#that's not fucking fine what the flying fuck is wrong with you?

[nonuify]

ᝰ.ᐟ 🎞️ — K.MG ; ! feels

nsfw is included ! minors do not interact 18+. [ smut, fluff, angst] ꩜ | requested.

“ when your best friend isn’t too happy with you going on a date with one of your mutual friend, what will happen? will he reveal some trapped feelings that was kept in for a long time? ”

there you were touching that last touches for your make-up for your so called date, you’ve been aching for so long to date but your idiotic of a best friend won’t get the hint that you had a big chunk of feelings for him, every time you had the courage to tell him n all the tingly feelings he made you feel, your heart crushed why? because he was with a new girl every. single. time.

you were tired of waiting yes, your feelings are still here but you need to make a change & go in the dating game for once, everyone needs a fresh change don’t they?.

you wore a nice tiger print top with a matching skirt it was so simple yet so chic!, finally adding the final touches as your phone rang.

cheol is calling! . . .

“hello?” you spoke up first, “yes hello, y/n!! I’m just telling you I’m outside of your place” he replied so sweetly, you smiled at that then reassuring you’ll be down in a few.

after finally settling down in the nice environment of a classy restaurant nearby you & cheol chatted the night away with dinner then some glasses of wine.

at the admit of laughing your phone buzzed uncontrollably with a ton of messages.

mins 🩰 / where are you

mins 🩰 / are you with a guy?!

mins 🩰 / I fuckin knew you were with cheol

mins 🩰 / tell me where you are.

20 more messages . . .

shocked.. that’s what you were, you’ve never seen being so tense like this, it upset him being with another man specifically cheol.

choosing to ignore him was the best idea, you were visibly upset by that, cheol noticed “are you okay?” he furrowed his eyebrows in worry “ah such a gentleman always looking for my comfort, I’m okay seungcheollie don’t worry” you giggled going back to your previous conversation.

but mingyu didn’t stop texting you, your phone was actually about to blow up by this point.

so you finally put it on do not disturb, trying to actually enjoy the night with seungcheol & not making it all about your now quite annoyed best-friend.

“you know if I’m interrupting something, we could totally, do this another time” he spoke up again softly then giving you a short smile “I insist it’s fine if it’s something important I would tell you” you returned the smile, flying your little mind into a sea of thoughts, “it’s mingyu? isn’t it.” he sighed then chuckled “wha-?” you were surprised by his sudden sentence.

“he’s crazy about you, you know your the only thing he talks about” he continued “I know it’s wrong that I asked you on this date, but I wanted to to give this a shot” he held your hand then “please this is all jokes, if he liked me he would’ve told me instead of fucking around” you scoffed.

“mingyus an idiot, y/n he doesn’t think it through he just does stuff, trust me your the one for him, & by the texts you got I’m totally sure.” he smiled, his cute dimples appearing once again “like I said you don’t have to totally understand my feelings, I just wanted this for fun no worries” “but cheol-“ you tried to speak “he’s waiting for you, go get him y/n-ah trust me” he pulled you out of the restaurant obviously driving you to your place.

“your being way too nice about this you know” you let out an awkward giggle “im tired of seeing my dumb idiot friends making the same mistake again & again, just get to it already”.

the frame of your house starting to show as you rode with seungcheol, the ride was quite but comfortable, you smiled at the fact that seungcheol understood you almost immediately, there was no doubt that seungcheol wasn’t a gentleman & perfect for any girl but… you heart aches for the one & only kim mingyu.

stepping into the warmth of your housing unit, you slouched on your couch.

taking your phone in your hand you stared at the screen, not knowing what to do in this moment.

like a prayer that has been called, suddenly your phone rang.

mins 🩰 is calling ! . . .

you tilted your head for a bit feeling nervous but eventually picked up the phone.

“where are you? why aren’t you answering me!, do you know how worried sick I’ve been!” he went on, on you almost yelling in some kind of way.

“fuck off, kim what do you want?” you scoffed, yes you were gonna confess you’re bottled up feelings but you weren’t gonna make it that easy.

“just answer me, were you with seungcheol?” he got straight to the point.

“yes, why does that concern you” you sneered

“I fuckin knew it!” he sighed in defeat.

“I knew he was gonna do this to rile me up fuck” he continued.

“why do you care, if he asked me or not mingyu im telling you right now!” you suddenly snapped “like you fuckin’ care who I date or not, you’re always fucking some girl every single day” your voice started to crack “I’ve always kept my mouth shut, so why do you get all cranky when I just have one date.” tears threatened or you may say fell down your face.

“I- look.. y/n just please let me explain I’m begging you, I’ll come to yours please give me patience.” his voice softened.

you just cut the call, getting overwhelmed by him or this whole situation.

after long silence the door bell rang.

but you expected it, it was mingyu after all you were always gonna welcome him with open arms.

you just prayed this is going to go well.

opening the door, he hugged you but not just any hug, he gave you a genuine one, a long one you would consider it a physical apology but you were aching for the verbal one not able to hold the pain of him not being yours anymore.

you both sat on the couch, you played with your fingers nervously, as you expected words to come out of him.

not being able to hold it anymore you were gonna say something but he spoke up first.

“look, y/n, I know I’ve done some fucked up things like fucking around, and I can’t justify it in anyway I just didn’t know how to tell you that I liked no loved you, I just thought going around with girls is gonna make it go away, because I know I can’t treat you the best, I mean look at me.” he ruffled through his hair then held your hand.

“but… but seeing you with seungcheol, it did something to me, I couldn’t bear to think about thought about you being with another man, you could say I got jealous, & I know what your thinking that you felt the same & I’m truly sorry y/n, I could do anything to make it up to you, even if it takes for the rest of my life” he sniffed, you looked up at his face & he was crying, it broke something inside of you.

“min, even if i forgave you, the pain of you going out with girls & doing whatever god knows what, it doesn’t go away it’ll be here, why couldn’t you tell me min why?, hell everybody else knows I loved you since we were in high school why couldn’t you reciprocate my feelings & told me, we couldn’t dodged all that pain, but you chose to hurt me” you bit your lip.

“i-i know , I just didn’t think it through i was scared of the responsibilities that came with being with you, i got scared that i could hurt you” “but you did, mingyu.” you cut him.

“I’m so sorry. so sorry y/n if i could go back in time I would’ve fixed what I did wrong trust me, but I wanna try this, I wanna try us but only if you want to, I could go out this door in this second if you don’t want to.” he kissed your hands looking up at you.

“min… I wanna try us too, but what if you hurt me again? I don’t want to lose you anymore I don’t want to drift apart” you sobbed.

“I promise you, y/n I promise I’ll try not to hurt you again, I’ll never do this mistake again, I’m not gonna be the idiot that I was” he kissed your forehead reassuringly.

“just please give me this chance i beg you.”

silence. he was met by silence fear striking through him.

he was about to move away then suddenly…

your lips met his in away you’ve never or he felt before it was radiating with love, passion you’ve both hungered for each other & you were definitely going to treasure this moment.

his hands almost instantly came in contact with your waist pulling you closer to him as your hands went to the nape of his neck, indulging each other.

“min.. please I need you” you spoke up in need of him.

him knowing exactly what you wanted, carried you to the comfort of your bedroom, he layed you on the soft mattress.

he took of all of the fabrics that covered you, displaying your nude beauty infront of him.

he kissed every inch of you admiring you one by one, not neglecting in any part of you.

closing by your aroused core, you looked at his eyes full with love & lust, he smirked.

then kissed your cunt, with tongue he licked through your folds till eventually fucking your hole with his tongue, your thighs trembling simply by the warmth of his tongue.

the series of ohs & ahs that uttered from your mouth felt like a melody to his ear, encouraging to ravage on your sweet cunt, feeling the closeness of your high, your moans got louder, which gave mingyu the hint.

that’s why he stopped.

“minn!” you whined, pouting, “gonna make you cum on my cock first, my darling” he whispered in your ear, then kissed it.

taking off his clothes, his big cock appeared which was absolutely beautiful, in all its glory, you had doubts about it not fitting, but you didn’t care, you wanted him in you asap.

he lined his member to the entrance of your womanhood, inch by inch he slid into you, which made you scream by how pleasuring this was, “fuck fuck fuuck m-min s’big” you bit your lip, closing your eyes enjoying every bit of him.

he fasted up his pace, holding your hands firmly yes so lovingly for support, uttering “I love yous” with skin slapping, moans, groans whatever lewd sounds was filled through the walls.

“min min im gonna im-“ you came.

hot spurs of cum dripped out of you filling the outer of his cock & the inside of your walls.

“god you’re so gorgeous like this.” he groaned out, going all out till his balls hit your cunt, chasing his high he was determined to fill your walls.

a few more thrust till he came moaning out a bunch of curse words, his cum filling you up, but you were on cloud 9 when his hot cum filled you covering & warming your walls.

he pulled out, cuddling you instantly, taking the covers of your bed to warm your naked bodies, hugging each other not wanting to end this moment, you both felt at peace knowing you were finally his & he was finally yours.

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ thank you for reading >ᴗ< !! woo toxic best friends to lovers 🫢

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen scenarios #svt smut #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu

[samandcolbyownme]

Could you do the one bed trope and make it so smutty even god satan would blush if he read it 😈

Timeline | Zach Justice

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, swearing, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, biting, scratching, teasing, oral (both), squirting, creampie, consented picture taking, Zach being Zach, jokes, some fluff and heavy filth

Enjoy!

１１：３４ ＰＭ

You were excited to join Tara on the East coast for her live Dropout shows.

You weren’t excited about always being in close proximity with Zach. He just got under your skin and annoyed you in all the wrong ways, and he fed off of that.

Always getting you going to the point you end up bitching at him, rolling your eyes and shaking your head when he hits on you.

Although, you did find yourself liking him the longer you were around him, and it was getting harder for you to deny that you thought Zach was attractive - because come on, just looking at him is enough to make anyone wet.

“Do you want me to take your bags?”

You look at Zach confused, “Um, no. Why?”

He furrows his brows and then sighs, “Oohh, right yeah. Okay.” He looks around before he looks at you, “You were left the odd man out, so you’re with me for the night.”

Your arms drop limp at your sides, “You waited.. until now to tell me?”

You turn and look at Tara and she raises her brows, giving you a, you’re welcome, bitch, look because you drunkenly admitted one night that you thought Zach looked good, so she took it and ran with it.

A little too far, you thought.

But you were tired. You flew all day, you just wanted do shower and go to bed.

“Fine. Here.” You give you bags to Zach and he smirks, “Dibs on the bed.”

“Ooo.” You press your lips together, “Fuck you.”

He shrugs, “Hey, catch me at the right time and I’m open to anything.”

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smirk, “Why are we stuck on this side of the hotel?” You ask as you step onto the elevator.

Zach shrugs, “I think these are the only ones they had in a row, ours starts a new floor.”

“That’s weird.” You shake hour head, “Whatever. I’m tired. I call dibs on getting a shower first.”

“We could just get a shower together.” He smirks and you roll your eyes, “You say that to every girl.”

The doors to the elevator open with a ding and Zach shrugs, “Would it make a difference if I told you I made Tara put you with me?”

You scoff, looking over at him, “Why? You think I hate you.”

“Do you?” Zach asks as he unlocks the door. You swallow as he looks back at you and you laugh, “Well, I don’t, love you.”

Yes I do, You think as you walk in, turning around to wait for him to set down your bags. The door closes behind him and he looks down, “Oh, I think you do.”

Fuck.

You go to take your bag, but he holds onto it and you huff, “I swear to god Zach. Just let me go-“

You stop, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you purse your lips, “Fine. If you want to play this game. Two can play.”

He shakes his head, giving you a confused look until you slip your sweatshirt up over your head, revealing your bare chest and skin Zach has only ever dreamed of seeing.

“Did I finally shut the Zach Justice up? Wow.” You tease as you walk to the bathroom, “That wasn’t an invite by the way.”

You leave him out there speechless as you close the bathroom door fully before you go turn the shower on to allow the water heat up as you take off the rest of your clothes.

You get in, allowing the hot water to wash over your body and you can’t help but let out slight groan.

After flying all day, this felt so good.

And you were going to sleep in that bed, too.

１１：５４ ＰＭ

As you finished up, you turned the water off and opened up the door. You reached out grabbing the towel and drying off some before stepping out.

You slipped the robe on from the back of the door and twisted your hair up in the towel before walking out, “Shower is free.”

Zach looks up from the chair and nods.

You can’t help but smirk, “hm.”

“What.” Zach snaps as he walks by, stopping right behind you. You glance over your shoulder, “Nothing, it’s just so weird when you’re not running your mouth. I mean.”

You turn around, looking up at him, “It’s soo peaceful, don’t get me wrong but still.. weird.”

He rolls his eyes, “Mm, well maybe if I wasn’t distracted by figuring out what that whole ordeal before your shower was.”

You shrug, “You continuously get under my skin.. I wanted to have a turn for once.”

You turn around, bending down to dig your pajamas out of your suit case. Zach watches as you stand back up, shaking his head as he turns to walk towards the bathroom.

You turned around, staring in the direction of the bathroom wondering to yourself why that didn’t get him to touch you.

Even when you said it wasn’t an invitation, it really was and he should have known that, well. To you at least.

You roll your eyes, undoing your robe before you take your hair out of the towel. You bend down, pulling a pair of lace panties up your legs before taking off your robe and replacing it with an oversized tee.

You set your towels on the floor and grabbed the tv remote before crawling into the bed.

As you were clicking through the channels, Zach comes out from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist as he stares at you. You glance over at him and you don’t realize you’re staring at first, but how could you not.

His hair still wet and slightly dripping down onto his skin that was still hot, he had steam rolling off of him.

He smirks and you blinked a few times, looking back at the tv, “It’s a big bed, Justice. You can share for one night.”

You hear him chuckle, which causes a smirk to raise the corners of your lips. You clenched your jaw as you notice Zach drop his towel in your peripheral vision, “Mm I see. Taking notes from the better player huh.”

He pulls up his shorts and turns around, flicking the light off as he walks over to the other side of the bed, “You seemed to enjoy it, might as well see what the hype was all about.”

He pulls the blankets back and gets in, moving down to get comfortable.

“Uh huh. Okay.” You reach over, your shirt riding up as you set the tv remote down. Zach glances over, catching sight of the slight lace sticking out and he fights back a groan as he looks away when you lean back over.

