#(glad your back moron

[makshu]

New JSHK art ✨️

This is the art of chapter 116

(I swear I thought it was Tsukasa-)

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington, who has a very “in name only” relationship with his parents, the people who claim they love him lots but have simply given him cash for his last six birthdays without bothering to send a card. 

Steven Harrington, who lost his connection to the only adults in his life who actually parented him when he had his final fight with Tommy and Carol-- not that they ever really did that much. Having an adult put a bandaid on his knee and complimenting him for being tough was plenty enough. 

Steve Harrington, who drove Dustin and co. to the Byers house that one Christmas and was told by Hopper not to come in; that Joyce was still mad at him about the ‘demodog in the fridge’ and figured his exclusion was fair--it wasn’t like Hopper actually liked him. Joyce certainly had no reason to. It wasn’t like he was doing anything for Christmas anyways. 

Steve Harrington, who is fairly certain Robin’s parents have clocked her as queer but who still treats him in that careful way many parents do when he’s hanging around their daughter. There’s a barrier there, in the way of firm handshakes and “get her back safe”’s that keep things formal. (It’s never bothered him before, and he swears it doesn’t bother him now.) 

Steve Harrington, whose relationships with adults are defined by words like “networking”, “proper connections”, “favors”, and “finances”, who has at best been treated like a miniature version of his father and at worst as a spoilt moron, who encounters Wayne Munson and has no idea what to do with the man. 

Wayne Munson, who asks him actual questions about his life. Who asks him to watch the game with him. Who calls him “boy” and “son” in ways that sound affectionate and not frustrated. Wayne, who shoos him away from the dishes and compliments his cooking, who has invited Steve over when Eddie isn’t even home.

Steve Harrington, who keeps apologizing to Eddie because “I’m not trying to steal your Uncle man, I promise.” and doesn’t believe Eddie when the latter just laughs at him.

(“You can’t steal Wayne, Steve.” Eddie says with a snicker, when he finally figures out what Steve is apologizing for.  The guy apologizes a lot for things that make no sense, it’s a bad habit Eddie’s working on him with. “Though I do believe he has been trying to steal you.” 

“Oh.” This does not relieve Steve. In fact, this seems to make him more nervous looking, which Eddie does not want. 

“I uh. I don’t want to come between you guys so I guess we can just hang at my house…?” The voice he trails off with is downright painful for Eddie to hear, and he’s already slashing his hand in the air in a wild ‘No’ before Steve can even finish speaking.

“Dude you’re fine. I’m glad you guys are getting along! Wayne needs someone to talk sportsball with and clearly so do you because you keep trying to talk about it to anyone who will listen.”

“I guess if you’re alright with it…”) 

Steve Harrington, who allows himself to be adopted by the Munsons much in the way a feral cat lets itself become domesticated, and who starts looking at Wayne like the man hung the moon. 

Wayne Munson, who is referred to by Steve as “Dad” exactly once, and feels so fucking happy about it he misses the panic attack Eddie has to talk Steve through. 

He also misses that that is the moment when Steve accidentally confesses his feelings to Eddie in the Munson’s (new) cramped bathroom, on grounds that “I can’t date you and also call Wayne dad like that, that’s weird! Isn’t that weird!? It feels weird!” 

(“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, trying not to smile and failing entirely. “I get what you’re saying, but I think in your panic you missed something kinda key, there.”) 

Steve Harrington, who gets himself an entire family in the end (and gets to both call Wayne “dad” and Eddie as his boyfriend, without issue, because “we’re not related babe, you can call your inlaw whatever you want.” 

“Now who's skipping steps? When did we get married?”

“The very second it’s legal, that’s when.”) 

--and has never been happier in his life.

[katsu2ji]

fool for you — m. fushiguro

a/n: i love writing megumi as a cheesy lovesick idiot fool because he IS a cheesy lovesick idiot fool. an oblivious one, at that.

megumi didn't even intend to make a joke. he was being completely serious, talking in that deadpan, monotone voice that everyone around him was all too familiar with. he was talking about gojo, of course—he'd done something stupid, yet again.

despite his intentions (or rather, lack thereof), you thought what he said was funny. he was surprised when he heard you laugh; it was a sound that made him turn his head to the source of the noise, his face a mixture of flustered and confused.

"what? what did i do?" he asked, his eyes wide. he looked over your facial features, committing them all to memory without him even consciously thinking about it. christ, you looked—

"no, it's nothing," you answered, smiling at the boy. "it's just the way you said that just now was funny. sorry, i hope you didn't think i was laughing at you."

he was silent for a few seconds before realizing you had spoken; he blinked, coming back to himself.

god, what was going on with him? he was fine two seconds ago, but now he couldn't even look you in the eye. his stomach was doing some odd thing; he felt like he was simultaneously going to throw up and some, strange, other feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"oh—no, i didn't think you were laughing at me. i just..." he paused, looking for his train of thought, "i didn't think what i said was very funny but, um—"

he mentally cursed himself, feeling like an idiot. why the hell couldn't he speak? why couldn't he look at you?

this had been happening a lot recently—the stuttering over his words, being unable to make eye contact with you at certain moments—and with the way it's making him act, he wasn't sure if this an avenue he wanted to keep going down.

he took a breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. he ignored it as he finished his sentence, "i'm glad i was able to make you laugh, i guess?"

jesus, he probably looked like an moron.

later, as he closed his eyes for bed, he couldn't stop thinking about that exchange. never in his life had he felt like he'd made such a complete and utter fool of himself, but he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. and that bothered him even more.

he replayed your laugh in his head over and over, the sound turning over in his mind like a lullaby in a music box. he wasn't sure why the thought of you laughing, the look on your face as you did so, struck him as much as it did.

and that wasn't the first time that had happened when it came to you, either, he reminded himself; there had been other moments when you'd done something that stirred up mysterious feelings inside him, like that one time you grabbed his hand to pull him along somewhere, or when you had slumped over on the train and fallen asleep on his shoulder. his mind was spinning now, keeping him from sleep.

what was it about you? everytime you'd done something or said something that he had found particularly...endearing...he felt the same feelings that he felt today: the warming of his cheeks, his stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults, his words tripping over his tongue. what was happening? why was he acting so unlike himself? why was he acting so—

his eyes shot open as he pieced everything together.

"oh god," he whispered to himself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling wide eyed and awake. as it finally settled into him why he'd been acting like so stupid around you lately, so completely out of character, he threw his hand up over his face and took a deep, loud breath.

oh god, he thought, repeating himself. i'm fucked.

katsu2ji © 2025. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Guilty As Sin

Sebastian Sallow x Female Reader (MC)

Rating: Mature 18+ (explicit sex, smut, language), all characters are 18+

Summary: You’re a sinner and tonight, Sebastian Sallow is a saint.

In other words, it’s your (MC) last night at Hogwarts and you can’t help but fantasize over your best friend. Luckily, he’s happy to turn your daydreams into reality.

Notes: Takes place at the end of MC’s seventh year. (You’re MC.) Characters are 18. Obviously this was inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Guilty As Sin.”

I wrote this smutty drabble while I was ovulating. Oops. Consider yourself warned.

Read on AO3 here, or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow was a fucking menace.

He wasn’t even in the same room as you and he was driving you mental. Hadn’t the absolute hell he put you through during your fifth year been enough?

Oh, but this was a different type of hell. This was the kind of hell that made your palms sweat and your knees want to buckle beneath you. This hell was a frustration that simmered up through your body, rising into your head until you could practically feel it pulsing in your hair.

Sebastian Sallow was also your best friend.

You hadn’t meant for that to happen. But the events of your fifth year kind of made it difficult to shake him. You watched the moron murder his own uncle and then you covered for him like an even bigger moron. As a result, the two of you formed some sort of trauma bond that nudged you even closer together, compelling you to lean on one another. He had no one else, given that he’d pushed his sister and his former best friend away. You had no one else because you didn’t want anyone else.

In time, Anne and Ominis came around and forgave him. They settled back into his life with cautious compassion but you — you had proven yourself as the one person who would never turn your back.

And because of that, Sebastian Sallow dug and twisted his way into the center of your soul, planting himself as more than a kindred spirit or a partner in crime. No, the two of you were closer than that, and it made you want to hurl yourself into the Black Lake, sinking until the bottom claimed you.

Sebastian Sallow was the reason you were so dramatic.

You kept that drama to yourself, though you had the feeling Ominis knew. In your mission to bridge the divide between him and Sebastian, you and Ominis had also grown quite close. Ominis seemed to have a quiet understanding of your internal anguish over the boy — no, the man — the two of you had in common, but he kept quiet on the subject, except to say he was glad that if anyone had to replace him as a “best friend,” he was pleased it was you.

Instead of acting on your dramatic fantasies over that 18-year-old freckled friend, you kept them bottled in the back of your mind, the lid corked tight, except on nights like this.

These were the nights you cursed Sebastian Sallow.

No one else was around, your roommates all out celebrating the completion of term. They were saying goodbye to one another, to all the other seventh years who would be departing Hogwarts for good in the morning. You’d said your farewells too, mingling and laughing with your friends at the party, reminiscing on the memories you’d crafted in the three years you spent together.

Then Sebastian Sallow ruined everything.

He found you at that party and snaked his strong, stupid arms around your waist as he stood behind you. He did that all the time but something about it sent shivers straight past your stomach, coursing through your thighs toward your ankles.

He laughed at something Garreth Weasley had said and rested his head on your shoulder, as if your body was some sort of prop meant to bear his weight. And oh, how you wanted that to be the case.

Even as Sebastian removed himself from contact with your body to bounce around the room, commanding the attention that only someone with his level of charisma could manage, your mind fixated on his fingers. They had touched your waist, your shoulders, even your hair as he twirled it around absent-mindedly while he yapped with Amit Thakkar about some book he read.

You seized that opportunity to slip away from the party, retreating down to the dungeons and into the Slytherin Common Room. You ignored the gazes of the underclassmen and slunk into the quiet sanctuary of your deserted dorm room, dark and cool.

But Sebastian Sallow made you hot.

This wasn’t the first time you’d slid into bed, your hands inching up the hem of your skirt as you thought about him. But it would be the last time you’d do it here.

You were leaving Hogwarts tomorrow, set for Hogsmeade so you could spend the summer in your shop with Penny before starting the Ministry of Magic’s Auror Training Academy in the fall. Sebastian had also been accepted to the academy, meaning you’d be enduring another year as a student alongside him.

Another year with Sebastian Sallow. At least. For all you knew, you could end up spending your entire career with him, and while there was no one else you’d rather work with, you were certain it would drive you fucking mad.

That’s why you were hesitant when Sebastian asked you to apply with him.

”C’mon, it’ll be great,” he’d said as he pleaded with you for the fifth time. “We already know we make a great team. We’ll set a high standard for the other trainees. We’ll be unstoppable.”

You knew you wanted to be an Auror. How could you not, given all of the dark wizards and magic you’d witnessed? And you were so damn proud of Sebastian for making the same choice, for wanting to right all of his past wrongdoings. So you agreed, not that you ever intended not to apply for the Auror academy, and Sebastian excitedly vowed the two of you were going to be the best Aurors to ever carry a wand.

You were stuck with Sebastian Sallow.

You groaned at the thought of another agonizing year, sitting next to him, watching him study the prose inside his stacks of books when he should be studying the curves of your body.

After all, Sebastian Sallow could read you better than any old book.

A year of crawling through caves and catacombs, of scanning spellbooks and scrolls, of dueling enemies that wouldn’t have thought twice about your deaths. Then two years of trying to keep low profiles after Sebastian’s stupid decision in the Feldcroft catacomb, trying to live like the teenagers you deserved to be. Three total years in each other’s presence, highlighted by countless nights in the Undercroft as you became each other’s confidants. Of course Sebastian could read you like teenage poetry, tracing every line as he absorbed its meaning.

That’s what you envisioned as you lay in the quiet comfort of your bed. Except he wasn’t tracing words on a page. He was tracing you.

Sebastian Sallow had turned you into a sinner.

You let out a long exhale as your fingers made contact with your core. A few simple touches from Sebastian at that party had you wound so tight, you sprinted into your dormitory so fast, you forgot to lock the door.

And as you moaned his name, visions of his fingers sinking into you, helping you relieve the ache between your legs, you didn’t even notice the visitor in your room.

Sebastian Sallow was a sinner, too.

”Let me help you.”

Your eyes shot open and you let out the most pathetic hybrid of a scream and a gasp, your hand quickly breaking contact from what lay beneath your skirt.

”Sebastian?” you managed, shame creeping across your face in the form of rosy cheeks.

