well into the early afternoon in complete nudity. Erik was supposed to start his research for his new mission but that wasn’t going to happen with the way London’s nude body was calling him. They were sitting in the living room, laid back on their luxury leather sectional sofa, music playing from the installed surround sound system. 

London couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s dick sitting heavy between his toned thighs. Unable to control the urge to slurp his thick pipe into her mouth, London leans over Erik’s lap, grabbing his dick in her hand, slapping it against her tongue, and then all in one motion, his dick was back in her mouth. London arched her back, her ass sitting high in the air now for Erik to reach over and slap whenever he felt like it. She massaged his nut sack while swallowing her man’s fat dick. He loved to see her with a mouth full of his meat. All he could do was simply shake his head at her. Before he needed to remind her, London’s topaz eyes connected with his and that’s when his dick swelled to cum inspiring proportions in her throat and unloaded a fat nut that she worked for. 

“There you go,” Erik studied the way his balls tightened, “Got my nuts tight, girl, get up here.” 

London climbed into Erik’s lap, squatting over him while bracing herself on the back of the couch. 

“Nah, fuck that, grab daddy’s dick and put it in that sweet little pussy so I can fuck the shit out of you.” 

London reaches between her legs, grabs Erik’s dick, and lines it up with her snug entrance. She gyrated her hips over him before lowering herself onto his third leg. 

“Mmmm,” She locked eyes with him, “Big-ass-dick.” She tells him, even though he already knew that. 

“Tight-ass-pussy,” Erik’s thick lips practically swallowed London's, the more he devoured her with his kisses. His saliva laden tongue battled for dominance in her mouth the more he kissed. London was like putty in his arms. London didn’t see it coming when Erik’s hips elevated from the couch to fuck her. His balls slapped her on the ass with each heavy, gut-filling stroke. Her thighs shook and her toes were beginning to sweat from the hot leather. 

“Oh, shit,” Her lower abdomen clenched, “It’s deep…”

“Move your hands,” Erik ordered when London’s hands came down to press against his thighs to try and slow him up, “Move your fucking hands, London.”

“Daddy, nooooo,” She whimpered.

“Shut that shit up,” He wrenched her hands away from his thighs, “grip my shoulders...that’s it, girl,” Erik went back to fucking the shit out of her wet pussy, “I got this pussy gushing all over me and you want me to stop? You better take this big black dick...all I wanna hear is you moaning and saying how much you love daddy’s big dick, nothing else,” Erik tore his eyes away for a second so he could watch her cream his dick, “I’m beating this pussy up...shut that crying up, London.” 

“Yessssss,” London chokes up, “Daddy, pleaseeee-

“Please? Please what?” Erik wrapped his arms around London’s body, holding her in place so he could work her pussy some more, “Please what? Huh?!”

“YES!!” London buried her face in the crook of Erik’s neck. She could feel a warm sensation overpower her body and then she froze. Erik’s dick was covered in her cream all the way down to his balls. 

“Just making a mess on me, huh?” Erik sucks on London’s neck, “Daddy likes that shit...come here,” Erik lifts her from his lap. He stood up with his dick dripping cum, turning London over and arching her back. 

“Mm-mm, keep that arch,” Erik strokes his messy pipe, “Push them shoulders down...good girl,” Erik slaps London’s clit a few times before he enters her with a long exhale, “Good fucking pussy...pass me my phone.” Erik barked out. London grabs Erik’s phone from her left before passing it to Erik, “You remember how we used to do it?” Erik opens up his camera, aiming it at London’s ass, “Bring that ass up, London, I’m not gonna tell you again.”

London was holding off on purpose because she knew how deep he can get in this position. 

“How is daddy supposed to beat this pussy the fuck up if you don’t listen?” Erik pumped London’s pussy full of his fat dick with just his hips while holding the phone steady so he can capture it perfectly, “Wait until you see this shit, ummmmm, baby...widen your legs London,” Erik pushes himself in all the way, causing London to cry out, “It’s okay, Princess, here,” He did it again, “beat this pussy up…look at me.”

London looks back at Erik through her messy hair. She wished she hadn’t. Just one look at him had her squirting on his dick.

“You make that shit look so damn good...I’m spreading that pussy, baby?” 

“Uh-huh-

“What else is daddy doing?” Erik smiles.

“Making my pussy feel good,” London smiles back before her face frowned with ecstasy. 

“That’s the face I like to see...you got my dick pulsating in this pussy...got this good dick up in you all you can do is cum...I like that...too big, baby?” 

She couldn’t respond but HELL YEAH. His dick damn near pushed her stomach out of her mouth in this position. 

“Daddy…” London said so low. 

“What?!” Erik asked while hammering London’s pussy. He angled the phone so that the length of his defined body could be in view while he stroked her. London’s cheeks clapped loudly and her moans damn near blew out the speakers of his phone, “this is mine and ima remind you any and everywhere,” London gripped his dick with her walls, “yeahhhhh, make daddy bust a nut!!!”

“Fuck me!!” London grabbed the back of the couch, “beat it up, daddy!!”

“Fuck,” Erik had to drop the phone. He was about to cream all in London’s sweet, tight pussy, “Look at this arch, girl, damn...you want me to really get in this puss.” 

Erik’s mouth unhinges and his eyelids flutter. He gave London two deep, long, and filling thrusts before cumming deep inside of her. Erik slapped her ass hard a few times before pulling his dick from her pussy. 

“Come suck this big dick up,” Erik said between heavy breathing. London was on her knees in a flash, grabbing Erik’s dick up in her hand before licking their mess off. Erik twirled London’s pierced nipple with one hand. He was thickening up again and all he wanted to do was bury himself back inside her tight, creamy pussy some more. 

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