１２：１０ ＡＭ

You let out a sigh as you cuddle up into the bed, facing away from him, “Goodnight, Zach.”

Zach keeps his eyes on you for a few seconds, and you can feel it, “Mm, goodnight, sweetheart.”

Your stomach does the little flip and all you can think about is how he is right fucking there.

No, no.

At this point, you’re in a game of cat and mouse, basically waiting to see who cracks first.

You lay there, pretending like you’ve fallen asleep until you actually do doze off.

１２：４７ ＡＭ

Zach laid there, staring at the back of your head while he half listened to the tv in the background.

He wanted to so badly move over and pull you away from the edge of the bed and into his chest, and even though you wanted him to, he still didn’t know that.

His mind kept bouncing back and forth at how you acted before your shower and getting into bed with him, especially dressed like that.

He let out a quiet sigh and moved a few inches across the king sized bed towards you before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

０２：２６ ＡＭ

You lift your head, looking around slightly confused before you turn your head the other way, catching glimpse of a, slightly closer Zach, snoring quietly in the tv light.

You bite your lip, moving just a tad bit closer to him, shuffling the blankets around your body before you fall back to sleep.

０３：０９ ＡＭ

Your eyes fluttered open, moving around the darkness of the hotel room.

You could tell Zach was closer to you, but you couldn’t tell how close. You slowly rolled over, reaching over to blindly feel around for the tv remote.

As soon as it’s in your grasp, you move to switch the tv back on. Your head snaps over at Zach who starts to stir around, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, reaching over to set the remote back on the nightstand, “I can’t sleep without tv, I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart.” He mumbles in a sleep yet sexy raspy tone that makes your heart flutter.

You nod, even though he can’t see you, in response and try to subtly move back down to get comfortable.

After tossing and turning for a minute or two, Zach shifts around and lays on his side to face you, his arm stretches out over your thighs, “C’mere.”

You stare at him for a few seconds and he opens his eyes, squinting one of them to block out the bright white light from the tv, “Am I going to have to drag you over here?”

You shake your head, scooting over to slip in against his body.

Your back to his chest.

His arm resting under your head as his other arm lays over your waist, securing you against him and it’s not long before he’s back to snoring softly.

０３：３２ ＡＭ

Your eyes move over the city lights out the window, once again. You move your head, letting out a sigh as you try to sleep again.

For the last 20 minutes or so, you’ve been unable to sleep. One thing on your mind and you were now itching to get it.

You bit down on the inside of your lip as your hips slowly moved back to grind against Zach’s crotch.

Nothing.

You pouted slightly as you decided to give it another go, this time a little bit harder.

No response.

You pushed your ass against his crotch once more, rolling slightly until you felt his cock rest perfectly on the line of your asscheeks.

Your bit down on your lip, slowly grinding your ass up and down harder as you rest your head on the pillow, fighting back an impatient whimper.

Right when you’re about to stop, Zach’s hand presses down onto your waist, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, babe.”

You smirk, turning your head slightly when you feel his cock twitch against your ass, “Did I catch you at a good time?”

Zach rolls you over and your lips are instantly on his as you lay a hand on his neck, “Anytime is a good time for you.”

His hand pulls your leg over his hip and his hand slides around to push your hips to meet his, letting out a groan when he grinds up against your lace covered pussy.

You gasp, “What took you so long?”

Zach chuckles, “Wanted to see if you’d break first.”

You roll your eyes, smiling as you lean in, “Well, looks like you won.” you peck his lips, dragging your nails down his chest and torso.

Zach pulls you onto him, making you straddle his lap, “I knew you loved me.”

You grind down onto him as you lean down to kiss up his neck, “The flirting with the other female guests stops now.”

“Stopped the minute I saw you.” Zach smiles and smirk down at him, “As it should have.”

He rolls over, pushing your shirt up and kissing the, still new to him, area of skin, groaning as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

You gasp out, fingers lacing through his hair, “Zach.” You look down at him, watching him suck on your boob before he moves over to the other one, giving it the same treatment as the other.

Moans escape your lips and you tug on his hair, earning a groan from him.

０３：４８ ＡＭ

He kisses up between your boobs before skipping over your bunched up shirt to attack your neck. His hand slides down, caressing your hip before he slips a finger in and drags it across the waist band of your panties, “Did you put these on specifically for me?”

You bite your pointer finger, looking up at him as you give him a shrug, “Maybe. Do you like them?”

Zach smirks, leaning down to kiss down to the hem of your panties, “They really are sexy.” He pulls them down your legs, “I’m more interested in what’s under them at the moment.”

You smirk, spreading your legs as soon as they are over your ankles. Zach slides his hands up the back of your thighs, pushing your legs back before he moves down and leans in.

You gasp when you feel his tongue slip inside of you, hand moving to slap onto the back of his head, “Fuck, fuck.”

He groans against you, fingers digging into the back of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of you for the first time.

Your back arches off the bed, hips trying to roll as you feel like you need more, “M-more.” You whimper out, “Please.”

Zach lifts his head just as you look down at him and you let out a moan, pulling him up for a kiss.

He crawls up, plopping his body down on yours as he lets you attack his lips. His hand slides up your side, coming to a stop as he grips your boob.

You bite down on his lip, earning a groan from him, “I’ve thought about you..” You whisper, catching his attention.

He lifts his head, breathing out, “When?”

Your eyes bounce from his lips to his eyes, “When I wanted you but couldn’t have you.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, “Please, that was your fault for not calling me.” He look at you, “I would have even settled for a random picture.”

“A picture, huh?” You lean in, “Still want one?”

He looks at you, a look of shocked excitement on his face, “of course I do.”

You bite your lip, “My Polaroid camera is in my suitcase.”

“That picture is going in my wallet.” Zach pecks your lips before scurrying off to get your camera. He pulls out the lenses to turn it on as he climbs back over top of you.

０４：０２ ＡＭ

He straddles your thighs and leans over slightly to allow light from the tv to guide him on where to hold the camera.

You bite down on your lip, holding your shirt over your chin. You blink as the flash quickly illuminates the room and you look up, watching as Zach takes the small picture and shakes it.

He looks down at you and as soon as his eyes meet yours, it’s like something switches within you both, and both of your little devils have come out to play.

You slip your shirt off over your head, grabbing the camera to take a picture of your boobs, your arm loosely holding them together.

“Goddamn.” Zach groans as his eyes scan up and down your body, “I should have just cracked, dammit.”

He his slide up your body as he leans down, kissing up your naked body beneath him, “Could have had you like this sooner.”

He kisses up your neck, “Could have known that you taste so much better than I ever fucking thought.”

Zach swearing is such a turn on.

You slide a hand up to his neck, squeezing gently as he pushes his shorts down his thighs and in one swift motion, his cock is slowly slipping inside of you.

０４：１１ ＡＭ

He groans lowly as you gasp, your walls squeezing his cock in a tight welcome while your hand squeezes harder.

“I could cum right now.” Zach mumbles, jaw going slack as he pulls out and slowly thrusts back in. You let out a whimper, smirking at how he brings his hand up for you to squeeze harder.

Now your jaw is slack, watching Zach melt into your touch, “I knew you were a slut.”

He furrows his brows, shaking his head slightly, “That’s crazy.” He brings his hand up, pinning you down by your throat, “I thought the same thing about you.”

You smile, eyes rolling back as his thrusts speed up, “Fuck, yes yes yes.” You whine out, back arching off the bed as you feel yourself growing closer to orgasm, “S-so close.”

Your hand drag down his chest, leaving red lines on his skin from your nails. He pulls out and your eyes snap open, words flying from your lips from the sudden loss, “You could have came in me!”

０４：２６ ＡＭ

Zach raises his brows, “I’m not done.” He moves his hand, indicating for you to roll over onto your stomach, “But it’s good to know you want me to do that.”

You feel your cheek heat up at the thought of what you said, but you loved the idea, “Just as long as we have time to get another shower before we meet everyone.”

Zach delivers a smack to your ass and you let out a slight yelp, looking back at him over your shoulder, “A simple yes would have worked.”

“Didn’t you like that?” He tilts his head and as you go to answer, another quick smack is delivered but to your other ass cheek, giving it a matching print as the other.

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You roll your eyes and within a second, Zach’s hand is around your neck and you’re gasping for air, “I guess..” Zach chuckles and presses a kiss just below your ear, “I can tell you that I absolutely hate when you roll your eyes at me.”

You part your lips to try and speak, even though you know it’s useless, but Zach’s cock thrusting back into you cuts off every thought you have in this very moment.

“The only time I ever want you rolling your eyes is when I’m making you feel good, understood?”

You were caught off guard by Zach’s sudden dominating demeanor.

Yeah, you have thought about it, and you mainly could only bring yourself to believe that Zach was goofy and had the occasional moments of seriousness.

But fuck, was this better than you could have ever imagined.

He groans lowly in your ear, your eyes fighting to stay open as you feel him push his hips fully against you, his cock pushing in as deep as it can go, “Did you think of me when you touched yourself?”

He loosens his grip and you squeak out a weak, “Yes.”

He drags his hand down to your hip, giving it a squeezed, “Tell me what you thought of.” Zach continues to slowly thrust his hips and you whimper out, “I-I.. you, me.”

“C’mon baby, you can do it.” Zach whispers as he brushes hair from your neck, “I know you’re not shy with me.”

“Fuck, Zach.” You moan out, trying to push your hips back to meet his, “Us, having sex, doing this.” You turn your head towards his and he presses his lips to your cheek, “that all?”

Zach’s thrusts were painfully too slow for you at this point, “N-no. No.” You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting then urge to roll your eyes, “I think about your hands, especially when we’re on set and you grab that mic.. I think about your hands on my body instead..”

You gasp at the sudden change of pace, gripping the sheets as you realize your dirty talk is getting you what you want.

“You think of me like that on set?” Zach asks, shocking surprised.

You nod, furrowing your brows as you squeeze his cock, “I think of how they would feel inside of me.” You bite down on your lip, “Mouth or pussy.”

“Fucking Christ.” Zach groans lowly, slipping two of his fingers into your mouth.

04:45 AM

You moan as your tongue swirls around them, bringing your one hand up to lay on his wrist.

His thrusts pick up before stopping abruptly. You’re rolled into your back and the fingers that were once in your mouth are shoved into hour soaked cunt.

You gasp, arching your back as Zach’s fingers immediately curl upward, “Doin’ so well for me. Look at you.”

He reaches up, fingers gripping your chin. You pout slightly, moaning loudly as you feel yourself getting closer than you’ve been to your peak and you needed it so bad.

Your lips part and Zach takes the opportunity to slip his thumb between them. You wrap your hand around his wrist, moaning around his thumb as you suck.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes open at his words and he smirks, his head shooting down to your pussy as you feel a sudden, and literal, gush of pleasure.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” You tense up, Zach’s hand sliding down to your neck as he returns his gaze to you, “That was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed with my own eyes, holy hell.”

You bite down onto your lip, smiling shyly as he spread the new wetness over your pussy. You sit up slightly and he meets you halfway, attacking your lips as his fingers slip back inside of you.

“My turn.” You breathe out, moving to sit up onto your knees. Zach’s hands find their place on your hips, pulls you into him as he squeezes.

You slide your hands down, pushing him back to break apart the action, “Lay back.”

Zach moves to lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head while his other rested on the bed next to his thigh.

He pulls his lip between his teeth as his eyes follow you, watching as you lay between his legs as your eyes ogle his cock that’s resting against his stomach.

You flip your hair from your face and a sharp breath exits Zach’s lips as you gently move to wrap your hand around him, slowly pumping your hand as your swipe your thumb over his achy and leaky tip.

You lick your lips before parting them to accept his cock between them. You close your eyes as Zach’s low groans fill the room.

You feel him brings his other hand down to gather your hair for a makeshift ponytail before it returns to the spot behind his head.

A sudden jolt of his hips causes you to gag and Zach can’t help but chuckle, “Taking me so well.” He breathes out, panting as you work up a solid rhythm for bobbing your head.

He gasps, whimpering slightly as your tongue laps at the underside of his cock, “F-fu-“ his grip tightens on your hair, earning a muffled whimper from you.

“Shit.” Zach throws his head back, back arching slightly off the bed before his hands are moving you off of him.

He leans forward, crawling down to meet your lips, “You’re so fucking good at that, too.”

You smirk within the kiss and next thing you know, you’re bend over again.

His hands on your waist, pulling you back into his cock with a groan. Your fingers gather the sheets and you grip them hard as Zach’s thrusts aren’t soft and sweet.

They’re rough and dominating, he practically has you screaming into the sheets you’re holding onto for dear life.

He slides his hand against your scalp, gathering as much hair as he can before yanking your head back, “Let me hear how good you feel, sweetheart.”

All you can do is moan, and loudly at that.

You push your hips back into him, clenching around him as you feel yourself working on your next, and hopefully your last orgasm - you were getting tired, and you most definitely needed sleep after this.

０５：２５ ＡＭ

“Almost there.” Zach groans as he leans forward, forehead resting on your shoulder as he continues to jolt your body forward with each one of his thrusts.

Zach’s head leaves your shoulder, but only for both of his hands to slide around to the front of your neck. You moan as you tilt your head back, allowing him more room to grab.

He pulls your upper body up, railing into your as your back arches from the overwhelming pleasure. His hands on your neck tighten, cutting off your moans which turn them into weak whimpers and squeaks.

You feel that tightening band in your belly snap and your body falls as far forward as Zach will allow.

He moves his hands to your shoulders and you gasp, head falling down as he uses the grip on your shoulders to pull your body back into his. He groans, hips stuttering as you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You moan at the feeling, whimpering when your body is laid on the bed.

You keep your eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing and you feel the bed dip down beside you. Zach leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Let’s go for a shower, sweetheart.”

Zach’s voice is soft and gentle, along with his touch.

He slides his hand up and down your back, “You alive?”

You laugh, pushing yourself to roll over and look up at him, “I’m just shocked.”

“Shocked?” He asks pulling you to your feet.

You nod, “I never thought you had that kind of side to you.” You bite your lip, tilting your head, “Kinda makes me want to roll my eyes at you more often.”

He laughs, wrapping his arm around his waist before he goes serious, “Better make sure we have nothing planned a day or two after.”