”I came to check on you. You left the party so abruptly. I thought maybe something was wrong,” he said, still lurking just inside the doorway, his hands stuffed inside his pockets.

You were determinedly not looking at him, mortified by the sight you had created for him. The candlelight of the room betrayed you as it flickered across your face, revealing your shame. But it also revealed something about Sebastian.

As the light danced, you caught a glimpse of Sebastian’s form and you swallowed hard as you realized he was hard.

Your gaze fixated on the unmistakable bulge in his pants and you felt weak.

“By all means, don’t stop on my behalf,” Sebastian said, still standing much too far away for your liking. “But if you’d like some help, I’d like to be first for consideration.”

You realized you were still flat on your back, your skirt hem still hiked up above your hips, exposing your soaked panties.

You had a choice. You could spend the rest of your nights like this, victim of your own fatal fantasies, or you could indulge them with one bold move.

”Come here,” you managed, your voice husky amid your labored breaths.

Sebastian Sallow was your savior.

Sebastian moved swiftly toward you, crawling on top of you, his arms supporting his weight as he leaned down to kiss you.

”You have no idea how many times I’ve daydreamed about this,” he said in your ear.

”Oh, but I do,” you whispered back.

Sebastian pulled away slightly to smirk at you. That stupid smirk you loved to hate.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asked.

”Why didn’t you?” you retorted. He grinned. He loved it when you bantered back and forth with him.

”Just didn’t think I ever stood a chance with someone so fucking perfect,” he said, his eyes darting downward to where your blouse was begging to be unbuttoned. “But hearing the way you moaned my name just a few moments ago… I‘d never forgive myself for not taking the chance.”

”Take it,” you said, your tone much more forceful than you’d intended. Sebastian smirked again.

”Anything you say, love. Like I said, I’m here to help.”

”Then help me already,” you said through gritted teeth. You knew he’d find a way to bring this up later, to hold it over your head, but your brain was well beyond the stages of any reasoning.

Sebastian licked his lower lip as he studied your gaze one last time, seeking final confirmation despite your desperate pleas. When he seemed content by the fire in your eyes, he kissed your neck.

”Oh fuck,” you moaned, feeling fearful for your own wellbeing — if a kiss on the neck had you on the edge of insanity, what would happen when Sebastian really touched you?

You couldn’t wait to find out.

”How can I help you?” Sebastian murmured in your ear, his hands roaming from your chest down your sides to your hips.

”Anything. Everything,” you whined pitifully. “I just want you.”

You soon realized that it was not Sebastian’s wand that you felt digging into your upper thigh as his fingers worked to unbutton your blouse. His impatience, that blasted impatience you’d seen so many times, bubbled over as his fingers fumbled against the tiny buttons and he ripped them apart.

”Not like you’ll need a school uniform after today,” he noted. You couldn’t help but laugh, but his eyes roamed your body and you fell quiet. “Can I take this off?” he continued, his fingers lifting the hem of your skirt.

You nodded silently and shifted, lifting your hips slightly as he slid your skirt down past your ankles until it toppled from the edge of the bed to the floor.

Sebastian sat back to admire you. ”You are so fucking beautiful,” he hissed.

That’s when you realized Sebastian was wearing too much clothing.

You reached for his tie, tugging shamelessly on it to pull him into another kiss. He tasted like sugar quills.

You fumbled with the knot on that stupid tie and had half the mind to rip his shirt open as well, but he pulled back to chuckle at your desperation, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his own shirt, sending you into an annoyed frenzy.

”Oh, so you’ll rip my shirt but not your own,” you pointed out. Even now, at your most vulnerable, you liked to challenge him. You knew he liked it more.

”I’m the one doing you a favor here,” he murmured.

Sebastian Sallow was a fucking tease.

Once his shirt had joined your clothing on the floor, he took a moment to plant a trail of kisses from your stomach to your inner thigh. You clenched your jaw in anticipation, unsure what he planned to do next. You knew what you wanted him to do, but you were trying not to beg.

”These are pretty,” Sebastian said as he hooked his thumbs through the sides of your panties. He slid them down with such slow and deliberate intention, you considered kneeing him in the jaw. “That’s even prettier,” he said, his gaze between your legs once you were fully naked.

You stilled yourself as he eyed you, taking in your wetness. You’ve never felt more vulnerable, but he smirked as he returned his gaze to your eyes.

”Is that all because of me?” he asked.

”You know it is,” you huffed, annoyed that you had no choice but to admit it. The man had literally heard you moaning his name earlier.

You were almost certain he could hear the silent screams of desperation inside your skull. And when his tongue made contact with you, you gasped so sharply, you wondered if there was any air remaining in the room.

”Oh my-“ you cut your own statement off with a moan and you could just feel Sebastian smirking against you.

Sebastian Sallow had a tongue like a snake.

”You taste so fucking good,” he hissed and you willed him to shut the fuck up so that you could continue to feel his mouth.

Your moans grew louder until you were grinding your hips against his tongue, desperate to finish what your own fingers had started.

His tongue flattened itself and then rolled against you in patterns, causing you to cry out in ecstasy. How could you have been so fucking stupid to have starved yourself from this for so long?

And when your orgasm started, you tried to will yourself not to moan so loud, but every ounce of logic drained from your head down between your thighs, which were shaking. Sebastian’s tongue didn’t stop until you did, and even then, you could feel him tasting you until he straightened up to admire his work.

Normally, you’d have some smart remark for him. At the very least you’d call him a smug bastard. But now your head was a juxtaposition of hazy and horny you’d never experienced.

”Better?” he asked, looking quite pleased with himself.

Your eyes flickered down to his bulging pants and he immediately got the message. You caught your breath as you watched him undo his belt and kick his remaining garments off. The smooth skin and toned muscles were more than enough to pull you out of your post-orgasm haze, especially as your eyes landed on his erection. Soon, you were licking your lips in anticipation again.

”Fuck, you’re big,” you whispered. Those were probably your famous last words. No way in hell Sebastian was ever going to forget them.

”I’ll be gentle,” he said, but you frowned. You didn’t need him to be gentle. That was the last thing you wanted right now.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk as he understood your expression. “You’re even more alluring when you’re mad,” he said, one hand wrapped around himself. You’d never been so envious of a fucking hand.

A whimper escaped your lips and Sebastian leaned forward to kiss you. You could feel him pressing against your entrance, so close to solving all your problems.

And then, when he finally satiated you and guided himself inside you, you were certain your eyes would roll back into your head.

”You feel so fucking good,” he groaned and you could practically feel him harden even more inside of you.

“Oh god, fuck me,” you hissed.

And Sebastian Sallow obliged.

The delicious friction, the steady pace, the way Sebastian told you how fucking good you were, it all crafted a fitting build-up to the climax you knew you were in for.

Sebastian Sallow was going to make you come.

You arched your back and moaned his name as you inched closer, torn between your desperation for that blissful release and not wanting it to end. And all the while, Sebastian’s eyes bore into you with the hunger and passion you’d dreamt of.

Your cunt swallowed his cock each time it slammed into you, and the way Sebastian was clenching his jaw had you wondering how much longer he had in him. You knew you were a lost cause, your undoing due at any moment.

You bucked your hips one last time as Sebastian’s cock pounded upward, catching just that right spot, eliciting a moan so loud you were sure the Common Room below could hear you.

You came so hard you saw stars as your cunt contracted around Sebastian, who continued to pound into you so hard the bed legs scraped against the hickory wood floorboards.

The ending of your high signaled the start of his and he groaned as he spilled himself inside you, savoring one final thrust before he held himself flush against you.

The quiet inside your room crashed around you as clarity slowly creeped into your head. As Sebastian pulled away from you, you immediately found yourself missing the heat of his body.

He gazed down at you swiftly before nudging you slightly, indicating that you were taking up too much space on the bed. You rolled over onto your stomach while he laid down beside you, reaching for you to rest your head on his chest.

”Can I tell you something?” he asked.

”Mmhmm, of course.”

”I really do love you, you know.”

The warmth you thought had left you instantly returned and you propped yourself up on your elbows to smile at him.

”I really do love you, too.”

You felt sleepy against his chest as you reflected on how the events of the past three years all culminated to this, and you could not have felt more satisfied for your future.

Sebastian Sallow was a fucking saint.

[jjwolves]

Hello! Could you write something about human! reader falling asleep on ENA during a ride home. Like the both of them are done with a job but the only way back is on some sort of transport that will definitely take a while to get back home. And after all that job work the reader is a eepy sleepy since they are not built the same as ENA, literally. Gimme that cute shit between the two!

Thank you for your time!

SLEEPYHEAD · · ────── ��ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

What: A Story About ENA the Worker X Reader

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~900 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: None

“I sense a business opportunity… this way!” ENA shouted as she grabbed your hand. You ran with her through the brush of Judgement Slope, which was less like plants and more like the twitching legs of massive insects buried upside down. It smelled like hand sanitizer. It didn’t matter to ENA, though—her client, a masked man with a scorpion’s tail, wasn’t far off and she held his trophy in a raised crimson mitt. You tripped and wiped out like your hand was tied to the bumper of a speeding car.

“Oh dear! Are you alright!? It seems your market value crashed.” ENA took a moment to slow her roll and help you up with an offered hand. Once you were on your feet again, clothes covered in reddish stains from the fall, ENA immediately shouted, “Watch where you’re stepping next time, moron! One two one two!” and began dragging you along once again with a possessive claw and a recursive march.

A few hours afterwards, you and ENA were jumping across the tops of wrecked cars and scaling the occasional crane to get to the top of the Kali Yuga Elevator. By the time you climbed the third ladder, you could only see clouds and a subtle curvature to the world. Large checkered bands ran across the sky like the ribcage of a dead titan, with balls of lightning crawling along their length. The effect was dizzying, and you held your arms out to resist the oncoming vertigo of such a dwarfing sight. Magnificent, if you hadn’t lost one of your shoes on the way here. You weren’t going to fall, but ENA’s white claw gripped and slightly pricked your shoulder.

”You’re missing a shoe. Are you kidding me?! How did you even manage—look, whatever, just take one of mine.” You respectfully declined as ENA tried to peel her one military boot off of her leg. There wasn’t much ground to cover before ENA could let the masked man’s jellyfish blower take care of the distance separating you from the skybridge, anyway; the shoe wouldn’t matter if you were flying inside of a jellyfish.

Your legs shook, one shoeless, as ENA piled another box of miscellaneous, abstract instruments onto your arms. She tapped her chin with a pencil and scrutinized a notepad. An inkling of frustration creeping into your voice, you asked why she needed four boxes of metal alien instruments. Her red side answered, “Hmm… the next client on our list appreciates naught but a good musical number which will remind him of his home planet. We can use these to close a deal with him, and cross him off of our list.” You sighed. ENA’s white side kicked in. “Crossing people off of our list is a good thing. Did you forget already?!” You were just glad the train was going to be here soon.

Hopping on, you set the musical instruments on the train’s floor as the walls pulsed red behind iron bars. Everything was getting blurry. You wanted to hang on so that ENA would have someone to talk to on the way there, but the day had drawn too much from you. You settled into maze-dreams of how much you loved the polygonal girl.

On the outside, ENA stopped jabbering about pitches and deals and managers once she realized that you were fast asleep, your head drifting onto her shoulder. “Seriously? You choose NOW of all times to hibernate?” No response except a bump in the train. She sighed and looked you up and down, taking in the stained clothes, crazy hair and missing shoe. She felt like she should be yelling, but something allowed her to keep her voice down. “I’m sorry I ran you so freaking hard today. This stupid job feels like it never ends. I put you through so much bullshit, don’t I?.” A ray of light from an electric ball passed through the train at eye level. ENA took her hat off and placed it onto your head, pulling it down so the visor would keep it out of your eyes. “I promise that one day we’ll leave this stupid world together. I’ll get us a house and I’ll make you break your fast and I’ll wear those money pants I heard of and we’ll have every other moronic thing we talk about. Sounds pretty freaking perfect, right?” She leans her head against yours and takes your warm, soft hand into her cold, sharp one.

Somewhere in the maze of dream, you’re sitting at the table with ENA laughing, her warm, soft hands in yours. You’re eating some sort of golden meat for breakfast. She’s wearing pants made out of shiny coins. The sun shines vibrant and bright flowers bloom in straight, geometric lines outside of the stained window. ENA looks vibrant as well. Soft warm hands. You give each other the world. You begin to wake and you think you stirred from a prophecy. It’s a shame you don’t remember it.

A/N: A lot of Meanie in this one. MENA if you will. We're making our way through the requests one at a time, gettin' stuff done. I'm glad so many people enjoy my writing, gosh! I've never had so many notes nor requests for stuff. I'm happy so many people get so much out of the stuff I write. Oops, sorry, the ironic mask slipped off. Putting it back on. Aah, much better. Honk honk.