“Why?” You ask as you flick the light to the bathroom on. Zach walks in, turning on the hot water as you close the door. He turns around, walking over to pin you up against it.

His lips moving against yours as his hands squeeze your wrists, “because, we’re just getting started, sweetheart.”

You laugh and shake your head, following him into the steam filled shower.

You expected round two to happen, but instead, you both seemed to just want to enjoy each other’s wet and soapy company.

“You really are beautiful.” He whispers as his hands drag bubbles over your body.

You smile, laying your head back to rest it against the front of his shoulder, “Yeah, you’re beautiful, too.” You giggle as you look over at him and he smirks, shaking his head.

You regretted labeling him as an annoying asshole, well. He is, but just not to you anymore.

“Alright.” You sigh, turning to rinse the soap from your body, “I don’t know what time is it, but I need a nap before we go for breakfast with the group.”

Zach nods, “Yeah, someone kept using their ass to try and wake me up. How weird is that?”

You wrap the towel around your body and your mouth drops, “So you were awake those first two tried?” You hand him a towel as he gets out, nodding, “Oh yeah. I wanted to see how long it took before you gave up.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You look up at him and he smirks, walking over to you, “No.” he pecks your lips, “I’m yours.”

You watch as he walks out, giving you a quick wink before he walks over to the bed. You’re standing there, taking everything that happened with Zach tonight, in.

“Um, babe.”

You smile at the nickname, walking out to see what’s going on, “Yeah, baby?”

He looks at you, “We’re going to need a Red Bull.. or two.” You look at him confused before he holds his phone up.

０６：３６ ＡＭ

“It’s almost seven?” You walk over to him, resting your head on his bare chest, “Why do we have to do things early?”

He runs his hand over your wet hair and sighs, “I ask myself that everyday and I still don’t have an answer.” He presses a kiss to your head, “If you want to nap quick, you can.”

You shake your head, “It’s fine. I’ll just.. stay up.” You laugh and look up at Zach.

He smiles, tucking already dry strands of hair behind your ear, “Well, we do have a little less than an hour, or so and I have an idea at keeping you awake.”

You look up at him, “As long as you promise to take it easy on me.”

Zach nods and presses his lips to yours, “Oh I promise.” He pushes you back to the bed, getting rid of your towel before you fall back onto it.

“Now.” Zach reaches up and turns your face to fully face his, “Eyes on me, baby.”

——

I’m actually screaming at this one. I kept thinking about this even when I wasn’t writing it. Please let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and as always, I love you all so much!! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #Zach justice #Zach justice smut #zach justice fluff #zach justice x reader smut #zach justice fanfiction #zach justice fanfic #zach justice dropouts podcast #zach justice x y/n #zach justice dropouts #zach justice x reader #Zach justice one shot #dirty one shot #dirty Zach justice #smut #smut warning #dirty one shot zach justice #smut writer #fluff smut #smut one shot #updates #Timeline #Zach justice Timeline

[alligatorjesie]

Aww shit. I’m sorry this took so long to reply to, I live my life outside fucking tumblr and this was all I was able to type out in between water and snack breaks from fucking @makemebehavelikeananimal ‘s mother.

It’s rich being told by a chucklefuck who can’t seem to shit out two sentences without a spelling or grammatical error that I’m not using the English language correctly. Are you a fucking grammar police? Are you going to shoot me because I told you fanfiction isn’t fucking new, that police kill people, and you’re a fucking moron? 

How ironic.

Meow I do admit what I type out is filled to the brim with expletives and a few run-ons but I think I’m getting my point across. I do understand when you have shit for brains and the attention span as long lived as a snowflakes drifting into the fucking hell shit nuggets like you all must crawl out of it’s tricky for you to do something as simple as fucking read, so let’s hold hands and take a walk through what I typed out just for you since you seem like you need the fucking  help.

 As you can see at this point of the conversation I’m talking about the entirely un-unique ideal of people taking things that were already known media having fans write fiction about it.

There’s a fucking word for that.

It’s called ‘Fanfiction’

And it’s been around since at least the 14th century. It’s not fucking new.

Now this point here I’m very clearly speaking to the point of ‘If you don’t like the thing it’s as simple as not interacting with it.’

Anti logic fucking baffles me. Why the fuck are you spending time on shit you don’t like? If you don’t enjoy, say, the new Game of Thrones series, then don’t interact with it. 

It‘s just that fucking simple.

I know I sure as flying fuck don’t after that absofuckinglutly disgusting pile of wet dog shit series finally.

Now having said that, lemme show you something:

This is my tumblr. As you can tell even though I have a strong opinion about GOT, I don’t post mindlessly hateful shit about it like it’s a fucking keystone personality trait in the Game of Thrones tag of all fucking places. I’ve never fucking posted in it once in fact, well I have now bit it’s more to make a point. 

Because I’m not a needlessly hateful fucking cunt.

I’m just a regular justified cunt. Because I’ve been in two fandoms now that have been consistently shit on by everyone around them for my entire lifespan. If we’re not dealing with actual nazis

In the Star Wars fandom to the point it’s a fucking trope

AND in the Furry Fandom.

And even though every single person I know in both of these fandoms is shouting at the top of their lungs for everyone to, you know, just stop and listen to the fact there are

Real

And actual racists

in these fandoms

and we’re dealing with actual attempts on our lives from these shit stains

the overall news media seems quite content to just sorta laugh like it’s fun.

It’s not fucking fun.

I don't fucking like you but I like you fucking less now that I see you dramatically flinging yourself over a fainting couch screaming about your incorrectly perceived racism and uhh transphobia? IDK were the fuck you’re even pulling that shit from but that’s an ass chewing for another time, because I mentioned that cops kill people and that you’re so fucking stupid you don’t understand that fanfiction has been a thing since humans could fucking write and just mind ya own fuckin’ business when I was actually awaken that faithful day in December back in 2014 while attending that very con at about 1 in the morning by hotel alarms and banging on our door that shit was going down right the fuck now and we need to GTFO. 

Only to learn the sick fuck set the bombs off in the stairwells, the only way to get out of the hotel because the elevators were disabled. So there was lots of people just sorta trapped.

Not the ones who did try to use the stairwell in all the confusion by the way,

those ones breathed in chlorine which isn’t fucking healthy surprise surprise.

Because we were just told to leave the hotel. No one said a fucking thing about the chlorine bomb set off in the fucking stairwells.

19 living breathing humans got sick from that attack. 

Many are still dealing with real life long term effects of what happened to them psychologically.

Some of them are dealing with real life long term effects of what happened to them Physically. Not to mention that this shit happened in the middle of December in Chicago. Everyone was evacuated outside, you know the ones who could actually get outside.

 At 1 in the morning. 

And told they couldn’t go back inside for many hours.

You know, just standing outside in their pajamas in the freezing Chicago winter. Only to be laughed at the next morning by almost every other fucking news channel out there.

You know, at the con that was chlorine bombed by a hateful fuck. 

Someone kinda like you.

I have literally been closer to death in that instance and every single fucking day just by living were I do and being in the fandoms I’m in. My heart doesn't exactly fucking bleed for you because you got upsetty that cops in a country you don’t even fucking live in kill a lot of people and that statement is fucking triggering to you.

I don’t give a fucking shit.

Be fucking mad about it, but don’t be mad at Me about it. I’m not a fucking cop. I’m not even a racist POS like you want me to be. I’m just a furry and a reylo who wants you to leave the fucking reylo tag if you’re gonna be a prick about it.

We were chlorine bombed at a furry con because people like you hate people like me.

You know what’s triggering to me? 

Assholes in my fandom spaces.

I fucking tired of assholes.

I’m fucking tired of anti shit stains who think it’s alright to hate the shit I love and think they can just openly mock fandom they don’t like to the point people in it have killed themselves from y’all’s harassment.

I’m going to happily spend every moment I’m alive telling you fucking pricks you’re not fucking welcome and to fuck off. And if I have to write a fucking mini novel to do it I fucking will.

I’m excited to watch that high horse you’re sitting on buck you off.

So the next thing I talk about here is how Tumblr’s ‘based on your likes’ algorithm works against you because you’re so fucking stupid you can’t figure out why reylo shit keeps showing up on your fucking feed. This one is actually pretty straight forward, but I’ll explain it simpler just for you:

Don’t want fandom shit you don’t like showing up on your dashboard?

Don’t interact with the fandom.

It’s just that fucking easy.

I don’t like the Naruto fandom and I don’t want to see the content show up on my dash. It’s just as easy for me to fucking avoid it.

Now this next part! My favorite part!

The part were I watched a whole person take their head and ram it so thoroughly up their own anus they’ve created a singularity that is now wildly spinning out of control, sucking every fuckwad who thinks it’s alright to send ‘kill yourself’ anons to fucking anyone at fucking all in close proximity right into it. So lemme ask what part here you read that implied I was sending you a death threat? Was it this part?

Naw probably not. I don’t see anywhere I typed something like ‘I hope’ or ‘I wish’ In fact I believe the wording is ‘You Could’

The line ’You could die tomorrow’ isn’t a fucking death threat you daffy fuck. ‘Could’ is an implication that life is fucking fleeting and it can all get taken away tofuckingmorrow. Learn to fucking read for fuck’s sake how do you even use this site? You COULD walk out your door and get plastered by a drunk driver. You COULD sit down to enjoy a nice dinner and choke to death. You COULD walk down the street and find a black bear riding a unicycle handing out candy. But probably not. 

None of these are fucking death threats. It’s not my fucking fault you can’t read one single sentence and fucking understand it, that shit don’t make me a racist that makes you a fucking moron.

‘Could’ isn’t a fucking wish or desire. ‘Could’ is a fucking probability.

 I don’t want anyone to be shot by a cop. Like I don’t want anyone to be chlorine bombed at their own con.

But my talking about either of these things dose not fucking automatically imply I wish them on people, how the ever loving fuck does your warped fucking mind work? 

Do you fly off the handle like this every time someone plays ‘What if’ with you?

Do you throw yourself in to a diaper shitting baby tantrum every time someone tells you something you don’t wanna hear? Is this your fucking life? 

How fucking tiring living with you must be.

Life isn’t a fucking guarantee. That shit can get taken away from you any fucking second, not by my fucking hands that for fucking sure. I just want you to fuck off out of a fandom tag you’re being a useless fucking prick in. I don’t want to fucking see you ever again.

But since you wanna make a big fucking deal about police brutality, let’s check something out here real quick @makemebehavelikeananimal

Oh, so you’re in the UK?

Well I’m glad reading literacy is just as fucking bad there as it is in America. Maybe the reason all these fanfictions getting turned into movies is so frightful to you is because you can’t fucking read and just assumed the movies have to be read too? Because you understand that’s not how that fucking works right?

Hey, lets check something out here:

Oh my sweet mother of fucking Christ sailing across the fucking Nile. You’re making 10 shades of shit out of someone pointing out one of the over 1,000 deaths by cops in the US alone in 2021 and turning that shit into some kinda race dig when YOU live in a country that saw 3 fucking deaths by cops in that same year?

What in the Kentucky Fried Fuck.

I have been to a furry con that was Chlorine bombed and live in a country that has had over one fucking thousand police killings in 2021 alone and I’m less of a fucking brainless preachy twat about death than you. I literally have higher odds of dying by cop and I make less a fucking stink about this shit when someone brings it up. I want people to bring this shit up. This shit is fucking appalling, like your reading comprehension.

I’m not fucking sure how you hear someone mention police brutality and the ever fucking fleeting fragility of life and automatically go ‘well they must be being racist at me’ like I ain’t the one actually living this horseshit every fucking day. What kind of special moron are you? You’re going to be spending more time being dead than you ever will alive. You’re just going to have to come to fucking terms with that goddamn shit however someone as fucking stupid as you can, but boy fuckin’ howdy I ain’t gonna sit here and let some ignorant fuck like you tell me I’m racist for simply bringing up death.

Death is a part of life. We all gonna die one fuckin’ day ya dumb slut.

You’re not immune, I’m not immune, your dear sweet mother whom I have been fucking with a healthy vigor every single waking moment since I met you isn’t immune.

I don’t fucking have to wish death on people. Death is just standing aside waiting for one of us to twist an ankle while walking down the non-fucking-exsistant sidewalks we have here in the US because some dicks for brains decided back in the 40s/50s that everyone should have cars and fuck pedestrians which will cause us to inevitably get stuck by a car traveling over 60 miles per hour next to us. Death is just waiting for you to stand too close unmasked to someone with Covid. Death is just vibrating with excitement as some stupid pricks light another gender reveal explosive in a field that hasn't seen rain in 4 months.

I don’t wish death on people. I make a point of that. I’ve been being told to go fuck off and die because I draw furries since I was a child. I know what it’s like to be told to go die. It’s not fucking fun.

I don’t send death threats on this shit stain site, not when I have useless fucking bell ends like ya’ll sending them to me all the time. We’re past the count of 18 by the way, 4 of them have been from your crew. Congratulations, your online friends are just as fucking trash humans as you are. I’ll be honest with you, I want you to live a long miserable life. I want you to survive until you’re a practically immobile shriveled festering lump of bitter old fuck that is just as dead on the inside as your cold fucking heart. I want you to die at an impossibly long age an old bitter cunt surrounded by people you hate and who hate you in kind since you’ve made every personal slight into issues that don’t even fucking involve you because that’s all your myopic world view can work with. I hope one day very far from now you die a very old lonely miserable person because you’re a fucking cunt who never made a single ounce of meaningful human contact in all your long lived years since you’re such a cantankerous stupid fuck who’s physically and emotionally repulsed any person that might have loved and cared for you in your last long moments. Fuck you OP. I don’t give a shit that your a POC. I care that you’re a fucking tasteless cunt spewing needlessly mean shit in a tag you don’t fucking like.

Now dick off.

#Anti talk #reylo #hate talk #death threats #nazis #furry fandom #tumblr has a lot shit tier people on it #not all #for sure #but a lot #who think it's fine to send anon death threats #that's not fucking fine what the flying fuck is wrong with you? #@makemebehavelikeananimal is a fucking monster #And also racist lets throw that one in there too for good measure #I'm going to take a page out of @makemebehavelikeananimal 's book and just start throwing insults out until one of them sticks

[anonymousbathtub]

The true nature of the mushroom pope (”The Voice”) revealed, Petr and his new human friend - Raphael - conspire to take them down for good! (An assassination performed by two 12 year olds can't be that hard, right?)

When finishing this painting I thought it’d be fun to mock it up into a mid-game menu screen concept :) 🍄

#this project is UNRELATED to spore the popular videogame i only found out that existed after naming it rip #painting #fantasy art #illustration #divine decay #woods #petr: so then we FLY in from above and GET them #raph: because we can Totally fly yeah ok sure #petr: look i bet if i pray hard enough- #theyre having a great time its fine their plan is airtight what could possibly go wrong #theyve got such a long walk to figure the details out in so its so fine!! #(narrator voice it was Not Fine) #petr #raphael #but uh yeah so this is gonna a rambly lore dump in the tags because this is a personal chronical at this point but: #pov u were raised mushroom catholic your whole life with all of your society lead by your one mushroom pope #who is also mind connected to all of you #(not present all the time they dip in and out of peoples heads but fully capable of dropping into your senses and body whenever) #and the position youve been raised to take on is literally to be their eyes and ears #also this pope has lived for thousands of years and yall die age 80 or whatever so like. theyre NOT god but theyre p fucking divine #then BOOM youre teleported fucking MILES away and out of their range. alone for the very first time #but NOT FOR LONG cuz this other scared kid also got teleported but theyre HUMAN and you want each other DEAD only youre both scared and #lonely and theres wild monsters that want to eat you so like its fine if just for a bit you team up because theres no point dying to some #random beast instead of an epic battle #and then you start talking to the kid and like oh shit theyre like nice. and they say its YOU guys who started the war and the humans were #here first #and you still have your counter of yeah but we NEED to block out the sun or else we'll literally die we want to be on the surface too #only #youve been in the sun for the last week and other than getting a little dehydrated youre Fine #so if they were lying about humans being only capable of rage and if they were lying about dying in the sun

[ironmanstan]

awful: it turns out every annoying person saying using planners helps you and having structure is good for you was right

#im turning into a planner girl this is sick and fucked up why do i use notion and why do i use it regularly #what happened to me #why am i getting things done and not being stressed about it now that im micromanaging myself #thats not supposed to happen im supposed to be flying by the seat of my pants at all times #EVERYTHING I DO IS SUPPOSED TO BE UNEXPECTED EVEN TO ME #awful and disgusting . gross. #i am like #deriving the same joy i get from organizing stupid things like reference boards and information #from organizing my stupid little tasks its making me sick #i make a list of my tasks and deadlines in notion and i sit here like ^__^ sooo fun #i need to be put down #the gamer speaks uwu #i havent felt organized or productive like this in my life im not even like happy about it like objectively i am but im like behwhildered #looking at myself like WHATS WRONG WITH YOUUUU!!!! WHY ARE YOU FUNCTIONING THIS WAS POSSIBLE ???? THIS WAS POSSIBLE ??? #crazy. so fucking crazy. like ah so im not stupid maybe maybe i can actually function and be alive and achieve things what the fuck dude #i got my class schedule for college and made it so sexy i have 2 TWO weekends and everyday my classes start and end the same time #beautiful i am so excited i am scared but like its fine hehe haha i am sane maybe ooeoeoeoeoeoeoe

[soy-sauce-and-mothra]

Hey! Are there blacksmiths in your story? I'm a hobbyist blacksmith and I'm here to help!

Blacksmithing is one of those things that a lot of people get wrong because they don't realize it stuck around past the advent of the assembly line. Here's a list of some common misconceptions I see and what to do instead!

Not all blacksmiths are gigantic terrifying muscly guys with beards and deep voices. I am 5'8, skinny as a twig, have the muscle mass of wet bread, and exist on Tumblr. Anybody who is strong enough to pick up a hammer and understands fire safety can be a blacksmith.

You can make more than just swords with blacksmithing. Though swords are undeniably practical, they're not the only things that can be made. I've made candle holders, wall hooks, kebab skewers, fire pokers, and more. Look up things other people have made, it's really amazing what can be done.

"Red-hot" is actually not that hot by blacksmith terms. when heated up, the metal goes from black, to red, to orange, to yellow, to white. (for temperature reference, I got a second degree burn from picking up a piece of metal on black heat) The ideal color to work with the metal is yellow. White is not ideal at all, because the metal starts sparking and gets all weird and lumpy when it cools. (At no point in this process does the metal get even close to melting. It gets soft enough to work with, but I have never once seen metal become a liquid.)

Blacksmithing takes fucking forever. Not even taking into account starting the forge, selecting and preparing metal, etc. etc. it takes me around an hour to make one (1) fancy skewer. The metals blacksmiths work with heat up and cool down incredibly fast. When the forge is going good, it only takes like 20 seconds to get your metal hot enough to work with, but it takes about the same time for it to cool down, sometimes even less.

As long as you are careful, it is actually stupidly easy to not get hurt while blacksmithing. When I picked up this hobby I was like "okay, cool! I'm gonna make stuff, and I'm gonna end up in the hospital at some point!" Thus far, the latter has yet to occur. I've been doing this for nearly a year. I have earned myself a new scar from the aforementioned second degree burn, and one singe mark on my jeans. I don't even wear gloves half the time. Literally just eye protection, common sense, and fast reflexes and you'll probably be fine. (Accidents still happen of course, but I have found adequate safety weirdly easy to achieve with this hobby)

A forge is not a fire. The forge is the thing blacksmiths put their metal in to heat it up. It starts as a small fire, usually with newspaper or something else that's relatively small and burns easily, which we then put in the forge itself, which is sort of a fireplace-esque thing (there's a lot of different types of forge, look into it and try to figure out what sort of forge would make the most sense for the context you're writing about) and we cover it with coal, which then catches fire and heats up. The forge gets really hot, and sometimes really bright. Sometimes when I stare at the forge for too long it's like staring into the sun. The forge is also not a waterfall of lava, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Welding and blacksmithing are not the same thing. They often go hand-in-hand, but you cannot connected two pieces of metal with traditional blacksmithing alone. There is something called forge welding, where you heat your metal, sprinkle borax (or the in-universe equivalent) on it to prevent the metal from oxidizing/being non-weldable, and hammer the pieces together very quickly. Forge welding also sends sparks flying everywhere, and if you're working in a small space with other blacksmiths, you usually want to announce that you're welding before you do, so that everyone in a five-foot radius can get out of that five-foot radius. You also cannot just stuck some random pebbles into the forge and get a decent piece of metal that you can actually make something with, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Anvils are really fucking heavy. Nothing else to add here.

Making jewelry is not a blacksmithing thing unless you want jewelry made of steel. And it will be very ugly if you try. Blacksmithing wasn't invented to make small things.

If there's anything here I didn't mention, just ask and I'll do my best to answer.

#yes some of this was directed at steven universe #the only thing su got right was bismuth crying when her anvil broke #cus those things are goddamn expensive and hard to transport #blacksmith #blacksmithing #writing #writing prompts #writing advice #writeblr #writer #writer problems #writerblr #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writers

[bunnyb34r]

Love it when a fly or unlucky bee flies into my house (: so fun

Love having a loud little visitor that makes me go insane (:

#marquilla #last time this happened my ape brain took over and i broke a light bulb bc i swung a roll of fucking duct tape at my light bc the fucker #finally landed and i was like i can do this itll be fine and BAM broke the fucking bulb #my mom was like what the FUCK is wrong with you??? like listen you KNOW how i get when theres a bug in my house you KNOW #this motherfucker is literally going in circles and it's driving me insane and its big so im scared to kill it shdhdhdh #flies i can get and will smash those suckers on windows and leave them as a warning but idk if this is a fly 😧 #now i know how gurkle feels #hopefully the cat will get it lmao

[likeumeanit9497]

wanna see? | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem! reader

summary: during a night of heavy drinking, y/n tells chris that her roommate, who had slept with him weeks prior, had been less than impressed by his skills in the bedroom. chris asks if y/n believes her roommate, and when she says she does, he decides to prove her wrong.

warnings: SMUTTTTT; established friendship; oral (m/f receiving); p in v; DIRTY TALK; unprotected sex; drinking; spanking; ROUGH; 18+

notes: not to gas myself up but...this smut...is insane. i literally wrote all of this in like three hours idk what happened i think my body was taken over by my hormone monster or some shit. but anyways i hope u chris girlies enjoy <333

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

“Y/n! Our Uber is two minutes away, are you ready?” My roommate Bree called from the other side of my bedroom door just as I finished applying my lip gloss. “Yep! I’ll be out in a second.” I replied, taking one final look at myself in the full length mirror and adjusting my pleated mini skirt. Satisfied with my appearance, I finally exited my room and found Bree struggling to tie her corset top up herself. “Oh god, let me help.” I sighed, grabbing her shoulders to turn her around so that I could lace her up. “Thanks babe. Oh my god, you look unreal!” She exclaimed, facing me once I was finished, and I smiled sheepishly. “You don’t think it’s too much?” I looked down at my tiny skirt, low cut top, and chunky boots self consciously. “Absolutely fucking not. As a matter of fact I think you should wear that outfit every day for the rest of your life.” She replied before poking my cleavage playfully. I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Oh shut up, let’s go.” I shoved her shoulder jokingly and we both headed for the front door of our apartment.

“So,” I began once we got on the elevator, “Who’s all gonna be there tonight?” Bree’s fingers were flying across the keyboard on her phone, frantically texting someone. “Um…the usual group I think, probably gonna be a few other random people we don’t know yet, but Nick told me they’re keeping it pretty small this year.” She replied as we got into our Uber and I nodded in acknowledgment.

We were heading to the triplets’ house to celebrate their 21st birthday. Bree and I had met Nick Matt and Chris about a year ago, and the five of us had grown extremely close since then. It was a short drive from our place to theirs, but still I pulled out two mini bottles of tequila and handed one to Bree. She raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. “We didn’t have time for a pre game.” I said simply before raising my bottle to cheers her. She laughed before doing the same, and we both took our shot. “Fucking ew,” She said, shuddering, “I hate tequila.” It was my turn to laugh. “The first shot is always the worst, remember?” She nodded hesitantly. “True enough.”

“So…you think things are gonna be weird with you and Chris? This is the first time you’ve seen him since-” Bree cut me off by waving her hand nonchalantly. “Nah, it’ll be fine. For him it meant nothing, and you already know what it was for me.” I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.

A few weeks ago, I was awoken from my sleep at 3 a.m. by Bree barging into my room to tell me that she had just slept with Chris. This news shocked me, since I knew that she had been pining after Matt since we first met them. When I asked her to explain how the fuck that happened, her only explanation was that she was drunk enough to pretend that Chris was Matt. Initially, I had been concerned that their intimacy would make things weird in our group, but both of them seemed to be completely unbothered by it.

“Alright well, let’s just enjoy the night.” I said as our Uber pulled up to the house. “And who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky with the right triplet tonight.” I joked before walking up to the front door, side by side with Bree. She sighed. “Probably not. Pretty sure all hope of that disappeared once I opened my legs for his brother.”

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Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I realized that I was drunk. Bree and I had arrived at the house about an hour ago, and we both immediately took three tequila shots back to back in honour of the triplets’ birthday. Thirty minutes later, we took another trio of shots, and that was more than enough to get me absolutely wasted. I haphazardly reapplied my lipgloss before exiting the washroom and heading back over to the kitchen to grab something else to drink.

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Shouted Nick over the loud music before rushing from the cluster of people he was with and grabbing the bottle of tequila from my hand. “Pretty sure you don’t need any more of that right now. How about some water?” He phrased it like a question, but didn’t wait for me to respond before grabbing a solo cup and filling it with water. I made a weak attempt at protesting, but deep down I knew that he was right; I was so far gone and the night was still young. “Thanks Nicky.” I said once he brought me the cup of water, and he rolled his eyes. “Ew. Don’t call me that. Now come over here and hang out with us.” He led me to the kitchen table, where him, Chris, Matt, Nate, and a few of their other friends were chatting.

“Hey Y/n, you want a shot?” Nate asked, a bottle of vodka gleaming in his hand. Just as I was about to respond, Nick cut me off with an aggressive “No!”, causing me to pout. “Oh yeah, you’re wasted kid.” Chris said with a shot glass in his hand. I looked at him for a moment, taking in his disheveled appearance and blood shot eyes. “Yeah well so are you.” I retorted weakly, and he chuckled. “It’s my birthday, so no judgments allowed.” He said before immediately lifting his glass to cheers with the rest of the group.

I stood there sipping my water slowly as they all took their shots, my eyes focused on Chris’ sharp jaw as he grimaced from the taste of the alcohol. I continued to watch his mouth as he spoke to the person to his right, caught in a drunk trance and intrigued by the rosy colour of his lips.

If I was being honest, I had felt a certain attraction towards Chris since I met him. It wasn’t exactly a crush, and I certainly didn’t have any sort of serious feelings for him, but I would be lying if I said I hadn’t ever been tempted to go there with him before. There was a time, early on in our friendship, where we almost crossed that line.

I had been helping him hang posters on the wall above his bed, when he suddenly tackled me onto the mattress. It started off playful, but after a few moments of us play fighting, he ended up on top of me and the mood in the room completely changed. The smiles on our faces disappeared, and I felt my heart begin to race as his lips moved closer and closer to mine. Just as our lips brushed, the sound of Matt’s footsteps coming down the basement stairs caused us to jump apart, and we never spoke of that moment again.

Outside of that time, him and I had only ever acted as very good friends. As a matter of fact, out of all of the triplets I definitely got along with Chris the best. We both had similar personalities, and could joke around without worrying about hurting each other’s feelings.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Nick’s voice to my left. “Y/n, did I tell you how unbelievably hot you look tonight?” I giggled, noticing that his voice was beginning to sound slurred even to me, so he was clearly drunk. “You did, but thank you Nick.” I replied, smoothing down my skirt and batting my eyelashes jokingly in his direction. I thoughtlessly glanced at Chris, and found his glossy eyes trailing slowly down my figure; clearly admiring my outfit.

“Hey Y/n, have you seen Bree?” Asked Nate, and I looked around the room quickly, realizing that I hadn’t seen her since I used the washroom. “I saw her go outside a little while ago, probably went to smoke.” Replied Matt, and I smiled to myself knowing that Bree will love the fact that he has been secretly keeping tabs on her whereabouts. “Speaking of Bree,” Chris started, turning back to look at me, “Did she tell you about what happened two weeks ago?”