[thewritingfairy]

𓂃⋆.˚A long day

In which (Name) attempted to wash their hair and Duke ends up helping 

I'm feeling uh so it's a they/them reader with a non-specific curl type (the picture of the lady is just because I think she's so pretty-. I think she's from the interview with a vampire?) Because I did my hair for driving classes today (as you can't drive with clawclips in which I usually wear and I can't use a banana clamp because it can snap open) and I paid the price with my pain levels- SO this is based on my Nobody's child fic as I love that dynamic between Duke and (Name). trigger warnings: drabble unedited, Duke having small yandere-like tendencies but not a lot you ignoring the bats like it's a full time job

main m.list    series m.list   bad ending m.list

You are going to kill someone, specifically Dick. Because what do you mean 'I want to do your hair' when you don't even trust Dick? The only thing you want is to do your hair get to work, have a fun night shift and then go out with your friends.

Washing your hair is already a whole task, especially styling it with how stubborn it is, and you have no patience for Dick and his bullshit. You don't want him around especially with your irritation levels already rising. You are making such a mess and you can't seem to get all that shampoo out of your hair, you can't help but groan in anger as it all gets to much. Especially with Dick still trying to convince you to let him help you outside of your bathroom door. So without hesitation you text Duke;

˚₊IDIOT WITH NO WILL TO LIVE˙⋆

pls come save me from the moron named Dick and help me with my hair if you have the time I can't do this anymore- I'll own you

˚₊MY FAV BROTHER˙⋆

Coming, I get to pick your hairstyle :)

˚₊IDIOT WITH NO WILL TO LIVE˙⋆

I'm fine with that, just pls don't let me do this, my arms are already burning after just shampoo, my pain is having trouble with deciding to be low or so high that I feel like passing out ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

Duke truly is a miracle worker, Dick was waiting outside of your bathroom door attempting to convince you to let him do your hair and the second Duke said; "Please fuck off."

He fucked off.

Truly, he needs to teach you his ways.

When you unlocked the bathroom door Duke winces, the bathroom is a mess and you are basically hyper ventilating with water running down your face and neck. "Jesus, I'm glad that your uniform is a button up-" he mumbles as he grabs a towel to wipe down the floor. "go hang over the bad tub, I'm washing your hair as well as styling."

"I love you," you say as you sigh in relief. "I can not do this on my own."

"You can, just not today," Duke hums patting your back in a comforting matter. "so let me do it."

You hum as you close your eyes. It feels like heaven as Duke rubs in your shampoo, once you feel better you really need to learn new tricks to do your hair on your own. But for now you'll enjoy his help.

But to Duke this is amazing, you hate it when people touch your hair. He had helped you before, as well as your friends but that was only after procedures. Researches that left you unable to care for yourself. Yet here you are trusting him enough to help you even when you can still move, he knows it's because you have to work and you have plans tonight. Plans he'll follow you to ensure your safety

but you still asked for his help

While he was doing your hair you two chatted about your plans tonight. Willow had convinced all of you to try out this new karoake place in some abanoned part of Gotham (truly who starts a Karoake joint in the middle of nowhere?) and all of you thought it would be pretty funny to see Maria fail at singing high notes (something you suck at as well, but that's why you two always sing together, double the fun!).

"Do you want to airdry or diffuse?" Duke asks when he's finished with styling.

"Difusse, airdrying takes too long," you tell him as you grab your diffuser. "I know you hate difussing, but can you help me with the back? I don't care if it's get frizzy."

"Alright, just tell me you have heat protectant." He groans out as he takes the machine out of your hand looking at it like it's cursed.

"uh-"

"Idiot-"

fun fact I never diffuse because it brings my pain up so high I cannot move my arm for a whole ass day- And it makes my hair dry and stringy. like actual straw idk if it is because my hair is a mix of fine to normal to some thick-ish strands. Duke hating diffusers is just me hating on them-

taglist (main story): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[mgu-h]

a bookkeeper for the people, thank you for your services 🫡

aww im just glad other people are crazy about them too!! i also keep track of things i heard repeatedly from both max and lando, or representative phrases, in order to make their dialogue sound better. if anyone is interested in some nortrell vocabulary quirks (and additional nortrell research and analysis):

phrases they both use:

That’s mint

You muppet

Let’s go!!!!

Waffling

[Anything], mate

Cheers, bro

We’ve sussed it

You idiot

Fuck off

Knob, knobhead

Bloke, brev/bruv

~Very good very nice~

Scavs (Tarkov)

Fluked it (golf)

GGs, chat

lando specifically:

‘Cause

[something], baby

C’mon Maxy boy

Oh my godt

Mega

It smells to / tastes to

Frickin’, freaking (less so now, he says fuck these days, but in the past he tended to avoid it)

[Indeterminate happy Lando noises]

[Annoying tapping or leg bouncing]

Nugget

Numpty

Joker

That's naughty

Why? (demanding)

Moron

Twat

[Criticizes himself sarcastically in the 3rd person]

max specifically:

Horrendous

Look at the state of you

Fucking hell, mate

For fuck’s sake

Jesus Christ

[repeats himself until Lando acknowledges what he said]

Shut the fuck up, I’m done

That is good, I'll give you that

Normal, normally

Don’t pull that face, none of that

Pal, buddy

Brilliant

No chance

We’ll fall out

That’s crap

What is wrong with you

All right!

It’s doing my fucking head in  

An absolute fucking shocker 

Are you mental

Fair play

Good lad

Honestly

other references (longer quotes, an argument transcript, relative bio of teen years, lando analysis):

Lando, mouth full, trying to communicate through just noises “mmm… mhhph mmmf” Max replies “I normally understand those to a degree, but that was another level” 

Max loses his patience “Stop, like why are you tapping so loud. You know what you’re really good at? Finding a fucking annoying noise to make, and then just constantly doing it.”

Lando said, “I don’t have it, Max.” Max replied, “The fact that you said my name there means you’re trying to lie or something, that’s weird, you don’t normally say that”

Lando said, “One of the things I hate the most is being bad at something.” 

[If you in any way question Max’s fashion or make a comment about his hair he will spiral and say] “Wha’ d’you mean?”

After Max ends the unhinged “golden cock” Sergei/Alexander banter, Lando tries to get back to the game, his voice returned to normal, and Max is incredulous. “Don’t just come in here like "what’s next?" all normal, like nothing happened.”

Max told Lando he would be “back in 27 seconds” because "i needed him to know i'd thought about exactly how long i would be gone before i left, instead of saying 30 seconds, which could mean anything,"

Max saw Lando before he knew him, he doesn’t remember why he was at the karting track, Lando was driving around in a little kart, he was “just tiny, mate,“ nine years old. Max even remembers the black and orange helmet Lando’d been wearing, and he just watched him for a few laps. (“You were just watching?” / “Yeah someone said, that kid won, or something.” / “I never won a race in cadets” / “They must have just said you were fast”) bankai asked: “have you been following bob around since he was nine” and max says “original fanboy”

Max talking about watching an unboxed with Lando, “I like watching them, but it is weird seeing you in them.” “Why?” “I dunno… just, I don’t know. Just don’t see you as that ‘F1 Driver,’ it’s weird. It’s just different for me.”—[Lando laughs]—“They are cool.”

Max taking too long to come back to the game, Lando sounded mad. “Stop fucking kissing her, Max, and hurry the fuck up.”

Monaco argument >> In a Dec 2021 stream, (chat called Max Lando's dog and his wag, he refuted both claims), they had an argument about max moving to monaco, lando insisting he's protecting max from being lonely and max telling him HE'LL get lonely. max claiming being alone in monaco wouldn't even bother him if he's streaming and offering to take care of the house. lando denying him, saying he's taking care of max and max's slightly sullen "thanks mate" and his Jokes like "chat, he doesn't want me there. he's ditched me. it's over. relationship's over. it's done." like the energy of the entire conversation is that they've had it many times before and max is not easy and compliant with lando leaving him behind, but lando is not listening because he's sure he knows better

Lando yelling at Max to kill a scav, Max did, but not fast enough, Lando was muttering under his breath and Max paused to take out an earbud, "Are you giving me attitude?" and then when Lando continued to bitch, mimed throwing the water from Lando's waterbottle on him

Lando ranting on iRacing in Sept 2024 that "people in racing think you never have to back out, no matter what, like that's somehow become a rule" (in iracing? he was asked) "no, in real life as well. Somehow it's become a Thing that you never have to back out, you're somehow always in the right."

Max saying "I don't want to be alone again" about getting into a different heat on iRacing and Lando singing back "story of my life..."

Lando will say things like "Look at my perfection, look at how well I do or did, I was unstoppable," other bragging just to piss Max off

Yes / No / Yes / No arguments (they just say the same statements with different and more pointed inflection each time as if to make the other person accept by force of will without any actual convincing or argument, just emphasis, as if the one who is more certain will win and the more unsure one will yield the point and pivot to a new one or end the argument. one of them always yields and pivots after a few back-and-forths)

Lando says Max is "struggling be cause he's not been kissed in the last five minutes" and that in his group chat "I record every time they kiss in public" (Max protests that he just makes the number up, like the time he said they'd kissed 44 times before 10am and Lando said "I swear it's true") and that he "can't describe how awkward it is going around with Max because he's freaking kissing" and like Lando will be driving the car in the front and all he can hear is wet kissing sounds from behind him.

Lando said about Max kissing "He just goes in so fast, you know like all the nerds you see on the movies where they kind of shut their eyes and like" he mimicked both Max sticking out his tongue and making exaggerated Mwah sounds

Max said Lando often struggles at golf but "every two months or so he'll have a blinder, and then he'll be in absolute turmoil again"

the whole recurring bit with them sharing a wardrobe, the Quadrant video with the "whose shoes are those?" "whose joggers are those? "whose hoodie is that?" bit, something the fact that it kept going even after they moved apart like in singapore 2022 lando claims max is wearing his pants, shoes, and top, and max denies it

Lando listens to the voice notes he gets in DMs and goes through them, sometimes with his mates, to laugh. He says sometimes they're very weird, that "Some people are up to no good in their lives and need to focus on.... other things... but they are funny, they are just weird. The voice notes always make me laugh."

Lando interview with Tom Daley->"I am a competitive guy and I hate losing. So you put that all together and I love being in control. I hate being out of control, so like I hate being a passenger in a car. I really hate it unless I'm like backseat you know headphones on watching a movie. I'm a terrible terrible passenger cuz I don't feel in control of of what's happening."

Max in July 2021 checking to make sure Lando wasn't watching his stream before saying "I gotta give my hats off to Lando for helping me, obviously with streaming, Quadrant, giving me a bit of purpose this year, you know, something to do and enjoy doing while I'm not racing, keep my mind off things, so yeah thanks to him... he's looked after me. I appreciate that."

Random Facts

By April 2023, Max had never seen Star Wars. By April 2025, Max had never seen any of the Harry Potter moves. He's seen a couple of Lord of the Rings though

Lando wears size 9 shoes or 8.5, he said his feet were a tiny bit bigger than Max's, but who knows if he's telling the truth about that as they can share shoes

When asked what animal he would reincarnate as, Lando said hippopotamus and Max said sea urchin (so he can he in the ocean and stab people when they step on you) or plankton 

Lando always tries to get off the plane fast, impatient, walking quickly, doesn’t like getting stuck behind people

Lando said Mcdonalds chicken nuggets may be the best things ever made

Lando used to play around with a lighter

Max drinks tea quite strong

There were periods when Lando was younger where he’d play games for 36 hours straight

Max's eyes are green, Lando's are blue gray (when he built his VR character he gave it blue eyes) but have some golden brown threads in the middle that I think can make them seem greenish in some lights

Lando likes to travel with a book to look smart but he never reads it just carries it around or puts it on the table.

Lando snores loudly and people have complained about it

Max likes cats despite being allergic, Lando likes dogs more

Lando's brother's dog is named Uno. Max had a cats named Lala growing up. His family has a cat named Bobby (not after Lando, allegedly).

Lando likes to wear hoodies because they make his long neck less noticeable

Lando travels heavy with every possible bag, shoe bag, rucksack, all his computer stuff (“Im such a nerd”). He's got a tablet for movies and some games, work emails but he rarely checks those 

Lando smells like Sure deodorant, and a mix of Louis Vuitton L'Immensite, Tom Ford Ombré Leather, and Dior Sauvage. He likes the smell of all of them so he puts them all on.

Lando works harder on strengthening his neck compared to some other drivers, as others can rest their head against the side while turning to deal with the G-forces, but if Lando tries that and gets his eyes off-level, he can't drive. His brain doesn't like it.

Lando will nap and his neck will be at a 90 degree angle

Max's birthday is July 29 and Lando's is November 13, both 1999

Here's the link to the bios of people who show up in Max's chat

When Lando was around 13-14yo he would spend days on designs for stickers for people's phones or visors, and would go around the paddock in karting trying to sell them to earn a little money.

Lando's favorite gifts are really big paintings people have done that he can put on his walls

When asked what kind of dad he wanted to be, he said "strict" in terms of manners and having good respectful values

In 2024 Max could check Lando's sleep stats because they're in a group with their whoop bands

Max is fine with chopsticks for everything but rice

On stream Max said that when he was at peak fitness as a driver, when he was so strong and also so light, at max he did a plank for up to 6min

Relative Biographies

So Lando’s dad’s British and his mom is from Belgium, not that it matters but I think he was raised somewhere in the country near Glastonbury in Somerset. He has an older brother and two younger sisters. Max’s parents are also from the UK but he spent his youngest years in Singapore and Malaysia, his dad’s in finance. He has a younger brother.

Max started karting in Asia, and started winning everything there, just like crazy talented and obsessed with racing. His parents decided to move back to the UK largely to let him get on the European karting track (the only one that really matters to get to the highest tiers of motorsport). He moved back to the UK when he was like 9 or 10 to kart.  I think I saw that he was homeschooled, so basically all in on karting.

While Max and Lando started karting together in 2010 with Ricky Flynn Motorsport, Max said he remembers seeing Lando practicing before they met, so back in 2009 soon after moving to the UK. They spent a lot of those formative years of 10-13 together, traveling all over for races and competing against each other. Lando became the youngest karting world champion in 2013, and Max was not, but he was competitive and they were on the podium together at that time.

Lando moved up to car racing in 2014, but Max did not. It took until 2015 for him. Lando was younger than him, but already ahead. It’s hard to overstate just how fast Lando shot up through the lower ranks to the very highest tier of motorsport by the time he was 18, with McLaren putting him on teams with Fernando Alonso and things. He won everything he tried on the first attempt and moved up. Max’s career was respectable, but it wasn’t like that. 

In 2015 Max started racing single-seaters, and Lando won British F4, and started going abroad and started winning there too, in Italy, in New Zealand. Max wasn’t there yet. In 2016 Max did British F4 with Carlin, a good team, winning the championship at the final race at Brands Hatch. Lando won Formula Renault, among other things. He won a couple awards at Motorsport Awards.

In 2017 Max’s first year of Formula Renault was mixed, winning the rookies’ title but was not super high in the championship, meanwhile Lando won F3.

The next year Max switched to a more successful team and did win the Eurocup in 2018, and got into the Renault driver academy. Lando got second in F2, despite leading most of the season, because of some unfortunate DNFs later in the season, George won. He was also on reserve for McLaren and drove in a F1 practice session.

In 2019 Max drove in F3, got a couple of podium finishes, but got 10th overall. 2019 of course was Lando’s first season in F1 and the birth of the Carlando juggernaut, he was a very successful rookie and rising star. He was streaming on Twitch more regularly, and got Max to set up his own Twitch channel in September 2019, to as few as like 15 viewers, playing games and hanging out with chat and Lando’s building a platform there too,

In 2020 Max raced in F3 again, but he dropped out before the end of the season, and has said that he struggled with depression. He moved back in with his parents. Lando got first F1 podium and had a great year, got huge on twitch, and he founded quadrant, became CEO of his little brand media company thing. I think he was living alone in his house in Woking. 

2021 Lando’s career continues to do well, podiums and things. He almost wins at Sochi but misjudged the wet tires and slid in a really heartbreaking final laps thing. I don’t know what Max was up to early in the year, I suspect kind of aimless playing golf and streaming on Twitch and figuring things out, but by the middle of the year, Lando announced him as part of quadrant and had Max move in with him. 

They streamed together and were stupid domestic, sharing clothes sometimes. I think they were both single at the beginning but had girlfriends by the end of their time together. Living together ended at the end of the year before Lando moved to Monaco and refused to bring Max along because he didn’t want to be lonely even though Max obviously really wanted to come and even offered to like take care of the house etc. Just a wild convo they had on stream in Dec 2021. 

Lando Analysis

SO on one hand, lando's a simple guy in his mid-twenties with ordinary human needs, like he needs to eat, sleep, be active, play games, socialize, race, etc. he travels and stays fit, drives the car, parties and rests. most of the time he's not in distress. he enjoys life and gets to do lots of cool things. on the other hand, he’s a seething mess of ego and insecurities with complex emotional needs.

his ego is pretty big, like despite being humble about it, he knows he’s one of the best in the world at an incredibly strenuous and glamorous activity. he has the confidence it requires to get behind the wheel of an F1 car and risk all that danger to defeat legendary champions. he didn't win for a long time, but he bought into the mclaren project and stuck it out there for long enough to win.

he also has the confidence (and money) to start a company, the insight and experience about the internet to build a brand, all his years online taught him a great deal, and he has a large team of smart people around him helping him succeed. he's very young, but has quite a lot of power and authority and attention.

his ego is a bit brittle though, naturally, and there are ways in which he is vulnerable to spiraling. there are lots of reasons for that. he feels inferiority and anxiety about making people happy, and he turns inward and is intensely self-critical.

he definitely used to be small, with a big, cool older brother, in the middle with younger sisters. he has very loving and supportive parents who helped him do what he wanted to do, giving him a bedrock belief that he’s loved and special. while he gained some close friends through karting, but he was kind of a loner as a teen, a gamer, introverted and a little bit weird, until he got older and more social, getting with girls etc.

i think he's said he’s dyslexic, not interested in school, but not at all stupid, which must've been frustrating. he hates being bad at things and will try very hard to avoid it. he wants people to be happy, to please them and be accepted by them. i think he probably learned to be annoying to beg for attention, but he doesn’t want too much attention now he’s famous, or he only wants attention from a small number of people he holds close.

he just didn’t win while for a long time when he was very small, and that was formative. he didn’t really believe he could, but he did the work without having the expectation of success, because he enjoyed it yes but also i suspect as if openly wanting it would make it disappear, almost walking backward into success. even now he doesn't think of the end result, but just about what he has to do next and tries to make that as good as possible.

[analysis of lando's size kink here]

Example Argument Transcript (from here):

Max reads chat question, “Who’s better at golf?”

Lando brags. “I absolutely dominated today on the golf course.”

“But, would you say, like—”

Lando talks over him. “And, as they say in life, you’re only good, as good, as your last game.” 

Max rolls his eyes and Lando shrugs like the point he made was obvious and he won.

“You done?” Max asks.

“I mean, I have no more… that was like a mic drop moment, mate. That’s like my mic just dropped. There’s nothing else to say.”

There's a long pause. Lando grins like he knows he’s being annoying. 

Max can't let it lie. “But you said I am actually better than you.” 

“Yeah, well you were. Until today.” 

Max smiles with his mouth not his eyes. Lando grins too. 

“I love how you’re actually going to commit to saying ‘Yeah, you are,’ and then you realize—”

“I AM better.” 

“You’re not!” Max slaps his waterbottle against his hand for emphasis. 

“Today, I was better, mate.”

“Today, yes.” 

“If today was the world championship, I won.”

“No, but overall, I win more.”

“Well it doesn’t matter though, ‘cause you’re only as good as your last game.” 

“Yeah, ok, you’re going to be that—”

“I’ve made improvements!”

“Are you going to be that stubborn?”

“I’ve made improvements… I’ve just overtaken you in the game of golf.” 

A pause, but Max just can't let that go. “Well I won yesterday.” 

“That’s yesterday. No one cares about yesterday.”

“We didn’t play yesterday, the day before.” 

“No one cares about that.”

“Yeah, but I, like, if we play ten games, I’ll win seven.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No?”

“Yes!”

“Not with how well I’ve been playing la-today.”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“No—”

“No, you won’t win.” 

“—I’ll win seven.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will!”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will!”

“No, you sliced every single one of your drivers.” 

Max turns his body to face him, looking at him directly. “No, I didn’t.” 

Lando seems gleeful to have gotten the reaction, crowing, “Yes, you did.” And laughing as he said “not one driver! I think you wouldn’t’ve ended up on a fairway!” 

“Yeah I did!”

“When?” 

Max turns back forward with arms crossed, thinking. “On the…”

“Ok, let’s go, let’s do this, chat. First one? No. Second one? No. Third one? Water. Fourth one?”

Max interrupts his rhythm. “Where were you on the third one?”

Lando ignores him. “Where’d your fourth one go?” 

Max repeats himself. “Where were you on the third one?”

Lando concedes. “I also went into the water.”

“There you go, yeah.”

“Once!”

Max affects a deeply sarcastic accent “Acting like Tiger Woods out here.”

“Once! What about all the rest of my drives? That wasn’t even a driver!” 

“No—”

“That wasn’t even a drive, all good.” 

“You were good, you were good with the drive today, I’ll give you that, but you’re not like that normally.”

“That’s what I said. I’ve improved.” 

“Yeah no, you were shocked.” 

“But I have! Improved!”

“Better, but you don’t, you won’t, if we play again tomorrow, you won’t do that.”

“Yes, I will.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Yes!”

“No chance.” 

“Yes, mate.”

“I’m going to video your first drive tomorrow. Guarantee it’s right.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try to hook it so badly—”

Max talks over him saying something else. “It’s not going to be straight. It’s not going to do that.” Max mimes a ball flying straight ahead.

“It will.”

“No chance.” 

“It will!”

“You were even like… oh my god, woah.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause I unlocked something.” 

Intense eye contact. Max smiles, almost predatory. “Yeah? What was that? What’ve you done? Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do!”

“What was it?”

“I’m not going to tell you, ‘cause I don’t want you to get better!”

Max sits up incredulously. “It’s not going to work for my swing. It’s totally different!”

“Well it is!”

“How?”

Lando throws his arm up miming a ball curving in the air. “‘Cause you’re slicing as well!” 

Max sits back and crosses his arms, looking away. 

“This is Max’s shot shape.” Lando mimes a ball shooting forward and curving in front of Max’s face, almost touching him, twice, laughing between and making a loud, adolescent rocket sound, generally being extremely annoying.

“If you do that again, I’m going to draw my hand left across your fuckin face.” 

“You can just do this.” Lando mimes a smacking motion on himself.

“Bosh.” Max pretends to hit him. 

Lando makes a few more rocket sounds.

Max is unable to let it lie. “Normally, you’re not that good.” 

“Yeah, but…”

“Today you were!”

“People improve, Max! People improve! And today, I was unstoppable.” Lando pulls out his cell phone around now, keeping it hidden, and turns on the keyboard clicking sound to prepare to annoy Max a different way.

Max rolls his eyes and repeats the word unstoppable with utmost derision. “Unstoppable… fucking hell, it’s like you’re acting like you hit nine under.” 

“I was unstoppable,” Lando insists. 

“Beat me by like four shots and I played horrendous. Four shots only!”

Lando begins typing and looks up at Max to watch his face, waiting to see him get irritated.

Max glowers straight ahead. “Is that loud enough?”

It does not stop. Max turns to face him again and glares and Lando gives him an impish smile. 

Max says “Stop!” repressively. He reaches for the phone and Lando pulls it back, smiling widely and in an indescribable tone of voice, all the lower registers gone, sounding like he did when he was younger. “I wasn’t even typing anything for the whole thing I was just trying to annoy you.”

They look at each other. Lando said something coy and inaudible.

Max smacks him. “Don’t. Don’t do that!”

Lando cackles.

[changetyre]

This may be a long shot that also may or may not be inspired by a current situation but can u do a max fic where you have just gone thru a bad breakup, he’s there to support you, gives you a hug, and says “i’ve got you. I’m not letting you go” and then it progresses to something spicy? Lil fluff lil smut yknow? I’m so glad I found your page xx

Forget about him II Max Verstappen x Reader ⓈⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: After a bad breakup you seek comfort in the arms of your best friend and he's more than happy to help you forget.

WARNINGS: **18+**, smut, innocent/vulnerable reader, breakup.

A/N: Again sorry for taking so long, slowly getting back into writing and actually enjoying it.

You stood in front of his door knocking sheepishly as tears streamed endlessly down your cheeks.

Max woke up from his spot on the couch where he'd dozed off while watching a show he'd randomly stumbled upon. He looked down at his watch confused as to who could be knocking at his door at this time of the night.

He heard another hesitant knock which finally brought him to his feet.

From the outside, you could hear shuffling inside and you felt guilty for possibly waking your best friend up knowing he needed the rest for the weekend that was coming ahead but you just simply didn't know where else to go.