The group grew silent for a moment as they waited for me to respond. I took a sip from my water and nodded. “She sure did.” Chris smirked. “I’m surprised she even had to tell you. You must have been out cold if you slept through all that noise she was making.” The entire group groaned, clearly disturbed by Chris’ lack of filter. “Oh my god! Goodbye.” Nick threw his hands in the air before storming off to join Madi on the couch in the living room.

I scoffed, grabbing the bottle of vodka from Nate and taking a swig. “Bullshit.” I replied simply, wincing from the burn as the vodka travelled to my stomach. Chris raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?” Even in my drunken state I was very aware of the amount of eyes on me awaiting a response. “Well, I asked her to rate the sex on a scale from one to ten. She said six.” The group broke into laughter, and Chris’ jaw clenched as he smirked. “Hmm, funny.” He replied.

“You asked for the wrong number,” Said Nate through his laughter, “You should have asked her for the inches.” Chris grabbed the bottle of vodka from me before bringing it to his lips. “Oh I did,” I smiled, leaning towards Chris’ ear before continuing in a whisper so that only he could hear, “I believe her exact words were, ‘nothing special’.” Chris smirked, swiping his tongue across his front teeth. “Oh really? And you believe that?” He responded, and I nodded, crossing my arms across my chest. “I have no reason to not believe her.” We stood there for a moment, both of us just staring at the other tauntingly as the rest of the group just watched in silence, clearly feeling left out of the conversation all of a sudden. Finally, after letting his eyes travel down my body slowly again, Chris spoke.

“You wanna see for yourself?”

It took every fibre of my being to keep my jaw from physically dropping at his words. “Uh, what the fuck are we talking about here?” Nate said, his voice tentative. I kept my gaze on Chris, hoping that my eyes weren’t giving away how shocked I was. I watched him watch me; his bright blue eyes drilling into mine, his lips upturned in a confident smirk. Realizing I had been silent for too long, I blinked repeatedly and cleared my throat to regain my nonchalant composure before shrugging. “Sure.” I heard Matt groan beside me as I grabbed the vodka from Chris, taking a sip as I followed him towards the stairs to his bedroom. “I’m gonna be sick.” Matt’s distant voice shouted as Chris and I descended the stairs and walked into his dark bedroom.

Once Chris shut and locked his bedroom door, I felt a pit in my stomach begin to grow. I suddenly broke into a fit of laughter from the ridiculousness of this situation. “What are you laughing at kid?” Asked Chris, beginning to chuckle himself. I took a moment to catch my breath before responding. “You’re not actually gonna let me see your dick, are you?” I clutched my stomach as I tried to control my laughter, and he shrugged. “I will if you want to see it.” I bit my lip in contemplation, trying desperately to think properly through my drunk fog. Failing miserably, I nod my head.

Chris smirked. “Come here then.” I put the bottle of vodka down on his desk and walked over to where he was standing in the middle of his room. I stopped about a foot away from him, but he gently pulled me closer. Looking at my face, he finally pulled me up against him; rubbing an uncertain thumb against the small of my back. “Wait, I’m not hard right now.” He chuckled, seeming to have his own moment of consciousness. I smiled up at him and tilted my head, placing a hand on his stomach. “Well I need to see it in its full glory. How else am I gonna know if you’re telling the truth?” His thumb stopped its movement on my back, and a glimmer of something flashed in his eyes.

“Okay, then make me feel good baby.”

My stomach did a somersault at his words, and I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against his before grabbing his bottom lip with my teeth and pulling slightly; watching as it snapped back into place. My right hand slowly traveled down his stomach towards his waistband, where I let it linger for a moment before moving down to his crotch. There, I had to keep myself from audibly gasping; as even through his pants, his fast growing bulge was in fact huge.

Chris smiled lazily as my hand continued to palm his clothed dick. “Impressed yet?” My eyes snapped to his, and I decided to maintain my unimpressed persona. I hummed, my lips touching his but not quite kissing them. “Is this all you got Chris?” I bit his lip once more just before it turned up in a smirk. “Not quite.”

I gasped in shock as Chris spun me around and slammed me against the door, attacking my lips with his own. His kiss was full of a sort of animalistic hunger, and I was consumed by the taste of peppermint and vodka. He pressed me even harder against the wall as he rolled his hips against me, and I fought the urge to whimper at the feeling of his restrained cock against my needy core. He brought both of his hands up and pulled my low-cut top down to free my tits before grabbing one in each hand. Detaching his lips from mine, he took a moment to look at my chest before attaching his mouth to my left nipple; swirling his tongue around its sensitive nerves before moving onto the right.

Pulling away from my tits and once again coming face-to-face with me, he spoke. “Get on your knees.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and began guiding me down to the ground. Now at the same height as his bulging member, I watched as he wasted no time in removing his jeans. Now only concealed by his thin boxers, the true size of his cock was much easier to see. I stared in silence for a moment, taking in the fact that his boxers just barely covered its entire length. “Now do you believe me?” He asked from above me. I struggled to find my words, but I didn’t want to end this crazy game that we were playing, so I shook my head. “I’ve seen bigger.” I replied, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Chris rolled his eyes before pulling his boxers down to his knees. Now fully exposed, his cock smacked my face as it sprung free from its restraint. I couldn’t help but stare at it in awe — it had to be at least eight inches — as the faint light in the room reflected on its beautiful veins. “Open your mouth.” Chris’ commanding voice pulled me from my trance, and I looked up at him in shock. “What?” He tilted his head, “You said you’ve seen bigger, so you should have no problem swallowing this cock. So open your mouth.” His dirty words went right to my heat, and I felt my panties begin to flood with arousal.

Chris used both hands to collect all of my hair and held it out of my face as I wrapped my lips around the first few inches of his cock. Starting slow, I swirled my tongue around his sensitive tip before bobbing my head; taking a bit more of his length with each pump. I released his cock from my mouth for a second to catch my breath, before quickly leaning back in and deep throating his entire length. I heard a hiss escape his lips as my nose brushed against the sprinkle of hair against his lower stomach, and I began moving my head up and down his entire length; making sure to get every inch of him in my mouth.

“F-fuck, Y/n, that’s good. Keep going.” Chris rasped, and he began thrusting his hips at the same pace I was moving at. I moaned around his cock as his grip on my hair tightened; halting my movements entirely as he began face fucking me. Tears welled in my eyes as his cock repeatedly slammed into my throat, and I watched his face as his jaw went slack in both concentration and arousal.

Suddenly, all his movements stopped and he pulled me up to my feet. With his lips on mine and his hands tightly grasping my ass, he walked me backwards towards his bed. Once my heels reached the edge of the bed, Chris reached under my skirt and slid my panties down my legs. Feeling myself lose all sense of control, I didn’t hesitate when he ordered me to lay on my stomach with my ass in the air. I began trying to remove my skirt, but was stopped short by a sharp slap to my ass. “No, leave it on. You have no idea how sexy you look right now.” My back arched subconsciously from his words, and I began to tremble in anticipation.

I felt the bed shift as Chris climbed on, and I shuddered from the heat of his breath against my core as he spoke. “You want to talk shit about how you don’t think I can make girls scream, then you better stay fucking silent.” He gave me barely any time to register his words before his mouth connected to my core. Working his tongue relentlessly against my clit, I buried my face in his duvet to keep from making any noise. Using both hands to massage my ass as he continued to devour my cunt, he very quickly proved to me that he did in fact know how to eat pussy.

His mouth moved from my clit to my opening, and I couldn’t stop the guttural moan from passing my lips as his tongue began to plunge into me. Immediately, he stopped his movements and slapped my ass hard. “What did I say?” He asked, his gravelly voice filled with a sinister edge. “S-sorry.” I replied, pushing my core back in an attempt at reconnecting with his talented mouth. “That’s my good girl.” He replied before finally re-attaching his mouth to my hole. I bit down on my lip — so hard that it began to bleed — in order to keep myself from making another noise as I felt an orgasm approach. Chris continued using his tongue to fuck me as my legs began to shake and my brain grew fuzzy.

Like a tidal wave, my orgasm overtook my body and I began to convulse uncontrollably. I was somehow able to stifle my sounds of pleasure, even when Chris moaned into my pussy as I felt myself squirt all over his face. Without even giving me a moment to recover, Chris straightened his body up onto his knees, grabbed onto my hips, and plunged every substantial inch of his cock into me. At this, I couldn’t help but scream out in shock, and Chris promptly pulled out of me; leaving my dripping core feeling empty. “I told you to shut the fuck up. Do you want me to stop?” He tapped my pussy with his cock as he waited for me to respond. Scared to say anything, I simply shook my head. “Are you ready to admit that Bree was lying?” I turned my head so that I could see him behind me.

“Size doesn’t mean shit if you don’t know how to use it. So go ahead and prove yourself right.” At my words, Chris shook his head as his lips turned up in a smirk. Immediately, his dick slid back into me slowly, and I felt my hole stretch more and more as he bottomed out. He stayed still for a moment, before pulling his hips back so far that his tip was barely resting inside of me; and then slammed all of himself back into my cervix. He continued at this agonizingly slow and deep pace for a while, and used his words to taunt me the entire time.

“You’re such a good girl, taking all my cock like this.”

“I bet you feel so good right now baby.”

“Oh fuck, keep creaming all over this big dick.”

Suddenly, Chris pulled out of me and flipped me onto my back. Wasting no time, he hooked my legs around his neck and pushed his inches back into me. I stared at him, mouth open, as he watched my pussy swallow his cock with each quick thrust. Using one arm to support his weight, he placed his free hand on my stomach and pressed down. “You feel that?” He began, finding the spot where my stomach was bulging, “Feel how deep in your guts my cock can get?” My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I bit on my own arm to stifle the noises that were dying to escape it as I felt my second orgasm approaching.

Chris seemed to notice my impending climax, as he leaned forward to reach even deeper into me. “You want to cum, hmm?” He cooed, bringing a hand to my cheek. With my face contorted in the confusing combination of pleasure and frustration, I nodded my head. He moved my arm away from my mouth and planted a deep kiss there. “You can cum as hard as you want, just as soon as you tell me how good my cock makes you feel.” I whined silently, my overstimulated nerves causing my body to fill with a sudden desperation. “Come on, Y/n,” Chris brought his thumb down between our bodies and began rubbing my clit, “I want you to cum for me.”

I was panting now, feeling as though I might explode from the overwhelming pressure within my body. I was quickly realizing that I was losing this battle, and it was time to throw in the towel.

“Fuck Chris you’re so big.” I nearly screamed out, gripping onto his shoulders in a weak attempt at keeping my composure. “Feels so good, please let me cum.” I begged, and watched his face as his pupils dilated from my words. “That’s my girl. Now let go.” His hips continued pounding into me as I finally gave into my orgasm, and I lost all control of my mind as I spewed a plethora of moan-filled profanities into the room. My walls contracted uncontrollably around his girth as my orgasm tore through my body, and I felt my nails dig into the skin on his shoulders.

“Oh fuck Y/n, gonna cum too. Where do you want me?” His words came out shaky, and I didn’t hesitate before responding, “In me, please baby.” I begged, wanting to feel his warm seed spill into my worn out core. “Shiiit.” He hissed, his body slowing to a near-halt as he rode out his own orgasm. With slow, lazy thrusts, he pushed his cum deep into me as his cock twitched repeatedly.

Eventually, his movements stopped completely, and he slowly pulled out of me and walked towards his bathroom. When he returned, he came back with a towel and used it to help clean me up in silence while I caught my breath.

“I might be drunk,” He started, “But that was hot as fuck.” I laughed, holding my spinning head before sitting up. “We are never to speak of this again.” I said as I got to my feet to retrieve my underwear. “Sure sure…until the next time we do it right?” I rolled my eyes at his response and nudged his shoulder playfully. “Shut up. I need a shot, let’s go.” I headed for the door once he was fully clothed and together we began to climb the stairs. “How likely is it that everyone up here knows what we did?” I whispered to him as we neared the top. “Oh very likely, but who cares? It’s my birthday, so no judgments allowed.” He winked at me as we made it to the kitchen, where everyone’s eyes immediately landed on us.

“Oh god.” I muttered under my breath as I hurried over to Bree, who was smiling knowingly at me as she began pouring out two shots of tequila. “Please tell me one of these are mine.” I whispered to her, and she laughed. “It sure is. You have a good time down there?” She wiggled her eyebrows as she handed me a slice of lime. “If you really meant it when you said his dick was ‘nothing special’, then I’m gonna need the names and numbers of the guys you were ranking him against.” She tilted her head back and exploded into laughter before lifting her shot glass in the air and urging me to do the same. “You got it, babe. Just as soon as I get Matt to fall in love with me.” I laughed, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before raising my own glass. “Cheers!”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

[xbellaxcarolinax]

pls do virgin miguel o'hara w/ a huge cock and fucks both of u dumb 🥹

I hope this is what you meant, babe. Miguel might be ooc, idk, anyway, here ya go:

NSFW below the cut, minors DNI.

Nothing could have ever prepared you for this.

He's big—massive even. The head’s swollen, precome beading at the very tip. All that from a heavy makeout session.

You stared, almost fascinated, stunned into silence.

"...is it okay?" Miguel grunted, watching you carefully with nervous eyes. He was sitting rather uncomfortably at the edge of your bed, legs spread apart and briefs pooled around his ankles.

"Uhh…yeah," you sank to your knees in front of him, "just never seen one so...big." Miguel grew increasingly flustered at your words, even more so when you gripped him firmly in your hand, squeezing ever so slightly. His cock looked ridiculous in your small hands but that only fueled you to take up the challenge. You knew it'd hurt so good.

You bit your lip before devouring him, taking as much of him as you could. He choked, hand flying to grip your hair, and you were certain he’d take the lead and move you over his cock at the speed he desired, but he didn’t. His fingers were gentle, almost hesitant as he buried them within the strands.

It was your first time tasting him. You got lost in it, slobbering over the tip and down his shaft with the intention of taking him whole but he pushed you away, causing you to release him with a pop.

“Fuck, cariño,” Miguel panted, shaking his head, his dark hair damp with sweat, “I can’t—you can’t—it’s too much, I won’t last.”

You looked up at him with a teary gaze, wanting to make eye contact but he refused, content with turning his head to the side to look at the wall.