Before you could let your mind spiral further Max opened the door. As soon as his eyes landed on you noticing the tears he didn't hesitate to pull you inside.

"Shatje what's wrong?" Max asked pushing the door shut before bringing you into his chest and holding you tightly.

This affection was enough to have you cry harder again in his arms remembering what had happened just a few hours ago.

"He broke up with me." You managed to say through sobs, muffled in Max's chest.

"He what? Why?" Max found it incredibly hard to comprehend how someone who had you could be so foolish and let you go.

"He met someone else." You sniffled pulling away from Max's chest letting him see the raw pain in your eyes which broke him. "He said- He said he doesn't feel the same about me anymore and-" your words were cut off by your cries. "he just doesn't love me anymore.

Your heart ached. Badly. 4 years down the drain. 4 years of building a life with someone, someone who you'd convinced yourself you would finally settle with, who you'd made sacrifices for, and who you'd pictured a life with disappearing in a few minutes.

"Oh, baby." Max brought you into his chest again. A frustrated anger coursing through his veins at how that moron could have hurt you, someone so sweet and pure.

"I didn't know where to go I'm sorry-" You cried into his chest.

"Shh I've got you." Max quickly shut down your apologies. "I'm not letting you go." Max kissed the top of your head.

Max held you for a few minutes letting you cry it out and calm down. After some time your sobs had somewhat settled and you simply held Max tightly enjoying the comfort his arms provided. You would've happily stayed there if it weren't for your feet aching from standing in the same position for so long.

"C, mon let's get you comfortable." Max wrapped his arm around your waist keeping you close to his body as he led you to his bedroom.

Max sat you down on his bed before rushing to his closet to get you some of his clothes. He also rushed to his bathroom to get you a warm towel to wipe your face.

"You're too good to me Maxie." You couldn't hold back a small smile as you saw the products he brought to you.

"It's nothing." Max shrugged it off, in reality, he simply wished he could give you the entire world because you deserved nothing less in his eyes.

"Let me help you." Max kneeled down in front of you grabbing the warm towel bringing it up to your face, gently starting to wipe at your dried tears.

Max's heart skipped a beat at the way you were looking at him, your eyes seemed tired but filled with appreciation and love. Or maybe he was just imagining it.

"You're too sweet Max. I don't how you haven't found someone yet." Your hand came up to stroke Max's cheek lovingly.

Max's hand slowed down. He simply met your eyes, the distance between you seeming so minuscule now. "I think I found her a long time ago," he replied.

A shiver ran down your spine at the way you could feel his breath on your lips. "Max I-"

You didn't have a chance to say anything before Max had closed the gap pressing his lips to yours.

You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips at the sudden action. You were confused, it was too soon but at the same time, the warmth that flooded your body made it hard to make it stop.

"Let me help you forget baby." Max whispered as his hand came to meet your waist again but this time to push you further into the bed, centering you.

Your voice escaped you as Max set his body above you, you could only half nod as his lips came down on yours again this time harsher, desperate. You kissed back with equal fervor.

"Let me take away the pain." Max whispered again as his lips came down to your jaw starting a path. His hand gripped your waist so tightly you were convinced you'd find a bruise there tomorrow.

His other hand pushed your shirt up, finding its way under the fabric to grip at your bare skin.

"Max please-" You pleaded unsure of what you were actually asking for but the warmth pooling in your core was enough indication you needed him to do something.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt like this, this warm, this desperate for someone's hands on you, to feel someone inside you with such dire need. The thought confused you further but you would worry about it later.

"Can I touch baby?" Max asked as he nipped at your neck, you knew he was leaving marks.

"Yes, please. Please touch me." You granted him permission.

Max didn't waste more time as his hand slipped under your jeans, the fabric pressing against the back of his hands as he cupped your mound. His fingers ran up and down your slit feeling the wetness that had been produced...just for him.

His eyes darkened watching the way you squirmed in his arms, your brows furrowing at the pleasure you were starting to feel. Max's fingers explored through your folds as if wanting to gouge your reaction to every single movement he made.

"Max...Max please-" You begged again wanting him to stop teasing you.

"Shh I've got you baby." Max finally began circling at your clit earning delicious moans from you.

He teased at your bud for a few seconds before letting his finger enter and curl inside you. Your hips bucked up chasing the pleasure and Max needed better access.

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand not missing the desperate whimper that escaped your lips. He hurriedly rushed to pull your jeans off you, before doing the same to his sweatpants.

As he did he saw you rush to pull your shirt over your head leaving you in nothing but your mismatched lace set which he couldn't help but find endearing.

He loved the sight so held back from stripping you completely as he let himself fall forward and lie between your legs. "So pretty." Max reveled at the sight in front of him.

He pulled your panties aside teasing at your entrance once more with his fingers before pushing two fingers in this time.

He watched your head fall back in pleasure before he came to close his mouth over your clit.

"AGH MAX." You screamed making Max's dick harden just at the sound. Your hands came to pull at his hair, a feeling Max knew he could now never live without.

"Mhmm so good," Max confessed quickly growing addicted to your taste.

"Max I'm gonna cum." You moaned and it only spurred him on as he began flicking quickly at your clit with his tongue, his fingers matching the space twisting and curling inside you.

He swore he could've come right then and there at the sight of you shaking in his arms as you came from his actions. He would've if his desire to be inside you wasn't so big.

"So good baby," Max smirked as he came to hove over you again. His lips came down to meet yours again letting you taste yourself.

"So good." You repeated with him. You don't think your ex had ever made you feel this good.

"Can you give me another one?" Max asked you. You could feel his clothed dick press against your core.

"Yeah." You answered happily, wishing nothing more than to feel him deep inside you.

Max smiled with you, pulling his boxers off, this time pulling your own panties off as he lined himself up with you.

"Ready darling?" Max asked you, your breath already heavy imagining what was to come.

"Yeah," Your reply came out breathy, not truly sure if you were ready for his size but eager to stretch out just for him.

Max kissed you again as he began pushing in, distracting you from the initial sting. You moaned into his mouth, feeling your pussy take in every inch of him slowly. Your mind in a haze, pure bliss.

[devotedfem]

You're an amazing writer. If you take requests I was wondering can you make a Taehyung x reader where they are dating and they go to jeju to have some alone time but jimin and jungkook decides to tag along and when jimin and jungkook are enjoying the pool taehyung takes that as an opportunity to get his alone time

Little trip go bad - K. TH x reader

Tags: non yandere (i never thought i'd write a non-yan fic lmao), smut, Tae is frustated, jealousy, he needs attention asap, he's so whipped and horny for y/n.

Permanent taglist | patreon.

You and Taehyung have been dating for over a month after he took the courage to ask you out. You two were friends since forever, so he didn’t want to ruin your friendship, but his desire and love for you was stronger than his fear, that’s why he took the risk, and he was so glad that you returned his feelings. He felt so lucky to have you in his life, he was so infatuated with you that his friends tell him that he’s just obsessed.

But it’s not obsession, it’s adoration, you are the girl of his dreams, how could he not be head over heels for you?

Your relationship was sweet, he treated you like a princess. But he couldn’t help his urge to touch your body, to have you under him crying his name with pleasure. He adores you, but he’s also a man, and he has needs, especially with a girlfriend as beautiful as you. Every time you touch him, he has to inhale deep to not lose control, to compose himself and not scare you away.

He needed you so fucking bad.

That’s why he planned a romantic trip to Jeju to have more time alone with you, to charm you so he can fuck you the way you deserve.

He jerks off every night just thinking about you, but he wants to treat you well and take things slowly because you’re worth it. He was a traditional man after all, but it was hard to resist your body.

You jumped with excitement when he told you to pack your things to travel, kissing him with so much love. He kissed you back immediately, devouring your mouth with yearning.

But everything went down the moment Jimin and fucking Jungkook came along, uninvited. You said that you didn’t mind their company at all as the sweet girl you are, but he did mind because he want time alone with you.

The boys looked at him with mirth, they did this on purpose to piss him off, just because Taehyung has been ignoring them too occupied with his girlfriend.

Taehyung was grumpy and angry the first day of the trip, rolling his eyes every time the boys steal your attention away from him. Jealousy burned his very core when you didn’t have your pretty smile and eyes focused only on him. It wasn’t fair, he paid a really big amount of money to spend time alone with his girl.

Taehyung rent a house for three days, and the boys were enjoying themselves around the house giving you two zero privacy, driving Taehyung mad. He was about to murder them. He swears to God that cockblocking him like this should be reason enough to beat their ass up. He couldn’t even fuck you at night because you spent so much time playing PlayStation with them until dawn.

It wasn’t fair.

But then, as if God took pity on him, the morons leaved you two alone to go swimming in the pool, too busy with themselves to pay attention to you.

Taehyung stood behind you in the kitchen, leaving wet kisses on your neck and pinning your hips against the counter. You giggle telling him to stop, but he didn’t, pressing his bulge against your butt.

You were taken aback by how hard he was, gripping your body with burning desire. He sighed into your ear at the sensation of his groin pushing into your bottom, tightening his grip on your hips.

“I need you so fucking bad,” he whispered hotly against your ear, inhaling sharp when you arched your back.

You grabbed his hand, taking him towards your room.

He didn’t waste time, undressing you with desperation on his lidded eyes. He wanted to see you naked so bad it physically hurts him.

You giggle a little at his rushed and desperate movements, it wasn’t like someone would steal you away. But Taehyung didn’t think the same.

He took your sundress off, taking his time to admire your body, undoing slowly your bra without looking away from you, pulling your panties off right after.

“You’re beautiful,” he said breathless, with his dark eyes roaming your body with hunger, looking like a starve man that has finally found something to devour.

You felt shy under his intense and piercing gaze, trying to hide under the sheets. But he didn’t let you, pulling them away and leaving you bared one more time.

“Don’t you ever hide from me again,” he said between teeth, clenching his jaw and looking at you with a scowl. You nodded softly, not wanting to upset him.

He got himself naked quickly, as if he couldn’t resist one more second from fucking you against the mattress.

He kneeled between your legs, opening them widely and making you blush with embarrassment. Your heart pounded at his heavy gaze roaming your breasts and then your exposed folds. He took another peek at your breasts with hunger flashing his eyes, leaning down to play with your nipples, making you moan near his ear, that made him curse under his breath and get back on his knees.

He dragged you closer by lifting your hips up to align you with his erect cock.

“I love you,” he said flicking his dark gaze to your face before shoving his cock inside of you, making you moan his name loudly.

He didn’t waste time to prep you, ramming into you with force and splitting you open. You let out cries of pain and pleasure, and those sounds only railed him up instead of making him slow down. But you weren’t complaining, the pain felt as sweet as the pleasure.

His hands had a bruising grip on your hips, bouncing your body on his cock with raw need.

The vein of his neck popped out and his jaw clenched, the sight of his pretty face getting sweaty turned you on more. He looked so hot like that.

Your walls clenched around him, making him groan and ram into you with more force. You two were closer to your peak, that’s why Taehyung rolled his hips more frantic against you.

His tight grip on your hips turned a little bit unbearable. His face scrunch up in pleasure and his eyes closed before coming inside of you, filling you up to the brim. You came at the same time as him, whimpering and arching your back at the strong orgasm. And then you felt his lips leaving feather kisses on your skin.

Jimin and Jungkook didn’t see your faces until the very next day.

Taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @deluluisdasolulu @uniquecutie-puffs @Marrylouise @livingformintyoongi @captainhoook @asillysimp @devilzliaison @zephyrdawn @kvstjwonnie @yoongilovescats @bammbi-jeon127 @jerdafuck

[iluvloganhowlett]

Not really a proper request but I’d love some more fluff??? Maybe winding down after a tough mission??? As much as I’d love to fuck the man I’m also a silly romantic who wants to just hold hands 😕

I’M PROUD OF YOU ⟢

in which logan’s never been exposed to affection before you, so he still is taken back when you show it.

warnings: insane fluff, softie!logan, mutant!reader

i lowkey changed the plot of the first x-men movie if you squint but ignore that. this also takes place during the time of x-men (2000) and X2, kinda in between iykwim

this is the corniest shit ever sos.. sorry to disappoint😗

if you were to ask logan what his favorite feeling was, he’d probably tell you that he doesn’t have feelings and that you’re a goddamn moron. however upon rare occasion he might cheese about how he felt when he first met you.

that day was the first time logan had felt what love was, what it could be.

—

like logan, you too were a result of an experiment that left you with claws and adamantium insides. the x-men had picked you both up at the same time, making their first mistake by leaving you alone in a room to stab each other to what would’ve been death. however the mistake was made up for when jean caught you and logan on top of the roof while trauma bonding with a side of beer.

nobody could’ve prepared logan for the day he’d meet someone so much like him. mostly because nobody knew that day would ever come.

but, damn, was he glad it did.

—

“babe!” you heard logan whine from the bedroom just on the other side of the door of the bathroom you occupied.

you smiled, “one second!” you pleaded, muffled by the toothbrush and toothpaste in your mouth. you circle the brush around your mouth once more, smiling in the mirror as you glide your tongue over your sharp fangs before spitting out the toothpaste.

upon opening the bathroom door, you wipe your mouth before throwing the hand towel somewhere in the bathroom.

the second that logan feels the bed dip beside him, his eyes flash open and a cheesy smile takes over his face.

“hi.” you smile, stroking his forearm with your thumb.

“hi,” he looks almost drunk on you, and you loved it.

you adjusted yourself to lie flat on your back, allowing logan to come snuggle on top of you. you felt his large hands wrap under your body and around your waste, pulling your bodies as close together as they could possibly go.

as you began to run your hands through logan’s soft hair, you could feel his body loosen as a long, shaky sigh escaped his mouth.

you brushed through logan’s faux ears, twisting them around your fingers to make them stand up higher.

you tilt your head, looking down at logan with pure adoration. “y’know lo,” you start, pulling logan’s hair back gently and forcing him to look you in the eyes.

he hums, urging you to continue. “you did a good job these past few days, i’m proud of you.” you smile softly, continuing to stroke his hair carefully.

oddly enough, you felt logan tense up again, but it was different this time. he wasn’t mad, or upset. it almost felt as if he was adjusting to your words; taking them in.

“what?” he asks, almost silently, looking up at you with large eyes.

you swear you could feel your heart near snap in half at how unnatural affection felt to logan. you had been through amounts of trauma and torture, too. a lot of it with logan, even if you have no remembrance of it. however the art of showing love just came easier to you than it did to logan.

you cup his face in your hands, his facial hair rough against your soft hands. “i’m proud of you, lo. i’m proud of how you handled yourself these past few days,” you reassured, gliding your thumb across his skin so slow that it almost pained him.

he only continues to stare at you, studying your face with love and tenderness.

you giggle; a sound that logan could listen to on repeat for days on end. “this is the part where you say ‘thank you, sugar. i love you.” you slide your hands past his ears and down his neck to his shoulders, holding them with a soft but firm grip. you kiss your way from his neck down to where your hands sit, leaving your head there, your chin sitting on logan’s shoulder.

“i love you, sugar. thank you.”

“close enough.”

taglist!! (like this post to be added)

@velvrei

—

[moodymisty]

MORTARION X READER HURT/COMFORT!!! MORTARION NOT FEELING GOOD ENOUGH AND HIS PARTNER COMFORTING HIM!!! NOT NECESSARILY SEXUAL; YOUR CHOICE!!!! I AM VERY EXCITED FOR OPEN REQUESTS!!!

Author's note: I love treating Mortarion with the love he never got <3 This is a bit short but I wanted to do just some tender cuddles that he's confused by Relationships: Mortarion/Gn!Reader Warnings: None, other than brief hints to Necare's abuse to Mortarion

This is the first time Mortarion has ever been fully unclothed around you, and the feeling he has is...

Unsure.

The scars that litter his body are not subtle, they aren't attractive. He doesn't like you seeing them. He doesn't like you seeing his bare skin at all, it feels unnatural to him, but the scars are what aggravate him the most. They don't have stories of hard won battles and brawls for honor.

They're scars from Necare; Exploration. Long straight incisions along his sides, his stomach, his throat, his back. They don't have a story of courage and standing stalwart- it's of being chained down, cut open as someone dug and took to see inside; How much he could heal back from.

The one your fingers are brushing against he remembers vividly. The coldness against his back, the way he dug into the skin of his chest. You caress it like it's just something curious, laying against his side with his arm pressed against your back.

You'd manipulated his body into this pose; Mortarion doesn't... He doesn't know how any of this works.

How to be intimate how to be romantic, he researched books on anatomy, not how to care for another. He felt angrily stupid when you pushed his arm around to lay in the nook you'd made, but the other options were either yelling at you and pushing you away, or admitting he didn't know.

So he sat in moronic silence and let you manipulate him to your liking, until you found a reasonable spot.

You continue to fiddle with the smaller of his scars, cheek pressed against his bare skin. It's so dark in the room that he can barely see that your clothes are all gone, but he can feel enough of your bare skin against his that it still triggers that feeling of shock in him.

It's such a foreign feeling to him, but he allows it. If only because he never thought that such a luxury was even possible. On Barbarus to see skin was so rare, to touch skin even more so.

He didn't think the broken remains of his body were worth touching, either; Underneath the protective thoughts of not needing such things.

It was far easier for him to deny himself than it was to feel it and thus the loss; Though now that he has your affection, there wasn't much that could tear it away. Other than himself.

He feels you push against him harder, gathering what little warmth he produces. He feels the gentle brush of your hair against his skin when you lay your head against him.

He can hear your heartbeat- you aren't asleep yet. But it's slowing, you're drifting off. He's glad for it, he doesn't know how much more of your affection he could take tonight.

He doesn't deserve it, but at least for a moment he could pretend he did.

[octuscle]

Fatal shortcut

You know those days. The traffic is murder. You can't go another inch. Your destination is within reach, but it will take you three green lights and at least 20 minutes to cover the last 100 meters. Bloody hell! Honk the horn? It's no use… But now carefully pull onto the green lane, then cut across the high school parking lot and you're there. Why do you have your baby, the Mercedes G-Class, after all? I put on the turn signal, the car takes the sidewalk like nothing, carefully into the parking lot, look left and right and…… BANG! Damn it, the Mustang has clearly taken my right of way. This is guaranteed to take longer than 20 minutes… The two morons in the car look like they only have their heads to wear football helmets and pour beer through their mouths. The typical stereotypical football college jock bros. The day just keeps getting better…

"Yo, Chuck! Bro, did you see what that punk did there?" "Sure, Brad! He definitely took your right of way." I try to protest. But I'm way too caught off guard when the guy, who is obviously Chuck, stands up in front of me. God knows I'm not small. I'm a well-trained, muscular six foot two. But Chuck is easily ten centimetres and at least 20 kilograms taller than me… He grabs my balls. Damn it, I want to punch him, but Brad's already got me from behind. And Brad is barely smaller than Chuck. "There you go, you little faggot!" Chuck hisses at me. "Are you lying in wait for your wankers in the parking lot again? But this time is the last time!" He spits in my face and his grip on my balls tightens. Brad turns my head in his direction and spits again. Then the two of them get into their car, put it in reverse. And disappear.

I stand there a bit like an idiot. I'm far from being small or a faggot. And the last thing Chuck and Brad were to me were wank templates. I mean, I have nothing against gays… But thanks no, not for me… I'll take a look at the damage to the car. It's no big deal, the Mustang looked worse. I get back in the car, drive the last few meters into the underground car park, throw my keys to Stephen at reception and ask him to take the car to the garage. When I get off work later, I'd like to have it done. He puts his hand to his temple and says "Sir, aye, sir". Hehehe, I don't mind hierarchies being recognized.

"You little faggot"… I can't get that phrase out of my head. Shit, I'm really unfocused today. Maybe I just need a distraction. I go to the gym during my lunch break. Somehow I feel the need to look like anything but a faggot. I train bare-chested. Dressed only in compression shorts. Not really appreciated here. But I don't care today…

Shit, I'm not in top form here either… What I normally lift without any problems is all too heavy for me today. At least it's the cross trainer… Even though I'm not really the cardio type. When I get in the shower, my cock gets hard. Shit, that's embarrassing. But I also have to say that there's really only premium meat running around here today. And I'm one of them. Definitely one of them. Even the clean-shaven guy in front sees it that way. Clear body language. It doesn't take long before I'm leaning against the shower wall. And for the first time in my life I get fucked… And how! I can hear the angels singing. It feels so good as the stallion cums in my ass. To say goodbye, he gives me a kiss and a pat on the ass. And he says loudly to one of his buddies. "What a waste for such a submissive pig to have such a magnificent cock!"

The fuck was great, but apart from that I'm really not myself today. I feel like I've been missing the last year. For the life of me, I can't remember a lot of things that happened. It's like I wasn't there. I'm glad when Stephen calls me at around 5 p.m. to tell me that my car is back. I thank him, pack up my things and go down to reception. Stephen grins at me almost insolently and says that this service is an exception and that he now has something good on me. Completely confused, I say, "I'm fine, dude" and take my car keys. But there is no black G-Class in my parking lot. There's a baby blue Mercedes SLK, in good shape, freshly polished. But it must be 15 years old. I press the key. The doors open. What the fuck?

I just want to get home, this day is a disaster. As I park the embarrassing car and walk past the concierge, Michael calls after me, "Hey, Johnny boy, can you give Mrs. Smith from 2316 a lift?" I turn red. I walk back to the concierge desk. "So what, my name is Jonathan, but it's actually Mr. Hays to you. And why would I stop on the 23rd floor when I live on the 38th. Besides, I don't know Mrs. Smith." Michael grins at me with his one-million-dollar smile. "Rough day, John, uh, Mr. Hays? You might as well ask the old lady if her drain is still acting up. And before you try to break into the wrong apartment, I understand you live in 2304." He hands me a package. I drive up to the 23rd floor. I give her the package. She asks if I can plug in the new coffee machine straight away. "Of course, mom," I say. I ask if her drain is working again. She says it would be nice if I could have another look. I ask if she has any rubber gloves. She nods. I pull the dirt out of the blocked drain. She slips me a dollar. I go to 2304, open the door. And drop onto the bed. It's right next to the door. 2304 used to be the room for the lady's maid from apartment 2312. On the one hand, I feel very much at home. But on the other hand, I should be somewhere else. Somewhere with a view of Central Park. With more space. I pull out my cell phone and start working my way through Grindr. Maybe I just need someone to take me really hard again today

That was a night of really wild dreams. Really wild dreams. But obviously everything is fine now. I feel fit. My morning wood has never been better. I stroke my chest. Didn't it used to be hairy? I'm fantasizing again. What it would be like to be a real guy. Successful, at least 1.82 m. Well, I'm not going to grow any more. But maybe that's because of some Italian roots or something. That's where I got my hairy armpits and good beard growth. Shit, I'm still hard as nails. So routine like every morning: wank, jog, shower and then off to the office. I should be there at 07:00 so that the mail is distributed and the conference tables are all set before the Masters of the Universe arrive at the office. It's 07:05 when I walk in the door. Stephen grins and just says, "Subway?" "Don't ask, bro!" I reply, rolling my eyes. I didn't really need a bachelor's degree for my job. Jogging in the morning to stay in shape is more important. At the end of the day, I usually have 15K steps and 40 floors on my fitness tracker. And that's not usually the end of it. By the time I get home, Michael usually has a number of assistance activities for me. But hey, the address on the Upper Eastside sounds impressive, which I would never normally have been able to afford as a young professional. I'll even put up with the apartment on the first floor with a view of the backyard and the job as a temporary janitor.

Of course it's embarrassing to still live with my parents. But if I wanted to afford my own place, I'd probably have to move 200 miles away from Down Town. And I want to stay here. That's important to me. Also for financial reasons. The subway tickets alone would be too expensive if I had to travel further. I mean, the little bit of scholarship… And I don't earn much in the kitchen of the cafeteria. Stephen and Michael are good friends. If I didn't have them, I wouldn't make it. But they have good contacts. Stephen in the office, Michael at home. They always know someone who needs a massage with a happy ending. Or a greedy college boy face for a blowjob. The men are usually well-groomed. Too well-groomed, actually. That's why I always look forward to my part-time job as a trainer at the high school gym. If I'm lucky, I get to meet Brad and Chuck. I mean, they're not gay or anything. We never make eye contact. But I still get to blow them sometimes. Even though, of course, it's pathetic when you're a sophomore in college sucking high school seniors. But fuck, you won't find cheesier dicks with a more pronounced scent of musk and sweat anywhere!

Yo, have I even dropped my name yet? It's Janusz, 19 years young and repping as an exchange student up in the Big Apple. Just call me Jonny, keep it chill. Hailing straight outta a tiny village near Krakow, Poland, in case that detail tickles your pickle. Still wrapping my head around this English gig… But let me tell ya, my French game is on point, or so the bros claim. Thrilled to be out of the parental crib and living it up in this wild city. Dang, the possibilities here are endless! Senior year vibes, you know what I'm saying? And now that I joined the wrestling squad, it's like BOOM! More close body action in a week than I got in a year with the 'rents around! Truth bomb: I make most of my cash tagging along with my wingmen Brad and Chuck, the school heartthrobs. I'm like their trusty sidekick. It's lit! Hoping to snag an athletic scholarship next year, fingers crossed. Sure, these two golden boys ain't wrestlers (legends in the bedroom, though), but football studs. It'd be epic if we could keep the bromance alive in college. Purely platonic, of course. Or not… 🤷‍♂️

[averycutesalamander]

AHHH 11! 11! 11!

decided to combine these into one :)

11: Telling them a dumb joke just to see them smile

22: Listening to them while they vent

“And I’m guessin’ he didn’t apologize?” Boothill drawls, working his jaw.