“Mig?” He ignored you, jaw clenched and nose flared as he fisted the sheets under him.

“Miguel,” you tried again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you stood. He ignored you still and you grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes, “what’s wrong?” You smoothed his hair away from his brow, hoping the action would soothe him. His eyes were lidded but he looked at you, brows arched.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You cooed.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He muttered, shutting his eyes as soon as the words left his lips.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, pressing your lips to his forehead in a chaste kiss, "you’re supposed to sit and enjoy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he sounded frustrated, his large hands falling to your hips, gripping you tightly, “I’ve…never done any of this before.” You paused, processing his words while stroking your thumbs over his high cheekbones. 

He’s never done this before? Had no one ever sucked his cock?

Did he mean…?

Oh. OH.

“You mean you’re a…?”

“Virgin. Yeah.” He finally said, dropping his into the plushness of your breasts. 

The last thing you assumed was that Miguel O’Hara was a virgin. The man was the very definition of confidence. You’ve seen how women acted around him. It never crossed your mind that he lacked any sexual encounters. But now it made sense. You’ve been dating Miguel for a few weeks and within those few weeks, you did nothing more than kiss like the world demanded it from you. That was fine; he was an excellent kisser.

Anytime it seemed like something more would come from the kissing, he’d stop, nipping it in the bud, saying he had work in the morning. He was a busy man and, well, that was that. You thought he never had much time for anything else.

But you understood now.

“Ahh Mig, nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said sweetly, brushing the tip of your nose with his, “we can stop if you want—”

“No!” He roared, bringing you down to his lap. You could feel his erection, hot and wet with your spit, pressing hard against your clothed core. You gasped, letting your hands fall to his shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, “Don’t wanna stop. Wanna feel you.”

“Yeah?” you breathed, eyes fluttering as he nibbled your skin, “a-are you sure? If you’re not ready then—”

“I’m ready,” He growled, pressing his brow against yours, “just thought you should know, cariño. Don’t want to disappoint you.”

You rode him for what felt like hours, his giant cock slamming into where you needed him the most. You ached from the stretch of him, your cunt swollen and raw, gushing all over his length. He was a moaning mess, biting every surface of you he could: your neck, your shoulders, your collarbones, your breasts. He was insatiable, cumming within minutes of your pussy swallowing his cock. Refractory period non-existent. He’d go again and again and again till he painted you completely with his spend and you were too fucked out to speak.

Nope. He didn’t disappoint. Not even a little.

#ask response #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #idk how i feel about this one but I hope you like it

[backwzzds]

Plug!Zoro x Black Reader. It’s literally 4 am right now and I cannot get him off my mind like just imagine him pulling up and his dark green hellcat for a late night drop but really he’s trying to give you more than just weed 😵‍💫

i never even thought of plug!zoro omg…cuz u onto sum!

like literally i can imagine zoro being that chilled n laid back typa plug. unlike eren or even connie, not a lot of people even know that he sells. he’s the type of plug that has like a set list of customers, and the only way you could cop from him is if one of his already-customers vouched for you to him.

it’s not that he’s scared of getting caught or anything, zoro can give less than a shit about that. but he just didn’t like having his business out there like that. in addition, he didn’t even mean to become a trustworthy ‘plug’ in the first place when his dumb ass accidentally ended up growing some fire ass weed one night. this is purely a hobby for him, one he just happens to make mad bread from!

you on the other hand would be on zoro’s client list through his close friend robin. you forgot how you even got close with him, but that’s how long you’ve known zoro. you could hit him up at any time at night and best believe that blacked out, tinted, emarald green scat pack would be parked outside your house within the half hour.

you couldn’t help but open the door for zoro before he even had the chance to walk in like he usually found himself doing. there was some sexual tension there, you both knew that. but you knew yourself well enough to know that if you gave yourself to zoro, you were never getting your soul back.

“hey mama.”

“man, bout time you got my shit.” the drug dealer gives you a lopsided grin before briefly smiling, flashing you the shiny gold of his canine grill piece. zoro holds up a back and smirks at you. this man would be so fine with the way he’d pat your ass the moment you turned around to let him inside the house.

with a little jump from his grip on you, you playfully roll your eyes at him before taking a seat on the couch. with a small joke, you tease, “31 minutes to get here, that mean my bud free?”

“tch,” the man gives you a quick suck of his teeth as he rests his gun on your coffee table before grabbing your rolling tray and pouring bud on it. “you always get this shit for free, don’t even play with me.” you giggle and throw your feet on his lap underneath the tray as you watch him roll up for the night. “we testing six tonight?”

“are you trying to kill me?” you gasp.

“nah, not when i can do something else,” zoro teased, not even looking in your eyes as he started to seal the first blunt with his saliva. but he doesn’t miss the way your brown cheeks flush a deep red and you look away from his pretty face. he chuckles at your nervousness around him. you were so cute.

six said blunts in, and you were both gone. here you were, perched nearly in zoro’s lap as you yapped his ear off.

“nah, cuz i see the way you be lookin’ at her,” you teased, recalling the memory of some mutual friend of yours, flirting with zoro.

“yeah, so?” zoro teased. “she’s annoying as shit. don’t want her.”

you gasp loudly before giggling. “zee! that’s so mean!”

zoro chuckled, “i didn’t say anything wrong. besides, i got someone else being a pain in my ass right now. i’m good with that,” his voice drops an ovtave as he shoves his face in the crook of your neck. your hand can’t help but fly to his green hair and run your fingers through it.

“damn, imma pain in your ass huh?”

“fine as fuck too,” zoro muttuers, kissing along your neck. “you gonna let me give you sum’n besides bud tonight?”

your breath falters as you feel zoro move his kisses as his hands traveled all over your body. his large hands find their way underneath your pajama shirt and they grip at the fat of your tit, possessively squeezing the flesh in his hand. “yeah? what?”

“could give you dick or head. your pick, mama.” between your legs nearly tingle at his reserved nickname for you. soon after, zoro’s kisses trail across your face as he’s pecking all over your lips. “‘m stayin’ the night either way though.”

you can’t help but test your influence over the plug by teasing him. “ion know, you me playing round. how i know you don’t just wanna fuck me and dip?”

zoro rolls his eyes and slowly shoves his hands down your pajama shorts, finding your already wet heat. with a lopsided smirk, he looks at you malevolently. “yeah, i think you’d like it if i stayed tonight too.”

“nah i don’t think my nigga’ll like that,” you tease, just pulling his leg. at the sight of his glock laid out against your coffee table, you add, “he got a gun you know. like to shoot people. like real scary shit.”

zoro can’t help but smile into your skin as he pulled you into him. “he sure do.”

“oooh, fuck!” you’re damn near struggling to breath as zoro has you split against his cock. “you’re reaching so deep, daddy.”

“yeah, daddy reaching deep in that little pussy baby?” zoro teased as he gave you long and deep strokes. “tell him how much you like that shit mama.”

“so much, daddy. like it so much,” you cried, holding the back of your knees up as far as you could. “gonna cum soon.”

“i know baby, i know,” zoro mutters as he thumbs circles against your puffy clit. “gonna show you that this pussy’s all mine. ‘s all mine right? no one else’s?”

you’re breathing hard as you watch the site of where you two connect. “all yours, zee.” a white ring soon forms against the brownish base of zoro’s cock, highlighting the mix of both your arousals.

eventually, you begin to feel overstimulation peak your adrenaline, so out of instinct, you can’t help but rest your small hands on zoro’s pelvis not exactly pushing him away, but instead trying to relieve the own pressure between your legs.

“man move your hand,” zoro kissed his teeth, but you were too fucked out to even listen.

“‘s too much!” you whined.

ignoring your pleas, zoro gravs both your legs and rests them on your shoulders, watching as the gold anklet he bought you dangle by his ears. “mama move your hand or imma move that shit for you, don’t play with me.”

immediately, you move your hand but let out a sharp cry when zoro grips your hips tight and begins to drill your shit with no mercy. “o-oh my go—“

“can’t help you now, pretty.” zoro gave you his million dollar smirk as he began to rub your nipples between his fingers. “fuck, ‘m almost there baby. gonna cum soon.”

“gonna cum soon daddy?” you whine, grabbing his hand. zoro uses his free own to wrap around your neck, lightly squeezing as he watched you effortlessly submit to him.

“mhm,” zoro hummed, feeling the familiar knot tie in his stomach. gosh, he loved fucking you in missionary like this. he loved looking in your eyes and watching all the love you had for him just flow right down to the juices of your waterpark pussy.

it was rare that a smoke session with him didn’t turn into this man fucking you an inch from pure insanity. zoro was crazy and he proved it each time he stroked his dick deep inside you and flooded you with all of him.

“damn girl, this pussy’s so fuckin’ good,” the drug dealer muttered to himself. “all fuckin’ kine. no one’s fuckin’ you like this but me, ya hear?”

you immediately nod your head, finally feeling yourself cum against him. “i’m coming zee! i’m coming i’m com—!” your screams are cut short as your legs shook around zoro’s shoulders

“might be a little selfish and might just put a baby in you,” zoro smirked down at you. “you’d want that pretty? want me to fill you up and make you a mama?”

“yes,” you whined, feeling your energy slowly drain as you continued to cream against him and the sheets. “please come in me, zoro!”

“sure you want it baby? gotta use your words mama.” zoro bites down on his lip as he tries to hold himself back from drilling into you like a madman.

“mhm, yes zee! cum in me please!”

the greenhead takes a deep breath as he feels his dick twitch inside your warm gummy walls. with the green light, he uses the last inch of stamina left in him to completely wreck you. “fucking hell, that’s it, mama. that’s it. just like that. milk me for all i fucking got—fuck!”

you’re left breathless as zoro fills you up and then some, his cum dripping out of your gaping hole and onto the sheets below you. with a collapse beside you, the plug pulls you into his chest and places chaste kisses all along your face.

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐ #plug!zoro #plug zoro #plug zoro x black reader #plug zoro x reader #plug zoro x chubby reader #roronoa zoro x black reader #zoro x black reader #roronoa zoro x chubby reader #zoro x chubby reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x black reader #one piece x black!reader #one piece x chubby reader #one piece zoro #zoro one piece #roronoa zoro smut #zoro smut

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

#peaches writes #dub con #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #Ghoap #soap x reader

[tasiawrites]

Aot men x black reader who is feeling a bit insecure

Cw: smut, mirror sex, recorded sex and whatever else y'all finna tell me

Connie

He found out when you were adding stuff to your cart but never asked for his card to buy them, when he asked you why you just off-handedly mentioned that you weren't pretty enough to pull it off. Incorrect.

Now you were sat on Connie's lap. His rough fingers played with your clit, while his dick rubbed against your sweet spot. “Look at the phone mama,” he whispered in your ear. You whined as you watched yourself cum on his dick. You watched as your tits bounced with each thrust. You tried to look away as the camera panned up to your face showing you what you looked like as you came all over Connie's dick. “Look mamas, look how pretty you are,” Connie said kissing your cheek as your pussy fluttered around him in both embarrassment and pure arousal. “Now put the next one on, we're not done.”

Eren

You had been at a party and overheard some people talking. Saying shit like Eren could do better than you. It hurt a little bit as you looked over to where a model-like girl was talking to him. You believed it for a second.

That didn't last long. Once you go home Eren realized something was wrong now he was fucking you an inch from insanity. “Ren I'm sorry slow down,” you whimpered pushing your hand against his hips in a futile effort to get him to stop, or slow down. It wasn't working, he kept fucking you like a man on a mission. He slapped your hand away. “Nah, this is what you get for listening to bitches shit talk,” he said angrily as he plowed through your pussy making your juices fly everywhere. “Gonna come ren… please,” you begged. He just leaned down and captured your lips in a sensual kiss as you came all over him. He slowed down with his forehead against yours. He looked at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. “you know I love you right?” You nodded in affirmation. Eren smiled, “Good, now turn around and catch this nut, ion wanna hear any of that shit again.” He said slapping your ass as an indication for you to put your face down and ass up.

Armin

You had taken too long to come and watch a movie with him. He found you standing in front of the mirror looking at yourself with a look in your eye he didn't like. At all.

Your thighs quivered as Armin stopped again. “C’mon princess, keep going or I'll stop again,” he whispered against your pussy. His blue eyes looking into your brown ones. You looked away in embarrassment as the sight of his face covered in a mess you made in this situation was a bit much. “I- I'm pretty,” your voice cracked into a moan as you felt him dive back in eating you out slow and sweet. “I'm smart,” you said again trying not to cover your face in embarrassment. Armin making you affirm yourself was embarrassing enough, but if you stopped or said anything he didn't think was good enough he would stop. “I'm p-perfect,” your thighs clenched around his head as he sucked on your clit gently. “Min, m gonna come,” you begged trying to both push him away and pull him closer. He just hummed as he looked up at you through your legs. You came with a loud moan. He pulled away and brought his face close to yours. “you're sexy,” he said, pressing a kiss on your lips. “Think you have one more for me princess?” He asked rubbing his tip against your folds.

Onyakapon

His girl? Insecure? No, not possible. 

“Onya, please,” you begged, closing your eyes. “none of that,” he growled in your ear. “You're gonna be a good girl and watch me fuck my pussy and watch yourself cum on your dick,” he pressed a kiss on your temple. “Fuck you talkin' bout you ain't fine,” he kissed his teeth in annoyance as he held your face forcing you to watch yourself bounce on his dick. You watched as your pussy creamed all over him messily. Your eyes followed it down his balls and watched it drip to the floor. He tapped your face making your eyes flutter back upward. You met your eyes in the mirror. You took in how utterly fucked you looked. There was drool slipping down the side of your face, your eyes were lidded and teary, even your hair was fucked up. You closed your eyes and tried to hide your face in Onyakapon's neck. That wasn't sliding and your eyes shot wide open as he lay a slap on your clit. “Eyes in the mirror baby, ion wanna see you do that again,” he tsked fucking you harder. “Onya, gonna cum,” you cried, your nails digging into his arm as he began to play with your clit while somehow bouncing you harder on his dick. Your thighs shook as you came, squirting all over the mirror. “That's it cum for me pretty girl,” he kissed your cheek, licking off the tears that escaped your eyes.