“Of fucking course he didn’t!” you huff, gesticulating wildly. “He acted like I was the one inconveniencing him – like it wasn't his dog that was off-leash and fucking tackling people!”

“Bastard better be glad it didn't hurt ya,” he mutters darkly, “or I'd need to introduce him to my gun.”

You slump down into yourself, pressing your face into your hands and making a frustrated noise, long and loud. He places a comforting hand on your back, tracing slow, gentle circles to soothe you. Finally, you settle, sighing wearily.

“More trouble than it's worth,” you mumble, rubbing at your temples. “I just need to stop thinking about it. There's really nothing else to be done right now.”

Well, if it were up to him, he'd knock on the guy's door and deck him for being a moron, but you never like it when he tries to resolve minor disputes like this with his fists, so he'll let it go – for your sake.

He hums in acknowledgement, examining you for a long moment as silence descends between you. Your shoulders are still tense, and he can hear that your heart rate is still a bit faster than usual, so you're clearly still thinking about it…

Maybe he can give you a hand.

“What's the difference between a piano, a tuna, and a pot of glue?” he suddenly asks, utterly nonchalant.

You go still under his touch, and when you look up from your hands, your expression is completely baffled. “...Is this another one of your weird fucking anecdotes?”

“I ain't tellin’,” he says, a small note of smugness in his voice. “C'mon, guess!”

You scrunch your brows in thought. “Uh… Something about tuning a piano?”

He smirks. “Close. You can tuna piano, but ya can't piano a tuna.”

You snicker, and his heart swells at the sight of your smile. Then, you raise a brow expectantly. “What about the glue?”

His grin widens as he waggles one finger at you. “Ah, I knew you'd get stuck there.”

He watches in open delight as you pause, then burst into laughter, shaking your head and rolling your eyes in playful exasperation. “That's so stupid.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “It made ya laugh, so it did its job.”

You finally straighten your posture, eyeing him fondly for a moment, a little smile on your face. “You're too sweet,” you mumble, a gentle sort of warmth in your eyes.

He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Only for you, angel.”

(He'll never get tired of that expression on your face – that look of complete and utter adoration, something quieter than awe but somehow just as grand. He's sure he looks just the same.)

“Hm… What's–” you suddenly snicker, biting your lip in a fruitless effort to keep yourself together. “What's the difference between a garbanzo bean and a chickpea?”

He tilts his head quizzically. “They're the same thing, ain't they?”

“Nope,” you say, broken up by laughter. “I wouldn't pay ten thousand credits to have a garbanzo bean on my face.”

He blinks at you cluelessly for a moment, the gears in his brain churning. Your smile widens even further as you watch his expression shift. In thought, he murmurs, “A chickpea on your…”

The joke hits him all at once, and he bursts into laughter, wild and hearty.

“That's awful!” he laughs, pressing one hand to his face as you snicker.

“It made you laugh,” you sing, bumping his shoulder with yours.

(God, he loves you.)

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, then clears his throat in a futile attempt to compose himself. “So, a cat and a dog were leadin’ a caravan a’ pioneers…”

On and on and on it goes, until the memory of your irritation fades into oblivion and laughter rushes in to fill the gaps.

(He loves your smile too much to let you stay angry for long, after all.)

@opheliaflavoredinstantnoodles @ikeagroceries @shadowstadium @theswashbucklingspy @cosmo112 @fxngtasy @rinzis

[ficretus]

Best enemies

*Vacuo dorm room*

Jaune: Well that's that. Just announced my new rivalry to the world.

*Cinder crashes through his window*

Jaune: Come on Nora, you can't keep doing th... Cinder?!

Cinder: *shoves her scroll to Jaune's face* Would you explain what the hell is this Arc?

Jaune: *confused* Cat photo? Cute one I'll give you that, but...

Cinder: Not that. THIS, you moron!

Jaune: My Huntbook profile. Jaune Arc, 19 years old, in rivalry with Gillian Asturias. What part is confusing to you?

Cinder: What do you mean in rivalry with Gillian Asturias? Are you cheating on me?

Jaune: I'm cheating? You dumped me for Winter.

Cinder: Oh please, are you really that possessive? It was a small fight.

Jaune: You were using all kinds of cool moves with her. You never use them against me.

Cinder: Maybe you don't push me hard enough.

Jaune: So you don't even hide it. I'm not good enough for you.

Cinder: I didn't say that.

Jaune: Oh now you are just lying. You know what, go have your stupid rivalry with Winter. I don't need you, I have Gillian. We compliment each other so well with our Aura abilities.

Cinder: You don't even know each other!

Jaune: I don't even know you!

Cinder: What?

Jaune: I thought we had something back in Haven. But you don't even try anymore. Just grunts and petty insults.

Cinder: What do you want me to do? Narrate you my story?

Jaune: I want to know what makes you tick.

Cinder: That's personal.

Jaune: So is being my rival. Maybe I'll ask Gillian instead.

Cinder: You are acting like a kid.

Jaune: No, I'm the only one acting like an adult here.

Cinder: Fine. But if you tell a word to anyone I will make you regret ever being born.

*one traumatic backstory later*

Cinder: So that's that Arc, that's what makes me tick.

Jaune: *silent*

Cinder: Nothing to say?

Jaune: Why didn't you tell me this earlier?

Cinder: What?

Jaune: We are perfect for each other. We were both frustrated with our powerlessness, isolated, angry. You are dark reflection of what I could have became without support of my friends.

Cinder: *turns away* Don't flatter yourself.

Jaune: *chuckles*

Cinder: I thought you'd think less of me if I told you that. I thought you wanted me to be tough and domineering.

Jaune: I like that about you. But I also like you are human beneath that mask.

Cinder: So you don't think I'm lame?

Jaune: You are bit lame... but so am I. We compliment each other.

Cinder: You were right. We should have talked earlier.

Jaune: It's fine. If it fell apart because of one argument then it wasn't a strong rivalry to begin with.

Cinder: *shifts closer* Do you wanna take our rivalry bit further?

Jaune: You mean?

Cinder: Yes.

Jaune: I've never done it with anyone.

Cinder: Neither did I. I never got that personal with Winter.

Jaune: *takes off his shirt*

*outside of Jaune's room*

Nora: Are they doing it?

Ren: Yeah. Glad they patched things out.

Ruby: What's going on?

Ren: Jaune and Cinder are rivals again. Now they are biting each other.

Ruby: Excuse me?!

*Ruby bursts into the room*

Ruby: You are cheating on me with Jaune?!

Cinder: Oh please, you barely even care about our rivalry.

Ruby: Maybe because you are afraid of commitment.

Jaune: Ruby you are making things awkward.

Ruby: Oh shut up homewrecker.

Ren: Sigh... rivalries.

Nora: They are overcomplicating things. Rivalries are about dumb fun and one fight stands.

Ren: Some people see it differently Nora. *pulls out a photo* I've never moved on after my rivalry with Nucklavee.

Nora: Meh, I'm joining in. Cinder! I wanna fight you as well!

[becsabillion4]

false god (we still worship)

pairing: carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary: Carmen has a bad shift, but you’re more than willing to turn his night around and show him exactly how good he is.

word count: 3,362

tags: SMUT, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, creampie, semi-public sex, window sex, lingerie, praise kink, vulnerable Carmy, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and yet again NOT an advert for safe sex. with that said, it’s fucking hot ;) and thank you to the wonderful person who submitted the prompt that inspired this, based around Carmy having a tough day and reader taking care of him (even though I’ve failed at tumblr and can’t find the original message). enjoy!!

thesydkid

Yo. Awful shift. Glad you weren’t here to see it.

whochefsouschef

fuckkk what happened?

thesydkid

Newbies think they know better than Tina because they went to CIA. You can imagine how Carmy took that.

whochefsouschef

was it kyle? he’s been like that since he started.

thesydkid

Yeah

Classic

whochefsouschef

syd?

I know that’s not all. kyle doesn’t warrant a text warning

thesydkid

Carm got food sent back.

whochefsouschef

shit.

thanks for the heads up

thesydkid

Good luck, cya tomorrow.

—------------------------------

It’s late, the kind of late where even the drunks winding through the streets have stopped their singing, the kind where it’s already too late to go to bed and get an ounce of good sleep. It’s the kind of late where you would have known it was a bad night even if Sydney hadn’t texted you first, because you know how hard Carmy cleans when he’s upset, and exactly how long that takes.

You sit up in bed abruptly, pushing your hair out of your face and considering your options. You have maybe ten minutes if Sydney texted you as soon as Carmy left, ten minutes to decide how you want to handle this kind of bad day. You feel a surge of frustration that you weren’t on shift tonight. As the Front of House Manager, you could have soothed the moronic, greedy, power-tripping customer who wanted to pull one over on the best chef in Chicago by sending back his perfect food-

Actually, maybe it was for the best you weren’t on shift tonight, or you might no longer have a job.

You smile when you think about how Richie will have handled it though. His courteous, collected energy even as he probably said something like, “Oh, you’d like to send this back? Wow, I’ve never heard a, uh - what do you call ‘em - oh, complaint before. Are you sure you know what this dish is?”

The smile fades when you think about Carmy’s reaction. You push yourself out of bed, decided by the image of his frustration, the anger he uses to hide his sadness. There’s been a few particularly bad shifts since you and Carmy moved in together - and Richie labelled himself as “matchmaker to the stars” for hiring you - and you know that if left to his own devices, Carmy will happily stay up all night stewing.

But you’re here now, and you’re determined not to let him. So you set your plan in motion.

By the time you hear his keys clink in the lock, you’re settled by the sofa, bare skin slightly chilled by the evening air coming in from the cracked window. You glance up as Carmy walks in, catch his eye, and he stops dead, hand still on the lock.

Bluer-than-blue eyes flicker across the scene you’re presenting for him - your best lingerie, your patient kneel, steady eyes - and he straightens from his tired stoop.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes still tracing how the lace drapes across your skin in the low light.

“Hi,” you smile. “Join me?”

Without looking away from you, Carmy shuts the door, drops his stuff in a careless pile. “Syd texted?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.”

Carmy’s eyes drift away from you for a second, glancing around the room, like he does when he’s thinking something through. You can almost hear his brain clicking through the gears. Turning the kitchen off, turning something else on.

“It was bad, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuckin’ shitty.”

“It’s over.” You raise a hand to him, tilt your head towards the sofa. “Get over here and let me do filthy things to you to make up for it.”

He laughs at that, toes off his shoes and takes the few steps to the sofa. He doesn’t sink into the cushions like you expected though, but kneels in front of you. You reach out, run a hand over the side of his face, feel the days-old stubble rasping under your touch. Bringing your other hand up, you cup his face, thumbs tracing over the bags under his eyes like you can smooth them out with that simple touch. You can feel his exhaustion in the way he leans forward into the feeling, and it breaks something in you.

When you kiss him, you intend for it to be careful and slow. Bring him out of his shell, remind him that things outside The Bear exist. But the moment your mouths press together, the moment you nip the edge of his bottom lip, the drained and defeated Carmy is gone.

He surges forward, almost sending you tipping over backwards, arms wrapping around your waist. One hand slides to your lower back, stretching to cover as much of your skin as he can possibly grasp. Pulling you forward, Carmy bows his head to suck a bruise into your throat and you know for damn sure it’ll be visible tomorrow. A glaring mark, a “fuck you” to the rest of the world painted on your skin.

Your hands are far from idle either, and as one pulls at his T-shirt, rucking it up to explore the muscles beneath, you run a finger from the other over the arch of his ear. Carmy shudders in a broad, full-body motion and his hips stutter, jerk forward into you. You both moan at the contact and you want to chase it, feel him pressed between your thighs, but clearly Carmy has other ideas.

He reaches under your arms and pulls you up to stand with him, letting his hands continue their journey down your sides to reach your waist. All you have time to do is gasp as he hoists you off your feet, and he’s already walking towards your floor-length window as you desperately try to wrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe, the hand not holding you up pushing deep into your hair and curling strands around his fingers so he can pull your head back, press more kisses to the hollow of your throat.

For a dizzying moment, you can see the lights of Chicago upside down, but you manage to pull your head up just before your back hits the cold glass. You hiss at the chill against your bared skin and Carmy runs a hot palm around to your back in apology even as his tongue continues its insistent sweeps against your own.

You barely register the soft clink of his belt, the push and rustle of fabric between you until his cock is pressed close, the only thing keeping it from filling you your own stupid lacy underwear.

With a frustrated groan, Carmy gently lowers you until your feet sink into the carpet, but he still gives you no room to move, pressing you into the misted-up glass as if he can’t tear his body from yours.

“Carmy,” you pant, unsure what you’re asking, but you know he understands when he grabs your upper arm, spins you around to face the view. The glass is warmer now, but still cold enough that the press of your barely-concealed nipples to its surface makes you moan as you hear Carmy kneel, feel him sliding your panties down your legs.

He doesn’t even let them reach your ankles before he’s up again, kissing his way along your spine as he goes, and finally, finally, the head of his cock nestles in where it needs to be.

Its hot and heavy presence has you pushing your hips back, wanting to feel the glorious slide of him, lose yourself in the moment he splits you, and all you can see, eyes half-slitted in pleasure, are the glittering lights of the city below. You live pretty high up and the lights are low enough that none of the busy pedestrians below should see, but all it would really take is a glance up and an observant eye. To see your breasts pressed against the glass, Carmy’s possessive hands gripping your hips as he finally drives into you. Even from this distance, you imagine the pleasure on your own face and your walls flutter around Carmy until he growls, pulls your hands from where they were flat against the window into a bind behind you.

There is nothing kind and gentle about this moment, no give in Carmy’s body as he fucks into you, and you revel in it. Let him take his pain and translate it into pleasure through your body. Let him take and take and take until he has nothing left to give, and let the world see him doing it. Let them see what’s his.

These thoughts alone have you teetering, desperate for a few more strokes, but the surprise of Carmy reaching around to draw lazy circles over your clit as he snarls, “Fucking look at you, look how good you take me,” has you seizing up instantly. You can faintly hear your own surprised cry through the buzzing in your ears, and Carmy’s gasps as he feels you pulsate around him, but you only fully come back to yourself when you press your forehead against the blessedly cool glass.

The strength of your orgasm is enough that your legs are visibly shaking now, and without a word, Carmy bends to scoop up your lower half and pulls you in, cradling you across his front. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your breathing as you push your face into his chest, but before you can even begin to get your head straight, you feel soft sheets on your back as he lowers you to the bed.

He sinks down beside you, and all his desperation from a moment ago is gone as his body finally relaxes. He’s still hard and straining towards you, but the light has dimmed in his eyes, so when you reach for him, it’s to run a hand across his cheek, to bring his eyes to yours. When you move towards him, it’s to curl your legs with his, to press your forehead against his and settle his breathing with your own.

People think Carmy is so used to taking shit that it doesn’t hurt him anymore, but you know. You know how each word drives so deep that he doesn’t know how to take good anymore, how he invites the anger and the aggression of a kitchen into his soul because the alternative is realising that all the shit he’s been through is too awful, too devastating to reconcile. To keep feeling it, so he has no time to wonder what his life would be without it.

You see the weakness and the fear and the vulnerability, and you know how he absorbs the feeling and translates it into his work, how he uses it to fuel him, how he turns the criticism and the insults and the hatred into being better, being perfect, doing a good job.

“You are so wonderful, Carmy,” you murmur, and when he tries to look away, you hold his head still. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Shit, not really anything.” You’re silent, and he sighs as he caves under the pressure of your gaze. “Back when I was in New York, you remember that chef I told you about?”

You nod, because you know you can’t say anything remotely okay about that particular chef.

“He had this thing, about pasta. Thought he was some kind of expert because he spent, like, three months with Massimo Bottura. We had to boil water from cold every time, for every single batch of pasta we served, and there was this exact amount of salt we had to add. It wasn’t like a teaspoon, it was seven point three grams for every hundred of pasta. And he could fucking tell if you were off, he barely had to taste it. One time I saw him smell somebody’s pasta and tell them they were off by point two.” Carmy’s voice is shaking, and you move your thumb along his cheekbone slowly, calmly, giving him something to root himself to. Remind him he’s not there.

“And I was thinking about it while I was cooking the bucatini, and it’s like he was in the room again, saying the same shit he always did. Watching over my shoulder as I added the salt, and it made me so mad,” Carmy mutters, breaths coming in pants now. “And I didn’t even think, I just added like way too much salt. Enough to fuckin’ ruin it, ‘cos I just wanted to see him choke on it. And then I sent it out.”

You don’t take your eyes from his face as you curl one hand down to straighten the fingers of his, to stop the nails he’s digging deep into his palm from cutting into his skin.

“And of course it got sent back, and Richie apologised and comped their bill, and they didn’t care. But, like, I just sabotaged my own restaurant. My own reputation, becuase I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about salting pasta,” Carmy finishes in a rush, and he finally meets your eyes.

“Carmy, you’re working in a kitchen every day. It’s no surprise you remember other kitchens you’ve been in, and the kind of behaviour you’ve had to endure. But it’s not that kitchen anymore. This is your kitchen we’re talking about, your space. When you look over your shoulder, he’s not there anymore. Syd is, and she’s got your back. We’re not some pristine, sterile team with no heart. Richie’s there.” You feel a surge of emotion so strong for the brilliant, vulnerable man in front of you that you push your face into his shoulder, hard enough that he has to steady himself from falling back onto the bed. His other hand comes up to card loosely through your hair, and you suppress a soft noise of comfort to finish with, “I’m there.”

“I know, baby,” he responds, pulling you closer until you’re practically curled into his lap. “And I think it’ll get easier, it’s already easier. I just don’t think I’ll ever entirely stop sabotaging myself. I’m not like the food I make, I’m not composed and-and, perfect. I’m not, uh, not always good at stuff.”

“Okay, but you’re good plenty of the time,” you whisper, looking up at him. You smile as he glances down, catches your eye. “I could go on for days about the stuff you’re good at.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmy murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, down and round the edge of your face to the shell of your ear. You shiver instinctively, press into the feeling.

“You’re good at that. Good at getting me out of control,” and your voice is already shaking.

“You’re not out of control, babe. I’ve got you. You’re mine,” Carmy is muttering inbetween kisses as he rolls you onto your back, pins your arms to your sides with his legs and begins to fully slide off your lingerie, slowly, carefully. His hands are, as always, steady. You remember all the times you’ve watched him roll a cigarette, piece together edible art as flames lick at his chef’s whites, and you can’t remember a time you’ve seen them shake.

From the eye of the storm he’s creating in you, you watch as he slides down the bed, skimming his lips across your trembling thighs until he sits back, and moves his hands to your knees.

You can almost feel the pleasure it gives him as, at the lightest touch from him, you part your legs, let him see what he does to you. What he has done. When he growls, you realise he can see remnants of your earlier escapade against the window at your entrance, his come marking you.

When Carmy dips his finger inside you, your hips jerk towards him, but he holds them down with one hand. His finger delves deep for a moment, and then leaves you suddenly, but before you can protest, he brings his hand to your face, offers you the digit. You’re entranced by the silent command in his eyes, and with no hesitation, you open your mouth and let Carmy’s come-covered finger slide inside, press deep towards the back of your throat. When you swallow, the bitterness makes you moan, envision being on your knees for Carmy, his fingers twined so deep into your hair it hurts, feeling his white-hot heat at the back of your throat.

It breaks whatever tension was stretched taut between you, and Carmy wraps his arms around your legs, pulls your body towards him and lowers his face between your thighs. For a moment, he teases you, nibbling at the juncture where your leg curves into your hip, skimming his teeth across the bone, but you know he’s secretly just as impatient as you are, and when he takes his first tender lick across your clit, he moans even louder than you do.

Giving head is an art for Carmy, and feels like a privilege to you. You’ve seen him enjoy food in the kitchen, give somebody that blown-away glance that they’ve worked their whole lives to see, but he never takes more than one bite.

But this, with you, as you watch him devour you whole...It’s the only meal you’ve ever watched him finish.

Tongue swirling delicately across your center, breaking for hungry kisses to your thighs as his hands grasp at any inch of you he can reach, you can’t help the words that spill from you, “yes, yes, Carmy, you’re so good, you make me feel so good, my good boy, please-“, but you can’t continue as he slides two fingers deep inside your aching pussy, so deep you don’t ever want him to move.

At this point in the erotic novels you read during your lunch break (which, if Fak were to find them, would spell the end of your career), the heroine says something about how it feels like hours pass with her lover between her legs. But this is real life, and all Carmy has to do is mutter, “Finish for me baby, finish for me,” for you to come embarrassingly quickly.

You’re practically incoherent on the comedown, and all you can summon the strength to do is pull him into you, press kisses to his forehead and mumble over and over how fucking amazing he makes you feel.

“If you lose everything else, Carmy, if you ever think there isn’t a thing in this world you’re any good at, just know that you are a god at giving head,” you pant eventually, and when he pushes his face into your neck, you can feel his smile there.

For a moment more, you just enjoy the press of his body against yours, revel in the sweat and slick between you. It dawns on you slowly just how slick it feels, and you gasp as you realise-

“Carmy, did you-?”

Carmy laughs into your skin, tracing one hand across your chest idly until you shiver. “Yeah. You, uh, you were moaning and telling me how good I was and…it was hot.”

You laugh with him breathlessly, still kind of in awe at how well you fit after all this time, how at home you feel with him. “Well, I hope that made your bad day a little better.”

Carmy is silent for a second before he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do for me,” and you can see the shine of his eyes in the glitter of the city lights filtering through your window. “There can never be a bad day if I end it right here, in this bed, in your arms.”

You would reply, but he’s kissing you into silence before you can, and you wonder for a moment if any words will ever need to be said between you and Carmy again, or whether you can communicate all the fear, all the anger, all the love, just with kisses and touch and his lips against yours. But eventually, as you slip into sleep with his body twined around yours, you decide that tongues were made for more than just talking.

[atinyrasberry]

Hey hey! A few ideas for a oneshot with some of our mha boys with fem reader ♡

Todoroki's first crush. He's such an adorable dense sweetie I can't even 😚 while he's never been in a situation like this, I still feel like he'd be upfront with her about him feeling 'weird inside' and she'd basically have to tell him what love is

The manliest man, Kiri! Maybe helping him dye his hair with confessions?

Bakugo realizing he's in love with reader and not knowing how to deal with it. Kiri being best wingman ♡

THIS IS CUTE OK LET ME COOK‼️‼️ Kirishima does not get enough appreciation, so writing this made me really happy :). THANK YOU FIR REQUESTING, AND FEEL FREE TO ASK AGAIN, I LOVE YOU ANON!!

The room looked like a murder scene. Red dye was everywhere, splattered on the sink and bathroom tiles. Kirishima sat in between your legs on the bathroom floor, with you sitting on the tub putting the dye in his hair. You both forgot to use a dye brush, which resulted in you having to use your fingers. Massaging his scalp, you made sure the dye was applied evenly (maybe you just wanted to play with his hair 🤭). Kirishima sighed at the feeling of your hands running through his hair, leaning back into you and letting you take control.

"This is nice," He comments, reveling in your warm touch and soft humming. "I'm so glad I asked you for help, I could've never done this by myself," Kirishima chuckled.

"It's no problem, I enjoy moments like this, it relaxes me," You replied, making his heart skip a beat. You've always had a crush on Kirishima, so you jumped at the chance for alone time with him when he needed help with his hair.

Once you finished putting in the dye, you waited for a while, chatting on the bathroom floor and enjoying each others company. Once the dye was ready to wash, you put his head over the tub and helped him get it out. Drying his hair off with a towel, you realized how attractive he looked. Damp hair framing his face, a cute smile forming, staring at you with adoration. He loved that you were so focused on helping him out, his eyes moving to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You paused. What did he just say? He wants to kiss you??

"W- wait, what!? You want to kiss me?" you exclaimed in suprise.

"Yeah, you look so pretty focused on me. I just can't help but to want to kiss your pretty lips." He murmured, "I've liked you for a long time, but I haven't been manly enough to tell you, so I assumed was my best chance," Laughing nervously, Kirishima averts his eyes from you.

You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back at you, and pressed your lips against his. Widening his eyes in shock, Kirishima lets out a little squeak in suprise. He eventually melts into you, bringing you closer to him and cupping your cheek.

"I really like you," He whispered, foreheads touching eachother, "and I want to be your boyfriend, if that's alright with you,"

"Of course it is," You replied, "I wouldn't be sitting here at 3 in the morning dying your hair if I didn't like you back, you moron," You joked, flicking his forehead.

Kirishima smiled, bringing you in for another kiss. He was positive that he was the luckiest man alive.