#aot x black reader #onyakapon x black reader #armin x black reader #eren x black reader #connie x black reader #black reader smut #aot smut

[scuderiahoney]

All You Got

Charles Leclerc x teammate!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You hate Charles Leclerc. The feeling is mutual. He’s made that clear from the very beginning. enemies to lovers anon I hope you’re still here and I hope I got this right!

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild swearing, mild car crash (everyone is fine), panic attacks, comments about sexual activities (but no actual sex/smut)

Everyone in the entire world seems to love Charles Leclerc. Honestly, you can’t blame them. Objectively, you get it. He’s the total package- good looks, kind, generous, rich. They fall at his his feet, and they worship the ground he walks on.

Everyone except for you.

To you, everything he does rubs you the wrong way. Charles Leclerc annoys you to no end. You can’t even pinpoint what it is, just- you can’t stand him. Which is becoming a problem, seeing as he’s your teammate, so you have to deal with him constantly.

Charles was a constant thorn in your side when you were just competing against each other from separate garages. Now he’s your paddock next door neighbor, your supposed collaborator, and the only person who you can truly be compared to. Equal machinery and all that. The truth is, he’s good at what he does, which only makes it so much worse.

You’re having a good season, a great one, even. You’re not a rookie, but it’s your first year with Ferrari, your first year with a car that isn’t a tractor. It’s just that you’re constantly being compared to and overshadowed by him. It’s awful and exhausting and you sit in the briefing before the race glaring daggers at the side of his head.

He’d slowed you down in Q3. You were on a flying lap and he got in the way, left you starting in 9th when you were on track for your best qualifying yet. He’d said it was an accident, and everyone else believed him. Including your own race engineer. You think maybe if you stare hard enough you could actually light all the product in his hair on fire. Then he has the audacity to come up to you after the meeting, to lay his hand on your upper arm softly. You wrench yourself out of his grip, turn to him with a snarl. He must take it as surprise rather than what it really is, because he has a soft smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, again, about quali,” he says, and you spot a camera over his shoulder and fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, yes?”

“Crash out at the start,” you tell him, raising one brow. There’s a smile on your face and venom in your words. “And take Max out with you.”

“Anything but that,” he says.

He winks before he breezes past you, and if there hadn’t been so many people around, you think you may have actually slapped him this time.

…..

You collapse into a chair in a swanky restaurant that night, resting your chin on closed fists, elbows on the table. Lily, jumps when you do. Alex is sitting across from you, doing a bad job of hiding a laugh behind his hand.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you tell them, knuckles digging into your cheeks. “I’m going to pass all the cars between us tomorrow and ram him into the wall.”

“No, you’re not,” George says as he sits down, Carmen following behind. “Because when you do pass all those cars tomorrow, you’re going to want to stay in the race.”

“I was going to qualify second,” you groan. “I was, seriously-“

“I know,” George says, patting your shoulder. The waiter has appeared at the end of the table.

Alex points at you. “She’ll have a shot of tequila, please.”

“She has to drive tomorrow morning,” Lily reminds him.

“And we have to sit through dinner tonight,” George says.

You slap his shoulder, glaring daggers at him, now.

“Did he apologize?” Lily asks.

“Of course!” You snap. “Because he’s fucking Charles Leclerc, and-“

Before you can launch into one of your tirades, Lily waves her hand. “Forget I asked. Never mind. This subject is banned until the weekend is over- we’re all here, this is supposed to be a nice dinner.”

You sigh and slump into your chair. “Okay, mom.”

Once the conversation starts, though, and you have your shot of tequila, you forget about Charles. You’re here to spend time with your friends, not worry about your teammate. It’s the first time in a while that both of their girlfriends have been able to make it to the same race. You’ve been looking forward to it all week, and you refuse to let Charles sour it. Besides, they’ve all heard it before, they don’t need to hear you complain again.

The next day, when you take 5th and Charles takes first, you don’t let him see you cry. You sneak out of the celebrations as early as you possibly can and head back to the hotel.It’s just so frustrating. You’re trying so hard, giving it your all, and it’ll never be enough. You want the podiums, the trophies, the champagne spraying in your face. You want it all, everything Charles has. He takes it for granted.

When you open your hotel room door, there’s a giant bouquet of flowers on the dresser. For a moment, you think maybe it’s from your family, or maybe George and Alex, a sympathy present for a race that held so much potential. You slip your finger under the flap of the envelope and pull the card out of the white flowers.

Sorry about Quali,

CL

You throw the flowers and the note in the trash and cry yourself to sleep.

…..

Lily tried to convince you that the flowers were actually supposed to be an apology, but you’d refused to see it as anything other than what it was- a way to get in your head. So at the next race, you leave it all on the track. You manage to qualify 4th- not the best you’ve ever done, but you feel pretty good about it. You feel even better that Charles is starting in 7th. He’ll be stuck in the midfield, in the dirty air, while you fight with the big dogs. You’re on cloud nine, floating around the garage, thanking your crew and your engineers and offering drinks on you if you get a podium on Sunday. It wouldn’t be your first, but it would be your first in a while, and it would really crush Charles, you just know it.

“Congrats,” he says, standing next to you in the media pen.

You think he waits to talk to you until there’s cameras around. It makes him look good, being nice to his teammate. You can play the PR game too. You plaster on a bright smile. Behind Charles, Alex raises his brows at you. You tone down the smile and he gives you a thumbs up.

“Thanks,” you say, shrugging slightly. “Sorry about seventh.”

He shrugs. “Could be worse.”

You head into the lion’s den just after that, hit with a barrage of questions about every aspect of the weekend. How does it feel to be starting fourth? Good. Do you feel good about your chances tomorrow? Yes. How’s the car feel? Good. Are you hoping for a podium? Always. What did you give Charles to convince him to let you qualify higher than him this weekend? What?

The reporter who asked it is sneering at you. Your media handler balks at the question, fumbles to grab your arm. She’s afraid you’re going to snap, but to be honest, you’re too dumbfounded to find the words. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a response anyways.

“She didn’t give me anything,” Charles says, grabbing the microphone from your hand, and now you’re seeing red for a different reason. “She didn’t need to. She did it all on her own.”

Which is true, and nice of him to say. Objectively. But he’s not saying it because it’s true, or because he wants to be nice. You can already picture his devoted fans, clipping the video and making TikTok edits that make him look like a saint. He is, in their eyes. In everyone’s eyes.

You leave the microphone with him and stalk back to your driver room.

You run into Charles in the hallway later, when you’re slinking your way to catering to try and find something good to eat. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, broad shoulders taking up all the space. You try to slip around him, but he moves with you.

You look up at him, raising your brows and throwing your hands up. “What, Leclerc?”

He raises his brows, too. “Just wanted to say sorry. For what he said. It’s not true, you know.”

“Yes, Charles, I know I didn’t… blow you or whatever to get you to let me qualify better,” you say, and he rears his head back. “Can you move?”

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Look, I just wanted to say-“

“I think you’ve said enough,” you snap. “You said it all, live on camera. The whole world heard it.”

“I was just trying to stand up for you.”

“I can stand up for myself,” you say, throat feeling tight. “I’ve been doing it my whole career. No need to step in now. And honestly, we both know you get off on being the savior, so cut the shit.”

You finally find a gap and slip around him. You walk out of the garage and all the way down to Williams. Nobody stops you when you head to Alex’s room- he’s there, and George is too.

“We were wondering when you’d show up,” George says, as Alex holds his arms out wide. “Fucking bullshit, the whole lot of it.”

You nod and collapse into Alex’s chest. Neither of them comment on your tears.

“At least Charles stood up for you,” George says brightly.

“Fuck off,” you say, and Alex slaps his shoulder for you.

…..

They call a red flag three laps in, and your team calls you into the pits before you can even figure out what’s going on. You’re in third, having moved past Lewis in the opening chaos. Your heart sinks, knowing that when the race restarts you’ll have lost the lead you’d built up. You search the big screens as you pull into the pit lane, trying to figure out what’s happened, and then your heart sinks even more.

It’s a Mercedes, crumpled against the barriers. They only show it for a second, and you can’t hear any of what the commentators are saying. You hadn’t caught the number or the helmet, and- it’s either Lewis or George.

As much as you like Lewis, you’ve been friends with George since you were little. He and Alex had taken you under their wings, accepted you when a lot of the others wouldn’t. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as they help you climb out of your car.

You flip your visor up and look to the nearest mechanic. “Who is it?”

He stares, blankly, and you already know.

“Who is it?” You ask, louder, looking around the room frantically.

“S’George,” someone finally answers.

“Is he-“

“We don’t know yet,” someone says, gently. “Just-“

The panic claws at your chest. You haven’t felt like this a long time, not since Lily called you from the hospital when Alex had appendicitis. You can’t breathe, can’t see, can feel your fingers.

There’s a ripple of noise, applause from the crowd. You look at the TV, see George, standing strong and holding up a thumbs up. It should be a relief, but the panic doesn’t fade. Suddenly someone’s hands are on your shoulders, guiding you into the hallway. Fingers brush against your jaw, unbuckling your helmet and wiggling it off your head. You gasp for air, and strong hands hold you steady.

“Breathe, breathe, it’s okay, he’s okay,” Charles says.

You should be shocked it’s him, but right now all you can feel is panic. You grab onto his wrists, looking for an anchor in the storm. He doesn’t let go, just holds onto you, squeezes your shoulders until you start breathing slower and slower. He only drops his grip when you drop yours. You wipe tears and snot and sweat from your face and sigh.

Suddenly it hits you- it’s Charles, holding onto you, witnessing your panic attack. You take a couple steps back.

“It’s okay,” he says again, reaching out. You brush him away. “Hey, how about we go sit, yes? Have some water?”

“I’m fine,” you sniffle.

“You’re not.”

“Why do you care?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes again.

“Because you’re my teammate,” he says. “Because your friend crashed and you are upset.”

You roll your eyes. Charles has the audacity to look confused. Like he doesn’t know.

“You don’t have to act like you like me, Charles. There aren’t any cameras around,” you snap.

Charles blinks once, then again. “What?”

“You can drop the act,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. “I already know you hate me, you don’t have to pretend. You can go.”

Charles looks utterly and completely perplexed. For a moment, you falter. He hates you. Why does he seem so confused? It’s not that difficult to understand. Why had he even come back here with you in the first place? He could’ve let one of your crew members help you, or left you to deal with it alone. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice soft. “Why would you think I hate you?”

“You’ve hated me since I got here,” you remind him. “Actually, since before I even signed the fucking contract.”

“What are you talking about?”

You stare at him, wide eyed. Is it possible he doesn’t even remember? Maybe he hates you that much.

“When I came to the factory for contract negotiations,” you start, “you made it very clear I was the last possible person you wanted as your teammate.”

You’d been leaving the factory. He’d stopped you in the hall. Sounds like you might be my new teammate, he’d said. Hopefully, if it all goes well, you’d replied. Any advice?

He’d looked around, checked to see that nobody was there. Then, voice low and serious, arms crossed, he’d said, this is the last place you belong. If you know what’s best for you, you will not sign that contract.

You’d left that day heartbroken and with a vendetta against him.

Charles’ eyes go wide when you repeat his words back to you. “I did not say that.”

“I think I’d remember,” you tell him, trying again to shove past him.

“No, no, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, insistent, grabbing onto your arm gently. “I- that was before they hired Fred, yes?”

“Yes?” You answer, furrowing your brows at him.

“And before they changed the staff, before they-“ he sighs. “I had a shit year. I was worried the next was going to be the same. I was trying to warn you.”

Now it’s your turn to blink once, then again. “No, you…”

“I swear,” he says. “On my life, I swear.”

He draws a tiny cross with his finger, right over his heart. You take a step back and drag a hand down your face. Your head is spinning, tilted on an insane axis.

“You thought I hated you, all this time?” He says, brows furrowed. “I sent you flowers, after the quali thing-“

“I thought you were playing mind games!” You cry out.

He’s reaching for your arm again. This time you let him. His fingers dig into your skin pleasantly- not enough to feel bad, just enough to know he’s there. It’s like the fight has suddenly left your body. He doesn’t hate you. He sent you flowers because he really was sorry.

And you threw them in the trash.

“So when I stood up for you with that reporter, you thought…” he trails off, then laughs. “What, you thought I was- this is why you reacted so badly. This explains so much.”

“Yes!” You say, nodding. “Why are you so fucking ominous with your warnings? Why were you so cryptic?”

“English is not my first language and I had to be careful about how I said it, there could have been people listening!” He says, laughing again. “You didn’t listen, anyways.”

“No, because then I wanted to prove to you that I could handle myself, that I deserved the seat!”

“Of course you deserved the seat,” he says, wide eyed. “That was never a question.”

The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Then you double over in laughter, tears streaming down your face for a different reason. Charles joins you, his laughter mixing with yours for the first time ever. The noise of it sends a jolt through your heart.

He doesn’t hate you. How crazy is that?

…..

When you run into Alex in the paddock later, he’s staring like you’ve grown a second head. Actually, with the intensity of his stare, you think you may have grown two extra heads. Maybe even a third eye. He comes to a stop in front of you, and you cock your head at him.

“Hey, Al,” you greet him. “Have you seen Georgie? He’s not at Merc.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s at the stewards, doing a debrief,” Alex says. “He said he’d meet us at the driver briefing.”

“Oh, cool,” you say. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Alex says, eyes flickering across your face.

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Charles says from his spot next to you.

His arm is slung around your shoulders, his race suit tied around his waist, just like yours. You take it in from Alex’s viewpoint- the proximity, the fact that you’re even letting him touch you, and the look on his face makes sense.

“Hey, did you know Charles doesn’t actually hate me?” You ask Alex, and next to you, your teammate laughs.

“I told you that a million times,” Alex deadpans.

“Huh. Weird.” You shrug. “We should go, the briefing starts in five minutes.”

Alex trails behind the two of you, quiet the whole way there. Charles peels off when you arrive and stops to say hi to Max. George is already sitting down in a chair near the front. You sit down next to him, eyes tracing over him like you’re looking for injuries. Alex sits on his other side.

“I’m fine,” George says, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“Excuse me if I’m worried,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

Alex opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, someone sits down next to you and elbows you lightly. It’s Charles, a cold water bottle in hand, extended towards you. You take it eagerly. His knee nudges against yours, and you nudge him back. You thank him, opening the water bottle and taking a drink.

“Mate, I think I hit my head harder than I realized,” George whispers to Alex.

“Nope, you’re seeing correctly,” Alex says, holding his hands up when George turns towards him. “I don’t know either!”

…..

It turns out that when you’re not busy thinking Charles hates you, and hating him back, he’s actually pretty fun to be around. The two of you have nearly everyone else bewildered for the next few races, because you’re suddenly attached at the hip. You’ve always been civil in public, but this is a different story.

In briefings, Charles saves you a seat, and Alex and George have to fight over who gets to sit next to you. You eat lunches and dinners together in the paddock, out in the open at a patio table. Charles brings you coffee in the mornings, and you bring him pastries. During breaks, the two of you can often be found hunched over your phone, watching YouTube videos together. You have a surprising amount in common. You wonder how you never saw it before.

Charles even takes you with him to play padel one morning, brings you a half hour early to try and show you how. When George and Alex show up to play against you, they stare at you in confusion for a solid thirty seconds.

“You don’t understand,” Alex says over lunch with you and Lily later that day. “He had his hand on her waist.”

Lily is the only one who hadn’t been surprised. She shrugs.

“He was correcting my posture,” you say. “Alex is just mad that I beat him.”

“Charles beat me, you were just on his team,” Alex corrects. He’s not exactly wrong. “Come on, like, two months ago she hated his guts. Tell me this isn’t crazy, Lil. I think we need an intervention.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about the intervention in front of the intervention-ee,” you say, stirring your pasta. “Intervention-ette?”

“She’s fine,” Lily says, smiling at you. “She’s just finding out that hate and love are a lot more similar than you’d think.”

You drop your fork, wincing when it clatters. “I don’t love him.”

Lily cocks her head at you. You freeze. Alex is looking back and forth between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You can feel your face growing hot.

“I don’t,” you repeat. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

Lily blinks, feigns surprise. “I never said anything about romantic love.”

You swallow. “Yeah, but that’s what you meant-“

“That’s what you assumed I meant,” she says, and you blink.

There are butterflies in your stomach- where did those come from? You definitely don’t love Charles. Like Alex said- two months ago, you hated him. Well, you hated that he hated you. You hated the way you thought he was treating you. But now, in a different light, his actions seem a bit endearing. You’re just swept up in the new friendship, that’s all. Lily’s reading too far into it.

You tell her as much, and she drops the subject. Alex seems happy to move on, a bit unprepared to handle the whole conversation. But Lily watches you, and you can’t help but feel like maybe she knows something you don’t.

…..

It sticks in your head, is the thing. Hate and love are a lot more similar than you think. And to be honest, it sort of makes sense. Both very strong emotions, both making your chest feel tight and your cheeks feel hot. You’re not in love with Charles, though. You can’t be. He’s just- a friend. He’s a friend, and it’s new, and of course you’re going to spend time together. You’re getting to know each other! This is normal, this is teammate bonding like you were supposed to do when you joined the team.

It’s not weird that Charles introduces you to his family when they come to one of the races. It’s not weird that you’re inviting him out for drinks when you go out with George and Alex after a race. It’s not weird that you start actually playing padel and asking him to help you practice- it’s fun, and he’s good at it, that’s all.

Then you’re out at a club in Monaco one night, surrounded by other drivers. You go to leave, Lily tugging on your hand. The two of you are having a sleepover without Alex. You’re saying your goodbyes, waving and smiling and-

Charles grabs onto you, hauls you into a hug. He’s a little tipsy, you think, but not drunk. You laugh and lean into the hug, wrap your arms around him, breathe in the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. Then he pulls away, puts his hands on your shoulders, and kisses both of your cheeks.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. Lily has to drag you away as you giggle before you make a fool of yourself. Charles waves and smiles brightly when you turn around. You burst out onto the sidewalk and cover your face in your hands. Really, it means nothing. It’s just his way of greeting people or saying goodbye, it’s a thing he does. But your chest feels warm and your head is swimming, and it’s not the alcohol.

“Oh, shit,” you say to Lily, who’s smiling at you.

“Love and hate,” she reminds you.

…..

You swear Lily to secrecy, and though she loves Alex, she would never sell you out, thank god. You’re determined to act like everything is normal. You can’t be in love with your teammate. That would be crazy. It would be awful. It would be everything that everyone has ever said about female drivers, all confirmed. You’d get torn apart on the internet.

It’s not easy, though, because it’s Charles. Because he’s sweet and kind and handsome, and he cares about you. He doesn’t hate you. He wants to spend time with you, all the time. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you think they’ve got it backwards. Maybe there’s a second part- presence makes the heart go crazy.

When you qualify in pole position for the first time in your F1 career, you have a panic attack. It’s a massive one, one that has your legs giving out and leaves you hyperventilating. It’s bad enough that Charles almost goes and gets George or Alex, but you beg him to stay with you, so he does. Eventually, he just wraps you up tightly in his arms and holds you there until you can breathe again.

“I’m not going to be able to do it,” you sniffle, as he runs his hand over your hair and rocks you from side to side. “I’m gonna crash on the first turn and then everyone is gonna be right, and I’ll lose my seat, and then-“

“No, amour, that is not going to happen,” Charles soothes, chest rumbling against you. “It is not. You are going to do just fine.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I can’t win, what if I don’t do it-“

“Then you will try again next time,” he says, so sure of it, like he can see the future. “You are starting on pole tomorrow. It’s scary, I know. But it’s just another race. You just… go out and give it your all. The same way you do every weekend.”

“You’ll keep them away from me?” You ask. Charles is starting third.

“No,” he scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his lips. For just a moment, your heart breaks. Then, he says, “I will not need to. You will be so far ahead you’ll forget anyone else is even there.”

You laugh, press your teary face into his chest. “Shut up.”

…..

You check your rear views before the race starts, something comforting running through your veins when you see Charles behind you. You can’t see his face, can barely see his helmet, but you see the red. Then the lights go out, and he disappears in a blur. Give it all you got, you hear, unsure if it’s your race engineer or you or a voice in your head. You hold your breath for the first few turns, maybe for the whole first lap. And then your race engineer is talking about gaps and clean air and tire management, and you’re looking ahead, trying to see what car you need to try and pass next, trying to tell if you’re in DRS range, and then-

There’s nobody in front of you. Clean air. You’re in first. You’re leading the Grand Prix.

When you come careening over the line at the end of the race, when you see the checkered flag first, when you spot your crew on the pit wall, you swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Your race engineer is yelling in excitement. You think you’re yelling too, but you have no idea what you’re saying. It doesn’t matter.

You pull the car into the first place slot and climb out. You have to wrack your brain to remember what you’re supposed to do- it’s been so long since you’ve won a race, back when you were still in F2. Hug the team, get weighed, shake hands, grab the hat- Someone grabs your arm. You spin around and come face to face with Ferrari red. Charles.

He pulls you into a tight hug. Your helmets knock together. He’s saying something, over and over again.

“-told you, I told you, I knew you would do it,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.”

Charles takes your helmet and balaclava for you when you finally get them off. He takes his off too, and his face is red, dimples deep as he grins at you. He’s finished 7th, he tells you. Got passed in the first lap and never recovered.

“-told you you didn’t need me defending,” he says, and you’re laughing, shoving his shoulder. “You did so fucking good-“

The butterflies are going crazy in your stomach. You want to kiss him. The helmet has left a little indent on his cheek- you want to run your finger over it. But there are so many cameras and people watching, and suddenly you’re being pulled away from him, sent to the cool down room. Then it’s shaking hands with Max and Lewis again, watching the race highlights, basking in the excitement of it all. There’s the podium, the champagne, the trophy that you don’t let go of until you get back to the Ferrari garage. The giant group photo with the trophy, more champagne dumped over your head, Charles lost in the sea of red somewhere. It’s all such a blur.

You finally stumble back to your driver’s room, in a rush to change out of your race kit and grab your stuff. Someone has rented out a bar- they apparently did it when you qualified on pole, and didn’t tell you for fear of jinxing it. You text George and Alex, tell them where to meet you. With your stuff in hand, in a pair of sweatpants and a Ferrari sweatshirt, you finally stop and look in the mirror.

F1 Grand Prix winner.

There’s a knock on the door. You open it and find Charles standing there, in a very similar outfit. The line on his face has faded, but his hair is still a mess. You step back from the door and give him room to step inside. He’s staring at you, a soft look on his face. You’re holding your breath again. It’s the first lap. You just have to make it through the turns, get out ahead into clean air. His lips are parted, eyes wide and sparkling.

His hands are shaky when they cup your face. Yours are even shakier when you fist your hands in his sweatshirt. But the kiss he pulls you into is steady and sure and true. You melt into him, shoving your hands under his sweatshirt as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist. You reach up, thread your fingers through his hair, let his tongue slip into your mouth.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild.

“We have to go,” he says, squeezing your hip. “You have a party to be at. Also, you are so pretty.”

You can remember the way he looked at you at the start of the season. How you thought the fire in his eyes was going to burn you alive. You’d stoked your own fire to burn him up first. Now you’re blazing, and you never want the fire to go out.

“I can’t believe I thought you hated me,” you say, muffling a laugh into his chest. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

“Of course,” he says. He cups your face in his hands again and presses another kiss to your lips. “And tomorrow, you are coming on a date with me, right?”

You laugh, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Of course.”

“Perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead and then letting you go. “Come on, winner. You have so many people waiting to buy you drinks.”

…..

When you walk into the bar hand in hand with Charles, Lily slams her hand down on the table.

“Pay up, boys,” she says, a wide grin on her face.

“Never in a million years did I see that coming,” George says.

“I’m never betting against Lily ever again,” Alex adds.

Max leans down over the table, holding his hand out, too. George and Alex groan and start pulling cash from their wallets.

“Hate and love,” Max says, a smirk on his face. “Very thin line, huh?”

woo! enemies to lovers, classic trope in the bag! come say hi and let me know what you think. send me a dm or drop me an ask to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc oneshot #charles leclerc #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fic #Charles Leclerc angst #enemies to lovers #cl16 #honeywrites #Charles Leclerc

[restlessreveries]

Haven’t logged on to Guild Wars 2 for about a week now (aside from weekly raid squad) and tbh I feel absolutely fantastic.

That burnout got very fucking real.

#I thought I was fine just doing a short list of dailies #Turns out I started hating it at some point #I blame daily Dragonstorm in particular #They need to put memories of aurene in more things cause doing DS regularly just #I WANTED TO SCREAM #STFU BRAHAM #RYLAND YOU GO SIT IN THE CORNER #I'M SO DONE WITH BOTH OF YOU #So done with jokes about Jormag and Primordus dying from kissing #And who the fuck wrote Aurene's lines at the end there that just sounds wrong no matter what #And no I don't give a flying fuck about it being Halloween #Halloween in GW2 sucks #Everything is priced like they expect people to no life labyrinth for three weeks #I'm so Tired of it #gw2

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

[planete777]

ONE TOO MANY・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. when one more orgasm is one too many (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, p in v sex, high hotness (although not as pertinent, could really be read as sober sex tbh), unintentional overstimulation, a bit of crying, lando is a sweetheart

NOTE. pretty short, would probably be more of a drabble. nothing much to say other than this is not my best work but enjoy! credits to @benkeibear for the dividers.

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc for lando 🤍

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia (use askbox above if you'd like to be added!)

y/n feels lando everywhere, in places where she cannot ever fathom the tingles of pleasure reaching, and it succumbs her mind to a state of tattered mesh. the margin between euphoria and pain chips away in grand chunks, red swiftly dissolving in green and all ability to think dwindles.

usually, she's one to favour a bit of overstimulation, hence why lando currently slams his hips into hers, cock jabbing her cervix incessantly just succeeding 2 consecutive orgasms. yet, partnered with the fact that she's high out of her mind (leading to heavily amplified sensations) and how she already had her own fun before lando came home (and, by proxy, got high and excessively horny) meant that her body was on the verge of crying out in it all just exceeding the usual threshold.

she can feel her body shaking, head nudging the headboard with every thrust lando bestows, and it's like she's bouncing on hot lava: seconds of pure relief, startled by white heat.

there's barely any transition between the build up and her orgasm, the wave of aching pleasure crashing upon her in the blink of an eye, and her back arches completely off the bed.

"fuck fuck fuckkk-"

"yeah, that's it, baby," lando groans as he continues to snap his hips into her ass, "you're doing so well for me."

he's not stopping, and y/n can't blame him because it's quintessential that they go for longer. then lando's pace quickens and his dick seems to fly in and out of her that she can't answer what he asks.

"you can give me another, can't you?"

she wants to shake her head, but she's completely unmoving. her moans turn into silent, drunken puffs, eyes fused tightly shut as she digs her nails into the flesh of lando's muscular back. paradoxically, everything feels like nothing at all, and simultaneously, too much and her mouth flies open desperately in sobs and words as hands push into lando's sides to get him off.

"red! fuck— red, lando!"

it's with neck snapping velocity that he sheaths out of her, broken out of his high daze so rapidly that he feels disoriented. their safeword has never been used before, and now that it has, he feels like crying.

"shit, baby, i'm sorry," he presses kisses into her chest and face, concern multiplying when her sobs don't stop, "are you okay? what's wrong?"

"just too much today, sorry," she shifts to straighten out her leg but it jostles her throbbing cunt, making her wince. lando's frown deepens; it's not usually this painful for her.

"nothing to be sorry for, love," another peck is stuck on her lips, "let me get you a towel."

her throat clogs up, too enervated and satiated to reply, so she hums affirmatively instead. the bed dips and, with hooded eyes, she watches as he makes his way to the en suite, hears a few seconds of shuffling before the creak of tap and gushing water.

lando resurfaces seconds later, gently opening her legs before wiping her down. every touch heightens tenfold, and she pushes his hands away after a couple of swatches.

lando's eyebrows stay furrowed, "y/n, you should've stopped me earlier-"

"it's fine, lan'," she stretches an arm to pull him in, "just wanna cuddle now."

he follows, tucking her body into his front as he kissed the side of her neck.

"i'll run you a bath after," lando weaves his fingers through hers, "sound good?"

finally, in a state of bliss, y/n softly smiles, pulling their braided hands up to land a peck onto lando's skin.

"yeah, love, sounds perfect."

#‧₊˚✩彡 planete.thinks: high!lando #lando norris fic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x y/n #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1